xxix. cold, cold water surrounds me now/and all I've got is your hand

Calla spent most of the following days in the tent, curled beneath a blanket, curled against Daisy, or curled against Azog. He would have staid with her, would have held her all day and through the night until she could find it in herself to live again - but when the sun rose she knew he needed to be with the others, showing all the orcs he was their leader so that none of them would become like Lug. And even though she wanted him stay she knew it was not his place, and it was not hers to ask; so she laid alone or with Daisy as she breathed; and that was all she did, breathe.

She would have laid there much longer had Azog not sent Bolg, whom had been fetched and returned to the camp where all of Azog's previous orcs marveled at him – he had grown in the few weeks, his head to Azog's waist, though he was still slim as his muscles formed; but the promise of his terrible might was evident even then.

"What do you want me to do?" Bolg asked, his eyes downturned as he'd been taught – a show of respect for not only his leader but also his father.

Azog looked down at him, beginning to see the boy Calla loved so much. "Make her smile," was all Azog told him.

And that's exactly what he did, for the moment Calla looked to see who had entered she sat up with a smile on her face. And Bolg, having not seen her in many days and still loving her with a child's heart, crawled onto her lap and leaned against her – forgetting the many times he was told it was weak, not seeing how holding his mother as tight as she held him could be anything other than great. As an orc, Bolg was not raised to know what the word love meant or any other equivalents, he did however know it's feeling – and it could only be found in his mother, therefore to him she set the sun and called it to rise; loving her in the purest way only a child could.

It was feeling that love, though he did not know the word or the meaning, that made her smile more. "They said it wasn't safe," Bolg said, squeezing her tight around her back, burying his head in her chest.

Her head was bowed as she pressed a kiss to his temple, stroking the small light brown hairs that were growing – the only thing he seemed to inherit from her. "It wasn't," she said softly.

He could hear the sadness in her voice, hear it weighing on her. "Did one of the orcs hurt you, mother?" he asked looking up at her, seeing the answer shining in her eyes. "When I'm bigger no one will ever hurt you," he told her assuredly. "I will cut the head off anyone who tries."

Calla laughed shortly as she held him, loving him so much in that moment. She looked up to see Azog hunching by the entrance, having been listening – knowing he would do the same.

…

It was a few more days, of Bolg visiting her, of Azog coddling her – but he could not keep going this way, he knew she would never leave the tent if he did not tell her to.

"What am I supposed to wear?" she asked him when he told her to come outside with him, to watch as Bolg trained.

Azog merely looked at her. "You could not wear anything," he offered as though it were obvious, for to him it was.

But Calla's wide eyes told him otherwise. "I am not walking out there naked," she said almost mortified at the thought, forgetting completely she already had.

Azog rolled his eyes and growled as he moved away from her, itching to just pull her out of the tent. "You will walk out of this tent wearing anything or not," he told her crossly, his voice firm and offering no leniency.

She stared up at him with wide eyes, it having been a long while since he'd yelled at her, and it shocked her – and hurt, for she needed him to be kind. "But I have nothing to cover myself with," she said softly, all strength and pride had fled her now that Lug was dead.

Azog looked at her big eyes, seeing the sadness and the hurt that had been there for days, and he sighed, his shoulders drooping. "I cannot live for you," he told her gently, which was exactly what Azog had been doing. "Please," he whispered, begging her to come out of the tent with her.

How could she possibly say no? His eyes were as vulnerable as she'd ever seen them, his voice soft and tender as he tried to coax her back into life. And she loved him, if there was any question as to why it was this – he loved her too. And so she took his hand, though she wore nothing, though she was uncomfortable with the feeling of all their eyes on her as she walked beside Azog; she walked with him to where Bolg was being trained, and together they watched as their son was taught different ways to kill a creature, and she smiled as he continued to get it right.

"You could finish sewing your pelt," Azog said as he watched Bolg, not looking down at her when she turned to him.

Calla stared up at him surprised, having all but forgotten it; and then she remembered why. "You did not give me much to cover myself with," she told him, watching the corners of his mouth curl. "You left out most of it didn't you?" she asked turning to him fully, looking up at him incredulous.

He chuckled deeply as he placed a hand on her warm back. "Just think," he said, his voice a growling rumble, "we can lay together anytime we desire." He watched as her smile fell, along with all her mirth, and he placed a hand under her chin. "I will have you again," he told her. "And it will not hurt you." He had tried laying with her a few times, tried making her want it; but she didn't, it was as simple as at. And though there was nothing simple about why she did not want to lay with him, he knew it was because Lug had hurt her in some way – which she refused to speak of, no matter how he tried to make her tell him.

She tried to smile, to give him something of hope that she agreed, but he knew her too well and he saw through her leaving her nothing but to feel empty. And knowing the longer she refused him, without telling him why, without a reason, he would only grow more frustrated with her – and as warm as his eyes were, they were growing colder, harder; he was already losing patience, and he did not have much to give in the first place.

It was a week of this before what little patience he had gave out, a week of desiring her and having to please himself for she would not even touch let him touch in any way that was sensual. "What did he do?" Azog demanded one night, finally snapping as she pushed his hand off her leg.

"I don't want,"

"Answer me or spread your legs," he ordered roughly silencing her. He felt only the smallest twinges of regret at having yelled at her, at being so harsh when she was so vulnerable, but she was giving him no reason why she did not wish to lay with him other than she didn't want to; which left him needing her, and his pride hurt. "What did he do?" he asked again, his voice softer as he sat beside her in the dark tent.

