1252 years ago in Tirion, the city of the Noldor in Aman, a young Loremaster was born. Quickly, however, murmurs of how he was 'different' gave unrest to an already distraught city, left disheveled after the Kinslayings and battles before their time...
It was strange to say that someone quite so alone would much rather stay as such. But even amongst peers his own age, Aiwendil [lover of birds] was seen as the rather nervous, quirky one. He was smaller, more focused on his books and dressed in finer clothes than many others. His mother, Ilmatir [Star-gazer], was an astronomer. Her eyes, though gray, were radiant, almost taking on a clear-shimmering color like that of diamonds. It was a normal circumstance to gaze upon crystalline structures, seeing as how the sand beneath their feet sparkled much like thousands of diamonds against the light of the sun. Everything in Tirion shined brightly like Ingwe's tower which overlooked the city and the sea, and even the walls which kept them 'safe.' Yet every time the young Noldorin elf would gaze up into the sky with his mother as she charted them, he felt almost infinite. It was the only times he ever felt that way. For, during the days amongst others, he felt rather small.
Aiwendil was accustomed to the harsher aspects of his kin, especially from his father. Even then, Hyandomir [The Cleaving One] was far more absent than the other elves of his age. Books were about the only thing which accompanied Aiwendil at all times. He kept them fastened tight beneath an arm as he found a quiet place to sneak off to and read them as treasured works of art. Books were kind. Books carried within themselves; knowledge, empathy, courage, hope and many other things which the young Noldor failed to see around him. The ravishes from the wars left a lot of the city in ruins or impoverished, but Aiwendil was sat up rather well in a nicer district. This only begat him more admonishment from fellow elves. 'Netha [gay, flamboyant, girly],' was his nickname, of which, he refused to speak about. Yet, his father even picked up on the word later and began to use it during his threats.
Bruised porcelain skin beneath dark hair and sad darkened eyes would often curl up at his mother's feet. But there came a time when even that spot became cold and riddled with the loneliness it once helped abate. Aiwendil was trapped. The white walls of the city like a prison that kept him amidst those who only sought to punish him for what he truly was. Netha. A loner. A loser. One of the most brilliant minds and learned in History of their kin. Yet, it would never be enough. Not to the eyes of the true Noldorin elves who fought against all weaknesses they saw in blood. Like white blood cells defeating a sickness, they attacked Aiwendil daily. Hiding his aches beneath pounds of fabric whilst hiding behind books and dark hair was all that he could do.
At birth, he had been named 'Lover of Birds,' for the sounds of Larks sang just outside the window during the cool Autumn breeze before departing for the winter. And such was his life. With a short and beautiful beginning, slowly growing colder until his soul covered with ice and crushed beneath the hands of many. Unrelenting, once he reached of age, his parents both brought forth candidates for marriage. For it was their hope with this, the pure-blood line of Noldor would be passed down to future generations, expanding their own family's name and fortune regardless of their son's ideals of love and attraction. And that is when, at the age of 497, his life truly turned.
