Archive of Our Own ^beta

Blue eyes swept over the ground turned black by blood, the mangled bodies of the fallen scattered around like a blanket. He could smell it, he could smell the bodies decaying away with time, could hear the birds circling, waiting. The cold, sharp metal at his throat was a pleasant distraction.

He could hear them speaking of him, he could hear them just fine. Western wasn't hard to understand, he just didn't care to move. Along with the deep wound across his chest that flared with his breathing, but it didn't matter anymore, he failed. He let his eyes wonder over the fallen, mostly orcs and goblins, he bared his teeth at their failure. “Filth.”

The wizard paused with his speaking of black speech, the sword dug a little deeper into his jugular, a solid reminder. He had lost, he couldn't strike down the remaining line of Durin, he couldn't kill the fear smelling prince and the bastard children. No he had been stopped from finishing his final blow on the prince by an invisible force and an elf. The blow of his mace had been stopped by a block from a creature he couldn't see, but he heard the mountain-less prince whisper one word.

Bilbo

The elf then finished his mighty reign with a swift slash to his chest, he could still feel the pain of his ribs breaking. Now he was laying in his own blood, wizard standing over him with the elf and the halfling that had stood between his first victory of taking the dwarf prince's life. They were speaking about him, the two bastard sons wanting him dead, but the wizard didn't, not yet. They needed him for something.

He knew why; the halfling was dieing. The little thing had taken an arrow to the side and was going to bleed out from the inside. He sneered, he didn't care, there was little that him living would do to help the halfling, but he would gladly end the thing's suffering. It would die slowly, but its life would be over, just what the cursed wizard wanted.

He looked over to the little creature, so small in the elf's hold. The amount of weakness that just vibrated from the thing was sickening. He watched as the fallen prince tried to move towards the creature, only to be stopped by another elf. The prince was trying to crawl over to the creature, spewing words of weakness and apologizes.

It made him want to press further into the sword just to end his life, the only thing stopping him was the wizard's blood soiled boot. This halfling was the creature that had ruined his victory, twice. This small piece of warg shit had taken his victory from him, he would be shamed for the rest of his after life. At lest the creature would die with him, help to far away from some elf, the hobbit would bleed out and die, good.

“Do it.” The fallen prince spoke with authority.

The group around him went silent until the dwarf roared, “Do it.”

His ears wear luckily already filled with blood from the blow to the head by the wizard, but he was pretty sure that the dwarf's echoing roar had caused the dead to start bleeding again. He gave the fallen prince a snarl, he didn't care what they wanted, he wouldn't help them.

“Very well, Thorin. Tauriel bring Bilbo to me,” The elf hesitated to fallow the wizard's command, “We have little time, we need Azog alive for this. After it is done you may bring him to the healer's tents.”

He watched as the elf walked closer slowly, the steps sounding like the drum beats of doom in his ears. As the elf moved closer he felt it, a deep searing pain ripping into his soul. It burned his body, engulfing him like fire. He roared and struggled, the sword drawing blood. He felt it as he passed out, he felt something leave him, he felt hallow.

He woke with rocks digging into his flesh. He could no longer smell decay, but the burning smell of herbs and clean. He bared his teeth at the smell hoping it would leave, his wounds only a dull throb. Opening his eyes to the blinding light, he hissed and covered his face with his flesh hand. He was inside, but he could feel the sun, trying to burn him alive.

He glared around the white tent, it was small and smelled of blood and herbs now. The only things in the tent was a cot filled with the halfling, a fallen dwarf prince, and a disgusting gray wizard. The dwarf watched him from the side of the cot, watched as he slowly moved to sit up. His wounds throbbing with every breath, but he couldn't feel the blood seeping down his chest or the air stinging his internal organs anymore.

“Welcome back, Azog,” The wizard spoke, voice light, but dark with unspoken promises.

He only growled at the wizard, he didn't care what the spell caster had to say, he was going to rip out the old man's heart. He felt it the hallow feeling, it felt as if he hadn't ever eaten or he had never belonged in his own skin. He wanted it back, he growled at the bearded fool. “Wizard.”

The wizard only scoffed at the Black Speech, not caring what the orc had to say. He just leaned up against the support of the tent and smoked. His pipe balanced on long fingers as his eyes swept over the orc, Azog wanted to shiver at the satanic glee in his eyes. Breathing out a small puff of smoke he spoke in a voice of authority. “I'm sure you can feel it, the clawing emptiness eating away at you.”

“I haven't done anything like this in a very long time,” The wizard paused to take a breath from his pipe, “But your soul now belongs to Bilbo. If anything happens to him, you will know. If he dies, you will die a death a thousand times worse than his, at the same time. If you die, then he will be fine, he only needed your life energy to continue living, this is just a side effect.”

He snorted at the wizard this was some kind of trick. He wouldn't care if anything happened to the filth, he could care less if the halfling breathed its next breath. Sneering at the wizard showing he didn't care what the old man had to say, the wizard's eyes just twinkled back in amusement, filth.

The wizard then turned to the halfling, with an elven sword drawn. He watched as the wizard took one step after the other with a sword held in a way meant to kill, to kill the halfling. If he had been standing up he would have been brought to his knees by the sensation that burned his body. The pain was accompanied by instincts and whispers, all forcing his body to move, to claw at the wizard with his hooked hand.

He roared as the wizard skipped back just out of his reach, the old man will pay he seethed. The instincts pumping through him screamed for the wizards death, the whispers saying the old man's head should be removed for trying to harm the halfling. He snarled into his hands, relishing in the pain his hooked hand brought to him as it pierced the flesh, grounding him. He had almost broke from the call when the sound of a knife being drawn from its sheath rang out through the tent like a battle cry. It came from by the halfling.

He turned on the dwarf with wild eyes, the whispers, pain, and roaring instincts over running him again. He stalked towards the dwarf, everything in him coming to a climax, his whole being knowing everything would be fine if the halfling was safe. With a roar he leapt at the dwarf, pinning the fallen prince to the ground uncaring of the knife lodged into his shoulder.

Safe

He felt his body sing with relief at the feeling, the halfling was safe. Grinning in a twisted smirk he moved his clawed hand to the dwarf's face, the halfling would be safer if the dwarf couldn't see. He nearly laughed at the smell of fear the dwarf was giving off, of yes, he would make the dwarf suffer.

“You will die smelling of fear,” Azog showed his jagged teeth in a grin as he spoke harshly in orc tongue. He was going to kill the dwarf for trying to hurt the halfling.

Realization hit faster than the dwarf's fist, he stumbled back snarling at the dwarf and himself. He was only going to kill the prince for trying to harm the halfling, he was being overrun by this curse. He snarled at the cursed wizards.

He turned to the cot, the halfling laying still, only its breathing shattering the illusion of death. Snarling he sat down on the ground, it was hard and cold. He would figure a way out of this, he would, til then he just had to wait. His eyes followed the dwarf and wizard as they talked, the fallen prince upset and worried.

“We can't trust that beast with him,” Thorin snarled, “We can't.”

The hobbit had woken up startled, making his head throb behind his eyes. He looked over the creature, its eyes wide with fear and hands searching for a sword that wasn't there. He breathed in pleased that the creature didn't reek of fear. He and the halfling listened as the wizard described what had happened in more detail.

