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"...Tinko NO! Ugh... you cats!!!", the woman cried as her cat Tinko -a plump brown tabby with sweet eyes- launched himself onto her desk, knocked over her bottle of deep red-brown ink (incidentally called Shadows of Mordor), and nonchalantly walked across her ornately scribed calligraphy project like it was any other surface. "So cute... but so bad!" she exclaimed as she picked Tinko up and tried to wipe off his paws. He wriggled himself away and landed on the couch, leaving toe-bean prints on the grey fabric.
She had been working on the calligraphy piece for hours, and now the ink was on her, on her clothes, on her cat and all over the desk. All of that hard work was ruined.
"Fuck my life..." she grumbled as she grabbed the ink-rag on her desk and blotted at her clothing and the table. "Shadows of Mordor, indeed. Maybe I shouldn't have used this ink...", she muttered, picking up the bottle of ink. Several months ago she had seen a Kickstarter campaign from a fancy ink company that featured a Lord of the Rings-themed ink and fountain pen set. She bought everything available, including a green fountain pen with a mini "One Ring" - complete with the ring verse - attached to its cap. It felt wrong to own something with the ring verse on it, but she made an exception this time. She picked up the pen, admiring the rich green color, engraved handle, and 14k gold nib. Even though she disliked the color green, and disliked the ring verse even more, something about it called to her, and she purchased it with the rest of the Kickstarter pledge goodies. It had become something precious to behold.
As Tinko continued padding around the room, the woman continued to admire the pen, turning it in her hands as it sparkled in the dim light of her small studio. Suddenly, there was a flash of light, and what she thought was migraine aura began to form. It started as a shimmering spot in her eyes, but soon, it expanded into an oscillating iridescent ring that grew larger and larger with each passing minute. The world felt like it was melting down.
"I've got to take a break," she groaned as Tinko looked up at her. He was still tracking ink - Mordor ink - everywhere, but she was suddenly too disoriented to care. She deposited herself onto the couch, dimmed the lights with her smartphone app and put a blanket over her eyes, praying that the headache would pass without too much pain or nausea. She felt Tinko climb up onto the couch and settle on her stomach, purring. Just as she was about to fall asleep, she felt the sensation of falling as her migraine aura grew bigger and bigger. "This is gonna be a bad one..." she moaned as she passed out.
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The woman opened her eyes several hours later to the sight of firelight dancing upon the floor and walls around her. She woke up with a gasp, drawing the attention of a few blurry figures nearby, who turned and began to approach. She pushed herself up to seated, and as her eyes cleared, she could see that she was no longer in her studio. She saw elegant, beautiful people in a firelit hall. A soft voice was speaking, telling a story about times long past. The sounds of this language were vaguely familiar -like the chatter in Irish that she used to hear as a child- yet it still sounded very foreign. Somehow, she understood the words. "Sindarin? It couldn't be..." she murmured to herself as she looked around.
After some time, the voice finished speaking, and the woman felt a hand on her shoulder, startling her. "Ah, you've woken up! One of my scouts found you unconscious not far from here. I am Elrond, and this is my House. Are you well?", a voice said.
"You're... who?" the woman said, looking up with a bewildered deer-in-the-headlights expression. A tall, fair person with long dark hair came into focus, dressed in simple but luxurious looking grey robes and crowned with a simple circlet.
"I am Elrond, and this is my daughter Arwen," he said, pointing to a woman on the far side of the room. Arwen nodded politely, then continued the conversation she was having with another person.
The woman's eyes got even wider. "Oh God... I don't think this is real," she said, covering her eyes with her hand. Elrond motioned for someone to get a glass of water. "I get these headaches that cause me to not think clearly, and they're very painful," she continued. "I remember falling asleep at home, and now I'm in this waking dream...," she trailed off, still stunned. Elrond looked at her curiously. Someone put a glass of water in her hands. She sipped it cautiously.
