When an Orc Teaches a Math Class

[dancingadopteethoughts]

What happens when Bolg's father gets accepted as his high school's new math teacher? https://archiveofourown.org/works/31756993 -----------------------------------------------------------------------------

When Bolg heard the news his father had been accepted as The Middle-earth Academy for Cooperation and Mutual Success’ new math teacher, two things popped into his mind. The first being that he would allow no one to learn the new math teacher was his father and the second being he was going to avoid the math department as much as possible when he arrived at The Middle-earth Academy for Cooperation and Mutual Success (or MACMutS as everybody called it) in the Fall for his second year of high school.

“I can’t believe it!” Azog, Bolg’s father, exclaimed in Orkish as he pointed at his computer screen (and, yes, Orcs did have internet) for the seventeenth time.

Bolg, who sat at the kitchen table, nodded. He stared through the entrance of their home at the mountains in the distance. The ridges’ dark colors were comforting like the soup his father made during the Winter months. All the Orcs in their commune always jostled over to their dwelling as soon as they smelled the aroma of Azog’s signature dish seeping out of the little hut. With his dad now working at MACMutS full-time, Bolg wondered how their comrades would fare without him.

“This is wonderful,” Azog babbled on. “I’m finally going to meet new people, make connections, and see the world!”

~~~

A month and eleven days later, Azog and Bolg were off to see the world, or rather off to travel by train for eight hours and seven minutes to get to Gondor from Gundabad. After a little hassle at the train station to get a taxi to Minas Tirith (the problem was that Orcs didn’t have a system based on currency, so it was a bit hard to convince a Human driver to take them for free. Azog eventually just gave the Human his phone number and promised to do car maintenance for no charge at any time. Bolg was a bit skeptical how this could happen since Azog didn’t own any equipment to do car repairs, but the driver accepted the deal, so Bolg stayed silent), they arrived just outside the school’s main gates.

“How did you get here last time?” Azog huffed as he pulled the last of the luggage out of the taxi and waved the driver goodbye. Azog had brought an extra luggage bag just for his cooking ingredients to his son’s disapproval.

Bolg scratched his pale bald head. He didn’t want to admit he had relied on a Dwarvish prince he had met on the train to pay for his fare. “Uh, I just gave the driver the rest of the snacks you had packed me.”

“This will need to change,” Azog declared. “I will speak to the administration and make sure they give Orc students a pass to get free taxi rides. This school is supposed to be the symbol of acceptance and how can it live up to that ideal when it’s a financial struggle for some of their students to even get here.”

Bolg had stopped listening to his father as he noticed a few other students, non-Orcs who were probably First Years, gaping in their direction. He could somewhat understand their astonishment. Orcs only left their secluded communities for political or educational reasons and it had been over three hundred years since any major force of Orcs had participated in the continent’s wars. Still, Orcs weren’t that rare. If anything, they were much more numerous than Elves. Maybe they come from rural communities. Wait, why am I making excuses for them? They shouldn’t be staring . He glared at them and they hastily turned their gazes away.

“Well, Bolg, I’ll let you go to your dorm room. It’s a shame that you aren’t in any of my classes, but I will certainly see you around!”

As he trudged away from his father, Bolg prayed they would never cross paths inside the school.

~~~

“Bolg, what do you think of the new math teacher?” Rosie Cotton, a Hobbit in his year and one of his new dorm hallmates, asked as they headed off to the cafeteria together. The height difference was considerable between the two of them and Bolg had to bend down to hear her. The good thing was Rosie usually just chattered on without waiting for Bolg to reply, so if he missed a few words here and there, it was rarely an issue.

Bolg squinted his eyes against the late Summer sun, which was still bright despite the fact it was nearly evening. Orc eyes aren’t meant for this much luminosity. A pang of homesickness shot through him as he missed the cool, dark mountains around Gundabad. “Yeah, I think it’s great the school is hiring an Orc to be on their faculty.” He felt appreciative that Orcs didn’t have last names. No one had to know that Azog was his father and he preferred not to answer questions about how Orcs were birthed.

“Me, too! The school has been pretty good about having a diverse set of teachers and administrators, so it’s about time they hired an Orc. Ooh, I heard from Fredegar Bolger…” And Rosie rambled on until they arrived at the dining commons and went their separate ways.

After Bolg had picked up a steaming bowl of rabbit soup, he found his way over to his friends. It had been a couple months since he had spoken to any of them. While he did have internet back home, the connection wasn’t strong enough for video chatting.

“Bolg,” Gothmog cried, slapping his fat peach-colored hand against Bolg’s back as Bolg slid down on the bench beside the Mordorian Orc. “Good to see you. I was worried that you were never going to show up.”

