Azalea

Azalea's Back Story (More-like her life story)
Azalea is the youngest daughter of Linden and Chrysanthemum … by two whole minutes. Her twin, Camellia, came into the world before her and has come before her in all things since. It’s not easy being the youngest child of six over-achievers, especially when it pays to be an over-achiever.

Linden and Mum are the thirteenth generation of slaves to be owned by the Galaereion household. The Galaereion family once climbed almost to the top of the hierarchy of Elven households in Xalyon’s Crest, but their influence and power had been on the decline for the last hundred years. A fact, Azalea had learned, they didn’t like to talk about. In fact, they didn’t like most of what comes out of Zaly’s mouth.

Adonadhwen, matriarch of the Galaereion family, had made it quite clear on no less than thirty-two different occasions that she would rather prefer that Zaly made no sound at all. Being quiet was nearly impossible for Zaly. Her sisters even complained that she talked in her sleep.

She really couldn’t help it, though. She had all of these thoughts floating around in her head that she just had to share. Like, how blue is so much greener than purple, which explained why being “blue” was so bad. And that if she had to be a food, she’d be a tomato, because it’s a fruit disguised as a vegetable and she’s “sneaky like that.” Other people, for some unknown reason, didn’t appreciate her pearls of wisdom. They preferred she go about her daily duties completely mute; like you can really make the bed without singing the “tuck and smooth song.” Impossible! Over the years, Adonadhwen gave Zaly tasks that took her further and further away from the home. Zaly didn’t mind, as she got to see more of Xalyon and Adona was generally in a better mood when Zaly returned to her quarters. Things had actually settled into a nice routine, until rumors about Adona’s beloved Yrneha made their way back to the Galaereion household. As rumor had it, Yrneha’s association with a common house slave caused the prodigious Aeradireil House to cancel the betrothal of their eldest son and Galaereion’s only hope for political gain, the beautiful Yrneha.

Zaly didn’t understand what the big deal was, it was well known that the elves mingled with their slaves to strengthen Elven bloodlines—it created “more visually-pleasing servants,” as Adonadhwen had put it. At least, Zaly thought it was well known.

The day after the betrothal was canceled, Yrneha, who had always been nice to Zaly, took her to see a practitioner of magic''. Apparently,'' they didn’t like to be called wizards, a fact that was pointed out to Zaly in great length. Saria, the practitioner, told Zaly that she would be receiving a rare gift. As you can imagine, after fifteen years of no birthday presents, Zaly was beyond excited, nearly bouncing in her seat.

Saria asked Zaly to sing, something that no elf had ever requested of her—in fact, up until that moment, every elf she had met had specifically requested that she shut up. Elated and full of hyper butterflies, she opened her mouth to sing … but nothing came out. Zaly attempted to clear her throat and try again, but still—nothing. By this time, Saria and Yrneha were laughing unabashedly. Saria was nearly falling out of her chair as Yrneha, ever prim and proper, tittered behind her gloved hand.

Dejected and broken, Zaly stumbled out of the tent. It wasn’t long before the girls’ laughter was overcome by the noises of the city. With her voice gone and her vision blurred by tears, she had to trust that her feet knew the way home. House Galaereion was situated toward the bottom of the city, hugging the outer wall of Xalyon’s crest. In fact, if you hung your head out of Zaly’s window, you could still make out the water line from the Great Flood at the bottom of the massive stones. Tomorrow, Zaly would see those stones up close for the first time, as she resolved to leave the city.

In the morning, she woke to find Adonadhwen standing over her bed.

“As penance for your incessant yapping, I instructed Saria to take away your voice for one year. You are lucky I let you keep your tongue, Azalea. I wouldn’t want it said that I treat my servants poorly, so you will be confined to household duties until your voice returns. We wouldn’t want anyone to see you in your current … state. Now, up. Time to work.”

