100 AC / 55 HA
Hermione
"You are far too resilient for your age, child," Mother Rhoyne spoke while staring at my bleeding arm.
I did not know how to respond to it, so I gave her a dry chuckle.
"I have faced far greater pain than a cut arm. This is merely what is needed to fulfill our task," I said while wiping my blood-soaked hands.
"I know you have questions of your own, child. Your father is not here to stop you," she said with hidden meaning. I had the feeling she did not truly understand.
"Father would never stop me from asking questions. I just did not think my worries were worth the limited time we have," I answered, still doubtful.
"You are right, but even in this dire situation, we seem to have stumbled upon that strange interval. Perhaps it is fate, perhaps it is destiny, but in any case, you have a chance," she spoke mystically.
I looked around, and seeing as Father had not returned yet, I gave myself permission for this indulgence.
"I did have something I wished to ask," I said cautiously. Mother Rhoyne smiled, beckoning me to speak. "I have not known my mother. She died at my birth. Father… Father has always been truthful with me. He promised that he would tell me everything about it whenever I asked. But I fear the consequences of this choice. Ever since I was little, my father has been my only parent, and he was never lacking. He was bound to his duties, but he did make time for me. He had expectations of me, but never burdened me with them. Even so, I could see my actions weighed on him. So I carried myself the way he wanted me to, and somewhere along the way, I too became the person he wanted me to be." I paused to collect myself.
"I do not hold that against him. I am content with the person I am now. Yet, when I happen upon people being showered with motherly affection, I cannot help but long for it too. It never lasts, that longing, because whenever I contemplate asking Father about my mother, I see the effect it has on him. There is a sadness that colours his face, and it chains my mouth. It pains me to see him that way. Even on our journey here, I expressed my concerns and he was ever welcoming to answer. He went so far as to provide reassurance to my concerns. Still, I have that fear deep-seated in me."
"What are you truly afraid of, child? Knowing what happened to her, or the effect it has on Hadrian?" Mother Rhoyne asked, intercepting my thoughts.
Before I could speak, she interrupted once more. "Be truthful not to me, but to yourself, because the concerns you have expressed are utterly minor in the face of the knowledge you seek. Hadrian has lived far longer than you; he needs no protection from sadness. He has learned to deal with it in his own way. I ask again: what are you truly afraid of?"
Her words gave me pause. What was I truly afraid of? Father had indeed reassured me countless times. Part of me feared learning the truth, but a large part of me did truly wish to know who my mother was—not merely her name or her face, but who she had been. I stood there motionless, churning my thoughts. Then, like a whisper, it came to me.
"I—I do not wish to suffer." It was cruel of me to say, but that was the truth I had landed on. Mother Rhoyne did not speak; she gave me a hopeful smile while battling the Taint, asking me to speak further.
"I fear that knowing my mother will only bring me pain and suffering. I have lived thus far with the knowledge that she had lived once, but she had always been a shadow to me. No name or face to attach to. I used to see her in every motherly figure I ever encountered. Even you—when you came in my visions, I thought you were my mother beckoning me." I felt my chest constrict as a heaviness centred on it.
"If I am told the complete truth of her life, it would break me. In my mind, she is the kindest, prettiest, most pure being to ever exist. To have someone so treasured not be with me... I do not think I will be able to live with the sadness of it all. The desire for her to be with me. I would be crushed by it," I answered, as the truth broke through the thoughts and feelings I had always kept restrained. Tears flooded my cheeks as my eyes glistened.
"Oh, Sweetling, that is the most beautiful thing about love. It is not merely the happiness of knowing who your mother was, but also the grief of her loss. It is because you grieve for her that you will one day embark on the path of love yourself. Her memory will guide your actions. Your sorrow is a sign of your love for a woman you know not the name or face of. Yet you love her so deeply. You care, child, and that is far more than many others can say for themselves. Those who have never known love and loss could never truly understand themselves or others. They are, in ways, the saddest in existence, and cruel in their actions." Her words resonated with me, but it was not easy to put those words into action.