#corrupted aerin

[the-unconquered-queen]

Can't wait for shadow!Nia to interact with Aerin. Dude's about to be verbally sent to hells even the Temple of Light hasn't discovered yet.

[bedtimegiraffe]

Aerin's Confusion in the Final Battle

I am so tickled by the idea that when the final battle happens, Aerin has no idea what's going on. I mean sure, 'Stop the Ash Empress,' but the rest of it... Nobody seems to really explain to him what they've learned. They clearly didn't tell him about Nia or true magic, and that would have been right at the top of my list of info it would be good for Aerin in particular to know.

And I think it's so funny to picture Aerin being lost and desperately trying to make it seem like he knows what's up while in the thick of this battle. Because he wants so badly for the team to like him and think he's cool. And he's so used to being the one with more information to work from than anyone else. So he's wildly fluctuating between absolutely bewildered and a cocky smirk to try and cover it.

There are so many moments that must be absolutely wild if you haven't gotten the updated lore the rest of the party did-

Nia is what?! And you're fine with that?? ...She can produce invisible magic that turns things to stone. Cool. Good for her. Seems nice.

Princess Valax, the immortal daughter of the Ash Empress is on our side now? ...Cool, cool, I'm not surprised by that. No, you're charismatic, I get it.

I'm sorry, Nia, did you just call her Mother of Grey?? Nifara did what?! ...No, I could have guessed that. It makes perfect sense. Yep, the Old Gods are real and this is one of them.

Yes, what to do about the rifts and portals. I clearly have an opinion because I understand what's going on. But I trust your judgment more than mine, so I'll just tell you I have confidence in whatever you want to do.

[niaerinisms]

Excerpt from this AU

Summary: Princess Aerin has little skill with a sword; weak, bookish princess, just another way she was naturally inferior than her brother. However this wasn’t the first time that she’s broken herself into parts and rebuilt them into someone stronger, someone better. It will be worth it in the end. It has to be (it will be, so he tells her).

[chaoticdazefire-new]

Oh Aerinnnn I THINK I NEED YOU NOW???

[raleigh-edward]

It would be so fun to see MC being corrupted and buying into Valax's manipulation.

What if MC as a realm walker could wield both Light and Shadow Magic? What if she's a direct descendant of the Old Gods?

What if they give a Daenerys arc to MC and she goes berserk by the end like Bloodbound MC did and turns the Light Realm to ash?

[fearofffear]

when aerin was corrupted he was able to get inside our heads and now nia did the same... won't you look at that

[undermounts]

and other forgotten things

Summary: One year into his imprisonment, Aerin receives his first visitor.

Or alternatively, my version of the ch. 2 prison scene because I wanted more angst and anger <3

Read it here on AO3

-

Aerin is no stranger to envy.

He has spent his life wanting. Knowledge, affection, attention, power. Things he coveted but could never have from a family that did not want him, a kingdom that would not have him. Such was his lot in life, from the very beginning. He is Aerin Valleros, second son of the Gentle King, brother to the Crown Prince.

Or at least he was.

Now, Aerin is… well, he no longer knows what he is. A nobody, perhaps. Or worse than that, he is forgotten. He is a dark stain on a long and questionable legacy, the corrupt end to a line of corrupt rulers. He is an afterthought, a bad memory, an unwanted trinket that had long since lost its novelty, just another object to be tossed away with all of the other lost and broken things.

Aerin Valleros, brother to no one, heir to nothing.

And still, he wants. 

The thirst for knowledge—a most noble pursuit, his tutors had always said—has never waned. But affection, attention, power!—his ambition, his hunger, has been dampened. He has lived without each before, and he shall live without each again. He will do so gladly if it means he can have the one thing he now desires above all else: freedom.

A small window, set in cold, grey stone—his only connection to the outside world. The mingled chatter of people crossing the streets far below drifts up through the bars, too distant to be distinguishable. People, his people, living. 

In the hallway outside his cell, Aerin hears the scuffle of boots against ancient stone, the clink of armor, the whisper of fabric; his guards moving in another rotation. So soon? Aerin cannot help but wonder, questioning his own perception of time. How reliant he has become on the routines of his keepers, the punctual rotation of their shifts serving as his only means of marking the passage of time since he was left–discarded–in this cell a year ago.

Softly, distantly, he mourns, A year…

His name day–twenty one years now, he has lasted–came and went, alone in his cell. His father never even sent word, no acknowledgment that his second son–his only son, now–still existed. 

A metallic, shimmery noise, a dozen keys rattling together and then–click!

Aerin blinks as the door to his cell swings open. Too early for mealtime, his mind races, a tasteless bowl of sludge. 

All thoughts trickle out of his head as a figure enters his cell, clad in black leather armor, the scent of ash heavy in the air. For a moment, Aerin recalls volcanic fields and the constant presence of fear and agony all around him, but then his impossible reality reforms around him and he stares, slack-jawed .

“Iliana.”

Aerin does not mean to say her name, had vowed to never speak of her, never think of her again. But she is here, miraculously, cursedly, before him, in his blasted cell, a sight he never thought he would see beyond his dreams, his nightmares.

But it is in his nature to be wary, and life in court has taught him that deception is a means for survival. He stands, establishing equal ground, and lets his mask fall over him like a shroud.

“I wondered if you’d ever come and visit me,” he says evenly, each word pleasant but caustic. “It certainly took you long enough.”

How often, in the early days of his imprisonment, had he thought of this moment? At first, he dreamed that she would come to him, beg for forgiveness–how she had wronged him!– to proclaim her dedication to right this wrong, to free him, to undo the damage she had done. Then, as the days dragged on into months, and despair, desperation, and regret–the hurt!–set in, his visions of her shifted. She was vengeance: her blades, her bow, her fists–the arbiters of a swift and terrible justice, acting on behalf of herself, her brother, her friends, and Morella. Some nights, he even begged–let it be quick. 