Three times that year, Zaly left home. The first time, she got three steps before the household guard, her own brother, dragged her back. The second time, she tried to make her escape at night. Though she had lost her voice, her ability—of lack thereof— to see in the darkness hadn’t changed. She stepped into a chamber pot, bruised her hip on Camy’s bed, and stumbled into the divider between their sleeping quarters and her brothers’, successfully waking up the whole house. The third time was a repeat of her second attempt—minus the bumbling, plus a candle—which got her all the way to the gates of the city. Once there, she had no way to talk to the guards, and they ultimately sent her right back home.

Other than her failed attempts to run away, Azalea worked and … listened. It didn’t take long for Zaly to go unnoticed in the house. Only the squeaky wheel got oiled, and Zaly could no longer squeak, or squawk, or peep. To the elves, she became a common place item, as innocuous as a cupboard or a side table. Inanimate objects were great at keeping secrets, and for the time being, Zaly was too. So, she committed every juicy piece of gossip, every ill-timed confession, and every late-night conversation to memory. She wanted to prove that the spell did nothing, that going without speaking for a whole year would only mean she had a lot of catching up to do once she got her voice back.

It was “the day.” The day that was now more important than her day of birth. The day that she had been waiting for all year. It was agonizing going through breakfast without uttering a word, but she had planned this moment. And Adona-wanta-money and Yrneha’s-havin-ma-brother’s-baby had to be there.

That’s what she had begun calling them in her head, and her nicknames were nothing short of the truth. A truth that each of the elves had let slip around their mute servant.

When Zaly walked into the main room, she was elated to find both Adona and Yrneha there, along with Adona’s husband and his two younger sons. They looked to be in deep conversation. Yrneha was absentmindedly flitting her fingers along her growing belly that you’d have to be blind not to notice. Then again, most of the elves couldn’t see past their own noses, so it was no wonder that her pregnancy was still very much a secret. So, just as Zaly had grown used to doing, she stood quietly to the side, pretending not to notice or hear anything, and waited for Adona to notice her.

Finances. They were always discussing finances lately—even going so far as to suggest stealing. That suggestion came from Jaerelion—yes, the named the poor sap Jaerelion Galaereion, which might explain his usually sour disposition.

Zaly fought to school her expression into one of vague disinterest, but she felt the corners of her mouth turning up. She shook her head to try to regain her concentration, and that’s when Adona opened her big, fat, crimson red mouth.

“Azalea, do be a dear and sweep and mop the floors while we finish up here. Yrneha will need someone to fetch her some lemon cakes, too. She’s grown quite fond of them lately.”

The last remark was more for Yrneha’s benefit than Zalys. It was her mother’s way of telling her to lay off the sweets; you’re 'turning into a fat cow.’ At least, those were the words she used when she was discussing Yrneha’s weight with her father two nights ago.

Now, she could forget about all of the secrets. Well, at least she could forget after she aired all of the Galaereion’s dirty laundry for Xalyon’s Crest to see.

“Oh, for Payme’s sake, she’s only eating all of those lemon cakes because she’s having Fern’s baby.”

So, with one bombshell dropped, Zaly turned on her heel and skipped out the front door while the elves choked on her words.

The air shifted as soon as she walked out of the front door. She inhaled as much of it as she could, spread her arms wide, and belted, “Yrneha Galaereion is pregnant with a servant’s baby” as loud as she could in a sing-song voice.

Fern, the house guard posted in the courtyard, turned an odd shade of green beneath his helmet and wilted as if he’s been out too long in the hot sun. That caused Zaly a twinge of guilt. All right, it was more like a bucket-full, but she couldn’t think about that now. She had so much more to tell.

She knew everyone in the town square would love to hear about how Elrond Galaereion was embezzling money from the coffers of the Royal guard. Or how Carnesar Galaerieon was purposely over-bidding on slaves to start a bidding war, and backing out at the very last minute to let someone else foot the enormous bill. It was a gamble, sure, but the eldest son of Elrond was the best gambler there was. He had even swindled the dwarves out of seven finely-made war hammers that were not accounted for on their household holdings.

It was amazing! No one had ever paid attention to Zaly when she said … well anything. Now, though. Now she had every elf in town square listening to her ... and asking questions, too! Sure, some elves threw things at her or called her rude names, but she was used to that.

