Elven Love Slave Ch. 03

Author's note: I strongly recommend reading chapter one and two first! The chapters of this story can have quite a bit of exposition, as the characters are intended to be more fleshed out. If you just want the sexy bits, no worries: the sex usually occurs at the end of each chapter.

Elven Love Slave Chapter 3

It was morning, and Aronea stretched before getting up from bed to prepare for the day. She had been Varod's captive for nearly a year, now. Over time, as Varod had come to trust her more and more, the restrictions on her movement had gradually been lifted, and she now frequently joined Varod in the Great Hall when Orc peasants came to make requests. Today would be such a day.

At first, the Orc commoners had been apprehensive about an Elven woman sitting amongst them in their seat of power, but quickly word had spread that Aronea's presence seemed to comfort Varod. He was more benevolent with her there, so the commoners had slowly come to welcome her, often nodding to her before making their requests.

As Aronea began to get dressed, she laughed when she saw herself in the mirror and realized that her long, silvery Elven hair was still quite a mess from Varod's visit last night. She thought of him as she ran her hand over her collar, and she smiled dreamily. Her bond with the Warchief had continued to grow; she had been worried that he might become bored of her and discard her for some new conquest, but instead, their relationship had become increasingly passionate and intimate over time. She was still his slave, but she no longer pretended that she did not care for him.

Aronea's bond with Bola had continued to grow, as well. Bola had introduced the Elven girl to many of the other Orcs she spent time with, and in truth, Aronea now had more friends among the Orc women than she had ever had back in her husband's village -- her Elven husband, Callon, had seemed to deliberately cut her off from any friendships to increase her reliance on him.

As Aronea began to comb out her silvery tangles, she recalled how Bola had been childishly excited when she had shown interest in styling her hair after Orcish fashion. The Orc woman had spent nearly half a day with her, braiding and unbraiding her hair as they tried different designs. Eventually, Aronea had settled on two matching, unbraided pigtails like their friend Naz.

With the tangles undone, Aronea proceeded to tie her hair into those pigtails, then made sure her Orcish skirt and top were fitted properly. Satisfied, she headed out to meet Varod.

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Varod had arrived early to the Great Hall, as he often did on mornings such as these. The Warchief was rarely given time to himself, and he relished the opportunity to ponder in silence. He had requested that Aronea join him for today's duties, and it was to her that his mind wandered.

Varod had grown up learning the Elven language and customs from his tutors; his father, who had led the Frostbear clan before him, had wanted to make sure his son understood their enemy. It had worked -- Varod had proved an immensely successful General almost immediately upon taking the mantle -- but ever since his youth, he had been fascinated by the Elves' pale skin and pointed ears, and he wondered if that early tutelage was to blame.

Still, Varod had never been particularly attracted to an Elven woman before, as most were far too short and scrawny for his tastes. That had changed the moment he laid eyes on Aronea, however; she had the elegant, graceful features of an Elven girl and the thick, voluptuous body of a fertile Orc woman. He had told Aronea on their first night together that she was the most beautiful creature he had ever seen, and he had meant it.

But while Varod had first taken Aronea out of pure lust, his relationship with her had become far more over time. Despite the arrogant reputation of the Elves, the girl was humble: she had never shown resentment at her condition, and Varod had not been forced to use the collar on her for many months. She was compassionate, as well: Varod had seen her spend time comforting the other Elven slaves, and to his surprise, even seen her travel to the healing tents to aid the Monks with any wounded Orcish soldiers.

Perhaps most importantly, he and Aronea had proved intensely compatible as mates. He had worried that she might find him repulsive or find their coupling too painful, and while she had been intimidated and frightened at first, it became clear quite quickly that she found it as carnally satisfying as he did. He could be aggressive and even fierce as a lover, yet Aronea seemed to find that ferocity arousing and profoundly gratifying.

Moreover, Varod had been shocked to learn that her Elven husband belittled and ridiculed her looks; in contrast, Varod was happy to remind Aronea as often as he could just how beautiful he found her.

He had told no one of this yet, but Varod had known for months that he wished to soul bind with her -- to make Aronea his wife. Before binding for life, a Warchief commonly took many mates, and Varod had been no exception. And yet, within weeks of taking Aronea as a captive, Varod had stopped mating with anyone else, and gradually he had come to realize that this Elven woman was all that he wanted.