He and the halfling were now bound in a one-way bond, the halfling had needed life energy in order to survive the brutal procedure to safe its life. They needed a soul to help keep the halfling alive, the needed something to spare. They needed him. The bond was simple, Azog's soul for the halfling's life. His soul was now a part of the halfling, his very being belonged to the halfling. If anything hurt the halfling he would feel it, it would be much worse for him because there would be nothing to guard his soul from damage. If the halfling died it would be a thousand times worse for him, his very soul would be ripped to shreds, destroyed. He could never go on to the afterlife, not without the halfling's consent. He was the halfling's guard dog, a pet, he was its slave.

For days the information had haunted him, he was no longer free like he once was. He no longer lead hordes of orc or to strike fear into the hearts of men, dwarrows, and elves. He was but a pet, kept at his master's side like a trophy.

He gained little comfort in his avoidance of the halfling, the farther the halfling was from him the more pain he was in. The creature was jumpy when he was near, its eye would wounder over him in a fearful and calculating way, like a rabbit trying to escape a wolf. The elves, men, and dwarrows would be tense and ready to kill him at anytime, but only the wizard's words kept them from ending his suffering. He was to protect the halfling, the wizard had said, he was a dog to protect its master.

Just how protective his soul was over its new host was astounding. He heard of how the fallen prince treated the halfling after saving the dwarf. His mind's eye showing the events, he saw the little creature being held by its scruff over thin air as the dwarf decided weather or not to let the halfling drop from the high gate. The halfling shaking, eyes wide with fear.

His body had moved as his soul demanded. He had the dwarf by its neck and he watched as the life began to drain from the soon-to-be king's eyes. He was stopped by the halfling's command, his body obeying the creature without his consent. The look of fear in the prince's eyes was enough to make up for it, along with the rewarding crack of the dwarf's ankle snapping as he stepped on it.

He continued to protect the halfling, from the elf king, from the bow man, and from the dwarrows who betrayed his soul's host. The wizard was kept away at all times, the only ones allowed near the halfling was the healers. Even then he had broken one's arm for pressing down on the hobbit's side too hard.

Slowly a pact was formed; he wouldn't bother the halfling if the halfling didn't bother him. He couldn't complain about how the halfling treated him, he was well fed and he could do as he pleased as long as he didn't kill anyone who didn't ask for it. He got meat anytime he asked for it, raw or cooked, it didn't matter to him. He was never bored, there was always a dwarf or a man who thought that they could try to kill him or the halfling.

He couldn't die by his own hand, couldn't even pretend to not block a strike from an enemy, that was part of the curse. He couldn't protect the halfling if he was dead. So while the halfling healed in the tent he waited for an opportunity because he knew it would come.

It was an odd feeling being with the halfling, his soul was more content than it had ever been. He hadn't felt this... comfortable unless he was in his personal cave with his warg. It was always just the two of them, no other orc was allowed in, ever. It was just Wieβ and him, for as long as he could remember. He was abandoned, beaten and alone because of his color, til he found a warg pup. She was a runt and an unusual color, like him left alone to die. He raised her and stole food for the both of them til they were strong enough to teach those who scorned them a lesson. It had always been just the two of them, now he was alone with the unwanted comfort that the halfling brought.

As if the halfling could tell when he remembered just how alone he was without Wieβ, the halfling would do something special for him. The halfling didn't treat him bad, no the halfling was kind to him, it was a disturbing feeling. He would feel the loneliness creep up on him, the memory of her death still fresh in his mind. The special was always a strange sort of tasting bread, it was sweet like elvish flesh but not. It was soft and usually had something on top of it, a sort of thick blood just as sweet. The halfling called it cake with jam topping, he didn't realize that he was eating it til he was halfway done with his slice. The slice was meant for the halfling.

He at first felt anger arise from his insides, the desire to kill the soft creature for the act. It was abnormal for anything other than Wieβ to be kind to him. His own pack cowed away in fear of him, but the soft little halfling would just put out its chin in a challenging way. It knew that he couldn't harm it, the halfling knew.

He had tried to kill the halfling in its sleep one night, he had tried to end it all. As his hand shook over the halfling's throat he realized that he couldn't, he couldn't hurt the halfling. He had pulled back and slumped down on the cushion that the halfling had requested for him, now replaced with a bed, in anger and exhaustion.

They both hated each other, but the halfling didn't feel well killing him, the halfling had bit its lip and squirmed at the suggestion. He was more than willing to kill the halfling, but couldn't. His soul had thoroughly latched onto the halfling and the wizard couldn't remove it. Leaving them both stuck together. He couldn't travel too far from the halfling and the halfling was unwilling to kill him. So they sat in a comfortable silence most of the time.

It was odd to feel well with the halfling, the halfling would get visitors all the time, they would ignore him. But the halfling would pick up on how angry he was at the visitors and have them leave if he grew too upset. They didn't talk much, but the halfling knew he understood Western and would try to speak to him sometimes.

“What was your warg's name?” The halfling question spontaneously from behind a cover of a book, “Did it have a name?”

“Wieβ,” He growled out with an accent. He still sounded like he was speaking a mixture between Western and Black speech. He had liked the name it was a mixture of Western and his common language. “Her name was Wieβ.”

“Oh,” The halfling sounded surprised. Its eyes widened with something, “That's a good name.”

He watched as the halfling moved the quill from the side table, brought in by a bald dwarf and a stuttering dwarf. He listened as the halfling mumbled to itself and wrote down a small note for latter, “I think I'll call her Wieβ.”

He had watched as the halfling filled up scrolls upon scrolls of stories; some true, others not. The halfling would speak to him about them, asking for his opinion. He would mostly just snort and say it was fine, unless it was just full of shit then he would tell the halfling so. The halfling would just laugh and say, “Alright, then we'll just burn this one.”

He would snort and just slumped closer to the halfling, the guests were fewer and his entertainment was starting to dwindle. He only had the halfling now, he couldn't leave the halfling and the halfling wasn't ready to move around yet, so he began to carve. He would carve out of anything he could find; bone, wood, or rock. He didn't care, he just needed something to do. The halfling would either write or watch him, he would always show the completed project to the halfling. He was surprised when he didn't feel as sick when the halfling would look at it in wounder. No, he didn't feel warmth bubble up when the halfling would breath out a small praise. He didn't.

The halfling was finally well enough to move around, it was time that they left. They didn't have much to pack, the only problematic part was figuring out what do do with the scrolls. It was a simple solution they would pack up a few and then mail the rest, he just found it ridiculous. It was a wast of energy to try to move such scraps.

The halfling only had a small pack, a few change of clothes and some necessities. He had packed a few things extra; cooking supplies, a few gifts, and a handkerchief. He wore his new jacket, given to him by the dwarrows, clean shirt, and normal brown pants. He smiled at Azog when it was time for them to be escorted to Mirkwood, “Do you need anything?”

Azog shrugged, he didn't need much at all. He had his mace, orc blade, furs that were given to him by the halfling, and a small sack of valuables. He was fine and ready to leave this place, it reeked of fear. The dwarrows didn't smell good either.

With the small check over to see if they needed anything else they headed out of the tent to move out with their escorts. They was a few of the companions that the halfling had traveled with, one with a goblin blade in its head, the bastard children, one who had very nice knuckle dusters, one who smelled of dirt with a nasty looking hat, one with star shaped orange hair and the wizard.

Everything had gone fine, they had moved past the men and dwarrows rebuilding what they could with little problems. The halfling not far from him at all times, humming under its breath a pleasant tune. None getting too close in fear of his mace.

