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#valarin
outofangband · 2 months
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Elven* word of the day, 109/?
iniðil from Valarin
Meaning “Lily or other large, single flower”
Source: The War of the Jewels
*not actually an elven language today
Notes: The Quenya word indil, meaning the same, derives from this
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ettelenethelien · 2 months
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In my interpretation, Valarin is like that, because it was more or less invented as an experiment for fun by people who had other means of communication at their disposal, and thus is more or less the equivalent of those secret codes everyone made as kids, in which the character for "N" had 10 strokes and was exactly the same as the character for "D" except one circle became a spiral, and you forgot to include number characters and obviously had no idea about how actual scripts evolve. Only the Valar weren't constrained by practical realities so it wasn't abandoned after 2 days the way those nightmarish codes tended to be.
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Rings of Power + Tolkien Fusion Meta
What’s in a Name: Case for ‘Halbrand’ as Sauron’s True Name - One That Shall Never Be Known Part t. 2
Series : Pt 1 | Part 2 | Part 3
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Why does Sauron have an Elvish name? Well ‘Mairon’ isn’t a name, it’s a title
*
The most pragmatic reason? Sauron once coexisted with the Eldar in Valinor and moved among them. Not far-fetched, as even post-prison Melkor was re-welcomed among the Noldor, who ‘took delight in the hidden knowledge that he could reveal to them' [1]. If so, dare it be asked, did the Eldar bestow their future tormentor “The Admirable” title? After all —Sauron, Gorthaur, Thû —Elves ain’t shy about giving old boy nicknames.
What is sure, as Noldor royalty, Galadriel and Mairon would have definitely met under better circumstances.
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In contrast to the published The Silmarillion -- which has Mairon yelling #YOLO and joining Melkor in Middle-Earth long before the Elves awoke -- Tolkien did experiment with such a backstory origins storyline[8].
In S1:01, we see the light of the Two Trees of Valinor destroyed.
In The Silmarillion, Melkor forms an uneasy partnership with a giant spider named Ungoliant to carry-out the dastardly deed [2].
But in a different version, Sauron replaces her as the reason why Elves can’t have nice things before joining Melkor in Middle-Earth.
Sure, The Silmarillion is a draft yet it’s unlikely Tolkien would have reintroduced a plotline where Sauron and Eldar could be potential besties. It would require rewriting intricate lore. Besides, pre-Second Age was Melkor's time to wreak havoc on the Elves.
So again, why is Mairon an Elvish name?
*
'Mairon' is a Quenya Elvish translation of 'The Admirable' in the Ainur Language
Valarin -- the "tongue of the gods" -- predates all Elvish forms. Few every learn it ,as most little Elf ears judged Valarin as unpleasant and alien AF. Some Valarin words and names into “fair Eldarin” (Elvish) [4].
See translations below. Listen to them said in Valarin here:
Aulë - Aȝūlēz
Telperion - Ibrîniðilpathânezel 
Manwë - Mânawenûz 
⁠Oromë - Arǭmēz
Ossë - Oššai/Ošošai
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In Valarin, ‘Mairon’ is most likely Mayarônôz (pronounced my-yah-row-noze)
Although Tolkien never fleshed out Valarin, enough exists to fairly conceptualize ‘Mairon’. Translation credit to @valarinventures [4]:
Known Valarin words starting with a “M” + vowel translate exactly into Quenya. Now it’s ‘M’.
In Valarin, Ainur = Ayanûz. So the ‘ai’ of ‘Mairon’ is translated into ‘aya’ in Valarin. Now it’s ‘My-yah’.
(+/- z) suffix might indicate the nominative singular or plural noun. That is, Mayarônôz (+ z) might be ‘The Admirable’ (singular), while Mayarônô (- z) might be ‘The Admirables (plural).
If Mayarônôz left Valinor before they awoke, how did the Eldar learn of his name? In the Valaquenta, it’s written:
Among those of his servants that have names the greatest was that spirit whom the Eldar called Sauron… he was of the Maiar of Aulë, and he remained mighty in the lore of that people.
Surely, the Valar warned the Eldar of Melkor and Mairon wickedness. Possibly Oromë told them first, as he was tasked to find and protect the newly awakened Elves in Middle-Earth.
