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His hands were rendered useless, the bones in every finger having been shattered beyond repair. He would never draw a bow again. Or braid his brother's hair.
Just a few more 'never again' to add to his extensive list. He was losing track of everything that was being taken from him with each newly inflicted wound. While his body slowly failed him, it is a wonder how his mind refused to concede defeat.
His torturer had kept him alive - barely. It was nothing more than a game to him - a way to fulfill his perverse need for retribution. Until now. There was a certain gleam in his eye as he entered the damp cell today. A new purpose to his usual self-important gait. He all but reeked of victory.
He would not cower from it ... would not give the Defiler that luxury. "Finish it then." He took a wheezing breath and spit out blood. "But know this." And it surprised him how the certainty behind his next words made things easier, even as the blade cut deep.
"He will avenge me." He sagged before his captor, only the chains keeping him from crumbling to the ground. "He is Durin."
And he loves me.