He could feel the metal binds digging into his wrists and ankles. The shallow wounds running across his chest stinging mercilessly. His breath was bated as he gasped in the frozen air that made his lungs ache and burn. His pain was immeasurable, and his entire body felt leaden from the paralysis poison they had used on him. It was difficult for him, for anyone who was ever brought to these chambers, to fully comprehend what was going through his torturers' minds whenever they ran their blades across his chest.

It was routine for them, dragging slaves away from their work and teaching them a lesson, claiming they'd been slow, lacking. Claiming that this slave deserved punishment because they were stealing from one of the many masters they served. In reality, the torturers were bored.

They seemed to go by many names among the slaves. Torturer, Master, King. But of these names, one rang out from the rest. Dwarf. The broad creatures watched as the hobbits worked and punished those who didn't do well enough by their standards. No one who worked remembered how it had started, or what the warm afternoon sun felt like on their skin. The dwarves wouldn't let them.

The day they'd taken him away, he'd done nothing different than the other days. He simply worked as he always did. It was perhaps the most difficult position, the kitchens. While he cleaned, he was constantly surrounded by the glorious scents of food. The dwarves never fed the slaves properly, and thus, his job in the kitchens was a torture in and of itself. There was one dwarf who worked there that slipped him food every now and then, the fat, red-haired chef with the looping beard. The guards, when they passed through, must have either noticed the missing food or noticed how he was actually a little content with his position, for they hauled him away and to the torture rooms.

That was a week ago, when they'd brought him, and they hadn't let him leave. They'd given him some food, a small slice of stale bread riddled with mold, every three days, water every two. He had no room to complain because now his meals had become regular, and he didn't have to fight against ten other hungry slaves for it.

In the pens, or what the dwarves called the pens, it was every hobbit for himself. They couldn't afford to be weak. They couldn't afford to be merciful. If they wanted to eat, they had to fight. If they wanted anything, they had to fight.

He let his head fall back against the restraint and closed his eyes. It felt like ages he'd been in there. Centuries upon centuries of the dwarves trying out a new poison and laughing at how he'd gasp and writhe when the freshly-coated blade pressed and sizzled against his skin.

It was no wonder the hobbit slaves hated their masters. However, fear is stronger than hate, and while hate may lead to rising up, their fear kept them in submission. And submit they did.

He'd flinched when the heavy metal door to the room was opened and then quickly closed. He'd heard two pairs of heavy boots make their way across the room slowly, to the other slave in there with him. There was no sound for a moment before the footsteps approached him, and he felt two fingers against his neck.

Are the guards checking if we are still alive? Why are they being so quiet? He wondered before hearing a clicking sound coming from the bindings on his wrists. His heart began to race, and his eyes flew open. He looked wildly around himself, the paralysis wearing off by now.

Picking at his cuffs was a dwarf with reddish brown hair and braids that came up from his eyebrows, while the one that stood over him had an odd looking hat and the kindest eyes he had ever seen. The kind dwarf gave him a kind smile.

"You're going to be alright."

He flinched again. The last time he'd heard those words were from an elder slave as his father was hauled off for the torture rooms a few days after his mother had passed. He'd been so young. He hadn't seen his father after that, and he knew he never would. The wrist bindings had come unlocked and the picked dwarf moved to the ones around his ankles, as the kind one removed his wrist bindings.

There was a clatter and shout from outside the doors, and the kind dwarf looked to the other with a worried expression.

"Nori!" He hissed, urging the other to go faster. Somehow, the picking hands quickened from their already fast pace, and that lock came undone as well. The dwarves helped him up, with careful eyes on the doors.

"Come on now, lad. We're going to get you free."

He hoped that was a promise to be kept and not broken.

The dwarves raced down the hall, one with a solid grasp on him, so he could not be lost in their dash to escape. They ran through the halls and through the crowds, in hopes to lose their pursuers.

They'd gotten closer and closer to the hidden sanctuary, and the dwarves hadn't even known it. When they passed the hall, he ducked into it, pulling the two dwarves with him. The others would see it as blasphemy, leading a dwarf, and two at that, into the sacred temple his people had built with their own hands, but at the moment, they had no better choice. He pulled the dwarves toward the door, urging them with him silently, and thankfully, they came willingly. He brought them to the hidden door, and opened it, shifting the wall so it no longer stood in their path, before gesturing for the dwarves to enter in front of him. The one with the braided eyebrows shrugged and entered, the kind one followed after him, and he slipped in last, closing the door back behind him.

"Where are we going?" The braided dwarf asked him, but he didn't answer, putting a finger to his mouth instead. He looked around the dwarf and saw what he was looking for.

In all of its unadulterated glory, the shrine to Yavanna stood before him. Somehow, some brave slave had journeyed here and built this, but it had been around as long as he could remember. His mother used to take him here whenever she could, and she would tell him of there old home, the one Yavanna would protect. Many had lost faith after their enslavement, but never his mother. The dwarves turned and looked.

"Isn't that... Yavanna?" The braided dwarf gasped.

"Aye. Seems someone kept faith, even after She was outlawed." The kind one took a few steps forward into the temple. "Is there a way out from here?"

He nodded and pointed up.