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Ravens weren’t a rare sight outside the gates of Moria. Usually, the feathered beasts were messengers- or spies- from either Lord Sauron or from the White Wizard, Saruman. Direct messages from the Dark Lord told the Moria orcs he was an ally, though, one to be kept at an arm’s length and to never be underestimated. Still, when the reigning King of Moria, Azog the Defiler, received word that he, and other chieftains of the Misty Mountains, would be required to ride to Mordor in order to both witness and train the joint effort of Sauron and Saruman’s endeavors in creating an even more impressive generation of orcs, well…
How could any of them say no?
This was bound to be dull and a waste of time, Azog was certain of this. Still, he is in no position to say ‘no’, as his duties dictate he was to oversee such matters. Though… perhaps this wouldn’t be for naught. Azog’s reign would be left to his son, Bolg. While young and inexperienced, this would be an exercise in all the skills he was taught since he was but barely an age to walk without assistance. Azog had confidence in his son that he would not fail. He couldn’t. So he left him in his stead as he and the other chieftains rode their wargs to the East.
They traveled day and night to reach their destination as quickly as possible. Oh, how their wargs complained and whined to them! They had grown lazy in the days of fragile peace they had experienced since the dwarves had left the Misty Mountains for what should be the final time.
Azog will make it so, one way or another…
Alatum, Azog’s personal dire warg, snorted as they approached the Mountain Ranges of Mordor.
‘The air… it burns and it stings!’ She huffs, her gait becoming out of pace as she stomps her feet in annoyance. Azog pulls on the long fur of her withers and digs his heels into her ribs. Alatum returns to her normal gait, a lazy trot, as they approach one of Mordor’s many dark gates.
Arriving at what would be their home for many months- or years, even-, the orc chieftains were welcomed by the uruk-hai they were designated to train. Standing at attention and in formation, hundreds- perhaps more- of young uruks watch the chieftains of the Misty Mountains slowly ride past them, taking in their forms. Height, weight, how they carried themselves, where their eyes wandered…
Many watched them pass, curiosity causing their eyes to shine. A few stared forward, though their eyes would occasionally drift between rider and mount, as though preparing for the beast- or rider- to strike at any moment. Only a few didn’t react at all, staring forward, as if bored, waiting to be told they are dismissed. Those were the select few that Azog took the time to remember their faces. Especially one, tall and broad, with long, dark brown hair nearly to his waist and tied up in a sloppy manner. His eyes met with the white orc’s.
And he looked away, biting the inside of his cheek.
Tch…
Why did he have to stand at attention to these smaller creatures? With the added height of their beasts, they were only just taller than he and his uruk-hai brethren. His blood pulsed underneath his skin and something akin to anger and disgust burned inside of him.
‘Lurtz’ didn’t understand how these Misty Mountain Orcs were to be his ‘betters’. His master and creator, Saruman the White, had told him that he was among the finest the either he or their Dark Lord, Sauron, has ever created. So then why must he be in line with the rest of these snaga lessers?! These fools that could scarcely clothe themselves after bathing, if they even remember to bathe at all… Lurtz grits his teeth.
How long was he to stand there and wait? He was told they were to be trained, not to welcome these newcomers, whose worth was still unclear to any that stood by and watched them ride in on their stinking beasts, looking down their noses at them as though they were lesser than orc scum.
Disgusting…
The uruk-hai were certainly the impressive force they were promised to oversee, even Azog couldn’t deny this. If only he could have a hundred- no, more- of these uruk-hai in an army of his own… Certainly, with the correct training and direction, these young bloods could be crafted into something the likes the world has yet to see. Azog felt Alatum’s sides shift as she sighed.
‘Not a lie, or an exaggeration, to be seen…’ Azog’s grip tightened on her fur.
‘No, perhaps not…’ To his left, Azog’s bodyguard, Shagrat, scoffs as he pulls his beast to walk side-by-side with his master.
“My Lord… these are the uruk-hai they created two moons ago? Truly? Is it possible?” He muttered to himself, looking into the crowd that still stood at attention, shoulder-to-shoulder, silence so clear the simple act of whispering was nearly deafening. Azog didn’t dignify such a question with a response. Shagrat wasn’t looking for one, anyway. He knew better than to bother his lord with such frivolity.
Weak.
The young uruk-hai eyes follow the snagas as their mounts causally saunter towards their master’s keep.
Pathetic.
He lost sight of them as they passed far to his right.
