Breaking the Shackles Chapter 1

Aimee smiled as she put the closed sign over her little coffee shop.

  “Goodnight little shop,” she said as she gave a fond tap on the glass.
“See you in the morning.”
She turned away and headed for home, her cane tapping on the sidewalk.
By the time she got there, she was quite hungry. She did not find anything of interest in the pantry or the fridge, so she decided to go to the Waffle House for dinner.
Luckily for her, the restaurant was just across the street from the apartment complex where she lived. SO locking the door, she set out again.

  “Welcome to the Waffle House.” Said a female worker as she opened the door.
She could smell the aroma of cooking food and hear the sizzle of bacon from the kitchen.
With a smile, she chose a booth where she could listen to the food cooking and the chatter of the kitchen staff.

  “What can I get you to drink?” A waitress asked as she sat down.

  “I would like your dark roast coffee please with lots of half and half.”

  “Coming right up.” The waitress replied.
The woman returned a few minutes later with her coffee.

  “Could you hand me two or three sugars please?” Aimee asked
“At one restaurant I went to, I grabbed the sweet and low instead. Needless to say, it ruined my coffee.”

  “Oh my, that must have not been pleasant.” The waitress said, handing her three sugar packets.
“What will you having this evening?”

  “I will have a mushroom and cheese omelet with grits and an English muffin.” The waitress wrote down her order and went to the kitchen to tell the cook.

  Aimee left the restaurant an hour later with a happy stomach.
She crossed the street, thinking of the upcoming democratic presidential debate, she was so focused on her thoughts that her cane sunk into the pothole that she normally avoided in front of the apartment complex. She tried to pull her cane out, but it kept on sinking, dragging her along with it. She felt herself being pulled into the hole and begin to spin around and around. She let out a piercing shriek as she spun faster and faster, her stomach churning. The spinning finally stopped as she was dropped onto a table, a startled yell being the last thing she heard before she fell into unconsciousness.

.

  Thorin Oakenshield brought down the forge hammer with all the rage he could muster.
He knew that his Master would be coming to check on his work. There would be severe consequences if the human was not satisfied with the dwarf’s work.

It had been 4 long years ago when he was brought to this accursed city with his trade caravan.
It had been a long and hard winter for his people and Erebor was still being rebuilt. His advisers thought it was a good idea to find new trade roots. So he made plans and had set out with Balin, Dwalin, and some of his most trusted companions.
It was a fort night into their journey when it happened. They were resting for the night; Balin was on watch while the others were asleep.
He saw a long line of wagons quickly approaching. Thorin awoke at Balin’s shake of the shoulder. He opened his mouth to call the camp to arms but he was not quick enough.
Men jumped off the wagons and had them quickly surrounded. The dwarves fought with all the experience they had, but these slave traders knew how to take down a small pack of dwarf warriors.
Thorin and his small group of companions were eventually subdued and thrown into wagons and chained to other prisoners.
Thorin’s insides boiled with rage as he saw one of the men ogle his sister. He grew even angrier as he fully looked around to see women and children chained as well. The dwarf king did not like this situation one bit.
As they moved out, Thorin could hear the weeping of a Elleth in the wagon next to him.

  “Oh Elbereth.” She wept and began talking in Cinderen.

  “My wife lost the baby a week ago.” The elf that he was chained to said, in between his own sobs.
Dis was doing her best to comfort the grieving woman. Thorin knew that any words he could say would not bring the elf any comfort. So he gave him an understanding nod.

  “What is going on?” He asked in a whisper.

  “I know not. The men will not say where they are taking us.” Thorin’s alarm grew at this statement.

  Thorin lost track of the days that they traveled, they blurred together in his mind. It was no use running away; anybody who made the attempt was set on by some of the men and whipped afterwards for punishment.
The dwarf king longed to be back in Erebor with a good hot meal and a tankard of ail. They were only fed enough to keep them going.
Finally, after many long days and nights, they reached their destination.
Thorin glimpsed a sign that read.
“Welcome to Servatis.” Thorin had a horrible feeling about the name of the city that they rode through.
They were taken out of the wagons and marched to a big building.
Thorin glimpsed the sign that said “Slave Pound.” Before he was roughly shoved through the door.
The prisoners were separated as they were marched to different parts of the large building. Thorin could no longer see his companions.
Thorin was shoved into a tiny cell.