Varod made a pained expression as he mulled these thoughts for the hundredth time. There were insurmountable obstacles to their soul binding, and that was why he had kept his desires to himself. Some of the obstacles were small: Aronea was a peasant woman, but this was not so serious a concern. Unlike with Elven nobility, it was considered fortuitous for an Orc Warchief to bind with a woman of lower birth. Elven Lords seemed to think themselves above their own people, while Orc Warchiefs liked to be seen among them.

Some of the obstacles were much larger, however. While it might be accepted for a Warchief to marry a commoner, it would be another thing entirely for that commoner to be an Elf, not an Orc. Even worse, Aronea was a slave; the Orcish Monks who administered the soul binding ritual would not bind a person against their will. And most seriously of all, Aronea already had an Elven husband. No matter how poorly that husband treated her, the Monks would not bind a person who was already joined to someone else. Varod rubbed his own temple. It was simply too much to overcome.

Varod noticed an Orc enter the Great Hall out of the corner of his eye; shaking off his introspection, the Warchief looked over at a side door and saw it was Dakhar. Dakhar was a heavily tattooed brown Orc who had led his own Orcish tribe before the Orcs had united under Varod's banner, and he was Varod's closest advisor. The two had been friends even before their clans had united, and they trusted one another completely. Dakhar often stood at his side in the Great Hall to offer counsel.

Dakhar approached the throne, but before the two could even exchange words, another Orc entered the hall, this time from the main entrance. The Orc put his fist to his heart to salute Varod.

"Warchief, the citizenry have arrived."

Varod exhaled deeply, then motioned for Dakhar to stand at his side.

"Don't look so annoyed," the brown Orc said as he took his place over Varod's shoulder. "It's only a thousand requests."

Varod snorted, then nodded toward the Orc soldier at the front of the room.

"Let them come."

As the peasantry began to spill into the Hall, Varod saw Aronea enter from the same side doorway from which Dakhar had entered, and her pale blue eyes twinkled as she smiled warmly up at him. Varod never tired of her beauty; her ample bosom and full bottom, so uncommon for an Elven woman, perfectly filled out her Orcish skirt and top. She came to him, resting in a nest at his feet that had been made just for her.

Varod patted her gently on the head, then sighed faintly.

"It will be a long day," he told her in Orcish. Aronea was now quite fluent in her Master's tongue. "There was a fire in a village to the southeast, and our people will require considerable aid."

Aronea was unflustered, and she gently stroked his leg with one hand.

"I am here for you," she replied softly. She paused, then pointed toward the commoners now flooding the hall. "And for them."

Varod chortled in amusement. "They do like to see you here, don't they? They must know you help me keep my patience."

He leaned down even further and caressed her cheek.

"I am glad you are here. You are my strength."

The first supplicant reached the dais, and Varod sat back upright.

Over the next several hours, Orcs came and went with requests and with news. The fire had caused several houses to burn; another Orc had lost his livestock to the blaze; yet another claimed it had left him impotent. News from the southwest that the Dwarven assaults had been repelled, and all Orc villages defended. Each time Varod began to feel strained, Aronea would lightly brush his calf to remind him of her presence, and to remind him to be generous.

Just as Varod saw the midday sun cresting through a window, the Orcish soldier who had opened the doors for the citizenry in the morning entered the Hall once more and ran hurriedly forward, passing by the peasants already in line. The soldier approached the throne, struggling for breath, and began speaking so hurriedly and breathlessly that his words were unintelligible.

Dakhar, still standing at Varod's side, tried to put the soldier at ease. "Calm, brother. Take a moment."

The Orc halted and inhaled deeply to steady himself. "Warchief, a messenger has just arrived and claims his request is urgent. He is..." the Orc hesitated, seeming to consider his words. "He is not of our kingdom."

The Warchief stared inquisitively at him.

A very cryptic phrasing, he thought to himself. Varod was curious, and he held up his hand permissively.

"Send him in."

