*adds Another Neurodivergent Label To My Bio As If I'm Adding Stickers To A Laptop*

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

So I was doing some thinking on the Huge Spiders that haunt Greenwood and I had some THOUGHTS about how it might affect the ecosystem of the forest. Now, these thoughts are sort of based on two main assumptions. 

One - That the spiders either grew larger and larger over a steady period of time OR 

Two - They didn’t wipe out the original habitat and ecosystems to the point of all other animals dying or being driven out / eaten and allowed time for change and adaptation. 

There are several animals that regularly eat spiders in normal settings and ecosystems including but not limited to: Other Spiders, Wasps, Reptiles, Amphibians, Praying Mantis’, Scorpions, and Birds. 

When a certain part of an ecosystem begins to change dramatically the rest of it is sort of forced to change along with it, or die out. And I think that Greenwood chose to change along with the Spiders. That as the Spiders grew, so did the creatures that hunted them. 

So not only does Greenwood have unnaturally large Spiders, they have huge Wasps flying around through their tree’s. Each wing is nearly the length of a fully grown Silvan, and their stingers the size of a leg. You can hear them buzzing from miles away but they’re almost impossible to see until they're right upon you. Their nests no longer hang from the trees as they are too heavy, but fill entire meadows bigger than a human's house. 

Lizards and other reptiles skitter along the ground or across thick branches. As silent as ever but each one capable of killing or at the very least putting up a damn good fight against a spider. They grow more teeth, or become venoms as a self defense. Snapping turtles lurk in the riverbeds, large enough to snap several elves in half if it so wished. Waiting, lurking, always ready to snap at the next thing to wander by. 

Cunning birds grew in size to accommodate the extra muscle needed to power they're powerful thick beaks, able to peck through a spider's shell with one go. Or snap a leg off with ease. Smaller birds linger around these larger one’s, each one being elected the ‘ruler’ of part of the forest. Gone are the days where songbirds ruled the canopies, and here are the days ruled by lightning fast hunters, each beak thicker than the bark on the three’s or the weight of a door. 

Beetles large enough to ride and pull carts scuttle around too. Their exoskeleton is almost more sturdy than metal and their blood contains anti-venom components that keep them moving even after they’ve been stung or bitten by other animals. Their heads seem to have helmets now, and their tunnels underneath the forest rumble with their movements. 

Other creatures have to get bigger too, or become meaner. Harder to kill. Fish grow in size to become more difficult for birds to find, growing teeth of their own and a taste of any flesh that comes too close to their waters edge or passes too slowly over their waters. 

The wolves get taller, become faster runners with wide jaws and better muscled to clamp them down. Deer horns begin to stay year round, more pointed than seen anywhere else so serve as self defense. 

Greenwood is not a place of huge spiders. Greenwood is a place of huge, terrifying, and weird creatures.  The kind that should only find existence in nightmares, the kind that should never exist. The kind that even Eru would cringe when gazing upon them. 

Azula invented modern chemistry to synthesise Copper (I) Chloride to make her fire blue.

Shes got a lab in the palace, she disappears in there for days.

It sure is convenient that all these songs that ostensibly weren’t written in English all rhyme when translated into English, isn’t it, Mr. Tolkien?

who else in the silm fandom had their worldview on morality, religion, free will, love, loyalty, punishment, redemption, and tragedy profoundly shifted by jirt’s power of words?

Why did Galadriel make her star glass?

Did she have a vision of it’s future need?

Or is it like how those who have faced starvation compulsively hoard food?

“May it be a light to you in dark places, when all other lights go out.” Says someone who lived through the darkening of Valinor, when light far stronger than the sun and moon went out, and took all the safety and sanity with it.

Three ages of the world later she is moved to capture the echo of the Silmaril that sails the void in a glass vial. Despite all the horror that her family capturing light in artifacts has historically caused.

Just in case.

And then faced with the days growing darker, she faces the same choice her uncle did with his creations: hold on to paranoia, and keep it close. Or give it away, that it might go where it can do the most good.

And she chooses to let it go.

OR

Exile to middle earth wasn’t a problem, until her daughter needed to go to Valinor to heal. Now, she needs a way to get to Valinor when the Valar have not forgiven her.

Because she WILL see her daughter again.

She only knows of one thing that has gotten a ship to Valinor when it was fenced from the Noldor- A Silmaril, carried by Earendil. And so she sets about capturing the light of Earendil, that one day she might trade it for entrance and keep her pride.

But, turns out, the Valar sent a different test.

Hello! You have just been visited by the Crackship Fairy, as of now you will be given a crackship and you have to do good by them. Your crackship: Voronwë/Maglor

(This is much more of a gen take on their relationship than it is a shippy one, but my headcanon is that Voronwë is aro, so that’s just how it’s gonna be!)

~

It wasn’t often that Maglor came across another elf on these shores. They were rocky, dreary, generally abandoned; he liked to be alone, and this stretch of coastline was good for that. The few weary Secondborn who eked out a living here were suspicious enough to steer clear of him, and in return he did the same for them.

In ages past this land had been the border of Ossiriand, pressed up against the Blue Mountains. The mountains were still there, taller and grander than ever, but the seven rivers were sunk under the sea and the singing Laiquendi had long since fled for greener lands.