“What, Gothmog? I was just finishing unpacking.” Bolg glanced at the other people at the table. There was Yazneg, an Orc from Moria, Shagrat, a Black Uruk from Cirith Ungol, and three dwarves from the Lonely Mountain who were all related and named Bifur, Bofur, and Bumbur. Off at the edge of the table was their year’s loner, a Human named Aragorn. Rumor had it that Aragorn had been raised by Elves, but had been kicked out for undisclosed reasons. He currently lived as a nomad among the Rangers of the North. The theories for why the Elves supposedly shunned Aragorn were vast and Bolg, despite having sat at the same dining table as the boy everyday of the last school year, still had no knowledge of Aragorn’s true history.

Bolg only half-listened to his friends as he slurped his stew. Shagrat complained about the creepy giant spider that lived next to his commune’s settlement. The dwarfs discussed how the mining expenditures in the East were progressing. Not like the Orcs really cared as money meant little to them.

“Y’know that new math teacher?” Yazneg’s voice jolted through his ears. Bolg spit his stew back into his bowl.

The others, even Aragorn, stared at Bolg.

“You okay, buddy?” Bofur asked, his dark brown eyes brimming with worry.

Bolg took a steady breath and placed his bowl back down onto the table with a soft clink. “Y-yes. Um, what were you saying about the new math teacher, Yazneg?”

Yazneg frowned, but carried on. “I was just gonna say that when I mentioned his name to my commune, they said that he was originally from Moria, but moved to Gundabad when he was young. I just found it kinda strange. For you non-Orcs, it’s rare that one of us leaves the place where we’re from. Bolg, you’re from Gundabad. Do you know anything about Azog?”

Once again, all eyes were on him. Bolg chewed his lip. “Uh, I don’t think so.”

Everyone continued to peer at him until Gothmog broke the silence by bragging about a difficult wrestling tournament he had won over the Summer.

Bolg’s secret was safe.

~~~

At least that’s what he had thought. They had all finished eating and saying their goodbyes. Bolg had been heading over to catch up with Rosie who was exiting the dining hall by herself when he felt a firm hand grasp his wrist.

Tense, he twisted around to see Aragorn looking up at him with narrowed eyes. Bolg trembled and had to remind himself that he was a Gundabad Orc and Gundabad Orcs weren’t scared of anything. “Why didn’t you tell them that Azog is your father?” Aragorn asked in a low voice.

Bolg glanced around him to make sure there were no onlookers. Fortunately, most other students were too occupied catching up with their friends and eating to notice Bolg and Aragorn. “I-I...How did you know?”

Aragorn shrugged. “I’ve heard about your father before. As Yazneg says, it’s rare for an Orc to leave their commune.”

“You Rangers spy on us?”

“You’re not answering my question.” Aragorn released Bolg’s wrist.

Bolg rubbed it. Aragorn had been gripping his wrist tight. “Do I have to? You never tell anyone your history, so why should I tell you mine?”

The Human sighed. “Fair point. Okay, keep your secrets to yourself, but don’t worry, I won’t tell anyone else.” With that, Aragorn strode away.

~~~

Why did Bolg want to keep his father’s identity a secret? Aragorn’s question rattled Bolg’s brain for the rest of the night. Luckily, if his roommate Faramir noticed, he didn’t say anything as they both prepared for bed.

Bolg lay on his mattress, staring at the darkness glittering around him. He had chosen the bed farthest from the window because light and Orcs didn’t exactly mix, but the usual comfort gloom gave him wasn’t there.

He turned onto his side again, the frame creaking underneath him as he moved.

“Hey, Bolg, are you alright?” On the other side of the room, the lamp flicked on, spreading glaring light across the open space.

Bolg sat up and twisted around to see Faramir peering at him. The young Human’s long dark hair was a bit tussled from lying down and his gray eyes appeared concerned. Bolg didn’t know much about his roommate beyond the fact he was the Gondorian steward’s son. He had thought it was a bit strange that Faramir had chosen to stay on campus when he lived not too far away in a palace, but decided he wasn’t in a place to question a noble’s decision.

“Yeah, I-I’m fine,” Bolg stammered.

“Just wanted to make sure since you’ve moved around at least five times now.”

Nine, Bolg thought to himself. “Yeah, everything’s good. I’m just stressing about something stupid. Not something anybody would care to listen to.”

“Try me. I’ve been told I’m a good listener.” The Human gave a little smile.

