The Springlady

Eliwyn’s Bio:

Eliwyn was born the fourth child to Eliseth and Annwyl Torleth shortly after The Retreat. The Torleths arrived in Baldur’s Gate with the intention of embarking for Evermeet from Grey Harbor. But a last minute change of heart by her father resulted in the family dividing. The eldest Torleth girls left with their husbands and children for the secluded elven isle. Eliseth, Annwyl, and their son Taran stayed behind. Eliwyn was born two years later.

Her father, a member of the Iyrandrii and a former guard of that isolated realm, joined The Watch of the Upper City. The oversar at the time took notice of Eliseth’s skill. As he had no successor, he declared Eliseth as such and a few years later Eliseth took over as one of the generals of The Watch.

Eliwyn’s younger decades in Baldur’s Gate were happy ones. Her later years, however, were marred by her first experience with loss. Growing up among humans meant that, all too soon, her friends passed on.

It was during this time, perhaps the darkest in her life at that point, that she threw herself into her faith. She had been taught of both the elven and Faerûnian pantheons, but ultimately chose to become a follower of Lathander, like her father. After saying goodbye to the last of her first friends she decided to join Lathander’s clergy. She worked and worshipped as a Dawn Priest at The Rose Portal under the various Dawnmasters who served as rectors.

Not long after turning one hundred, Eliwyn’s parents determined she had been in Baldur’s Gate for too long. They were concerned about the impact that witnessing several generations of humans come and go was having on her. So, with the help of Dawnmaster Malcolm, Eliwyn sent a letter to The Spires of the Morning in Waterdeep stating her desire to become a Dawnbringer, a speciality priest of Lathander.

On the fourteenth of Tarsakh, 1485 DR she arrived on the bustling and somewhat disorienting streets of Waterdeep.

Animal: hummingbird

A hummingbird symbolizes joy, resilience, and adaptability. Thanks to their hovering flight and energetic nature, they represent the sweetness of life. Many cultures also view them as spiritual messengers, signs of healing, or comforting reminders that a departed loved one is near.

Song: The Water is Wide, by The Gothard Sisters

I have a lot of songs I associate with Eliwyn, but as of today this one is the one I’m vibing with for her. For those who are up to date on my fic, this is the song Genli will go on to write about Eliwyn after their tough-love heart-to-heart in the Feywild

Month: Tarsakh (April)

Tarsakh is when three major events in Eliwyn’s life take place (to date in fic):

1. She experienced her Awakening and devoted herself to Lathander

2. She met Gale

3. She left Waterdeep

Number: 3

This will be revealed closer to the end of my fic!

Day or night: day

Day! No notes lol.

Plant: Lavender

Eliwyn is a very calm and comforting person. She also loves to use lavender in her herbal remedies and it’s one of her favorite scents/flavors.

Smell: Lemon Balm and Vervain

Aka Mrs. Meyer’s Clean Day (which is my preferred hand soap/multi-surface cleaner. My house smells like Eliwyn, and yours can, too!)

Season: Spring and Autumn

Spring is obvious as she’s a springlady. But autumn I associate with her as it is a transition between life and death. Given that she is an elf living among humans she is often walking the line between her own long life and the shorter lives of those around her.

Food: Potato and Leek Tart

Eliwyn lives her life split between worlds (human and elf, Patriar and commoner). I like this dish for her because it is both rustic and delicate, a nice balance between two different flavors. It’s also from a blog that does fantasy recipes, and this one was listed under elven dishes. Recipe found here!

Astrological sign: Aquarius

Idk, I kind of associate all elves with Aquarius as they can come off aloof and emotionally unavailable 😂

Element: Water

Water is soothing and healing. Also, Eliwyn grew up near the water, along the Chionthar. She lived in Waterdeep. And, once we get to the end, she will spend quite a lot of time near another body of water 😉

Drink: Lavender Tea with Milk and Honey

This drow must be a sorcerer then, for he does not have the look of a scholar. “Oh, I apologize. I meant to ask: are you studied in magic. Namely: are you a wizard? Which you are not.”