Did Galadriel know Valarin? Once Aulë’s apprentice, Yavanna's handmaiden, and Melian protege — it's likely Galadriel would know more Valarin than most Eldar.
Mayarônôz is still not Sauron's true name
Now the names that we have for the Valar or the Maiar, whether adapted from the Valarin or translated, are not right names but titles, referring to some function or character of the person; for though the Valar have right names, they do not reveal them. Save only in the case of Oromë…[Quendi] asked him what that signified, and again he answered: Oromë. To me only is it given; for I am Oromë. Yet the titles that he bore were many and glorious; but he withheld them at the time, that the Quendi should not be afraid [3].
(Say, what’s with the Ainur “no name reveal” policy?)
Oromë's admission here is profound: Ainur true names lack a primitive root meaning in Valarin. Only the sound of their names distinguish them. He also states that his name (and presumably all Ainur) was "given" to him. By Eru Illuvatar or other Ainur? It's unknown.
Thank you for reading! Your likes and tagged reblogs are appreciated. Got feedback?
What did you like? Got theories or insights to share?
Disagree? I love good faith debate and sparring!
Need clarity on points? Got feedback on readability?
Spot an inaccuracy? Hey, Tolkien's work is complex. Drop it in comments or DM.
Works Cited
[1] On Fëanor and the Unchaining of Melkor, Morgoth’s Ring
[2] On the Darkening of Valinor, Morgoth’s Ring
[3] Quendi and Eldar
[4] Valarin - Like the Glitter of Swords
[5] Why You Should Love Your Guardian Angel (And Not Name Him)
[6] Osanwe - Tolkien Gateway
[7] Orkish and the Black Speech - base language for base purposes
[8] Name for a Dark Lord
[9] Quenya Grammar
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Today’s xkcd comic (source in tags)
Is this how Valarin works? 😂
(Check out the alt text on the image at the website)
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Appointed
My @gatesofsummerexchange gift for @wonderwafles, I hope you enjoy, and sorry for posting a little late! Merry solstice everyone, try not to destroy any cities!
When is the sun not the sun? When is a child and sibling and lover and friend turned to a stranger? When is a change happening if you can't tell the difference? Never and always, says the Sun. On a separate path, says the Ainu. I don't know, says Arien, and so she sails.
4198 Words | Read on AO3
Notes: I used a lot of Valarin (much credit to @valarinventures, and to @yellow-feathered-faerie for Thuringwethil's name), especially for character names at the beginning. Normally I'd leave translations in the AO3 notes, but I feel like this really needs them, so I'll have them at the bottom here. There's still a lot more in the notes though! I've been wanting to write a big character study for Arien for a while with all my headcanons on her, so when I saw your prompt I couldn't resist! This is probably the saddest thing I've written yet, but it isn't all bad, and the ending is at least bittersweet. Lots of complicated relationships, Emotions, and the highs and lows of Arda marred.
<☼━Ayan-um-ûz wâyôz-iyôz (Ainulindalë)━☼>
Tulukh-igas was created as all Ayan-um-ûz are created- perfect and entirely complete for the brief moment of eternity that they did not realize they could contemplate themself. Even the names came later, as how could any mere words fully encapsulate a Being? The moment ended swiftly, of course (in comparison to eternity), but nonetheless Tulukh-igas took better to the contemplation than some, and better than most the the realization that complete self-identity and fulfillment only comes with time and experience.
Few Ayan-um-ûz are created wholly alone and separate- some discover Tone-mates or Counterpoints, many discover those who hold Harmony with them, and Tulukh-igas was no different, despite a seeming inclination for solitude. They had Tone-mates: several, certainly more than the average for those as powerful as them. It seemed a strange choice on the part of Îl-Launaþrænšiwâz, given their Choir’s lonesome natures, but who is to question the will of the Conductor? The Tone-mates in question, apparently, much to Tulukh-igas’ chagrin- Barâdakesa, who styled themself the leader of their Choir, Raxôn-rušur, Pûruz-amâzêz, and the rest. A Counterpoint’s existence they were less certain of, but this is natural- Counterpoints develop together, and might not find each other right away, if they even exist. A Harmony- perhaps. It seemed likely, but Tulukh-igas quickly discovered that they were not particularly hasty, staying behind as their Tone-mates set to muttering and seeking answers from those unable to give them.
