Fanworks Tagged with Alternate Universe

“You cannot mean to go after him!” Celegorm exclaims, laughing wildly. “After what we did? You cannot truly mean to go after him.”

"If you would move, then I suppose we would find out."

“What is wrong with you? What about the oath, Curvo?" Celegorm asks, voice low and furious, eyes blazing so much like their father's. "You cannot go after him."

And Curufin — who has seen the endpoint of what that oath cost them, who has reunited with their father, who has listened to their father curse himself for what the oath brought upon them all — finds it the easiest thing in the world to bare his teeth and snarl, "Fuck that god forsaken oath.”

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Fingolfin died. Or so he thought. Until he suddenly, disorientingly finds himself reliving one of the worst days of his life.

This time though, it goes differently.

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Aredhel runs from Nan Emloth just a few years earlier. This leads to a chain of events that might make the First Age just a bit lighter place.

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Celegorm and Aredhel ride towards the Aglon Pass through the rain.

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Elu Thingol trips over Melian while trying to avoid her dancing, and ends up visiting Greenwood the Great for a short enough time that he does no harm (except to spiders and Thranduil's wine cellar).

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“He is my brother,” Ñolofinwë says once more, willing her to understand. “He is half of me. What is a fëa worth if half of itself is gone?”

Ñolofinwë is scared that if he takes all that his brother is, and unravels the braid, takes out all of the love, winds what’s left back together — he is so terribly afraid that it will turn into a bitter hatred so dark and violent it may finally rival his brother’s.

He cannot risk that. He cannot. Better to die with love in his heart than live and become an angry, bitter version of himself.

Or: Ñolofinwë begins coughing up flowers and Fëanáro learns that hatred does not erase the duties of a brother.

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"In the days of the peace before Melkor broke the Siege of Angband, Finrod would often visit Andreth, whom he loved in great friendship." -- Athrabeth Finrod Ah Andreth

A slice of life chance (?) meeting of Finrod and Andreth on the dance floor of a nightclub in a WW2 AU. Written for the Swinging 40's stamp challenge on the song prompt of "Why Don't You Do Right?" 

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Tuor and Voronwë encounter Túrin at Ivrin. Hurt and not much comfort (but they try).

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An association football (soccer) pitch with some Rings of Power on it. On it is written in black and white script, my pitch (ha) to the artists: What if football (soccer) was invented in Beleriand/Middle-earth? Who would be most likely to invent it? To perfect it? Who would be most competitive about it? What if the Dark Lords and Elven Ringbearers--or any Ringbearers--got in on it? 

Write something showing how the Beautiful Game might have evolved in Tolkien's world, and who would play it. Might there be leagues? Imagine, the World Cup of Beleriand...Anyway, this is something I've always wanted to write but never been able to. I hope someone can!

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Maeglin slips away after the Nirnaeth Arnoediad to find the sons of Fëanor and maybe a happier life away from Gondolin. When he stumbles into Celegorm their first meeting, it is entirely different from what he expected.

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Maedhros and Fingon, ie Russo and Finnu from Prayers to Broken Stone, 19 years old and up to no-good at all. If you want to know why they’re dressed up like a Mecca pilgrim and a Roman cardinal, check out the snippet in the notes!

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Inspired by Jaz's Mereth Aderthad presentation Twilight, Child of: Comparisons Between Tinúviel, Lómion, and Undómiel and the idea of reversing or exchanging the roles of these three, plus the chat's insistence that there needed to be Arwen/Idril, with Arwen taking on something resembling Maeglin's role.

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Hemmoril, Maglor's master of horses, has struck up a tenuous friendship with a new ex-thrall in Himring.  He invites her to come to the tea gardens where he works to taste a new blend based on some flowers she harvested for him.  

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He knows that he’s supposed to say, if he’d known what would happen, he wouldn’t have done it. That he wouldn’t have paced through the halls, watching the tapestries appear, and seen his brother poised in front of Morgoth, preparing to fight, preparing to die, and gone a bit mad with grief.

He knows he should say he would not again go find a tapestry of where it all went irrevocably wrong and begin shredding it apart.

