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undermounts · 8 months

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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.

#aerin valleros #aerin x mc #prince aerin #my writing #blades of light and shadow #bolas #choices #bolas 2 #choices blades #blades 2 #i am very excited to see what happens next in blades2 #i just needed to be as messy and complicated as possible <3

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baldwinboy5ive · 5 months

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I was going to post these screenshots and say "haha AU where the Blades gang, including Aerin, does the Morellan equivalent of the Hot Ones challenge"

but then... I wrote... a whole... stupid fic. I absolutely promise you that it is so, so stupid. Please don't read it without having acknowledged that.

Name on the Wall

Pairing: Aerin Valleros/F!MC, Blades of Light and Shadow Other characters: Tyril Starfury, Nia Ellarious, Mal Volari, Imtura Tal Kaelen, Kade of Riverbend Rating: ...T...? BOLAS says "godsdamn" is a swear haha. Word count: 3441 Summary: See above. It's total fluff. It's "HEY let's give Aerin and MC a happy ending! A VERY happy ending!"

I am tagging @lovehugsandcandy @lilyoffandoms @malthemagnifisent because they requested (or demanded haha) a tag, and @oh-so-youre-a-nerd because you said you wanted even CRUMBS of Aerin haha

Raine had once said to Cherta that her friends were her found family, and Cherta had told her that she needed to work on growing the “found” part. Well, it was finally happening. Raine couldn’t help smiling as she approached Riverbend, ready to begin a days-long celebration of her engagement to Aerin Valleros, former disgraced prince of Morella, now pardoned citizen and hero of the realm for his part in defeating the threats to their kingdom.

Tyril was first to arrive and meet Raine and Aerin, and greeted the former with a fierce embrace, and the latter with a curt nod. Kade was next to appear, and they waited for Mal and Nia’s arrival with Threep and Loola. They all planned to meet in the town square with Imtura, and drop the nespers off with an old neighbor of Raine and Kade’s, where they were to be given plenty of food and attention until tomorrow, when everyone would be in attendance of an engagement party.

Upon its arrival at the town square, Threep and Loola immediately burst forth from a carriage, fluttered their wings, and flew up to Aerin, nuzzling his face and purring.

“The entire way over here! ‘Snacks! Snacks! Snacks!’ They wouldn’t even stop when I threatened to turn the whole carriage around and go back to Whitetower!” Mal yelled, throwing his hands up in exasperation as he hopped down from the carriage.

“Because they knew you were bluffing,” said Nia, stepping out of the carriage behind him.

Tyril, ignoring their banter, looked at the affectionate display by the nespers, and then wordlessly turned towards Raine, expectantly raising a hand and waiting for an explanation.

“Oh, yeah. You know they always used to hiss at him. Especially Loola. You know. Not so happy about being locked up and all that, especially while Aerin was walking around in those dungeons. Well, she finally got to him the last time we were in Whitetower, that time you went to go see your family back home in Undermount. She clawed his face up pretty bad,” said Raine with the tiniest of smiles.

“Ever since then, Aerin’s been bribing them with treats,” finished Mal with a loud snicker. “He basically would buy out my buddy over at the pier and dump a whole bag of fish on them, and now look at those spoiled things.”

“You can still see it!” Aerin said, pointing to some faint scars on his cheek, while obligingly throwing some fish out of his pockets to the nespers.

“Yeah, he could finally pretend he was big enough to cut himself shaving!” said Mal with an obnoxiously loud laugh.

Aerin rolled his eyes. “And I have two nespers here who’d do anything I say for a few more of these anchovies, including making you look like you’d cut yourself shaving.”

“Sorry, Mal,” said Threep, who at least had the decency to look abashed. “An anchovy’s an anchovy. You understand. It’s nothing personal.”

“Hush, Threep. Mal, you know he wouldn’t, really,” said Loola.

“Wait a minute…” began Kade as realization dawned on him. “I was locked up, too. Hold on. You mean I could’ve been getting free stuff from Aerin this whole time?!”

Before anyone could answer, Imtura came striding up towards the group.

“Landrat! Princeling!” Imtura said, clapping both of them on the shoulders with a hand each. “Time to get our hot sauce on!”

“Huh?” said Aerin. “I thought all the party stuff was tomorrow.”

“It is,” replied Raine with a mischievous grin. “Today we’re doing the Saucy Folks Challenge.”

“Yes!” Nia said giddily. “I’m scared! And also excited! But mostly scared!”

Tyril nodded emphatically. “To be honest, I feel quite the same way,” he said.

“What’s… going on?” said Aerin dubiously.

“The Saucy Folks Challenge,” Raine repeated. “Ten hot sauces in order of increasingly intense spiciness. The challenge dictates that each participant eats fried pargallus wings tossed in the hot sauces, in order, while answering deep, burning - pun intended - personal questions. You can drop out anytime you like, but if you make it to Number Ten, you get your name on the wall of honor, and a bunch of free food. It’s… mostly a bunch of fried stuff.”

“And bragging rights, don’t forget the bragging rights,” added Mal.

Aerin groaned. “You mean you four knew?”

“Well, uh, yes,” Nia stammered. “She and Kade said it was a tradition. I couldn’t see the harm in it.”

Aerin turned to Raine, and asked, “Then why didn’t you just tell me that’s why we were coming here early?!”

“Don’t be ridiculous,” Imtura said with a booming laugh. “You know godsdamn well you would’ve said no. That girl isn’t stupid.”

With a rueful smile, Aerin said, “I don’t have a choice, do I?”

“You don’t; I think I’ll bow out, though,” Kade said.

Mal chuckled. “I’ve been eating spicy food my whole life - I thought I had a leg up on all you guys, but I didn’t think you were going to quit before we even got started!”

“Yeah…” Kade said absently, looking off into the distance at some of the stores in the town square.

Raine shook her head. “You’re wrong, Mal. Kade’s already beaten the challenge. You can see for yourself. His name’s on the wall… at the tavern.”

“Ohhh. The tavern. That’s where this challenge is hosted,” Aerin said, as understanding came over him. He and Raine had talked extensively about their families - including the sheer amount of trouble Kade was always getting himself into when he and Raine were growing up in Riverbend. “You just don’t want to face that barkeep again.”

