#trechire

[littlegalerion]

Again, another piece I did. I tried to see how the AI handled it. It's still obviously AI, but man, we are so screwed for the future, y'all.

The original:

[littlegalerion]

Mother and Daughter

Wrote this piece, because I find myself wanting to write little snippets of moments from my characters’ lives. This one however quickly made me wish I had it in me to do that “Greymoor Rewritten” project, but now revised as a totally new concept as Caafire being the hero of the story, not Trechire. 

Warnings: Piece involves Self Harm, and Heavy Subjects

Trechire couldn’t remember the last time she’d been to her Villa, but she knew that she hated it more than anything in her entire life. This little castle, a prize given to her by the Psijics for helping them save Tamriel, always sat empty. There were furnishings here and there, enough to sustain someone living within the isolated confines, but not enough to make it truly look like a home. Honestly, the place felt more like a graveyard to Trechire, and the castle itself was her own tomb, always waiting to welcome her back. 

For the past six or seven months, she’d lived in Rimmen, in the warm and lively Hall of the Lunar Champion. She’d worked her ass off to make it a home, every last aspect of it, until even a grim, old imperial bastard agreed it was quite lovely. Now only Hughe remained there, “keeping the hall ready for its mistress’ return”. Trechire hadn’t had the heart to tell him the truth. She hoped he’d eventually forgive her, if they ever saw each other again. There was a fair chance her time in Tamriel was over. 

It certainly felt that way. Just the thought of returning to the mortal world made the wolf inside her bristle. Instantly a thousand possibilities of what could happen, who could be lost, what had happened and how it could have been worse, all flashed through her mind, leaving her with a searing headache. Each time, she’d put a hand to her middle. Four months along now, but it felt like time was slipping between her fingers. 

Though this place felt like death to her, it was the only truly safe place for Trechire’s third child. They wouldn’t be given away to a better life due to a wicked father’s sin, or taken from her by the very same man and killed, only a week spent in her arms… No, this child would be free from Tamriel’s sick sense of fate. Her enemies could come and try, but their bones would decorate her tomb for her child to laugh at as they grew older. If anything tried to breach Artaeum’s isolation, Trechire, not to mention all of the Psijics, would know within a heartbeat. Nothing could surprise her here. 

That’s what she had thought, until Trechire heard footsteps approaching her. 

She bolted up from where she had been kneeling, taking in the scents around her. The last thing she needed was a forced transformation- it wouldn’t hurt the baby, but it certainly felt uncomfortable to her. 

Salt water’s musty smell drenched her senses, as it mixed with the freshwater of her little estate overhead from a waterfall cascading down into the stolen ocean water. Trechire had been kneeling to her memorials, a place tucked away from prying eyes, down steep stairs and hidden under the waterfall. Here she could mourn in peace, even if Valsirenn or Celarus decided to visit. They knew to patiently wait for her within the castle itself. This was neither of them. 

To Trechire’s surprise, she caught the scent of her mother approaching. 

Sure enough, Caafire came walking down the steps, looking unsettled. The magic Artaeum naturally radiated must have been affecting her. Caafire’s own body was filled with too much magika, which seemed to recharge or multiply at nerve wracking speeds. In order to keep it from combusting into raw, untempered chaos, the mer had always been forced to keep arcane ruins burned into her body, and even then, her features could constantly change. One day she could be a small altmer woman with long, soft hair who looked like a farmer's wife. The next day, she could be a well muscled man with a beard that would have taken years to grow out. Caafire’s preference was to remain biologically a woman, but allow the magika in her to shift her outward appearance to that of a well toned man, with thick scruff dominating the bottom of her face, eyes narrowed and transfixed on whatever her mind was set on that day. The duality seemed to sate the overflowing magika, so it was as close to being stable as she could be. 

It would take a lot to bring her back to Artaeum, for these medical reasons as well as personal ones. But as she descended the stairs, and saw her daughter looking up at her, the seasoned battlemaster’s resolve spiked. She closed the distance, offering out her arms. 

“I knew you’d be here,” Caafire mused quietly, and embraced Trechire tightly.

Trechire didn’t responded, but fought back an onslaught of tears. 

“When I was sick or hurt, I didn’t want anyone to see me either,” Caafire mumbled. “I found the most secluded cave, far around the rocky parts of this island, swimming through what I really shouldn’t have chanced, just to cry in that cave where nobody could hear me.” She kissed the top of Trechire’s head. “But it’s alright to cry- we shouldn’t have felt the need to hide it.”

