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Elf, Interrupted: Book One: Glorfindel Redux  by Fiondil

54: Language Lessons

Later that afternoon, Finrod met with Laurendil and Eärnur in Laurendil’s pavilion.

"Manwen’s happily engaged in her studies," Laurendil said somewhat acerbically, "so we have the place to ourselves for a few hours."

"How’s Mithlas?" Finrod asked, ignoring Laurendil’s tone.

"Embarrassed, but otherwise well," Laurendil replied with something of his old humor. "Like old times, neh, aranya?"

Finrod laughed as he settled into a chair. "One aspect of living in the shadow of Angband I do not miss."

"Neither of you had any doubt as to what was happening or what to do about it," Eärnur observed diffidently.

Finrod shrugged. "Had you understood what he was screaming..."

"Which was what exactly?" the Telerin elf asked.

"Nothing complimentary, I can assure you," Finrod laughed without much humor, then he shook his head. "I cannot believe that after all this time there are not at least some of the Lóriennildi conversant with Sindarin. How do you communicate with those not of Aman?"

Laurendil grimaced. "We’re all expected to learn Quenya, aranya. At least I had the advantage of already knowing it. I ended up teaching Manwen and several others while we were on the ship to Tol Eressëa."

Finrod shook his head in disgust. "I understand the need for the Sindar and Nandor to learn Quenya if they can, but I cannot believe Lord Irmo to be so insensitive as to not have some of his people learn Sindarin."

Eärnur looked uncomfortable. "The Reborn always seem to know something of Quenya when they come here."

"I think it is a gift given to them by Lord Námo," Finrod said with a shrug, for he really did not know. "The Sindar Reborn I met here understood Quenya well enough, though they were not fluent in speaking it and could not read it. In Mandos, of course, our fëar spoke mind to mind, yet I know that I always ‘thought’ in Sindarin when addressing a Sinda, but I ‘thought’ in Quenya when, say, speaking to a Maia attendant or to Lord Námo."

"What of those, like poor Mithlas, who come to Lórien from Endórë?" Laurendil asked Eärnur. "How do any of you communicate with them?"

Eärnur frowned. "Usually we’ve been able to find one of the... the Etyangoldi to translate for us."

Both Finrod and Laurendil raised an eyebrow at that. "Is that what you call us?" Finrod asked softly.

Eärnur blushed. "Sorry, it’s rude, I know."

"But true," Laurendil grinned sourly. "And we did it so well, too."

Finrod laughed at Laurendil’s dry tone and it was not long before the other two joined him.

"So why haven’t you learned to speak Sindarin, Eärnur?" Finrod asked once they had calmed down. "I would think that you would want to be able to speak with your Sindarin kin."

"I guess I never thought about it," Eärnur answered with an embarrassed sigh. "My other studies and duties take up much of my time. I guess I just didn’t feel the need to burden myself with even more studies. Besides, if the Sindar all learn Quenya eventually, what’s the point?"

Finrod shook his head. "I doubt that will be the case, and even less so among the Nandor. Many of them do not even speak Sindarin and that was the common tongue of all the peoples of Beleriand. There will always be a need for some to be able to speak a language other than Quenya, nor should it be otherwise."

"The Sindar have a beautiful language," Laurendil added. "It’s very subtle in nuance, and full of grey tones, one might say, which is not surprising since the language developed under the dark of the stars away from the Light of the Trees."

"Many of us when we came to Beleriand," Finrod said sadly, "looked down upon the Sindar as less than we for having abandoned the Journey, for never having seen the Light of the Trees. We little appreciated the complex culture that had developed or the fact that they were ruled by one who had espoused a Maia. We considered them uncouth and barbaric." Here, he flashed a grin and ran his fingers through his front braids. "Naturally, some of us took to their ways like ducks to water."

Laurendil grinned. "Some more than others."

"Well, I think that your education has been sadly neglected, Eärnur," Finrod said. "Why don’t Laurendil and I give you your first lesson in Sindarin?"

"We’re supposed to be speaking about Laurendil’s fears," Eärnur reminded them.

"But this will be more fun," Laurendil said. "Come. Here is your first lesson." He then pointed to himself. "Im... im." Then he pointed to Eärnur. "Ci... ci." Then he pointed to Finrod. "Ho... ho." He then repeated the sequence, indicating that Eärnur should echo him.

When he was satisfied that Eärnur had gotten that down he began speaking simple sentences, pointing to each of them in turn. "Im magor...ci nestor... ho aran."

"He is a king," Eärnur repeated in Quenya. "That word is the same in both languages?" he asked and the other two ellyn nodded. "But I don’t understand the other two words."

"Can you not guess?" Finrod asked. "What word are you reminded of in Quenya when you hear ‘magor’?"

Eärnur thought for a moment. "It sort of sounds like ‘macar’," he said hesitantly.

Both Laurendil and Finrod grinned. "Correct!" Laurendil exclaimed.

"But ‘nestor’ does not sound like any word in Quenya," the Teler protested.

Finrod nodded. "Yes, well not all words correspond. In Quenya the closest to ‘nestor’ would probably be ‘envinyatar’, though the meanings are not quite the same."

"Nestor...envinyatar. Im nestor," Eärnur said slowly, testing the sound and feel of the strange words.

"Very good. See, it’s not so hard," Finrod said with a grin.

"Yet," Laurendil added with a laugh. "Now let’s try a longer sentence. Im estannen Glorendil ah im magor...."

****

It was nearing the time for the evening meal when Manwen made her way back to her pavilion, pleased with her first day as an apprentice. She wondered how Laurendil had fared, knowing how reluctant he had been to be there. She hoped his first session with Eärnur and Finrod had not been too stressful or embarrassing. So she was quite surprised to hear laughter ringing from the pavilion as she came into the grove.