Bolg had never talked to anybody about his feelings before. It wasn’t something accepted in Orkish culture. If you had an issue, you just complained about the person closest in proximity to you and then wrestled with them until you felt better. Bolg didn’t feel like wrestling with Faramir. “Um, well, it’s about a certain someone. I don’t want anyone knowing about my, uh, connection to them because it’s just so embarrassing and he’s just so embarrassing and he doesn’t exactly fit certain standards and I think everybody would think I’m weird for being connected to him and then it...I would be a mess…”

Bolg stared at the ground. He was so glad that Orcs didn’t blush or he would be bright red right now.

“You have a crush on someone?” Faramir asked, his eyebrows raised. “It’s fine if you do. Feeling embarrassed about crushes is normal and you never know, maybe he likes you back. If you want help reaching out to him, whoever he is, I can help out-”

“No,” Bolg interjected. Another wave of gratefulness for Orcs’ inability to blush sparked through him. “It’s not a crush. It’s my...father.” Getting that last word out felt like trying to push Mount Gundabad over a few inches.

“Oh.”

“Yeah.” Bolg turned his attention to a tiny moth fluttering by Faramir’s lamp. “He’s the new math teacher.”

“Azog? Oh, I have him.”

“I mean, he’s energetic and strong and cares a lot about education, but he’s a bit bizarre in terms of Orkish culture. He wants to explore the world and meet new people and...he has a kid.”

“Is having a kid a bad thing? Sorry, I don’t know much about Orkish culture.” Faramir gazed at the floor.

“Orcs don’t really have families. We’re kind of born the size of adults and just integrated into our communes immediately. I mean, we still mature over time like other species do, but we don’t have parents. The fact my dad decided to raise me on his own is strange and we keep it a secret in our commune to avoid being shamed by other Orcs.”

“Born the size of adults,” Faramir murmured.

“Don’t think about it too much.” Bolg rubbed his head. “Sorry to bother you with this. I should have kept it to myself.”

The Human glanced up at Bolg. “No, no. It’s alright. How can I support you?”

Bolg blinked at Faramir. “Do you think I should tell my friends?”

Faramir sighed. “It’s up to you to do what you think is best, but if they’re good friends, then I’m sure they’ll support you.”

~~~

Bolg prayed Faramir was right as he sat down at the dining table the next morning. He had arrived at the cafeteria on the earlier side, hoping that the quieter atmosphere would calm his nerves before he spoke to his friends.

“Bolg, you’re early!” A voice cried out behind him in heavily accented Orkish.

Bolg twisted around to see Gothmog striding toward him. They rarely spoke Orkish to one another since the Gundabad and Mordorian dialects were, for the most, mutually unintelligible.

“Yeah,” Bolg replied in Common Speech. He fiddled with the fork he was using to eat his breakfast patties.

Gothmog took a seat beside him. “The cooks are trying out this new soup. Apparently they got the recipe from the new math teacher. He even donated his ingredients to them. It’s a Winter soup, but technically can be made year-round.”

Sure enough, the distinct aroma of his father’s signature dish swarmed Bolg’s senses.

“Is that a tear? Orcs don’t cry, silly.”

Bolg turned away from his friend. More tears wracked though his body and hiccups escaped through his mouth. His stomach burned inside of him and he craved to crawl into a nice, dark hole.

Gothmog began slapping his back. “Uh, Bolg? You okay? Are you allergic to the soup? Do you want to wrestle?”

A chorus of footsteps sounded behind Bolg.  “What’s going on?” Came Bofur’s excited voice. Even more tears gushed from Bolg’s eyelids.

“Dunno,” He heard Yaznag say.

“I’ve never seen an Orc act like that,” blurted Shagrat. “Maybe he needs a good chokehold.”

“I don’t think that will help him,” Aragorn muttered.

Bolg shoved his platter of food away and pushed his face against the table's hard surface. Gothmog continued to clobber his back.

“Hey, Bolg, what’s going on? Are you alright?” Rosie’s breath tickled his arm. He hadn’t even heard her step by.

“Should we get a teacher?” Bumbur asked.

“Mister Azog, over here!” Bofur shouted. Bolg could hear what was most likely Bifur, Bofur’s mute cousin, jumping up and down to wave over the educator.

Heavy footsteps clomped in Bolg’s direction. “Hey, son, what’s going on?” Azog asked in Orkish.

“Wait, Mister Azog is your father?” Yazneg asked in Common Speech.

“Orcs don’t have fathers, silly,” Gothmog said in between wacks.

Strength surged through Bolg’s body and he sat up. Taking a deep breath, he wiped away his tears. With a single hand, he knocked Gothmog over onto the ground. Rosie, Bofur, and Bumbur all gasped. “It’s true,” Bolg said. He peered at his father who stood by the other side of the table. “The new math teacher is my father.”