V. Sickened in the sun/You dare tell me you love me/But you held me down and screamed you wanted me to die/Honey you know, you know I'd never hurt you that way/You're just so pretty in your pain

Days passed and he continued trying to lay with her, and she continued to refuse. Her no's grew firmer, her tears eventually dried; but she was empty. She listened every night as Azog stormed out of the tent, a dark curse on his lips, and then his grunts and growls of desire as he raped some poor girl. Relief never found her, ease never settled, not when those deep guttural groans should be heard over her, not when it should be her that screamed.

The more days passed the more he wore her down – she no longer cared if he touched her, and touched her he did. He came to enjoy her breasts, for other than her face and hair it was all she allowed, and after many times of her pulling on his wrists he learned how tight he could hold her without hurting her. And he learned so long as he did not hurt her she would let him touch her.

But she was different, not so afraid, not so sad – what he did not know was that she'd stopped caring; caring she now lived with orcs, caring when his hands were on her, caring that he tried to and eventually would take her, caring that her heart continued to beat – she was empty.

…

She walked close behind him when they passed through the many orcs, and she saw the few women the orcs had taken with their bruised uncovered skin and their dead eyes – she didn't like them the most.

"She is mine," he barked gruffly at the orcs who still drew near with a smile when they saw her, as he pulled her along. They passed through the orc camp and moved into the trees, and from the way her eyes roamed he knew she was afraid of what he'd do. He was tired of her being afraid, he had made it very clear he would not hurt her nor would he force himself on her – she should be grateful, and it angered him that she wasn't. He released her when they reached the river bank and he stepped back motioning for her to go in.

She looked at the river, realizing then how much she wished to bathe, and then back at Azog. "Turn around," she said softly, unwilling to undress in front of him. She sighed when he looked at her blankly and she motioned it with her hands. He gave her a hard look before complying and he walked a little ways back through the trees. He stopped and sat so he could still hear her, hear if she tried to run – and he forced himself to stay when he heard her in the water, knowing she was unclothed.

It was cold, but it was clean and so she did not mind; she cleaned her hair, she cleaned her body. She sat, the water almost to her breasts, and a thought entered her mind when she leaned her head back to wet her hair again; I can make this all end. She looked at the water, which was so alluring and enticing, that she laid back and held herself under. It was not long before her chest burned, and then she tried to breathe – but she did not move. As she stared at the sky above her, swirling with the current of the river, she found peace.

It took Azog several moments to realize he could not hear her, and he stood and walked through the trees and stopped short when he did not see her. Her dress on the bank stilled him, for she would not have run without it, and he instead turned to the river. It was her dark hair he saw first, and then her body. He pulled her out of the water and watched as water poured out of her mouth, but she did not move; she did nothing more than blink slowly at him. Her nakedness did nothing for him, the feel of her nude body against his chest as he carried her aroused him not in the slightest. He did not growl or yell at the orcs as they looked at her greedily, he barely cast them a second look. He made for his tent and laid down first her dress and then her. He did not know that what he'd felt when he could not find her was fear, he did not know what he felt at finding her alive was relief.

It was not until he stood over her looking down at her naked body, which was lovely with her smooth sun kissed skin and her round breasts, that he felt any sort of desire. And it mixed with his anger at her causing him turn her on her belly and settle over her waist. She did not say no, she did not push him away with her hands or her cries; she did not move. He sat with her unresisting beneath him, half hardened, and desire fleeing; he could find nothing pleasurable in this, in her complete and utter stillness.

She did not move when he got off her, she laid on her belly and blinked. This was not the girl who had selflessly helped him when he had been wounded, this was not the girl who had returned three days later with food. There had been a light in her eyes, the smell of life on her skin; there was none of that now. He did not like this girl. And so he left the tent, and even then she did not move.

He returned when night fell and put her back in her dress; he had let his hands roam over the expanse of her skin – touching her breasts, her sides, her legs, her hips – but he didn't feel even the smallest twitches of desire. If he were to be honest with himself he wanted her willing, he wanted her small hands on him – but he wasn't honest with himself, for he was an orc and she would never want the same.

…

He hid his longing and worry for her behind a cloud of anger, hid it even from himself. The orcs were terrified of his dark mood, for he had killed three of them already for doing no more than breathing near him. Days she had laid in the tent unmoving, not eating, getting the orc to translate did not make her speak. Nothing did anything for her, she had found peace only for it to be taken away – and she could no longer go on.

She blinked startled when he dropped a tiny ball of white fur by her face, and she sat up surprised when she saw it was a warg pup. Azog's eyes were hard and searching when she looked up at him, secretly glad she was moving, and he nodded to the pup. It was the runt of the litter that one of their bitches had birthed, normally they killed them for they always died anyway. She looked back down at the small creature and when she looked back to the pale orc he was gone.