One older elf swiped his staff at the back of Zaly’s knees. For an ancient, he was pretty strong, but Zaly managed to stay upright.

“—just a common house slave who’s gotten too big for her britches. I say they ought to beat the disobedience out of you like they used to do in my day,” whistled the ancient elf through his few remaining teeth.

“But they did punish me, sir. Saria took my voice away for a whole year and I only just got it back today.” Zaly didn’t like it when anyone thought poorly of her, even a grouchy old elf.

“How dare you!” Zaly heard from the back of the crowd. “How dare you accuse me of such a thing!”

Saria herself came strutting through the crowd to stand right in front of Zaly. Zaly felt herself lose a few inches under Saria’s angry glare.

“But you did,” Zaly squeaked, grabbing her own throat in fear.

“I did no such thing. You have no proof.”

“But, I … I wasn’t allowed outside. Uh. Uh, no one could see me. I was forbidden …” By then, the crowds had begun to dwindle. Even the ancient elf had found something more exciting to poke his stick at.

“Come down from there before you make a complete fool out of your House.”

Having no other choice, Zaly let Saria drag her back home. Once in the courtyard, Saria threw her to the ground. On hands and knees, Zaly looked up to find her few worldly possessions strewn on the cobblestone. Her book of pressed flowers was opened, and it was clear that someone had ripped almost all of the pages out. Crumbled chrysanthemums, lilac, poppies, and camellias littered the courtyard. She felt tears well up in her eyes. The poppies, her only memory of her baby sister who died shortly after birth, were crushed and soiled.

“Azalea, you are leaving today with your life and little else. Speak not a word of this household past the gates of Xalyon. I would be surprised if you lived to see past the shores of Na ‘Dor.”

Zaly couldn’t bring herself to look past the boots of Elrond Galaereion. Instead, she wordlessly scooped up her few intact posessions and walked away.

This time, they let her through the gates, though she didn’t speak a word. When the doors shut, she was in a different world.

Grass crunched under her feet instead of the smooth cobbled stone of the city. Only a few tents and small buildings dotted the landscape, bordering on a dirt road rutted deep from travel. Shop owners shouted at her, peddling their wares, but she had no money.

It would be two days before she stumbled into the port town of { }. Her stomach led her to the nearest tavern. Before she knew it, she was seated at a table with a plump older woman with ruddy cheeks and dark, wiry hair staring her down.

“What’ll it be, deary.” Her voice was unusually soft, considering the roughness of her features.

“Well, I’d like some food and water, but I have no money.”

The woman sighed and gave Zaly a look over.

“Can ye cook or clean?” she asked.

Azalea’s face immediately lit up. “Oh, yes! I can cook and clean. I’ve been doing both practically all my life, and even my mistress never complained of my cooking, and she complained about everything. And I do mean—“

“Shh, now girl,” the woman frantically whispered as her eyes darted around the room. “There’ll be no talk of mistresses or them pointy-eard types around here or ye’ll be sent straight to the Chancelor ‘imself.”

“Oh! The Chancelor. I’ve always wanted to meet the Chancelor.” That statement did get the attention of the rest of the patrons. Many stared at Zaly like she was daft while others chuckled under their breath.

“Trust me, girl. Ye don’t. Now, if ye shut yer mouth I’ll let ye stay and eat. I’ll even give ye a place to lay yer head, too. That is, if yer as good as ye say with the cookin’ and a cleanin’. Ye’ll give the boys somethin’ prettier ta look at than the likes o’ me, too. So, whataya say?”

Zaly flung her arms around the older woman and hugged her tight. “Yes! Oh, yes, yes, yes!”

As it turned out, employment at the Sea Storm Tavern wasn’t much different than working for House Galaerion. She worked from sun up to sun down and people still didn’t appreciate her “tuck and smooth” song. Of course, the fact that the man was still in the bed while she made it might have had something to do with that. Zaly was only following Ruth’s orders, which she had learned the older woman was quite serious about.

Ruth was generally nice to be around unless you crossed her, which was still a lot better than Adona. Still, she missed her family tremendously.

