“In 1404, King Taejong Fell From His Horse During A Hunting Expedition. Embarrassed, Looking To His

Names for Nandor

I don’t like the term Nandor and I’ll explain why after I explain a little about the etymologies of Tolkien’s Elvish. There are three different timelines to know about when talking about it; internal, external and publication history. Internal History is the history of Tolkien’s languages in-verse. So when Paul Strack (and I will be following his example) says “primitive,” “ancient,” “archaic” or “old,” he is describing the languages history in-verse. External is how Tolkien’s languages changed throughout his life. So when Paul Strack describes a language as “early,” “middle,” “late,” “earlier,” and “later,” he is referring to the external development of Tolkien’s Languages. Publication history is self-explanatory in that it’s the order that information about Elvish languages was published to the general public.

Having explained that, my first issue with the term Nandor is that no one in-verse uses it, except for some Noldorin Historians in Aman and knew nothing about what happened to the group after they refused to cross Hithaeglir, and they could only remember that the leader was named Lenwë (WJ). This is like Washington Irving’s “A History of the Life and Voyages of Christopher Columbus,” where Irving uses sources to write an adventure story framed as a historical biography and now Columbus “discovered North America.” And that’s not even my biggest issue with the word Nandor.

My biggest issue with using Nandor is it’s etymology and internal history. As many people know, the Quenyan word Nandor means, “those who go back.” (SI). This is supposedly referring to how this group refused to cross Hithaeglir. That bits not what I have an issue with… Nandor is derived from the root (n)dan- which describes the reversal of an action or to undo something. The full definition from the War of the Jewels, is “…indicating the reversal of an action, so as to undo or nullify its effect, as in ‘undo, go back (the same way), unsay, give back (the same gift: not another in return).” (n)dan- itself is derived from the primitive form ndando, which means “one who goes back on his word or decision (WJ).” And that last bit is why I hate Nandor. It’s implying that “these are people who will go back on their word, and will flake out at the slightest misfortune.” Words and meanings change, of course, but would a race that has a long memory, loves to give names and plays with language for fun, really not know what they were doing naming their kin that?

Here’s a list of alternative terms;

Danwaith (S.) this was used by the Sindarin lore masters, though sometimes they confused it with Denwaith. This is formed from the words [dan] and [gwaith], which becomes [waith] later in Sindarin. [Gwaith] refers to a group of people and [dan] means “back to,” so the name means “People who go back.” Lenwë (Q.) is the leaders Quenyan name, but his other name is Denweg, hence the confusion. Danwaith, as far as I can tell, is a carryover from when Denweg’s name was Dan, which I’ll get to in a moment (WJ). This term is used to describe those who initially did not cross Hithaeglir.

Dana (Nan.) This is actually from Tolkien’s Middle period (external), and the only Middle period one I’ll go over, so I wouldn’t recommend using it, But I’ll give a quick overview. During this time, the leader of the Dana was named Dan (or Dân) and this is what the Dana called themselves. However, as you might recall, in-verse, (n)dan- come from ndando, so it’s unlikely that they’d refer to themselves as that. It’s other forms are Danas (pl.) and it’s angelized version Danian (LR, WJ, PE). This term is used to describe those who initially did not cross Hithaeglir.

Lindi (Nan.) This is the one I use to refer to the whole of the clan. When the Lindi first came into Beleriand, they called themselves Lindai, which is the old Teleri clan name (Lindâi -> Lindai -> Lindi (Nan) or Lindar (Q.)), but it had become Lindi in their tongue (WJ). Derived from the Sindar or directly from the Lindi, this is also what the Noldorin exiles used. This is derived from the primitive Elvish word lindā meaning “sweet sounding.” The singular is probably Lind (WJ, PE). 

Lindil (S.) After the Sindar recognized the Lindil as kin, they adopted the name Lindi and gave it the form Lindil or Lindedhil (WJ). This is used to describe the Elves who followed Denethor to Beleriand.

Laegel (S.) This term later replaced Lindil among the Sindar. It means “Green-Elf,” which is a familiar term for us all! It’s plural is Laegil and it’s class plural is either Laegrim or Laegel(d)rim (WJ).  This is used to describe the Elves who followed Denethor to Beleriand. Green-Elf is also used to describe them.

Laiquendi (Q.) This is the Quenyan translation of Laegel. It was translated by the Noldor, though it was not used very much (WJ). This is used to describe the Elves who followed Denethor to Beleriand.

