VI. Don't let your heart grow cold/I'll call you by name/ I will share your road

When he returned to the tent at night he most always found her asleep, and most always her white warg was nestled between her breasts beneath her dress; sleeping against the warm sound of her heartbeat. Seeing her laying on her back, her head turned to turned to the side, he could not wake her to lie with him. Her sweet face, with her strong jaw and sharp cheekbones, lips full and pinkened; she was beautiful. He once stroked her cheek but the sight of his hand, which was pale and scared and his nails long and dirty where her skin was nothing short of lovely, and he pulled away.

His desire was unhindered, if anything it had grown and only for her it seemed. Watching her care for her tiny runt, who's eyes were now open and was feeding itself, he craved her in a way that sickened him for it showed he was weak – that he had a weakness, and it lay in her. Many a time he got it in his head to kill her, for he wouldn't give her to the others, to crush her and whatever she did to him before it became too late. But he would either see her sleeping face, which was so peaceful he could do nothing more than sit and stare at her beauty yearning for her, or she would beckon him to her side to see something the warg had done. Thought of her death fled him the moment he looked upon her face, her sweet beautiful face that not once looked upon him as though he were a monster – at least not yet.

None of that kept him from trying to lay with her, his attempts grew more frequent. She saw more of him in those moments than she had the entire time he'd had her, for he showed his anger and his need, and he looked at her with pleading eyes for a moment before rage masked it. It took days upon days, turning into weeks, for her to understand that he did not want to rape her – the reason why he let her refuse him, why he left her to rape another. And it took her days more to understand that he did not just want sex, he wanted to lie with her.

And anger coursed through him when she refused, and she saw for the smallest of seconds for only a spare few times that her refusal hurt him. Her hand on his arm, her please, did not always keep him at her side; and she was forced to listen to a poor woman's tears or screams as he raped her, and she knew from the sound of the pain laced in the cries that he was purposefully hurting the woman. And for that she felt guilt, for she was not strong enough to take the pain that was hers, and instead gave it to another.

Resistance grew lesser though she still always said no, she did not know how she was supposed to tell him she was afraid he would hurt her – even if he did not mean to, gentleness was foreign to him. She was afraid, and he was very lustful, and it became a struggle to get him to stay – more dangerous to refuse him finding relief in another woman – so what was she to do.

Yazneg translated for them both often, for they had no other way of speaking; it was in those times she surprised both Yazneg and Azog the greatest for there were days when she simply told Yazneg to ask him how his day was. And then she waited to hear what he said, always listening carefully, as though she cared. It was on those nights his need was greatest.

…

"No," she said pulling his hand from her leg, hearing his growl as he continued. "I said no," she told him firmer, pushing him away. With a growl he grabbed her hands and pinned her to the ground staring down at her wide eyes as he heaved. She could see the pleading in his eyes, could feel him pressed against her hip trying to find release, but she was afraid; he was so much larger than her, and she was so small.

"No," she told him when he made to leave, grabbing his arm and trying to pull him back. With a growl he batted her hand away and marched out of the tent. The screams would be horrible, she knew, for she had not just refused him but she had seen his need and still said no; and he was enraged, so he would hurt whichever woman he found first. But the screams did not come, instead she heard his heavy feet walking back and Yazneg stumbled into the tent from how Azog threw him.

She waited worriedly for Yazneg to translate his angry words. "He says you can't refuse him if you won't let him fuck anyone else."

She searched desperately for something to say, anything, though nothing came. Azog turned to the orc when he saw that. "You can't keep saying no," Yazneg translated.

She watched Yazneg turn to the pale orc in shock, but he was staring intently at her face. "What did he say?" she asked.

Yazneg turned to her. "He needs you."

She looked at him shocked, not believing he could say such a thing; but his pale eyes were hard and desperate all the same and she knew he had. "You should leave," she told Yazneg softly. He glared at her before he turned but her soft "thank you," made his hatred of her harder to bear; she truly was kind hearted, even in the face of horror such as orcs, and her kindness quickly wore on him and he found hating her becoming harder.

She wasn't ready, Azog could see she wasn't and he nearly hissed in frustration. He pushed her to the ground and straddled her waist. "No," she told him. "No, I don't want."

He silenced all other words from her, words he did not know, with his hand over her mouth. Her pup whined and gave a broken bark at seeing her, her mother, struggling beneath him. Her legs continued to twist trying to get free from the weight of his hips, but she was far weaker than him. But she stilled when she felt him thrust against her, breathing heavily as he pleased himself against her hip. His eyes were closed as he moved, grunts leaving him as well as growls, and she watched pleasure flicking across his pale scarred face. Several long minutes he moved above her, spreading her legs around him to thrust between them, nearly roaring at the feeling of being so close her. No sound did she utter when he took his hand from her mouth, she did not refuse him this – she watched his brow knit together and a loud growl erupted from his throat as he found his release, and he rolled off of her.

After a few moments she turned to see him lying on his back as he breathed deeply, his eyes staring at the top of the tent not knowing what he was thinking. "What is your name?" she asked him softly after several minutes of silence. He looked over at her with questioning eyes and she thought of how to make him understand. She sat up and pointed to herself. "Calla," she said slowly. He sat up and stared at her with intent startlement so she pointed to herself again; "Calla," she said again.

"Calla," he repeated, tasting her name on his tongue.

She nodded smiling softly, and then put her hand on his chest and waited. He looked down at her hand and then at her, he was reluctant and uncomfortable, and he did not know why she effected him this way. "Azog," he said at last, looking at her briefly before laying on his side turned away from her.

It was short with hard harsh sounds, it suited him. "Azog," she said softly as she laid back down, gathering her warg in her arms as she nestled closer. She fell asleep dreaming of warmth – which came from her having moved closer to him as she slept – and of him thrusting between her legs – which came from her own inner desires, that were a secret even to herself.

My reason for naming her Calla is because I wanted something short and I wanted it to start with that hard c sound; cause I wanted to be natural for an orc to say. And I also needed it to fit into Middle Earth names, and since the people of Bree-land often named their children after things, such as flowers, I figured Calla would be plausible. And though it's not my real name I think it's very pretty.

Guest: thank you, I'm glad you're liking it. I guess your question was answered, her name is Calla. I was waiting for the first time her name is given for when she gave it to Azog.

PS: Her resolve melts even more next chapter. And I'm very glad to hear that you still plan on reading.