OK, everyone...Ms. X isn't kidding. If you're under eighteen, you probably shouldn't read this chapter. For the rest of you, have fun!

Four

The days passed. Frost rimed the ground outside Lynneth's cottage, and the trees lost their last brave leaves as the world tilted toward winter and the very bottom of the year. But the weather that could have caused her hardship had she been alone seemed blunted by Ulfakh's presence; he kept the woodpile well-stocked, patched the leak in the cottage's thatched roof, and roamed far and wide in the woods to bring back deer and rabbit, and even the occasional trout from streams that had not yet frozen over. Some winters they never did; the season was milder here at the base of the White Mountains than most places in Middle Earth, and the snow usually held off until after midwinter.

Lynneth shared her home with the Uruk-hai, giving him someplace safe and warm to shelter in exchange for the thousand and one small tasks he performed to make this, her first winter without Timon, somehow bearable. He still slept on the floor of the spare bedroom, and had brushed off her concerns by telling her that the wooden boards and the cocoon of blankets she provided for him were far more comfortable than the bare earth of the forest floor had ever been.

If someone had told Lynneth a few months earlier that she would be comfortable living with an orc she would most certainly have told them they were mad, and indeed as time wore on sometimes she wondered if she were a bit touched in the head to have allowed such an arrangement to continue. Perhaps the loss of my husband has driven me mad, she thought, then, but would a madwoman stop to think whether she were mad or not?

To that she had no answer, and although Ulfakh occasionally still startled her with an unexpected comment or an odd look, she found herself to be increasingly accustomed to his presence. For one thing, he tended toward silence and a sort of animal self-sufficiency; he could sit quietly, repairing his armor or crafting more hunting arrows, as she spent long hours at the loom, weaving the only commodity she had to offer in trade for the necessities of life. The lengths of woolen fabric grew, and she knew that soon she would have to make her way back down to the village to barter for more flour, and honey, and fifty other things she knew she needed but had continually put off, blaming the weather or her lack of a pack animal on the delay.

Finally, though, she knew she could avoid the trip no longer -- the wind had shifted to the east and had begun to smell of snow. Lynneth had lived in the uplands beneath the White Mountains all her life and knew the changes in the climate as well as she knew the rhythms of her own body. Perhaps she had one day's grace, perhaps two. But after that the first snows would come, and Midwinter's night was almost upon them.

Ulfakh met her announcement that she must go down to the village with equanimity, although he did ask how she intended to get her supplies back up to the cottage. "Never replaced that pony, you know," he added.

"I know," she said. At the time she had only mourned the loss of Halfmoon -- and worried over how she could possibly afford to buy another animal, even if there were a pony in Rinalduin that she might purchase. But now his loss represented a very real logistical problem.

In the end she decided to use her one milk cow as a beast of burden. The little calf would be of no use in such a capacity, that was for certain. And, after all, oxen were often pressed into that sort of service. Although Pella swiveled her ears at Lynneth and made a few lowing moos of protest, otherwise she did not fuss at the bags her mistress placed on her back.

"Put her off her milk, probably," Ulfakh offered as he watched this entire operation. He knew better than to enter Pella's stall in the barn, however; the cow had already made her opinion of the Uruk-hai quite clear the one time he had tried to help with the milking.

"No doubt," Lynneth replied briskly. "But you don't like milk anyway, and we have cheese enough to last us for a while."

He nodded, then said, "I'm coming with you."

She gave him a sharp look. "Don't be ridiculous. How in all Middle Earth would I ever be able to explain you?"

Seemingly ignoring the jab, Ulfakh said, "Not into the village. But through the forest. I'd wait up the path where no one could see me."

Although she wanted to argue, Lynneth had to admit that his plan made some sense. At least that way she wouldn't be walking unattended through the woods, and she could make the journey in some safety. Once she was done with her business he could meet back up with her along the forest path, with no one the wiser.

"Very well," she conceded. "But you must stop when I tell you to. Sometimes people go farther up into the wood than you might think, to gather wood or check their snares."

"I know," he said, and she realized that of course he was probably more aware of her neighbors' comings and goings than she, considering the amount of time he spent roaming through the forest.

With the matter agreed upon, Lynneth drew her cloak up around her head to ward off the cold and set forth, Ulfakh silently trailing a few feet behind. Pella gave him a white-eyed look, but forbore any further protest and clopped along placidly enough.

Winter was all around them. The earth felt hard and cold beneath her low-heeled doeskin boots, and Lynneth pulled her cloak more tightly around her. Above them the trees spread bare, elegant branches against the iron-colored sky. A great stillness seemed to lie over the land, and Lynneth spoke no words as she pressed on through the chill morning, her breath a misty banner streaming out behind her.