The group - minus Kade - laughed.

“Come on, just come with us,” Imtura insisted, slinging an arm around Kade’s shoulders.

“Besides, Raine’s here, and she’ll never let him kill you,” Aerin pointed out.

“That’s true,” agreed Tyril.

---

A collective cheer came from the crowd gathered in the tavern as the group stepped inside.

“The heroes of the realm!” several people shouted. Tankards of ale were raised, and the heroes were clapped on their backs and shoulders as they made their way to the bar counter.

“Raine! Back home already? To what do we owe the pleasure?” asked the barkeep.

“That,” answered Raine, pointing to the wall behind the bar. There was a painting of a pargallus, a small domesticated bird found widely throughout Morella, raised for its feathers, eggs, and meat. It was dramatically engulfed in flames, and its eyes were crossed out with black X marks. This was the logo of the infamous Saucy Folks Challenge, so named for the Saucy Sausage that originated from Riverbend, along with the other nine hot sauces that made up the challenge.

“See? Right there,” said Kade proudly, pointing to the long list of names under the cartoon pargallus.

“All right, I concede,” said Mal, raising an eyebrow.

“Hah! The Saucy Folks Challenge! Wonderful! Any special occasion, or just because?” asked the barkeep, who was already beginning to gather some trays and baskets.

Raine glanced over at Aerin, who flushed a crimson so deep he almost resembled the burning pargallus, and she showed the barkeep the royal ring she wore on her hand. “He gave this to me when we first met. A lot’s happened since then. But now it’s official: we just got engaged.”

There were several surprised gasps from the tavern patrons, and then a second round of celebratory cheers made its way throughout the establishment.

“Well, then, I offer my congratulations!” said the barkeep. “Our little Raine, all grown up, about to get married! To a prince, no less!”

“Well, that part is currently up in the air,” corrected Aerin.

Mal smirked. “I think the term they used was ‘On Probation,’ or, alternatively, ‘We’re Watching You, Young Man.’ They may be on a three-strikes system. Or something.”

“In any case, back in the king’s good graces,” continued the barkeep, his voice becoming stern.

“Ehhh…” said Raine, teetering her palm back and forth in the air.

The barkeep’s expression turned deadly serious. “What I’m getting at is, surely this family is now prospering. I mean it, Kade. It was cute at first, but this has gone on long enough. You think it’s easy making a living here? I don’t care that you’re a hero of the realm, Kade, you’re our hometown boy first, and I expect our folk to take care of each other here in Riverbend - and that means paying your tab in full!”

Kade sat on his barstool taking this in quietly, all while a big smile spread across his face until he was positively chortling with joy.

“What’s so funny?!” demanded the barkeep.

Kade, still with the giant grin on his face, swiveled around on his stool to face his future brother-in-law.

There was an awkward pause. For a moment, no one spoke. Then Aerin relented, groaned, and said, “Fine.”

“Hooray!” exclaimed Kade, putting both hands in the air and spinning on his barstool.

“Wait, really? I’m finally getting paid?” said the barkeep with no small amount of astonishment.

“Hand over the tab,” said Aerin with a sigh. He accepted a thick stack of paper from the barkeep, and his eyes grew wider and wider as he scanned over it. “What the three hells, Kade?”

“Thanks, Aerin! I can tell we’re going to be great as brothers-in-law!” Kade said with a laugh.

“Yep.”

---

“Here it is!” Raine said brightly, approaching the table around which her friends were gathered with an enormous tray filled with fried pargallus wings, each basket of wings being labeled with a number.

“The local butcher’s family has been making these hot sauces for generations. People around here say that they just keep getting hotter and hotter every year. They partner with the tavern to host the challenge, since… well, people want a lot of ale while doing it,” Raine said with a laugh.

“All right,” she continued excitedly. “You ready? It starts with our hometown favorite, Saucy Sausage, and it only gets hotter.”

“It starts with Saucy Sausage?!” said Nia with great trepidation.

“I warned you,” replied Raine with a grin.

“So, Kade? You in or not?” Mal said, nudging Kade in the ribs.

“I was going to say I have nothing to prove - I’ve already got my name on the wall. But you know what? What the hell, my only sister’s getting married! I’m in!”

The table cheered.

“A lot of people do it for weddings, but it’s not a wedding-specific tradition,” Kade clarified as he sat down. “It’s just a thing people do in Riverbend. No special occasion needed, really. People make any old excuse to get together with friends and do the challenge.”

“Then I suppose, as we are here, celebrating an occasion, with friends, it appears we are all set to go,” concluded Tyril.

As everyone began to grab a basket for themselves and get seated, Aerin hesitated.

“Come on, you can sit next to me,” said Raine warmly.

Aerin, however, stayed where he was, and fixed his eyes on Tyril. “Did you mean that?”

“What?”

“Well…” Aerin began hesitantly. “That we’re friends?”

“Yes,” said Tyril flatly. “Why wouldn’t I?”

“Because… you don’t really treat me all that differently than when you all were threatening to kill me every two seconds?”

Mal, Imtura, and Nia all exchanged amused looks with one another. Then Imtura gestured towards Tyril and said, “You think he doesn’t like you? I think you offended him, Aerin.”

“Yeah, he looks confused and offended,” added Mal.

“Yeah, tell him, landrat,” Imtura goaded Raine.

Aerin felt that Tyril appeared exactly as he always did.

“Um… no he doesn’t,” Aerin said, to which everyone else but Tyril laughed.

“You keep hanging with us, princeling, and you’ll start to see it,” Mal said good-naturedly.

“Yes, that’s just how his face is, Aerin,” Nia explained patiently.

“Not you, too,” Tyril grumbled at her.

“It’s just… well, I just assumed you still hated me,” said Aerin.

“Then why would I be here right now?” Tyril asked.

“To support Raine, of course.”

“If we still hated you, we would have simply thrown a private bachelorette party for her without you.”

“Ooh, we could still do that, too, though,” said Imtura. She and Nia exchanged a look, ensuring that this was definitely happening.

“Then… you’re here for the free ale?” Aerin said helplessly.