At that, Trechire lost it and fell into a wailing fit. Her body trembled, her grabbing onto her mother as she rocked back and forth. No doubt it’d bring on a panic attack, so even after the cries subsided, she’d be unable to talk but just sit and shake, holding onto Caafire like a three year old. 

“You’re smart,” Caafire soothed, making them both sit down on the cold stone pathway, and rocking with Trechire. “Your baby will be safe here.”

For a while, they just sat like this, Trechire wailing, Caafire silently crying with her, as they rocked. Who knows how long it lasted exactly, as time is so complicated on Artaeum. Nonetheless, it outlasted every last tear they had to give, and Trechire found herself no longer shaking, not even from her mental sickness. 

“I-I can’t loose t-this one,” Trechire croaked, breath hitching. 

“No, you can’t,” Caafire agreed, and withdrew to look her daughter in the face. Both their eyes were red, and the memory of a young, newborn Sunnabela being stolen away to his death reflected in them. “You won’t.”

Trechire paused, mouthing something, obviously wanting to speak but something was holding her back. 

“What is it?” Caafire asked quietly, comfortingly rubbing up and down Trechire’s arms. “You can speak.”

The moment hung heavy in the air, but Trechire shook her head, and looked as if she’d fallen a bit further into her misery. 

“You can tell me,” Caafire assured her. “No more secrets- that’s what we all agreed on.” She sighed, and kept rubbing Trechire’s arms in an attempt to ground her. “You’re just like your father, though. We made that agreement and he still keeps his secrets. Because he thinks it’ll protect us all in the long run, be it from a physical enemy or just emotional damage.”

Trechire only coughed, an attempt to cry again but she was spent, despite her body protesting. 

“Trechire,” Caafire prompted gently, and held her chin to make her daughter look at her. “You can tell me. No one will be in danger or hurt, not here. Nobody can hear us. And I have thick skin.”

“...Su-S-S-Su-Sunnabela w-wasn’t the f-first,” Trechire stuttered, starting to breathe quickly, body trembling and twitching. Her mother rubbed her arms again, staving off the attack. 

“What do you mean?” Caafire inquired, confused, and dreading the answer, as the grief on Trechire’s face only cut deeper. 

“I-I had o-one before…” Trechire explained, wheezing now as she spoke. “I-I h-had a-a-anot-ther b-boy.” She started shaking hard now, rocking once again as she tried to cry but nothing came. “T-The Fa-F-Fath-her wa-waa-waas…” Trechire couldn’t finish, shaking her head and going to claw at her face, but Caafire grabbed her hands and held them down. “G-Gave hi-hi-him a-away!’ Trechire screamed, trying to yank her hands free. “H-He c-couldn’t f-find him! I-I COULDN’T LE-LET HIM! N-NEC-CRO-CRO-CRO-RO-” She coughed, choking on the word. “NE-NECROMANCER! LY-LYING NEC-CROMA-MANCER!” 

She truly couldn’t speak anymore, and the memory of her firstborn in her arms, only for a minute after delivery, all blurry from the pain and fear of her first birth, it all summoned a sorrow from depths Trechire wasn’t aware she even had. She cried again, fresh tears returning, but she wondered if these were made from her blood itself. They were hot, slicing down her face and stinging her skin, making it impossible to see.

Caafire said nothing, but held Trechire close again, encouraging her daughter to claw at her mother’s skin and not her own. She was dumbfounded, horrified, and infuriated all at once. Caafire thought back to Sunnabela, how she had tracked and mutilated a few of the accomplices to the kidnapper. It hadn’t been enough for her. Her grandson’s death could never be forgiven or forgotten. Now…now… now there were two to avenge, and how long had her daughter bled from this and the culprit gone unpunished? 

A chilling thought popped into her head. Though she hated to provoke her daughter further, Caafire shakily asked, “Trechire… Was it him? Was…Was this necromancer… Was he the one who took Sunnabela?”

Trechire cried harder, almost shrieking, but nodded furiously as she rocked. 

For all this time, Caafire and Vanus had thought their grandchild’s kidnapping and death was the result of the Galerion name sowing countless enemies. Those involved had all been necromancers, and one had even bore a symbol of the Worm Cult. 

