Truthfully, there are quite a lot of things she wants to know, but none of those questions are any that she would dare to say aloud. Not just for the consequences of interrogating her Mother Tree while she is still barely conscious-- but the consequences of knowing the answer.
Why did you give Caladbolg to Trahearne? Am I as similar to Riannoc as he thought I was? Was I meant to be Riannoc’s replacement? Have you already meant to replace me, too? You were Mordremoth’s creation, does that make you similar to Glint to Kralkatorrik? Does that make us sylvari similar to Aurene? Would you have liked to meet Aurene? Would Riannoc? Would Trahearne? Can you read the thoughts in my mind? Do they seep into the Dream as they crawl into my nightmares?
Would you still care for me if you could read these thoughts in my head, Mother? Would anyone? The cowardice, the disgrace, all this playing pretend. This destiny you’ve given me is too heavy a burden to bear. I understand, you know. I finally understand what they’d felt back then. Caithe, Trahearne, Riannoc... it was all too much, what you put us all through was too much, and now, I no longer want to know.
“I give you this,” the Pale Tree breathes, and her Avatar cups Teraphany’s palm so gently that the sylvari nearly forgets that she ever hated her Mother at all.
A small, round thing falls into the lines of Teraphany’s hand. It’s a memory seed, she realises. Just like the ones they had been given for Caithe. “This seed contains Trahearne’s most precious memory with you.”
“His…?” Teraphany doesn’t know what to think. Seed as it is, the memory still thrums in her hand, and it feels warm, almost homely. Indescribably precious. “I… why would you give this to me, Mother?”
“I am sorry,” her Mother Tree weeps, and Teraphany doesn’t know what she’s apologising for, but, gods, there are so many things, so, so many. “My beautiful child. I already ask so much. Hold onto the memory. I hope that it helps you… more than it may hurt.”