“Former Prince Aerin,” Tyril said icily, “I assure you that if I should ever attempt to make nice with Raine’s acquaintances, even if I did not like them, it would not be for the paltry reward of free ale and a basket of assorted fritters.”

“You also get your name on the wall,” Mal interjected.

“And hey, those fritters are good!” Raine insisted.

Tyril turned away to look out of the tavern window in order to hide the mixture of amusement and annoyance on his face. When he turned back around, he was perfectly composed.

“You are, as they say, stuck with us,” insisted Tyril.

“Huh. So we’re friends,” said Aerin, a teasing grin finally appearing on his face.

Tyril Starfury let out a breath and, in his heart, cursed Raine of Riverbend for letting things come to this point. That boy really was annoying.

“The things I do for my friends,” he muttered aloud.

“So?! We starting, or what?” said Imtura.��

“Yes, we’re starting!” Raine said decisively. “All right, everyone ready with Sauce One? All you have to do is finish those wings to move onto Sauce Two. Oh, and think up some really good questions, everyone!”

“Wait, hold on, landrat,” cut in Imtura. “You never told us how we win.”

“Yes, we did,” said Kade. “You get through all ten sauces in order, you answer all the questions that are asked of you, and then you win.”

Imtura’s face was a mixture of astonishment and dismay. “No, I mean, then who wins?”

Kade and Raine both looked a little confused. “Everyone who gets to Sauce Ten?” Raine said.

“Then how do you…?” Imtura trailed off.

“You beat the challenge by getting all the way to the end, that’s it,” said Kaid simply.

“So you’re saying there’s a chance that all of us could win, and no one single person is the champion?!” Imtura demanded.

Raine snorted. “I’m not so sure that all of us will win.”

Then it was Mal’s turn to scoff. “I’m the one who introduced you to Purple Parnassians, kit.”

“Mal, those things are probably a one on the scale, maybe a two.”

“Hah!” barked Mal, though Raine didn’t miss the look of apprehension that crossed his face.

Imtura narrowed her eyes at Mal. “Ooh, I’m beating you, at least.”

Aerin, who was familiar with Purple Parnassians back in Whitetower, looked even more nervous than he was before. “So I really have to do this?” he said.

“Oh, just you wait, you who mocked Saucy Sausage,” replied Raine. She then turned towards Tyril, and added, “And so did you, if I remember correctly.”

And so the challenge began.

“Oh, gods,” cried Tyril. “This is horrible.” He shot his arm out towards Imtura. “Ale. Ale.”

“Help!” wailed Mal. He cast a stricken glance over to Nia, who herself was in excruciating pain from Sauce Five, and was not capable of thinking straight. Nia grabbed a pitcher of water and threw it upon herself and Mal, leaving the two of them sputtering.

WIth tears in his eyes, Tyril straightened his shoulders and summoned up what was left of his dignity. “This isn’t working,” he declared. “Hand over the milk.”

“With the ale?!” gasped Imtura, who was fanning herself with her napkin in between gulps of her own ale.

“Not together!” growled Tyril with aggravation.

“This burns more than the Nerada Stone,” sobbed Aerin.

“I’m in too much pain right now to decide if that’s too soon or not, Aerin,” said Mal.

“Wait,” Tyril suddenly said, who was in slightly better shape for having had some milk. “I just remembered we were supposed to be asking questions.”

“Oh, yeah,” said Mal. “Okay, I’ll go first. So, comparing this to the Nerada Stone: too soon?”

“No, it was funny,” answered Tyril with grave sincerity, readying himself for another pargallus wing.

“Agree,” said Kade.

“You don’t even know funny!” shot Mal. “And this proves it!”

“Just eat your wings!” Tyril roared back, more tears welling up in his eyes.

Nia was panting hard, and dabbed at her eyes with a napkin. “Imtura, did you ever feel that you lash out at people sometimes because your mother wasn’t generous enough with her affection?”

“Whoa!” Imtura sputtered, spitting out some of her ale and coughing, in equal measures from shock and from the heat of Sauce Five.

“Priestess isn’t holding back!” Mal exclaimed.

“Well?” Tyril prodded.

“Yes! Happy?!” Imtura growled, tearing viciously into a pargallus wing.

“All right, Mal, you’re up,” said Raine. “Deepest darkest secret you’ve never told anyone else ever.”

Mal managed to bark out a weak laugh amidst his panting and gasping. “Why do I get that one?!”

“Everybody can answer that one, too,” said Raine diplomatically.

“Um… don’t have any,” said Mal.

“Boooo!” shouted the rest of the table.

“Fine! I had a crush on Raine when I first met her!”

“EVEN MORE BOOOOOO!” yelled Imtura. “We all knew that!”

“Yeah,” said Nia, sniffling through her tears. “Raine said, deepest darkest secret no one knows!”

“Very funny,” Mal said, himself sniffling through tears as well.

“Kit this, kit that,” Tyril mocked savagely. “It could not have been more painfully obvious.”

Mal turned towards Tyril with venom in his eyes. “Oh? And you?” he said accusingly.

Tyril then had a coughing fit from his efforts to make it through Sauce Seven. When he recovered, he said, “Everyone liked Raine. That is no real secret.”

“Is no one going to ask Tyril about the existential crisis he had when we went to Zaradun?” challenged Mal.

“Just eat your wings!!!” shouted Tyril with more emotion than he’d shown all day.

“Ice, elf boy, please,” huffed Mal, pushing a glass of water towards Tyril.

Tyril obliged, using his magic to drop some ice cubes into Mal’s water. “Only because you said ‘please,’” he said grimly.

Ignoring this, Nia asked, “Raine, did you ever have romantic feelings for anyone else in your adventuring party?”

Raine, who was soldiering through Sauce Nine, but visibly struggling, eventually gained enough composure to answer. “Maybe. I might have. If Aerin hadn’t come along when he did.”

“Who?”

“Yes, who?!”

“Tell us!”

“Oh, I don’t know! You guys know I flirted with everyone back then!”

“Who could forget the bug monster…” Mal said darkly, as he wiped his brow and downed some more ale.

“Done!” Raine suddenly shouted, throwing a bone down into the basket in front of her, and raising her tankard of ale. “Sauce Ten!”

