Elven Love Slave Ch. 04

Author's note: This Chapter is LONG. It is really two chapters in one, but I decided to keep to my pattern of having a sexy bit at the end of each chapter, rather than leave a chapter without one. The good news is that I made the sex scene especially long this time to make up for it!

Given its length, this story only works if you like the non-sexy bits as well, so please leave comments and suggestions at the end. I am very happy to listen if people find the non-sexy bits unengaging, because they are critical to a character-driven story like this. I am happy to take advice. If you liked it, let me know that, too -- I certainly don't mind praise!

This is the final chapter of this volume, and it is intended to bring a satisfying conclusion to the story. However, if people like the world I've built (again, beyond the sex stuff), I already have ideas for other stories here.

This is my first story, and hopefully my writing is improving as I learn. Note that I plan to revisit and edit especially the first two chapters now that I know where I'm headed and (hopefully) I've gotten better at this, so you can come back and read again later. Thanks so much, and please enjoy!

Elven Love Slave Chapter 4

The Orcish army had risen early, as it always did in times of war. Varod rode at their head, the sun just now cresting over the horizon to his right and casting a hazy orange glow. They hoped to be nearing the Elven village by nightfall, and Varod's Great Wolf, Sasha, kept a quick and steady pace as she shook off the last traces of sleep.

The officers rode just behind him, and Varod heard the soft clanking of armor as Balron moved up to his side. The older Orc turned so his good eye faced the Warchief.

"Some of my men were outside the supply tents last night," he said, a hint of mischief in his voice. "Already fraternizing with our new allies, are we?"

Varod smiled faintly. "We have her to thank for those new allies in the first place."

"Aye, I'll trust you on that," Balron replied genially, "but if these Elves do end up being good friends to us, I hope you'll forgive me if I do not thank them in quite the same way you do."

The two shared a laugh, but Balron could sense the younger Orc's discomfort. He studied him for a while.

"You really care for this one, eh? This Aronea?"

Varod tensed; he had avoided this conversation with his officers for some time. He supposed it was finally time to have it.

"I do."

Balron seemed unperturbed. "Do you wish to bind with her?"

Varod shrugged his shoulders uneasily before shaking his head. "What I wish is not important. It cannot be done."

"And why is that?"

"She is married to another Elf."

Balron let forth a soft, low whistle. "Falling for a married Elven slave? I suppose it's not the worst story to tell -- our people do love when their Warchiefs marry the lowborn. And the two races have similar lifespans. You could claim it as a sign of unity with our new allies."

The older Orc tilted his head back and forth as he weighed the options. "Does she even care for him, this husband of hers?"

"Her husband is a malicious fool -- he derides and belittles her, makes her feel small. She will not say it, but she does not truly love him." Varod grimaced before continuing. "Yet he is her husband. And in truth, even if the husband did not exist, the Monks would not bind a woman against her will."

Balron's eyebrows went up. "Are you sure?"

The Warchief nodded. "Their doctrine prohibits it."

"No," Balron waved his hands dismissively. "Are you sure it is against her will?"

Varod had not considered that. "She is a slave," he replied. "even if she told the Monks that she wished to bond with me, they would not believe her."

Balron scratched his chin, then shrugged. "So let her go."

"What?"

"Release her. If you care for her as you say, let her decide for herself."

Varod chuckled. "If you were collared and enslaved for a year and then released, what would you do?"

"I would kill them all," Balron said casually, "But then, I have Bola to return to. My wife is beautiful, and kind, and I would resent every day I was forced away from her. It does not sound like your Elven girl feels the same about her mate."

He smiled again. "And from what my men heard last night, the girl seems to like you plenty."

Varod felt a brief glimmer of hope. Perhaps it could be done, after all. Perhaps there is a way. Perhaps....

He shook himself, then let out a deep sigh. "When we raided Aronea's village, her husband fled. He is scattered to the winds somewhere."

Varod sat still in his saddle for a moment as he collected his thoughts. "We will likely need to free our Elven captives when we reach agreement with these villagers. I will release her to them, and she can return to her people."

Balron looked unconvinced, but he saluted, nonetheless. "We will be with you no matter what. The leaders trust your judgement, Warchief."

