DISCLAIMER: I do not own the characters or happenings of middle earth. They belong to J. R. R. Tolkien and sometimes Peter Jackson's stuff might fall in too. I only any OC that happen to fall in. Please, feel free to leave any comments and questions. Follow the story in which ever way you would like, but make your thoughts known. Thank you!
CHAPTER 2
All had heard of Smaug's appearance by the time King Thror came wandering into the lost kingdom of Moria. On many occasions Azog thought of how fitting it was for the greed of dwarves to be outmatched only by a dragon. His attention to dwarves was piqued many years before when he came into contact with the only dwarf he was unable to kill. It had been an exhilarating battle, he had even cut the dwarf's eye from its socket but alas, the battle was interrupted and his fled. Thanks to Smaug's siege of the mountain, many more dwarves are forced to roam the lands, easy targets for Azog's sport. So great are their numbers that the orc's self mutilation begins to extend to his torso. He brings many prisoners to be tortured in his stony barricade and when he becomes bored of it, he forces them to reveal the secrets of their heritage. For though an orc, Azog has a vicious hunger for knowledge. He learns many things from each of the captured dwarves over time; their language, lettering, braid meanings. Little by little, their culture is revealed to him. Although dwarves are stubborn and hardy creatures who are not easily bent, they learn quickly to give the orc his desires or risk being broken before killed. Some give in after mere hours in his presence while others spend weeks in agony. Death is always waiting, it is simply how quickly the pale orc leads you there.
Never did Azog expect anyone to simply walk through his gates. More bodies are forced through the entrance doors than ones who walk in of their own free will. The orcs watch with wonder as the dwarf strolls into the encampment as though he owns it; each accepting on sight of his glazed eyes and unkempt hair that he is clearly mad and therefore not worth the effort of killing. They settle for eyeing him with mild interest as he enters, sure that he will meet his end at their master's hands.
"What rat has crawled it's way into my domain?" the defiler rumbles, having heard of the uninvited guest. His gaze is dim however, finding little interest in a panhandling dwarf "Have we beggars at the door now?"
"I should ask the same, only here I find a squatter." The dwarf sneers in return, casting a look of disgust around him "Why does orcish scum soil my halls?"
"YOUR halls?" with a humorless chuckle, the orc crosses his arms but finally gives the dwarf the attention he seeks "These are MY halls. Who are you to claim them?"
"I am King Thror, son of Dain, son of Nain and you Azog," he all but spits the orc's name as he lifts his war hammer, thrusting it at the white goliath "shall defile these halls no longer."
"A King?" Dim eyes spark to life with unnatural light, causing the present orcs to back away in caution. Death lands on those foolish enough to be caught in those gleaming orbs. Azog watches the dwarf in a new light, not only because of his status but also the familiarity of his name "I have not killed a king yet."
"And you shant today!" the dwarf lifts his weapon again, brandishing it to show himself ready "I shall give you a taste of dwarvish iron!"
Blood, fighting, and death are expected but those in attendance start in confusion as the chieftain offers no violent retort. Instead, he shakes the silent room with booming laughter. It echoes through the halls before eventually fading into the darkness of the hidden caverns. Placing his arms comfortably on the rests of the chair, Azog sits back lazily onto his podium. No movement can be detected aside from Thror's furiously shaking body. Slowly, the hall is filled with ear piercing laughter. Few are aware of the reason behind it but the action angers the dwarf, furthering their mirth.
"You think I jest?!" the dwarf demands, waving his weapon wildly
"No, dwarf." Azog responds, twirling a small carving knife in his hand "I think you mad."
"I will show you mad!" Thror bellows with a charge but is stopped by Bolg's thick arms "Release me, you swine!"
