Disclaimer: I own none of the characters within.
Author's Notes: I've seen plenty of people rewriting 'LOTR', whether with characters of their own added in or simply with more amusing subplots. But never have I seen it written like this before…
For this story, you have to let go anything you ever knew about the characters. They are no longer what they were. They are wolves. Therefore, they speak like wolves, hunt like wolves, and act like wolves, with alphas and packs and territories. I've altered some ages (Merry is older than Frodo, for instance) and some relations (Eowyn and Eomer are now the pups of Theoden), but otherwise I've kept most of it the same.
Some of the hierarchies are different, but bear with me. This old tactician has a plan, and it will unfold in due time.
Middle-earth is now great wide tundra on which these packs run free. A shadow rises in the East… and they will unite or they will fall.
The Tundra of Arda
Wind stole along the wide tundra, giving flight to the birds and whispering through the grasses. It danced along through the caribou, the mighty beasts lowing and rumbling as they moved. It swirled around the little wolverines as they scuttled along the ground. And it crested a hill, playing at the ruffs of the rulers of the tundra.
Wolves.
The Gondor pack sat on the top of the hill, looking down with sharp eyes at the arctic deer below. Searching. Scouring the herd for a weakness. Or, more accurately, a weak animal. Their next meal.
The alpha male, Denethor, lifted his nose to the wind. He inhaled deeply the scent of the herd, testing it on the air. He was an older wolf, but still hale, with fur that was a muddy brown. Many a battle he'd fought to keep his position as the alpha. And long and hard had he feuded with the other packs for his territory.
Not that it was prime turf. Indeed, the land of the Gondor pack bordered closely, almost too closely, Mordor, land of the hunters. Not a particularly envious place to be. And yet the stubborn pride that ran in his blood kept Denethor and, consequently, his pack, in their home ground.
Rising next to his father was Boromir. Pride of the Gondor pack, he was tall and powerful, rich brown fur shining with health and vigor. His mother had been slain by Sauron, the Great Hunter, long ago, leaving the pack without any alpha female. But they were capable.
The young wolf Faramir was Boromir's brother. He was smaller, and with fur that was a more light brown color, like the dust kicked up by his swift feet. He was a scout and a runner, patrolling the borders constantly.
Beregond, the beta and second in charge, was relaxing on the ground. He did not particularly like hunting. In fact, he'd rather have been napping with his tail curled up around him. But Denethor was insistent, and the alpha. Beregond had no choice but to obey.
Sulking at the base of the hill and separated from the rest was the grey wolf Aragorn, the bottom of the food chain. Once, he'd been the beta, fully prepared to take over the pack and lead. But he had a wandering need in him, and departed to visit other places. Upon his return, he found Beregond firmly rooted in his place. Denethor looked down on him, and Boromir loathed him. The only reason the pack kept him around was for his impressive tracking skills, leading them to the caribou from miles away.
The air tingled with electricity. The caribou, as if sensing danger, quickened their pace. Boromir's mighty shoulders tensed. And suddenly, Denethor gave the quick bark that sent them all flying, down onto the plain and amongst the caribou.
They moved like the wind, gliding over the land almost without touching it. Their proud tails lifted like flags, and their sleek bodies pressed to the earth for speed.
Faramir sliced into the herd, splitting off the caribou he'd selected. Old and weak, the animal stumbled away from him and, unknowingly, towards the pack.
Boromir was racing in for the killing blow. But Aragorn put on a burst of speed and cut him off, leaping in and gripping the beast's jugular.
The caribou was dead. But that was not the end of the trouble. Raising his ruff angrily, Boromir rumbled a threatening growl that said 'I am in charge'. Aragorn had made the kill, therefore attempting to raise himself to a higher position. That behavior could be accepted.
Again, Boromir thundered the command 'Know your place'. Lunging, Aragorn snapped at him, but the larger male was too quick. The teeth clacked shut on thin air. Suddenly submissive, Aragorn cowered to the ground. Satisfied, Boromir turned to the kill.