Creatures…
Somehow, Lurtz couldn’t deny the excitement he felt building inside of his gut. He needed something more. How he craved new challenges and threats… Should they be provided, perhaps his mind shall change. Or, perhaps not. What good could snagas, so lowly and base, they do not live in the splendor of their masters do for the fine uruk-hai of Sauron and Saurman?
The orcs of the Misty Mountains dismounted from their wargs and made their way inside of one Mordor’s many fortresses. Saurman waited for them inside- no doubt because the wizard dislikes the reek and filth that is Mordor. Two guards at his side, Azog leads the six chieftains of his choosing to Saurman who, without a doubt, wishes to greet them and so gently speak of his expectations in regards to his precious uruk-hai warriors.
“Hrmph… You arrive in the midst of daylight hours? I do hope you didn’t garner any… unwanted attention.” Saruman cannot hide his disdain for orc kind, even when working in such close quarters with them. His disgust was tangible, and the other chieftains- especially Azog- held mutual feelings towards the wizard. The white orc must swallow some of his pride and respond tactfully.
“Our Lord ordered us to arrive with haste, and it was with haste we arrived.” The wizard curled his lip upon hearing Sauron’s dark tongue but said nothing to the contrary.
“With haste and secrecy, my Lord.” An orc chieftain added helpfully. Saruman harrumphed but said nothing more on the matter.
“Excellent. Perhaps this discretion and obedience shall be worthwhile teaching tools for our young uruk-hai.” The wizard turns his back to the orcs and begins to walk further into the fortress. The only sounds were off in the distance, likely servants preparing their quarters for them and the dull tap, tap, tap of Saruman’s staff reverberating off the stoney walls.
“Come, join me in the dining hall. You must be famished from such a long journey and there is much to discuss.” Showing one’s back is foolish, even if you are allied with them. Regardless, the orcs rumbled their acknowledgement and agreement as they followed the wizard deeper into his keep.
This was a moment of observation for Saruman. He is no stranger to orcs, having worked beside them for many years at the current moment. They were crude beasts, prone to outbursts of violence and cruelty. Orcs were useful tools, but poor houseguests. Stinking, loud, brash and clumsy to boot… To see orcs- any orcs- behave with such a careful and well mannered temperament, whether it be a lowly grunt or the highest chieftain, was certainly a pleasant surprise.
And Saruman despises surprises…
They all had a poised quality to them. Out of them all, though, Azog the Defiler was, perhaps, the most regal of all the orc lords of the Misty Mountains. Every movement is carefully calculated. Not unlike a king of men, or even elves, perhaps. Most fail spectacularly, with their faux posture, the gaudy jewelry and rings, the way they use violence to command respect and order… Not the King of Moria, no. He has a true air of majesty that even some human ‘kings’ could learn from.
“You are quite unlike any orc from the Misty Mountains, certainly not from Moria. Pray tell: where are you from?” Saruman watched as the white orc took a sip of wine before answering him.
“You know of the Mountains, of Moria? You should then know I do not speak of myself unless it is a necessity.” Azog, perhaps, set his cup down with a little too much force, as the THUD it produced was loud enough to cause the servants to jump. Saruman leaned on his elbow, unaffected by the threat of force.
“I am so terribly acquainted with the lowest caste of your society… The slaves are of little consequence and bring nothing of value to this hold. You, however… Yes, I see now why Lord Saruon has such a high opinion of you, Lord of Moria.”
Was the wizard trying to insult him? Or was it a strange compliment, meant to rile him up and speak out of turn? The possible wound to his pride and heritage already had Azog on the defensive.
“No, I am nothing like the orcs to the South! I am a-” He bit his tongue. No, it was already too much! Was it the power of his speechcraft? Or was the wine stronger than anticipated. There was no room for graceful tact, so he dropped the subject and instead referred to-
“The uruk-hai? Let us speak of them.” Saruman didn’t press the matter any further.
“As you wish.”
“To assemble such a large army in such little time… impressive, though it begs the question: at what cost?” Azog watched as the white wizard casually sipped on his wine before answering him.
“At no cost at all. Our uruk-hai are bred and born strong. They are a thousand strong today, and within another moon cycle, there will be a thousand more.” Azog couldn’t stop himself from scoffing incredulously.
How can something grown outside of a living womb possibly be stronger than an orc born the correct way?
“You doubt me? You will see soon enough with your own eyes, my friend.” His confidence was undeniable. So be it. Azog will see it with his own eyes, no matter what the answer may be.