"If I am to live up to that title, I must put the needs of our people first. Reaching accord with these Elves would provide opportunities that our kind have never known. I will do what is necessary."

"Ah yes, those supposed new allies again. Have any of our scouts returned with news?"

Varod's voice took on a more stoic tone. "Five have come back, and as best they can tell, the Elves did not lie. A large Troll force lies to the south of town. The villagers have put up a large wall and moat to keep them at bay."

Balron was impressed. "Resourceful for a farming village."

"Resourcefulness has never been their kind's weakness," he replied. "But that wasn't the most important news they came back with. I had told the scouts to keep watch for any Trolls on their way up north, and to kill any they saw."

Varod paused meaningfully. "They saw none. The Trolls' scouts are stationed to their west, not to their south."

The older Orc's eyebrows furrowed as he considered the news, then shot back up. "The Elven Capital is to the west. They expect the Elven Lords to come to the village's defense."

Varod nodded. "And they most certainly do not suspect the defense will come from Orcs instead."

"Lucky for us."

"Lucky for us, indeed. We cannot count on it, but let us hope our luck holds."

**************************

Varod's men marched relentlessly through the day, stopping only briefly for meals; as nightfall arrived, his Orcs were only a couple of hours outside the Elven village of Thaorin, precisely as planned.

The scouts had all returned by that point, and all told the same story as the first few -- the Troll encampment was situated just outside the village, and they had sent no patrol of their own southward.

He and Balron had fallen back in the afternoon to ride beside the other officers. The group had already gone over the plans a dozen times during the evening's ride, but there was nothing to do but discuss them further.

"My men say there is a large hill less than a mile out from the village," Dakhar said, "once we crest over that, there will be no more hiding."

Varod nodded. "If we remain undetected, we will come charging over that hill at full gallop. Give them no time. Archers remain on the ridge."

Ogar's tribe had always been fond of chain armor, and it rattled as the Orc spoke.

"And if we do not remain undetected?"

"Then I will lead half the Great Wolves to the Trolls' eastern flank," replied Varod, "and you and Marok will lead the other half to the west. Still, we should do everything we can to maintain our advantage."

Varod looked over his shoulder. "Agatha?"

A lean, sinewy Orc woman loped forward on her Great Wolf, her face slashed with white paint as if clawed by an animal. Agatha had been the leader of the Snow Fang for many decades. The Fang were one of only a few matriarchal tribes, and once Varod had made clear he would respect their customs, Agatha had proved one of his earliest and most loyal supporters.

"Are your Ghosts ready?" Varod asked her.

The Orc woman nodded. "Always."

Orcs were often known for their raw strength, but rarely for their stealth; Agatha and her assassins defied those latter expectations.

"We have an hour or two of riding still ahead of us," Varod told her. "For this last push, make sure the Troll's eyes do not see us, and their ears do not hear us."

Without a word, Agatha pulled her dagger from its sheath and pressed it against her heart, then turned back to gather her warriors.

As she left, Varod heard an Orc he did not recognize call out behind them.

"Warchief Varod." The Orc hurried to catch up to the officers; he was a brown Orc, short in stature. When he saw the Orc's tattoos, Varod remembered him as Dakhar's third in command.

"Warchief, an envoy has arrived. He wishes to speak with you."

Varod motioned permissively. "Bring him to us." The Orc saluted and dashed back off into the darkness.

Balron rubbed his chin. "Perhaps we have been found out after all."

"If the Trolls had found us out," Varod said, "they would hardly send an envoy to tell us."

When Dakhar's third returned, a cloaked figure followed him, riding a very tired looking horse. The figure urged the horse on until it caught up with the Orcish officers, then fell in line with them. When he finally took down his hood, Varod saw that the man was an Elf.

The Elf had a genial face with bright blue eyes much like Aronea's, and he wore a warm expression. He turned to face Varod, put fist to chest, and saluted.

"Warchief Varod," the Elf said in Orcish, "It is an honor to finally meet you."

There was palpable surprise among many of the lieutenants. Marok spoke first.

"An Elf that speaks Orcish?"

The Elf turned to him and smiled. He had a high, lilting voice.

"Stranger things have happened. There could be an Orc Warchief who spoke Elvish, instead."

A few of the officers laughed, and the Elf took the opportunity to introduce himself.

