I've been thinking on Trehearne and Honestly I feel like Anet didn't do him proper justice.
For All non-sylvari He's dumped on you Unceremoniously At CLAW ISLAND
And spends the majority of A Brutal, Unrelenting assault by orrian forces Vomiting his Backstory at you while you do 95% of the fighting.
Which, At least from my perspective, introduces And sets him up as someone who cannot be trusted in a combat situation. he comes off as flighty and unfocused... And then he's immediately Shoved into the Center Role for the Pact.
Someone who, Your first time spending any time with him, thinks it's appropriate to tell you about his backstory and Life calling Like someone had dropped a Jehova's Witness in the middle of an active warzone.
He goes on to redeem himself a bit, Making Choice decisions and using a frankly staggering control over necrothurgy ( necromancy But the -mancy suffix means divination ) To get you out of a few pinches.
But he still insists on Vaguely discussing his work in a non-helpful way. I would have liked to see him talk about the enemies you're facing, To rattle off some of the orrian Prince's History , to Discuss his understanding of Orrian biology and how it can be overcome
But he really.. didn't. not in a major way.
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This time it’s Trehearne who gets a soap after him. I like the purple and the gold glow, so I just put them together. Scented with honeysuckle and jasmine.
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The Soundless are amazing. Since waking from the Dream...no, even before within the Dream, there has been an endless stream of noise. Of conflict. Of talking. Of things just...overwhelming my senses. For the first time, here on their island, I have peace.
I met Quillyn. He was tired of the noise and came to get away. Soundless ignore the calls of the Pale Tree and the Nightmare Court. Every day he feels the wind against his leaves, the sand against his feet. Until I stopped to listen, I didn't realize just how stressed I was. Everything has been slowly tearing at me, even the fun I had with Corcair had affected me. I feel so tired.
It was very tempting to stay there. To be with someone who just...existed. But in my heart I know I can't. The Soundless may live the most honest life, the purest life, but they can't change anything. I watched Trehearne in the Dream watch and study Orr. It wasn't until he stepped forward as Pact leader did he truly change the world.
One day I hope to return to the Soundless, return to their calming meditation and end my days as a pure spirit. But until I fulfill my dream, I must continue on.
I’ve got to thank @xiu-quatl for inspiring me to write nearly 1,400 words in one night. Here’s a little Trehearne with my boy Amwyl based on their idea that Trehearne is a great dancer!
Night in the Grove was never truly night. Not in the sense many had for it: dark, quiet, filled with the lulling heaviness of late hours. Instead the Grove was awake and alive, with moonbeams lighting paths of night blooming flowers and humming insects.
Trahearne stood just outside the streams of light, his feet bare in the soft grass. How long it had been since he felt the cushion of fresh, springy earth beneath him he couldn’t say, and that in itself was evidence it was much too distant. He had walked through rocks and branded crystals, sea moist sand and the hard, jagged landscapes of Tyria for what felt like time unending.
But now when he wiggled his toes the dew coated his skin and cooled his body. When he padded from foot to foot, adjusting his weight and stretching out sore muscles, he felt life flow out from each blade of grass and into him. The Grove was alive and here Trehearne was too; life coursed through every part of him in a way the world outside never provided.
It was good to be home. If only for a short time — it was good to be home.
The breeze carried music with it, and Trehearne followed the sound with his eyes. Back in the stray beams of moonlight others were gathered, their silhouettes lined with a myriad of glowing veins. Color drew him towards them, as if the parts of him that were filled with that same luminescent life force were eager to be part of something larger.
As he walked closer a scene of celebration played out before him. Sylvari lounged in the grass, sipping at pale drinks and sharing in conversation. There were couples dancing in a clearing, the glimmer of their skin catching the light and throwing it back to dance on its own. A group of saplings he did not recognize played the music he heard, the sound of plucked strings and trilling flute filling the air.
“Trehearne!”
Amwyl’s voice, so familiar and bright, cut through the soft murmur of so many conversations. By the time Trehearne spotted its source he was halfway across the clearing and steadily gaining. His feet were bare too, he noticed. Glossy and damp, specked with gold and finding a spot just paces away.
“Are you hiding over here?” Amwyl’s question came with a laugh, the sound mixing with the music and making Trehearne’s world go hazy along the edges.
“I was observing,” he said, and scanned again the clearing and the assortment of couples moving about. “I had not expected to find a celebration. Are you enjoying yourself?”
