Do you think for yourself? Do any of my minions?

His first thought was no, of course the Mordrem didn't - but Trahearne closed his eyes and reminded himself of the difference between sylvari and minion. That word trick would destroy him if he let it.

His thoughts moved like molasses and the endless argument felt like trudging through mud.

I am sylvari was an unquestionable part of his core that Trahearne wouldn't have minded discarding to make room for other, more important things. To preserve his strength in fighting over them.

He didn't much care for being sylvari in particular; much more important were things like free will. But the distinction between sylvari and Mordrem was one of the most vital points to defend. It made a nice little constellation with the Dream and the Pale Tree, which was good. They shielded each other.

Oh, dear... It seems the Pact Commander has deserted you.

The genuine concern in Mordremoth's voice led Trahearne to believe its proclamation for a moment; he started, head jerking up from where he hung slumped in the vines, eyes scanning as if to verify, even though his Commander was doubtless miles away and Mordremoth was merely reporting from the eyes of his minions.

Then his unquestionables caught up to him. You were HIS Commander.

Mordremoth always spoke of the Commander distantly, connecting you to the idea of the Pact which was already unstable. So Trahearne made sure always in his thoughts to think of the Commander as his; personal. Friendly. A term he would usually only use, even to himself, in the most intimate of moments, such as the moment of the cleansing of Orr.

You had devoted yourself to him in Orr, and Trahearne treasured that commitment. It meant the world to him.

Now it was the easiest thing to cling to amidst Mordremoth's attacks. I trust my Commander.

Mordremoth attacked those memories, too: of the Orrian campaign and Arah. He made Trahearne feel dirty and twisted. He'd showed Trahearne a twisted Mordrem meant to look like him and said this is what you look like now. Just like a Risen.

I am sylvari. My Wyld Hunt is to cleanse Orr. I love Orr.

More unquestionables. The distinction of whether it IS is Wyld Hunt or if it WAS wasn't something Trahearne had the strength to hold. "My Wyld Hunt WAS" had only been part of his identity for two years. "My Wyld Hunt IS" had been part of his identity for over twenty, rooted deep and unchallengeable even by himself, certainly safe from Mordremoth.

The memory of the cleansing was something Mordremoth liked to question quite a bit, given how much solace Trahearne had taken from it in the beginning of his captivity. If his ritual hadn't really taken hold, if it had only been an illusion, if he had deceived himself out of wishful thinking...

The core of it, though, was that he had done everything he needed to do. He had done all he could, regardless of the outcome.

But that was too vague, or too big, and it had fallen quickly under Mordremoth's onslaught of questions about this instance or that in which it could be argued that he had NOT done all he could.

"I trust my Commander," Trahearne reiterated restlessly.

Mordremoth regaled him with an account of what the Commander was up to, painted in the worst terms possible.

Trahearne believed him. "I trust my Commander." The things you were doing had to be right. "I trust my Commander."

No matter what you did, no matter what Mordremoth accused you of doing, you had to be trustworthy. It was unquestionable.

He couldn't remember why he trusted you or for what cause, and it didn't matter. Nothing you did could be allowed to change that.

~oOoOo~

Mordremoth changed his tactics. He put a horrible nasty dirty seed in Trahearne's mind. He seized control of Trahearne's body for a moment and moved something in his brain. Trahearne fought him off. Mordremoth seized control again and tweaked something else.

Trahearne fought with adrenaline-fuelled terror, panicking and grasping and clawing at whatever he could, winning an inch here or a centimeter there, a minute of space in one moment to recover for the next onslaught.

And yet, slowly but surely, Mordremoth built a haven inside Trahearne's head, physically within him, as safe from harm as Trahearne's own life, and within it the dragon stored the roots of his own self.

Trahearne heard it chanting mantras in his head day and night. I am Mordremoth, I am the jungle dragon, all this land is mine. I dominate all minions and all life. I am the jungle, the land, the world.

I am Trahearne, I am sylvari, I think and I choose. I am loyal to the Pale Tree and committed to the Dream. My duty is to protect people and my Wyld Hunt is to cleanse Orr. I love Orr and I trust my Commander.

In his weakest moments, that was all there was. He couldn't remember the others, or they were less certain (but all the unquestionables were unquestionable, and he wouldn't entertain doubt, so he just said the ones he was sure of and focused on those).

But in his strongest moments, Trahearne developed and refined these core unquestionables, adding new ones to the litany and repeating them so they would embed themselves in his psyche.

It always felt small and weak compared to Mordremoth's voice. Whether it was truly so or not, Trahearne didn't know and couldn't spare the energy to defend such a conclusion either way.

But in his more present moments, when he and Mordremoth traded complex arguments on the nature of things like unity; the Pact; what constituted danger or a threat; the finer points of philosophy on self-defense (Mordremoth actually had very intriguing thoughts on the role of anger in defense of oneself or others), loyalty, and obedience; the wisdom behind his various tactical decisions, the soundness of his choices; or the certainty of his knowledge of Orr and it's cleansing...

In those moments, Trahearne marveled at the seed Mordremoth put in his head, and he in fact began building a similar niche for his own core unquestionables. It had to be somewhat mobile in the sense that it could not be unduly attached to other thoughts or beliefs, and it also had to be capable of growing. It had to have enough in it to fuel the re-development of himself and his worldview, in case Mordremoth succeeded in destroying the rest of him.

Some of their debates were quite helpful in developing this seed; Trahearne learned how to articulate more fully his ideas on critical thought, how they interplayed with trust (Mordremoth loved to pick on these seeming contradictions of Trahearne's core philosophy), and the nature and purpose and identity of the Pact. He encoded a few of the qualities of his Commander he treasured most, and of the Pale Tree and the Dream, so that his seedling self would know them somewhat.