But he is suddenly standing in the middle of the library, treelight dancing through the windows, and staring at him with open mouthed shock is Ñolofinwë. So no, he finds he does not regret it at all.

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“You said,” Fëanáro says quietly, taking a step forward, “that I shall lead, and you shall follow.”

Ñolofinwë bites down the urge to take a step back as Fëanáro takes another step forward. “I said those words and I meant them. You are my brother and now my king, why should I not follow where you go?”

Fëanáro is regarding him far more seriously than he had that night as they stood in front of Manwë and Ñolofinwë wishes to know what brought this on. “And if I were not your king?” Fëanáro asks. “If I were your half-brother only?”

Or: Fëanáro does not steal away with the ships in the middle of the night, leaving Fingolfin to brave the bitter cold. Whether what he does instead is any better depends on who you ask.

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The footsteps come to a stop in front of him and he does not have a moment to wonder at his brother’s intentions before fingers are sliding into his hair and tugging his head back. He glares up at Fëanáro, tears on his cheeks, heart racing like a plea. Fëanáro stares back, expression strangely blank as he studies Ñolofinwë’s face. And despite his thoughts, despite his belief, he still finds himself smiling mirthlessly and asking, “Well, have you come to kill me in truth? Make your exile worth it?”

Something flickers through Fëanáro’s eyes too fast for him to catch and the fingers in his hair tighten painfully. “I would have thought that upon successfully usurping the crown you would be far more pleased,” Fëanáro says darkly, lip curling in disgust.

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A slightly different take on Maedhros' end in half a drabble. 
Plus half a drabble of Maglor's.

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F.A. 503 Aussie Rules Football finals season. Doriath is on the top of the ladder, but will they be victorious against the other strong contenders?

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But Fëanor was not held guiltless, for he it was that had broken the peace of Valinor and drawn his sword upon his kinsman; and Mandos said to him: “Thou speakest of thraldom. If thraldom it be, thou canst not escape it; for Manwë is King of Arda, and not of Aman only. And this deed was unlawful, whether in Aman or not in Aman. Therefore this doom is now made: for twelve years thou shalt leave Tirion where this threat was uttered. In that time take counsel with thyself, and remember who and what thou art. But after that time this matter shall be set in peace and held redressed, if others will release thee.”

“Well that’s rather stupid,” Fingolfin says.

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Fingolfin feels like part of him is still stuck in Beleriand, blood on his teeth and an all-consuming anger splintering out of control. Like he'll blink and once again see Morgoth's foot coming down. He wants. What does he want? He does not wish to be dead. He is, he supposes, grateful for this chance to fix things as much as they can be fixed. But he wants.

He wants for Fëanor to know him. Wants to work through all the ugly words and acts of violence that had divided them and come out the other side better for it. He cannot throw all the scathing anger in his chest at a brother who does not understand. Cannot scream at this Fëanor for burning the boats, for leaving them to the ice, for Elenwë, for Arakáno, for the countless others who had followed him and paid for it. And so what is he meant to do with the anger? He cannot swallow it all down forever and also salvage his relationship with Fëanor in this new song.

He wants, he thinks, watching a potter unmake a bowl that was marred, to un-sing himself as well.

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Cúrandil knows the stories, knows how their people first awoke in the water. How they came to walk the land and how the sea has called them back ever since.
It is their turn to follow the call now.

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In the wake of his ravishing by Morgoth, Mairon, who was Arien, falls.

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When Maedhros goes to parley with Morgoth’s army after Fëanáro’s death, Celebrimbor sneaks out to join him, and the consequences are dire.

Rated M for graphic violence (primarily torture). First three chapters were posted only on AO3 in 2024.

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For years, people had said that Imladris, or Rivendell in the common tongue, was a wonderful place. It was peaceful, it was beautiful, it was welcoming—a perfectly lovely place to be.

What many of them neglected to mention was that despite the hospitality of its residents and the beauty of the valley, Imladris was rather…unnatural.

(A Castle Glower AU)

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Finrod is truamatized from the sudden responsibility thrust upon him and from crossing the Helcaraxë. When he receives a message stating the Petty-dwarves of Nargothrond plan to murder his people, he exiles them. Mîm decides to assassinate Finrod to stop him. What could go wrong?

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