Valerie regains her awareness. A nosy dwarf hovers uncomfortably close, peering into her dark green eyes and, disturbingly, sliding his plump fingers into her mouth to inspect her teeth. She sits with her bottom on the cold, rough tiled floor, her back leaning against the wall, her hands chained tightly behind her... just like Marion's.
- Ehxhh–kzuuhh...mmii shrrhh... Blaah... That is utterly outrageous. I must kindly request that you refrain from placing your hands in my mouth again, sir. Such conduct is, as you may imagine, far from hygienic, and, if I may speak plainly, the taste they leave behind is not one I should ever consider agreeable.
The dwarf looks puzzled for a second and then persists in his action.
- Health check.
- Pllhhzz–wheeii... Blaaahhh... Surely there are more refined ways of conducting an inspection, even under such... inelegant circumstances.
- Phahahahahah... I can't handle this. Ahahahahah...
Marion breaks out laughing, her eyes glinting with mischief as she glances at the dwarf. Once finished, the little man turns his back and walks toward a small wooden desk on the other side of the room.
- Oh, it's you... Your head... it took quite a blow. How are you feeling, my lady?
- I am fine. Those little snobbish fellows are strong as mice, aren't they? Tiny arms, tiny strength... fits them perfectly! Their "might" is about as big as their little boots!
"Oh no... not their boots..." Valerie feels her stomach tighten, her heartbeat stretching in dreadful anticipation as her eyes follow the dwarf turning to face them. She knows, with absolute certainty, exactly what is coming next.
His thick eyebrows draw together, and blood boils in his veins as a flush of fury spreads across his cheeks. With a roar, the dwarf seizes a hefty stick from the corner and charges at the golden-eyed woman. Marion meets him head-on, straining every muscle to rise as much as her chained hands allow. She uses the weight of her body to counter his blows, slamming into him, twisting, and shifting her balance to throw him off. Each strike rattles her bones as she's slammed to the ground, yet even pinned, she struggles to rise, her defiance clashing violently against his unforgiving strength.
Valerie presses her eyelashes tightly together as the loud noises and warlike grunts fill the room. "Not again... I can't watch this... please... help..." Flashes of her dying sister, covered in blood, surge through her mind. All those painful memories colliding one after another, relentless. "No one will come... no one ever comes. I can't let this happen... not again... NOT AGAIN!" She opens her eyes fiercely, the scene painted red before her. Marion has stopped fighting. She can barely move, barely conscious, tears slipping down her cheeks.
- Stop! That's enough! She's not even moving anymore.
- Grrr...
- STOP! Cease this brutal nonsense immediately!
Another dwarf enters... bulkier, slightly taller, his braids falling like black chains from his beard. One look is enough: the enraged dwarf grunts once more, then storms out of the room. The one who remains slowly drags his heavy feet and sinks into a distant chair, polishing large iron axes with methodical precision. Valerie exhales softly, forcing herself to regain composure, and surveys the scene, carefully gauging Marion's condition. Her face doesn't look too bad... just a small cut on her cheek and a thin trickle of blood from her nose. Her wrists, however, are far worse: bruised and raw, smeared in red under the chains. Yet the real damage must lie deeper, in her belly and chest, battered relentlessly after she went down. That damn dwarf couldn't restrain his rage, his legs slamming again and again into her abdomen. The memory alone makes Valerie's stomach churn. Her hands strain against the chains behind her back, aching with the desperate urge to reach Marion, to steady her breathing, to wipe the blood away. But she couldn't. All she could do was watch... useless, again. She feels herself trembling, fear creeping into her limbs. "This is not working... A princess... You are a strong princess, Valerie! Act like one..."
After a few tense moments, she speaks, her voice measured yet betraying a subtle tremor of urgency:
- Ehm... Sir... the lady... she appears to be gravely injured...