It is hatred, it must be, he thinks, that threatens the stability of his bones now. And fear of her, the woman who had been his undoing. Everything that has come for him after is well-deserved; this he cannot deny, no matter how much it stings. His betrayal and hers, they are wounds he will never heal from.

And yet, Aerin is not prepared for the way Iliana winces. She had deceived him so thoroughly in the Dreadlord’s throne room, he sometimes forgets that she was not trained as he was to hide her emotions. They flit across her face now, pain and grief. Then, anger.

“Apologies, prince,” she snaps, her black leather gloves groaning in protest as she clenches her hands into tight fists. “I’ve been a little busy this past year.”

Aerin scoffs. “I’m sure you were. Celebrations and banquets in your honor must be exhausting.” He rolls his eyes, flinging the words at her like knives. “That’s the price you must pay for leading the life of a hero, I suppose. A heavy burden, you poor thing.”

“That’s not what I–” Iliana cuts herself off, eyes narrowing. She tilts her head and, oh, Aerin does not like that one bit, the way she studies him, as if she is looking right through him. Then, shockingly, pity clouds her face. “No one told you.”

Unease, slick and oily rolls through him. If the words come out a little harsher than he intended—well. Word from the outside world has not breached these walls in months. He is tired of being kept in the dark. “Told me what?”

Iliana takes a deep breath and turns away, her attention straying to the small window of his cell as she folds her arms across her chest. The silence drags on long enough and Aerin feels tempted to shatter it, to demand that whatever information she withholds be released. But then her eyes slide to him and she breathes heavily again, fingers curling against her arms. It occurs to Aerin that her posture looks less guarded and meek almost, like she is embracing herself, comforting herself.

And, damn him, his voice goes soft and careful. “Tell me what? What happened?”

To you. What happened to you? 

Iliana drops her arms to her side, then lifts one hand to her hip, searching. But whatever she is looking for, she does not find it, and her hand hangs limply in the air. “I was gone. In the Shadow Realm.”

Fear, shock, intrigue–it is a heady blend that races through him. Aerin takes a shuffling step forward, then halts. He does not know what he intends to do. Go to her? Comfort her? She certainly does not want that, not from him, and he does not know if he can bear it either.

“Why?” he demands instead, drawing a line down the center of his cell, a boundary he will not cross while she remains. “How?”

“Valax,” she answers, and the name clangs around Aerin’s skull with no small amount of dread. He knows it and knows to be wary of it. “She captured me. Experimented on me.”

“To what end?” he breathes out, blinking rapidly as spots cloud the edge of his vision. The Empire of Ash, playing their hand already. “Why you?”

Iliana’s gaze sharpens. “You know her.”

“Know of her,” Aerin corrects, shaking his head. “I never had the pleasure of meeting her.”

“Consider yourself lucky,” Iliana says shortly and turns away again. She drifts to the window, keeping her back to him as she says, “Before you ask again—I do not know why. I don’t remember much.”

Her falsehood rings clear in the air, Aerin can see it in her rigid posture, defensive and bracing. How? How had she ever deceived him, this orphaned elf from Riverbend, when she cannot even look him in the eye to lie?

He knows the answer: because he wanted to believe her.

Remember that night together in the forest glade? Our kiss? That was real, Aerin. And it’s still real.

He banishes the thought, grinds it under his boot, but something in him still aches, still yearns. She looks so unsettled that he decides to let her lie hold, something he will circle back to later. 

“Are you…” It is difficult, still, to force the words out. To ask this, it feels too much like an admission, an exposure of weakness. He swallows. “Are you well?”

Iliana whirls, and her eyes, glittering ores of emerald, cut through him. Whittling him down to the bone. “What do you care?”

Indignation flares up in him and he glares. “Do you think me incapable of compassion?”

She laughs, a cold and jagged thing, and slashes her hand through the air. She paces back to the entrance of his cell, her steps harsh. “Incapable? Perhaps. But I know better by now than to believe anything you do or say after you lied to us all.”

“Do not forget that you lied to me as well,” Aerin snaps, distantly aware of the guards shifting just beyond his cell. They are listening, he realizes. To report back to the king? To intervene and rescue Iliana if they deem him too dangerous, too volatile? They are listening, and political training be damned, he does not care. “That you would still have me. That we—it was real. You lied.”

He expects Iliana to shout at him, wants her to—her anger, he can bear—but she only sucks in a sharp breath between her teeth, her face at once stricken and furious. When she speaks, it is to the ground, the dusty slab of stone that spans the space between them. “It wasn’t a lie, Aerin.”

He barks out a laugh, full of anger and bitterness, because that is all he has, all he is, all that he can give. Anger, bitterness.

And regret. So much regret, he could drown in it.

“You don’t believe me, I don’t believe you,” he says coolly, forcing his voice to even out, despite how wildly his heart races. “Let us leave it at that.”

Iliana opens her mouth, then clamps it shut, looking for all the world like she might protest. But in the end, she only shakes her head, resigned, and leans back against the metal door of his cell. “Fine.”

“Fine,” he echoes and they lapse into an uneasy silence. It is the closest thing, perhaps, they will ever have to an accord.

Aerin takes their momentary cease-fire to truly study Iliana as she stands before him, glaring at her feet and refusing to meet his gaze. He still cannot believe that she is here, after all this time. Her black leather armor, he notes with grim consideration, is standard issue for Ashen warriors. Her blue skin is pale, but otherwise unmarred, save for the scars she already bore. No signs of physical abuse, or just the work of a really good healer.

An entire year in captivity. Gods… Despite it all, he is grateful that she does not remember much. There is no way to tell how she might have changed, how her spirit might have dimmed. No matter what he feels about her—hate, anger, sorrow—Aerin finds that he does not wish to see her harmed.

“When did you return?” he asks, breaking the silence between them with an easy question, a tentative olive branch.

Iliana eyes him warily. “This morning.”

