What happened was my own fault - I admit that now. But I also maintain there was an element of fate in it as well.
But what of it? What happened, happened.
I had been used to go on long journeys in my youth, wandering Greenwood the Great with none but myself and the beauty around me. I would be gone for days or weeks or months at a time, and it was on one such expedition that I had the misfortune of falling asleep.
It was an amazingly beautiful day, warm and bright, and I felt wonderful. I had been out for three weeks or so, heading south, and this area of the woods was relatively unfamiliar to me. I stopped by the side of a pleasant babbling brook to rest; its waters flashed in the sun and there was a nice grassy patch on the bank, where I reclined and idly tossed stones in the stream. Eventually I simply leaned back, eyes closed, soaking in the warmth of the sunlight, and without really realising what was happening, dozed off.
I woke suddenly to guttural voices and the sound of someone rifling through my pack. I leapt to my feet, snatching up my bow and nocking an arrow in one motion, but quick as I was, it wasn't quick enough. No sooner had I risen than there came a spray of startled grunts, a massive fist collided with my temple, and I saw no more.
The second time I wakened slow and painfully, my whole head throbbing. It was dark but for a small fire; its weak flame illuminated a small clearing among tangled, ivy-choked tree trunks, beyond which could be seen nothing but black. Eyes glowed from the darkness while enormous grey moths fluttered about, attracted by the light. I was bewildered - could this be my forest? Surely I had slept longer than it seemed, and I had been somehow transported to a distant land. But in my heart I knew it was not so.
A large, ugly orc squatted before the fire warming his hands; two more sat across from him, a fourth paced along the clearing's perimeter, and yet two more sat further back from the fire, inspecting my confiscated weaponry. So I had been captured by a patrol! But what had they been doing so far north?
I leaned against a tree, hands bound. I usually kept a small knife in one boot, if only because the boot had a secret pocket expressly for that purpose, and I could use that to cut my bonds. But I would wait til they slept - then I would have the benefit of stealth and hopefully would not have to risk a fight, and also I could get my swords back. Father would be furious (as would I be) if I were to lose them, as they were from Gondolin in the First Age, and very precious.
But the orcs did not sleep, and soon we were headed deeper into the dank, sickly forest. Surely this was not my beloved Greenwood. I was convinced we had passed into some strange place I did not know.
We went quickly through the unfriendly terrain while the sun rose, crept across the sky, and finally set in a blaze of red glory. Little light came through the twisted trees, but just as dusk was upon us we came to a break in the wood, a slight clearing before a steep, cliff-like hill. Sillouhetted against the fiery sky like a stain upon the horizon was a great black fortress rising from the murky wood. I felt a sudden sickening chill, an involuntary shudder at the sight. That was where we were going, I knew. But then we had plunged back into the dark forest, and the awful thing was lost from view.
This night, to my great disappointment, the orcs did not stop or make camp. They only set sticks afire for use as torches and continued to walk.
We arrived at dawn. Naught could be seen save a huge black door, large enough for a troll or dragon, for the forest grew thick even to the tower's very walls, blocking out sun and air. We halted before the door and the leader of the orc troop shouted in Westron speech, "Open the gate!" Protesting loudly, the doors ground open just wide enough to allow us passage, then grated shut after we were inside. I felt my heart sink. We moved through a maze of dark halls; orc-speech, laughter and distant screams occasionally echoed about.
Finally we came to another black door, still big enough for a troll though not as big as the first door. The head orc banged his hand three times against it, then stood back. These doors swung open silently. The orcs led me in.
It was a great black hall with an enormous throne at the opposite end, and in the throne sat a shrouded figure. I was compelled towards him, yet dreaded to move nearer. The head orc pulled me forward, impatient with my hesitant walk. "Brung you a gift, marstah," he said when we were but eight feet from the throne.
The cloaked figure looked up. "Must you bother me with prisoners, Grafshnert?" he began, but then stopped, red eye upon me. He stood and came toward me, an expression of disbelief on his face.
My own expression was one of horror. He was a skeleton with grey, motheaten flesh hanging from his bones; where his eyes should have been were instead a gaping hole on one side and on the other a huge. lidless, red orb with a slit pupil that gave the impression of a malificent fire. I was speechless with terror.
The Dark Lord Sauron placed a cold, skeletal hand against my cheek. "Can it be true?" he whispered. "My lady? Is it truly you?" It was all I could do to keep from screaming. Yet my lack of response seemed answer enough for him. He turned to Grafshnert. "Return this woman's belongings. And give her the tower room - it is the one most fit for a lady."
The orc stared in shock for a moment, then hurried off. Moments later my hands had been freed, and I was on my way up a long stair with Fire and Ice in their rightful spots at my sides.
Alone in the comfortably furnished tower room, I was so stunned and bewildered I could do nothing but stand, still and confused, in the center of the room for a long long time. Then I went shakily to the bed and sat down. Sauron lived! And what's more, he thought I was someone he knew! What would happen to me, I shuddered to think, when he realised he had made a mistake?