Legends of Belariath
Crocus
"Barren-womb! Blighted-woman! Whore-mongering, ill-favored bitch!" The expletives were hurled at the pale, beautiful woman as she was brought to her knees in the family chamber while the nearby guards tore at her garments. The words slashed at her ears, tearing at the weak defenses that she had built up over the years to keep guilt at bay to allow her self-worth to foster. The tears flowed like they never had before - and her wails reached the arching rafters of the family home while her 'husband' sat smirking. And with that, the young woman was cast from her home and set out into the streets of her Elvenhomme. With nothing, she sat out to begin a new beginning. But despite this being a new beginning, it was not *her* beginning. Thus, begins the tale of Wellelyn Bashir.
The sounds of a crying baby should had been joyous news. In fact, it still was to many of the people gathered around the bedside of the well-bred Elven woman with the brilliant golden hair. High Elves were notoriously less fecund than the other races, even amongst the other sub-groups that they had given existance to, yet it seemed that reproduction had hit new lows in the Elvenhomme where this new woman was born. Politics was making an heir, even under extreme means, a necessary - but this was simply not the case. The Bashir the Elder, a handsome older Elf at the woman's bedside, had enough sons and daughters to carry on his estate and legacy. And what an estate and legacy it was! Sometimes there was simple grandeur in peace, and the man had managed enough holdings and wealth to live comfortably, but too large as to become bogged down by the political jockying of the other elven families in the city. No, the baby born to this woman was one out of passion and lust: a beautiful daughter of another family who had offered a coy, hidden dance when Bashir the Elder's wife was in another room with another man. Why shouldn't he indulge? He had earned it, or so he thought. And today, many months after that chance encounter, Elder Bashir would reap the full fruition of his act. Today, Wellelyn Bashir was born.
Even as a young Elf, the woman was beautiful and lithe like many other females of her race. She had possessed her father's ghost-like complexion and her mother's beautiful golden hair. Of course, those dark sapphire eyes were a bit unusual in the sense that their color was not unusual, and there was much debate between father and mistress about who she had inherited such stunningly dark spheres from. Well, they debated for the length that Wellelyn's mother was still around. As the daughter of a lesser noble, Wellelyn's mother was drawn into the world of arranged marriages - and her pregnancy (which was a souring surprise that almost cost the child's father a great deal of gold and reputation as recompense) was kept a great secret (which was incredibly pleasing to the father of the child's mother). Due to this subterfuge, Wellelyn's mother was successfully wedded to a figure from another Elvenhomme by her father, who ensured that she would be far away from this reminder of her indiscretions once the child was old enough to be weened. The Elder Bashir, cornered into such an agreement with threats to his wealth, reputation, and health, reluctantly had little say in the matter and agreed to raise his daughter solely. The relationship that was bound to develop between the High Elf, her step-mother, and her step-brothers and sisters was hardly comfortable, but there was little malice. It was simply a fact around the household that had to be accepted, though not enjoyed. Wellelyn's father's word was his law in the house - and the woman grew up in a childhood filled with art, dancing, and music with few modest luxuries very far from her reach.
The Bashir family had maintained its modest luxury through mercantilism and trade, though they could hardly be described as some sort of 'merchant clan'. No - most of its success came from the numerous sons and daughters offered to the Empire for military service. Both wizards and warriors from the Bashir bloodline had served in a number of the platoons and regiments of the Emperor, and some had garnered much honor, success, and praise while others didn't. A mediocre soldier was rarely punished, but it was the exceptional ones that had brought gold, praise, and privelleges to the Bashir clan. This tradition was to continue for Wellelyn, her brothers, and sisters. From an early age (for a High Elf), all of the children were extensively groomed for war amidst their studies of art, magick, and the usual primary education that children of their status would receive. Bow, staff, blade, ice, and fire: their arsenal was extensive and mastered slowly over time by visiting tutors and those qualified to teach in their City-state. Crocus, though quick in her learning, would prove to be the exception by feeling called to the Healing arts while her peers went into either blade-play or arcana. For long hours, the golden-haired woman would study at the feet of the more learned Elves at the Healing Houses and guilds. She read about herbs, plants, poultices, and wraps. She learned sterile technique, suturing, and stablization without magick. She advanced quickly with the others that she learned with - and her father remained pleased despite the slight departure from family tradition. Soon, the Elf was now a young woman - and in no time, her father had arranged for her to become betrothed.
The man who would become her husband was the son of a minor noble who had business ties with the family. He was handsome and tall with brilliant copper hair and eyes of a lush purple. There was little courting necessary, though it really would have been unnecessary considering the small amount of say that Wellelyn had in these sorts of affairs. They were promptly married in a lavish ceremony and given a wing in the family home to live. But years would pass, and her husband proved to be rather aloof and abusive. Whereas the young woman tried to keep up a semblance of unity and loyalty, her husband simply didn't care. His indiscretions were well-known and almost flaunted before her. Things would become worse when it was soon obvious that the woman was plagued by infertility. Their liasons simply ceased in favor of her husband finding other women, and he became increasingly physically abusive. Having enough, the woman found relief when her youngest step-brother was finally sent off to the Imperial army. Her father, seeing as this was the product of a contractual arrangement, was not supportive of abolishing the marriage. Despite this, he wouldn't stop the woman enlisting. So, after 25 years of marriage, Wellelyn left home to join the army as a Field Healer until fate would bring her home again.
For approximately a century-and-a-half did the young woman serve in the Imperial regiments. She grew matured during this time, rising from her 'young womanhood' into someone who was a bit more experienced in the ways of the world. Her Healing craft improved - and she served in numerous campaigns by tending to the wounded, both at the front-lines and behind the scenes at the base camps. Her communication with home was sporadic at best, and never with her husband. Sure, she had heard about his exploits and dastardly deeds (and Wellelyn took slight enjoyment over the fact that despite his extra-marital amorous encounters, he was never once able to continue his line with one of his many mistresses) from the servant-girl's that she kept in contact with. But eventually word came to Wellelyn that her father had died. As was the custom of many venerable High Elves to take their lives and slip into the Eternal Sleep, the letter portrayed the events surrounding the demise of the Elder Bashir as such. Yet upon her arrival home, suspicious grumblings and certain coincidences painted a picture of intrigue and murder. The world was new, it would seem. Her father's chamberlain had long-since been replaced, and her step-mother, too, had been neatly disposed of in a not-so-secret plot of murder (though a popular tale was that it was the Elder Bashir himself who had arranged such a ploy). Her eldest step-brothers and sisters, who had long since been discharged from the army, suddenly unleashed resentment and jealousies that they had held in their hots ever since the Healer had been brought home as a babe. They accused her of being unfit for the family name, that she was Ill-begotten and shameful by her inability to conceive. In their 'mercy', they would allow her to remain a 'Bashir', but she was ordered to not live like one. Her husband, present at the meeting, was silent and aloof as was the typical. Money and comfort kept him silent - and a liason with one of Wellelyn's sisters would prove more than enough incentive to keep him from rocking 'the boat'. Thus, Wellelyn was cast from her home, and sent out onto the road. Taking a gamble, she took the path towards Nanthalion and let Lady Fortune be her guide.