The group had been forced to take a small detour through the side of the mountain. Rebuilding the city around the mountain had closed off most of the roads, leaving only a small mountain pass for the group to get through. It was an easy walk, the pass smoothed out by boots and weather. The halfling moved slower than the rest, its injuries still flaring from the past infection, making the little creature heave out gasping breaths.

It was probably the smell of the halfling's blood that attracted the wounded warg. They were passing closely to the battle field, the smell of blood and death still thick in the air. He snorted at the smell, it covered everything, even the smell of soot on the hatted dwarf. He hadn't seen the warg come up from the side of the pass, he had been busy trying to expend the smell from his nose.

Unbeknownst to many races of Middle Earth, wargs were smart, deadly so. They were always hungry, that was when they were the most motivated. It was the reason why orcs didn't feed their wargs, they worked better when hungry. This warg was no different.

It had stalker up on the group using the overpowering scent from the battle field to hide its own, a tactic obviously used often. It had waited for the right moment to pull the ground loose from beneath the smallest members' feet. The pulling of a dead root caused a small controlled landslide, sending the halfling and one of the bastard children sliding down into the warg's trap.

One of the bastard children, the dark haired one, was lucky to grab onto a hanging edge. It griped the edge for dear life and gave a cry as the halfling continued to fall down, edge after edge. All of them watched as the halfling landed a few feet from the injured warg in a crumpled heap.

The warg's paw had been pierced and smelled of infection. An eye missing from a cut that had taken one of its ears off. It smelled of blood and death, its teeth stained with blood from both orcs and men. The matted fur pushed out at odd angles, showing bald spots from decay and sticky rotting flesh from the deceased. Azog didn't wait to see the warg slowly limp to the halfling, he was already stumbling and rolling down the edge.

He collided with the warg's side, pushing them both to the ground in a growling pile of hate. He hissed as the warg's claws dug into the flesh of his good arm, drawing his black blood. Using his injured arm he slammed his elbow into the warg's shattered paw, the warg howled in pain as more bones snapped under his power. Wasting little time he shoved his twisted, clawed hand into the warg's open mouth, watching as the points pushed through the soft, unprotected back of its throat. Using his legs he pinned the warg's back paws as they slashed at his sides, he pushed back the pain.

The warg struggled and snarled around the twisted piece of metal. He snorted as some blood was spat in his face. Uninjured front paw clawing out fanatically at the white orc's chest. Azog didn't pull away as his blood began to run down his chest in small rivers, he just pulled back his twisted claw a bit to jam it threw the warg's weaker part of its skull. It would take too long for the warg to suffocate on its own blood. Hearing the warg's skull shatter and snap, giving way to the squishy brain, he waited for the warg to sag on his metal arm.

He pulled back his metal arm, black with his own blood and filthy with the warg's blood, bone, and brains. Wasting no time he moved to hover over the fallen halfling, shoving the dwarf back with a snarl. He was in pain, but he wasn't dieing, at lest he didn't think so. He smeared blood all over the halfling's jacket when he turned over the fragile body. Running his flesh hand over the halfling's scrunched face, he gave a deep rumble when the wizard came closer.

Ignoring the growing group he huddled over the fallen halfling like a shield. His voice cracking as he whispered, “Bilbo. Bilbo, wake up, Bilbo.”

The halfling groaned under him, high pitched with pain. He gave a haggard sigh when he met green-blue eyes. He was pleased to see the halfling give him a small smile, lips still thinned with pain. Working as a team they both pulled up the shirt and pushed aside the jacket to take a look at the wounded side. The halfling was fine, side just reopened, but not inflamed with infection. New bruises were forming, but no ribs were cracked or broken.

Growling when the group tried to get closer he didn't wait for the group to understand that he didn't trust them. Slowly the wizard spoke with exhaustion and amusement, “I think we should get back to the road, we don't know what other creatures may be hiding about.”

“But he's injured, Gandalf, he can't travel like that!” One of the bastard children argued, gesturing to the injured halfling.

The wizard gave the group of dwarrows a pointed look, line soft with age. He just began to herd them back up the cliff, it was time for them to get back on track. He turned to give Azog a look, waiting to see if the orc would make Bilbo walk or not. A dwarf or two trying to get to the wounded hobbit.

Azog sneered at the wizard, he would carry Bilbo. Cradling the hobbit to his chest he growled when the star haired dwarf came too close. It was time they left.

Bilbo had complained into his chest the whole way to Mirkwood, the hobbit didn't like being dirty. He just let Bilbo mutter in his hold, the hobbit would be clean as soon as the elves let them bathe. They had arrived at Mirkwood by nightfall, the elves trying to take Bilbo from him.

He had snarled and cursed their fathers in orc tongue when one had tried to rip Bilbo from his arms. He had rewarded the elf with a broken nose and split lip. Bilbo didn't making it any easier by squirming around and trying to talk him down from hurting the elves. Giving up he let an elf look at Bilbo's side, but not touching, while he held the hobbit. The elf had confirmed what he already knew, the hobbit was fine with him.

They had been herded to separate rooms, he and Bilbo got their own. The room was overly stuffed with pointless things, trinkets easily broken, windows, and pointless paintings. But it had a bathroom, which is what Bilbo had whined for the whole walk there. Stuttering and blushing Bilbo had tried to push away his hands when he began to disrobe the hobbit. He only rolled his eyes and all but ripped the hobbit's shirt off before tossing Bilbo into the already filled tub.

Bilbo came up spitting and hissing at Azog, his face red with embarrassment. Ignoring his stinging wounds he half walked, half paddled to the soap. Muttering to himself he began to methodically clean the wound. As he cleaned the wound he gave Azog a pointed look, “You're worse than me, come on, get in here.”

Azog snorted and folded his arms, he was not getting in there, it smelled of elf. Shaking his head he sat down on a cleaning stool and waited. He shrugged his shoulders at Bilbo's narrowed eyes, he didn't care what the hobbit said, he was not going to bathe in an elven bath.

Slowly the hobbit gave up, he watched as the hobbit continued to scrub down its small body. Dozing off, he rested his head in his flesh hand. It was still covered in blood, his, the warg's, and the dead's. It smelled disgusting, he would have to wipe it off with a rag latter.

A splash ripped him out of his mussing, Bilbo. He stood up, toppling the stool, the hobbit wasn't floating anymore. The surface of the water rippled with Bilbo's decent into the water. He dived into the water, flesh hand whipping around trying to find the hobbit. Wading over to Bilbo's last location he gave a startled gasp when the hobbit popped back up to the surface.

Before Azog could snarl at Bilbo, he simply folded his arms and said with a small amount of heat, “You could have removed your loincloth before getting in. I was only getting the dirt out of my hair.”

Azog stared as Bilbo rolled his eyes. His hair was now free of dirt and blood from Azog's chest. Huffing he pulled the surprised orc down to his level to start wiping off the blood and grime. He started on the metal arm first, he knew Azog couldn't hurt him, the orc couldn't even try. After wiping off the twisted metal he began to work on the other arm, getting soap into the open wound that had closed over time he gently cleaned off the black blood. He gave a pleased nod when he was finished, the flesh arm looked like wet marble with red lines cut in by a steady handed artist. After waiting for Azog to sit he began to give the rest of the pale orc the same treatment.

Azog sat in the water, waiting for Bilbo to get done cleaning, as it went from a pristine clear to a murky black. He grumbled as the hobbit gave a huff at the water soiled with blood, he was forced into the bath, it was all the hobbit's fault. He relaxed into the hobbit's methodical touch, he hadn't been this clean in a very long time. He moved them out of the water when it became to dirty and Bilbo was just pushing around the grime on his skin.