She wanted to answer him, seeing he needed one, but the words would not come. She opened her mouth but no sound came out, and she could see it was hurting him that she couldn't tell him for to him she should – and the fact that she couldn't meant she did not trust him. Something that was entirely untrue but no words could she give him, and so his hurt grew.

He didn't know what to do, what to say, if he should force her and then she'd enjoy it again; but he knew he couldn't, for years he had been faced with her humanity, had grown to have a little bit of his own. "He pleasured you," Azog offered, seeing he would have to help her. He already knew the answer before she nodded, what he did not know was why it had hurt her so greatly. "With his mouth," Azog continued and again she nodded. "And then he brought you to a release." It was simple in his mind, nothing so awful to him; but she did not nod to this, and it was then he realized something else had happened. "What else?" he asked gently, now almost afraid to hear what she would say.

Her eyes were filled with tears when she looked up at him. "He," she stared but couldn't finish.

But Azog knew, there was nothing she would hate herself more for than coming with another man inside her – it was then he realized Lug had brought her to the edge and then took her, so even though it revolted her and made her sick that he was inside her, her body had needed it; just as Azog's had when Calla would touch him, so that he could take the slave.

Calla watched his eyes, which had been pained and shocked, grow cold with rage before he stalked out of the tent.

"Yazneg," he bellowed, and Calla was on her feet and following him. Calla knew the moment she saw blonde hair what Azog wanted. "You knew," he hissed, holding the slave by her chin off the ground. "You knew he would hurt her, you watched him rape her," he roared, an utter silence falling over all of the camp at his words. The woman whimpered in fear and listened as Yazneg translated, having only understood a few of the words, realizing a horrible punishment would be given.

Azog heaved as he stared at her terrified eyes, not knowing what to do with her – death was a mercy, and there was no way he could hurt her to make right what she had done. She cried out when he threw her to the ground and she tried to crawl away but there many orc feet in her way, and looking up at the orcs she could see they were all livid with her – she had been the cause for their leader's mate being hurt, in an unforgivable way for no one else was to lay with Calla. They all hated her, wanted her dead, wanted her screaming.

"Azog," Calla said touching his arm, recoiling when he black eyes turned sharply to her, and not moving back to him when they softened.

Azog stared at her, seeing it plain in her eyes she hated herself – thinking herself a whore, how he had not seen it before he did not know. "Get me rope," he ordered, turning away from her. There was nothing to make this right, there were no words to express what now weighed unbearably heavy on his heart. He took the rope and grabbed a handful of the woman's hair before dragging her to a tree, tying her hands to a branch over her head so she was forced on the tips of her toes to keep her arms from stretching. "You," he demanded roughly, pointing to an orc with broad shoulders. "Take her," he told him, watching the orc smile cruelly. "You," he pointed to another, his mind too clouded with rage and fury and pain to care who he was speaking to. "Take her from behind."

The two orcs laughed darkly before they took their places. Not a single orc wanted to give her pleasure, not any of them had a single ounce of pity or mercy for her – all they had was rage. Azog watched for a moment as the orc spread her legs around him, stretching her arms as her feet left the ground making her cry out, and then they both thrust in her wildly, filling her completely and nearly tearing both her womanhood and her behind, leaving her crying.

He turned to the rest of the orcs who were watching with glee. "You are only to cause her pain, you will make her scream. Should she find any form of pleasure I will kill the orc who causes it," he told them, his voice a deep growl filled with his loathing. The orc behind her finished with a final rough thrust and he stepped away from her. "Take his place," Azog ordered to another orc, and he hastily complied as he grabbed her butt speared her making her scream. "This is how she will be taken until I say," he told them. "You will all have her, and when one finishes the next moves to take her. I want her unable to breathe from how much you are hurting her," he yelled, his voice deep and vicious over the woman's crying out as the orcs savagely took her.

Azog stood glaring at her, wishing nothing more than to kill her, but he would have her in pain – he would have her unable to live, as she had left Calla. He turned to Calla to see her staring up at him wide eyed in shock, having never seen him so cruel – having never been faced with it. He put a hand on her back and led her to the tent, pacing as much as he could in the small space as she sat and looked up at him.

"Azog," she said softly and he held a hand up stopping short any other words.

He turned to her, his eyes pale and filled with pain; if he had been human he would have understood what his swollen eyes meant, what the hurting in his chest was, how his breathing was constricted and every heartbeat was more difficult than the next; he would have known that what he was doing was staving off tears, of shame and hatred, of pain and anguish. But he was an orc, and so he did not know what he was feeling. "I let him hurt you," he said at last, and Calla took a breath at realizing why he was so upset.

"No," she told him shaking her head, grabbing his hand and pulling him to sit by her.

"I should have killed him the moment he first tried to have you," he told her, looking at her pitifully.

"His orcs would have killed you," she told him, raising her hand to cup his cheek.

With a breath he grabbed her hand and leaned into her touch, failure weighing on his shoulders and breaking him as nothing ever had before. "I did this," he whispered, knowing it was the truth, knowing because she loved him she wouldn't see it. But he did, he was an orc and not only that he was her mate, he should have killed Lug the moment he looked her; but he hadn't, because he had been afraid to die. He hadn't protected her, and so she'd been hurt; and there was no forgiveness for him, no hope of ever rectifying this mistake. At least not one he could find on his own, the only reprieve from his self hatred and guilt was found in her arms, was hidden in the sound of her heart as it beat softly in his ear as she held him.

song is Cold Water by Damien Rice

PS: I'm glad you enjoyed the little moment, I mean after everything you'd really just wanna be held. And he really just wanted to hold her, no sex or loving, just holding her.