“This morning?” Aerin starts at that, forgetting himself. For a stupid, pathetic moment, something flutters eagerly against his ribcage, although he squashes the feeling down. “I must be one of your first appointments, then,” he remarks dryly, tilting his head. “What brings you here?”

Iliana’s gaze hardens and her expression shifts into something like grim triumph. Aerin does not know where he misstepped but he gets the impression that they have entered a game and she already has the winning move.

“Tell me everything you know about the Ash Empire,” she demands, hands framing her hips. “And don’t pretend you don’t know anything. You already admitted to knowing about Valax.”

“Why should I?” Aerin waves a hand through the air, dismissive. “What would you offer me in return? You are clever enough, I’m sure you could find answers on your own.”

“Or I could get answers from you and stop wasting time,” Iliana bites out, pinching the bridge of her nose as she squeezes her eyes closed in frustration. Then, she drops her hand and fixes him with a look that speaks only to her exhaustion—with him, with the Shadow Realm, with everything. “You owe me. You owe me this much.”

He… supposes he does.

Aerin sighs heavily. Sharing knowledge is a task Aerin has always taken a shine to. Few things are more important than learning more, and helping others to learn. This attitude, he thinks, may be the best thing his tutors ever taught him. But the Ash Empire… The dark kingdom is a topic he does not relish remembering. 

Still, Aerin shares what he knows, some of it, at least. Foundational knowledge. The Ashen Empress is the true ruler of the Realm and the Shadow Court had been but a fledgling resistance to her reign, one whose hopes of success had been bashed repeatedly by failed attempts to take over the Realm of Light. He speaks briefly of his own role in the Dreadlord’s bid for power against the Empire, doing his best to tamper down any rancid feelings he still nurses about the entire ordeal.

Anything more, he must keep for himself. Future bargaining chips. Perhaps, if he can remain useful, well… Maybe not all is lost for him.

“With the Dreadlord dead, I imagine the Ash Empire is already hunting down any remaining members of the Shadow Court,” Aerin hedges as he wanders over to the window, drumming his fingers against the ledge.

He feels Iliana at his back, her attention heavy on him. “Sounds like the Empire will be coming for you next.”

She is right, he knows. It is a reality he has long since come to terms with, but still, the reminder sends a bolt of fear into his spine. His fingers go still against the stone.

“If the Ash Empire makes it to the Light Realm, they’ll probably take special care in how they eliminate you.”

What do you care? he wants to snap, spitting Iliana’s words back at her. Instead, he only shrugs, keeping his gaze trained on the city outside the window. Something like yearning tugs in his chest.

“So,” Iliana continues, her irritation with his disinterest bleeding into her voice. “It would be in your best interests to tell me everything.”

Aerin arches his brow, glancing over his shoulder. “What makes you think I haven’t?”

“Knowing you for more than five seconds.”

A dry laugh slips out of him and he turns around, leaning against the wall with his hands laced before him. “Planning to protect me, are you?”

“I’m planning to protect everyone,” Iliana corrects, rolling her eyes. “If I am to stand a chance protecting the Light Realm against the Empire, then I need to know everything.”

She is so… She is everything he read about, everything he dreamed of being as a child. A hero. 

He pities her. For her naïveté, for believing that she can fix every problem that comes her way. Almost as much as he envies it. She has never known true failure, not yet. When she does—and it is inevitable—then, she will understand. What she has now, her determination, her purpose—it cannot last.

Aerin looks away, running his hand through his hair. One more bit of information, he supposes, he can grant her. In his best interest, as she said. 

“There’s only one other thing, and to be honest, I didn’t believe it until I saw it myself,” he admits slowly, gauging her reaction. “The Empress has a terrible creature under her power. I caught a glimpse of it in the distance when I was bringing Nia to the Dreadlord.”

At the very mention of Nia’s name, Iliana’s expression looks almost murderous, like she might strike him down just for mentioning the priestess, but miraculously, she refrains. “What was it?”

Despite himself, Aerin shudders, recalling the undead creature, crafted of the seven hells itself. “Massive. Skeletal. A beast from nightmares.”

“How vague,” Iliana remarks, but Aerin knows the information has taken hold. She looks unsettled, certainly. Maybe even afraid. 

His answering smile is wry and almost apologetic. “I know. But it is unlike anything I have ever seen before.”

Iliana nods, seemingly satisfied with this information. “Thank you for telling me what you know.”

The look in her eyes makes it abundantly clear that they both know it is not everything, although for now it is enough. Maybe—Aerin curses himself for even entertaining the thought—she will come back for more. The idea lights something within him, although he does not want to think about what it means, what it says about his feelings toward her, everchanging and impossible to curb. It isn’t freedom, but it is something. How nice it would be, to have just a piece of the outside world come to him.

Desperation claws its way into Aerin’s chest and he hates himself for the way he caves, for how small his voice sounds as he throws out a lifeline, begging her to take it. “I don’t suppose… you might visit me again?”

Iliana’s expression is guarded, her response measured. “Maybe. I doubt I will even have a moment to breathe since the world needs saving. Again.”

That is… something.

Aerin tilts his head. Always playing the hero. “And must it always be you who saves it?”

He is not prepared for the way her shoulders slacken and she glances away. Gone are any traces of the bravery and determination she had brandished at him moments ago. What faces him now is only solemn acceptance, weary resignation to service. “Apparently.”

Aerin wants to tell her to stop, that it isn’t her problem to fix. But he would be a hypocrite. After all, didn’t he behave the same once, long ago? Believing that the realm’s problems were his to fix, if only he had the power.

And look where that thinking got him. Trapped in an old cell.

“Look, I can’t make any promises,” Iliana begins, her eyes flicking around the room as if she can’t quite look at him, but cannot settle her attention anywhere else. “Things between us are… I don’t know what they are. But I’ll try to visit again. I may need more information. So.” Her tone hardens, all business once more. “If you conveniently remember anything else?” She gestures to the guards outside. “Send word. Maybe I’ll come.” 

