(WARNINGS: Violence and blood)
A scent caught his attention first. Elf flesh. Then he heard a sniffle. The pale orc growled as he followed the sound. There, hiding behind the bushes, was a small elf female. An elf child to be exact. You looked up at the orc with wide eyes and whimpered.
"Kill it," one of the other orcs hissed in Black Speech. Azog looked down at you, for once unsure of what to do. You were harmless for now. True, you would grow up to be a killer of orc. Unless...Azog's lips cracked a smile and you shrank further back into your hiding place. "No. She could be useful," Azog replied. His army protested, but one harsh look shut them up. "How could such a small, weak thing be of use?" Bolg asked. Azog scoffed. "She is young. We shall raise her orc. She will think nothing of killing her own kind."
Bolg walked away and Azog took a step closer to you. "Please, no," you pleaded in Elvish. "Come. I shall take you home." You shook your head, indicating you didn't understand. Azog grumbled under his breath before lifting you up swiftly. Your small frame fought against him, but you couldn't do much damage to a fully grown orc.
Azog carried you the rest of the day until they decided to make camp. Even orcs had to rest sometimes. The orc unceremoniously dropped you to the ground and you began to cry. You were a child after all and that was a tall height to fall from. You didn't just cry. You began to wail. You were so loud, some of the orcs covered their ears. "Kill it! Just kill it!" another orc cried, "Better yet, give it to the dwarf scum when you see them. That would be the worst torture."
Azog silenced them. He picked you up by your collar and dragged you slightly away from the rest of the camp. He placed a finger to your lips. "Shh." You stopped crying so loudly, mostly because you started gasping for air. Azog sighed. Was twisting your heart really worth all this? Orcs weren't really meant to raise children.
He looked back down at you. There were still tears rolling down your face, but you had quieted down a little. Then, you reached up and started rubbing your eyes. Hopefully you'd fall asleep soon. Tomorrow, you would begin training. Elves and orcs started training at very early ages.
When you woke up the next morning, you immediately started crying. Orcs were even more frightening looking in the sunlight. Then, you looked around and saw what you thought was a big dog. It was really a Warg, but you didn't realize that. Being curious, you approached the beast, ignoring the growling coming from it.
Azog stopped you before you got too close and the thing ripped your head off. Instead, he dropped a small blade into your hands. You flinched slightly and gazed up at him, wide-eyed. "Training begins now," he told you, but of course you didn't understand until he showed you how to swing the blade. You nearly fell down from the weight of it, but you managed to stay upright. Azog smirked. Maybe this would work out better than he thought.
*time skip*
You let out a grunt and an insult in Black Speech when you hit the ground. "Is that all you can do?" Bolg teased. You growled and rolled back to your feet. You swung at him again. You had been with the orcs for years now. By human terms, you were an adolescent. You spent your days training to kill dwarf, elf, and man scum. Even Azog had to be proud of your progress.
You saw yourself as orc. It didn't matter that you looked nothing like them. You knew how to fight how they did and you were just as strong. Just as brutal. You could, and had, slice the head off someone who looked at you the wrong way if you wanted to. It was even to the point that you had forgotten how to speak Elvish. Not that you remembered being able to do so anyway. You now only spoke in Black Speech or the Common Tongue.
"Enough, Bolg," Azog told him. "Y/N, come." You lowered your sword and approached the orc that had raised you. "You are ready." You arched a brow. "Ready for?" Azog laughed. "Ready to taste dwarf flesh. We ride tomorrow." You smirked and internally rejoiced. After all those years, he was finally giving you a chance to prove yourself.
You perched atop your own Warg as you rode toward the mountain. The line of Durin wouldn't stand a chance. You could almost taste victory. When you met the dwarves of the field of battle, your Warg went on instinct, ripping throats out. You fought with everything you had until you saw it happen. Thorin, son of Thrain, son of Thror, picked up an oaken branch and attacked the orc you'd come to see as father.
You kept one eye on the two of the them as you took down more dwarves. You nearly lost your own head when you paused. Thorin had sliced off Azog's arm. The pale orc could no longer fight, bleeding to death right in front of you.
You let out a shriek of frustration and anger. You let the rage overcome you, taking down dwarf after dwarf, trying to get to Azog. "Retreat!" Bolg cried. You ran over to Azog and pulled him after you, not caring that you were getting his blood everywhere. You glanced back at Thorin and glared. If Azog died, you swore you'd spend the rest of your life seeking revenge. That was the kind of attitude that made an orc after all.