It had been only a month when Zaly suddenly found herself no longer employed at the Sea Storm.

She had been late for breakfast duties and Ruth appeared to already be in a mood. When Ruth asked Zaly what took her so long, she answered honestly.

“I was having trouble smoothing my ears into place. That happens sometimes. Some people have bad hair days, but I have bad ear da—Owww!” Ruth had stormed over to Zaly and yanked on her ears.

Ruth gasped and stepped back, her face turning red. “Out! Out of my tavern! I should’ve known ye were one of ‘em. With yer strange eyes and now yer ears. ‘Ave ye been spyin’ on me this whole time? Gonna report back to the Chancelor, are ye?”

“I—I don’t understand what you’re talking about ...”

“Out. Out with ye. Geras, get ‘er out a here. Take ‘er to the docks. Put ‘er on a boat if ye ‘ave to, just get ‘er as far from ‘ere as ye can.”

Ruth tossed a few coins to Geras, an older man who’s bottom lip appeared to be eating his top lip.

“Can I at least get my things before I go?” Zaly still didn’t understand what she did to make Ruth so mad, but hoped she would at least let her take her things.

“Fine, but don’t let ‘er out of yer sight, Geras.”

Geras followed her up to the small room Zaly shared with the other scullery maid, Bhruna. Miss Bhruna was smart. She taught Zaly to put dish rags in her bodice, which somehow made all the patrons a lot more friendly. Zaly looked toward Bhruna's empty bed and sighed, wishing she could tell her goodbye.Zaly solemnly gathered her clothes and tattered belongings and quickly left the room.

On her way out the door, she overheard Ruth ask Geras what she took, as if Zaly would stoop so low as to steal. Zaly’s face was as red as a cucumber by the time Geras caught up with her.

“Would you give these back to Ruth?” Zaly asked as she began pulling dishrags out of her bodice.

The pile of rags came up to Geras’s chin. Slinging the last few over his shoulder, they continued on in the direction of the docks.

“Where should I go, Geras?” Zaly finally asked when she couldn’t bear the few moments of silence any longer.

“Doesn’t matter none to me, as long as it’s far from here. I hear Khelek’s nice this time ‘o year,” he chuckled.

“You don’t really think I did that thing that Ruth thinks I did, do you?”

“I don’t know what yer sayin’. I’m just s’post to put ye on a boat.”

“Which one?”

Geras shrugged his shoulders. “There’s not one etts better than the rest.”

“Will you let me pick?”

“Sure, as long as two pence will pay yer fare.”

“So, I get to choose an adventure. How exciting! And Elrond said I wouldn’t make it past the shores of Na ‘Dor, and here I am! Hmmm. Zaly, the adventurer. No, that doesn’t sound right. Zaly, the well-traveled lady. That’s who I want to be, Geras. Zaly, the well-traveled lady.” Geras snicked. “Well, then. That’s the boat fer ye, lass. The Free Cunt-ry. If yer aim is ta be well-traveled. That’s yer boat.”

“Hmm. Looks to be in a state of disrepair. Ah, no matter. It’s what’s on the inside that counts, right Geras?”

“That’s what they say, lass. That’s what they say.”

“A little worse for wear on the outside, but I’ll bet she’s tried and true in the water.”

“That she is, lass. That she is.”

Zaly didn’t know what was so amusing to Geras. Maybe he was just as excited for Zaly and her new adventure as she was.

Once she had boarded the Free Country, the captain sent her straight to Mistress Lisetta. The Mistress poked and prodded Zaly, and flicked her ear.

"So they're real, interesting." Lisetta said to herself. "They'll pay good money for you."

"For me to what?" Zaly was confused. She thought Geras had paid for her passage.

"To do whatever they please."

It had been two exciting years for Zaly, sailing from port to port, each time boarding new ships and meeting new people. She had been to the icy banks of Khelek, the broken hulls of the Boneyard and seen the rocky peaks of the once great Handa'ksh. To keep a record of all her travels, she collected soil from each place and kept them in small vials. The most treasured vial, full of yellow gains of sand, she kept strung around her neck.