Aerin suppresses a smile, amused. “Sure. I hope you do.”

Iliana shoots him a look he can’t quite decipher, then turns away. As if expecting her, the guards unlock the door, revealing the torchlit corridor beyond. Aerin takes a steadying breath and is about to retreat to his cot when Iliana pauses in the doorway, looking over her shoulder at him. Aerin watches her hesitate, mouth opening and closing, and then—

“Do you regret what you have done?” she asks softly. “Wish that you hadn’t…”

Wish that you hadn’t betrayed me? Betrayed all of us?

Betrayed your brother?

Aerin’s breath is hard in his chest, something solid he cannot get out. Yes, he wants to scream. Yes to all of it.

“Would you even believe me?” Aerin asks earnestly, but he knows it is a fruitless endeavor.  “Whatever my answer.”

Iliana is quiet for a moment, thoughtful. But then she answers, “No. I suppose not.”

Aerin nods, closing his eyes as she slips out of the cell and the metal door slams shut behind her. He knew better than to hope for anything else. They did not trust each other. He did not think they ever would again.

The lock slides into place with a finality that quakes through his bones, sealing him back into this forgotten place, made for forgotten things.

[normal-thoughts-official]

so here's my personal theory on how the mal shit is gonna go:

i think mal's been corrupted by shadow, and i think he either doesn't know about it or did it because he felt it was the only way to protect his friends. similar to how he sees money - the more power he has, the more able he is to guarantee that he'll never be in a vulnerable situation (losing those he loves and being unable to do anything) again

either way i think the corruption is more manipulating him than anything. from the way tyril talked this chapter, it sounds like mal has been making a habit of making harsh, risky decisions. we've even kind of seen this when he jumped in front of Valax' glaive. when i saw that i assumed that it was your main LI who does this, but no, it's always mal. i think this is, in part, supposed to show that mal is acting way more reckless than he usually would

the other part is that, obviously, the real reason the shadow didn't hurt him was that he was already shadow corrupted anyway

im not entirely sure what the endgame is yet, but i think that it's the watcher who's responsible for the corruption. i simply don't trust a man who makes his first appearance in Certified Choices Evil Robes, and besides, today's lore tablet pretty much proved that he's taking us in the wrong direction

aerin is going to play a pivotal role in helping mal get rid of the corruption. he's the one person in the world who knows the most about it, and, from his comments about shadow corruption being more complicated than you think, possibly the only one who believes saving mal is possible anyway. also, i mean, he did go through that process

the process to save mal will likely be extremely painful, if aerin's unwillingness to talk about it is any indication

our relationship with aerin will likely influence the outcome, since he will be the key to helping mal. especially since mal has probably been his #1 hater, the main reason aerin would have to care about mal is his attachment to mc. if you don't have a good enough relationship with aerin, maybe the outcome will be different

it will be through this process that we will learn that The Watcher Is Evil, Actually and possibly foil his plans?

it will be so fucking angsty it's unreal and we'll be fed everything we didn't get in the reunion and more, THIS IS HOW MALMANCERS CAN STILL WIN

the haircut is here to stay 😔

[sophie-summer]

This has been on my mind for a while, and after today's chapter, I feel even more certain. So here I go.

I understand that not everyone likes Aerin (and that's okay), but I think PB has done a great job with his character.

When I played Book 1 for the second time, I didn't feel like flirting with Aerin again. Maybe it was because of his betrayal or simply because his character didn't resonate with me the way it did 3 years ago.

Since MC initiated the flirting when you decide to pursue a romance with him, their interactions felt more natural, MC flirted with him and he flirted back. During my replay of Book 1, MC was kind but didn't go beyond that; there was no romance with Aerin. That was when I noticed if you don't flirt with him, something felt off. He seemed forced, as someone trying too hard to impress everyone, to be liked. And I'm not saying this because I know of his betrayal, it just felt desperate.

For instance, when the party arrived at Whitetower, and Aerin mentioned he had specifically chosen a room for MC, it felt normal and sweet (especially if MC had kissed him in the diamond scene). My interpretation was that maybe there was a secret passage for them to meet later. Okay, I might be exaggerating, and he simply wanted to pick a nice room for MC. However, if you hadn't flirted with Aerin, all of this came across as, at the very least, unsettling (even more if you consider the passage theory).

Anyway, after his betrayal, we saw he wasn't the goody-two-shoes little prince he had portrayed himself as. But still, during those moments, we mostly saw him filled with hate, corruption, and fighting for his life. Yes, we saw his true colors, but we didn't see Aerin as his usual self.

Now, in Book 2, we have the opportunity to see him, to truly know him. He's a complex character who sought more power and made the wrong decisions, not just out of ambition. He has dropped the good-guy act and is finally free to be his true self, even if it's not under the circumstances he desired. He's also caring, and has; on his own way; some sense of justice.

Also, his relationship with MC (if you choose to romance him) feels effortless, and his sarcastic humor adds a funny dynamic. It's just natual.

Perhaps some of you noticed this three years ago if you're more perceptive than I am, but I'm just realizing it now. 🤭

[malthemagnifisent]

Pairing: Aerin x Male!elf Mc (Cyrus)

Plot: After so many relationships and friendships ruined by the interference of his brother, Aerin was determined not to let anything ruin Cyrus’ opinion of him. He couldn’t abide the thought of the one good thing in his life being turned against him, and perhaps that left him with more anger and possessiveness then he realized.

Content warning: Mentions of Baldur abuse, and very slightly 18+ scene at the end, but nothing really happens. It’s mainly just kissing and Aerin like unties MC’s pants.

Tag list: @zhoras-bitch @rosepetals1 @saibug1022 @oh-so-youre-a-nerd @baldwinboy5ive (enjoy)

Baldur had always made sure to ruin any little thing that Aerin had to himself, and that included every moment, gift, and even person that Aerin found some enjoyment in. He’d destroyed Aerin’s favorite toys when they were young, and as they grew older, he took away even his peace.

