#because bruz deserved better! and still does!

[fanboytoy]

Of all the fates in this world, you had never considered yours would be so gruesome as this: tied to a pole in the heart of a camp of monsters, alone and terrified. 

Uruks walked by often, sometimes laughing at you, sometimes sniffing at you or poking at you with their weapons, and other times blissfully ignoring you altogether. The smaller ones were the worst, stopping frequently to sniff at your hair or, worse, your neck, saying things about how delicious you smell (whether they meant for eating or for more revolting purposes, you dare not try to solve). The largest ones, the ones that looked like trolls but could still walk in the sunlight… they rarely even looked at you, and never stopped to sniff or laugh or poke you.

Except this one.

“Reckon you wish you were pretty much anywhere else right now, eh Tark?”

The gigantic troll-or leaned against a massive stack of barrels with its arms crossed as it looked at you. With three scratches across its right cheek and large fangs, it looked more intimidating than every other orc you’d seen so far… even the one that had nearly salivated all over you while pinching your arms and thighs. The troll-orc pushed off of the barrels and walked towards you, and in spite of the stories you’d grown up with describing orcs as dull, violent creatures, you couldn’t help but feel like it was… studying you. It stopped a few feet away and crouched, one massive hand cradling his chin in a mocking facsimile of a thinking Man.

“What? Of all the screamin’ humans, did we manage to get the only one that’s mute? Bloody shame, that.. I do like the way you lot scream.”

You can’t help the defiance in your eyes as you glare at it-- prisoner or not, you were brought up with pride and spirit, and you were not going to die like a frightened rabbit in a trap. Unfortunately, it seemed the troll-orc was amused by your show of anger. It chuckled, a sound that you could feel in your own chest at this range. Its breath smelled a different sort of foul than the others, less like fermentation and more like old blood, and up close you were able to see amusement in his eyes. It was cold, and cruel, but it was familiar… almost human.

Almost.

“Name’s Brȗz… you know what a name is, don’tcha? Got one I can use, or do you prefer nicknames?” When you didn’t answer, he rolled his eyes and kept talking: “Tark’s pretty basic… could call you Meat. Or Lunch. Bit late for lunch though…” He watched you as he spoke, like he was looking for a reaction.

“Maybe I should call you Slave. Be the best outcome you could hope for… or maybe the worst. Depends if you think livin’ in all this would be better than if I just popped yer head off now.”

This time, you couldn’t hold back the whimper in the back of your throat. Brȗz-- the troll-orc’s eyes flashed, and its grin widened to show off even more of its sharp, uneven teeth.

“Well now… guess you can make some noise after all, ‘ey? Now that the ghȗl’s outta the sack, maybe you wanna have talk with ol’ Brȗz. Better way to pass the time than just pretendin’ your knees don’t ache.”

You glare up at the troll-orc, refusing to back down or appear any weaker than you already had. Resentment bubbled up in your chest, and you clenched your jaw before speaking.

“I’d rather die than make small talk with Uruk-hai.”

The troll-orc laughed, this time much more of a single sharp sound than the bouncing rumble of before. “Uruk-hai? Nah, mate, I’m not one a’ those shrakhs. I’m an Olog! Better, brighter, bigger all ‘round…” He even had the gall to wink at you on that last part, and you felt the bile rise in your throat. He stood, and at this much closer distance you could tell that he was, in fact, bigger than every other orc you’d seen in this encampment. His hands alone were big enough to hold one of you in each, fingers each as big around as your arms; his legs were like solid trees, his torso thick and wide and covered in small scars. You couldn’t help but notice the way he moved: languid, confident, relaxed-- a predator watching prey go by and knowing that at some later date, he would be well fed. 

“Even still, my question stands: why would I want to talk with you?”

