"What have you done to me?" - Thorwen

When Almárie's eyes slowly blinked open, she was not in the Halls of Waiting as she had expected. Instead, she was lying in a large luxurious bed on top of black silken sheets with black and gold bedclothes. She couldn't see what was beyond the bed because the black drapes were drawn. Confused by her surroundings, she threw open the drapes to find herself in a beautiful bedchamber.

Large deep piled rugs of black embroidered with gold covered the flagstone floor. The walls and ceiling were the colour of the night sky, with the constellations painted in bright silver. The stars even twinkled as Almárie slowly rose from the bed and navigated the chamber. Every single object and piece of furniture was in black and gold and made of expensive materials. Everything was perfect, too perfect.

She looked at herself in the Ebony and gold full-length mirror and found that she was wearing a sleeveless black gown, made of fine silk, that clung to the contours of her body perfectly. The gown was almost see-through, making her feel exposed and uncomfortable.

Almárie suddenly had the feeling she was being watched. The hairs stood up on the back of her neck and a shiver went through her body. She returned to the bed to look for a robe. But yelped with surprise to find Thranduil draped over the covers. He was wearing a black and gold robe and his bright eyes moved over every inch of her body. A stiff smile grew on his face. "Did I startle you?"

"W-where are we?" asked Almárie.

Thranduil rose from the bed and casually approached her. "The war is over, Almárie. We are victorious. Now we can be together. We need only speak the words and ... join with each other." He placed his hands on her bare shoulders. But there was something different about his touch. She shuddered and stepped away from him.

Initially, Thranduil looked puzzled, then he smiled thinly and gestured to the bed. "What are you afraid of? It's perfectly natural. Even the Orcs do it."

He stretched his hand out to her. But Almárie remained still. "Where are we?" she demanded.

Thranduil's thin smile grew into a smirk. "You are perfectly safe. We are home, in my chamber. Now come and let us mark this victory with our union."

Almárie scanned the room again. She had, never been into the king's bedchamber before, and it was certainly opulent. But it did not feel like the most intimate space of a woodland king. Almárie made another small step backwards.

"I was bitten by a giant spider. How did I get here?"

"My scouts rescued you and brought you to me, of course?" He strode towards her, chuckling, cupped Almárie's face in his hands and went to kiss her, but again she pulled away.

"What of our oath? To my father? We swore we would wait till Arwen was wed. I want to be with you, too. But I will not break my word to Ada!"

The smile from Thranduil's lips died, replaced by a frustrated grimace. "Honorable Elves," he uttered through gritted teeth. Then his eyes turned yellow, like a cat's and his features changed to her cruel adversary.

Almárie trembled before him. "Sauron," she whispered. and in a desperate bid to escape, she ran towards two shutters.

"Come now Almárie, it was just a game and I prefer you to address me as Miaron." His cruel chuckles rang in her ears as she fumbled with the latch in her panic. Once Almárie had opened it, she threw open the doors only to find they opened onto a balcony at the top of a very high tower. Huge dark clouds blocked the sky, and the air hung with the smell of sulphur. In the distance, she could see a great volcano towering above the landscape. "Barad Dur," she whispered.

She felt Sauron's cruel fingers stroking her bare shoulders, his vile lips on her neck. Then he brought his hand up to hold her face as he whispered in her ear. "This is what awaits you when my servants bring you to me. I shall make you Empress of all Middle Earth, then the whole of Arda itself. You shall bear me Powerful Princes and none shall resist us."

"I shall never bear sons," Almárie replied.

"You will. Your mortal kinsman has revealed himself to me. Now he marches with my ring to my very door. But I shall not slay him immediately. I want him to witness our union before he dies. Which will not be long now since you are in my people's custody. I could make you mine right now in the unseen and the Valar would have to accept it. But I am patient. I will wait till we meet in the flesh."

"Never! I would sooner die!" Almárie broke free of his grasp and threw herself over the balcony and into the darkness. Sauron's deep cruel laughter still ringing in her ears. "It will make little difference. You are already on your way to me."

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17th March/ Gwaeron 3019, Mirkwood

Thorwen woke with a start and felt a wave of nausea as she was jostled back and forth. Disoriented, she looked about her and found that she was lying against the wall of a small wooden cart with one door containing a shuttered grill. The only light was from the gaps in the wooden planks. And from the jostling Thorwen knew that the cart was on the move. Chains connected to the heavy manacles on her wrists and ankles were attached to a metal ring embedded into the wood above her.