The worst of all had been when he’d ruined the one good relationship in Aerin’s otherwise miserable life. He’d formed a friendship, perhaps even something more, with the son of a nobleman, and for a while, Aerin had been almost happy.

Then Baldur had found out, because he always found out, and before Aerin even had a chance, his brother had crushed the relationship in his hand and left Aerin floundering.

Somehow his brother had managed to wheedle his way under the skin of his friend, whispering all sorts of lies in his gullible ear, until finally his one bit of solace had turned away from him with nothing but anger.

In Aerin’s mind, everything of his was going to be ruined eventually, and Cyrus was no exception. Even with Baldur gone, he couldn’t discount that somehow Cyrus would be turned against him, and perhaps his fears drove him rather mad at times as jealousy and possessiveness became all too easy.

Everyone wanted Cyrus; that was a fact. He was smart and beautiful, brave beyond belief, and the hero of Morella, to top it all off. People wanted him, and Aerin couldn’t blame them, but still, Cyrus was his; Cyrus had chosen him, and he would be damned if he’d let anyone take him away.

There was a party in the castle of White Tower, and Cyrus, as usual, was the center of attention. He smiled politely as he talked with pushy nobles, all of whom wanted just a minute to speak with the famed hero of Morella.

Aerin would have been at Cyrus’ side, but just a moment ago he’d been sent for drinks, and as soon as he’d left, partygoers had descended like vultures. If he thought Cyrus’ minded, then Aerin would have hurried back, but as it was, he didn’t think Cyrus cared that he was being swarmed by admirers.

It took him some time to find a waiter through the thick crowd, and when he did, it was to the realization that he’d completely lost sight of Cyrus, so despite his best efforts, he may have been rather short with the servant as he snatched up cups of wine and hurried back through the crowd.

Realistically, he knew nothing would have changed in just those few seconds—that Cyrus would still be standing where he had been before, laughing and smiling until all the warmth of the room seemed to be coming from him.

That’s what he expected, at least, but when the crowd parted, he had a sinking feeling as he realized Cyrus was no longer standing among the chatting nobles.

His hands trembled slightly on the long stems of the wine glasses, but he paid it no mind as he set them down on the first table he saw before walking up to the dispersing crowd of men and women.

“Where’s Cyrus?” He snapped, glaring at one of the women he knew had been surrounding his friend. (or lover perhaps, he didn’t know what to call him.)

She looked at him with a familiar expression of distaste, one he’d gotten used to seeing from everyone whom he used to know. Not everyone had been as forgiving as Cyrus, and there were still people in Whitetower who saw him as nothing more than a corrupted prince who’d almost ended the realm.

Luckily for him, along with that hatred came a sense of fear, and usually he would have detested that anyone was still afraid of him, but now he was grateful for it, as it had the noblewoman responding in an instant.

“He went to the garden; Lord Edric accompanied him.”

That was all Aerin needed before he turned sharply on his heel and stormed out of the doors and into the cool evening air. His hands had clenched into tight fists, and each breath was a pain to draw in.

The scar on his chest ached, stretched as his lungs expanded, and burned in the cool air, but all that was what he’d grown used to; he’d come to expect that pain. What he couldn’t accept was the fear and misery of having the one truly good thing in his life taken away.

Lord Edric was a familiar name to him; he’d been friends with Baldur; that is, if anyone could really be considered friends with his late brother, and Aerin couldn’t stand the thought of him being alone with Cyrus for even a solitary moment.

God knows what he would say, what poison he would whisper, what lies he would tell, and how he might turn Cyrus against Aerin like Baldur had done so many times.

He stumbled over his own feet slightly as he heard Cyrus’ voice ahead of him, sounding clearly through the garden where no other sound but the wind could possibly be heard.

As he rounded a grove of trees, Aerin heard Lord Edric laughing and spotted the pair standing a few feet away, a good distance between them but not enough for Aerin's liking, not when Lord Edric could reach out and touch Cyrus if he tried, not when he could see the fine details of Cyrus’ eyes or smell the scent of the bath oils he used.

Those things weren’t for him; they were for Aerin, all for him.

Then Cyrus laughed at something Lord Edric had said, and Aerin couldn’t breathe anymore. He cleared his throat and stepped toward them, his head held high and his dark eyes fixed on Edric with the same kind of disdain he used to wear when he’d been so full of corruption that there had been no anger or hatred to feel.

“Aerin, I’m sorry I wandered off; I needed some air, and Lord Edric said he would show me the gardens,” Cryus said, his smile turning real, softer, brighter, and so much warmer than the false happiness he’d been showing before.

Without giving it much thought, Aerin strode forward and met Lord Edric’s eyes. “Leave us; you’ve taken up enough of his time,” he said, to the silent indignation of Cyrus, who seemed to be struggling with what to say.

It wasn’t often that Cyrus was left speechless, and if Aerin wasn’t so filled with anger and jealousy, then maybe he would have had room to feel proud of himself.

Lord Edric appeared ready to argue, but Aerin refused to give him a chance, the same way he refused to let Cyrus be taken or ruined. He raised his hand and nodded pointedly back toward the castle doors, where light was spilling out into the gardens and the sound of the party could still be heard.

“The hero of Morella has more important things than standing here and talking to you, Lord Edric,” he said, which finally seemed to get his point across as Edric’s lip curled back before he took the time to nod toward Cyrus.

“I’ll see you back at the party, I’m sure,” was all he said before he finally obeyed Aerin and walked away, leaving Aerin standing in a cloud of his own jealousy that anyone would take up Cyrus’ time, time that would be better spent with Aerin himself, time that was precious, as he didn’t know how much of it he would get before Cyrus was no longer his.

Silence prevailed for one long moment before Cyrus spoke. “That wasn’t necessary,” he said, looking at Aerin with such obvious disapproval that he almost felt bad for a moment.

Only a moment, though.