He was forced into a towel when an elf came to collect their dirty clothes. He had tried to go without his loincloth, but Bilbo hadn't been pleased with him walking around naked. He had to tie the thing to keep it up, and Bilbo had changed into a spare set of clothes. He flopped down on to one of the beds in the room, with pristine white sheets and over-compensated comforter. He hated elves.

Bilbo waddled over to his bed, pulling his pack a long, sitting down with an exaggerated huff he gave Azog a contemplated look. The orc just stared back at him, without pausing to eat the food left for them, he pulled out a block of wood. Tossing the block over to the lounging orc, he gave a small smile.

Azog grunted when he caught the block with ease, at lest he would have something to do while they stayed here. They eat quietly, sharing the food off the night stand, Bilbo wrote while he carved. It was a peaceful night.

Traveling through Mirkwood had been very uneventful. They stayed on the path their food rationed, but the trip was easy. Bilbo had sighed wistfully when they passed a house. The home was huge, carved skillfully from wood, it belonged to a man just as big. They couldn't stop for the night though, the bear of a man had a deep rooted hatred for orcs.

He just snorted at that, he cared little for how much the man hated him. He was glad to be out of the forest, sharing meat with the dwarrows and wizard was a painful experience for him. Bilbo had stayed close, the two of them talking quietly. They talked about all manor of things, it was mostly Bilbo telling him of the journey, the hobbit expressed a mixed sense of joy and fear when recounting the flight with the eagles.

The dwarrows weren't afraid of him as they first were, but they still avoided him like the plague. The wizard still danced around him with glee, Bilbo constantly scolding the old man for it. He trusted the wizard to an extent, he would leave the group to bring back food for him and Bilbo when they made camp at night. He kept most of the fur to be saved for latter, he knew the mountains would be cold and the fur would provide a great insolent to keep the hobbit and him warm.

The group would always have a separate fire from him, many would try to drag Bilbo over. He would pull the hobbit back snarling at the dwarrows for their insolence. They weren't to be trusted with Bilbo, that much had been proven with what happened before the great battle. The two bastard children and the hatted dwarf didn't give up though, he would have to slash at them constantly. Bilbo seemed to pick up on it and finally cornered him during their last meal for the night.

“Why do you keep trying to behead Fili, Kili, and Bofur?” Bilbo asked with thin lips, he was giving Azog a very disappointed look. He had the orc promise not to kill any of his old friends or he would fling himself off a cliff, just to make a point he climbed a tree sending Azog into a fit.

Azog just snorted and bit into the deer meat viciously. Bilbo had cooked it, the hobbit had a fit the first time he tried to feed Bilbo uncooked meat. It tasted better after Bilbo handled it anyways. “The bastard children and the hatted dwarf, right?”

Bilbo nodded, “They aren't bastard children, they're Thorin's nephews. And their names are Fili and Kili, the one with the hat is Bofur.”

“I don't trust them, they let the fallen prince hang you over the side of the gate.” Azog growled remembering his failed oath. He had seen the gate, if Bilbo had fallen from that the hobbit would have been splattered everywhere.

“That wasn't their fault, it was the gold-sickness'.” Bilbo huffed back. He didn't comment on how this was the most Azog had ever spoke to him, he just rolled his eyes and looked over his clothes for any holes enjoying the warmth from the fire. “And they're still my friends so be nice, well as nice as you can be.”

“They're still bastard children,” Azog retaliated to the hobbit's teasing.

“Azog!”

Passing through the mountains had left him feeling sick. He had walked past his old home, probably being over run by some fool who didn't know how to do anything. He was happy that they didn't run into any other orcs, he wasn't in the mood to put up with their shaming. But that wasn't the problem, the current problem was trying to figure out how they were going to pass through a town of man without being killed.

“We can dress him up like a traveling man from the north,” the hatted dwarf translated for the one with the goblin blade in its head.

“That could work, we do have enough fur...” Bilbo trailed off biting his lip.

“What are we going to do about his orc boots?” The star haired dwarf asked, its casual flipping of its knifes were making Azog nervous.

“We could cover them up with some spare leather and fur,” one of the bastard children spoke up. The other finished, “All we have to do is head strait for the tavern get a few rooms and we're Scott-Free.”

The dwarf with the tattoos and knuckle dusters snorted, “I don't see why we're putting so much effort into it.”

The wizard just chuckled and Bilbo sent the dwarf a glare. Azog moved closer to Bilbo, giving the dwarf a vicious grin. He remembered the dwarf from a battle long before, when he took its king's head. He knew that the dwarf had a lot of anger for him, but he didn't care, making friends with the group of betrayers wasn't his priority.

After showing the group his pointed teeth, he allowed Bilbo to cover him with furs. The hobbit had to use some of the hatted dwarf's extra belts and buckles to make it look like he was wearing actual clothes and not as if they just tried to wrap him in a giant fur blanket. He had been forced to wear a pair of pants the star haired dwarf stole for him, it was very uncomfortable. The pants lacked the breeze he was used to.

Walking through a town of men was even worse. The town's people watched the small group with suspicious glares and whispers. He tried not to snarl at them or show off his teeth, Bilbo had gave him a warning. The chances of the men killing just him was small, the chances of the men killing the whole group if he was discovered was huge. So he kept his head down and rested a hand on Bilbo's shoulder, he would keep the hobbit safe.

Finding the inn had been easier than they had first thought because the inn was an actual inn, not some business man looking for some extra coin. They had got their rooms as soon as they stepped in, handing Bilbo the key the wizard gave the both of them a pointed look leveled with a clear warning, don't get caught.

He had been forced to let Bilbo leave his sight so that they could have some food. He removed the heavy fur and kicked it into a pile in a corner of the room. Their room was small, one bed and a table, and the walls a old wood. There wasn't a bath for them in the room, so he would have to go without being clean for a little while longer. He shrugged and shimmied out of the stolen pants, putting back on his loincloth was comforting.

Bilbo had returned with a confused turn to his brows. He hands full with the two plates of food and two paints of ale. He set the food on the table and turned to Azog with an open mouth, only to flop his jaw like a fish. Azog gave him a pointed growl before he told the orc about what happened down stairs.

“So apparently, from what Gandalf said, you are a man from the North who owes me a great debt and now is my indentured servant.” Bilbo said with lips thinned. It obviously bothered him, if his squirming and scent were anything to go by.

“Not far from the truth.” Azog shrugged. He stalked across the room to retrieve his food and sagged into the chair. The scent of fresh food made his stomach growl out in need.

It wasn't far from the truth, he wasn't a man from the North, but he was Bilbo's servant. He didn't have to do anything that the hobbit said, but he had to protect Bilbo at all cost. He paid little attention to the Bilbo's distress, ignoring the searing pain behind his eyes he continued to eat his food.

“But you're not my servant,” Bilbo whispered, biting his lip he looked Azog in the eye as the orc raised an eye brow. “You may have to protect me, and I'm not that sorry about that,” Azog snorted, “but you're my... companion, someone who doesn't have to do as I say. We're companions.”

Azog just shrugged, Bilbo was just calling it a different name, “I'm you pet.”

“No,” Bilbo's voice echoed with distress. “No you're not! You're my friend, probably the best I ever had.”

Azog pretended he didn't hear the whisper, he just shifted so that their knees were touching.

The routine had been set, every time that they passed through a town of men they would dress him up as a man from the North. They had little to no problems, many feared the men of the North. He and Bilbo were mostly left alone, though many wanted the tale of how the two had met.

