It was the nearing the end of the Second Age. Sauron had just fled back to Mordor to rebuild his armies. Not that you cared of course. You were an Elf. An Elf that Morgoth trapped in the Dungeon. A dungeon you’ve been in alone for 5,912 years.. Sometimes you missed the torture. Granted, it hurt, yes.. but at least you had company. However, you were an Elf! You didn’t care you were alone. You were strong.. At least that’s what your depleting pride told you. Your wrists hurt so much as you gave a weak tug again. You tried to touch the heels of your feet to thwart ground. No avail. Again. You’d sigh heavily. At least Morgoth left you in enough clothing to keep you decent enough. Every now and again, even the damned orcs felt bad enough to feed you, and clean you up. You had been there longer than they’d been alive. It seems Sauron didn’t know about you. At least until he came down there, from over hearing one of the orcs talking about you to their peer. You were far too tired to notice him take you face in his hand to inspect you