Before they were to retire to their quarters, the orc chieftains were led outside to the uruk-hai barracks. Standing at attention, there were twenty heads, perhaps less, waiting upon their arrival. Interesting… where was this to lead?
“These are twenty of the finest uruk-hai to be created by my own hand. I believe them to have the potential to become leaders. Commanders, if you will. Won’t you give them the training and attention they deserve.” A statement, not a request. The chieftains, Azog included, curl their lips but say nothing to the contrary. Well, all but one.
“Hmph… so special, yet the white wizard could not create them to be perfect upon creation…” Grishnâkh hissed under his breath. The Gundabad chieftain wasn’t alone in his complaints, as the other leaders rumbled softly in agreement. Azog snorted.
“Hold your tongue! At least until after we retire to our quarters.”
In the morning, there would be no time for jests or lighthearted banter between the orc commanders. They were set to begin training the new generation of uruk-hai as soon as possible. With full intentions of using the day to its fullest potential, Azog rouses the chosen uruk warriors from their slumber and lined them up in the designated training yard.
Through sleep-crusted eyes, they watched the orc chieftains with a sense of curious wonder. Their armour was strange, different from any armour the uruk-hai have seen in Mordor. They were short, hardly to their breast bone! Except for one. He was the most eye-catching of the entire lot. Skin white, armour set in strange layers, ice cold eyes, and, most strange and terrifying of all, his left arm, amputated at his mid-forearm, was instead replaced with a cruel-looking blade that was shoved into the stump and slightly poked out just above his elbow.
An iron fang...
The uruk-hai excitedly talked amongst themselves, as though they didn’t have six orc chieftains standing in front of them, waiting for them to calm themselves down. Azog never had such patience and snapped-
“SILENCE!”
All was quiet and still. The uruk-hai couldn’t resist making eye-contact among themselves. What… did he say? Black Speech was uncommonly used in Mordor. Only those in the Black Tower ever use it. Was it more common in the Misty Mountains? Unease rippled through the crowd. They made no noise, but it was evident on their faces and in the way they lowered their postures if only a little. Azog exhaled through his nose.
This was going to be taxing…
He was fluent in the Common Speech, but to use it in Mordor, the birthplace of Black Speech, the tongue of his forebears- of their forebears- was just… bizarre, if not a little insulting as well. Would he have to teach these pups everything, even their own heritage?! Azog barks for the uruk-hai to find themselves in pairs of two in order to begin their training. Out of the corner of his eye, one uruk caught his attention.
It was the same one that he noticed the day he arrived. Tall and broad, with long hair nearly to his waist, he wasn’t looking to his uruk-hai brethren, but to Azog, himself. His eyes were on him the entire time he was standing at attention. Azog decided to let this play out to its conclusion, though he knew well how it would end and prepared a reprimand on the tip of his tongue.
Lurtz was curious, just like the rest of his brothers. The orcs of the Misty Mountains were unlike the snagas of Mordor. They were proud, strong, they were warriors- he could tell from how they walked and carried themselves- and they looked down upon the uruk-hai, who stood twice as broad and heads taller than they. Among the six, the white orc of Moria, Azog the Defiler, drew the most attention from Lurtz. Namely…
“Your arm… What happened to it?” His fingertips barely ghosted over the smooth skin of his forearm before one of the orc’s bodyguards snatched his hand in a crushing grip.
“You insolent brat…How dare you touch the King!?” He hissed as he pushed the uruk away.
Azog would like to think he wasn’t surprised- he did see it coming, in a manner of speaking- but actually being touched when he had spent so many decades untouchable and respected was a surprise. A flash of hot anger pulsed underneath his skin as he angrily shouted-
“No one, orc or uruk-hai, has a right to touch me, boy. ALL OF YOU SHALL REMEMBER THIS! None that touch me shall go unpunished!” Silence answered the white orc back. Tongues were bitten and heads hung low. He looked back to the boy, still hand-in-hand with his bodyguard.
“Bring the whip for this one. Perhaps this will bring peace to his wandering hands!”
The sting of humiliation didn’t leave Lurtz for a long while yet. Not only was he publicly lashed the second day the orc commanders had arrived in Mordor, they hadn't even begun training yet. Instead of punishing him through rigorous training, they forced him to do menial tasks while his other brothers began their training. Oh, how his blood began to boil! With the day falling to a close, Lurtz swore he would show all those orc commanders that they were wrong about him! He wasn’t merely some headstrong little pup! He was an uruk-hai! Strong and already practiced! Especially Azog… Lurtz needed to prove him wrong!
