Alright, here's the next one, people! This might be semi-crack, 'cause this makes no sense even to me. Let's just say... Bolg is not the Bolg we know from the movies. That is as much as I can say.

I really don't know what I'm doing here. Please don't be disappointed but I won't be surprised that much if you guys do. And you would probably be even more disappointed since I almost didn't post today. I got worried cause the Wi-Fi just shut off without warning and it just turned on about five minutes ago.

Disclaimer: Azog would kill me if I claim I own him. ("I DO NOT BELONG TO ANYONE, MUCH LESS TO SHADOW GEEK!") Bolg might scold me here too.

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

I.

"Now, my bloodthirsty heir," Azog began, growling happily (as happily as the pale orc could get anyway) at the equally white babe. "I shall teach you the ways of killing and defiling, especially against those blasted dwarves!"

From the side, the exhausted orcess with the name Bashuk (yes, it wasn't very fear inspiring as other names but her parents never did have high hopes for her) shook her head as she watched her mate yell and brandish his arm-turned-mace at their newborn orcling as said orcling screamed back, not knowing the ways of their world but still attempting to secure his place.

(She rather have her child never know the dangers of war and death and pain, rather have him be safe than slaughtered by dwarves or men, but the orcess knew her mate would never allow that. At least, not knowingly.)

Perhaps the Defiler would like the name 'Bolg'? It did mean 'loud and strong.' It would placate the giant creature if their youngling grew up differently.

II.

Azog grinned, showing his serrated teeth, as his five-year-old son played with his figurines. He was obviously pretending that he was killing dwarves with his orc-toy.

Though, he was slightly concerned when he overheard Bolg asking the dwarf-doll to come over for a tea party, like some prissy weak daughter of a filthy Man.

The Defiler shook his head as he idly but carefully sharpened his blades. Bolg was just using tactics: lure the dwarves in with the promise of free food and drink under the guise of parley (dwarf scum would probably accept, those naïve fools) before brutally killing them by poison or decapitation (Azog was rooting for the latter).

His offspring was going to be a wonderful orc!

III.

"Now, Bolg, catch!" The White Orc tossed the sword at his heir; Bashuk was no longer alive (he hated how the bitch would stop him from training their son early so that he can start killing the other races and would protect him whenever Azog was in a rage. Bolg didn't need protecting!) which meant he could finally start his training.

Bolg stumbled backwards as he caught the blade. The albino alpha frowned. It wasn't that heavy! If he could carry it, it only made sense that his offspring should have been able to at least hold it properly.

"Now, use this as your target!" Azog tossed the unfortunate orc that angered him earlier (how dare the bastard fail to catch a simpleton of a dwarf and then blame it on its speed) into the pit. "Think of those wretched dwarves. Use your hatred to kill this idiot!"

Bolg and the nameless orc gave him incredulous looks (not that he knew what that meant exactly) before his heir gave a manly war cry and rushed at the fearful orc that was already giving up.

(He didn't seem to notice that the war cry was halfhearted at best and the 'fearful' orc was simply bored already.)

IV.

Bolg looked around for his father every now and then as he practiced his reading and writing with the materials his mother left him after her mysterious death.

It wasn't often he could do this as he usually spent his time training how to be a killer with his father. He rather be inside than outside and everyone but Azog knew that, even the Men and Dwarves they would kidnap.

Bolg would practice every time he wasn't training and, if he had to say so himself, his writing and reading were coming along greatly, which was saying something as he was the only literate being in the whole camp.

It wasn't normal for an orc, he knew that, but it seemed he took after his carrier more than his sire. One part of him was bothered by it but the other didn't really care.

"BOLG!"

He sighed and stowed away his materials. It wouldn't do if his father found out then destroyed his last gift from his mother.

It was time for training with Azog.

V.

Finally! His son, Bolg (his mighty heir, his successor, his one and only offspring, his, err... he ran out of other words), was ready to join him on the crusade against the dwarf scum Thorin Oakenshield and his band of ruddy dwarves after clearly showing his superiority to the orcs and wargs in the pack! His heir was going to enjoy the taste of dwarf flesh soon!

Azog cackled in glee into the night, ignoring the stares he received from everyone.

(It didn't occur to him that his subordinates were simply nodding their answer to Bolg's question nor that the wargs had rolled over to their backs, hoping for belly rubs.)

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

Shadow: Azog is clueless or in denial. I don't know which one is the reason, to be honest.

Bolg: It's second.

Shadow: Oh hey, Bolg. Hiding from training?

Bolg: Yes.

Shadow: You don't speak much, do you, huh?

Bolg: Not good in Westron. Too hard. *shrugs*

Shadow: *thumbs up* Keep at it! *whispers* Do it to spite Azog! He deserves to be spited!