Her captors had taken Thorwen's armour and weapons, leaving her in a linen undershift and leather trousers that were covered in bits of spider silk. Outside, she could hear Orcish voices. Sauron had been true to his word in the unseen. She was now his prisoner. With great difficulty, Thorwen crawled over to a panel of wood where the knot had fallen out, giving her a limited view outside.

There were hundreds of Orcs on the march, laughing and jeering as they travelled. Figures in black cloaks rode alongside. But these were not Nazgul. They were priests from the Temple of Morgoth and Nuta was among them. Her disfigured face carried a look of triumph that sent a shiver through Thorwen. Somehow she had to escape, but the manacles weighed her down. She would need to build up her strength before she could use her Will to break them.

Thorwen rubbed the back of her neck, still sore from where the spider had bitten her, and she wondered if the Orcs had 'rescued' her or Nuta and her priests. By now, Thranduil would know she was missing. His scouts would be swarming Mirkwood. Perhaps they were even following the Orcs. The thought that rescue could arrive at any moment filled Thorwen with hope. Still fatigued, she leaned back against the wall of the cart and drifted off into an uneasy slumber.

Sometime later, a sudden jolt woke her. The cart had come to an abrupt halt. Through the hole, Thorwen could see she was in the midst of an Orc camp. Presumedly to rest before continuing their journey. She heard the jangle of keys and the door of the cart opened. Nuta entered with a female Orc in tow, carrying a flask and a bowl. She eyed Thorwen for a moment as if drinking in her success.

"You are awake, Sweeting. I am glad to see you have recovered. If it were not for my priests, you would now be a feast for the spiders. You must be hungry. Eat this. We will soon be at our destination."

"Where are we going?" demanded Thorwen.

"To the Fortress of the Great Master. Where you shall prepare for your wedding."

The Orc thrust the bowl at Thorwen. Grunting that she should eat. "Ensure she eats every morsel," commanded Nuta. Begrudgingly, Thorwen took the bowl, which contained some bread and some sort of meat stew. Under the watchful eye of Nuta and the Orc, Thorwen slowly ate. It was not very pleasant, but filled the hole in her grumbling belly. She would need all the strength she could muster if she was to have any chance of escape.

The Orc then snatched the bowl and thrust the flask at her. Thorwen suspected it probably contained something to subdue her, but she would comply for now. Just until her captors trusted her or until the Elves came. But the expected drowsiness did not come.

"How long have I been in here?" asked Thorwen.

"A couple of days and we have been making a good pace. Another day, and the fortress will be in sight." Once Thorwen had finished the flask, the Orc took it from her and Nuta ordered her to leave. Nuta then dropped to her knees and held Thorwen's chin. "I am glad you have learned to cooperate. The Great Master will be most pleased with your obedience. But of course, if you only comply because you expect rescue, then I must inform you that is most unlikely."

Thorwen snarled. "Thranduil would never abandon me!"

"The Elven King is dead! The Orc army was victorious. The survivors are being brought to Dol Guldur as we speak as slaves or offerings to Melkor! There is no deliverance from your fate. You shall be wed to the Great Master and serve him as he wishes."

Her words stuck in Thorwen's mouth and she shook her head. "No, no, he cannot be. Not Thranduil." Thorwen began to feel sick and dizzy. She tried to strike Nuta, but the priestess pushed her to the floor.

The world was spinning, and Nuta loomed over Thorwen like a monster about to eat its prey. "I think you will be much more ...... obedient from now on."

"What have you done to me?" Thorwen whimpered.

"No help is coming for you, only the Great Master's servants. They are at Barad Dur for the Great Master's glorious victory, but it will not be long before their return!"

Thorwen wanted to strangle her, but whatever Nuta had put in the food left her weaker than ever. Nuta exited and locked up the cart, leaving reeling over Nuta's words. Thranduil was dead? The Woodland Realm destroyed? Elves slain or enslaved? Nothing made sense. Thorwen curled up into a ball and howled, screaming Thranduil's name over and over. But whatever Nuta had given Thorwen was dulling her senses, and she could feel herself slipping away into a blissful numbness.