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Elrond stood silently, looking at the woman, trying to gather his thoughts. If he was right, she was another ring-visitor. He'd seen them numerous times in the last hundred years or so, saying they passed out with a migraine, only to wake up in Imladris, and recite the Ring Verse, or show him some piece of jewelry or article of clothing with the inscription on it. Each time, he had taken it upon himself to educate the traveller about that Ring. Reflecting on that much trauma so often took its toll, even on the elves.
Last time it happened, he said he was going to snap if it happened again. "So help me Arwen, if it happenes one more time, I'll go West. I can't do this again," he muttered internally as he prepared to speak. Arwen approached.
Finally, he spoke. "You seem to be from somewhere very far away, yet your dialect is no different than that of my household. We are very fond of friendly visitors and stories and song. You may stay as long as you like - in fact, we hope you will stay for at least a little while and tell us about yourself," he said, offering the hospitality he was known for. He helped the woman stand, and then looked down at her clothing, noticing the reddish stains on her abdomen.
"Are you... injured?", he asked as he pointed at her.
"Oh, I spilled an entire bottle of ink on myself last night while working on a calligraphy project. I'm fine, other than this headache. But I think it is going away, too," the woman said.
Elrond nodded cautiously. "So you're a scribe - thats... wonderful! There is much lore for you to record, if you wish to do so. And by what name should I call you?"
"Some of my friends call me Thavriel," she replied.
"The hay-maiden... and do you make hay?", Elrond asked, raising an eyebrow.
"Only when it's windy out," Thavriel said weakly, also raising an eyebrow. Elrond cringed internally.
Both of them laughed awkwardly, and the other members of Elrond's household began to approach, curious about who this newcomer was. Many introductions were made, but Thavriel was too tired for stories. She walked back to the cushion she had woken up on, sat back down, leaned against the wall, and closed her eyes. Elrond noticed that Thavriel was very tired and approached once again.
"I won't have my guests sleep on the floor. Come, we have room for you in the big house overlooking the falls. We'll give you something for the headache, and some new clothes, too," he said, looking one more at her ink-stained clothing.
Elrond helped Thavriel to her feet once more, and she followed him and Arwen along a path that wound itself around large trees and gardens. Finally, the thunderous roar of the falls could be heard, and the most beautiful building she had ever seen in her life came into view, bathed in the soft glow of candle-lit lanterns. She stopped in her tracks and began to weep. "This can't be real, there is no way... I can't... It's Imladris... it's Rivendell...", she began, but words failed her. The mere sound of the falls had given her new energy, and as she followed Elrond and Arwen up the steps to the house, her mind was a torrent of emotion. Finally, Arwen turned to Thavriel and spoke.
"We have had many visitors over the years here, but none have been as moved as you are at the sight of our great house. It is almost as if you have been here before and have returned home after many years away," she said warmly.
The words struck Thavriel. She had always envisioned Imladris to be a place of great beauty and wonder, and she had indeed spent many hours over the years imagining what a visit to the famed Homely House would be like. But to be here - even if it was only a dream - conjured a deep longing to stay. It felt like home.
Arwen found some clothing for Thavriel to wear, then showed her to a spare room with a balcony overlooking the falls. The bed was comfortable, and there was a desk with a plate of fruit on it, a water carafe, and a crystal glass. The chair at the desk was reminiscent of the Art Nouveau designs of the 1920s, which made Thavriel chuckle internally. Everyone always said the Elves invented Art Nouveau!, she thought to herself. The flat ceiling was spanned by great beams carved with ornate patterns from nature in the same style as the chair, and there was an open air hotspring bath in an adjacent room off of the main sleeping area.
Arwen invited Thavriel to bathe if she wished, handing her a set of new clothing and a plate of what looked like fruits, nuts, and cheese, which she accepted graciously. Elrond returned and handed her something resembling a small cookie, telling her to eat it when she was ready to retire for the evening, and that it would help the headache.
"Elvish medicine..." Thavriel murmured. Elrond smiled and nodded politely. He knew it would knock her out hard enough for Arwen to be able to search her without her waking up. He knew she had a Ring Verse artifact, he just had to find it. And when he did, he'd educate her, just like he had done with others countless times before.