“You should stay away from Edric; he’s not as nice as he looks,” he muttered, turning to look over at the castle, where Edric had retreated and was luckily no longer in sight. He must have followed Aerin’s instructions and returned to the party.

Cyrus suddenly stepped in front of him, and Aerin was forced to confront the disapproval he’d been hoping to avoid. “Do you not trust me to figure that out on my own? What did you think was going to happen?” He asked, placing a hand on Aerin’s shoulder and holding him gently in place, as if Aerin would have left, if he would ever leave again. He would stay rooted to the spot as long as Cyrus wanted.

“He was friends with Baldur; years ago they were close, and besides that, you’re-“ Aerin broke off, breathing heavily, his head hanging low so his eyes could focus on the hand that still rested on his shoulder, the gentle weight helping him stay steady and warm even as a cool breeze blew around them.

Quirking a single eyebrow, Cyrus leaned down a little, and Aerin was forced to meet his eyes. “I’m what? Gullible?” He asked, already trying to piece out what Aerin had been about to say, but predictably he was failing, and Aerin should have been content to let him keep wondering, but for some reason he couldn’t.

Before he even knew what he was doing, Aerin was speaking, spilling his fear and anger, every word laced with jealousy and a sort of possessiveness he didn’t know he had in him. “No, you’re mine; you’re mine, and I can’t have you taken away,” he snapped, though as soon as the words left him, he felt bad for how they’d sounded.

To his credit, Cyrus didn’t even react; he just continued to stare at Aerin, clearly waiting for something better—some explanation that made sense and wasn’t just Aerin’s fear of being abandoned.

Cyrus suddenly gripped Aerin by the upper arm and pulled him deeper into the garden, behind another grouping of trees, so no one from the castle would have a chance of seeing them. “If I remember correctly, I’ve never been the one abandoning this relationship; that’s always been you,” he said, and perhaps it was a low blow, but Aerin couldn’t deny its truth.

He had been the one to run before this; he’d been the coward; he couldn’t handle his feelings well enough to keep Cyrus close, but now he was here to stay, and whenever he was determined to stick around, things inevitably fell apart.

“Every friend I ever made was driven away; Baldur got in between every relationship I started to build; I don’t know how he did it, but every time he made them leave,” Aerin said, shrugging his shoulders to break free of Cyrus’ grasp.

He couldn’t stay still when he talked of Baldur; even the mention of his brother set him on edge and put him into a state of such nerves that he simply had to move. Bakdur’s presence used to mean almost certain punches, so sitting down had never been an option; standing still was no better either, so pacing was the easiest.

“And what? Do you think he’s still pulling the strings from beyond the grave?” Cyrus asked as his hand suddenly settled on Aerin’s chin, and he was held in place by slim, cold fingers, pressing indents into his pale cheeks. “Your brother has no power over me; he never did.”

Swallowing thickly, Aerin reached up and grabbed Cyrus’ wrist, pulling the hand from his chin so he could step closer, crowding into Cyrus’ space like it was the most natural thing in the world. “You’re mine; I will not give you up,” he said, his free hand now tangling into the front of Cyrus’ shirt, clutching tightly at the rich fabric.

“No one is asking you to give me up,” Cyrus responded, his cool fingers enclosing slowly around Aerin’s wrist, gently tugging his hand away so the space between them was clear and Cyrus was free to lean down and rest his forehead gently on Aerin’s. “You think Lord Edric will steal me from you?” He chuckled, the notion seeming absurd the longer he considered it.

Aerin made a sound of frustration, and in an act of desperation, he pulled Cyrus closer and pressed their lips together. It wasn’t anything like their other kisses, though that was to be expected, as kissing Cyrus was never the same as it had been the time before.

Cyrus was so easily distracted from his earlier indignation as he grabbed Aerin by the waist and began to walk slowly back. The trees rustled above them, and the sounds of the party swelled for a moment before suddenly Aerin’s back was pressed against a tree, and he could think of nothing else but the hands trapping him there.

A hand snaked into his hair, and Aerin was lost in bliss as Cyrus trailed his lips down across his neck, sending fire skirting across his skin and making him crumble under the anticipation of being further burned alive under Cyrus’ touch.

The kiss broke, and Aerin whined in protest, as he always did, because he’d be happy to continue until he ran out of air. It wasn’t an unpleasant thought to die with Cyrus kissing him.

“Everyone wants you; you know that,” he said, his breath ghosting over Cyrus’ lips as he refused to lean back; he couldn’t bear the thought of stepping away.

Cyrus chuckled softly and shook his head. “I do not know that; I know you want me, and that’s what matters,” he said, pressing another soft kiss to the corner of Aerin’s lips.

“When people are near you, they can’t keep themselves from looking, and I can’t stop myself from wanting to hide you away, because for once I have something that is all mine, and I want to keep it that way." Aerin knew it was probably a bit much, that no one wanted to be kept on such a tight leash, but he couldn’t help the way he felt, the jealousy that tore out of his chest anytime someone made Cyrus laugh.

He wouldn’t have blamed Cyrus if the man decided to leave him, if he fell for the charms of one of his many admirers. Any of them could have given him more than Aerin could offer, but Aerin wouldn’t let go without putting up a fight to keep him.

“I never noticed when people were charmed by me; I’ve always been too busy checking if you were watching,” Cyrus mused, like his words weren’t everything Aerin needed to hear, as if they didn’t fuel every bit of desire and need he had.

Aerin tried to stop the shaking of his hands, but it was no use, and instead he employed the nervous energy as it should be used by pulling Cyrus down into another heated kiss. His fingers fiddled gently with the ties of Cyrus’ silken pants, giving every chance to pull away before he tugged at the fabric and began to open the ties.

“You’re mine,” he whispered again, his hand moving gently along the exposed strip of skin where Cyrus’ shirt had ridden up.

His hand dipped lower, and Cyrus shuddered against him, his forehead coming to rest on Aerin’s shoulder as his breaths began to shake.

