A/N: Hey Everyone! I'm going to go ahead and let you guys know this new chapter is going to be kind of short. It's more of a set up for Chapter Five, which I'm currently working on. I want to say "Thank you" to Asteal, Debella, Sakura Dreamer 13, and elliisaah for clicking on that Favorite/Follow button. I'm happy the story has captured your interest! I also want to give a shout out and "thank to you" to those who have reviewed! I'm always happy to hear what people think of my work!
Tibblets: I'm glad you have found the story is enjoyable so and hope it continues to be interesting for you!
Guest: I'm not to going to say whether Sauron will actually succeed or not in this story. That would be giving too much away. Thank you for your excitement and support! ^^
Revanchist21: I like putting new spins on fanfiction ideas. I like writing my stories with an element of unpredictability in them. I don't know if I always succeed, but I do try. ^^ Thank you!
Chapter Four
The composed demeanor Mister Head Honcho put on reminded me of a businessman ready to orchestrate a deal that would work towards his advantage. He folded the clawed tips of his black metal gloves on the table. His eerie eyes burned into mine.
"You speak in past tense as if the events of the war have already occurred," he said as he studied my rigid posture. I wanted to shrink into the size of a microscopic germ underneath the weight of his gaze. "Does these ancient accounts say how the Alliance was able to get in the weapon into Mordor without notice?"
I swallowed. Why was the War of the Ring suddenly a topic of interest for this guy? The War of the Ring happened seven hundred years ago. Was there some kind of legend that said the weapon hadn't been successfully destroyed that I hadn't been aware of while doing my research on the subject? Or was this guy a whack job, who believed he was the rightful heir to the Dark Lord and believed the Ultimate Weapon was still out there? Although, that didn't explain the lack of modern amenities, security cameras and armed guards that didn't possess a jagged sword or spiky mace.
The feeling that something was clearly wrong tugged at the back of my mind. I mean besides the fact I had been kidnapped by an obvious psychopath with a thing for medieval décor and was perfectly okay with living by torch-light and having his headquarters near an active volcano of all places!
"Well, that's the thing," I said, weighing each word that came out of my mouth. Play the game, Fiona. Humor the insane man with obvious magical powers and terrifying anger management issues. I treaded lightly. "Most of the first-hand accounts of the War of the Ring were written after the war, and most of them are in Old Sindarin, which is difficult to translate into the current form we use today. Most accounts from the time reference a ring-bearer and a mythical race called Halfings. One legend says that a Halfling helped the ring-bearer into Mordor, but the details of how is wishy-washy at best. There is an epic poem from that time that references parts from the legend, but most scholars dismiss the legend as embellishments and a wive's tale."
An uncomfortable silence followed as my kidnapper seemed to consider what was said. He picked up the chalice next to him and took long a drink, before setting it down. "It is safe to say that history not does know everything in the concerns of the demise of the Dark Lord and his weapon then, yes?"
Why the hell was this so important to him?! I nodded. "Pretty much. You have to realize the war ended over seven hundred years ago and what is past down to us today is a water down version with embellishments and missing pieces."
"What does history have to say about the Dark Lord?" he inquired.
I blinked. "Like I said, he supposedly bit the dust. His fortress collapsed after the weapon was thrown back into the fire of Mount Doom, which by the way I'm guessing is the very same volcano stationed outside your headquarters. Aren't you a little concerned about a possible eruption, taking this place out? The last civilization that attempted to settle in Mordor was buried under a mile of ash back in the 1500s when Mount Doom last erupted."
An amused smirk tugged at the corner of Mister Head Honcho's ashen grey face. "You have an interesting way with words, Fiona," he told me. The way his said my name sent unpleasant shivers down my spine. "And a learned scholar as well. Quite ambitious for a woman. I imagine you met quite the uproar from your male counterparts."
I gawked at him incredulous. Was this person raised under a fucking rock? Sure, women struggled to gain a strong foothold in the field of academia for the last hundred years or so, but the way he spoke it was as women scholars were extremely rare or unheard of. Hadn't he ever had any women professors when he attended school? My stomach churned uncomfortable.
"What are you getting at?" I asked, indignation warmed my voice, temporarily chasing away the fear was that ever present. Sure, I was terrified of this madman, but like most self-respecting women who worked her ass for her master's in research history, I did not like the contempt in his voice.
"You have a gift," he said, flashing his pointy teeth as he spoke. "Your knowledge on the events of the War of the Ring is insightful."
"Uh… Thanks?" Okay, seriously, where was this conversation going?
"However, it appears one piece of narrative has eluded your perspective gaze," he replied with amusement.
"And what's that?" I asked cautiously.
He leaned on his fist as his eyes appraised me like I was some sort of rare stone. He picked up the chalice full of wine next to him and raised it to me as if in a toast. "The Dark Lord of Mordor has now gained an advantage in the war and in the end will succeed in rewriting history."
I think my mouth dropped to the table. What did he just say? Was he implying that-Did this guy actually believe that he was Sauron?!
"Welcome to the War of The Ring, my dear Fiona," he said.