They reached the fork in the path that led either down into Rinalduin or a circuitous eastern route that finally ended in the next village, a good six leagues away. Without a word Ulfakh slipped away into the trees, but not before she noticed he had the bow he had made for himself held at the ready. No doubt he planned to do a little hunting while she was occupied with her business in Rinalduin.

Cheered a little by the thought of some nice roast rabbit, Lynneth made her way the final quarter-mile down into the hamlet. Against the wintry stillness she could heard the steady, rhythmic clanging of Thrandor working at his forge. She'd hoped to avoid him, but little chance of that; the path led directly past his property, and the sound of hammer and tongs abruptly quieted as she moved headed toward the miller's place.

"Lynneth!"

There being little else she could do, Lynneth paused at the gate that led in to the forge and waited as Thrandor appeared. His sleeves were rolled up to the elbows, and he wore a heavy leather apron. Once she would have thought him impressively muscled, but even his well-developed arms paled in comparison to Ulfakh's.

Thrandor stopped and looked at Lynneth and then at her unlikely pack animal. No doubt some of the village girls found the smith comely enough, but Lynneth had never liked beards and had always wondered what it was Thrandor hid behind his.

"What happened to Halfmoon?" he asked.

Lynneth knew that even a half-truthful reply would only renew his entreaties that she spend the winter safely with Laragond and his wife. Instead she said, "He took a chill, and went so quickly I didn't even have a chance to come down to the village to ask for aid. But Pella here is doing well enough for me."

The smith's hazel eyes narrowed, but he said only, "That is ill news. You should have sent word -- perhaps we could have found you a new pony."

Shaking her head, Lynneth answered, "It didn't seem necessary, with winter so close. You know I'll only be coming back to village once or twice more before the spring."

"And it seems wrong -- you alone up there -- "

"I thank you for your concern, Thrandor, but I fare well enough." Lynneth pushed back her hood and raised her face to the sky. She could almost feel the weight of unshed snow in the clouds that seemed to press down against the mountains. "But for now I need to gather my supplies quickly, before the storm is upon us."

"Let me help," he offered.

Since Lynneth could think of no way to demur without raising his suspicions, she allowed him to go back into the forge and bank the fire, then follow her around the village as she went about her business. First she called on Laragond, the miller, for more flour and grain. Laragond seemed to take it as a good sign that she was allowing Thrandor to assist her and was almost quiet -- for him. He gave her a very favorable trade for the lengths of wool she offered, and added more of his wife's soap and special hair rinse. Next she went to Ranamir, who owned several fine orchards and always had some apples and honey to offer in exchange for her finely woven fabric. This time he also gave her a bottle of his special mead, and winked at her protests.

"For those cold winter nights," he said, and Lynneth had no choice but to accept the precious gift and stammer her thanks. Then it was more needles to replace those bent during the latest round of sewing, to the cobbler to have the loose heel of her boot nailed down once more, and finally back to Thrandor's forge so he could give her some nails to repair a loose shutter on her bedroom window. There she hoped to send him back to his work and be on her way, but he was not to be gotten rid of so easily.

"I'll walk back with you," he said, and she immediately opened her mouth to protest. He forestalled her by continuing, "It's not safe. People have seen strange things in the woods lately, and the hunting has been chancy. Perhaps you had no choice but to come down here on your own, but I know better than to let you go back alone."

In the end Lynneth had no choice but to acquiesce, and followed along as Thrandor took Pella's lead rope and headed up the path toward her home. She could only hope that Ulfakh would have the sense to remain out of sight and understand that he should stay far away from the cottage until the smith had returned to Rinalduin.

Thrandor's presence seemed to make the journey back twice as long as the walk into the village had been; he had a disconcerting habit of staring at her until at last she felt compelled to raise up her hood once more, claiming the cold as her excuse. Also, she had grown used to Ulfakh's quiet manner and thought the smith to be a tiresome chatterbox, a man who seemed compelled to point out the obvious -- cold weather we've been having, feels like snow, you're sure you don't want to pack up your things and winter in the village?

All Lynneth could do was make noncommittal replies in a quiet monotone that bordered on sulky and hope that at some point the man would get it through his thick head that she just wasn't interested. Did he have iron between the ears? Was that why he couldn't seem to understand her reticence?