Yet another training session under the hot Mordorian sun. Azog watched the uruk-hai spar and wrestle from the shade, with Alatum resting her head on his knees. Her eyes hung heavy, exhausted from being awake in the daylight hours.
‘Children in grown bodies…’ Alatum yawned and stretched, huffing as her master rubbed her dry nose.
Her observation was correct. The uruk-hai were more developed physically. But mentally? They aren’t unlike children. Incapable of regulating their emotions, their strengths, their weaknesses… Azog’s eyes narrowed as he watched two boys wrestle roughly. One lost his footing and was tackled backwards.
“Don’t-! Mind your strength! Do not injure your sparring partner-!” Azog gritted his teeth as they, against his orders, continued the fight.
“Stop them! NOW!” His voice was loud enough to shock all the uruk-hai out of their fighting stupor. The two uruks that ignored his initial command were pulled aside where a chieftain scolded them for both being too careless and disobeying an order from a commanding officer. Atalum sighed.
‘Just as my own pups would fight over table scraps…’ Azog felt the sudden rush of anger subside into something more pleasant at the mention of Alatum’s pups. All of her previous litters were Azog’s pride, though to think they were to be more mature than these uruk-hai at a similar age is enough to make him scoff. It’s almost pathetic…
“Az- Lord Azog!” He and his warg lazily look to the boy that stood before them. He caught himself before he made yet another fool out of himself. Good. Perhaps he isn’t a lost cause.
“I challenge you to spar with me! Sir…” Lurtz added as an afterthought through his teeth. Azog scoffed. The boy’s pride is clearly wounded. Ordinarily, he wouldn’t bother himself with such an emotional child attempting to exert power over him, of all orcs, but…
“I accept. Boy…”
This uruk has potential. All twenty of them do, but Azog has been watching him closely. Saruman, he thought, was bluffing when he picked Lurtz out to him but no. The boy does have qualities that would be befitting of a leader- of a commander. He needs but to apply himself to a greater extent… then, perhaps, he will rise to his potential greatness.
Lurtz was bigger, even stronger, perhaps, but he was unpracticed and Azog had decades of experience on his side. There was no question as to who the winner was to be, even if the odds seemed to clearly favor the young over the old. He wanted to win quickly and soundly. The ease in Azog’s pinning should have caused him concern. Any smugness Lurtz possessed quickly shifted into surprise as he was thrown onto his stomach, with the older Orc pinning him in place from behind and on top of him.
“You have strength, but lack cunning. A commander must have both to rise above the rank of warrior.” Azog smirked as he released the uruk’s arm, rising off of his back and returning to his place beside his warg.
It left Lurtz heated, but instead of becoming spiteful, he understood the lesson taught that day. Cunning… He needs cunning and strength if he is to become a leader. Azog has both of these things… as do all the orc chieftains. It left him humbled and eager to learn more.
Lurtz was already serious in his studies. His seeking out the chieftains, namely Azog, wasn’t a sudden or surprising change. He finally began to respect them, both for their ranks and the lessons and training they bestowed upon him and his brothers. Of them all, though, the white orc of Moria has become his favourite teacher, and the same could be said the other way around.
Azog found a fondness growing inside of him whenever the boy trailed on his heels. He was eager and hungry for knowledge and understanding, something Azog found himself feeding, even where academics and training weren’t concerned.
“Do you have a son?” Lurtz knew vaguely what a ‘son’ was from hearing other chieftains talk about their own. Azog never spoke about himself, so when he answered honestly, Lurtz was both surprised and humbled.
“I have many children. Only my son is my pride.” It was easy for Azog to answer his question. Lurtz had many questions he wished to ask.
“He isn’t with you, here? Why?” Azog looked over at the young uruk. There was only an innocent curiosity glinting in his eyes. The initial annoyance that rose to the back of his throat diminished and he rumbled thoughtfully.
“My boy, Bolg, is the reigning steward of Moria until my return. This is what I have prepared him for his entire life. Should he succeed in my steed, then I know my line will continue after my time has come.” Lurtz didn’t immediately speak after Azog’s answer. He was thinking, about what, the orc didn’t know, but he hesitated a few times before asking-
“What of the orc that birthed him? Isn’t she with him?”
It was the question Azog was dreading. He could have nipped it in the bud, cut the conversation before it had a chance to reach this point, but he allowed it. Why?
“She died.” Azog was hopeful this would be enough to satiate his curiosity. He knew better than to truly believe that.
