PS: I like mushy better too, though I think orcish might be easier to write.

xxxi. What's happened has happened/What's coming is already on its way/With a role for me to play/I don't understand, I'll never understand/But I'll try to understand/There's nothing else I can do

Calla enjoyed using her bow, being able to bring down an animal within seconds; she had never felt powerful before, but holding her bow and aiming an arrow, she felt she could withstand anything. And she felt it even more when Azog stood at her side, feeling his desire for her nearly radiating from him as he watched her shoot. Many a time moments after she would fell an animal, when she stood with her back straight and her breasts barely constrained in her pelt, he'd hold her against a tree and take her - though the third time he'd done it he realized she hadn't been wet enough to enjoy him and she did not reach a release before he'd already finished. So he would get to his knees and pleasure her in the way she most enjoyed, moaning in minutes as her body shook as he held her above him. And during the times he grew hard after bringing her to a release, she would take him in her mouth and leave him crying out with his legs quivering as he stood trying not tear her hair out.

Lug and his orcs were no more than a distant memory, one that did not bring revulsion or hatred; neither Azog nor Calla thought of it as more than just a passing memory, they had survived it and now they could live at peace once again. And the more days and weeks and months passed the more they lived, the happier they became; though Azog tried to hide his happiness, tried to disguise his growing humanity with forced cruelty, he never once fooled her. His orcs still feared him, still cowered when he was in a dark mood, but the moment she was near enough to him he could feel her a lightness would come over him. His eyes were warm, his spirit calm, and the orcs could breathe a collective sigh of relief knowing she would not let him lash out purposelessly. In that way they loved her; she was the sun to darkness, the light to his cruelty, the love to his dark twisted heart. Azog had not just found a mate in her, he had found a woman who could lead them just as well as he - not with fear and pain, but with kindness and loyalty. And though her heart was good, she could punish them just as terribly as Azog; and though they did not fear her, they did not displease her in fear of not only her own wrath but of Azog's as well. And when the two stood united, they were a terrible force to be faced with.

It was in this camp Bolg was raised, knowing fear and to obey from his father, and a strict love from his mother. He was a fighter, a good strong still young orc, he was a killer - and he bestowed upon his mother his own gifts he looted from his kill. At only three years he was as tall as his mother, his muscles growing and his shoulders broadening. Even at her short stature he dwarfed her already, for she was very small comared to orcs - as well as thin. His face only grew uglier as he aged, his mouth forming around his longer sharper teeth, giving his pale face a muzzle that made him look more animal than man. But she loved him, as only a mother could. And it it filled her heart with worry and joy to see him and Azog riding off as he himself began training his son, knowing Azog felt a tremendous pride in him.

Azog sat atop his warg watching as Bolg chased down a man on a horse, having come across a camp. Bolg raised his club, which he had crafted with several spikes, and with one fell swoop the man was thrown from his horse - who fell to the ground with his hind legs broken. Azog felt his chest swell with a pride he had never known as he watched Bolg bring his club down on the man's head, killing him instantly though his legs twitched for a few seconds after. Azog did not raise his mace and race forward, he did not call out to warn Bolg; instead Azog watched silently as another man came down on him, his sword raised high.

This would be the greatest test, to see if Bolg knew enough to watch his surroundings; a test Azog was thrilled to see him pass. Bolg turned feeling the danger approach and he lept out of the way before regaining his feet, crying out as the sword bit into his flesh as the frenzied man attacked him. Bolg did not remain weak for long, Azog stared enraptured as Bolg lunged for the man's throat and, narrowly missing being impaled, tore his throat out with his teeth.

"You move too slow," Azog told him riding up behind him, taking in the blood that dripped from Bolg's chin. "The men are smaller, quicker. You must be faster than them if you are to stand a chance." With those words Azog rode forward, leaving his son to climb back onto his warg and follow.

Calla, as his mother, was not pleased to hear Azog had allowed the man to harm him. "Wounds will help him learn, you cannot keep him from that," Azog told her, after a few years he was no longer phased by her quick anger at their son's training; in fact, it was hardly anything to him for she more often gave in.

His words did not bring her any ease, though he had not meant for them too. "Perhaps he had been hurt worse?" she demanded, seeing with a heart that loved her son how awful of a choice Azog had made. "Maybe even killed?"

"He wasn't killed, it is barely a scratch. If he cannot defend himself now then death is the only future for him," Azog told her, firmer with his words than he normally was. He showed little gentleness in this, his son would be a warrior; an orc whose name wrought fear in the hearts of all living things. He sighed at seeing her still displeased face. "He did well," he told her quietly. "He is learning faster than most orcs do, and he is better."

Even though Calla was angry, even though she worried Bolg would be hurt with how Azog trained him; she heard the pride and honor in his voice, saw it on his face. He cared for his son, though he refused to ever show it, and he held him above all other orcs. And so she remained unhappy, but she gave in trusting Azog to keep Bolg alive - not safe, but breathing. And in the years that followed Azog's joy in his son grew as quickly as Bolg did, within three years Bolg was nearly as tall as Azog, growing to be as wide in muscle. He would be a terrible sight, one that would make even the strongest of men turn and flee in fear.

