Authors Note: Please excuse some purposeful purpleness and the bringing together of some of the most horrible plots out there. I love Tolkeins work (the Silmarillion being my favourite) it is not at he who I point my finger of fun.
This is experimental and if it really is so awful tell me and I will gladly take it down. If it amuses tell me also and I will leave it.
Apologies in advance.
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The Fourth of the Rings
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Prologue:
"One cliché to fool them all, and we will all despise them!" as was etched delicately around the edge of the fourth Elvish ring of power in writing only visible from within a large piece of cheese.
We are indeed fortunate that it could be wielded only by a quarter Elven/human teenager/more beautiful than Galadriel/more powerful than Sauron original character - surely THAT would never happen in the fandom…
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Words, once clear but now faded from view on the burnished surface of the plain silver band that glinted like dew in the shower of sunlight that dappled the mossy forest floor.
Forgotten.
For there were four rings preserved by the Elves; the Sapphire, the Adamant and the Red Ring of Fire, whose tales are known. But lost even to the eyes of the wise was Túch-ieze (say it out loud) whose opalescent stone glistened and darkened according to the whim of the one who bore it.
So long since Túch-ieze felt the warmth of life, so long since one – a stranger to Middle Earth, yet of the blood of Elves had trodden this path. But the ring felt a stirring in its etchings as delicate footsteps tripped for the first time in three thousand years beneath the canopy of the forest. The passage of Melian and her maidens did not move it, nor the battle fought when the forest was but a sapling copse. Only the first dancing steps of the one whose red gold hair no doubt tumbled like lava over alabaster shoulders in a very Pre-Raphaelite manner touched Middle Earth for the first time. Suddenly the nose of the mole touched the ring and guided by the Túch-ieze it nudged and nudged until it lay in just the right place at just the right time.
All this would have surprised the girl who awoke on a grassy knoll. Rhiannon Moonstarr found her place of awakening odd and twisted to her knees she breathed deeply of the fresh clear air and goggled as to where the traffic fumes could have vanished…
"…but I was…" she caught sight of a pool and on tentative legs like a new-born gazelle approached the calm still water. Her eyes widened just enough to make her look charmingly astonished but far short of the look that said ohmegoshwheretheheckamI and implied that owner of the eyes was one pretzel short of a deli. Her reflection was a far cry from the girl who had marched down the High Street of Normaltown that morning clad in jeans and a baggy shirt and annoyed because her so called friends laughed at her for reading fantasy novels. "Why…I'm beautiful…" Her eyes flashed from silver to green as a soft sigh of relief escaped her lips. "I could have so easily been raised by goblins…" she muttered, glad to have escaped the plotline that would have had her fight every Elf in Middle Earth until she met Legolas. In an instant her eyes grew bored and changed from green to the blue of a spring morning.
Many metres along the path, the jewel of Túch-ieze changed also…its time had come.
Remembering that she had been halfway through a sentence Rhiannon Moonstarr tossed her curls over her shoulder and smoothed the flimsy gown that she wore for reasons of decency though not practicality. She gazed at her hands, the bitten nails of the morning were transformed into the manicured talons of lunchtime and no longer was her left wrist bound by a plastic Swatch. Now the softest silk and a bracelet of delicate pearls adorned it.
Recovered from the shock of inexplicably flitting from one world and time to another Rhiannon looked around her. From the pool the path led one way and in a short time she was beneath the trees where in the belief that story should have a plot the author had planted the ring.