A/N: Hello, dear readers. This story is inspired by the essay/rant "About the Ban of Quenya, a.k.a Why Language Banning Sucks and You Should Think About It More" by fieldofheathers-stuff on Tumblr and various following commentaries. I readily admit that I do not nearly have the amount of personal experience with this subject that she does and cannot understand it as acutely. However, it is something that I find integral to my grasp on the Noldor living in Beleriand and something that generally should be more discussed.

This is from the point of view of my OC Ondaltö, who is fairly young here. You'll get to learn more about him later, but for now, all you need to know is he is the son of a captain of Maedhros's forces.

Finrod's quotation is taken from Thingol's speech in the Silmarillion, page 129, in my copy.

The hall of the High King is filled with the lords of the Noldor and their captains. The children of Arafinwë have heralded the most recent trouble from Doriath and there are many rumors circling about their part in it. Nolofinwë sits in the high chair, his hair bound from his noble brow with a fillet of mithril. Findekáno sits at his right hand, grim-faced Nelyafinwë at his left, and Findaráto at Kano's right. I stand among the other squires at the edges of the room, listening.

Findaráto stands. "I repeat the words of Elu Thingol, Elwë: the king of Doriath. 'But hear my words! Never again in my ears shall be heard of the tongue of those who slew my kin in Alqualondë! Nor in all my realm shall it be openly spoken, while my power endures. All the Sindar shall hear my command that they shall neither speak with the tongue of the Noldor nor answer to it. And all such as use it shall be held slayers of kin and betrayers of kin unrepentant.' So he said to me and my brothers when he heard of the deeds at Alqualondë," he ends mournfully.

A heavy silence follows as Findaráto sits, his golden head bowed. My mouth parts in shock, for I do not know what to make of this. My father stands.

"This ban is outrageous!" Atar cries. "He would use such measures to force us to abandon our mother-tongue? We should not allow it!" I nod, taking note of how many others agree. A murmuring washes over the room as a wave upon sand. Atar lowers his tone, "I know Elwë is to be respected as one of the oldest of the Quendi and as a king in his own right, and that he is much aggrieved, but I cannot believe that he would impose such a measure."

"It has been imposed. We cannot change his mind," says Angaráto. Atar sits with no further protest.

"Yet, what has this to do with us among ourselves?" a captain of Ambarussa's adds. "He pronounced it to his own people. If he holds us in contempt, what of it? He is not the first."

"Yet we live among the Moriquendi and they are more numerous than we are. It would be nigh impossible avoid interaction with at least some who would heed this ban. We must be able to communicate with our neighbors. How else can we call to them for aid in our fight against Moringottö?" Findekáno observes.

"The Moriquendi have been hiding in their woods long ere we returned. Do you think they would emerge now, when the Enemy is not in bonds, nor under the watch of the Powers?" Carnistir spits. "And their watching was for naught." Though an Exile, I cringe at the near blasphemy. Others seem to relish the chance to cry out against the grievances the Powers have doomed us with. Though we have been, I am not so sure such a doom was not already upon us.

"Do you forget that it was Elwë Sindicollo who allowed us the lands we have?" Nolofinwë chastises.

"And they are ours now," another captain interjects. "Why should he dictate what the Noldor may speak? We have our own king!"

"Hear, hear," my cousin whispers beside me. "That was well-said, was it not, Ondaltö?"

I make a gesture of silence, but others are not so levelheaded. Shouts erupt across the court. Assent clamors with dissent and insult is soon tossed between sides, which seems split between the followers of the Sons of Fëanáro and those of Nolofinwë. I fear we are upon the brink of violence when Nolofinwë stands, his hands raised.

"Be silent!" he commands. All are stilled. Glares are cast as lords and vassals alike take their seats, but they keep their peace. Nolofinwë's voice carries across his court, level and deep. "Long ago we chose to leave these lands; Elwë did not. These lands are his by right and he was merciful to grant them to us to occupy. His anger is not entirely unjustified with us, the Exiles, for indeed, our deeds against his kin gave rise to it. We cannot change our past and neither can we return to the land we left."

"Many of our people have learned their language already. It should only be a matter of speaking it to them. We would not have to abandon our language, only use the other when we have dealings with the Moriquendi," someone says.

"It would not. There are many who seek refuge among us. Do you not think that they would hold us in despite? If they are to call us by our names that would be breaking their ban. What then?" another replies.

"We should be held as unrepentant Kinslayers."

"Are we not?"

"What of your wife? She spilled no blood. Should she be hated for that?"

"What does it matter if they hate us?"

"We have already lost so much. How can we lose Quenya as well? It is one of our few possessions that cannot be torn from our hands. We should not let it be torn from our mouths."

Such interrogation continues back and forth. Tempers threaten to rise again, but the stern glance of Nelyafinwë is enough to cool them. Finally, the High King stands once more. For the span of a breath, his brow is creased, his fingers curl towards his palms, his arms raise and cross as if to shield himself, and then he is composed.

"I have heard each debate you have on this matter. I understand that our language is our birthright, our identity," he states, fingers brushing his breast. He lets them flutter back into the folds of his over sleeves, a look of sad resignation, and perhaps hope, passing over his features. "But for the sake of peace, we must take the tongue of the Moriquendi as our own and teach it to our children. We cannot afford to have enemies in the North and the South, and less to be an enemy of our kin. If we wish to be established in these lands at all, we must be established anew. So say I, the High King of the Noldor."

Arafinwë-Finarfin

Nolofinwë-Fingolfin

Findekáno-Fingon

Nelyafinwë-Maedhros

Findaráto-Finrod

Angráto-Angrod

Moriquendi-"Dark Elves" name for the Elves who have not seen the light of Valinor, effectively, the Sindarin

Elwe Sindicollo-Elu Thingol

Moringottö-Morgoth

Carnistir-Caranthir

Ondaltö-my OC

A/N: Sorry for the huge amount of author's notes and the equally long list. I'm really just putting this chapter up for feedback and I'll probably edit it heavily. I just wanted to get an impression of how my work would be received. Please let me know, even if it's just a small note to say you liked it or not. Thanks!