The drow scowls at the condescending edge in Gale’s words. It was mostly unintentional, a product of his year of isolation. But he blazes forward nonetheless. His original quest that saw him leave the safety of his tower in the first place has not been abandoned. He will have to find solutions to both of these problems simultaneously. But there is no knot he cannot untangle.

Or in this case, knots.

“If you meet any elder wizards, let me know. There is a matter I'd like to seek advice on from a master.” As he speaks he catches an eye roll from the dark haired woman.

“You know, Eliwyn could probably use a hand with camp,” she says. “Why don’t you start repaying the favor of us saving you by helping her instead?”

The drow regards him closer now, obviously taking his measure. Gale keeps his expression neutral despite the rush he feels at the mention of Eliwyn’s name.

“That’s a bad idea. Just follow that stream.” He motions past the crashed ship. “You’ll come to a stone structure and camp is just through there. Let her know we’ll be back by sundown.”

“Magical,” says Gale with what he hopes is a winsome smile, and he sets off.

His feet carry him along the bank of the stream, his thoughts oscillating between all that’s happened and all that awaits him. Or rather who awaits him at this camp. Now that it’s so close he doesn’t know if he’s dreading this moment or longing for it.

The dilapidated stone building described by the drow comes into view. Gale climbs through what was once a window. There, on the other side of the stream, is a woman busying herself about the sparse camp that’s been set.

His heart pounds in his neck and with it, the orb pulses.

His steps are slow and quiet as he crosses the log fallen over the stream. He tracks her every move as she makes her way to the embankment of the river. The mere sight of her has him entranced, as if gripped by some spell.

She sheds her shoes and wades into the gently lapping water. Her hands wrap around the back of her neck and she raises her face to the cloudless sky.

The hymn she sings carries back to him on the warm breeze. It is not the traditional highsun hymn of The Spires. It’s a much less popular one written by Rhyester many centuries ago. He knows it to be her favorite of all the Lathanderian hymns. Her singing has improved, or maybe it’s simply that the absence of her voice these past years has made it all the sweeter now to his ears. He should make his presence known, but listening to her makes him want to tarry just a little longer.

Cupped, delicate hands splash water on her legs and arms and then her face. The glinting light draws his eyes to her legs, the bare skin glistening as water trickles down them. The tatty dress she wears leaves little to the imagination. The Eliwyn he remembers would never be caught alive in such scant clothing. She always dressed so modestly, save for within the privacy of his tower.

His gaze travels along her silhouette as it did so often whenever the thin linen sheets of his bed clung to the dip of her waist, the swell of her hips, the gentle slope of her calf…

His breath catches. Oh, but he does like it, this untamed look. He feels only the slightest twinge of embarrassment as he decides to take her in for as long as he can. A slight smile pulls at the corner of his mouth. Eliwyn in the wild.

What a thought.

What a sight.

The last notes of the hymn carry off across the water. She folds her arms about her body and sighs heavily as she wades back through the tall grass. Gale’s heart pounding anew as she reaches the bank and draws ever closer.

Her eyes meet his in a burst of bright green. All around him grows shapeless and dull. There is only her and him and the agonizing expanse of seconds as he waits for her to remember him.

She freezes for only a heartbeat before grabbing the hilt of the dagger tucked in her belt. “Who are you?” Her voice quavers.

A weight hits the bottom of his stomach. Of course she doesn’t recognize him. She may not have aged a day, but thanks to the toll of the orb and the loss of his goddess's favor, he has. He was clean shaven the last time she saw him, his hair cropped and lacking the silver that streaks through it now.

Words evade him. He imagined this moment over and over, but in his mind it was always against the backdrop of civilization—a tasteful Upper City tavern or a quiet bench in a park or along the harbor as dusk fell over the river. He never imagined their reunion here in the wilderness with the acrid smell of a crashed nautiloid wafting over them as an illithid parasite burrows into their brains.