The Song began slowly, at first. Fits and starts, rippling out as the Ayan-um-ûz found their voices. Tulukh-igas did not join in the moment they heard- they waited, and listened, and while many of the Songs were incomprehensible to them, there were some that resonated and for those few shining moments they understood-
Singing itself was indescribable. Though they sang together with their Choir, Tulukh-igas was drawn to a particular refrain separate from the rest. It matched up at points with their Tone-mates, and they heard notes echoed or mirrored in other Songs also, but only pieces. Scraps of the same Music taken to Sing countless different Melodies. They knew at the very core of their being that that refrain was them, their place in this Song. They didn’t know if this was the experience of others, and they didn't ask. It seemed too personal.
This Tuning was for individuals. A shaping and discovering of natures, and those that would further that shaping. It is only through their Song that Tulukh-igas realized an inversion of notes they heard before- the beginnings of a Counterpoint, though who held the reverse they did not know. Sometimes Harmonies were revealed in the Choirs, and Tulukh-igas laughed along with many others as Ošošai and Uyu-ninêz found both Counterpoint and Harmony together and their increasing volume and joy slowly gained strength over their Choir, to much general amusement.The Tuning was ended by the hands Îl-Launaþrænšiwâz lifting and bringing the separate Songs to a stunning halt. The Theme that was explained to the Ayan-um-ûz was glorious, and at the declaration that each would help to shape it they all grew stunned once more before beginning the Song in truth, filled with the words of Îl-Launaþrænšiwâz and the Flame Imperishable.
<☼━Phelûn-manal (Almaren)━☼>
Tulukh-igas is not disappointed like many who choose to enter Aþâraphelûn at its unexpected barrenness compared to their brief vision of what it could be. She had a glimpse of heat and light and herself in the sky and knows that whatever potential she has will not be fulfilled for a while yet. She is content to figure out the laws of combustion and the wave-particle properties of light, and to tend to the growing things of Aya-banâz and Wânâz. She doesn’t fight in the War against Belekôrôz, she is just a gardener, no matter her power, but she welcomes Tulukhaštâz and his bringing of peace. For the moment, all is well.
Phelûn-manal is a lovely place, but it seems incomplete. Nothing is wrong, per say, but she thinks that this might be part of the problem. This is Aþâraphelûn Dušamanûðân, and Îl-Launaþrænšiwâz promised beauty to come from the marring as well as in spite of it. The light of the Lamps shines brilliantly over the world’s perfect symmetry, and Tulukh-igas is both drawn and put off by them- Tulukh-barâdal especially: golden and lovely and not quite what it feels like it should be.
But something else takes precedence in the face of a familiar Song reversed as she finds her Counterpoint. Her name is Aþûrdušithîrêz, and she is dark and fae and Tulukh-igas is pulled to her like a star in orbit. She serves most under Wânâz, taking forms like the concepts for bats Tulukh-igas has seen, but she has a sharpness to her that doesn’t seem to suit the Beautiful One. The contrasts between the two of them are apparent at once, and the stuttering song and dance they perform to understand each other reveals even more.
Tulukh-igas has few ambitions, if any, while Aþûrdušithîrêz is fiercely independent and wants, more than anything, to make her own path. Tulukh-igas is steady and consistent, Aþûrdušithîrêz harsh and flighty. Tulukh-igas is best suited to solitude in her tasks, but gets along well with most everyone. Aþûrdušithîrêz is drawn to company, and works best among it, but dislikes all except a scant few. Tulukh-igas grows to know those few slowly- there is Aþûrdušithîrêz’s Tone-mate Ibrî-ȝarôz who rides with Arômêz, and Amâz-âyaniyôz his friend in the service of Irimôz, and while he is often otherwise engaged, Iȝônowêz is also tolerated for Ibrî-ȝarôz’s sake.
She discovers a faintly growing Harmony in Amâz-âyaniyôz, unfulfilled, but with potential. She meets Gili-mâz, Tone-mate to Iȝônowêz and devoted to Barâdâz, they share no Measure but are drawn together nonetheless. Aþûrdušithîrêz darkens with what she denies is jealousy, but Tulukh-Igas laughs and grows her flowers to drink from and tells her that there is only one who holds her Counterpoint and it is not lessened by relationships with others.