Finally they reached the cottage, and at least Thrandor was of some use in helping to off-load Pella, who seemed immeasurably relieved to be released from her burdens and returned to the safety of her stall in the barn. But once all of the little tasks involved in putting her new supplies in their proper places were complete, the smith still seemed disinclined to leave. He loitered in the kitchen, obviously hoping she would offer him some tea or something even more heartening. But Lynneth knew better than that, and after she made a few pointed comments about the oncoming storm he finally took the hint and left, throwing her a doubtful glance over his shoulder before the woods swallowed him up once again.

Thank Eru, Lynneth thought, leaning her head against the lintel of the kitchen door. Any longer, and I would have hurled the kettle at his head.

"He wants you," said a gruff voice from somewhere above her, and she jumped slightly. Ulfakh moved far too quietly for someone of his bulk.

"Why do you say that?" she asked.

Ulfakh's nostrils flared in apparent dislike. "I smelled it on him."

You probably could, she thought. But she said, "I suppose it's obvious to everyone. Too bad I don't want him."

"Why?"

Pausing, Lynneth stared back at Ulfakh. His appearance had improved immeasurably over the past month -- his heavy black hair was now clean and pulled into a rough horsetail that fell halfway down his back, and Lynneth had made him garments to properly fit his bulk. But he was still an orc. There was nothing that could be done to change the brutish cast of his features, or the strange amber-red eyes. However, for some reason Lynneth found she would rather look at him than at Thrandor. If nothing else, at least half his face wasn't covered in hair.

"I don't like him," she said at length. "He thinks he can have whatever he wants for the taking. I'm not some prize to be won, like a gold ring in a tournament."

The Uruk-hai's brow furrowed, as if her words had some presented him with a novel concept. Perhaps he -- former plunderer and warrior -- had never before realized that a woman might want to have some say in her destiny. Finally he replied, "I don't like him, either."

For some reason, his comment made her smile. "Then aren't you glad you I got rid of him?" she asked.

"If you hadn't, I would have," Ulfakh growled.

Of that she had no doubt. However, if Thrandor had inexplicably disappeared Lynneth knew she would never have been able to come up with a satisfactory explanation for his absence. She was thankful it hadn't come to that -- and at the same time felt oddly cheered that Ulfakh would have no qualms about protecting her from the smith if the worst should happen. Still, she thought it better to steer the conversation into less dangerous waters.

"Enough of Thrandor," she said. "What did you catch for supper?"

The snow held off that night, and most of the following day. But finally plump white flakes began to fall from the heavily laden clouds, drifting to blanket the bare tree branches and the clipped forms of the roses that lined the front path. Tomorrow would be Midwinter's Day.

Lynneth watched the snow fall, and thanked the weather; there would be no one to brave the forest path in this. She and Ulfakh were safe.

While she had been going about her business in the village he had caught two rabbits, as well as an even greater prize: a large white goose, one of the last winging its way out of Gondor. Obviously he was as handy with a bow as he was with a snare. His keen eye had brought them a feast worthy of Midwinter, and now it was up to her to prepare it.

Her kitchen hearth could barely contain the large fowl, but Lynneth spitted it grimly and made sure she had plenty of fuel on hand to keep the fire going through the long hours it would require to roast the beast. The feathers she had saved; they would help to plump up her tired bolster.

Ulfakh knew better than to be underfoot in the kitchen while she was working. He remained in the great room, fletching yet another set of arrows. Already he had stock enough to bring down a whole flight of geese, and Lynneth wondered sometimes at his industry. Perhaps it was the only occupation he could think of that would give him something useful to do and still allow him to stay indoors. True, he did not shirk at venturing outdoors to bring in more wood, or to draw water from the well, or to make his rounds of the sheep pen and the barn to determine that all was still secure. But he did seem to prefer being inside...being with her. And Lynneth couldn't quite decide when it was that she had begun to enjoy his company, but she knew that she had begun to miss him when he went foraging in the woods and was gone for hours. She told herself that it was only because his companionship was a bulwark against the short, cold days and long, dark nights, but deep down she knew better.

Still, Lynneth let her preparations for dinner occupy her, keep her mind from going to places too troubling to contemplate. And when she brought up one of her few precious bottles of wine from the cellar, again she told herself that it was only so that they might have a fitting accompaniment for the feast, and a celebration for Midwinter's Eve.

That night she spread the fine embroidered linen cloth over the long-unused dining table, and set her heavy pewter plates and blown-glass goblets in the places where she and Timon had always sat. From his seat by the hearth Ulfakh watched her preparations with some curiosity, but he made no comment. It was only when she brought in the goose at last, crackling and golden-brown on the heavy earthenware platter which Laragond and his wife had given her as a bride gift, that the Uruk-hai spoke.

"A lot of fuss," he said.

"It's Midwinter's Eve," she replied simply, then went on, as he gave her a curious look, "a celebration. It's a tradition to have a special feast."