Bilbo had asked him about what they should say, he didn't care though. He had no reason to talk to such fear smelling filth. Bilbo just gave him the look and he grunted out what ever had come to mind. Their story was that Bilbo had saved his life from a wolf, he luckily had a pelt to show as (fake) evidence, and he now was indebted to Bilbo for the rest of their lives.

He just shrugged when the hobbit kicked up a fit about the servitude. Bilbo had been clearly bothered by that part. But that was what they were, he could think of a lot worse creatures to be bonded too. They were now bound together for the rest of their lives, Bilbo couldn't stay in denial about their relationship for long. It had made him snarl at Bilbo's weakness, for as long as he knew Bilbo the hobbit hadn't been weak. Bilbo just retaliated by jutting out a soft chin and arguing with him about it for hours.

He understood though, that was very surprising. They had grown content with each other, he would sleep curled around Bilbo and Bilbo would prepare their meals. When one of the dwarrows were cruel to him Bilbo would raise to his defence and if anything tried to hurt Bilbo he would skin it while it screamed. They talked, a lot, out of the hearing of others. He heard about Bilbo's parents' death and he told Bilbo of his “childhood”. He laughed as the hobbit puffed up in anger at how other's had treated him, he liked that about Bilbo.

He had heard about how other hobbits had treated Bilbo, he had made a mental note to make a few special ones scream for him. It had lead them to their current talk, what were they going to do about a orc living in the Shire?

“We could move into a house by the Brandywine, we would still be in the Shire away from men, but out of the populace,” Bilbo drummed his finger on his chin in thought.

Azog rested against a tree, Bilbo called it an oak, and carved patterns into a rabbit's skull. He grunted in response, “What about your home, Bag Ind, and I don't think hobbits will take kindly to The Pale Orc running around.”

Bilbo gave Azog a dead stare, “Bag End, and if you stopped showing your teeth like that there wont be a problem.”

“They're just cowards,” Azog snorted back, “Why don't we just move out to a large plot of land outside of Brii.”

“Bree.”

“Does it really matter?” Azog growled back, his temper running thin. The dwarrows had been more tiring than usual. “As long as I can still hunt, we can live in Bag- Bag End if that's what you want.”

Bilbo sighed as he stitched up the holes in Azog's new favorite pelt. “I want to go back to my home, but I don't know how the Shire will react to you.”

Azog stretched his foot so that it rested on Bilbo's shin, “It doesn't matter how they react, if it really bothers you how much the fear and cower from me then we can move wherever you want.”

Bilbo patted his knee, “I just... I just don't want it to be too terrible for you.”

He gave a throaty laugh, his head thumped against the tree as Bilbo swatted at him in anger. He never thought he would see the day when something he would have killed without thought was the center of his existence.

Bilbo had been gone for too long.

The thought rung through his head for the past hour, Bilbo had left to go do some “shopping”. The hobbit had left saying it was just for some necessities. He hadn't felt the pull from his soul, but it was unnerving to not know where Bilbo was. He had trashed the room in anger, he needed to find the hobbit.

His being cried with anger that he hadn't seen the hobbit in hours. Bilbo had left around four hours ago, but he couldn't leave, someone would see him. He hadn't ever hated his reputation, but he wanted to rip off his own skin just so that he could leave to go find Bilbo. In a split second decision he dressed in the furs, now a proper clothes, to go find his hobbit.

He snarled and bared his teeth at any who tried to stop him, his strong sense of smell leading him all over the town. The market was a good sized market, Bilbo had obviously wondered around with some of the dwarrows in simple joy. He sneered as one of the stale owners cowered back in fear when he demanded where Bilbo had gone.

“We- we saw him head off that way with some dwarrows,” The owner's wife squeaked out, trembling as it held its spouses arm. Snorting he fallowed the trail and directions the two had given him.

He gave a low growl when he came upon a bar, of course. Fucking dwarrows. Of course the dwarrows would have dragged Bilbo into a bar, he snarled at himself as he fixed the “sleeve” that hid his metal arm from view. He had almost walked into the bar to look for Bilbo when a fresh scent wafted into his nose. It smelled of Bilbo, drinks, and fear.

He bristled and barely contained a roar. Bounding down the dark alleyway with no fear, he stumbled upon the backdoor of the bar, fresh scent with broken baskets once filled with clean dried food and cloth. Releasing a roar as he heard whispers down a little farther, whispers that promised pain, he was glad he remembered his blade and not his mace. He wanted to see the light leave the filth's eyes as he made them bleed and beg.

Running down the alleyway he was met with a scream of fear, two men, one held out a sword in defense, the other had a knife to Bilbo's throat. He flitted over the one with the sword with blood shot blue eyes, he could feel his eyes dilating to see in the darkness of the alley. He knew his hood had fallen off, revealing his face, he knew by how Bilbo gave a struggled gasp and looked to the men with calculating eyes.

The one with the sword stepped forward, arms shaking as it looked into his eyes. It was afraid of the rage on his face, he could smell it. His face twisted into a grin as he waited for the one with the knife to realize that Bilbo's elvish sword was glowing at the hobbit's side. He was disappointed with how long it took for the man to give a startled yelp and step away from Bilbo. He wasted no time as the other was distracted looking at its partner to notice as he swung out his blade, cutting off the arm of the one with the sword with a bit more force than he was used to.

He shivered in pleasure at the scream the man released as its blood dripped out in a steady stream. Watching as the man looked at its arm in horror taking in its jagged cut flesh red with pain, bone splintering, skin torn like paper. He passed the fallen man with a quick sidestep and grabbed the man with the knife by the throat. He was mildly impressed when the man didn't drop its knife, he was impressed when Bilbo acted quickly and stabbed the man before it could stab out his eye with the knife.

A stab through the leg with an elvish blade made the man cry out till it was choked on his grip. He gave the filth a twisted smile as it clawed at his flesh hand til it fell lifeless in his hold. He squeezed til the eyes of the coward had gone dull with death and its muscles had locked up cold. He tossed the fool a few feet away before turning to Bilbo.

The hobbit's eyes were wide with fear, his hand shaking on the hilt of Sting. He looked up when Azog as the orc knelt down to the hobbit's level, his eyes shifting between now and a memory. Slowly he looked Azog right in the eye and gave a tight-lipped smile. He gave a shaky laugh as the orc pulled him into an embrace with one arm, metal arm keeping him shielded while the other patted around his body for injuries.

“They'd seen me sneak out the back when I tried to get back to the inn,” Bilbo said trying to put Sting back in its sheath, only to miss til Azog guided his hands. “They saw my purchases and in their drunken stupor thought that I would be an easy target with money.”

Azog nodded his eyes never leaving the shaking hobbit. Glancing over to the man who was trying to crawl away he made eye contact with Bilbo and growled out an order, “Stay here.”

He didn't wait to see Bilbo nod, he walked over to the fallen man his eyes taking in the drunk who was bleeding out on the cold, hard ground. Picking the filth up by its hair he whispered into its ear, voice deep and cold with anger, “I will skin you alive and then I'll find your family to do the same to them.”

Not caring as the filth begged and screamed, he pulled out his blade and began to make cuts along the collarbone and hips, he wanted to see the filth's insides. Looking up at Bilbo, pleased to see that the hobbit was turned way with hands over his ears, Azog went back to work. He ignored the blood and cries as he began to pull away the flesh.