The tavern patrons all cheered and whooped, and thumped the tables. “Raine! Raine!” some chanted.

“All right, I am not getting left behind,” said Imtura with renewed determination. She clenched her jaw, and then tore through Sauces Eight and Nine. The others followed suit, amidst sobs and yells, and dramatic gulps of their ale. Sauce Ten was now in everyone’s sights.

“We’re gonna add a whole bunch more names to that wall tonight!” shouted Kade. “I get a special mark for doing it twice!”

“Keep fighting!” growled Nia.

“We can do this!” added Imtura.

“Put mine up there!” screamed Mal, his face bright red and shiny with perspiration and tears. “Done!”

“Done!”

“DONE!”

“Sauce Ten, done!”

Raine turned towards her fiance, and gave him a triumphant smile before leaning in and kissing him.

“Feels like fire,” he said with a big grin. Raine couldn’t tell if his face was red from the kiss, or - well, frankly, it was probably mostly from the challenge.

Aerin looked around at the people surrounding him - sweating, coughing, wiping away tears, gulping down milk and ale - and even through the sheer pain he was feeling in his whole face from going through this ordeal, he realized he didn’t want to be anywhere else, doing anything else, with any other folks.

His family wasn’t the one into which he was born. His family was the one that took him in, forgave him for the things that he’d done, and relentlessly teased him every chance they got.

He gritted his teeth with determination. They were his new family. Therefore, his name godsdamned well better be joining theirs up on that wall.

“Done! SAUCE TEN!” he shouted, and it brought the house down.

The tavern erupted with a deafening cheer.

There was no better way for Raine and Aerin to start their celebrations and new life together.

#aerin valleros #aerin x mc #blades of light and shadow #my fic

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malthemagnifisent · 6 months

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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.

#choices #playchoices #mine #play choices #pb #bolas #blades of light and shadow 2 #blades of light and shadow #my writing #writing #mc x aerin #bolas aerin #aerin valleros #prince aerin #aerin x mc #choices aerin #choices fanfic #fanfic

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bedtimegiraffe · 3 months

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There are so many Blades moments I desperately want expanded upon! (Or: potential fanfics I don't see myself writing)

Moments that we never actually got to see (I am very nosy, I want to see):

Imtura going off about MC being dead and cursing out the group. How exactly did it go down? Why/How was Imtura especially "cruel" (her word) to Nia?

Nia apologizing to Tyril for the whole 'everything you thought you knew about magic was a lie, idiot' moment. Let's get over our religious trauma together!

Loola and Threep telling the party they're having babies. Everyone will be so excited! Let us have nice things!

And there are still so many character things I have questions about!

The Ash Empire was actively hunting Aerin, hoping to kill him. So... now that we're all in the same friend group, does Valax realize who he is? Does she care?? Do they bond over their unloving parents and the isolation of being a prince/princess?

While we're on the subject, give me actual apologies from Aerin and Valax. I don't remember MC ever getting one from either person!

Aerin, please confirm if you did or didn't know that Kade was being tortured in the Shadow Court's dungeon. If he knew Kade was there, did Aerin know Kade was MC's brother? Because that would really recontextualize his reassurances in the Deadwood. If Aerin didn't know, does he still feel bad about it? (He should!)

I want Nia, Aerin, and Elder Radimir to sit down and compare notes about corruption, then give MC (and by extension, me) a 3 hour powerpoint lecture about it.

I want to see Mal and Wren getting into that moment when they had an unspoken understanding not to tell MC about him going to the garden every day. Was Mal sneaking in? Was part of him hoping he'd get caught?

Did the common people have any affection for Baldur? Because, to me, this does not seem like the kind of behavior most people appreciate.

And who in the world is next in line to rule Morella? That seems important.

If anyone has thoughts or headcanons, I'd love to hear them!

#Sorry I have so many questions for you Aerin- this is what happens when you're only here for 10 minutes #blades of light and shadow choices #choices blades of light and shadow #blades of light and shadow 2 #blades of light and shadow #choices bolas #blades 2 #aerin valleros #kade #kade of riverbend #baldur valleros #mal volari #wren volari #valax #princess valax #imtura tal kaelen #tyril starfury #nia ellarious

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saibug1022 · 6 months

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A Funeral of Faith

Word Count: 1.5k

Aerin Valleros x Asterin Nightbloom (MMC), referenced Tyril x Asterin and Mal x Asterin

Author's Note: I am once again bringing you writing based on a random tumblr concept from someone else, this time by @itlovesinthewoods and it's an entire au with Dark Asterin

Asterin wasn't deaf. He heard the sounds of combat echoing through the Palace halls but he was honestly too busy to care. He didn't particularly need to care. He knew if their soldiers couldn't handle it then he could. He turned back to the map spread on the large table in the middle of the throne room. His finger idly traced the canyons to the south, mind already working. Maybe they could-

Click!

Asterin looked up as the door opened and a figure slipped through before quickly shutting it behind them. He raised an eyebrow, a little surprised actually. This was not who he'd been expecting, and certainly not this subtly.

"What are you doing here, Aerin?" Asterin wondered idly as he went back to studying the map. They really needed more archers at Flotilla now that he looked at it. And a bigger navy.

"Asterin?" Aerin whispered and Asterin had to bite back a laugh. "I'm uh, I'm here to rescue you?"

"You sound so sure," Asterin snickered. Maybe they could divert some from Port Parnassus?

"Well I wasn't really expecting…this," Aerin admitted. Asterin sighed and looked up, bracing his hands on the table.

"Look, thanks for the attempted rescue but I'm fine," Asterin waved off the former prince. "I'm busy now though so go defend Morella or hide under a tree or stab your friends in the back or however it is you spend your time now."

"What's gotten into you?!" Aerin demanded. He hurried to Asterin's side and grabbed his hand. Asterin raised an eyebrow at the touch but he didn't move his hand. Yet. "I don't know what Valax did to you but we need to go now. The others can only distract the soldiers for so long."

"How did you even get here?" Asterin wondered. He made his voice shake just a little and widened his eyes like he was relieved or nervous. Aerin gripped his hand tighter as if to reassure him. Cute. But what he really wanted to know was if they'd found another way to open portals because opening portals large enough for entire armies and navies was exhausting. It was why he was at the palace now, recovering instead of on the battlefield with his mother and sister.