"My name is Naerin. I come on behalf of the council of Thaorin."

The Orcs hailed him, but Dakhar remained curious.

"Did an Orc teach you our tongue?" Dakhar asked. "I did not think the Elves took much interest in our kind. Most seem to think us savages."

"I studied at the Elven Citadel for several years, and I took an interest in your language while reading through the library. I only came home to assist my mother after my father passed."

As the Elf spoke, Varod was inspecting his horse, and he finally realized why it looked so exhausted; it was a farm animal, ill prepared for nights like this one. Varod had expected that Elven council members would hold themselves above such laborious work.

"Are all village council members farmers like you?"

"Ah... no, Warchief," Naerin demurred. "Though I see why you ask. I am not of the council myself, but it was I who recommended to the council that we reach out to you for aid."

Varod cocked an eyebrow. "I suspect that took quite a bit of convincing,"

"It did. I had suggested it months ago, but the council resisted until our situation grew dire."

Naerin paused, then sat upright on his horse as he continued. "At the Citadel, I was fascinated by Orcish culture. I did not find a taste for your poetry," he shuddered slightly, "but your Monks are remarkable healers, and I had read that Orc Chieftains were more charitable to their commoners than our own Lords are to theirs."

He shrugged. "We had few options, so eventually the council agreed to take the risk."

"I suppose we should be grateful," Varod added, "but this is a dangerous time to find us. We are not far from battle. Are you sure you were not followed?"

Naerin responded vigorously. "I am sure, Warchief. I took every precaution I could."

"And what precautions were those?" Balron interjected. "Your horse hardly seems suited for stealth or speed."

"As soon as our messenger returned and told us your intentions, I sent the village's four best riders on our four best horses galloping westward, toward the Elven Capital. We have long since given up hope of support from them, but --"

"But the Trolls do not know that," Varod finished for him. "And you hoped they would chase after."

Naerin nodded. "And they did. Their eyes and ears all moved west to pursue them. If fortune favors us, our riders can double back by week's end."

If the tribal leaders were unsure what to think of Naerin until now, this seemed to decide things in his favor. The Orcs roared, and Balron slapped the Elf enthusiastically on the back.

"Nicely done, lad," the Orc said, "Nicely done. Perhaps these Elves will make good allies, after all."

"It helps explain our luck," Varod replied flatly, "but we can never be too cautious."

The Warchief saw Agatha returning with a dozen other Orc women. The Snow Fang clan lived in the mountains, and their Great Wolves were typically white to hide them amidst the frost; down here on the plains, however, the Orc women had each rubbed mud into the Wolves' pelts to help disguise them. Agatha looked at Varod and awaited command.

"The scouts may have already been dealt with," Varod told her, and he gestured toward Naerin. "We have been assisted by our Elven friend, here. But we should leave nothing to chance. Ride out, and we will meet you on the battlefield."

Agatha saluted once more. She made a whooping sound, then produced several hand gestures that only her Ghosts were privy to. The Orc women fanned out in a cone ahead of them, then their Great Wolves bounded off into the darkness, silent as the grave.

By now, they were less than an hour outside the Troll encampment.

"Dakhar, instruct the line behind us to tread quietly from here on," Varod said. "We are in the thick of it, now."

**************************

When Aronea finally stirred in the morning, she shuffled from the tent she had shared with Varod to find the surrounding area shockingly empty; most of the carts, supplies, and soldiers had departed before dawn, and she had somehow slept through it entirely. She had been very tired.

There were a few squires still lingering about and organizing supplies, and as Aronea watched them, she realized she was not quite sure what she was supposed to do. Luckily, Varod seemed to have thought of that; a few moments after she came outside, two heavily armored Orcs approached her, and they saluted her with fist to chest. The taller one spoke first.

"My Lady, the United Tribes rode out before dawn, and the Warchief has asked that you remain on the palace grounds until we receive orders from the front line. Once we have been given word, we are to escort you to the village of Thaorin."

Aronea was momentarily taken aback: they spoke to her as if she were a noblewoman herself.

"And what am I to do there, in Thaorin?" She asked them, mimicking their formal tone.

"The Warchief has requested your presence as an emissary when he meets with the village council," the shorter one said, "We are to make sure you arrive safely. We expect word to move by nightfall."