"I... I couldn't accept such fine hospitality without feeling the need to repay you in some way," Thavriel replied.
Arwen smiled. "If you wish to repay us, tell us a story tomorrow, perhaps one from your homeland," she said. Then, the two left Thavriel for the evening, inviting her to let them know if she lacked anything.
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Thavriel stood in stunned silence after the two left, still unable to make sense of everything she was experiencing. One moment she was laying on the couch with a migraine, covered in ink, with an inky Tinko-cat laying on her lap. Then, in the next moment, she was apparently among the elves... including Elrond and Arwen... in RIVENDELL... able to understand and speak Sindarin perfectly. "What a strange dream... why does this feel so real?" she asked herself as she slipped into the hot spring. Its warmth melted the tension the migrane had caused in her neck and shoulders. After some time staring at the stars while laying in the bath, she dried herself off, put on the underdress Arwen had given her, ate Elrond's cookie, and went to bed, soothed by the thundering of the falls.
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After leaving Thavriel to rest, Elrond and Arwen discussed their visitor as they walked to join the rest of their household in the fire hall once again.
"She's one of those Ring Verse Visitors, isn't she?, Arwen said.
Elrond nodded.
"Do you want me to find it this time?", she asked.
"Please," Elrond replied. They had been through this before.
"That cookie will ensure she sleeps deeply. Search her and her things early tomorrow morning. I saw her shove something with an engraved ring on it into her pocket", he said with a sigh. Arwen understood her mission. She'd return after midnight, once the evening's storytelling was finished.
"Where do you think she is from? She speaks just like us, but is clearly not of our people. It is unusual, because only a few have known our language upon arrival," Elrond said as the two made their way back to the Hall of Fire to rejoin the rest of their household. The night was young.
Arwen shrugged. "I suppose we may learn more about her tomorrow, once she has rested and recovered from her headache," she said. Elrond nodded in agreement.
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Thavriel woke up the next morning to filtered sunlight shining in through the window. Panic struck her. "Oh my god... where am I... my dream... NO. I've lost my mind completely. I'm still here," she said as she flew out of bed and ran to the window. There were the falls and the gardens, and on the chair sat her ink-stained clothing and her phone. She searched her clothing for the Pen, but it was not there. Then there was a knock at the door and Arwen stuck her head in. "Are you well? Do you feel better? How is your headache?" she asked, entering the room.
"Oh, my headache has gone away, thanks to the good night's sleep I got here. Elrond's cookies... I'm not sure what the secret ingredient is, but I slept like I never have before. I hope you had a restful evening as well," Thavriel replied sheepishly.
Arwen gave Thavriel a curious look, then spoke. "Yes, many songs were sung. We hope you can join us this evening to tell some stories from your people," she said, setting a steaming cup of tea down on the desk.
"Yes, yes, or course, I'd be delighted and honored to join you," Thavriel stammered.
"Wonderful! I will arrange for a meal to be held in your honor. We are all very eager to hear about you and where you come from. You are welcome to wander our gardens and halls at your leisure - my father is tending his orchard and you may find him there," Arwen said.
"Ah, you are too kind... don't go out of your way to do anything special on my behalf. It is enough of a gift to even be here at all," Thavriel said. Arwen smiled.
"We don't often get visitors such as yourself - it will be our pleasure. Until we see eachother again," Arwen said with a slight bow, and she shut the door.
Thavriel let out a long exhale and looked down at her hand. She could feel her shoulders tightening. The pen was gone. "Shit! I must have dropped it. Who knows what they'll do to me if they find it?," she hissed, turning her pockets inside out. She knew that Elrond had worked too hard trying rid Middle Earth of the evil that wrought the real ring, and if he saw that her pen bore the ring inscription, she was in deep trouble.
They carried on with small talk for a time, discussing the living veranda that Elrond had been training for the past 300 years, the weather, and the opportunity to share stories and songs later in the Hall of Fire. Thavriel explained that she loved to sing, and looked forward to sharing some of the songs that she had translated into Quenya.