"We made a deal with the Watcher with a steep price but none of that matters now," Aerin reached up to cup Asterin's cheek. He actually almost leaned into it. "All that matters is getting you home. We have to get back before the Empress or Valax or that new Prince shows up."

He probably could have kept playing Aerin like an enchanted violin, but a laugh left his mouth. This whole situation was absolutely ridiculous. And it was so easy. Asterin had thought he was naive all that time ago. Wow.

"Asterin?" Aerin sounded worried.

"I'm not going anywhere Aerin," Asterin snickered as he approached the three thrones at the end of the hall.

"What are you talking about?"

"Come on, you're smarter than this," Asterin sighed.

He reached the throne farthest on the right and leaned against the side of it. Each of the thrones was jagged and dark as if they were stones forced from the ground and broken into the shapes of thrones. The middle was of course the most grand, with veins of silver and obsidian shooting through it like lightning, with the top shaped like the skull of a dragon. The one on the left had small violet stones embedded into it and intricately carved armrests. The one on the right though was fairly plain compared to the other two. For now at least.

"Come now, I know you're brave and all but this is quickly approaching reckless," Aerin said.

"Let me help you out," Asterin smirked and picked up the small item sitting on the cushion and let it dangle from his finger. It was a circlet made from a strange material: dark, dappled gray than neared black, weaved with threads of silver and inlaid with stones darker than the shadows around them. Aerin gasped and stumbled back into the table like he'd been punched in the gut and Asterin laughed. "There it is."

"Asterin, please, put that down," Aerin pleaded. "Surely you can feel them."

"The Onyx Shards you mean?" Asterin tilted his head, smile widening as Aerin's face grew more and more desperate. "Of course I can. The hilt was melted down by the best blacksmiths and fashioned into this. The stones have drops of my own blood. This crown here is the best recovery tool a Realmwalker could ever want."

"Your blood or not you know better than to touch something made from the Blade of Shadow!" Aerin exclaimed.

"You are not as smart as I gave you credit for," Asterin sighed. "Let's try this one more time, shall we?"

Asterin made sure to meet Aerin's eyes as he slid the crown onto his head. It fit him perfectly, of course. It was made for him after all.

"No," Aerin realized. "No, Asterin-"

"Finally," Asterin rolled his eyes.

"You're the new Prince," Aerin shook his head as if he just protested hard enough he could erase it all. "But, no, you would never join the Ash Empire!"

"And why not?" Asterin scoffed. "Because Morella is such a great place? Because I have a family? I lost my parents twice, I'm the last surviving member of my house, and my brother grabbing that Shard like an idiot got me into all this mess in the first place."

"I had no place in Undermount while humans and orcs treated me like an outsider. I was kidnapped and tortured while my friends and two of the men I loved gave up on me and left me to die. And the other man I loved used and betrayed me for power and disappeared when I still forgave him."

"Asterin-" Aerin tried but with a look from Asterin his voice completely left him. His lips moved and his hands scrambled at his throat but no sound came out. If only Asterin had learned that spell a while ago. Served him right after casting that very spell on Asterin.

"I go on yet another quest to save an already damned Realm only to be manipulated, used, and betrayed again," Asterin scoffed. "All for a world that didn't care for me at all, not even after I saved it."

Asterin waved his hand and let Aerin have his voice back, only because of what he had to say next.

"In good conscience, I will give you and my old friends one chance to either join me or leave freely," Asterin declared. "I don't care either way. Fight for me, fight against me, go home and have a funeral for your faith. That's your choice. But I make this offer once."

"I'm not going to do any of that," Aerin argued and stormed right up to the foot of the dais. "I know what you're feeling, better than anyone ever could. This power and the idea of freedom are intoxicating. I wasn't strong enough to resist it but you are. You, you're the strongest person I've ever known. The strongest person I could ever meet. You are brave, and beautiful, and you are good. Better than I. You aren't some shadow royalty. You're Asterin, from the little town of Riverbend, who carried that light with them wherever they want. You just need to find that light again."

"You're a fool talking about light here, Aerin Valleros," Asterin said. With a wave of his hand, the doors to the throne room burst open and soldiers flooded in, dragging those old friends of his with them, all gagged and bound with iron and copper. "Welcome, my friends, my beloved, my kilvalir."

Tyril jerked forward against his bonds so hard he had to be forced back down to his knees by no less than four soldiers. Asterin cooed and waved with his fingers which just made what had to be muffled profanities spill from the mouths of Mal and Imtura as tears fell from Nia's eyes.

"Bind the disgraced Prince," Asterin ordered and Aerin was on his knees with the others in a matter of moments. “I suppose I shouldn’t be surprised. You all were always hardheaded. But thank you for telling me about your little deal with the Watcher, I’ll be sure to pay him a visit. I’m sure that bit of intel will be useful for us.”

Asterin rounded the throne, looking down on his former friends from the top of the dais and standing taller than he ever had before.

“It’s in your best interest that you learn something and you learn it fast,” Asterin told them. “That little light? The warmth of a stupid boy from a quiet village? It’s dead. Murdered and extinguished by the very person it belonged to.”

Asterin grinned as they screamed protests and begged through the gags, trying so hard to wriggle free from their chains and fight against the guards holding them in place. It was adorable. There was still so much fight in them. Though Asterin knew from experience that fight would only last for so long. He laughed as he lowered himself onto his throne, crossing his legs and lounging as if he didn’t have a care in the world.

“Asterin of Riverbend is dead. Long live Asterin, Prince of the Ash Empire.”

#playchoices #choices #bolas #blades of light and shadow #bolas 2 #aerin valleros #aerin x mc #tyril starfury #tyril x mc #mal volari #mal x mc #nia ellarious #imtura tal kaelen #choices book club

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zhoras-bitch · 6 months

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Shadows Creeping

Book: Blades of Light and Shadow, Book 2

Pairing: Aerin Valleros x elf!f!MC (Reina 'Ray' Nightbloom)

Genre: Angst

Rating: Mature

Warnings: violence, mentions of blood, torture, involuntary drug use, vague sexual themes, crippling guilt, general sense of hopelessness, Valax is exaggeratedly evil

Word count: 3.2K

Summary: After a botched raid on the Ash Empire outpost, Aerin finds himself locked in a tight chase with Princess Valax. The labyrinthine dungeons beneath the Shadow Court Fortress stir up some of his darkest memories. Will he be able to escape Valax, or the ghosts of his past?