Tawarwaith (S.) This term translates to “Forest (tawar) People (gwaith),” and is a term used to describe Silvan Elves. (UT)

Galadrim (Nan.) is a collective plural that means “Tree-People,” and is used to refer to the Elves of Lórien. The Sindarin equivalent is Galadhrim

Silvan (Eng.) Alt. Sylvan. This is used to describe Elves who never made it to Beleriand, but may have stayed in the Vale of Anduin or settled elsewhere. Other non-Elvish words to call these Elves include, Wood-Elves, Woodland Elves and East-Elves.

First draft commentary

Din: I have reconsidered your offer to train me to use the darksaber.

Luke: Did you hit yourself with it?

Din: I hit myself with it.

kidnap dads pillow/blanket forts !!! 🥺

48. Pillow/Blanket Forts

Maedhros halted abruptly as soon as he crossed the threshold of the boys’ room. “What are you doing?”

Elrond and Elros froze guiltily. Elrond looked down at the ground, while Elros scrunched up his nose.

“Building a blanket fort?” he said.

A blanket fort? Maedhros blinked, re-examining the mass of pillows shoved beneath chairs, blankets draped over them, the cozy little cavern the twins had created for themselves. He’d done similar things as a child, he recalled, though there had been no concept of “forts” in Aman. It stung his heart to think that they had never known peace, had been born and raised in a land where even forts did not stand for long...

But this would would, this blanket fort within a fortress. Maedhros would defend Amon Ereb, so the children could defend their quilted creation.

“A fort should have defenses,” Maedhros said, crouching down to inspect it. “It should be strong enough to withstand enemy attack. I would know—I held Himring for centuries, and hold Amon Ereb even now.”

Elrond looked up, eyes wide. “Will you help us, Atya?” he blurted out. “So if Atar comes we can—defend it from him?”

Maedhros laughed, ruffling his son’s hair. “Of course,” he said. “First—let’s spread these chairs out, and find some poles and books to build with, so we can expand our fort and I can fit inside...”

~

“What are you doing?” Maglor asked, baffled, as his brother and their sons marched past him with arms full of blankets, books, and...stilts?

The twins scampered on ahead, completely oblivious, but Maedhros paused, a cheery sparkle in his eyes that Maglor hadn’t seen there since...before Fingon died.

“I’m instructing them in siege warfare,” he pronounced. “Keep out of their room for an hour or two, alright? You’ll be playing the enemy, eventually. Just like our drills back in the day!”

“Atya!” Elros called. “C’mon!”

Maedhros grinned—grinned!—and all but pranced away, more excited than Maglor could remember him being in a very long time. A little morbid that it was battle tactics that put such a spring in his step, but, well, that was Maedhros...and Maglor saw the truth. His brother was happy to feel useful, instructing the twins on something important, something he knew well, and able to spend time with his sons as well.

He shook his head with a smile, already turning over ideas of how to play the game along with them. If Maedhros had a hand—hah—in the fort they were building, it would take a little more than knocking over a chair to take it down...not that he’d really do that. He’d let the boys take him hostage.

After all, of the four of them that comprised this strange little family, he was the only one who’d never been kidnapped before!

Turin and Beleg meeting again at the end of the world

sir these are my emotional support 120 tabs of unread fanfiction

I'm approaching parenting age and I've been thinking back on all the stuff I put my parents through as a kid. Only thought now is "oh no, God help me"

Fic idea:

There is a hall of waiting for men in Mandos too, right? For them to wait for their loved ones before they go on together? (If I made that up it’s just the fic premise now, but isn’t this where Beren was chilling when Luthien came for him?)

Anyways Elros figures out while he’s waiting for his kids that he can use his Descendant of Luthien powers to pop over to the Elvish side and meet all the dead elvish relatives he wouldn’t get a chance to know until the breaking of the world otherwise.

He realizes most of them are either gonna be there forever cause they demonstrably Can’t Get Over Their Shit, or Valinor will end up a burning pile of rubble as they are released and forced to face their shit whilst alive.

This is a problem because Elros knows his brother craves family, and while they both accept he and his twin cannot be together forever in life or death, he expects these layabout relatives to get off their dead asses and start making up with each other, so when his brother ends up in Valinor, whenever that may be, he has a loving supportive family that isn’t dragging him in a hundred different directions.

Cue dead Elros playing life (death?) coach to a bunch of dead elves. Some of them are conscious enough it’s like having a normal conversation. Some of them are in soothing or disturbing dreamscapes, with various degrees of awareness of where they are, what they’ve done, and what has happened since they died.