But no. This was revenge, pure malice towards their daughter, when a fatal strike had already been dealt by the vermin. 

“Before I leave,” Caafire whispered into Trechire’s ear, “you’re going to tell me the necromancer’s name, where you left my first born grandchild, and all of this is going to end… Once and for all.” 

[littlegalerion]

Valsirenn:  So, that’s what you did with the ring? Trechire: Yeah~!  Valsirenn: Fair enough. I like men with a bite to them, too.

>>>>>>> 

Was thinking about posting about jewelry Trechire always has on her, but that lead to me wondering just what happened to her wedding ring from her marriage to Abnur. There’s no way she would ever depart with it, even after she accepted he was gone forever. She’d slip it off her finger, sure, but it always has to be with her. 

I have no idea if this is gonna be canon or not, but I thought the idea of Trechire melting down the ring, having the gold reshaped into fangs, then enchanted to be bound to her soul and all (because sometimes her deaths result in her entire body being destroyed but then her body randomly popping back into existance), is just so funny to me. Imagine her lycan form, the fangs being enchanted further to morph with the form, so she has these huge golden fangs. 

Again, no idea if I will keep this or not. Looking at Trechire here, she really is starting to look like the main protag gone through WAY too many adventures. But hey, that’s who she is. 

Valsirenn and her are having cheesecake and a sleep over, listening to “Nothing Good” from Centaurworld on loop while trying not to both break down sobbing over their similar emotional trauma. 

That’s like every other night for them, honestly. Vivec is very jealous of Val. 

[littlegalerion]

Trechire, in her updated outfit and with her bestest boy, Handsome Dancer. 

“Kinda” shaded and then unshaded! For a hot minute, I almost forgot her tats! 

Both the outfit and the dog were gifts from Rigurt, by the way. 

[littlegalerion]

I won't lie, I love how quickly Laloriaran is willing to assume violence is the answer to a problem. I've never seen or heard anything more Ayleid in my life.

Yeah, he is a softer and compassionate Ayleid, but he was still raised with that cultural outlook. He himself doesn't want to resort to violence, but he automatically assumes that's what it will take because that's all he's ever been shown.

Also adds a new layer to him being smitten with the Vestige. This absolute tank of an individual just wrecking house in Coldharbour, no problems whatsoever, and King Dynar's Ayleid self be like 😍😍😍😍

[littlegalerion]

So...if Trechire can see King Dynar's spirit during Old Life Festival...and I know 100% that she still practices that tradition to the current time in the 4th Era... That means, at some point, toddler Sunnabela was with Trechire during the shrine visitations, and Laloriaran's spirit, for a moment, got to see his son, and Sunnabela got to see what his father looked like.

[littlegalerion]

Thinking about how "The Vampire Scholar" could possibly be the most mentally traumatizing thing Trechire could ever go through. Hearing Fennorian's screams are possibily her biggest nightmare, and all I can imagine is that in her crazed state of bolting through the halls to find him, she hallucinates Raveoov's shadow and laughter ahead of her.

Thank goodness in canon Trechire wasn't the hero of Greymoor .

[littlegalerion]

I'm nearing the end of the Dragonhold questline finally and...why did no one tell me how good this DLC was?

For real, Trechire is going through so much emotional turmoil mostly due to basically being pushed to become Auriel's Champion.

These speak volumes to her, as I imagine it does to many Vestiges.

With all she has faced and lost up to this point? This hits. Especially knowing what is about to happen with Abnur, to her first stable and true marriage...

Also though, she came across this as well:

I had somewhat forgotten how Hircine was involved with Khajiit lore. He basically is depicted as a heartbroken divine who watched his love be turned upon by her husband and killed. Of course we know Hircine is anything but a pure little lovelorn stag, but...reading up on his lore in the Khajiit mindset... It definately gave him more emotional identity.

Especially with "being fond of mortals, children of Nirni."

I like to believe Hircine does hold love towards Trechire, one of his greatest Champions. Not romantic, but a fondness and unfathomable pride. Perhaps he pities her heartbreak, and commends her for still hunting onward despite her loses, and still taking down great prey as if she was never shaken?

Makes the fact Sheogorath eventually took her for his own rather tragic. Hircine stood behind and supported the Vestige for centuries. Blessed her, guided her, loved her. And just like with Nirni, Trechire was swept away by her own choice for a different lover.

RIP Stag Dad.