“Yours, all yours, Aerin.”

And just like that, Aerin was insane again, driven mad by want and corrupted with possessive emotion that he knew no amount of light could cure. This was here to stay; this longing was never going to fade.

Cyrus was his, only his, and he’d be damned if he let him be taken away.

[the-unconquered-queen]

With Blades 2 coming to an end, I just wanna get it off my chest that I'm really not a fan of how they wrote Nia for a great part of this one, particularly vis-à-vis the way they wrote MC. I know I've been saying some stuff along those lines for ages now, but it hasn't left my mind so now I'm gonna actually get into it.

For starters, I think a lot of the issue with Nia's writing was captured pretty well in the tags of this post, particularly on point 2. Like I've said, Nia unfortunately falls into the category of a Mary Sue in that every "flaw" she's given just serves to elevate her to perfection. Hell, even when corrupted—when a person is supposed to be in their most volatile state—the worst she does is be snarky that first chapter (she is aggressive toward MC at one point before this, but it's neither acknowledged nor repeated later). After that, she is entirely normal, just not as much of a pushover, and while I much preferred shadow!Nia, I do think that this really undermines the whole gravity of corruption and b2's emphasis on shadow-light balance, since shadow!Nia comes off as quite balanced already, especially compared to other corrupted characters we've seen.

But here's the thing, that post that got me thinking is months old, and we have gotten more story since then, and what I have noticed is that Nia does, in fact, have one real flaw in canon, but it's the one flaw she's absolutely not meant to have: Nia in canon can at times come off as self-absorbed. She either makes things about herself or doesn't stop people from doing this, and there are multiple examples of it. There is the instance in Riverbend when MC is taking a moment to finally try to process Kade's capture (which, following their own capture, they never got the chance to process) and Nia derails the conversation and makes it about her own grief and is comforted by MC and Mal. Another example is the moment on Gerhard's ship when she vents about the pressure she's been under and lets MC comfort her without at any point considering that MC might have been under similar pressure.

And don't get me wrong, there is nothing wrong with a character putting themselves first. But when the book doesn't waste a single chance to tell us that Nia's character is the complete opposite and that she is chronically incapable of not being considerate 25/8, it's quite contradictory. I mean, you can even call out Ethan Ramsey, PB's golden boy, on making things about himself at some point in OH, but because, unlike Ethan, Nia is written for you to consider her super sweet and wholesome and perfect, the Blades MC actually contributes to this by performing mental gymnastics to turn something around to be about Nia.

Which brings me to my final point: Blades 2 pushed MC to the side to revolve around Nia, but MC is exactly the person they meant for Nia to be, by virtue of the dissonance between showing and telling. They tell you that Nia is selfless because she always puts everyone else first. Well, I can and did name examples showing the contrary, meanwhile, MC is the one who was been through the most traumatic ordeal and is constantly checking in on everyone else without expecting and without receiving much of the same courtesy in return, even apologizing to Nia because she was "carrying all that weight on her own", never mind that MC always has the weight of the world on their shoulders. They tell you that Nia is the heart of the party, but they both told and showed us that everything fell apart without MC.

Even some of Nia's most defining character traits, MC has in similar measure. Nia sees the best in everyone? MC can be the #1 believer in Aerin's redemption after all the shit he pulled. Nia is trusting to the point of naivete? MC literally trusted Valax while she outright told them at every turn she would turn on them at the first opportunity, and was genuinely hurt by the betrayal. Miss me with MC calling Nia "our better self".

Every trait that they've gone out of their way to tell you Nia has they've shown twofold in MC, which is why it's so exasperating to me that they reduced MC to the conduct through which other characters' (particularly Nia's) stories get told while their own is an afterthought. I am by no means saying that two people can't have similar traits or that two people can't be good people at the same time, but there is something about praising these traits in Nia when, based on these, MC should be held to a similar standard. Instead, they relegated MC (main. character.) to a supporting character in Nia's story, elevating every trait that MC possesses only in Nia while ignoring them in MC to the point that many scenes felt frustrating to play.

[bedtimegiraffe]

Baldur, Aerin, and MC- Relationships with Violence

All three of these characters have really unique relationships with violence and physical force, which are very well put on display by the confrontation scene in Book 3, Chapter 5.

Baldur: Violence First

Baldur loooves violence. He makes that clear when you meet him, quickly using his size and strength to get his way. His preferred means of interacting with the world is physical- violence and sex.

But he isn't impulsively lashing out in all directions- most his violence is purposeful. Even if that purpose is incredibly selfish, it is a purpose. A conscious choice.

This isn't a person who just acts out without thinking about it. This is someone who has made a conscious choice to intimidate and injure others to meet good own ends. In the Deadwood, it's a public show of force to prove that he is in charge, not Aerin. Most of the time, it's choosing to physically hurt Aerin when they're alone to minimize any intervention. I think it's safe to assume that Aerin was Baldur's most common target, but not his only one.

For Baldur, violence is his primary method of problem solving- his first thought. In part because he enjoys asserting his own power and control over others through physical means.

That's why at the River of Seekers, Baldur isn't looking into the present like Mal's mom. He has no loved ones, he has no interest in the world without him in it. If Baldur isn't physically influencing others, he doesn't care. So he's doing his best Narcissus impression until he loses himself. His physical ability to dominate others is gone, leaving him with just fond memories of it.

(For those who didn't have the Greek mythology phase I did: Narcissus was a self-centered jerk who was cursed to fall in love with his own reflection in a pool, leading to his death.)

Aerin: Violence Last

Before spotting Baldur in the river, Aerin 'jokes' about killing him again. But I think this was more of an attempt to connect with Valax than anying else. Because even if Aerin reaches Baldur before you do, he doesn't attack him. In fact, Aerin never touches him at all. MC is the one who finally forces Baldur to pay attention. Aerin just... asks him questions before quickly giving up.