"Son-"
Azog's command is cut short by a howl of agony. His son stumbles back away from the dwarf king, clutching his left eye as cloudy liquid leaks between his thick fingers. Thror bounds away to a safe distance, moving quicker than the orcs gave him credit for, while gripping the hilt of the weapon he just used to grind into the heir's eye. Without needing to examine the damage, Azog can judge from the physical evidence that his prided heir with never use the sight in that eye again. He growls lowly in annoyance, disappointed that Bolg allowed such an injury to befall himself. Shame blossoms in his chest with each wail. Rising from his seated position, he pushes past his blinded son to face the snarling dwarf.
"Had I known he was your kin, I would have done it earlier." The dwarf keeps low in a defensive position, prepared for an attack from any direction "An eye for an eye."
"You enter my kingdom to blind my son?" Azog asks coldly
"I come to retake my ancestral home but find retribution for my son." The defiler is awarded the knowledge of why this dwarf is seemingly familiar. He shares a relation with the one he blinded years earlier. The prided line of Durin "Mahal has blessed me!"
"Mahal has led you to your death, dwarf!"
Having no other reason to listen to his ramblings any longer, the large orc charges the shorter male. Not to be outdone, Thror blocks, dodges, and returns his opponent's vigor blow for blow. None dare to interfere, not even Bolg who stands uncharacteristically quiet beside his father's throne. The heir knows he will be punished for his weakness and justly so. It is an impossible battle for Thror to win for even if the dwarf were to defeat the mutation, there are thousands of orcs remaining. Nonetheless, dwarves are not known for frequenting the art of retreat. Putting his all into the battle, Thror is determined to die with the pride his people uphold so strongly. His plans are halted when Azog's arm snaps out to take hold of his weapon. Years of being holed up inside a room of gold have dulled his skills. In his surprise, Thror's grip loosens just enough for the hammer to be torn from his grasp. Rather than backing away, the king glares at the orc with a withering gaze, refusing to meet death in a coward's position.
"You will find no honor here, Durin rat." Azog takes hold of the dwarf's neck, forcing him into the submissive position that the orc is known for frequenting: on the knees "For you, there is only shame. I have decided to carve my name into your line."
Raising the small knife from earlier, the orc indicates for a few of the jeering onlookers to restrain the dwarf as he begins to make good on his promise. With slow deliberate movements that are only disrupted by the king's thrashing, Azog engraves the characters of his name into the very flesh of Thror's forehead using dwarvish runes. He did this not for his legions, for few of them were literate let alone well versed in other languages, but rather he undertook the task to insight fear into the dwarven race. None of them were beyond his reach, not even their ruler. He originally planned to behead Thror but quickly decided to complete the task when the dwarf returns for his revenge. Because he would and when he did, he would surely bring more dwarves to slaughter. Standing tall once more, the orc examines his work as though it is a piece of art. Flesh gaping open in gashes, thick blood oozing from the wounds trying to clot the site, ashen skin from the loss of lifes nectar. Yes, to Azog this is truly a piece only a master could create. Wiping his knife clean on the dwarf's tunic, he picks up a few pieces of randomly strewn silver and shoves them into the king's mouth. Thror immediately spits them out, causing the orc to take more drastic measures. Minutes later, the currency is firmly situated in the dwarf's mouth and remains in place due to the orifice being sewn shut. Satisfied, Azog orders Thror to be tossed from the halls, anticipation growing at the expectant return of an army worth battling. There is no doubt that the one eyed son, Thrain, will be in attendance. Maybe he even has offspring. The orc can then add ending a king's line to his stripes. Azog watches Thror limp to his feet after being thrown into the valley, soon joined by an elderly dwarf who had been outside the gates hiding. Raising his head to address the coward, he calls out.
"Take my slave back to his people with his payment, and have him beg the dragon for his home." He roars into the darkness after the escaping dwarf pair "These are my halls for I am King!"
Second chapter is up! I'm working this on slow; I want it to be just right. Hey Jesusfreak3791, welcome back! Kelwtim2par, thanks for reading. I hope you guys are enjoying it. See you next time!