Her relationship to her Tone-mates is, however. They become darker, more insular, more concerned with holding their power. All of their Choir are ill-suited to serve the Balaȝumâz with their power and independence, but Tulukh-igas is grateful that her Ladies are happy to leave her to her work or she thinks she might be as discontent as her kin. She has found a place to work and be as herself, and they can’t say the same. It creates a rift, especially as she discovers new parts to her Song and they grow more firmly entrenched into theirs.
When the Lamps are destroyed, she is angered and grieved, but unsurprised. This is the Marring of the Music, and she can work within it. When a new war is declared she sees those who will fight off, and begins preparing to pick up the pieces of Phelûn-manal’s ruins. She has no great foresight, but she is no fool and she knows about what to expect. She does not expect betrayal.
Barâdakesa calls himself Girimaph-ai with a snarling smirk on a terrible form, and she scorches him for it. She does not deny his chosen name- to do so would be blasphemy against the Song far higher than he and his fellows attempt- but she denies his authority. A leader he has styled himself, and their Tone-mates may follow him, but she has Sung her Part and Sung it well and she knows what her place will be. She will not find it in Belekôrôz and his rebellion, that much is certain. That they would even ask her to join them is an insult, and also a heartbreaking honor. She has been ignorant, but they have been blinded, to not understand the fundamental truth of who she is.
She does not fight them, nor they her, but when Raxôn-rušur tries to crack his whip and break the earth further she blazes golden and terrible and knows and hates that she is the strongest of them all. They leave for Delgûmûðân-axâzâz and Tulukh-igas is left to mourn in silence for what could have been, grief stoked in the places where her Tone-mates’ Notes should ring.
Rebuilding is harder than it should be. Decisions are made and changed and compromised on, trying to remake something gone for good. Tulukh-igas cannot deny her grief that their paradise was so easily ruined, although she chooses to take what joy she can in the making of something new. But not everyone takes well to it. The darkness and ruin doesn’t only beget good.
Aþûrdušithîrêz is not one to be direct when it comes to herself. She obfuscates, dances around the heart of the issue. Flies to strange places with messages she shouldn’t have. It is Tulukh-igas who confronts her, who Sings a Counterpoint melody that no longer runs in parallels but inverse, notes shaped to split and divide in a way it didn’t used to. Aþûrdušithîrêz doesn’t deny it. The melody swells even as both of them stand silent. It isn’t the empty discord of a Tone-mate no longer- it builds, wrapping around them and weaving them closer than ever, even as their Songs are warped beyond each other’s recognition. It is a twisted way that their Counterpoint is fulfilled, Aþûrdušithîrêz has turned to the shadows as Tulukh-igas turns to the light, nectar to blood and fire to fruit.
She turns away and spreads her wings. Tulukh-igas watches, and hopes that they are at least not opposites in mourning. She holds out faint hope that she might return as Ošošai did. That a Counterpoint without Harmony could be enough.
She doesn’t.
<☼━Phelûn-Bala3umâz (Valinórë)━☼>
Arien- for she is called Arien now- does not interact much with the First-Born in Valinórë, for all that she can admit to herself she finds them rather fascinating. She tends to Vána’s flowers and to the glorious boughs of Laurelin and watches as they bloom towards her even as the Eldar shy away. Her spirit is too brilliant for most incarnates, even when she cloaks herself in the most physical form she can bear. Not all incarnates, however.
She meets an elf-child, once. She was tending some of the gardens in Lórien for a change when she near-literally stumbles across him (the hazards of incarnation). He looks like he had been crying. He winces only when he sees her eyes, but in avoiding them still manages to watch the fiery licks of her hair and the golden glow pouring from the dark of her skin. Arien finds herself curious, and cannot help but start up a conversation.
The child introduces himself, and she refrains from laughing only because he seems sensitive. What a pair they make! She cannot help but see some tiny part of herself reflected in this child- fiery, half-adrift, trying to heal from unsolvable loss. They speak for a while, but Laurelin begins to wane and the child admits his father will worry, and they go their eventual separate ways after this chance meeting of strangers. Still, he does not leave without both their moods having lifted some from their individual griefs, and not without several suggestions for methods she could use to make her form less painful to incarnate eyes. They are good ideas, and she tells him so, but the child doesn’t go until she tells him that she will consider one- not insincerely, either, as a darkening eyepiece has potential- which is sweet of him.