A/N: Post book 2 chapter 8. The story is mostly inspired by @secret-fungi with a little bit of @spacetravels. Valax is very OOC in that I made her so evil (for the plot!) I actually feel kind of bad about it. Also, shamelessly using this as an opportunity to practice writing action sequences. Enjoy (you won't).

Taking a sharp left, Aerin dives into the secret alcove behind an inconspicuous shabby tapestry and slowly slides down the cold stone wall, greedily gasping for air. Thank the gods he has memorized the layout of the dungeons beneath the Shadow Court Fortress so well, even if the Ash Empire has… redecorated the place since they took over. Admittedly, he hasn't had the chance to properly look around—and he really, really hopes to keep it that way. Still, this little chase, unfortunately, left him enough time to notice the fresh blood spatters in some of the empty cells and hear the blood-chilling screams of unfortunate souls trapped deeper in the labyrinth of these wretched hallways.

'Lovely,' Aerin mutters to himself, allowing his eyes to close for just a second. 'Very lived-in.'

His solace is hopelessly fleeting, shattered by the distinct clicking of heels against cold stone. Distant for now, the footsteps echo ominously in the dim candlelit hallway—the only path that could lead Aerin to freedom. And each one of them is louder than the last.

'The famous Prince Aerin,' Valax's voice seems to resonate through every nook and cranny of the dungeons, a low purr of a big cat about to jump its prey. 'Please forgive us for the cold welcome, your highness. We didn't realize we would be receiving such an esteemed guest.'

So they have identified him already. That's unfortunate, though not entirely unexpected. One of the guards must've recognized him during the earlier scuffle. Aerin bites his tongue, fighting the urge to curse, knowing that any sound would instantly reveal his hiding place. It was supposed to be a straightforward mission — get in, grab the supplies, get out. Two hours, maybe three, tops. Or it would be, hadn't he run directly into a squad of the most elite Ash Empire soldiers, led by Princess Valax herself. Why was she here, anyway? Last he checked, she was supposed to be chasing Ray and her merry band of intrepid adventurers all over the forests of Morella.

And yet, here she was.

'I've heard so much about you, you know. It's almost as if we're acquainted in absentia.'

Of course she has. Aerin knows what they say about him in the Ash Empire. Dreadlord's errand boy. His resident Lightrealmer lap dog. His little—

Aerin bites the inside of his cheek, hard. Distracting him is precisely what Valax wants. The self-pity can wait until after he's free. Now, he needs to think.

His bag of supplies has grown much lighter after he parted ways with Ray and others. The Shadow Realm's charred wastelands can be challenging to find herbs in. Especially the healing ones — the migraine has been killing him. And the skirmish with the soldiers earlier has depleted his already very unimpressive reserves even further. But surely, he can come up with something?

His fingers fumble through his bag, searching for something—anything—until finally closing around a half-empty pouch of dry resin, and Aerin clutches it so tightly that his knuckles grow white. Yes, it isn't much, but it will suffice—and at that moment, that's all he's asking for.

The approaching footsteps grow uncomfortably closer, each one counting down the seconds before his demise. Aerin's heartbeat matches their eerie rhythm, but he's ready. With swift precision, he sends a tiny pouch of flaming resin skidding across the floor toward Valax's feet and the next moment, it erupts in a thick cloud of bitter black smoke. Aerin launches. He can feel the rush of air as Valax's hand nearly grazes his hood, but the surprise is on his side. Twisting like an eel, he slips away from her outstretched grasp and bolts.

He knows better than to believe that his little diversion will stall Valax for long, his instinct keen as ever. Behind him, a fierce gust of wind, strong enough to bend trees, sweeps the smoke away in one fell swoop. A second more, and it might have toppled Aerin too, but he lunges into the nearest open chamber just in time. Behind him, the heavy metal door slams shut with a deafening boom.

The room he finds himself in is peculiar. A large, dimly lit chamber welcomes him with the quiet hum of strange machines, the ticking and clicking of odd knick-knacks and the soft glow of iridescent vials. Metals cages bare their bars ominously in the dark corners of the room. His gaze takes it all with greedy interest. At a better time, Aerin could spend hours here, figuring out the purpose of each strange device and weird contraption. Now, though, he scarcely has a moment to take cover behind one of the towering metallic cabinets and calm his breath. Just in the nick of time before the door opens again.

Valax pierces the room with her dark, heavy gaze, no doubt noticing every minute detail before stepping inside. Her steps are slow and deliberate as she circles the room, a shark sensing the smell of blood, and each time her heel connects with the floor, it's a sledgehammer blow to Aerin's temples.

'Your friend Reina told me so much about you, you know,' Valax purrs.

Every one of her words is a stone in an avalanche. But it's not even the words themselves; it is the sheer wrongness of hearing that name uttered by this voice that truly shakes Aerin to his very core. He knows Ray is not particularly fond of her full name, not really. She told him she'd always found it too old-fashioned. It made her sound like some stuck-up Whitetower noble, she said.

Unless it was him who called her that.

'Ah, we've had so many wonderful times together. In this very room, actually,' Valax continues. From his vantage point, Aerin can clearly see Valax's hand as it tenderly caresses the large stone table in the centre of the room. As his eyes follow her movement, it dawns on him that the table has leather straps at each corner. 'Yes, she became quite talkative at times. Especially after I treated her to a bit of belladonna and dreamroot tonic.'

A chilling shiver slithers down Aerin's spine. He's familiar with the effects of belladonna tonic. Thank Vostrasz, that sadistic bastard. He loved dosing his victims with this vile concoction and watching them as they screamed, unable to escape the visions of their worst nightmares. Aerin has witnessed its effects once, the memory carved into his mind. A young man, skin glistening with cold sweat, empty eyes with freakishly wide pupils staring at something only he could see, dry lips whispering a desperate plea as tears streamed down his face.