Bilbo had been jumpy since the incident, but not fearful of him. He was pleased that the hobbit wasn't afraid of him. When Bilbo was upset he would be in pain, there was a throbbing pain behind his eyes when the hobbit was scared. He had told Bilbo about it, who then confronted the wizard.

The old man had just watched Bilbo with amused eyes while he stood behind the hobbit not really caring. The wizard explained that fear, like pain, was a defense mechanism that signaled danger. Bilbo had mumbled and said that the wizard was being unfair.

The attack had shaken something in him. He hadn't felt the same way as he had when the two men had tried to attack Bilbo. Not when the wizard had stepped forward with the intent to harm, not when he heard of what the prince had tried to do. His whole body had been on fire, he didn't sleep for days after he went on the panicked hunt. He just hovered over Bilbo's sleeping body and watched the shadows. His knees had actually quivered, it made him hunt more violently than normally.

Tonight was no different than the ones before it. He and Bilbo had set up their own camp a little away from the dwarrows and wizard. He had left to go hunting, never straying too far away, while Bilbo would set up their cooking supplies and bed roll. He would come back with their food, Bilbo already preparing soup or making bread for in the morning, and prepared the meat and keeping the fur for latter. Bilbo would cook their food while he started to carve, they would talk about anything that came to mind, but mostly they sat in comfortable silence. They would eat and then finish up anything that needed to be done, fixing clothes or bathing. After that they would rest, sitting on a log he dragged over or leaning against a tree, til it was time for them to sleep.

He would let Bilbo lay down first, the fussy hobbit would mumble and roll around for a bit, always complaining about rocks and uneven ground. After Bilbo was comfortable he would slide up next to Bilbo, enveloping the small hobbit in his body. He would lay over and around Bilbo like a blanket, his arm being used as the hobbit's pillow and his hooked hand rested safely around Bilbo like a shield. After he listened for what seemed to be hours he would drop his head into Bilbo's shoulder and sleep.

Tonight he didn't fallow the exact pattern, tonight he stayed awake much longer. His eyes taking in every bit of movement. Orcs could see even better than dwarrows in the dark, he could see at night just as well as he could see during the day. He saw ever blade of grass, he saw the night animal wander on the edge of their camp. He saw the way how the hobbit's breathed threw his nose.

It was oddly reassuring when he felt Bilbo breath. When he felt the raise and fall of Bilbo's chest it made his body sing with relief. He had thought about the events over and over again, he thought about what would have happened if he had been a few seconds latter. He thought about what would happen if the hobbit stopped breathing for just a moment, every time there was a delay in Bilbo's breathing he felt his heart stutter in true fear.

He curled tighter around the small body in his arms. He had made sure that Bilbo was well fed.

He remembered when Bilbo was but skin and bones in the tent, when Bilbo was even more fragile. It sent his mind and soul into a tantrum knowing just how small Bilbo was to the rest of the world. The first time he had seen Bilbo walking through a town of man he realized just how small Bilbo was. He remembered thinking that Bilbo needed him. Not the dwarrows or the wizard but him, his thoughts had been reinforced when Bilbo crept closer to him to escape from the crowd.

He didn't hesitate to press his mouth to the plump of Bilbo's cheek before he went to sleep that night, the taste of Bilbo on his lips.

He didn't think he could hate elves anymore than he already did, he was wrong. Wood elves were bad, but high elves were worse.

There was light everywhere, the constant singing, they smelled awful, and he doesn't even want to know what happened to the meat. Bilbo, now his hobbit looked thrilled and had hugged an elf. The two had talked for hours, he was bored out of his mind and was thinking about lighting the room on fire just so they could leave. The only thing stopping him was the look of utter joy on Bilbo's face.

He decided that if Bilbo was happy and safe, then it was alright for him to just wait. He had to shift his chair out of the sunlight a few times earning the curious glances of the elf. The elf leaned in closer to Bilbo before asking the hobbit a question.

“I always thought orcs and goblins couldn't survive in the sunlight, did you travel at night?” The elf asked head rested in its hands.

Bilbo looked to Azog quickly before answering, “No, we traveled during the day.”

“How?”

“Sunlight doesn't kill,” Azog growled out, “It makes us weak, it doesn't hurt.”

He didn't speak about how it was like a small burning sensation running through his veins. It left them weak, as if they hadn't been eating enough and didn't have enough energy. He was only fine because he was well fed and he slept enough to gain back his strength.

The elf continued to interrogate Bilbo til some more elves brought some sort of brown-clear liquid in. He didn't know how to feel when he looked at the liquid, it looked like a sort of poison to him, or something decaying. He resisted the urge to slap the cup out of Bilbo's hands.

It was a little ridiculous to see Bilbo hold such a large cup, like the pints from the inns. His tiny hands cradling the delicate china and eyes closed in joy as he sniffed the concoction. His lips in a gentle smile, cheeks warmed with happiness despite his dirty clothes. Azog stared at the picture he made. He looked like the persona of happiness, with a small smile, curling toes, and how the light caught his eye lashes and disheveled hair.

Bilbo must have felt him stare because the hobbit looked up at him and offered a cup of the concoction. He gave the liquid a suspicious look with his nose scrunched up at the smell, it smelled like Bilbo's favorite fruit -apples-, lemons, a few bits of herbs he couldn't name, and greens. It wasn't very appealing to him. That and he didn't want to even know how he was supposed to pick up the fragile cup.

He gave a grunt at Bilbo's second offer, the hobbit's contorted in confusion before realization struck. Bilbo offered him a small smile before he spoke, words light with embarrassment, “Oh, that's right, I haven't drank tea with you before.”

“Tea,” He drawled out slowly testing the word on his tongue. It was a strange word. He watched as Bilbo leaned forward with excitement.

“Tea is, well tea is a liquid streamed from the leafs of,” Bilbo paused flustered obviously never having to explain what tea was. “Oh, my...”

“Tea is a beverage commonly prepared by pouring hot water over cured leafs of plants, the vitamins and flavor seep into the water,” The elf explained and watched them curiously. He could admit, he may have looked odd with his bulky mass sitting like a king in an elvish chair.

“Thank you, Elrond.” Bilbo praised the elf with a smile. Turning back to Azog he went into a monolog, “Well there are many, many different types of teas. There are White teas, Black teas, Green teas, Night teas, Morning teas, oh! The list just goes on-and-on. My personal favorite is apple tea, with lemon leafs, camomile, ginger, cardamon, black pepper, and a pinch of cinnamon. Its just what you need to get a fresh start on your day...”

He listened as Bilbo explained to him the importance of tea, taking special note of Bilbo's favorite. He leaned forward in the delicate elvish chair, carved for someone smaller than him, and drank what Bilbo offered him. He sat through the explanation, prosperously ignoring the elf that watched them with glittering eyes.

Bree, they had finally made it to Bree. They were just outside of the Shire. So close to Bilbo's home. He could feel Bilbo's excitement as they stayed in the Prancing Pony. The hobbit's face alight with joy even with the dwarrows heading back to their mountain.

Bilbo had been tearful, the hobbit saying goodbye to everyone. He hugged them all and wished them well, it had been the only time Azog had let the dwarrows sleep near Bilbo, it was their last night and he was in pain at saying goodbye to his friends.

The two bastard children had cuddled around Bilbo, Azog let them. He knew by now that the dwarrows were no threat to Bilbo, as long as there were no bars involved. He sat in a corner watching the dwarrows sleep in a giant pile with Bilbo at the center. He couldn't fault them, his oldest enemy, for finding comfort in Bilbo. He could, and would, fault the wizard for watching him with twinkling eyes.