Bolg now joined the orcs when they raided villages, when they raped women - he struggled to take a woman many times, hearing her screams or her cries and somehow his mother would come to mind and he would have to force himself to take the woman to save face. But the more he was faced with an unwilling woman, feeling her squirm beneath him trying to get away, the more he grew to enjoy it; until his mother never came to mind, only when he saw something pretty, then he would take it and give it to her. Be it a flower, a drawing, a necklace. He loved the smile that would grace her beautiful face, came to treasure the feel of her hand on his cheek, held her close to his heart as he grew older - as his heart grew darker.

The first time Calla had used her bow against another person had been when a group of rangers had tracked them down, disbanding the orc party as they moved for the beginning of spring. As always Bolg stayed with Calla, Azog bidding him protect her, though this time they were overtaken. The rangers were clever, splitting as the orcs did, one group aiming for Azog and his party, and another creeping unseen along after the few orcs who were fleeing to protect their stock. A sick feeling settled in Calla's stomach as she stared at the land around her, feeling something was wrong but knowing not what; and it only grew worse as the minutes passed until the first arrow struck an orc near the back.

"Go mother," Bolg urged, turning to face the onslaught of rangers that rode toward them. Calla watched as Bolg faced them down, killing a few of them only to be knocked from his warg and forced to fight on his feet. Though she was ordered to keep going, to stay out of the killing should harm fall her, she did not. Instead she knotched an arrow and aimed it at the man holding a sword to her son. No hesitation did she give, no thinking or preparing herself to shoot; she sat atop Daisy at an odd angle loosing arrow after arrow and dropping the men around Bolg, allowing him the chance to charge at the remaining men before they could flee. Bolg took her hand and climbed behind her, his warg now dead, and together they rode to where they would make camp.

...

Azog charged toward her, pulling her up by the arms and staring intently at her face. "Is everything alright?" she asked startled, thinking something must have happened for him to be so concerned.

He stared at her baffled, having expected tears or unresponsive apathy, instead he was met with confused blue eyes. "Are you alright?" he asked her gently, his eyes raking over her body.

"Of course I am," she told him unsurely, her actions having not been those of a murderer but those of a mother; so as her heart told her and her mind allowed her to believe. "Are you?"

He released a breath he hadn't realized he'd been holding before nodding; she was well, not despaired and thinking of death for herself. And a relief flooded through him as he looked at her, seeing her staring at him expectantly as she waited for an explaination. The only answer she was given was to be lowered to the ground and taken, Azog moving slow enough, his hands coming up to her breasts, letting her release build until they came together. And then Azog left her, pressing a kiss to her brow, and going to set up their camp and position their scouts. Calla stood and righted the pelt over her breasts before returning to the fire where she finished making supper, content and well and warm.

That would not be the last she turned an arrow on a man, though she never felled a person who did not offer threat; in that her heart remained pure. But it was also when her heart darkened the most, for as time passed death ceased weighing on her until it was all but nothing. And she had never been more of an orc than when Azog laid on top of her, or when she pushed Azog to his back and rode him til he cried out; their passions boiling and inflamed after he watched her kill.

She was a part of him, as much of him as his arm or leg was, as essential to his being alive as his heart. And though he was not always gentle, though he rarely showed kindness in the face of others, he loved her; and she knew he did, for it was in his eyes bared for the world to see as he gazed upon her. And she held her love for him as any woman did, on her sleeve; and not once did he break her heart, he held gently in his hand though gentleness had been unknown. She changed him, she ruined him. And he ruined her. But they loved each other, with a love that was more than love, leaving them to cling to each other when night fell as though the sun could not rise unless it did over their entwined bodies.

A year later, in Erebor

Borin stood beside his nephew, the king, his armor shining and their ponies readied. "Are you ready uncle?" Thror asked looking over at him, seeing he was waiting anxiously.

Borin nodded, having sworn to his wife and her memory of the woman who had saved her, that one day they would return for the woman. It had been many years, for his brother had slain by a cold drake, and Thror had been given title as king as well as having to move his people to a new home. But now, as they began to prosper beneath the Lonely Mountain, they were ready to honor their promise. They had sent scouts to find the orc camp, taking many months as they searched over the Misty Mountains, finally finding them and seeing the woman before they raced back. "It time to pay my debt," he declared.

"Our debt," Thror told him. "This woman willingly stood against an orc to keep the wife of my uncle safe, and my father swore to take up arms with you to save her. I owe her, and him, her freedom as much as you."

Borin smiled at his nephew proudly, seeing his brother in him so strongly in that moment. "Then I am ready." And those words, those simple few words, sealed Azog and Calla's fate.

song is Red Red Red by Fiona Apple

This chapter didn't happen quite as I thought it would, I thought I would do more of Azog and Bolg and of Azog and Calla. But in all honestly, I think that was really it for them. They're just to the point where they love each other, and they're happy. Which means the dwarves are coming, so this story is coming to a close.
However, a reviewer asked if I would do a Bolg OC story since Calla had taught him that there was love to be found in the world (though he only knows it comes from her). And I was wondering if anyone would be interested in reading it. So if you are, please let me know. And it will most likely be pretty dark, cause Bolg is almost worse than Azog - so he'd be super rough, and there would be rape but I would allude to it cause I don't like having my OCs raped. And also, when I started thinking of this story Thorin kept popping up in my head, like they found her or something and she was all broken and he helped her heal and she fell in love with him - though part of her cared for Bolg in weird unhealthy way. So if that at all interests you, please let me know. And I would love suggestions if you have any.