The Orc soldier put fist to chest and hurried from the room. Within moments, he returned with the messenger; as the messenger furtively approached the steps, Varod quickly saw why his soldier had hesitated so. The messenger was not a scout from some remote Orcish tribe, but an Elf.

Varod noticed Aronea's eyes go wide, and she shifted her weight in her nest. The Elven messenger glanced at her as she did so, then decided to divert his eyes. He is not here for her, then. The messenger shuffled about slightly, then kneeled before him.

"My Lord." The Elf stammered and faltered, clearly unsure how to address an Orc Warchief. "We are told you speak Elvish."

"I do," Varod replied flatly in the Elf's tongue. "State your business."

The messenger sighed with relief. He was still a little out of breath himself.

"My Lord, I come on behalf of the village of Thaorin. We seek your aid," the Elf spoke with his head bowed. "Our village is laid siege by a large force of Trolls. Trolls are a cruel and violent race, but they lack strategy, and so we have kept them at bay for some time. And yet, I fear our supplies may be running short, and our people will starve."

The Elf paused and licked his lips. "We know that Orcs are no friend to the Elves, but we know that you are no friend to Trolls, either. We have heard tale of your great success on the battlefield, and we have nowhere else to turn. If you aid our town, we will repay you in any way we can."

The Elf had been staring down at the ground, but finally looked up at Varod. His eyes were exhausted and desperate. "My Lord. Please."

The Hall was deafeningly quiet. Varod studied the Elf before responding.

"Where is your Elven Liege Lord? Is he not sworn to protect his people?"

The messenger's face took on a bitter complexion. "Our former Lord is a man of the Elven Capital; Elven nobility has always looked down on the rural peasantry. They care only enough to make sure we pay our taxes."

The Elf grimaced. "The Troll force is large, and I will not pretend that the confrontation will be bloodless. Our former Lord refused to send forces to defend us."

The Warchief placed a hand underneath his chin pensively. He sensed an opening. "You say you will repay us. What payment do you offer?"

The messenger was silent as he looked around the room, seeming to study if the onlookers could understand him. He glanced at Aronea again, then looked back at Varod.

"The leaders of our village are prepared to name you our new Liege Lord," he said in an almost hushed tone. "Our village would come under your dominion."

There were scattered gasps around the Great Hall; at least a few people understood what had just been said.

Varod raised an eyebrow. "You would willingly pledge fealty to an Orc Warchief?"

The messenger's face grew tense again. "As I said, my Lord, we have nowhere else to turn."

Varod paused, considering. He looked down at Aronea for a long while, then back at the Elven messenger. He held up his hand once more.

"Very well," the Warchief replied. "I will send an envoy of my own back with you to discuss terms. Tell your village leaders we come to their aid. I will mobilize our forces immediately."

The messenger breathed a heavy sigh of relief. "Thank you, my Lord. I will inform them." With that, the Elf left as quickly as he had come.

The messenger had definitively ended the days' duties. Varod returned to his native tongue and informed the remaining citizenry that their requests would have to be met on another date. As the commoners grumbled and exited the Great Hall, Varod looked back down at Aronea and spoke to her in Elvish.

"I will want your guidance in these matters -- these are your people, after all. And we must be careful; however dire their situation, I doubt they are pleased to seek aid from Orcs."

The Elven girl nodded uneasily, apprehension plain on her face. This unexpected messenger offered his Orcs an excellent opportunity, but Varod doubted these villagers would take kindly to Elven slaves. The release of any Elven captives would likely be a demand for any true accord, and he could see Aronea had the same fears he did.

Dakhar, who had stayed at Varod's side, came in closer.

"If we are to do this," Dakhar said stiffly, "we must proceed quickly."

Varod turned in his chair to face him.

"And we will. Let us head to the camps now."

The Warchief briefly turned his attention back to Aronea. "Dakhar is right -- we must move swiftly. For now, find Bola and make your way together to the soldier's encampment. Once preparations have been made, I will find you there."

Aronea seemed to resist at first, and Varod could tell she wanted to stay with him. Reluctantly she acquiesced, and as he and Dakhar began to make their way to the camps, he saw her scurrying back to the Palace quarters.

