The chains around his waist and ankles had started to cut into his flesh. But that pain was nothing compared to the terror of not knowing what was going to happen to him. Bilbo had been gathering herbs in the wooded area near his smial when he saw several dwarves running towards him.

One yelled, "There it is, grab it quick."

Bilbo's mind couldn't quite comprehend what was happening until it was far too late. The dwarves surrounded him, stuffed a gag in his mouth and then everything went black. He woke up in the back of a wagon under what appeared to be a pile of dirty rags. His ankles were chained, there was a chain wrapped around his waist, the gag was still stuffed in his mouth, and his hands were tied. He didn't have to ask why; Bilbo knew that omegas like him were relatively rare. Most hobbits were Alphas or Betas. He also knew all the races could cross breed, but never did he suspect that anyone would be so bold, so desperate as to kidnap him. It was true that omegas were somewhat rare for hobbits, dwarves and elves. Men were fairly equally divided between alphas and omegas. But no hobbit would ever, ever do something like this. Men didn't need to. Elves with their immortality could wait until their omegas were born. That left dwarves. Rumors were that dwarves, kept their omegas deep within their mountains or hidden away behind locked doors, because they were rare and precious.

But dwarves were seldom seen in the Shire, very seldom and Bilbo had only just presented as an omega three months ago so he felt safe in the lands near his own smial. He had been wrong, terribly wrong and now he was in the back of a wagon on his way to who knows where. His head hurt and he was cold and hungry. All he wanted was to go home to his little cozy smial. Tears glistened in his eyes as he wondered if he would ever see it again.

The journey had taken days and Bilbo's dread grew with each sunrise. The dwarves shoved food at him each night, taking off the gag so he could eat. He tried talking to them, reasoning with them but he was met with silence. They tied and untied him when necessary, fed him, let him walk around a little each day when he complained of becoming stiff from laying in the wagon. They never hurt him except a jerk or shove if he moved too slowly, but they never talked to him except to bark an order. Hobbits were very social creatures, they needed companionship to strive. Without it they withered away just as the herbs and flowers they loved so much would do without sunshine or rain. By the time they reached their destination Bilbo thought he would go crazy from doubt, loneliness and the fear of what these dwarves would ultimately do to him. It was apparent they were taking him to someone, but who that person was and how they would treat him was an agonizing mystery. He heard the dwarves call the mountain where they finally stopped, Erebor. He'd heard of it, of course, but never seen it before. Oh, how he wished he wasn't seeing it now.

He was carried from the wagon into a small room where a dwarf, who was apparently a healer, examined him. Then three other dwarves ushered him into an adjoining room that had a bathtub. They instructed him to strip and bathe. Normally removing his clothing in front of someone especially total strangers would have been a nightmare but he was already in a nightmare and the water looked so inviting that he quickly obeyed.

He cleaned himself, washed his hair several times and even used the scented oil that had been placed beside the tub. After the bath Bilbo was given clean clothing. It was hobbit style not dwarf and it fit well; a fact that surprised him. Next they took him to another room where a large meal had been prepared. He was starting to shiver now, thinking that he was being prepared to meet whoever had, order him kidnapped.

He was hungry but his fear was growing to the point where even the hot, well prepared food seemed tasteless. Would he be hurt, sold, tortured, locked away; his thoughts were running wild now. On the journey there they had been easier to push away, but now he was here and whatever was going to happen was going to take place soon, too soon. The door to his right opened and a dwarf clothed in furs, gold and jewels stepped in, flanked by armed guards. The dwarf wore a crown.

"Hobbit, I am Thror, King under the mountain." He was hugging a large slightly glowing gemstone of some type that Bilbo had never seen before to his chest. Thror circled around Bilbo, sniffing, making certain he could smell the sweet scent of an omega. It would still be quite apparent even with the scented oil Bilbo had used.

"Yes, quite nice, He'll do just fine. Bring him." Thror commanded.

"Wait, what…why am I here…what do you want from me. You can't just take me from my home like this. I'm a person not property." Bilbo huffed trying to sound indignant instead of afraid.

Thror turned to look at him. He almost looked sad for a second, then he hugged the gemstone tighter and said, "Master Hobbit, I am sorry for you, but know that your sacrifice is for the greater good." Then he walked swiftly out the door.

Sacrifice. Bilbo was terrified and began to struggle against the guards, but they were bigger, stronger and heavily armed. There was really no chance he could escape; a fact he knew but he had to try anyway. The guards half pushed, half carried he down one stairway after the other until they were deep inside the mountain. Finally they reached what looked like a solid stone wall. Thror held up the gemstone and a section of the wall swung open.

"I told you I would not leave you alone and lonely my child. This omega will be your companion until you are finished with him, then discard the body and I will supply another." With that Thror motioned to the guards who pushed a screaming Bilbo through the opening in the wall.

Before Bilbo could turn around to run back out the opening closed and he stood in pitch black darkness. Buried alive was all his panicked mind could comprehend. He screamed and beat on the wall where the opening had been. Begging to be released, he sank to him knees crying hysterically, hands bloody from pounding against the unyielding stone.

When he was too exhausted to scream anymore he began to look around into the darkness wondering if there was actually a child down here, put here by that crazy old dwarf. But there was nothing; no sound, no light, no hope. Buried alive. O Yvanna, help please, please help.

After what felt like hours he saw a faint glow in the darkness. At first he hoped, prayed it was light from outside, maybe an air shaft. He was small, he thought perhaps there was a chance he could climb or crawl…..anything….anything but ….this. The glow became brighter and started to take on the vague form of a person. Bilbo's eyes began to adjust to the light, when they did he realized the glow was now surrounding a tall, dark haired dwarf with icy blue eyes and a very sad, very handsome face.

"W...w..who are you?" Bilbo finally managed to stammer.

"Thorin, grandson of Thror, son of Thrain. The dwarf that sacrificed you to me is my grandfather, Thror."

"S…sa…sacrifice…no, no, no?!"

"Yes, little one. I am the heart of the mountain and you will never leave this place." The dark haired dwarf looked sadly at the little horrified hobbit as he began to slowly move closer to the trembling little figure.