Denethor ate first, preserving his rights as the alpha. Beregond followed, and then the brothers. Aragorn was forced to wait his turn, his tail stiff and bristling with indignation.
And then a call split the air.
Immediately, the pack was on edge. It was the call of the Lorien pack, coming from near the Northern border. They were close. Too close. Close enough to possibly be on Gondor territory.
Denethor threw back his head and howled, bellowing his authority and telling them to stay away. Boromir sang as well, his voice ringing with threat. Beregond and Faramir took up the call, each giving their warnings. Still stinging from his reprimand, Aragorn remained silent.
But the Lorien wolves sounded again, and they were far too near for comfort.
The Gondor pack had just eaten, and was forced to trot slowly to the border and turn away, not for the first time, the trespassers.
~
Aragorn's keen, albeit reluctant assistance in the tracking department led them to a small ravine. Across the lip of the gap and standing tall was the Lorien pack.
In the tundra of Arda, there were Numenor packs and Elven packs. The packs of Numenor descent were strong, with short powerful legs and broad shoulders. But the Elven packs were tall and lithe, with long graceful legs and slender bodies. And of course, all the Elven packs had the noticeable ears, longer and upswept for finer hearing.
Elven wolves and Numenor wolves despised each other. Constantly fighting for land, they taunted and howled at one another and often pulled bold maneuvers like the Lorien pack was at that moment.
Standing at the head of the pack was Celeborn, the alpha, and next to him the alpha female, Galadriel. Behind them stood Rumil and Orophin. All had their tails raised in defiance, and Celeborn arched his neck proudly.
They were well into Gondor territory.
With a snarl, Denethor ordered them to leave. Celeborn barked a haughty 'no'.
Suddenly, Boromir was thrown to the ground with a yelp, and a tawny form raced past them and over the edge of the gully, making the incredible leap to rejoin his pack.
Haldir. Infamous for his arrogance, Haldir was cunning and swift; able to make jumps like the one he'd just landed. But his weakness was his cockiness, and he was prone to daring escapades like sneaking onto foreign territory.
He stood smirking at the Gondor pack, tipped back his head and howled a challenge. What he hadn't counted on was the pack surging forward into the ravine and racing up towards them, fully ready to kill.
Sensing the anger and danger coming towards him, Celeborn called his pack away and back towards their land. No time for fights now.
~
The Lorien pack continued on through their land, not stopping to rest. They could run for long periods of time, sometimes just for fun, and sometimes because it was absolutely necessary. At the moment, they were just running for the joy of it.
Haldir raced along, his ruff blowing in the breeze and his tail lifted like a banner. He considered the showdown with the Gondor pack a victory, simply because he'd given Boromir a good trouncing.
Meanwhile, Celeborn and Galadriel exchanged worried looks. Both of them realized that Haldir was getting too confident for his own good. At a nod from his mate, Celeborn darted forward to run alongside his beta. Abruptly and without warning, he gave Haldir a hard nudge that knocked him off his feet.
Before the beta could regain his footing, Celeborn was on top of him, pinning him to the snowy ground. Haldir writhed under Celeborn's weight, not in the mood to be disciplined. But the larger wolf remained that way, so finally he relented with a whimper.
As soon as he admitted his inferiority, Celeborn pulled away. The pack continued on, with the alpha male and female at the front, and the very humbled beta bringing up the rear.
~
They'd been traveling for three days when they heard the familiar song of kin.
Glorfindel's rich voice drifted through the air, joined by the rest of the Imladris pack. They were on Lorien borders, and howled their greeting to the other pack. Celeborn sang back, and the two packs harmonized in the twilight. Then all voices silenced, save Glorfindel and Celeborn. They spoke at length, talking of the hunting and the weather. Finally, Celeborn suggested a meeting place.
Overjoyed at seeing their fellow Elven wolves, Haldir, Rumil, and Orophin pranced about like puppies, tails wagging with excitement. Galadriel watched with a smile, showing her pearly fangs.