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Varod and Dakhar strode side by side through the Orcish Palace, speaking hurriedly; they had much to discuss and little time to do it. As he battered his Warchief with questions, Dakhar did not openly rebuke him, but Varod could still sense discomfort in his voice -- and he suspected he knew where that unease came from.

"Are we sure we can trust them?" Dakhar asked.

Varod shook his head. "We are not, and we should always prepare for deception. The envoy I send will be there to discuss terms, but also to sniff out any snares that may be laid for us. Still, I hardly think the Elves will ally with the Trolls instead."

Dakhar let out a guffaw. "That much we can count on, I suppose." He considered further. "Still, will our men even fight to protect Elves? They are not our people. Are we sure our soldiers will accept such a task?"

"They will if we convince them of it, but the two of us must be united. Remember that many of the other Orcish tribes were not our people, either -- until they were."

Dakhar pushed further. "And what of their former Liege Lord? He may have abandoned this village, but I doubt he will be pleased to see his own kind swear oaths to an Orc Warchief."

"Their former Lord already wars with us," Varod responded. "And he has been losing battles to us for years. Let him come."

"Still, we should expect him to harry any Elven villages that come under our domain. He will want to make an example of them."

"He will," Varod replied, looking at his lieutenant meaningfully. "And I will want you to lead those defenses."

At this, Dakhar clenched his jaw, and he shrugged his shoulders uncomfortably.

"I have not protested so far," he said, "and I will follow your orders. But you know my history with these people, brother."

Varod had expected this was the reason for his friend's palpable discomfort: Dakhar's mother and father had been killed by an Elven raiding party many years ago, before the Orcish tribes had unified. He came to a halt and put his hand on Dakhar's shoulder.

"And we brought vengeance on those Elves, did we not? For your family. Together."

Dakhar nodded, but strain was still evident on his face.

The Warchief continued. "They deserved their fate, but they do not speak for all Elves." He held up a hand questioningly. "What of Aronea? I know your history with the Elves, but she is my history. You have seen how she cares for our poor in the Great Hall. You have seen her go unbidden to aid our Monks in the healing tents."

The brown Orc tensed his jaw once more. Eventually, he took a heavy breath and let his shoulders drop.

"Aye," Dakhar responded reluctantly. "She has a good heart."

Varod squeezed his lieutenant's shoulder more encouragingly. "You are right that we take a risk in this, but if we want our people to prosper, we cannot fight everyone, from all sides, forever. We need allies. You have said as much yourself."

Varod's deep voice grew softer, to almost a whisper. "These Elves are not those others. These Elves seek our aid, and we have given them our word. If we truly seek allies, we cannot punish all for the crimes of a few."

Varod could see Dakhar's eyebrows furrow, and he knew his friend was lost in thought. Eventually, the strain began to leave the brown Orc's face, and he sighed once more as he gave the Warchief a smirk.

"Better Elven allies than Satyrs or Dwarves, I suppose."

Varod smiled back. "Our people have not been known for their mercy. If our men can see that even you can show forgiveness -- after being so wronged -- then any of us can. I trust no one for this more than you."

As the two exited the Palace grounds, Dakhar nodded as he put his fist against his heart.

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Varod and Dakhar spent several hours readying the troops and preparing them to march; with orders to be assembled by morning, the camp was alive with activity, forces buzzing about as they assembled armor and weapons. Many did not know yet where they would be headed.

The most important task still lay ahead of them -- Varod had called a meeting of the tribal leaders to rally them to this new, unexpected cause. While the tribes were all united under Varod in name, the voices of most leaders still carried great weight with the soldiers who had once fought for them, and for them alone.

For most battles, no such meetings were necessary. The united Orcish tribes had prospered greatly under Varod's leadership, and the bonds of trust amongst the once fractious tribes had consequently grown strong. But while the Orcs had fought to forge new allies before, those allies had never been Elves. It was a ripe opportunity, but it also presented great risk, and he knew that those risks multiplied tenfold if the support of his lieutenants wavered.

As the sun began to fall to the horizon and the armies began to coalesce, Varod sought out Aronea. Before tonight he had never wanted her present for matters of war, but these were unique circumstances.

He had told her to find Bola and come to the camps, but he had not seen her once in the several hours spent readying the soldiers.