“What,” He snapped at the wizard, his patients had run dry. Bilbo wasn't awake to save the wizard from his blade or mace.

The wizard paused to blow a puff of smoke in the shape of a bird through the window, “Nothing, just watching something very interesting, and painful.”

Azog snorted, he couldn't smell anything painful going on in the room or in the hall. Yet again, he growled at the wizard.

“You are quite fond of him,” The wizard gave him a pointed look, voice heavy with tiredness. “It's rather painful to watch you, dancing around him and trying to pull him closer.”

Azog gave a snarled breath as he stared down the wizard from the other side of the room. His breath heavy with anger, disturbing the quiet night. The only light in the room from the moon coming in from the window and the wizard's pipe. They both stared each other down, only glancing as a dwarrow shifted buried deep beneath the pile.

“You will have to tell him someday, and the sooner the better.” The wizard disturbed the peace with a sigh.

“Nothing to tell,” Azog argued with a snort, his gaze falling on his twisted, metal arm.

The wizard gave a small chuckle, “Nothing to tell, why I have never heard a bigger lie in my life. If that is all that is stopping you then you have nothing to worry.”

He gave the wizard a narrowed look, “Why do you care, Wizard?”

“Because I want him to be happy.”

Azog snorted and turned his body away, showing he would no longer participate in the discussion. He let his gaze fall upon the sleeping hobbit, he counted ever breath he saw Bilbo make.

“I don't think he'll be happy if you're not.”

He now had a special spot in his heart for the screams of hobbits. He, Bilbo, and the wizard returned to Bilbo's old home, only to be greeted by an auction. One hobbit, an old friend of Bilbo's, was shouting with a very nasty hobbit, a relative of Bilbo's, about how they should sell Bilbo's things. He couldn't agree more.

Bilbo had ran past him and the wizard, cheeks alight in rage, “What is the meaning of this? Hamfest, what is going on?”

The hobbit pulled Bilbo into a large hug before pulling back and speaking, “Oh, Mr. Bilbo. I'm so sorry that you're coming home to this- Oh, you must be tired from your trip.”

The wizard carefully stepped in front of him, blocking him from the hobbits' view. “Indeed Master Baggins is. We had a very long journey and we would like to sleep, very, very, much.”

The other hobbit, very nasty looking thing it was, asked in a snarly voice, “I'm sure you all are. Now, why have you come back?”

Azog felt his hunches prickle at its tone directed at Bilbo. Stomping out from the behind the wizard with the intent to wriggle its neck he was met with the cries of fear and screams of distress. The nasty thing stood its ground, fear washing off it in waves.

He didn't bother to lower down to its level, he just picked it up by the scruff of its neck. He let his eyes bore into the halfling, as he held it up letting it stew in its own fear. Slowly he revealed his teeth in a threatening snarl, “Don't you, EVER, speak to him like that.”

The command left the halfling nodding and crying with fear. He dropped the creature in a heap, fully intending on gathering up Bilbo and heading into their home when he was met with a walking stick being shakily stabbed into his chest.

He looked down at the other hobbit, this one had pulled Bilbo behind it in a effort of protection. Its green eyes hardened in determination and its sandy blond hair stuck to its forehead from sweat. It jutted out its chin in a familiar gesture, its voice ringing out with false security. “Don't you dare take another step towards Mr. Bilbo.”

Azog rose a hairless brow at the hobbit's courage, Bilbo gave a shaky laugh and patted hobbit on the shoulder. “No need to be afraid this is my friend Azog.”

The fallen halfling gave a cry, “Friend? Only mad Baggins would be friends with an orc.”

“You be quiet Lobelia, he is my friend, my best friend.” Bilbo said loudly, before looking at the male hobbit, “You are too Hamfest.”

The hobbit gave a snort before pushing against Bilbo playfully, before remembering that Azog was standing right in front of it. The hobbit when strait as a board, before stuttering out an apology.

The wizard stepped up to clarify everything, “As you can see, Mister Baggins is not dead, so there will be not auctioning his items today. As for the orc-”

“Azog,” Bilbo interrupted with a chastising look.

“Known as Azog,” The wizard not bothered by Bilbo's interruption, “owes our Mister Baggins a great dept. He will protect Bilbo at all cost, and they have grown to be close companions. He will offer you no harm, this much I promise you. He will only harm any who have the intent to harm Bilbo, so there is little fear there. He will not try to harm your livestock, or your pets. For he lost a close animal-companion not too long ago and he will share your pain. He only wishes to stay with Bilbo.”

The hobbits, once frozen by fear watched him cautiously as he strode around the male hobbit to stand beside Bilbo. He gave the hobbits no argument to the wizard's claims, but he also didn't reinforce them. His body curled forward in a protective gesture when a hobbit, withered with age, waddled up to Bilbo.

The two talked for a few minutes, the conversation staying light with a harsh undertone when Bilbo refused to bow to the other's wishes. Finally the hobbit gave Bilbo a nod, face crumpled with defeat, and signaled to the rest of the hobbits. All wishing Bilbo and the wizard a good day as they left, the nasty one pointedly emptied out its pockets, spoons falling everywhere. The last to go was the male hobbit, its face still unsure.

It turned to him and spoke with fleeting strength, “You, look after him really well, alright?”

Azog blessed the brave soul with a nod before he ushered Bilbo into their home. Walking up the steps his eyes taking in the green of the floral around the steps and the door, it was opened with easy. The home smelled of dust and faintly of Bilbo, trinkets of hidden meaning all around, and the pantry empty. Bilbo had gave a small laugh at that, his hobbit's eyes twinkling with joy of being home.

It was bright, but not in a painful way, it was just bright in a comforting way. The way how every thing was just a giant circle always running back to one point was pleasant, the halls tall enough for him to enter with ease. He grew incredibly fond of the chandler when the wizard ran right into it. Everything, despite the dust, smelled fresh and good.

He let Bilbo push him into a oversized chair and watched as the hobbit fussed about their home.

The hobbits still reeked of fear, but they had adjusted to him, most had. The only ones who talked to him was Bilbo's old friend, something or another. The hobbit had informed him about something called a birthday, which was a celebration of the birth of another.

Which had lead him to fitting into a tiny shop growling at a halfling to stop hiding behind a counter so he could get Bilbo a gift. He snarled for the fourth time, “Come out! I need to get Bilbo his favorite tea.”

The hobbit finally popped its head out from the behind the wooden counter, “I don't know what his favorite is.”

He snarled at the hobbit's distressed tone, he didn't have time for this. If it didn't take him so long for him to travel to Bree and if he hadn't been informed the day of this wouldn't be a problem. Giving a roar of frustration, barely remembering Bilbo forced him to swear not to hurt any hobbits, he slammed his flesh hand on the counter.

“I need apple tea, with lemon, camomile, ginger, cardamon, black pepper, and a bit of cinnamon.” He hissed barely keeping himself from gabbing the hobbit by the collar.

“Ri- Right away,” The hobbit squeaked before running back to its den.

He snorted in the creature's direction before sending the on lookers from the window an unamused look. He had gotten used to the hobbits' constant staring at him, he was very pleased that Bilbo lived near the edge of the Shire. He could easily leave to go hunt and blow off his frustration knowing that the dwarven locks that one of the dwarrows had left would keep Bilbo safe.