“When? Who was she?”
The silence was telling. It was in part due to shame, though it was difficult to place the chief emotion Azog was feeling. Shame, anger, annoyance, as though something precious was about to be breached and made known to the entire world. Still, Lurtz searched his face and even dared to follow it when Azog sought to protect his pride. Azog sighed heavily and resigned himself to defeat.
“Daga was her name. My wife, the mother of my son… Daughter of the chief of Moria, before me. I killed him and took his place as King. A good she-orc. A strong one. An even better mother. A rival sought to steal the throne from me. I… could not protect her.”
Lurtz said nothing more. There was nothing to say. He was more than surprised that Azog, of all orcs, was honest to someone like him. Perhaps he felt guilty for prying so much, but what was done was done. It was a moment of vulnerability and Lurtz wouldn’t be one to defile such a thing. He would keep this to himself and share it with no one. He wanted… Lurtz wanted Azog to know he was worthy of his trust and attention.
He had no expectation of what was to come in their relationship. Lurtz didn’t want anything from Azog. Well… no, that wasn’t true. He wanted his attention… Lurtz didn’t want favours from the white orc, but his affections? Yes, he certainly wanted that of him.
Underneath the chieftain’s marquee, the orc and uruk spoke of different matters. In regards to training, his progress… or even private matters.
“The wizard did not speak out of turn when placing his confidence unto you. You have exceeded our expectations, boy. Continue at this pace and perhaps you will exceed them even further!” Azog smirked as Lurtz’s chest swelled with pride.
It was almost endearing how he was like a warg pup vying for his master’s attention. He hid his amusement behind the cup of grog in his hand. Lurtz did exactly what Azog expected him to do. He crossed his arms over his chest, a toothy grin on his face as he rested his weight on the table that sat before his teacher.
“Of course I have! Is it such a surprise? You should have focused on me wholly from the beginning!”
Azog slammed the cup of grog down onto the table and quickly rose to his feet. Lurtz didn’t so much as flinch, which was something he was prone to do a few mere weeks ago when Azog first arrived and began his training. He placed his right hand onto the table beside Lurtz’s hip and leaned in close to him.
“And what should I have paid attention to, boy?” Lurtz leaned down so they were nose to nose.
“You have no manners still, after so much time. Would you prefer attention to how you languish before me?” His eyebrows raised, surprised, though it did not last. Lurtz sunk lower, mouth salivating and teeth sinking into the chapped flesh of his lips.
“...perhaps…”
So much cheek… It was a challenge, one Azog certainly would not turn down. Lurtz knew how to mind his manners, certainly around his elders, but still he pressed against Azog. He tested his boundaries, his limits… He wanted to know what reactions he would get from the white orc and what other… lessons he could provide him. And more he had, especially from one that challenged him so freely and so confidently. Would it last, or would he return to be that little pup that he still is on the inside? Azog was certainly interested in what Lurtz was offering him.
His breath hitched in his throat as a strong arm was wrapped around his torso. The proximity wasn’t new or strange, Lurtz had been this close when sparring with his brothers or with the orc chieftains. It isn’t the first time he’s been so close to Azog, of all orcs! But the type of contact this was- now that was different.
Warm. Intimate… Lurtz’s muscles trembled and jumped at the slightest contact against his skin. Moist breath tickles his cheek. Strong alcohol burns his nose. He flinches though does not pull away when hot air caresses his ear. It wasn’t unpleasant by any means. No, it was exactly the opposite in being very, very pleasurable on his skin.
What… should he do? Lurtz stood, or rather sat, motionless, save for the pathetic trembling of his breath and his eyes threatening to close on him, should the sensation be too much to bear for a brief moment. His heart leapt into his throat as he felt Azog’s lips part and his tongue slide against the curve of his jawline.
Something in his body screamed to retaliate against the threat sliding closer to the pulse in his neck. Something stronger and more primal begged for Lurtz to simply wait- Just for a moment longer. J-Just a l-little more… Blood rushed to different parts of his body. It wasn’t an unfamiliar feeling, though Lurtz isn’t sure if he’s ever felt it so strongly before. He choked on a noise as Azog’s wet tongue traced over the strength of his pulse.
“Shall I stop?” There was a hit of glee in the older orc’s voice. Lurtz felt genuine panic.
“N-No-! I-” He tripped over his own tongue.
“Yes?” The hairs on Lurtz’s body stood on end as a purr reverberated in his ears.