Because, barring a strong outside influence, Aerin doesn't solve his problems with violence. Even when he's fully Dreadlord corrupted, Aerin never strikes first. He doesn't attack Baldur until he physically grabs and verbally threatens him.

It also seems significant that he doesn't try to make Baldur suffer- he doesn't beat him or mock him, though based on what we see he absolutely could have in that moment. Aerin kills Baldur incredibly cleanly. Sure, he gloated about it a little, but it felt like Aerin celebrating finally 'winning,' not the violence itself.

Aerin, almost universally, tries to talk his way out of problems. I'd guess this is a combination of his generally more cerebral temperament and the fact that acting out physically never would have gotten him anywhere when he was younger (and probably still won't).

At the river, Baldur seems clearly uninterested in fighting back. But still, Aerin never takes a shot at him just because he can. And it isn't because he's afraid of Baldur in this moment- we see fear from Aerin in situations that mirror his brother's abuse. But this isn't one of them. Aerin is sad and angry.

But still, Aerin's emphasis is on words, not fighting. "You've got nothing to say?" Aerin just doesn't get satisfaction from physical violence like his brother does. Hitting him (or dismembering him, as Aerin hyperbolically says later) wouldn't have felt good to Aerin. He wanted to win on his terms, verbally getting through to Baldur that he lost and Aerin was right all along.

But unfortunately for Aerin, Baldur was never going to give him that satisfaction.

MC: Violence When Necessary

MC take a more moderate approach than either Valleros brother. To MC, violence is one of their many tools. Literally one third of their abilities are "combat." Violence isn't their favorite, not something they enjoy, but something occasionally necessary for the greater good. Even if they view the violence itself as "bad."

How MC gets Baldur's attention at the river is a great example. Because you have three options, all involving some degree of physical or magical force.

And it's a good thing they did. Because Baldur was never going to respond to words and Aerin was never going to try anything else. This problem, like many others, needs a flexible approach.

That flexibility and the willingness to learn may be MC's greatest strengths. MC builds the most diverse skillset of anyone in the party and is willing to apply whatever might work to the situation. And that well-rounded understanding and approach to problem solving is key to saving the day.

Screenshots are a combination of my own stockpiles and ones from Neckrone Shen on youtube, who has saved me untold hours of replaying.

[blades-fan]

Wait so Aerin's corruption left because he ripped the Nerada stone out of his chest? Is this canon?

I was hoping that his corruption/shadow form would come back after seeing MC get hurt.

[chaoticdazefire-new]

So question do yall predict PB will release a third & final book for BOLAS or end it at book 2?

Started replaying book 1 & the way it calls you a "triple threat" at the beginning makes me wonder if it refers to having 3 types of skills (battle, diplomacy, & survival) or if its a hint that BOLAS would be a trilogy series?

[lovehugsandcandy]

Aerin drabble 4, pre chapter 7, Deadwood (cw blood, self harm)

Sometimes, Aerin imagines he can still see the shadow tracing over his skin. 

The lines are stark against his pale flesh, mapping the veins and arteries up his forearms. He can almost feel the foreboding tingle, the presence of magic and danger starting at his palms and emanating upwards to center in his chest, a flash hot burn that makes him shake and shiver.

It awakens him from dreams, nightly, soaked in a cold sweat, as his gasps break the silence of the pitch black night.

It distracts him in front of the fire, where his gaze fixes on the shadows that edge toward his tunic sleeve, voices of the heroes bantering around him falling into a meaningless buzz in his ears.

It makes him terrified that the shadow, the darkness, had been there all along, as much a part of him as the blood running through his veins and the Valleros name.

He's scrubbing his arms when she catches him, nails feverishly digging into his skin as he prays to any god who will listen to one as sullied as him - please, I got rid of the corruption, please, I'm sor-.

"What are you doing?" Raine blinks down at him, where he has crouched at the shore of the lake of light, a feeble penance amid hallowed ground.

"Nothing," he lies, pulling down his sleeves to cover the thin trails of blood smeared over flesh. 

She sits next to him, trailing her fingers into the water; it's a companionable silence. He's just about to flee, to try to put some distance between her and himself (whether to save her from the shadow or to save himself from the pull of the unattainable, he can't say which) when she speaks again. "Have you thought of what you will do? Once the rifts are all closed?"

He gapes at her. "Go back to my prison cell?"

"Hmm." Her gaze reaches out to the far shore, past the horizon, further than he could ever hope to see. "Is that what you want to happen?"

He can't risk glancing down, but he can feel the telltale singing beneath his skin again. "What I want is of no importance." It's what I deserve. 

She hums again, in the back of her throat, finally turning her gaze to him. The glow of the water illuminates her sparkling eyes and, crossing her arms atop her knees, she looks almost regal. "I think-" She bites her lip, considering him. "I think you will find that the good you can do now, in the present, and the future… it means something."

"I cannot make up for my past."

"But you can shape your future."

He shakes his head. His future is already set, a solitary cage, an eternity of regret. He had already tried to change his future once and has no hope of it, not anymore.

"Aerin…" He looks down in shock to where she has grabbed his hand, warm fingers clasped around his. There are still traces of blood drying around his fingernails, but the surrounding skin is clear, unblemished. No shadow. It's as if all bends to her will, ominous powers vanishing into the mist under the force of her light; he can feel even himself soften against the sandy shore. She squeezes his hand. "I believe in you."

He squeezes back, tentative at first, but she doesn't pull away and the tension leeches from his body. It's just her, and him, and the lake, and the only shadows are the ones that curl over the ground as the moon arches through the sky.

And that night, tucked away in his tent, the only tingling in his palm is the ghost of her touch, and he sleeps.

[zhoras-bitch]

Maybe Valax just used a fancy spell, but it sounded kind of like Light and Shadow cancel each other out. This really fits in with the theory that the two dimensions are part of one whole and instead of separating them, MC is going to have to find balance between the two.

Also, it probably has to do something with Aerin's corruption mysteriously healing.