It is only many years later that the reality of who that child was strikes her. She laughs lowly, and refuses to dwell on might-have-beens. She is just a gardener, and for better or worse, Fëanáro was always going to change the world.
<☼━Ezellôchâr (Ezellohar)━☼>
The release of Melkor brings discontent. For all he claims to have repented, Arien cannot trust him. Where then are her Tone-mates, her siblings? Where is Aþûrdušithîrêz, her Counterpoint and the one that she loved? But no one expects the true cost of his freedom.
She is not there. Very few are on a festival day, and none could’ve prevented this. But she feels it in her chest and throat and mouth, burning and throbbing like a bass drum igniting the air. She doesn’t know what it is, not at first, dissimilar as it is from the discordance of her Tone-mates spitting from their shared Notes, or the crashing swell of a Counterpoint fully realized, darkness to light and light to dark. She doesn’t know what it is, until she notices the slow-dimming light. She doesn’t always have wings, but now she flies.
She’s too late. Silmo is there, his form fading in the same pulses that she feels. There are streaks of Unlight through him, branching from deep wounds, corrupting his silver glow even as the Shadows of her kin flicker like smoke through her own gold. Their broken facsimile of what was is the only Light in the Darkness.
The Trees are dead, and with Laurelin goes a piece of Arien. The burn of drums in the deep is her own Song being Unsung, the withered Tree is her own corpse, and Arien cannot do anything but ignite.
Idly, she is aware of time passing. Ainur and Eldar come and go, mourning and screaming. She can pay them no mind, attuned only to Fire and Song. Her grief has always been a coal-seam fire, long burning and subtle, but it has awoken into a forest-fire bent on razing what was to the ground. But finally, new life rises from ashes.
She wakes to Song. She hears it, and knows her Ladies. There is another Song- not hers- and tears shed from the hope for beauty to come from Marring. It falters, but Arien has never wavered from her duty. Light, slow blooming. She is formless, yellow heat and blinding light, but Sings nonetheless, and Laurelin bears a final fruit.
Word of the Valar’s idea spreads slowly, hope hard to ignite in the darkness, but Ilmarë makes sure it reaches those who cared for the Trees first. They take a moment together, her and Arien, ëalar pressed close, but soon she must leave, devotion to Varda pulling her away. Arien understands, but it is no easy thing when one love is in the service of the one who destroyed a part of your Being, and the other is ever kept away by duty. Her Song may fit with many, but her character is well suited to being alone. Still, she is just a gardener- and with luck, soon a sailor too- and she has a case to plead.
Máhanaxar is lessened in the darkness. They are escorted together, she and Silmo, with pointless ceremony. He is drawn and pale and waning, entirely unlike a Maia, she is blindingly bright and scorching to a degree that would be very rude if she had any control over it. The decision is mostly a formality.
For all that Silmo loved Telperion, he is deeply injured in body and spirit, not fit for the burdens that this vocation would bring. She hears their Harmony fall softly out of tune as he accepts this with sorrowful grace and quickly leaves.
Arien is left standing amidst the great Powers of the world, unable to hold a form, burning anything that comes near, and one of the very few Maiar who can bear the full power of Laurelin. This Song was long sung- Arien will bear the last of Tulukhedelgorûs through Ilmen.
The Valar have barely pronounced their decision when another Maia bursts in. She recognizes him- Tilion, Aþûrdušithîrêz’s Tone-mate, a hunter of Oromë, friend of Silmo, and a lover of Telperion. She hears a Song begin to weave into her own for the first time in Ages of the world, and feels herself flicker into something closer to a shape.She knows herself like this. She’s seen herself like this, a glimpse out of time. Arien is herself and for the first time since the Trees died, she feels it.
<☼━Šebeth barâdal (Ilmen)━☼>
Tilion and Telperion’s flower are sent up first, out of tradition as much as the desire to give him more time to settle into his new role. Seven passes across the sky, and then Arien rises.