An uruk-hai becoming shy was uncharacteristic. He was receptive, but not unlike a woman becoming intimate with a man for the first time. Every little touch, every little sensation was nearly enough to drive him over the edge into becoming a whimpering, needy mess. Azog would forgive the disobedience of not receiving his answer, for Lurtz’s body told him everything he wished to know.
The communion of their bodies was intense, intimate and unlike anything Lurtz had experienced in his short existence. It was sudden but not short lived. He felt something he had longed for, though he did not know its name. Perhaps it was fulfillment, or even acceptance that he craved. Regardless, Azog gave him that as so much more… Parting was painful in a way the uruk was not expecting.
His heart ached…
The coming days were full of drudgery and sameness. Was it the uruk-hai becoming restless that made him twitch, or was it what happened under the marquee that made Azog feel restless and in need of… something. He knew all too well what a bored orc was capable of, so, with the support of the Misty Mountain chieftains, they threw a feast as a means to liven up the orcs and celebrate hard work done.
How they cheered as food was brought in, grog was poured and music was played…
It was a celebration that would last all day and all night. The uruk-hai had never experienced such an occasion before! It was exciting, with many wonderful smells, sights and sounds… Never before had they seen such beautiful orcs dance in the setting Mordorian light. The she-orcs were enthralled by such tall and broad uruk-hai. They kept their attention on their small, petite forms, their light, bell-like laughter and the gentle, sweet scents that followed them around the feasting grounds. A particularly whimsical girl, Haar, flits from uruk-hai to uruk-hai with her sisters. She dances with other orc women but manages to stand out amongst them all.
From her eye-catching hair colour- a dyed ruddy orange, though the men were uncaring of its unnatural state-, long down her back and tied out of her face with a beautifully dyed handkerchief. Her face painted, complimenting her gilded eyes that shone as brightly as the jewelry that adorned her body and her clothing… The way her hips moved in time with the music, her body short and slender, but not weak or frail… Why, the lads couldn’t get enough of her!
Though the dancing and the feasting continued throughout the night, the crowd slowly began to thin. The drunk were carried to bed by the more sober, and some remained in spite of their lowered tolerances for drink, food and for trouble. Few fights were had, fewer than one could count on a single hand. Impressive, considering these boys were young and surrounded by such pretty little things that demanded their attention.
Haar so enjoyed the jealous glares that were thrown at her various suitors. She promised them all that they were the only one she had eyes for and they believed her every single time. Soon enough, she grew bored with their clumsy compliments and the way they stared, unsure of how to approach such a beauty, let alone how to keep her attention. She followed her sisters and settled around the orc chieftains, all of whom were very accustomed to beautiful she-orcs and knew just how to play their games and keep them entertained as well.
Lurtz felt awkward the entire feast. The noise, the crowd, the strange and fleeting attention placed onto him by these… she-orcs. They wanted something of him and he did not wish to engage in their silly practices and their games of jealousy and illegitimate affections. He rose to his feet, cutting through the women that fawned over him and his uruk-hai brothers and made his way to where be believed Azog was seated.
His face lit up when he made eye contact with his teacher. But… Azog’s eyes drifted away soon after, dragged away by a fiery-haired she-orc that had been stalking her way throughout the feast the entire night. Lurtz had ignored her advances all night towards him, or at least, directed toward his brothers at his side. The underneath of his cheeks burned and his heart sped up against his breast bone as she made eye contact with him. She smiled and removed the cloth holding her hair back as she draped herself over Azog’s lap.
The way he immediately threw his arm around her to support her weight made Lurtz’s stomach twist into knots. An unknown feeling burned in his gut as words were silently exchanged, which swiftly morphed into anger as Azog lifted the girl off his lap and carried her towards his tent with four other women chasing after him on his heels. Their laughter drifted away, carried even further by the gentle breeze that blew on the night wind.
The uruk battled back hot tears and an itch to-
-break.
Maim.
DESTROY-
The dawn was already breaking over Mordor’s horizon when Azog exited his tent. His mind was lazy, as was his body. Alatum lounged out underneath his marquee, her ears flicking at the sound of his approaching footsteps. As uncouth as it was for the King of Moria to simply sit upon the bare ground, he did so with little care for his surroundings. Alatum yawned, raising her head and bracing her body so her friend and master could make himself comfortable at her side.
‘I have waited for you to rouse from your rest. You have made a mistake, my pup.’ She snorted, blinked and curled her lips at him. Azog ignored her apparent disgust and leaned his weight into her side.