When she entered it was to find Finrod sprawled over a chair, his head thrown back in laughter, while her husband was on their bed curled up around a pillow either in extreme pain or trying desperately not to laugh. Eärnur, she saw, was sitting on the floor looking between them with a bemused expression on his face.

"What did I say? What did I say?" he kept demanding, but neither Finrod nor Laurendil were in a position to answer him.

Manwen smiled. "Anyone want to share the joke?"

Laurendil leapt off the bed and ran to his wife, hugging her and laughing all the while. "We’ve been teaching Eärnur Sindarin. He just said something very naughty."

"What? What did I say?" the poor Teler jumped up from the floor, nearly screaming, but Laurendil would not answer.

Manwen took pity on him and asked, "What did you say?"

For a moment Eärnur hesitated, knowing that whatever he had said was obviously not what he had meant to say. Laurendil gave him a wicked grin. "Go ahead, Eärnur, tell Manwen what you said."

"I... I said ‘Gerin seron-en-orch... or... er... gaim nîn’," the Telerin elf said softly, now deeply embarrassed but not knowing why.

Manwen looked at the elf in disbelief then turned to Laurendil. "Did you teach him that?"

Laurendil raised his hands in protest. "I swear, my love, we did not. He just sort of... stumbled upon it all by himself."

Manwen looked back at the now totally confused Teler and her eyes widened and then she was laughing so hard she collapsed to the ground. "Oh, Valar! Oh, Valar! Th-that’s... to-too... funny!"

"WILL SOMEBODY TELL ME WHAT I SAID?" Eärnur screamed, stamping his foot in frustration.

"Oh no, meldonya," Finrod got out between bouts of laughter. "You’re much too young. You’ll have to wait until you’re older before we tell you."

That set Laurendil and Manwen laughing even harder, Laurendil now joining Manwen on the floor, their arms wrapped around each other in mutual support.

"What do you mean, I’m too young?" Eärnur shouted. "I’m an adult, same as you."

"Eärnur, Eärnur," Finrod said, rising from his chair and taking the frustrated elf into his embrace. "You’ve not reached your second yén yet. Believe me, you’re much too young."

"But what did I say?" Now he was almost in tears.

"Hush, meldonya," Finrod said, rubbing the younger ellon’s back to calm him. "What you should have said was ‘Gerin sereg-en-orch or chaim nîn’. That’s all you have to know."

"You’re not going to tell me, are you?" Eärnur sighed.

"No, and don’t even think of seeking out any Sindar to translate it for you," Finrod admonished him. "Others will not find it quite so amusing as we, believe me."

By now Manwen and Laurendil had gotten themselves under control and had risen, their faces wreathed with identical wide grins.

"Finrod’s right, Eärnur," Laurendil said with a nod. "You will learn soon enough the meaning of what you said, but for now, allow us to enjoy the joke at your expense. Believe me, I remember some of my own gaffes when first learning Sindarin and they were almost as funny as yours."

Finrod stepped back from his embrace of the Telerin healer, his expression merry. "I remember Celeborn and Thingol falling out of their chairs one time during a feast when I said something I shouldn’t have. Lúthien started choking on some meat and Melian was pounding her on the back and laughing at the same time." He started chuckling at the memory. "I kept hoping the ground would conveniently open up and swallow me, I was so embarrassed."

"What did you say?" Eärnur asked, intrigued.

Finrod shook his head. "Never you mind, youngling. Now come, I don’t know about anyone else but all that laughter’s given me an appetite."

As if on cue, bells began ringing softly in the early evening air announcing the dinner hour. Manwen begged for a few minutes to freshen up first and they all agreed to meet at the dining pavilion, though Laurendil wondered if he would be welcomed there.

"Seeing as how I’m not yet an apprentice," he opined, but Eärnur shook his head.

"Most patients, we find, prefer to eat in private while they are recovering from whatever trauma brought them here, but there is no prohibition against them joining the rest of us in the dining pavilion."

So it was settled and shortly thereafter Finrod and Eärnur left to go to their own pavilions to freshen up before joining Laurendil and Manwen for dinner.

****

Etyangoldi: (Quenya) Plural of Etyangol: Exiled one; a name given to the Noldor who fled to Beleriand, and now considered somewhat insulting.

Im...ci...ho: (Sindarin) I... you (familiar)... he.

Im magor... ci nestor... ho aran: (Sindarin) "I am a swordsman... you are a healer... he is a king." Nestor is from the verb nesta- "to heal" with agental suffix.

Macar: (Quenya) Swordsman/warrior.

Envinyatar: (Quenya) Literally means ‘renewer’, and by extension ‘healer’ because a healer renews the hröa and/or the fëa to its original state of health.

Im estannen Glorendil ah im magor: (Sindarin) "I am called Laurendil and I am a swordsman."

Yén: (Quenya) An elvish century, equivalent to 144 solar years. Eärnur is quite young by Elvish standards, only 200 years old. Finrod and Laurendil were born well before the Darkening of Valinor and Manwen was born twenty solar years before Isil first arose.

Gerin seron-en-orch or gaim nîn: (Sindarin) "I have an orc lover on my hands". Seron-en-orch is considered one of the worse insults in Sindarin, equivalent to "mother-you-know-what", but with a more literal meaning. However, in the context of the sentence, and given who is saying it in all innocence, Finrod, Laurendil and Manwen find it hysterically funny rather than insulting. Eärnur further compounds the hilarity for the others by using the wrong mutation for caim.

Gerin sereg-en-orch or chaim nîn: (Sindarin) "I have orc blood on my hands".





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