The Gardener and The Orc

Chapter 1

Skip straight to Chapters 4, 5, 7, 11, 12, and 13 if you're only here for smut!

Two original characters out of the Orc Sworn series by Finley Fenn. The world-building and universe all belong to the original author.  The first few chapters are some necessary scene-setting before we get to the smutty bits to follow. 

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Vexed, positively vexed. Lilith groaned and threw the stiff moss-covered woven mat back flush with the ground, where the mix of lichen and greenery blended seamlessly with the forest floor. Cold gray eyes darted from the array of different sized boulders that were left of the flap, to the scraggly birch sapling 4 paces to the right, and back down to her journal page filled with child-like scrawled words and a chart of numbers. She flipped the mat back up with an exasperated sigh, and found the number of items concealed in the stone-lined miniature cellar had not changed, and would not change no matter how many times she re-counted them. Brown glass jars of honey, green glass bottles full of wine, tight rolls of alternating wool and silken textiles, long braids of garlic, dozens of small clay pots in rows filled with spices, fabric-lined baskets of sand with dried onion heads just peeking out, twine tightly wound around bundles of dried leaves, and a wood bowl full of gray salt left open to the cellar air to keep moisture at bay...and she was exactly one count off every line of inventory.

It was improbable that she miscounted every single line by exactly one, and this was one of two dozen stashes for trade that only she was privy to. She gazed around the dense line of trees and brush, back to the craggy cliff wall the cellar backed into, and up the too-steep climb where a rocky grass plaine would sit. Nothing seemed amiss, but she was certain someone had helped themselves to her stock, yet refrained from robbing her blind. Her full mouth set itself to a grim line--perhaps they took only what they could carry and return for the rest? Should she take as much as her horse could carry and hope she could beat them back here for what remained? But just as she let loose a sigh, set down her journal, and slumped her shoulders in defeat, she noticed a glimmer of gold set into the sandy divet that once held the large missing onion and scrambled to reach all the way down to snatch at it. Her wide-brimmed leather hat gave way to gravity, along with tendrils of deep brown wavy hair, but not before she had the gold in her clutches.

"Oooh," was all she could say as she sat back up, planting her rump down onto the cellar wood plank beneath her, inspecting the piece. Fine filagree gold, possibly the most delicate orc-wrought piece she'd ever set her eyes upon, in the shape of a rounded-edge bangle. She slid it onto her own wrist to test its size--it'd fall right off unless her fingers were splayed--and nodded in satisfaction. "A very unfair trade. I'd have given up the whole lot for this trinket," she remarked to no one in particular, except perhaps her nickering horse tied behind the line of trees that kept her from view of the trail, or the several dogs that patiently guarded it. Lilith tucked the bangle away into one of her many leather pocket-pouches that hung from the belt slung over her hips and found her journal once more, flipping it to a blank page and pausing and she decided what to write. No human old enough to heft open this cellar would under-value orc-wrought jewelry so severely, and no orc she has traded with before would easily part with such a fine-made piece. They were clever and bargained with her and her cousin as well as any master tradesmen, even if such bartering only ever took place out of sight from prying eyes.

Last encounter they'd had with orcs, she asked probing questions about their routes--were their wagons still oft under siege on the way back to their mountain, did they find ease with supply access from the heiress' lands, what did they lack, what land of their own could they freely sow upon? Answers were curt and given with unease, and her incessant prattling was cut short by her cousin much to her chagrin. He'd have nothing to do with the orcs if it were solely his choice and not hers in the stead of her father, or if the Port Estates and their vast gardens did not thrive under her careful and obsessive care.

This had to be an offer, she was certain of it. A promise of what was to come should she freely and openly trade with them, backed by the might of the Port and all the trading treatsies that came with it. She hauled the wood plank back over the cellar top so it was flush with the thin stone slab walls and set the mossy mat back in place so it was once again perfectly camouflaged. If the orcs returned--no no, when they returned, she was certain--they'd find a page from her book nestled atop the remaining stores. "The rest is yours to keep - Come to the Port in 3 days time, say you were sent by Lilith" was in untidy letters, child-like and unevenly spaced, but ended with a well-practiced and flourished signature that any townsfolk would recognize from their own receipts. And just in case they struggled with written Common as she did, on the back was a crudely drawn map, with a trail following the stream a days ride from here ending at a big X near the Ports mouth. Above the X, a carefully sketched and shaded half-oyster shell with a pearl, the image branded on their goods found throughout this side of the continent. She drew a waning crescent moon in the corner, the lunar phase that should hang in the sky their expected day.