‘Mistake? I doubt that. Today is a day of rest, old woman.’ He sat upright as she stood. Alatum sneezed in his direction.
‘Smelling of whores, are we? You are a king, not a common peasant. Wash that filth from you! It is unbecoming…’ The disappointment was clear in her voice. Azog couldn’t help but to bark out a laugh.
‘Apologies, dear beast. Shall I wash up before we continue this discussion? Or, perhaps, this mistake you speak of is of greater-?’ Alatum was already walking away.
‘Wash first! It will benefit us all, even this mistake of yours!’
So be it, then.
Washing was an all too common practice for Azog and the orcs of the Misty Mountains. Men believe them to be filthy vagrants, yet many of their own kind are exactly that. Unwashed and offensive to the senses… It irks him that his warg continues to mother him, as though he is a helpless and foolish pup! …though it does not stop him from following through with both her suggestions and advice.
The warmth sinking into his skin was bliss. Azog closed his eyes and allowed his mind to wander. What did that old warg mean? ‘Mistake’... She worries too much. Or she truly knows something he does not. He sighs. The silence was easy on the ears, especially with the loud ruckus that was last night. Instead of feeling relief, Azog found his mind focusing too much on the wrong things. He rose from the bath and left to find his warg.
Azog would be lying if he were to say he wasn’t expecting more rowdiness from the uruks. Some stumbled back to their barracks, others tried to help, but as they were all equally exhausted and intoxicated, it led to a comical viewing of such large bodies colliding. Giggling, retching, groaning and grumbling… Hmph… not unlike orcs after all. Azog would like a few hundred to reinforce the Misty Mountains.
Perhaps he would marry a few of his daughters off to them…
Alatum was pacing back and forth upon his return. Surprising, given she wasn’t so anxious even during her own pups’ birth. He raised a brow.
‘You wished to-’ She already started on him.
‘Where has your princess run off to?’ Azog narrowed his eyes.
‘What-?’ She continued.
‘The boy, Lurtz! What have you done with him, you fool!’ Not an inquiry, but a demand. Bold of her… Azog felt his eye twitch.
‘Speak plainly, warg!’ Azog snapped. She blinked boredly, unaffected by his tone or the way he rose to his full height.
She sat before him, glaring at him with ferocity that rivaled his own.
‘Life has gifted you with so many lessons, yet you learn nothing. Do you remember the day your son was born? Do you remember how Daga-’ Azog snapped her maw shut with his hand. The force wasn’t painful, it wasn’t even harsh. Alatum knew he did it to scare her into discontinuing the conversation but it only persuaded her to press on.
‘SILENCE! You are NOT to press into that any further! You- We swore-!’ She shook out of his grasp. Azog did not attempt to silence her again.
‘You swore to be better. Yet look at what you have done.’ The way Alatum spoke to him would be considered treasonous should she be an orc rather than his faithful warg. Maybe he held her in too high regard- No, that’s not true. He narrowed his eyes and instead said-
‘Just speak plainly…’ He groaned. She was worse than a wet nurse with how she nags and berates him. Still he cools his temper and nods for her to speak.
‘The boy left, pained, because you couldn’t help but to spoil yourself with a woman’s attention. Wait-’ Azog didn’t wish to hear more, but he grunted and allowed her to continue.
‘Perhaps it is of little consequence, but the young always feel so strongly, wouldn’t you agree? He believes himself to be lesser- not enough- for you in spite of that connection you forged with him. Cruel, wouldn’t you think?’ Azog balks at her insinuation.
‘I do not need to be told how to spend my attention on whom and when, warg! Leave me in peace!’ She sighed.
‘I do not tell you what to do, my Lord, but I do want you to cease in your callous disregards of the heart.’
Anger threatened to over take him. Though he lacked adequate rest, Azog’s mind was a whirlwind of thoughts that he couldn’t seem to process. Who did that warg think she was?! His mother? His advisor? His equal?! And that boy, Lurtz… Why was Azog the one to be responsible for his feelings?! They were his and his alone! The thoughts wouldn’t leave him to rest, so he growls and shoves his way towards the uruk-hai barracks.
He wasn’t there. Of course he wasn’t. There were a dozen or so heads in there, none of which belonged to him. So he did leave the feast early… Azog’s head began to throb with annoyance. He shocked the on duty guards when he barked out.
“Where is Lurtz, fools!”
“Uh- H-He left for the archery range hours- oh.”