Several problems quickly become clear. Tilion… does his best. He’s apologetic, at least, but he doesn’t have the steady hand needed to keep his course, and always gets too enthusiastic when they pass each other, leaving his ship scorched. The timing of the days is, and the sway of his course slowly hides parts of Iþil from the view of Arda. He is lucky, Arien thinks, that she enjoys his company.
There are other problems too- the continual light hides the stars, and leaves little time for rest. Even before the Darkening, there were places of shadow and half-light in Valinórë, and now it is gone and the effects are being seen. Flowers wilt in Arien’s heat, rather than growing towards her, and that, more than anything, feels wrong.
The Powers seem to agree, because not long after she begins sailing Eonwë comes bearing new orders- they are to take turns sailing across the sky, East to West, and this will be the new reckoning of days.
She thinks that they hope this new rhythm will be able to steady Tillion. She doubts it and is proved right. His timing improves, but his light-phases continue, in no small part because of the monsters that Melkor begins sending after him. It is hard to steer when you are beset by shadow beasts, he says one day when he is in the sky with her, admitting half the reason he sails in the day at times is to get away from them, the Dark Lord too much of a coward to try and test Arien herself with his monsters. She chuckles and blazes a little brighter at that, and he laughs along at the implicit threat. She is just a gardener and a sailor, but has as much reason as any to hate the Marrer, and more power than most.
As the years wear on, she finds herself more grateful than she expected for Tilion’s occasional company. She doesn’t mind the silence or the loneliness, but she prefers his conversation.
He tells her early on that Aþûrdušithîrêz is now called Thuringwethil, and she doesn’t ask how he learned that. He sings over stories from his hunts and she returns with some of the more amusing gardening anecdotes she’s gathered over the years. They watch over Beleriand together like none besides Manwë and Varda can, and Tilion teases her about the Men that worship her for her light. She smiles and rolls her eyes and listens to their prayers, granting or passing on what few she can.Things settle, after a while. The first eclipse is certainly something to experience- when Tilion learns that Thuringwethil was still alive after the incident with Lúthien he stops everything to go and tell Arien, despite the fact that it��s midday. They spend several minutes shouting at each other and the situation and their shared love of an idiodic, evil vampire; what was she thinking-! The conflicting emotions from that are quickly swept away, however, when they learn of the accidental terror he had inflicted on the denizens of Arda. Apparently the general consensus was that it was either some foul work of Melkor or a second Darkening. That doesn’t stop it happening again the next time he has “urgent” news, or the next, or the next, but eventually even eclipses become somewhat predictable as Tilion works out a method to his madness. Even change becomes routine.
<☼━Aþarum wâ-lûnunal (Yéni únótimë)━☼>
She is tired. Tired and old, but duty is duty. Aþâraigas, she takes as her title as she takes up her ship, and Aþâraigas she quietly dubs herself in the silence of the Void she near-ceaselessly travels. Arien she still is, Ûrî makes her smile faintly even long after the fall of Numenor, and she lends her ear to any prayer to the Sun- to her or her Light the same. Either way the names don’t ring quite falsely, just as Tulukh-igas still holds their place within her.  But it is no longer truly her, truly Aþâraigas, for as the ages drag on she is the appointed light and little else. Tillion- Phanaikelûth, he admits one time, nothing but a bright mirror for his burden to shine on- struggles with the same. Her heart aches for him more than for herself. She was made for this, the endless voyage that she glimpsed such a small part of long ago, that she Sang herself into, and though she is tired she is not uncontent. But Phanaikelûth is a hunter, ill suited for the role he begged his way into, moreso now that the monsters of the Void past are all but gone. His burden wears on him, even in his wandering, even through his attempts to be subtle as he passes his ship off to Thuringwethil on the blood moons when it is eclipsed out of the Sun’s sight.
Eärendil joins them before they grow weary, already weary himself. He heals, somewhat, over the course of an age. His eyes don’t grow any lighter, but they sparkle a little more with laughter when Tilion hollers over one of his truly terrible stories from Oromë’s hunt. He smiles when Arien gives him advice to cope with the prayers of Elves and Men that reach his ears- she has been dealing with it ever since Men first awoke to her light, after all. He tells stories of his own, eventually, of great cities and peoples they have only watched from afar.