Thinking of his seed as separate from himself was part of the key; he noticed Mordremoth never spoke of his seed as part of him but as a creation of his.

~oOoOo~

It was one of those quiet moments, when Mordremoth was busy elsewhere and not attacking him.

There was no wind in the great cavern where Trahearne hung, but he hadn't been able to just sit and focus on physical things in so long. He felt so light without Mordremoth's unrelenting attack.

The dragon's seed still sat in its evil little niche, of course, repeating its mantras, and Trahearne still ran his unquestionables through his mind unceasingly. This was one of those times when he was alert enough to run his entire history and every memory through, which might be helpful. But he didn't. He was still building the seed, layering it deep, constructing its own set of neural pathways, and it couldn't be too big.

There wasn't room in his head for two, after all, let alone four. Himself, Mordremoth, Mordremoth's seed, and Trahearne's seed - no, the seeds had to stay small. Mordremoth's was already crude and rustic compared to his, because it was in foreign soil.

Occasionally, noises would echo through the cavern from the tunnel leading off in the distance. Every eighteen hours, the Blighting Pods down there would burst open in a spew of rot and green pus, and Mordrem would shamble out and go to join Mordremoth's army.

Dead bodies - Pact bodies - would be thrown in the recesses, and they would slowly be covered over with the same green sludge that would thicken, harden, and form the shell of the Blighting Pod.

Mordremoth had a higher goal in mind for Trahearne, but it was much the same thing either way. Since he was sylvari, Mordremoth wouldn't use him as a template in a Blighting Tree without every last trace of rebellion being stamped out.

Trahearne felt light at the moment, but he knew that he couldn't hold out forever. Even his seed was more a last ditch effort, if not just an experiment or pastime. It wouldn't hold out on its own with nearly the success that he had against Mordremoth.

In the corner of the cavern lay the largest shard of Caladbolg. Trahearne knew it is there because at night, in the pitch darkness, there was a faint glow, and in moments like this one it called to him like a dim echo of the thing it once was.

If only it was nearer, and whole... it amplified him, it intensified who he was. Trahearne had found it rather alarming when he first began to wield it, but now he wished he had the help of it in maintaining his identity against Mordremoth.

It would probably only get destroyed, though.

~oOoOo~

He was in the upper chamber, open to the sky, again, but he was not aware of it.

I am Trahearne, I am sylvari,

What is sylvari but a disloyal minion?

I am sylvari, I think and I choose. I am loyal to the Pale Tree and committed to the Dream. My duty is to protect people and my Wyld Hunt is to cleanse Orr. I love Orr and I trust my Commander.

You already cleansed it, you Dream-addled moron!

No - I can't have - I'd know if I had -

Mordremoth pulled the memory out of the recesses of his mind and showed it to him.

Trahearne groaned in agony. My Wyld Hunt is to cleanse Orr. My Wyld Hunt is to cleanse Orr. I am loyal to the Pale Tree and committed to the Dream. My Wyld Hunt is to cleanse Orr.

The memory felt real, but so did everything else. He couldn't question is unquestionables.

Suddenly, the dragon's focus vanished. Trahearne panted slightly and repeated the unquestionables again, clinging to them like a lifeline.

His actual lifeline, a vine wrapped around his entire lower body, writhed, causing him to flop around.

Trahearne opened his eyes in time to be completely disoriented as the vine yanked him out of place.

But he glimpsed the horrified face of his Commander, only just clocking him as he sped by. I trust my Commander. I love Orr. My Wyld Hunt is -

He was being pulled back to the underground cavern, but Mordremoth began the mental assault anew.

~oOoOo~

Trahearne gasped and shuddered. Clarity doused him like a bucket of cold water.

His mind felt too big, too wide open, too coherent, his thoughts too quick. He panted in the unfamiliarity of it. He clung to his unquestionables.

I am Trahearne, I am sylvari, I think and I choose. I am loyal to the Pale Tree and committed to the Dream. My duty is to protect people and my Wyld Hunt is to cleanse Orr. I love Orr and I trust my Commander.

He'd been operating quite sharply already, compared to his usual, but the sudden complete and utter cessation of the dragon from his mind...

I am Trahearne, the Marshal of the Pact, an alliance of the three Orders, built on unity to attack the dragons. I am sylvari, Firstborn of the Pale Tree, and my Wyld Hunt is - was - to cleanse Orr, which I did in service to the Dream and with the help of my Commander...

He felt like himself again... His life wasn't under attack, doubt didn't pervade his mind like a thick fog, and...

He opened his eyes and saw you stirring from the ground along with your companions.

Mordremoth was dead.

That seed, though, still repeating its mantras, reached out a tendril and -

I am Mordremoth, I am the jungle dragon, all this land is mine. I dominate all minions and all life. I am the jungle, the land, the world.

Trahearne went rigid. He felt the mantra in his own voice - more than words. It was a perspective, with a thousand connotations and emotions pouring in with no effort on the part of the seed.

It had been rooted inside him and was far, far more powerful than Mordremoth had been. It would not just enslave him, it would transform him into the dragon itself.

His Commander and friends were rejoicing in the death of the dragon, the silencing of its voice.

But this seed would be with him forever, and Trahearne was not sure he could fight it off.

There was his own seed, but... what could it do? It was less of him than he was.

I shall have to die regardless.

"Commander? I... My sword... Caladbolg... Is nearby. It was a gift from the Pale Tree." He was reminding himself as much as his Commander. "I am connected... Bonded to it. Only it's power can free me from this. Please, bring it here."

His vague explanation would be no help in a moment. You would not want to do what had to be done. But he trusted his Commander.