The troll-orc-- Olog-- grinned. “If memory serves, you never asked me a question… you just said you’d rather die than talk. And even if you had asked, I already gave ya an answer: passin’ time.” He stroked his chin again, and this time you knew he really was thinking. “Then again… could be better things to do with your time, right? Like escapin’... or prayin’. Maybe you could figure out how to bring world peace while you’re sittin’ there on your knees!”

“Fine! What is it you want? I doubt you have any real interest in conversation, so what are you truly after?” 

Perhaps that was the moment you should have realized your mistake. The Olog’s grin widened, going from mild amusement to nearly sickening wicked pleasure.

“Oh, nothin’ much, I get pretty much everythin’ I want ‘round here on account of bein’ the biggest, baddest Olog around! You know what’s a more interestin’ question though?” You could smell its breath again, and it took everything in you not to gag when it leaned down and spoke to you in a low, rumbling tone.

“I wanna know what you want.”

This was the second moment you had to try and steer yourself away from disaster… and this time, it was easy to see. But the temptation was too much, and even if you knew you didn’t have a chance in hell to succeed, you had no reason not to say it… right?

“Simple, Olog… I want my freedom.”

“Oh, simple indeed, innit?” He replied easily, obviously expecting your answer. “I mean, all I’d have to do is go ‘round behind ya, and untie those ropes, and you’d be off on your merry little way across Mordor and back home!” Your stomach dropped as he spoke, you hadn’t realized just how much the idea of escape was going to affect you, even though you knew it was never going to happen. And the way he treated it so casually, like he was telling children a bedtime story, made your heart ache for the fields and forests you knew so well before being dragged kicking and screaming into a world you didn’t know. And the Olog, damn him, he could tell-- you knew he could tell, the way he was looking at you like you were pathetic, like you were an animal, like you were prey.

Like you were his prey.

“Well, well, well… been almost a week since you got grabbed, and at least a day on the ground there, and you know what? Reckon this is the first time I’ve seen you look so down, Slave. As much as I like watching the life fade from you Tarks’ eyes, seein’ it while you’re still breathin’... actually, I kinda like it. But I tell you what, I’m already in a good enough mood without watchin’ ya lose all hope. So how’s about I let ya out?”

The shock must have been evident on your face, had to have been, because his gaze sharpened and his grin widened on one side, and he made a noise at you that you could only describe as some fucked-up kind of purring.

“Bet you’d like that, hey? Ol’ Brȗzie lets ya out, you go free… might even make it home if you’re smart about it. Bet you’d be real grateful if I untied those ropes and watched you run off into the sunset.”

“You’re toying with me, orc… I know your kind are cruel, but if you only came here to torture me, I’m afraid you’ll be getting no more satisfaction from me today.”

“Wouldn’t be too sure about that, Slave… after all, I never said I wouldn’t do it. Just said you’d probably be grateful if I did. Might even wanna give me somethin’ nice for my trouble.”

You grit your teeth, angry now at the Olog’s nonchalance. “Perhaps, if you actually did release me, I would be compelled to give you some kind of reward.” You spit the words like venom, and in the next instant you would finally realize how fucked your situation truly was. 

“Yeah? And what will you do for me, if I loosen those ropes a little?”

Your stomach drops once again as you look at him. He’s grinning. Its grinning. When did it become a he? Why did you get the sense that he wanted something from you that you would regret giving? Why did it seem like it wanted to-- to--

“Anything.”

The words slipped out of your mouth before you could stop it. There is a moment where you look at the Olog-- Brȗz-- and you can feel regret and shame washing over you. It feels like a dozen lifetimes pass in the less than a second it takes for Brȗz to reply to you, but when he does, your cheeks heat and you swallow back a whimper of fear.

“Then let’s get some slack in those ropes, eh Slave?”

#bruz x reader #bruz the chopper #shadow of war #mordor #making good on my threat to fill this tag singlehandedly if necessary #because bruz deserved better! and still does! #also if people as I might make part 2s or post these bits + spicy continuation to here or to ao3 #for now this is just me practicing fro other stuff as well as giving my boy the recognition he deserves