It is not a terrible vocation they are bound to. Eärendil is a sailor almost more than anything else, Arien has always been content with her role, and though Tilion struggles he has grown to love the brilliance of the Void almost as much as the last light of Telperion. They have rest from their journeys on occasion, and all have frequent visits from Elwing and Ilmarë and Eonwë, and messages from those who cannot come. Silmo heals as much as he can, and writes them letters with terrible jokes. The strange web of siblings and friends and lovers and not-lovers that develops between the sailors and those they love is made more complex by Thuringwethil’s not-quite-contrite visits to her brother, and by Tilion’s ongoing love affair with Salmar and his tides, and by Eonwë’s devotion to them all, among other things.
It’s a source of amusement to pass the time, charting out increasingly detailed maps that enumerate the various relationships between the three of them (Eärendil wins for amount, able to include all of his and Elwing’s relations as well as the majority of Men in the west of Middle Earth). They figure out games to play when the ships come close enough, and then invent new ones when ettirnen grew repetitive with only so many things to have spied in the void. When Eärendil acknowledges his name no longer fits him quite as well it is a bitter realization, but Aþâraigas and Phanaikelûth shout Valarin lessons to him until he Sings back something that sounds better for voices of heavenly light, and the words of the Ainur travel farther in the Void.
Still. It wears.
The Valar offer more than once to find a way to automate the ships. It would be possible, Aulë insists. The three of them- Aþâraigas, Phanaikelûth, and Utiôrôi-al Azôz-iyôz all- smile as politely as they can at the messenger and decline. Through messages sung between ships, or passed briefly when two (or ever-so-rarely all three of them) happen have coinciding shore-leaves in the distortion of Valinor-time, or even once through a bemused Elwing (playing passenger-pigeon, she joked wryly, and her eyes were no younger than her husband’s. Aþâraigas wanted to ask her true name), they all agree. Any chance of that was closed at the Reshaping of Arda. Aþâraigas is the Sun, just as surely as she is not the Sun, not a flaming star orbited by planets, but the very essence of it. Their spirits are tied to those celestial bodies that they are and represent, and to remove themselves fully from that bond would be irreparable, even if the Sun still burned and the Moon still shone and the Star of High Hope still twinkled.
Phanaikelûth still admits that he has been tempted by the offer more than once.
Utiôrôi-al Azôz-iyôz smiles, grim and false, and doesn’t say anything. They understand. 
Aþâraigas says that if she who Sang of herself and her duty before knowing they were one and the same is tempted by the release from it, then truly the end is nigh.
They all laugh, a little bitter, even knowing it’s not a joke.
She wonders, sometimes, if she dreads the end of the Song more than she looks forward to it. She doesn’t know. She tries not to think too deeply on it. She is just a gardener and a sailor and a light with work to do, she cannot read ahead in the Music. And so she sails.
<☼━━━━━━━━━━━━━☼>
Arien: Tulukh-igas (Yellow-heat) | Aþâraigas (Appointed-heat)
Ainur: Ayan-um-ûz
Iluvatar: Îl-Launaþrænšiwâz (All-Maker)
Gothmog: Barâdakesa (High/lofty-voice) | Girimaph-ai (Binding)
Durin’s Bane: Raxôn-rušur (Stone-fire)
Dead-by-Glorf: Pûruz-amâzêz (Dark-lighter)
Ossë: Ošošai (Spewing/foaming)
Uinen: Uyu-ninêz (Seaweed maiden)
Arda: Aþâraphelûn (Appointed-dwelling)
Yavanna: Aya-banâz (Fruit-giver)
Vána: Wânâz (Beautiful)
Melkor: Belekôrôz (Mighty-rising)
Tulkas: Tulukhaštâz (Golden-haired)
Almaren: Phelûn-manal (Home/place-holy)
Arda-Marred: Aþâraphelûn Dušamanûðân
Ormal: Tulukh-barâdal (Gold-high)
Thuringwethil: Aþûrdušithîrêz (Secret-un-light-person)
Tilion: Ibrî-ȝarôz (Silver-horned) | Phanaikelûth (Bright-mirror)
Oromë: Arômêz (Horn-blower)
Silmo: Amâz-âyaniyôz (Light help-of)
Irmo: Irimôz (Desirer)
Eonwë: Iȝônowêz (Herald)
Ilmarë: Gili-mâz (Star-light)
Varda: Barâdâz (She-who-raises)
Valar: Balaȝumâz
Utumno: Delgûmûðân-axâzâz (Hidden-hall)
Laurelin: Tulukhedelgorûs
Eärendil: Utiôrôi-al Azôz-iyôz (Good-ris-ing star-of)
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valarinventures · 1 year
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Hello - I’m trying to work out how you devised “Mayazônôz” as likely candidate for Sauron’s real name. I think his true actually helps reframe his origins story. I think I have it figured out except for why “z” instead of an “r”? Like Mayarônôz instead of Mayazônô. If you could illuminate me. I’d appreciate it!
