Since I was young I had known I was different. At first it was just that I preferred reading and painting to hunting and sparring, the two most desired things for young male elflings at that time, though it was probably still popular now. At first the difference was not obvious for I also hunted and sparred with my friends whenever they asked me to. But as we grew older, it became more obvious.
My friends had all become taller and more muscular from hours of practice with the sword, while although I did grow almost as tall as the preferred height for male elves, I was too skinny. I was not as skinny as when I had been an elfling, of course, I did spar with my friends after all, but I definitely did not have enough muscles to be considered average. I always blamed it on my habit of reading whenever I could but I knew deep in my heart it was not a matter of how often I exercised.
My father was unusually thin for a male as well, but he was valued highly by Finwë and none dared to tease him about it. However, mine was a different case. Inheriting my skinny frame from my father was something I could live with. Unlike my father though, who had dark brown hair and eyes, I had golden hair and green eyes. My eyes were masculine enough, but my hair…
Some of my uncles and cousins also had golden hair, courtesy of my great-grandmother Indis, but they were all certainly muscular enough to look male enough. I did not have that luxury and was constantly teased about it. Today was no exception.
Today, there was a sword-fighting competition held in Tirion. I had signed up for it and was placed in the final slot. When I had seen the list, I had breathed a sigh of relief. I had only signed up to prove to others I wasn't afraid, that I was male enough; I never really wanted to fight. If I'm last, the chance of great-grandfather seeing me fight would be lessened greatly. He will probably get bored and leave before it's my turn.
I knew that was never going to happen but if I didn't stay positive, I would definitely lose it. I was going to be humiliated but I hoped that at least I would spare the High King of the Noldor from embarrassment. It was Finwë's and Indis' wedding anniversary and I was sure no one wanted to be shamed on a special day like this.
I clearly remembered the amusement and surprised expression on the games master's, Amdirian's, face when I had signed up.
"Are you sure about this boy?" he had asked, making a big show of looking me up and down. "You could get hurt."
For a moment I hesitated but I didn't say anything. Amdirian had sighed dramatically before saying, "I'll make you first on the list boy."
Panic had surged through me. I didn't want to be first! I had screamed silently. Luckily, Amdirian had decided to put him last.
I had practiced but I knew it wouldn't be enough.
"Hey, I'm talking to you!" I jerked out of my thoughts, searching for the one who had spoken. Please don't tell me you're talking to me. Valar have mercy on me, I'm already going to be humiliated. The competitors were all housed in a room near the sparring rings. We had recently been briefed on how the tournament worked while waiting for the audience to be seated.
Basically, we were split into pairs. The winner of each pair would fight the winner of another pair. Then the winner from that pair would compete with the winner from another pair and so on till there was only one winner left. There were eight pairs, which meant there would be fifteen matches in total. To speed things up, there were two sparring rings. This also let the winners rest before competing again.
"Hey! You there, the one leaning against the wall!"
I turned my head. There was a heavily-built elf pointing wildly, his face red. Looking around, I realised I was the only elf leaning against a wall; the other competitors were gathered in groups, joking and laughing. I saw my opponent, Camerdil I think, point me out to the group that surrounded him and heard them snigger when they saw me. He obviously thought me far below his regard and easy to beat. I desperately hoped I would prove him wrong and not become a laughing stock for the rest of my immortal life.
"Hey!" Please not be talking to me…pleasepleaseplease…
But it seemed everyone was conspiring against me for I felt someone grab my shoulder and spin me around. The muscular elf faced me, his sides heaving. I flinched and took a step back.
"I'm talking to you!" he yelled at me.
"Don't waste your time on him, Lidrel, he doesn't talk," Camerdil said, waving Lidrel over. "Have a drink, just ignore him."
I wondered if they knew why I never talked unless absolutely necessary. I prayed they would never find out. Lidrel ignored Camerdil and took a step towards me. I took a step back. He took another step forward, I took another step back. Front, back, front, back, frontbackfrontback…until my back was pressed against a wall. He towered over me; he looked at least a head taller than me.
Before he could say anything though, the games master stepped in to ask all of us to proceed outside to present ourselves to the audience before we started the tournament. We could only wear our armour after we presented ourselves to the High King of the Noldor. Lidrel immediately turned and led the way outside. He was one of the first to compete and looking at his bulging muscles I could guess why he was such a good swordsman.
Trembling, I followed the rest outside, trailing behind them and forced myself to keep my chin up. I was of the House of Finwë and no matter how much I wanted to just run into my ammë's arms and stay there I would act as befitting my lineage.
I dared not look to where the royal box was when we were introduced, afraid to see nothing but contempt and embarrassment in my relatives' eyes. So when the games master placed his hand on my shoulder, I bowed my head and stared at the ground.
"And our last competitor, Laurefindel Finwion." I felt like smacking the games master right there and then, in front of everyone, as hard as could. I wished for once that he would call me by my father's, not my great-grandfather's name. Usually each elf was called by their father's name, but my dear father insisted that I be called by the High King's name, loyal as he was to Finwë. I was sure he was regretting he ever made that decision now. Now everyone would know I was of the King of the Noldor's lineage and that Finwë had such a terrible excuse for an elf as a great-grandson.
As I expected, there was no cheer from the crowd when my name was announced as there had been for the other competitors. I forced back the tears in my eyes and wished the ground would swallow me up. Or that Manwë would feel merciful and blow me away with a gust of wind. I could hear the mocking voices of the other competitors standing beside me, low enough so that only I could hear, not that anyone else cared anyway.
"Are you sure you don't want to join the she-elves on the side lines?" one snickered.
"We would certainly perform better if you were cheering us on," another said, mock sorrow in his voice.
I flinched slightly. Why did I ever sign up in the first place?
The clearing of a throat was heard and I looked up. Finwë seemed to have decided to break the awkward silence that hovered in the air. He stood and turned to the two figures sitting beside him. Ingwë and Olwë? No! Not only will I embarrass my family in front of the Noldor but the Vanyar and Teleri as well?
Finwë greeted them formally and welcomed them to the tournament before turning to face us. I immediately dropped my head.
"Laurefindel?" the King's voice carried across the open space easily.
I gulped and bowed.
I dared to meet his eyes and it seems that was exactly what he had been waiting for. He smiled at me, a genuine smile. It wasn't mocking; in fact it looked as though he was trying to encourage me, to tell me not to go down without a fight. I felt my love for my great-grandfather grow. I'll try my best, I promised.
Then he raised his hands out and declared, "Let the tournament begin!"