As if compelled by some wicked force, his gaze is drawn back to the stone table. For a haunting second, he can see Ray's lifeless body sprawled upon it. Bile surges in his throat. He shuts his eyes and clenches his fists.

'She screamed so loudly. Screamed until she had no voice left to scream with. Would you like to know what she screamed, your highness?'

He needs to get out of here.

As Valax turns her back to him, Aerin seizes the opportunity and hurls a small pebble to the far corner of the room, where it lands in a tiny clink. Valax's head snaps towards the sound, and Aerin jumps, throwing his whole body onto the massive cabinet serving as his cover. The cabinet creeks, staggers, and topples right towards Valax's head. Vials and boxes spill across the chamber in a cacophony of clatter and crashing. Amid the ensuing chaos, Aerin rushes towards the exit, swiping a bunch of supplies laid out on one of the side tables into his bag.

Unfortunately, he doesn't make it all the way. Valax, with her inhuman strength, halts the toppling cabinet mid-air with a single hand. Crouched behind an overturned table, Aerin can see the dark veins pulsing on Valax's forearm as she holds the cabinet still for a moment, metal crumpling like paper tissue under her fingers, then shoves it back into the wall. One of the glass vials must have shattered against her forehead because he can see a strange iridescent liquid mingling with dark blood as it slowly trickles down her brow, but otherwise, Valax doesn't look hurt at all. Just pissed.

Holding his breath so as not to make a single sound, Aerin frantically sorts through the ingredients he managed to snatch. There is some dry hemlock and foxglove. A vial of dragonfly wings. A pouch of saltpetre and sugar. Oh, if only there was sulphur… Please, let there be sulphur…

In his frantic state, Valax's voice is cold and still like a blade. 'Don't do it, Aerin. That's what she said... She seemed so scared, too. Terrified. I wonder what you did to scare her so badly, your highness?'

Aerin grits his teeth, forcing his hands to keep working through the tiny vials, but his mind is, unfortunately, much harder to control. He knows nothing of Ray's nightmares—there is no way he could know—but he's got plenty of his own. And as Valax's words keep ringing in his ears, one in particular raises its ugly head.

Smears of blood blooming on the throne room floor. A portal buzzing with dark magic. Tang of metal and ozone in the air. Nia—the priestess's limp body in his arms. He tries not to look at her face—it's easier this way. Instead, he only looks into the portal, Shadow Realm's lifeless landscape spread out before his eyes. He's so close. One tiny step away. But just before he's about to take it, he glances back.

Briefly, his mind registers Mal's face, twisted with rage. The terror in Tyril's eyes. Imtura's teeth bared in a scorching scowl. But in the end, it's her face that is burned into the back of his eyelids.

Her cheeks, oddly wet. Her body, trembling ever so slightly. She looks so tiny at that moment. So lost, like a puppet with her strings cut. And so utterly, heartbreakingly sad. She doesn't make a sound, but her lips curve around the words, and Aerin swears he can hear her voice as she pleads, 'Don't do it.'

'Maybe you should try being afraid of me as well!' Aerin erupts, letting go of the pent-up anger as he hurls the burning concoction he mixed up at Valax, then dives through the doorway. Behind him, the makeshift bomb explodes with a deafening roar of fire, its fiery breath shuffling the hair on Aerin's nape. The skin on his hands and knees burns, scraped from the clumsy fall. But the pain is so worth it. So worth the feeling of dark satisfaction blazing through his veins. Having this place where Ray suffered countless days and nights reduced to ashes… It's invigorating.

Celebration will have to wait, though. Aerin knows that destroying Valax herself won't be as simple as her laboratory. The echoes of the explosion still ringing in his ears, he scrambles to his feet and takes off in the direction of the dungeon's exit.

He doesn't get far before the sinister sound of Valax's approaching footsteps reaches him again.

'So, the Dreadlord's little lapdog has some bite, too. Still, that won't be enough,' Valax… giggles? It's a disturbing, chilling sound that makes the hairs on Aerin's arms stand on end. 'Unfortunately for you, you don't have quite the same… effect on me as you do on the Realmwalker.'

In this dark, horrifying dungeon, her voice rings with eerie delight, as if she's remembering a very funny joke, and Aerin is not in on it.

Aerin has no time to dwell on it, though. Reaching a crossroads, he takes a sharp right and, hiding behind the corner, steals a glance over his shoulder. As expected, Valax is closing in, tendrils of smoke and shadow swirling around her body as though she carries a piece of the very fire he started on her.

'You see, the Realmwalker and I have spent so much time together. Months… Why, I would almost consider us to be close friends! And she has told me many, many things over those months… About you, too! Aren't you curious, little princeling?'

Why are you listening to her, his mind screams out. She doesn't know where he is. She's just baiting him. Trying to get a reaction, provoke him into revealing himself. There is no reason to believe a single venomous word that escapes her lips.

'I'm sorry, Aerin. That is one of my favourites. Do you like it, princeling?'

Lies, lies, lies, every single word of hers. After all, whatever would she ask his forgiveness for when everything… Everything is his fault. And yet, as Valax's words echo in his ears, Aerin swears he can hear her voice—

Ray has always been so strong. He's seen her in battle, the hero of Morella, as deadly as she is beautiful. But her heart… He knew her tender, bleeding heart. Always too kind to people who didn't deserve it. To people like him.

Of all things, his mind goes back to the night of the fair in Riverbend—their night. He remembers her skin, dressed in nothing but candlelight, her body melting under his touch like wax as he kissed her thighs. The mighty hero, in his arms, exposed down to her very soul. It struck him then, the power he held. At that moment, he could break her. It wouldn't even be hard.

The thought terrified him. He had power, once. And look where it got him. Power… It brings out the darkness within people. Most live and die without ever truly experiencing it, but Aerin has seen his shadow already. He looked it in the eye. And that is how he knew he could never allow himself to touch her again.

He clenches his teeth and tries to melt into the shadows, away from Valax's piercing gaze.

'Come back, she said. Oh, why wouldn't you come back to her, princeling?'

