To many, one of the coolest things about "Game of Thrones"
is that the inhabitants of the Dothraki Sea
have their own real language.
And Dothraki came hot on the heels
of the real language that the Na'vi speak in "Avatar,"
which, surely, the Na'vi needed
when the Klingons in "Star Trek" have had their own whole language since 1979.
And let's not forget the Elvish languages
in J.R.R. Tolkien's "Lord of the Rings" trilogy,
especially since that was the official grandfather
of the fantasy conlangs.
"Conlang" is short for "constructed language."
They're more than codes like Pig Latin,
and they're not just collections of fabricated slang like the Nadsat lingo
that the teen hoodlums in "A Clockwork Orange" speak,
where "droog" from Russian happens to mean "friend."
What makes conlangs real languages isn't the number of words they have.
It helps, of course, to have a lot of words.
Dothraki has thousands of words.
Na'vi started with 1,500 words.
Fans on websites have steadily created more.
But we can see the difference between vocabulary alone
and what makes a real language
from a look at how Tolkien put together grand old Elvish,
a conlang with several thousands words.
After all, you could memorize 5,000 words of Russian
and still be barely able to construct a sentence.
A four-year-old would talk rings around you.
That's because you have to know how to put the words together.
That is, a real language has grammar.
Elvish does.
In English, to make a verb past, you add an "-ed."
Wash, washed.
In Elvish, "wash" is "allu"
and "washed" is "allune."
Real languages also change over time.
There's no such thing as a language
that's the same today as it was a thousand years ago.
As people speak, they drift into new habits,
shed old ones,
make mistakes, and get creative.
Today, one says,
"Give us today our daily bread."
In Old English, they said,
"Urne gedaeghwamlican hlaf syle us todaeg."
Things change in conlangs, too.
Tolkien charted out ancient and newer versions of Elvish.
When the first Elves awoke at Cuiviénen,
in their new language,
the word for "people" was "kwendi,"
but in the language of one of the groups that moved away, Teleri,
over time, "kwendi" became "pendi,"
with the "k" turning into a "p."
And just like real languages, conlangs like Elvish split off into many.
When the Romans transplanted Latin across Europe,
French, Spanish, and Italian were born.
When groups move to different places,
over time, their ways of speaking grow apart,
just like everything else about them.
Thus, Latin's word for hand was "manus,"
but in French, it became "main,"
while in Spain it became "mano."
Tolkien made sure Elvish did the same kind of thing.
While that original word "kwendi" became "pendi"
among the Teleri,
among the Avari, who spread throughout Middle Earth,
it became "kindi" when the "w" dropped out.
The Elvish varieties Tolkien fleshed out the most
are Quenya and Sindarin,
and their words are different in the same way French and Spanish are.
Quenya has "suc" for "drink,"
Sindarin has "sog."
And as you know, real languages are messy.
That's because they change,
and change has a way of working against order,
just like in a living room or on a bookshelf.
Real languages are never perfectly logical.
That's why Tolkien made sure that Elvish had plenty of exceptions.
Lots of verbs are conjugated in ways you just have to know.
Take even the word "know."
In the past, it's "knew,"
which isn't explained by any of the rules in English.
Oh well.
In Elvish, "know" is "ista,"
but "knew" is "sinte."
Oh well.
The truth is, though, that Elvish is more a sketch for a real language
than a whole one.
For Tolkien, Elvish was a hobby
rather than an attempt to create something people could actually speak.
Much of the Elvish the characters in the "Lord of the Rings" movies speak
has been made up since Tolkien by dedicated fans of Elvish
based on guesses as to what Tolkien would have constructed.
That's the best we can do for Elvish because there are no actual Elves around
to speak it for us.
But the modern conlangs go further.
Dothraki, Na'vi, and Klingon are developed enough
that you can actually speak them.
Here's a translation of "Hamlet" into Klingon,
although performing it would mean getting used
to pronouncing "k" with your uvula,
that weird, cartoony thing hanging in the back of your throat.
Believe it or not, you actually do that in plenty of languages around the world,
like Eskimo ones.
Pronouncing Elvish is much easier, though.
So, let's take our leave for now
from this introduction to conlangs in Elvish
and the other three conlangs discussed
with a heartfelt quad-conlangual valedictory:
"A Na Marie!"
"Hajas!"
Na'vi's "Kiyevame!"
"Qapla!"
and "Goodbye!"