Helpful sidekicks include:

- Soon to be released Glorfindel!

- Finwe, cause he’s sick of his family being idiots and sad his BFF Elwe isn’t talking to him.

- Elros’s extremely argumentative wife, who’s a little confused, but she got the spirit.

- Namo very deliberately Not Helping, because they are Breaking Rules, but who keeps giving them hints like “It would be a shame if you dragged this person’s soul by it’s metaphorical ear to talk to that person’s soul, which of course is interfering which is Bad, I hear.”

- A maia representative sent by Nienna (who thinks this is brilliant). It’s a Maia who really loves elves, and is really interested in how to get them to stop self sabotaging with their own stupidity, and yeah. It’s Gandalf.

Pervading questions:

What happened to Dior and the first set of Peredhel twins?

Where are the Feanorians? Did they really get sent to the void?

Why would anyone want to live forever dealing with this nonsense, is Elrond a martyr or just an idiot. It’s just Finwean family drama? forever?!?!Elros is very confident he made the right choice.

I’ll definitely write this outside my head >>

I thing sometimes cats don’t actually know what specifically they want – they’re just generally dissatisfied, so they stand there yelling “I YEARN” on the off chance that you’ll be able to do something about it.

Damn I just realized that since the Rohirrim didn’t read or write (wise but unlearned, writing no books but singing many songs) that means Eowyn couldn’t read or write and since she marries Nerdboy McGee who loves reading and writing more than anything you can your bottom dollar one of the first thing that happens in their courtship/marriage is Faramir and Eowyn wholesome tutoring sessions in the Minas Tirith library (!) 

Part 6 of Tolkien's Women: Aerin

CW: vaguely implied rape, suicide. Basically it's canon compliant.

The revulsion she feels is not for him as a man, for he is fair to behold and not unkind to his servants and thralls. In other circumstances she might have liked him, even. But she was never offered a choice. And so she detests every gift from him, every touch, every word of affection. She resents him for the pretense of a marriage he has forced her to take part in. To her, he will always be the invader, the conqueror, never the loving husband.

At times she envies Morwen. Witch-woman, the invaders call her. They shun her, they go to great lengths to avoid her stern, unflinching gaze. They whisper about her kinsman, Beren, who rose from the grave through the dark sorcery of the elves. Even Brodda fears Morwen, fears what curses she may lay upon him. Every time he passes by her house, he makes signs to ward off evil. Aerin sneers at such behaviour. The only evil in Dor-lómin is the one he has brought with him, the darkness he serves.

Most of all she envies the menfolk of the House of Hador. She envies them their swift deaths at swordpoint, so much more merciful than the slow death of a life in captivity. Many a night she has lain awake in the darkness, clutching her dagger, calculating how many throats she would be able to slit before someone raised the alarm, thinking, would she have time to plunge the dagger into her own heart before they caught her. But there are too many of them, and she knows that her people will pay tenfold in blood for every life she takes. So she plays at being the dutiful wife. She tries to make the most of what influence she has with Brodda. Many a child of the House of Hador makes it through the winter thanks to the food she smuggles to their families. And with every small victory, every tiny act of resistance, she feels a little bit less dead inside.

Until the day Morwen's son strides into Brodda's hall and she is caught in the gaze of those stern, accusing eyes. When he cuts through the guards, when he puts her husband to the sword, every blow is a reprimand for the years spent under the thumb of the enemy. As if he could ever understand restraint in the service of honour and duty.

In the end they are the only two people left in the hall. And Aerin faces him, unflinching, without shame.

"Know this, son of Húrin. Our people will suffer for what you have done here. I hope you learn, before it is too late, to leave more than ashes in your wake."

She sees the pain in his eyes then, yet knows that he is too young, too blinded by his own sense of earth-shattering importance, too weighed down by pride and doom, to ever turn from the path he has started down. He will burn, and he will make the world burn with him.

But one gift has he given her. With Brodda and his household slain, with everything she has built through her life crumbling around her, duty to her people no longer holds her back. With one last look at the sky, she drops a torch on the oil-doused floor. Aerin stands tall at the chieftain's seat, watching her prison go up in flames, and when the fire reaches for her, she unsheathes her dagger and plunges it straight into her chest. Smoke and darkness cloud her vision, but through it all it seems to her that a piercing light shines through. Aerin sinks to the floor with a smile on her face, free at last.