Azog had already turned on his heel and left them confused. The archery range, eh? He is a fool to practice angry and upset. His annoyance cooled slightly when he saw the boy.
Lurtz’s fingers ached from the hours he spent firing arrow after arrow. He faltered, nearly notching the arrow incorrectly as he caught Azog’s presence at the corners of his senses. He dreaded this moment. So many possibilities ran through his head, over and over and over again with no coherent conclusion in sight. Lurtz winced when Azog curtly asked.
“What are you doing here, boy.”
‘Boy’. Boy, he hated how it sounded in his mouth. ‘Boy’. It used to mean something to him. Now all he hears are insults and degradation.
“What does it look like I’m doing?!” His own volume surprised himself. The arrow he fired missed its intended target by several meters. Lurtz set his jaw and waited for… what? Punishment? Like the first day of his training with Azog?
Little did he know, if he were any other uruk or orc, the punishment he would have received would be taxing. A missing tongue, perhaps. Maybe something more. Azog hated that Alatum was perceptive enough to press against matters he held so close to his heart.
“Why did you leave the feast?” Azog was in no mood to dance around the issue. Lurtz visibly shrank away from the question.
“What did you say to me, once? ‘Warriors are made not born’? Why else would I be here…”
Azog wasn’t one for avoiding troubling matters. Annoyance began to warm his blood. ‘The young feel so strongly’... Yes, they do. And they refuse to address these matters out of fearing the unknown. He wasn’t acting unlike a child, and Azog wasn’t about to indulge him any further.
“Speak plainly to me if you wish to be treated as an equal-!”
What reached his ears first? The deafening roar of frustration Lurtz released? Or was it the snapping of the bowstring from its hinge? The anger, fear, and shame Lurtz felt evaporated as he stared at the dangling string, shocked. Splinters dug into his hand. Painful, though he could hardly feel anything over the beating of his heart and the sobering effects of his childish outburst. Subdued, he whispered-
“...I don’t know why I left…” He hung his head, ashamed and uncertain of the emotions he was experiencing. Azog sighed heavily.
It wasn’t as though he had never been young before. It might have been many, many years since then, yes, but he wasn’t so estranged and calloused to his own personal being that he has forgotten the struggles of his life. There were logs, laid longways, that were used as both spacing between archers and as impromptu seating. Azog sat down, gesturing to the empty space to his right. Lurtz didn’t immediately take his seat beside his teacher.
“It was not my intention to harm you.” Lurtz couldn’t suppress his scoff. Azog allowed his initial agitation to slip away. He is hurt, ashamed and he is desperate to be reaffirmed in his emotional state. Lurtz started down at his hand, picking at the skin and splinters like it actually bothered him.
“Hmph! The ‘king’ apologizes to the likes of me…” He wanders closer, smiling bitterly to himself as he focuses on his hand. He is standing just in front of Azog and to his right, hovering around the log without fully committing to sitting upon it just yet. Azog snorts and chuckles to himself softly.
It’s funny. He’s the one acting like a young fool. Asking for forgiveness… caring about another’s feelings. Perhaps it isn’t so unbecoming of him, as king, to have just a few that he can be young and wild with. Azog gently takes Lurtz by the hand and leads him to sit beside him. He does so without resistance or complaint.
“You know why you left.”
Lurtz does not answer him.
“You are young-” He ducks his head.
“...so I’ve been told.” He should have waited for Azog to finish.
“-but you need not worry about my cravings. Pretty things come and go. You are special.” The blood began to pool in Lurtz’s ears.
“I- That is humiliating…” He hid his face, but Azog could still hear the smile in his voice.
“That was a shrakh apology.” Azog shrugged. The boy wasn’t wrong. Apologies aren’t his forte. Not speaking wise, anyway. Other ways, though…
“Perhaps. I am returning to my tent soon. Will you join me? Perhaps I can find other means in a way of apologizing to you?”
If Lurtz could disappear at that very moment, he might have done so. But… He shyly looked over to his mentor. There was no trick. No smirk of triumph, no expression of annoyance or boredom. Only a ghost of a smile. One that he was becoming used to seeing more and more as the days passed into weeks into months of Azog’s stay in Mordor. Lurtz didn’t need to think when he nodded, untrusting of the quality and strength of his voice.
Azog took his hand and led him back to his tent. It took all of Alatum’s willpower to not gloat ‘I told you so!’ at her master upon his return with the boy hand in hand. Perhaps another day. Best not to spoil their rebonding and their fun while it is still fresh and taking shape.