Mithlond was not too terribly far from these his favorite haunting grounds, but no matter how genial and polite Círdan was Maglor knew he was not welcome there: the Falathrim had not forgotten the ruin of Sirion. No, this was a place where he could wander alone, his mind free to catch forgotten melodies on the wind and his spirit unbound by any constraints of law or temptations of love.

And yet: here stood a simple dwelling, still clearly Noldorin in make, looking near as old as Maglor felt. He had wandered this beach a hundred times or more, and never before had he run across this little elfhome that appeared to have been here since Beleriand’s death throes had finally ceased and the lands he had bled and fought and suffered for settled under the vast ocean.

Entranced, Maglor approached the house, noting its angular shapes, the Tengwar over the door, shimmering with some faint enchantment. He shivered as his fëa brushed against it: he was not repulsed, per se, and yet he was permitted to pass through the barrier.

“Who goes there?” demanded a voice too soft for its tone.

Maglor turned around, tensing instinctively and letting his hand wrap around the hilt of his dagger. The speaker was an elf, as he had thought, though they conversed in Westron, and though his eyes did not shine with Treelight he had the stature and bearing of one of Maglor’s kin. Still, there was something a little off about him—the shell patterns on his clothing, perhaps, the shimmering blue of his blade, or the curve of his nose, which reminded Maglor strongly of a person he could not quite place. Perhaps he was of the Sindar as well as the Noldor.

“Peace,” he said slowly in Sindarin. “I mean you no harm. I was simply curious of your dwelling. I will leave you to your solitude.”

The ellon relaxed, though he did not sheath his sword. “Thank you,” he said in that soft voice. “But you have not answered my question. Who are you?” He glanced to Maglor’s cloak, tattered and torn and yet unmistakably blood-crimson. It was not the same one he had worn when he cast the Silmaril into the sea—that had long since unraveled into nothing but a painful memory—but thought Maglor no longer wore his father’s star openly, he would not abandon his Fëanárion pride, nor could he wash his hands of the blood upon them.

He could give the ellon a false name; he had done so to others in the past. But Maglor was so tired, of hiding, of running, of lying, and he did not have the heart to do so. He adjusted his grip on his dagger, knowing that if this ellon was part Sindar, there was every chance he would be met with long-sleeping anger reawoken.

And yet, still, he spoke his name.

“I am Kanafinwë Makalaurë Fëanárion,” he said, “though you may know me better as Maglor the singer; and you may wish my name had never had cause to be uttered here in the east. Certainly I wish that at times.”

“Oh.” For a moment the ellon’s resolve wavered, and then he grimaced, sighing, and sheathed his blade. “Well,” he began, switching to musical Quenya that made Maglor’s heart swell with a fondness long-forgotten, “by all I rights I ought to hate you, Fëanárion, and yet it is not often that I hear my father’s tongue spoken, especially not by a voice so lovely as yours.”

“Who was your father?” Makalaurë asked, dread coiling in his stomach. If this was another long-lost relative—

“Aranwë of Ondolindë,” said the nér, and a smile twitched at the corner of his lips. “I am Voronwë the mariner, once-friend of Tuor Ulmondil and Eärendil Morningstar.”

Voronwë—yes, he had heard that name before. A nér of Gondolin, a mariner, a friend to Eärendil and Tuor...and kinsman to Círdan, if he remembered correctly. Makalaurë shuddered, bowing his head.

“You were at Sirion,” he murmured. It was not a question.

“Not precisely,” Voronwë said. “Elwing, wife of my dear friend’s son, and her children—they were there. But I dwelt alone in a home not unlike this one, some miles away from the city, as I ever have since Tuor and Itarillë departed for the West.”

Makalaurë’s heart skipped a beat. “I—regret what was done,” he began, but Voronwë waved a hand.

“Come in,” he invited, walking past the protective enchantment around the perimeter of his little home and beckoning Makalaurë in. “That was an age long ago, and we have both suffered enough for our choices. I would speak with you, over supper, of those you called your sons—unlike Eärendil, I did not have the pleasure of seeing them grow to adulthood, and I would hear from you what they are like.”

Makalaurë took a deep breath, then nodded. Voronwë’s offer of conversation, of a meal, of companionship was more than he deserved—but he spoke truly, that he was not the same nér who pillaged Sirion and kidnapped little children. And Makalaurë could never turn down an opportunity to sing the praises of his sons, no matter how little right he had to call them that.

So he walked inside, let Voronwë lay a gentle hand on his shoulder, and let go of some small portion of his sorrow.

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 (!) 

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!

[ID: adult Zuko unsuccessfully encourages toddler Kya to eat a spoonful of veggies by opening his mouth and saying, "Aaaaaaaaaa." Kya, her mouth tightly closed and knowing that she's winning this battle, smiles at him. Adult Katara laughs in the background, left hand resting on her baby bump. All three of them are dressed in calm, earthy reds and blues. Katara and Zuko both have their hair half up in a bun, the bottom half left loose. Kya's bib has blue moons and red suns, and her features are a mix of her parents'. It is a happy, domestic Zutara scene.

End ID.]

just some dadko dramatically attempting to fill kya’s daily veggie intake as momtara loses it in the background