  “There is a slave auction tomorrow, so you had better rest up,” the guard said with a sneer.
“Sweet dreams dwarf,” he said in a voice dripping with honey coated venom before the door was slammed shut.
Thorin’s exhausted mind could not wrap around this information. Maybe this was all just a horrible dream and he would wake up in his own chambers in Erebor.
He woke the next morning to find that it was not a dream. The guard yanked him out of his cell and he was marched out of the building and to the center square to where he was made to stand in line with the others.
He and his companions would be the first to be sold that day.
He could only watch in horror as his companions were sold, one by one.
He was yanked onto the auction block. He would be the last of his friends to be sold.


  “This next item has good strong muscles for manual labor.” Thorin gritted his teeth as he was turned around and around so the crowd could get a good look at him.
“He would also be a good pleaser for one of you fine ladies. Take a good look and place your bets.” Thorin grew numb as the bidding began. He could hear remarks from some of the women in the crowd.

  “His eyes are so pretty, such a lovely shade of blue.” A woman said to her neibor.

  “No, I like the hair better.” The other woman disagreed.

  “You are both wrong. It is the figure that is most pleasing to the eye.” A woman in front of him purred. He repressed a shudder as her eyes raked him up and down.
Thorin watched as a burly looking man stepped forward.

  “I will have him for 7 gold.” He had a booming voice that Thorin immediately disliked.

  “Going once, going twice, sold!” the auctioneer yelled, pounding a gavel on a bench beside him.
With those words, he went from King of the dwarves, to slave, his royal blood meaning nothing.
The first thing that his new Master did was to cut off his beard, a dwarf’s ultimate humiliation and shame, for a dwarf’s beard was their pride.
Thorin could only stand there as his beautiful beard was cut off. Hot shame bubbled up in him. He felt worthless and that he was unworthy to be called King under the Mountain. If he had been more alert and careful, he and his companions would not be in this situation. Fear went through him as he wondered at the condition of them, especially his sister. Bile rose in his throat as horrible images of his sister being violated and worse went through his mind. He wondered if the rest of them were having their beards chopped off.
None of this inner turmoil showed on the dwarf’s face. He would not show the human any weakness.
After his beard was cut, he was told to get some sleep.

  “You will be working quite early in the morning. I expect breakfast on the table at 6. I shall wake you at 5.”

    “Yes Master,” Thorin intoned without any emotion.

  As promised, the dwarf was woken the next morning by his Master loudly banging a copper pot with a spoon.

  “Make my breakfast slave,” the man barked.
“You will pay if one scrap is burnt.” He spun on his heal and slammed the front door shut.
Thorin found some porridge in the pantry and made that.
He heard the front door slam shut as he set the bowl on the table.

  ‘I wanted eggs and bacon!” the man bellowed, his spit flying in Thorin’s face.
“Porridge is peasant food, I hate this slop. Make me eggs and bacon.” Thorin was furious, memories of his people starving after the attack of Smaug revolving through his mind.

  “You did not inform me that you wanted bacon and eggs, if you do not like oats, why do you have them?” Thorin received a hand to the face for his statement.

  Those are for the horses, you will remember not to question me again. Make me eggs and bacon and do not burn it.” The man seized the bowl and smashed it against the wall.
“Clean that up first!" The man yelled, the door banging shut after him. .
With a snarl of rage, Thorin got on his hands and knees to clean up the mess. After that, he made the eggs and bacon.
He was sorely tempted to burn it to a crisp but he knew that he would be punished severely if he did.
Thorin was forced to eat the scraps from last night’s dinner.
After the meal, he was shown to his Master’s forge and made to make an order of swords. The man checking on him every other hour. He would be whipped if the sword was not being made to the human’s satisfaction and if he was not working fast enough.
He then was forced to make his Master’s lunch and work on other projects. After dinner, he was forced to chop firewood. At night, he would fall into an exhausted sleep.


  Thorin was brought back to the present with a whip coming down on his shoulder.

  “That sword better be perfect tomorrow or you will regret your birth.” The burly man hissed into his ear.
“Get to your cot. You will have neither drink nor sup for punishment.”

  “Yes Master.” Thorin snarled through gritted teeth.
He turned and made his way to the house and his cot in the corner of the living room.
He wrapped the pitiful excuse for a blanket around himself and fell asleep.