He set down the arrow he had been holding and rose. "Glad I bagged that goose," he said, and came and sat down at the head of the table, in the seat she had indicated.

Truly it was a marvelous goose, and a sumptuous meal. Last Midwinter she had been with Timon of course, but the time had been fraught with worry over the coming war and the shadow of Mordor, and the meal had been simple -- just a roast chicken and some stewed tomatoes. But now they had goose, and potatoes, and the last of the peas from the garden, and a comfit of spiced apples, and new-baked rolls. The wine had prospered during its last year in the cellar and was redolent of ripe fruit and warm, sandy soils beneath the mild salt breezes of Belfalas.

Lynneth ate and drank and ate some more, and watched Ulfakh enjoy the varied meal, not even turning up his nose at the spiced apples or the potatoes. Gradually she began to feel a warm, satisfied sensation in her stomach, and the splendid lightheadedness that came from drinking just enough wine to enjoy it but not enough to rue the effects the next day.

It was at that point Lynneth realized that Ulfakh had fallen silent and was staring at her, watching her across the scatter of denuded bowls and the half-picked goose carcass. In the candlelight his skin was the color of old bronze, and a deep russet glow lit his eyes. As she watched, he stood and then took a step toward her. For a long moment he remained there, looming over her as she gazed up at him. Her heart began to beat more heavily, and she felt a tremor pass over her. The silence seemed to grow and stretch, broken only by a soft hiss from the fireplace as a log broke apart and sent up a shower of sparks.

Then he reached down and grasped her by the arms, drawing her upward until their faces were scant inches apart. She looked back at him, taking in the high broad cheekbones, the flat nose, the blood-colored irises. And then his face became her whole world as he brought his mouth down against hers.

He tasted of wine, and the feel of his thin lips and sharp teeth was odd yet strangely arousing. Without thinking she opened her mouth to his, feeling his tongue touch hers. A shudder went through her, and the heat rose in her body even as she suddenly sensed his arousal, felt his hardness pressing against her stomach.

His hands were in her hair, feeling the heavy loose masses of it, and then his mouth trailed down to her neck, finding the sensitive place behind her ear as she gasped aloud. Without realizing at first what was happening, she found herself being lifted up and away from the dining table, over to the heat of the fireplace. They sank down on the rug, and his hands pulled at the lacing of her gown. Lately she had been making her garments with front fastenings, since she had no one to help her dress, and he easily pulled away the heavy woolen bodice to reveal the thin linen shift she wore underneath. With a growl he pulled at the light fabric and it tore, revealing her breasts. Immediately his mouth was on her nipple, licking at the sensitive skin, and she moaned aloud as the waves of pleasure washed over her.

Lynneth arched her back, pushing herself against him, and then she felt his hand grope up under her gown, finding the place between her legs, already wet with wanting him. His fingers were rough and hard with calluses, but she found she didn't care. It was enough that he should be touching her like this, causing the frissons of pleasure to ripple their way up her spine. Then he paused as he pulled at her dress, drawing it over her head, along with her shift. She lay naked before him, feeling the scratchy wool of the rug beneath her, the heat of the fire along her exposed flesh. He reached up to pull off his own tunic, as well as the loose breeches he wore beneath it. He had been prodigious enough when flaccid, but now that he was aroused, the sight of him was enough to make Lynneth's eyes widen in sudden doubt.

But he did not give her time to think. He settled down once more against her, his tongue tracing its way from her breast, down to her stomach, and then all the way between her legs. Lynneth barely bit back a scream as he pleasured her. She had never known, never imagined -- never in all their time together had Timon made love to her so, but Ulfakh seemed to revel in the taste of her, his tongue finding all the secret places that finally brought her to a climax, the room seeming to explode around her in a sudden burst of red heat. It was only at that point that he stopped, and finally entered her.

Lynneth felt the briefest spasm of pain as she took in his unaccustomed girth, but he had prepared her well, and soon her entire world had shrunk down to the feeling of him inside her, his weight on top of her, his gasps and her cries as they mingled and became one sound. She had no idea how long this went on until the wave crested over her once more, and she dug her nails into his back even as he exploded inside her.

He collapsed on top of her, and she held him close as she felt the harsh gasps shake his body. His hair felt heavy and coarse against her fingers, hard and slick as Halfmoon's had been. But she didn't care. She didn't care what he was, or how alien he might have been to her once. Now he was only Ulfakh, and her lover.

What that might mean for the future, Lynneth didn't dare to think. For now at least it was enough to lie in his arms, to feel his weight against her, and to know that she was no longer alone...