"...With odd old ends stol'n out of holy writ,
And seem a saint, when most I play the devil."
King Richard III
The dreams continue to haunt me.
I dreamt that it was revealed, 'twas a demon who fathered me. One slaughtered by his brother for the vile act of procreation with humanity, as they attempted to slaughter myself as but a wee babe in my mother's arms.
So she fled, and to secrecy she retained my father's true name, for demons die truly only when their name is extinguished. It was not love that brought her there, or at least not love as I can understand it... but it was also not purely the search for power.
She had been looking for a translator, a translation, perhaps, of the name? Perhaps spoken aloud, it would bring his spirit to notice, to answer questions. Or perhaps, spoken softly, it would bring him to rest.
One of us, at least. I cannot, for I have bad dreams.