In mere hours (Haldir had upped the pace to get there faster), the two packs met on the neutral ground between their territories. The younger wolves bowled into each other, tussling on the ground exuberantly. Celeborn and Glorfindel approached each other and rubbed their bodies together in greeting. Glorfindel repeated the gesture with Galadriel.
Rumil had just gotten a really good hold on Galdor's ears when Galadriel commanded them to part. She wanted to see how the pups had grown, particularly…
Arwen had grown quite a bit, indeed. Now she was as stunning as the evening star, her raven dark fur glistening in the moonlight. Sparkling green eyes shone from her face, and her body was slim and strong.
Elladan and Elrohir were cream-colored; their coats dirty from rolling on the ground in play fights. They fought for 'dominance' constantly, each vying for the role of alpha pup.
The alpha female of the Lorien wolves examined them fondly. They were her grand-pups, by her daughter Celebrian, who had been killed by the Great Hunter shortly after their birth. Out of the goodness of his heart, Glorfindel had raised the pups, taking them in when few would. For their blood was a disgrace…
As if on cue, a wavering, mournful howl filled the air. Instantly, all of Haldir's fur bristled, his lips curling into a snarl. The alphas turned a wary eye to the north, where the approaching wolf was nearing.
It was Elrond, the loner. He had heard the singing of his kin and sought them out for not the first time. He crawled towards them, belly near the ground, ears flattened against his head, and tail tucked between his legs. Pleading whimpers rose from his throat as he inched towards the three alphas that stood, stiff and cold.
The black wolf reached their feet and rolled over onto his back, his paws in the air. The message was clear.
'Take me in. I will be the lowest of low. Just give me a family. Please.'
Celeborn and Glorfindel looked to Galadriel. It was her decision. After all, it was her daughter that run off and mated with this loner, and she should be the one who decided whether they would welcome him.
She looked away.
At the signal, Glorfindel dove forward and seized Elrond by the throat, not killing but gripping tight enough to be a warning. Whining, the black wolf begged again to be admitted. But Glorfindel tossed him aside, snarling viciously.
Slinking away, Elrond paused near the pups. His pups. He whimpered a soft call, 'come with me'. But they did not recognize him, and only cocked their heads in confusion.
Defeated, Elrond disappeared into the night, while the Elven packs behind him continued their reunion.
~
He was doomed to a life of wandering.
Elrond the Loner, as was his name, had come across the title quite accidentally.
He'd been born.
His mother had been of the Elven race. But his father had been a Numenor. Their mating had been catastrophic, so they'd escaped to start their own pack. One pup was born to them before the Great Hunter killed them. And so their troubles were over.
But their pup was alone.
Elrond was shunned by all packs in Arda. None of the Numenors would accept him on account of his Elven half. And yet his Numenor blood kept him from the Elven.
And so he wandered the tundra, always seeking acceptance and finding none. He longed for the company of his brethren, either Numenor or Elven. No such good fortune. He roamed in the no-wolf's zone, the long alleys of land between territories that were considered neutral. The turf was forbidden; only relatives or adolescents seeking a new pack could cross it.
And of course, Elrond the Loner.
He stole along in the moonlight, his soft whimpers echoing in the silence as he talked to himself. Finding no food and seeing no reason to stop, he continued on till morning.
And it was by daylight that he was at last visited.
Company came swooping down suddenly and quite unexpectedly from the sky and landed right on his back.
It was Gandalf, the mighty eagle. He was the guardian of the tundra of Arda, and so was the only living soul who cared about Elrond. In fact, the two were very good friends, often traveling together for long distances.
The wolf nuzzled his feathered companion affectionately. He enjoyed Gandalf's companionship; and though Elrond spoke the tongue of the wolves and the eagle spoke his own language, it didn't matter. For their minds were so great that they could communicate by thought.
-How goes it, wolf friend?-
-Specify.-
-Your kinsmen?-
-Cold as ever.-
-A shame. As much as I would like to sympathize, that is not the reason I came.-
-You sense it too?-
-A great Evil arises in the East…-
~ To Be Continued
Author's Notes: This first chapter is kind of testing the waters. Let me know what you think, and I'll post more.