If the Orcs were bothered by orders to protect and escort an Elven woman, they did not show it.

Aronea nodded graciously. "I am thankful to you both," she told them, and the guards stood up a little straighter. "But you say we may not leave until nightfall. How should I prepare in the meantime?"

The two Orcs stood silently and looked at one another, and it became clear that they had not been given direction for this.

"I suggest you rest, My Lady," the taller one said eventually. "It will be several day's journey to the village."

Aronea considered for a moment; she hardly thought she would be able to sleep, but having no better plan, she allowed the guards to escort her back to her quarters in the Palace.

As she expected, Aronea found herself unable to doze. She had already slept long, and there was simply too much at stake in the current moment to relax. She shuffled nervously about her room -- worrying about Varod, worrying about the Elves, and worrying about her own future.

At midday, there was a knock at her door, and Aronea opened it to find Bola. The Orc woman greeted her warmly, carrying a fine Orcish dress in her hands.

"I thought we might get ready for the journey together," Bola told her. "I shall be accompanying you to the Elven village."

"You shall accompany me?" Aronea asked pointedly. "Should it not be the other way around?"

Bola shook her head. "Not for this. For this meeting, you are far more important than I."

Aronea was sure her friend had meant that as flattery, but it only served to heighten the anxiety she had been wrestling with all morning. The Elven girl's brow furrowed, and she traced a hand idly over her collar. Despite all that had transpired, and despite her true affection for Varod, she was still a slave; once they arrived at Thaorin to meet the village council, she was not quite sure what was going to happen.

Sensing her worry, Bola reached up and pulled the Elf's hand away from her collar.

"You know you are more than a simple slave, now."

Aronea let out a nervous laugh. "Varod told me something similar last night."

"Because it is true," Bola replied matter-of-factly. She took Aronea's hands in her own.

"Do you consider us friends?" She asked the Elf.

Aronea put on a confused expression. "Of course."

"And do you care for Varod?"

"I do." Aronea said. She hesitated, considering how much more to confess. "Very much."

Bola squeezed her hands. "You have shown Varod -- you have shown all of us -- that an Elf can be generous, and humble, and kind. Without you, this alliance never would have been possible."

The Orc woman looked into Aronea's eyes. "That is why Varod wants you there. You are living proof that the two races can care for one another."

Aronea tried to put on a brave smile. She hoped her friend was right.

"Come," Bola said, motioning Aronea to a seat by her dressing table. "Let us get you ready. You are an emissary of the United Tribes now -- your old clothes simply will not do."

Over the next few hours, the two women discussed preparations for travel, and Bola wove the Elf's silvery hair into a row of tight braids that ran across her scalp and down her shoulders, a style often worn by the wives of Orcish dignitaries.

Bola then presented Aronea with the brightly patterned dress she brought with her. The gown was slashed with various shades of blue and red, and it bore the insignia of Varod's Dusk Wolf clan on its front. It was much richer and more elaborate than the Orcish skirts she had become accustomed to wearing as a slave. She had seen a few of the elegant gowns that the Elvish aristocracy wore, but as a peasant, Aronea could never have hoped to own one herself.

Aronea inspected herself in the mirror and was pleased with what she saw; she had never looked as dignified and regal as she did now.

Still, she felt out of place. "The soldiers this morning saluted me as if I were Varod himself," she told her friend, "And now all of this. It feels strange."

Bola put her hands comfortingly on the Elven girl's shoulders.

"I told you that you represent the United Tribes, now. Our emissaries should demonstrate the splendor and majesty of the Orcs." Bola leaned forward and smiled as she met Aronea's eyes in the mirror. "Though few make it look as pretty as you do."

After feeling Aronea's braids and confirming that they held, Bola brought forth two bowls of paints, one red and one white.

"We must redo your face as well," Bola said as she wiped the last bits of yesterday's warpaints from the Elven girl's cheeks. She smiled slyly. "You certainly made a mess of yours last night."

Bola took out a brush this time, then used it to apply the colors slowly and carefully. She ran a red stripe down the ridge of Aronea's nose, then created an intricate pattern of red and white bands on each cheek. Finally, Bola applied three lines running from Aronea's lower lip to her chin, the middle one white with and a red one to either side.