Because I previously thought that the "r" in "Mairon" would have originally a "z", as in some Quenya words like "Ezelloxar" > Erellohar.
I would have made a revised version cos I later understood that Valarin uses diphthongs. I think your suggestion, Mayarônôz, sounds better, so please go ahead.
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More ideas I made for my OC (credits to the picrew creators).
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you have many eyes and yet you are blind.
you announce your presence and yet no one is there.
you have many wings and yet you are flightless.
no one from the past remembers you. no one in the present cares.
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sesamenom · 6 months
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new headcanon: Maglor is the only elf ever with a natural Valarin accent.
feanor is canonically-to-some-versions one of very few elves fluent in Valarin and his linguistics phase happens to line up pretty well with maglor's birth. obviously he wanted to do a valarin language acquisition experiment and just so happened to have a convenient test subject/child. nerdanel didn't mind because it's cool and not going to cause any long-term problems, so baby maglor ended up learning valarin as his first language.
Later, his voice's uniqueness was partially due to the very recognizable Valarin accent
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sol-lar-bink · 4 months
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I managed to finish a piece on the big TV xD
Medea and Valarine spending some time at a local cafe~
I'm just happy to get a wintery piece done (x
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sauronnaise · 3 months
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“If you are the God of the Wind... Does that make you the Lord of the Farts?"
—Melkor, to Manwë
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outofangband · 7 months
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Elven* word of the day, 62/?
mirubhōze from Valarin
Meaning “honey wine”
miruvórë in Quenya and miruvor, its cognate in Sindarin derive from this word
Source: The War of the Jewels and linguistic journals
*not actually an elven language today!
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almaren · 1 year
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Starting 2023 off with a very, very self indulgent Mairon piece
Mairon dressed as Jessica Rabbit, what's not to love?
Let's hope this is setting the tone for the rest of the year
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hey there
@the-ring-wasnt-even-pretty
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thedecoy-if · 1 year
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top left: Azriel (he/him)
top middle: Drenwin (he/him)
top right: Namara (she/her)
bottom left: Vale (they/them)
bottom middle: Ceris (she/her, they/them, he/him)
bottom right: Taleea Farewyn (she/her)
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ARYA/ARWEN VALARIN
(These aren't exact (aside from Vale, I'd say) considering much of their facial details are lost in the process, but it's a pretty good idea.)
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urwendii · 4 months
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Valarin word part 12/?
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i havent worked on my Valarin conlang in months so I'm rusty but my dear @helenvader asked me for a Valarin word for the imperative "Heal".
No surprising it is that you do not find any early root for such a word, and it makes sense in-universe wise:
in a perfect world - that is in a world Unmarred the concept of healing would not need to exist. I tried a few variant but ultimately decided to go back to the closest word we have for such concept and lo and behold, we do have something to use in official Valarin.
-> Amanaišāl = Unmarred
now all i did was to append the early primitive √NĀ root (the copula for "to be / exist"). Nā or Á na in its imperative form.
so we can have something like 'Be Unmarred' for the literal translation of Heal! in its imperative form.
-> Á nāmanaišāl
fun facts:
early primitive elvish has the root √ŊAHYA (with a 'ŋaı̯' variation) meaning : hurt, grieve that you can find in Amanaišāl under its variant form. It might be coincidences since the Valarin word for marred is Dušamanūðān which share no similarities. Go figure.
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ceescedasticity · 10 months
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