The words he does parse together amidst the hammering of his heart and the rattling of the orb are not the eloquent ones he’s been practicing and perfecting since he embarked on his journey to find her. They are few and simple.

“Hello, Eliwyn.”

As soon as her name leaves his lips her eyes widen. Recognition dawns at last.

“Gale?” Her voice is barely a breath. Yet it resonates through him like the soft, distant peel of the bells of The Spires over the streets of the home they once shared.

Then, she is a blur of pale and gold dashing towards him. Only two points of bright, fierce green remain steady. She collides into him, almost knocking him back. Her arms wrap tight around his neck.

“Gale, oh gods, Gale,” she whispers next to his ear. “You’re here…”

The feel of her takes him by surprise. In his constant vigilance to keep the orb’s hunger sated and its power at bay he hadn’t realized how starved he had become over the last year or more.

Starved for touch. Starved for affection. Starved for the simple company of another mortal. His body has almost forgotten how to respond to a hug, something that was once so second nature. But she squeezes him tighter, her fingers grasping the nape of his neck, and he folds his arms around her.

For so long she was nothing more than a spring breeze drifting in and out of his memories. Now here she is, warm and solid and soft within his arms. Past the scent of the nearby wreckage and a morning of hard, hot work he can still smell her: lemon balm and vervaine and honey left in the sun to warm. He breathes her in and holds her tight, fearing that if they let go of each other now he will open his eyes to the lonely hopelessness of his tower.

Centuries pass as they cling to each other. When she pulls away the vast years fold into the smallest of moments. She puts her hands on either side of his face and searches his eyes.

“It’s really you?”

“Yes. I am no more a figment if your imagination than you are of mine.” He brings a finger to her cheek to stop a tear from going any further. “Are these tears on my behalf?”

“What tears?” Another renegade droplet slips from the corner of her eye. She gives a little laugh. “Oh, I suppose I’m just that glad to see you…I almost didn’t recognize you…”

She brushes back the hair from his temple as she had so many times during those days together in Waterdeep. Her hand trails down the side of his face, past his ear, to the thick of his beard. Her eyes flick to the faint, dark blue tracks leading from his eye. Concern crosses her face for the briefest moment before she smiles softly and looks into his eyes again.

“But it is you, and you’re here. How you’re here I don’t…I thought…oh, but it doesn’t matter.” She presses her forehead against his.

As for my adaptation into Forgotten Realms and for Eliwyn…

Elves like Eliwyn are fairly rare. They are a product mostly of The Retreat though some did exist before. They were born or primarily raised in the cities of Faerûn, many of which are largely human. These elves spent their youth with their friends of other, shorter lived races. Maybe they had a lover or two or more. Some of them might have married and had children before reaching their one hundredth birthday.

Of course, this means they inevitably have to watch their dear ones pass away. Experiencing such grief, and so much of it, leaves a mark. It clings to them despite any efforts to conceal it.

Other elves, especially those that have lived their lives in elven realms, can sense this grief in a Forlorn Elf. This aura, for lack of a better word, makes some elves wary while others feel pity that an elf’s soul should be so weighed down. Each elven realm has their own term for these elves. In Myth Drannor they were called The Forlorn. In Iyrandrar they are The Faded. In Evereska they are The Lost.

Forlorn Elves often feel alienated from their more traditional kin. Another source of this “othering” is the fact that many Forlorn choose to follow the pantheon of humans. Perhaps they do so as a way to better assimilate or maybe because being a Forlorn makes them feel detached from The Seldarine. Or maybe the portfolios of the human gods simply speak to them more.

Some of these Forlorn Elves choose to cope with their grief by remaining aloof and distant from other races. Others choose to throw themselves entirely into the fast paced world of their friends and neighbors and try not to think too hard about the future. Still, others choose to take up the adventuring life. They travel constantly, never settling anywhere long enough to form deep bonds or to see those bonds reach their natural end.

In a lot of ways, Forlorn Elves are not too different from half-elves. They both live their lives split between two worlds, never feeling quite at ease in either one.

So there you have it!