The dwarf lifts his gaze to hers for a mere instant, remaining otherwise unmoving. Valerie swallows, her hands clenching subtly as she steadies herself. "Come now... speak properly... dignified, composed..."
- Might I dare to ask... if you could... attend to her wounds, sir? It would be...
"Focus, Valerie... no stammering... maintain poise... she is counting on you..."
...most prudent, as her life seems to be at risk.
Valerie allows herself a faint, tentative smile, but the dwarf continues to ignore her entirely, raising the axes to inspect the blade. He suddenly gets up and starts some kind of work. He lifts objects, strikes them with methodical force, carries them to another corner, submerges them in water, and begins striking anew. Valerie struggles to find a proper angle to discern exactly what he is doing, and soon concedes to herself that he will not understand her language. "Perhaps not all of them comprehend my speech".
Valerie takes a look around to see if she can find anything to help Marion. Her hands are tight behind her back and her knees are starting to ache. On the other side, the dwarf seems to be way confier than her. A sparkle of anger lights up on her heart immediatly going off followed. Rage was not the solution. Rage blinds. It chains the mind's brightest edge, dulling it, leaving only the savage instinct to thrash and fail. She takes a deep breath and takes another look at the dwarf. Old shirt, old pants, old... boots. "No... leave the boots Valerie..." Then, a glint of light flickered at his side. A key. It dangled carelessly from a leather belt, swaying with each movement. Valerie's breath caught. There it is. Careless. Within reach... and yet impossibly far. "A key... If only I could reach it... Perhaps I could manage to escape." Her eyes move once more to meet the dwarf's. His piercing eyes, half-hidden beneath the wild, rodent-like tufts of hair crowding his short forehead, catches hers in an unblinking stare. The dwarf grunts making her pull off her gaze. "Indeed... might as well start digging my grave. Even with that key in my hands, what then?" Catching the key wouldn't do no good.
She finally takes the time to inspect the room. It resembles more a dwarven forge than a prison, though its cold order does little to comfort her. The floor is tiled in a dark gray tone, uneven in places, with one or two bricks cracked as if struck by careless hammers or the weight of time. Overhead, thick wooden beams cross the ceiling, scarred and blackened by smoke, tall enough for her to stand upright — if only her chains would allow.
Instinctively, she twists her shoulders to glance behind. The iron links binding her wrists stretch toward the wall, fastened into the stone with a heavy clasp. Dust and rock fragments scatter across the ground where the chain seems to have been fixed only recently. The iron itself gleams unnaturally clean, almost polished... an unsettling contrast against the rusted, timeworn chains that suspend the room's old lanterns.
Her eyes follow those corroded lines upward, where glass-boxed candles sway faintly with the draft. The lanterns hang on pulleys, their chains designed to rise or descend at will, making it easier to snuff or light the flames. Their dull glow paints the forge in amber shadows, glinting across rough stone walls patched here and there with wooden boards, and catching the edge of metal tools piled neatly in corners. This is not a cell. It is a workshop... alive with the memory of labor and fire... yet she has been bound here like an afterthought, an inconvenience chained amid iron and ash.
A few minutes pass, filled only with the clang of iron striking iron and the low scrape of tools against stone. The rhythm is steady, almost ritualistic, echoing through the cavern like the heartbeat of the forge itself. Every clang of metal was a reminder: she was in their world, where iron spoke louder than pleas. Then, without warning, the dwarf turns toward her, a small, sharp axe resting casually on his shoulder, its edge catching the lantern light with a cold gleam.
- Wait... wha—what are you planning...?
Her eyes instinctively close as the axe descends with alarming speed. A piercing noise shatters the air. Slowly, she peeks and discovers herself unchained. Her breath, before trapped in her lungs by fear, comes out fast as relief runs through her. Every shout, every tremor of fear, every desperate effort she made to protect Marion... it has all been worth it. She had finally let her aching voice out and her pleas had been heard. "It was... terrifying, yet I have never felt so free."