It was the ugliest thing she had ever seen; it's jaw was bigger than it's head, it looked like it had a hump where it's neck was, and it's eyes weren't even open. But it whimpered and scooted on shaky, discoordinated, legs seeking her warmth and it crawled its way into her heart. Her caring nature butt heads with her dispair and she gathered the pup in her hand and laid down with it held against her chest. A smile twitched on her mouth when she felt it's tongue on her chin, and tears gathered in her eyes as feelings she had been numb to for the past few days finally settled around her once more.

Azog found her hours after night fell lying on her back asleep and the warg burrowed in her dress between her breasts. As glad as he was to see whatever dark cloud had been smothering was gone, it changed nothing; she still was not willing, and he still wanted her.

She focused her thoughts and energy on caring for the warg, though it proved difficult for she had nothing to feed it. She found the orc who spoke her tongue, who's name was Yazneg, and he led her to the warg that just had the litter. He smiled behind her as she moved forward, hoping the warg would turn on her and bite her. And he nearly laughed when the warg growled menacingly at her. Azog saw her leave the tent and he followed her with his eyes, and moved when he saw her by the warg.

She took a deep breath as she held her little pup out to its mother, who sniffed it curiously before settling back down – though it watched her closely. She put the little white warg by one of the teats but it did not drink, it did nothing but squirm and when she set the warg down it crawled back to her. "Do you have a bowl?" she asked Yazneg, who was staring at her disdainfully – seeing she would not be hurt.

He almost sneered at her, hating the young woman for daring to act as though she could demand things.

"What did she say?"

Both she and Yazneg turned to see Azog standing behind her, having come to ensure the warg wouldn't hurt her.

"Get it for her," Azog ordered when the orc translated. Azog turned back her and stared hard at her, seeing the runt nestling against her chest as she held it.

The look in Yazneg's eyes was dark and hateful when he handed her the wooden bowl, one that had been pilfered from a village they'd raided along with other various things. The warg did not like it when she began milking her, she hadn't thought the warg would, but it did not try to bite her.

She took her pup and her bowl of milk and retreated back to the tent, and curious Azog followed her. He watched as she wet her finger and let the pup lick it, it took an hour for her to finish but she was satisfied when she did. She looked up at Azog and he saw the small light in her eyes, this was the woman who had helped him; and more than he wanted anything, he wanted her then.

He took the pup from her hand and put it aside before laying her down and settling on top of her. "No," she said firmly pushing against his chest. He couldn't take a no, he held her wrists to the ground and turned her over. He did not know any of the words she said besides no, and please, but they mattered little; it had been days since he'd taken a woman, and over a week he had wanted her. The tension left her and she laid still beneath him and he growled in anger, he wanted her unwilling – if he could not have her willing, he wanted her struggling. But she had stopped moving again and he couldn't take her like that. He got off of her, shoving her away from him as he left.

She heaved a sigh of relief after he'd left, praying if she laid unmoving he wouldn't want her again; it had worked before, and she was pleased beyond all words that it had worked again. At least until she heard the woman scream; the screams and cries matched his growls and she knew it was because he was hurting the woman, something she could not find relief in.

She couldn't keep saying no, she couldn't keep refusing him – not when the pain that should have been hers was being given to someone else. He was livid when he returned, and it only grew when he saw the warg in her arms. He had given her the pup, he had shown her kindness and still she refused; he hated her more strongly than he ever had. But he did nothing more than lay on his side turned away from her.

He did not try to have her the next night, he entered the tent after he'd already taken a woman; and he could see in her eyes she knew he had. But he hadn't really enjoyed it, she lived behind his eyes and he imagined it was her he was inside – but then the woman cried out and he lost the image. He was finding it harder and harder to enjoy a woman that wasn't her, and it made his blood boil with rage and hatred. So that when he tried to lay with her again and she said no he'd honestly thought of killing her, but he didn't, he didn't even hurt her. He pushed himself off her and turned to leave the tent, but he was stilled by her hand on his arm.

She didn't know what he would think she meant when she grabbed him, and she could see the confusion and surprise in his eyes as he looked down at her. "No," she said for it was one of the few words he knew. She patted the space beside her hoping he would understand that she did not want him to go rape another girl. "Please," she said softly.

He complied, still confused, though he knew she did not want him lying with another woman; what he did not know was why. He wasn't hurting her, he was finding a release without forcing himself on her so she should be happy; but he could see she wasn't. And neither was he, for he hadn't found a release that night, instead he lay stiff and in need lying beside her as she'd asked; but if she did not want him fucking another woman than she couldn't keep saying no. And it was something she knew all too well.

Song is from The Last Song I'm Wasting on You by Evanescence.

Guest: thank you so much, I can't to get to their relationship development. But I think it's coming, and I think he's slowly proving to care about her.