“A lot.” Amwyl nodded while he glanced behind him where Trehearne was focused. When he looked back the corners of his lips were stretched wide and he reached for Trehearne’s hand. “Wanna dance with me?”
There were so few things Trehearne could deny Amwyl. Tonight, with the glow of their bodies reaching for each other and the sweet, gentle music cocooning them within the trees, there was no hope for refusal.
“I — yes, I would like that,” he started, and turned his hand in Amwyl’s to secure a better grip. Much like the grass under his feet, Amwyl’s touch sent bursts of life through him, settling deep in his chest. “But I must warn you I’m not too confident.”
“Don’t worry, I’ll be confident enough for both of us,” Amwyl answered, and before Trehearne could say any more Amwyl was walking away, tugging him along.
A few steps brought them to the edge of the dancers. By the way Amwyl squeezed his fingers against his own Trehearne could tell he wanted to be closer to the center, but held back for his sake. Here there was more room to maneuver though, and Trehearne was most comfortable with space to breathe.
Amwyl’s hands were soon on him, one resting on his waist while the other stayed holding his. There was no hesitation in the way he moved — the confidence he just spoke of flashed, fueling the motions of his body and guiding his steps.
His confidence, however, had been misplaced.
Trehearne flinched when Amwyl’s weight landed on his foot. He tried to hide the moment of pain, but before another instant passed Amwyl’s leg bumped his, nearly sending them both tumbling. His expression must have shown his surprise, as his partner stopped and apologized. They tried again, this time ending with Amwyl dragging him near halfway across the clearing.
“Dear blossom,” Trehearne said gently, slipping his hand away from Amwyl’s and taking a step backward. “You are skilled at many things. But this…”
Amwyl laughed, his eyes reflecting the glow of Trehearne’s skin as they lit up with mirth. “I’m that bad, am I?”
Trehearne wished he could deny it, but just like refusing Amwyl, he couldn’t bare to lie to him either. Instead he snaked his arm around him, just above his waist. He took his hand again, this time lacing their fingers and holding them slightly aloft.
“If I may,” he said, and motioned with a nod for Amwyl to follow his lead.
Before awakening from the Dream, Trehearne knew little about the world. When he left the Grove the very first time he knew only marginally more. What he found in Tyria, amidst the destruction and war and deep seeded fear, was freedom and merriment and hope so securely protected by all races that it filled him to the brim with things he could not put into words. What he found to express them, and what so many others taught him and joined with him in, was was dance.
There was something freeing about it, and something so connecting. It was the humans who taught him first, with their elegant waltzes and flowing gowns. The charr taught him something more fierce, with movements that left him breathing heavy and his muscles aching from use. Asura, Norn, Hylek; even the Skrit had their own dances used in celebration. It was a uniting concept, reminding Trehearne that Tyria was to be saved for the benefit of all of those who lived within it.
Now, home in the Grove so many years after leaving, his feet moved seemingly of their own accord. He mixed all the styles he knew, losing himself in the way his body flowed from one space to the next without any of the hesitation or careful planning that laced all other parts of his life. He moved freely and gracefully with the music as it changed from one song to the next, the moonlight shifting across the sky to signal the night wearing on.
Only when Amwyl slowed in his arms did Trehearne pause. He blinked, aware now that they were in the center of the clearing. Many pairs of eyes were on them, and for how long Trehearne had no guess. His next step faltered, and for the second time that night the two of them almost stumbled to the ground.
“Excuse me,” he apologized, and tore his eyes from the onlookers to watch Amwyl instead. His chest rose and fell quickly, his breath coming out in short puffs. To Trehearne it looked like he had just exited battle, not been twirled about on the dance floor.
“No, no, no,” Amwyl said, grinning and shaking his head. “Don’t excuse yourself. That was my fault. I can’t keep up with you. What the hell, Trehearne. When were you going to tell me you could dance like this?”
The heat in Trehearne’s body rose now, too. The purple glow on his face shone brighter, and he managed a soft smile. He gave himself a moment to feel the grass under his feet again, and the warm breeze rushing past him and swaying through the trees. His legs felt less stiff than they had in weeks, and his heart lighter. The crowd around them faded away, and the prick of nerves Trehearne suffered when he first noticed them dissipated. All that was left was the buzz and heat inside him, and desire to move closely with the man he loved.
“The topic never arose,” he said, and as the music swelled into a new melody he pulled Amwyl close to his chest and guided him across the clearing in another dance.