They had a new routine again; get up early, Bilbo starting to make breakfast, the first one. Then they would began to start their choirs, the house was never clean, not with Bilbo's constant mess of papers. Take a small break, eat second breakfast, stop at the market if they needed to after they shared their meal. He didn't eat much, mostly just snacking till lunch. He would leave, making Bilbo stay inside, and hunt to return to supper. He would prepare his animal for tomorrow and the two would rest for the night, Bilbo reading and him carving.

He had made a few pieces for Bilbo, carved skulls and little figures. He had made a little tea cup, as the hobbit loved the delicate pieces of china, he just hadn't given it to his hobbit yet. He was waiting to give it with the tea... leafs that Bilbo loved so much. All he had to do was return home and wrap his gift before Bilbo returned from the market.

They had separated because he left under the guise of needing new tools for carving. That was why he was so tense, he hadn't left Bilbo alone for so long since the attack. It made him itchy and irate, he couldn't be blamed when the halfling came back and he slammed down the requested amount on the counter with little care.

He marched passed halflings as he mulled over the second part that Bilbo's friend had told him about, wrapping. He couldn't figure out what he was supposed to wrap his gifts in, let alone how. He would have just wrapped it in the skin of that nasty halfling if Bilbo had let him kill the whinny thing, but he couldn't, so he had to figure something else out.

Azog had seen Bilbo wrap little jars of cake topping in a bright cloth and tie it up with a bow before. He could do that, only problem was that he didn't own any bright cloth, and he couldn't tie a bow-thing, with one hand.

Growling he shoved open the door to their home with his boot. He had no idea what he could do. Bilbo had been very verbal about no bloody pelts in their home, so he couldn't present it with fresh meat. Groaning he slumped into his chair, it had once been Bilbo's father's favorite chair. He twisted the bag around til it fell onto his twisted hand, hanging swinging back and forth in a soothing motion.

Maybe he could use that solution, a sticky one that he couldn't pronounce, gluu. Yes, he could gluu on the bow, and gluu the bright cloth closed, thus wrapping his present for the celebration of Bilbo's birth. Grinning he set the bag on the side table while he wondered the rooms to find everything that he needed.

He should have realized it wouldn't have been that easy when he gluued the cloth to his metal hand and ripped it into pieces. He let curses fly from his mouth as he struggled with the bow that was now attached to his good arm. He was cut off from his rage when Bilbo gave a small call.

“Azog?” Bilbo tailed off slightly, hanging back by the door frame that lead into the sitting room. His eyes bright with confusion and a small amount of amusement. In his hands were their groceries and a few presents, all beautifully wrapped.

Azog slumped into the chair, trying to hide his failure from Bilbo as the hobbit set down the gifts wrapped with competent hands. He stiffened as he heard the near silent foot steps come towards him, his breath caught in shame when Bilbo stopped in front of him.

“Are you trying to wrap a present?”

The question was innocent, but it made him grid his teeth in rage. He wasn't able to do a simple task of wrapping a present. His arm cut off and replaced with twisted metal that was little use to his hobbit. He grunted in response unable to hide his failure from Bilbo's knowing eyes.

He jumped when hands framed his face, pulling him up to meet the sparkling eyes of Bilbo's. He was shocked to not find disappointment or anger, only joy and... love.

Bilbo smiled up at him before leaning up to kiss his nose. The sensation leaving him breathless, his nose was alight with a pleasant buzz, his ears barely capturing the words that left Bilbo's mouth.

“This is the most beautiful, most thoughtful thing any one has ever done for me,” Bilbo ended the joyful cry with a kiss to Azog's cheek. The orc not hesitating to sweep him up into a pale muscular lap.

Azog cradled Bilbo to him, he watched as Bilbo chuckled at the sensation of the cloth remains and bow shreds brushing against soft skin. He held his hobbit close and gasped at the vibrations of Bilbo's fingers fluttering over his twisted arm. The hobbit's nimble fingers removing the offending pieces of wrapping with ease, he trembled with ever pluck sending a pleasant shiver up his spine.

“I'm sorry.”

He flinched at his own weakness, his useless arm. He couldn't even eat how Bilbo preferred, or even do anything that everyone else could. The room echoing with the pathetic tone of his voice, his weakness showing just how vulnerable he was.

He was forced to look at Bilbo, when he felt a pleasant pull on his metal arm. His breath escaping him in a raspy release. Oh by the blood of his enemies, he had never seen such a sight. His, his, Bilbo's lips pressing softly into his twisted, horrific arm.

Bilbo pulled back with a soft smile, his voice soft and kind. “Don't be.”

His mouth found comfort on any part of Bilbo he could reach, descending everywhere. He nuzzled into the scent of his hobbit, his breath coming out raspy as he rested his head on Bilbo's shoulder. This was home, this was his.

He didn't care that the hobbits scorned him, he didn't care that he had to hide when the rangers came. He didn't care that he had to duck down to get through the front door, or that his chair was only slightly too small. This was his, it smelled of him and Bilbo.

“Thank you,” Bilbo smiled into the side of his head.

Grinning he pulled back and spoke confidently as he pointed to the fallen bag of tea leafs and fallen tea cup. “Apple tea, with lemon, camomile, ginger, cardamon, black pepper, and a pinch of cinnamon.”

Bilbo's gasp of excitement was well worth any suffering he had that day. Kissing the top of his hobbit's head he gave a whisper full of joy.

“Happy Birthday.”

***Bonus***

Bilbo bit his lip, hands stilled on the keyboard as he read over his writing. Everything looked right, but he still had to send it to his volunteered editor to be sure.

“What are you writing?” A voice pressing a kiss to his shoulder startling him, making him jam his knee into the heavy computer desk.

“Azog, don't do that,” Bilbo scolded his husband, with a frown. An arm trying to hid the dimly glowing computer screen.

Azog grinned into his husbands shoulder, he had been madly in love with the hobbit since he had tried to buy the tea company Bilbo co-owned. It had taken him years to convince his hobbit to marry him, it had been worth every struggle.

“What are you writing,” Azog asked again, humming as he read the last few lines.

“I'm just writing an alternate ending to that story a “friend” of ours wrote,” Bilbo mumbled. His cheeks alight as Azog scrolled through his work. He had started writing on the side to help keep his stress levels low, running a tea company with Dori wasn't the most soothing job in the world. Many people loved reading his short-stories online, he never published anything, it was just for fun.

“The dwarf was jealous and can get over himself,” Azog grunted, his good arm tightening around his husband's waist. “What happened to the Ring?”

“Bilbo,” Azog gave a small laugh at that, Bilbo only rolled his eyes and continued on, “gave it to Gandalf, I just didn't write it in because it didn't happen in front of... you?”

Azog chuckled, he had been flattered when Bilbo's ex had written him into the story. Being an ex-gang leader had left him with a twisted sense of humor, one that he only shared with Bilbo. He had to leave the gang after he lost his arm, he decided to run a company that centered around the needs of orcs. He had been scouring for land to grow his company's business and profit, only to run into his husband and make an ass of himself.

It had taken lots and lots of work to get Bilbo to agree to the first date, he was very glad that Bilbo was easily guilt tripped. From there they clicked, they ended up moving in together after a few years and were married only a few years afterward. The only bumps in their relationship being Bilbo's ex-boyfriend, whom was still madly in love with HIS husband.

“You should add that into your notes,” Azog kissed his husband's neck, “He called again.”

“Who, Gandalf?”

“No, your ex, I told him he missed your funeral and that he shouldn't call again.”

“Azog!”