"Quenya? How on earth do you know anything of that language?", Elrond asked.
"I learned it in the Undying Lands, of course," Thavriel said. Elrond looked puzzled.
"Of course I didn't learn it there. But where I did learn it is almost as interesting," Thavriel said with a chuckle.
"Then I eagerly await your story," Elrond said as he raised an eyerbrow. "But first," he continued, "I need you to follow me. I have a story to tell you." Two guards joined them, flanking her.
"Did you find the -", Thavriel began, but Elrond cut her off.
"Silence," he said. His tone was not unkind, but it was firm.
Thavriel knew the pen had been found - and that she was in the biggest trouble of her life. She followed him back to the big house, where she was led to a candlelit room filled with books and scrolls. Arwen was there, coming around the corner of a large bookshelf as Thavriel was led inside. She hung her head - this was not going to be a fun conversation.
"Sit," Elrond said, pointing to a bench. Thavriel sat, and the armed elves stood on either side of her. Elrond and Arwen sat at the table, then Elrond took out a cloth bag and dumped out its contents. It contained only one thing. The One Pen. Thavriel cast her eyes down on to the table in front of her as her cheeks burned in shame.
"You and I both know that this isn't the actual Ring attached to pen. But the fact that you have a replica - a detailed replica - in your posession raises some serious questions. Do you know the history of the master ring?", he asked, standing up.
"I do," Thavriel said.
"I don't think you know it well enough. Otherwise you wouldn't own this in the first place. So we will do two things. First, let me recount- in granular detail - the suffering that was and is connected with this ring and its maker. Then, you will tell me what you think you should do with this cursed object," he said.
Elrond's restrained fury was terrifying, and Thavriel nodded quietly with her head down. He proceeded to tell her everything that he had seen and experienced as a result of the evil that wrought the One Ring. Thavriel was in tears by the end of his account. Arwen's head was bowed.
"Now, Thavriel, what should be done with this pen?", Elrond asked, his voice terrifyingly calm.
"It should be destroyed," she said in a whisper.
"Follow me," Elrond said, and Thavriel stood and followed, still flanked by the two armed elves.
Elrond led Thavriel to the Hall of Fire and handed her the pen. The Hall was empty now, save for a few people who were stoking the fire. Elrond dismissed them and pointed at it.
"Throw it in. Now," he said, brooking no room for argument or hesitation. And there was no hesitation - she threw The One Pen into the fire and watched as it slowly melted down and disintegrated. As the last of the pen liquified into nothingness, she turned to Elrond.
"I'm so sorry," she said, weeping profusely. Elrond sighed.
"You are not the only visitor who has arrived with a replica of that cursed object or inscription in some form. People from your time seem to view it as a souvenir from a mythical, glorious bygone era. But to us, it is a reminder of what has been and what will come as a result of the evil that created the master ring. Do not trivialize the great sorrow and evil Middle Earth experienced. Now," he said, turning as others began to enter the Hall of Fire, "we will speak of this no more. The time has come for stories, laughter and merriment. Difficult times are both behind and ahead of us in Middle Earth, as they are in your time, too. Your transgression is forgiven."
Thavriel shuddered and cried some more, and then wiped her tears and took her seat in the Hall of Fire amongst the others of Elrond's household. One by one, stories were told - stories about the Two Trees, and the founding of Rivendell, and of Númenor and many other things. Then, Thavriel told her own stories - stories about her life and times, and even stories about how she learned Quenya. Then, she sang songs of green trees bursting with new life, and of good outshining the bad. Everyone was delighted.
As the echo of her voice faded out in the Hall of Fire, there was another burst of light, and Thavriel was back in her studio. She was still wearing the clothing from Rivendell, but there was a new pen in her hand. It was simple, made of a gleaming silver metal, and very lightweight. It bore a simple Tengwar inscription in Sindarin that wound around the pen body - Snow-white! Snow-white! O lady clear! O Queen beyond the Western Sea! O Light to us that wander here amid the world of woven tree!
This, truly, was The One Pen to rule them all!