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24th March/ Gwaeron 3019, The Woodland Realm

Calenamath and the Huscarls sped their way through Mirkwood. They did not sleep but rested in the Elven manner. Their minds in Elven dreams while their bodies continued the journey. They looked for traces of Thorwen where the Orcs had been camping. Bregwen found a discarded leather flask at one of these encampments and brought it to Calenamath. "It has a strange scent," she said.

Calenamath examined the bottle and gave it a sniff. "Poppy syrup! Nuta used it to subdue and control troublesome prisoners.......... or those to be offered to Morgoth. If they are using it on Thorwen to suppress her Will, there is no time to waste. It is highly addictive and withdrawal is agonising."

At the break of the following day, the company climbed the trees to get a better view of their surroundings. The early morning mists revealed a glimpse of the fortress of Dol Guldur. At last, they had finally caught up with the Orcish army. Several priests of Morgoth and a troll dragging an enclosed wooden cart were with them. "Dol Guldur, I had hoped never to see such a place. We should attack now. There will never be a better time," said Bregwen.

"No. They outnumber us considerably. We would be slain in the attempt. To rescue Thorwen, we will have to sneak into the fortress," replied Calenamath. He shuddered at the thought of having to enter such an evil place. But he had sworn to Thranduil he would bring her home and he would fulfil that oath.

"Bregwen," he whispered. "Whatever happens, your priority is to get Thorwen back to the Elven Halls. She may be in a grim state if they are subduing her with poppy syrup. She may not even realise you are trying to help her. Do you understand?"

Bregwen squeezed his hand and nodded reassuringly. "We will all bring Thorwen home."

From their vantage point, the company watched with heavy hearts as the Orcish army entered Dol Guldur. Once they had entered the fortress, Calenamath and the Huscarls descended from the trees. Cautiously, he led the company toward the fortress. When they reached the bottom of the hill, they took out their Elven ropes in preparation for the climb up to the battlements.

"Hir Nin, someone approaches," said a Huscarl.

Calenamath looked through the trees and could see shadows creeping towards them. "That is strange. Whoever is coming has skill in stealth. Perhaps we have been spotted and the priests of Morgoth are now approaching. Prepare to engage."

The entire company formed a defensive stance as they awaited the expected foe. Then an Elven voice called out from the trees. "Who goes there?"

"I would ask the same of you!" replied Calenamath.

Suddenly a company of Elves in grey cloaks slipped out of the shadows, twice as large as Calenamath's company. Their bows all trained on them, but their captain quickly commanded them to lower their weapons. Bregwen looked at Calenamath with relief. "They are Galadhrim from Lothlórien."

Calenamath nodded and gave the command for the Huscarls to lower their weapons. "Len suilannon, Elen síla lúmenn' omentielvo. I am Prince Calenamath of the Woodland Realm. Who might you be?" he called to the captain.

The Galadhrim Elves saluted him in response. Their captain approached Calenamath and bowed low. "I am called Haldir, scout captain of the Galadhrim. Celeborn Hir Nin has sent us on recognisance. Orcs have attacked our lands thrice now and each time, we have pushed them back. Now we prepare for an assault of our own. I am surprised to find a company of Woodland Elves so far south."

Calenamath explained his mission and Haldir listened intently. "My company would be most honoured to assist you in the rescue of Lady Thorwen. I must also send word to my Lord and Lady, who are her kinfolk by adoption. They are bound to send more warriors to assist in this mission."

"I thank you, Haldir, your assistance is most welcome. But any further warriors might be a hindrance. We will need stealth on this mission." Haldir agreed but said that he was duty-bound to send word to Lord Celeborn and sent one of his companions back to Lothlórien.

"So what is your plan, Prince Calenamath?" asked Haldir.

Calenamath looked up at the gloomy skies. A huge dark storm cloud hung over the fortress at the top of the hill. The epicentre of the shadow that was blotting out the sun. He remembered when Dol Guldur had Amon Lanc, where his father's palace had been. Fond memories of walking with his mother in the beautiful gardens. Long before, his father had ordered it to be abandoned, and the necromancer had taken it over. Now all that was left was the moss-encrusted perimeter wall. "We climb and hide along the battlements. Once we locate Thorwen, we will plan our next move."