#trammander

[looseinthecatroom]

Reblog with your niche ass ships I guess

[just-another-pigeon]

I know I said last year might be the last time I post Trammander art for Erris’ birthday because I had run out of ideas. Well. I was wrong. Obviously.

So here we are, in the sixth year, with another batch of random Trammander moments:

Erris falls asleep in the middle of sword-sharpening, and Trahearne thinks she's dead because Orr is an awful place to find someone unconscious;

Trahearne successfully grows ① sapling in the dead land, and Erris is being very normal about it;

Trahearne receives Saladbolg but doesn't know how to use a greatsword, so Erris tries to teach him to wield it like a guardian, which ends very unfavorably;

and finally, Trahearne speaking his arguably most (in)famous line, Run, you filthy cowards! while Erris stands next to him like, Oh no, the useless mercenaries broke my Marshal.

There. Hopefully there will be more next year, and in the years after that. And then some.

[lady-quen]

More of Commander Aestus ( @mithosis ) and my AUhearne's shenanigans.

Someone tell grandpa it's fuck up.

Based on this post

[icebrooding]

Collab between @thornandshield and I!

They lined and coloured my sketch (beautifully btw <3) of Trahearne needing his Commander Novus's... 'help' opening a jar.

Moment of silence for the jam, ruined forever.

[aetherblooms]

behold #myvision

[averagebreadslice]

Hey…

[i-had-bucky]

A small unfinished word doodle of my new Norn, Hradi, who finds a Trahearne who didn't die in the jungle while helping out in the fractals during soto.

There was something familiar about the jungle. Not just that it was Meguuma—they'd recognize the vines of Meguuma anywhere, remembers them best the way they had wrapped around—

They shut the thought down before it can fully form, close their eyes and take a deep breath. Torvi presses against their hip, nosing his head under their hand. It was a good thing because after two steps into the clearing ahead, Hradi's entire body froze.

It wasn't that they knew who was kneeling next to an injured woman, carefully cleaning a gash in her arm. It was just that htey would have recognized the shape of him anywhere, anytime. The way the leaves fell across his forehead, that subtle golden glow, like a sunrise in the Grove. The warm gold of his eyes staring right at Hradi.

"Hradi?" His voice cracked. "Hradi Eyjolfsson?"

The words wouldn't come. They lodged in Hradi's throat and threatened to choke them.

The old curse—the silence from avalanche and the blizzard and 12 year old Hradi losing everything they'd ever known. It never really left them.

They opened their mouth and nothing came out and Trahearne's eyes softened like he knew, like he recognized it, and he gestured with his head to the wounded around them.

"We could use more hands," he said, offered really, because it was always easier for Hradi when there was work for their hands. They nodded shortly and just managed to tear their eyes away from him, setting to work.

This was familiar—the cleaning and bandaging and soothing the wounded the best they could, which mostly involved Torvi purring at them and allowing them to coo over him to distract from the fact that Hradi couldn't speak. At some point, the Astral Ward flooded in and Hradi was able to back off and find a spot to breathe.

Trahearne's steps had never been light—for all that he became a general, a warrior even, he was still ever a scholar. Hradi would have recognized the pattern of his gait even if had only been able to feel the vibrations of it against the jungle floor. They were a hunter—recognizing the pattern of footfalls, of careful steps, was ingrained in them.

And here, now—

"You're alive," Trahearne said, like that was a wonder, like Hradi standing before him was a miracle he'd never thought to ask for.

Hradi swallowed hard, both against the bile that rose at the thought of any version of Trahearne saying that about them, in that tone, when they had—And against the words that just wouldn't come, that lodged in their throat with the intent to choke.

"So are you," they finally managed to get out, their voice rough and raw like it'd been dragged through gravel or burned out by a god.

"You're different," he added, glancing over towards the Astral Ward. They must have explained about the fractal, then, while Hradi was busy not having another breakdown. "Not just—" he shook his head. "Last I saw you, or a version of you I suppose, you had a braid. You were younger, less—" He looked Hradi up and down, like he could see right through him. He always had been able to; it was almost a comfort that any version of him could.

"Broken?"

"Scarred."

Hradi shrugged, looking down. Torvi pressed against them, eyeing Trahearne. "So were you." At least, mostly. This Trahearne had escaped Mordremoth mostly intact, it seemed. He was taller and there were cracks in his bark, parts that looked darker or yellower or a little more corrupted than before, but he was, unmistakably, still Trahearne. Still fighting the corruption. Hradi could see it coiled around him like the vines of the jungle, not holding him in place, but burrowing deeper, dragging the dead dragon further into Trahearne.

[nothing-is-hidden]

Glory of Tyria

I found myself back in the Maguuma Jungle. Where our airships were torn out of the sky. Fires have gone out, smoke long gone now. Natural growth has begun taking root over the decaying tendrils of the Dragon’s fading grasp.

I still look at the Glory of Tyria in its decaying state.

Now that the dragons are all but gone, what is the role of the Pact? Perhaps the Pact is as lost as I am. Wondering what to do next. Who to help next. We’ve created the Tyrian Alliance this year.

But people are becoming increasingly concerned about how heavily I influence their decisions. I do not blame them. I have single-handedly spearheaded much of our efforts to keep Tyria and abroad safe from harm.

But I have fear. The whole reason I never committed myself fully to the Pact was so that I could go undercover and infiltrate what needed to be infiltrated without worrying about the bureaucracy of such a group. I had to have the freedom of speed and knowledge to get things done. But now…

Things have changed. Things are changing. I don’t know how much longer I will be free to do as I must.

Maybe I should simply step away. Retire. But what would I do? I know it’s been 11 years since...that day. I can’t help but feel like I’m still stuck there.

Things were uncertain and rocky back in Fort Trinity with the elder dragons. But it was...also the time I was at my happiest. With you. I often find myself thinking about those days. Even if current events make us safer with more boring lives. Maybe I’m just too sentimental, but I can’t let go.

I still go back and visit all the places we went to together. I will sit there and think about those moments we shared together. About our hopes and dreams. Our fears, our happiness.

This was meant to be an entry on how I am to follow an Inquest ship to a land called “Castora,” but it ended up being about you. As it almost always does. I am told those that go to this land never come back. That it is dangerous and mysterious.

I have nothing more to lose, so I am choosing to go and investigate it. What harm could be done to me that hasn’t already happened? Maybe a reason to finally be with you again.

Ah. But I am unlikely to be that lucky. Every time I face death and am on the edge of it, something always brings me back. It is a curse. I may as well be invincible. A hallowed husk that can’t die.

I will bring flowers to your statue in the Grove before I leave, as I always have and always will do before any new task I am handed, and offer a prayer to you. Maybe you are my guardian watching over me. Keeping me safe. You always did pull the right strings for me. I just wish I could see you again, see the love and affection in those gentle eyes of yours. For you to tell me everything will be alright. All these years have worn down on me, but I am still fearful even so. I guess I still have some sort of self preservation left in me. I suppose it’s only natural.

Glory of Tyria.

This is part of a series! find the rest here: https://archiveofourown.org/series/5492711