Aerin knows he shouldn't listen. But every word that falls from Valax's lips is a drop of acid eating away at his very soul. Perhaps that's why he doesn't notice the shadowy tendril winding around his ankle.

Pale rays of early dawn filter into the tent as Aerin hastily packs the last of his admittedly unimpressive belongings.

Ray still lies amidst the crumpled sheets, her hair tousled on the pillow. She's asleep, yet her brows are still knitted together in a painful frown.

That night, he didn't sleep at all, the chatter of his own thoughts too loud to let him rest. For a while, he just laid there, silently studying her face. She whimpers in her sleep. What awful things does she see when she closes her eyes? He didn't know; he just stroked her hair tenderly until she seemed to calm down. Her frown never went away, though. Why is it that every time she is with him, she looks like she's in pain? The thought made him feel ill.

Finally, he secures his bag and steps toward the exit, his goodbye letter resting on the nightstand. Before him stretches the forest that skirts the edges of Riverbend, tranquil and beautiful in its robe made of golden dew. But just as he's about to step into the dawn, he glances back. He just can't help himself.

As though sensing his gaze, she stirs in her slumber and raises her head. Aerin freezes. Her lavender eyes twinkle for just a second, half-obscured beneath the heavy fawn lashes. From her perplexed expression, it is clear she's not yet fully awake.

'Aerin?' she exhales.

'Yes,' Aerin replies, the word sticking in his throat. 'It's me.'

He's utterly still, fearing that any sudden movement or noise will awaken her further, revealing him standing there. Fully clothed. With his belongings in tow.

'Come back,' she asks, her feather-soft voice piercing right through his heart.

'I'm just getting some water. Go back to sleep.'

It's so hard to keep his voice straight, but he manages. He's lied for so long it's become second nature. Finally, Ray lets out a compliant hum, seemingly convinced by his words, and falls back onto the pillow. Aerin lingers for a few more moments, then finally walks away. Her voice still echoes in his ears, but his mind is made up. This is for the best. If he stays away, he won't be able to hurt her again.

That's the lie he keeps telling himself.

The shadow yanks him closer to its master. Aerin almost loses his balance but rolls away at the very last second. In one fluid motion, he draws a short blade from the sheath on his shin and slices through the tendril, freeing himself.

But it's too late. Valax stands in front of him, and behind his back, the corridor stretches into a dead end.

In one last desperately hopeless attempt, he tightens his grip on the hilt and lunges at Valax.

'Help me,' Valax whispers, the plea laced with cruel amusement.

His stomach drops, and his head spins, but he almost manages to keep his composure. Almost.

Valax leans into his attack, sidestepping at the very last moment, and strikes his wrist with an open palm, sending his dagger clattering across the dungeon floor. Her other hand grabs his throat and slams him into the wall like he weighs nothing at all. The back of his head connects with stone in a hollow thud. It's over.

Valax's clawed fingers tighten around his neck as she studies his face with a ruthless smile.

'You'll serve as bait quite nicely,' she declares.

'You're wasting your time,' Aerin chokes out. 'She won't come for me.'

But his lie rings hollow. He might have believed it once, but not anymore. Not for a while. As if reading his mind, Valax smirks.

'Oh, but I think she will.'

Ray will come for him. Once upon a time, this thought would've filled his stomach with butterflies, but at this moment, it sounds like hollow dread. She will come here, into the Shadow Court Fortress, right into Valax's eager clutches. Because of him.

How foolish he was to think that her anguish would end if he just stepped away. Even now, even here, he's still putting her in danger. Still hurting her. He really is good for absolutely nothing, isn't he?

Darkness begins to engulf his vision, but just before it consumes him entirely, Valax abruptly releases her grip. Aerin collapses to the ground, his body limp, coughing violently.

'But until she does, we have much to discuss,' Valax says, grabbing a fistful of his hair and pulling until Aerin meets her gaze. Her eyes are dark and cruel as she studies his face. Then she grins. 'I wonder if you'll scream her name too, little princeling.'

She doesn't need to guess. She knows he will.

#probably shouldn't post it just a few hours before the new chapter but anyway #almost put the genre as 'emotional torture porn'#playchoices #my writing #blades of light and shadow #aerin valleros #oc: ray nightbloom

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the-unconquered-queen · 5 months

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Cringe tally of random instances in which I thought we'd see Aerin + delusional justifications:

Opening the portal back into the light realm, because I thought wielding the blade of shadow might have given him some abilities sort of similar to MC's

On Gerhard's ship, especially when the narration made a point of singling out a single sailor, since a lot of pirates would be fugitives anyway

On Flotilla (admittedly my most deranged), since it's apart from Morella, having cut some kind of deal to hide out there

With the Thieves Guild somehow, since he's in hiding and would be in need of earning some coin after depleting his supplies, plus as a former prince, the thieves could use him as leverage if needed, so he could be a recruit even if they don't take him seriously

And these are just from the last two chapters. I cannot sufficiently stress my awareness of how desperately I'm grasping at straws. Will keep adding as I spiral deeper into insanity.

#I maintain that Gerhard's ship was a perfectly reasonable assumption especially since I wasn't the only one to think of it #y'all I've got it bad #we better get back and see that he took over the Morellan throne or sumn while we were gone

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acourtesanofedgewater · 6 months

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#srry guys I'm not stfu on this one #playchoices #choices stories you play #pixelberry #choices #stories you play #blades of light and shadow #choices blades #blades 2 #bolas 2 #aerin prince of morella #prince aerin #aerin valleros

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xhelladirectoryx · 3 months

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👑 Aerin Valleros (Blades of Light and Shadow) 👑

"I made the choices I did, and I cannot change it now."

GENERAL INFORMATION

Name/Alas: Aerin Valleros

Faceclaim: Alexander Vlahos

Species: Human

Birthday/Age: December 17 {21}

Gender/Sexuality: Male - Pansexual

Occupation: Former Prince - Adventurer

BIOGRAPHY

Aerin Is the youngest prince of the kingdom of Morella. But was dethroned after killing his older brother. Also he revealed his involvement with a dark secret court to revive an evil creature. Yet he was stopped and captured by a hero and they party of adventurers. After he was returned to his father, King Arlan, he was sentenced to pay for his crimes in the palace dungeons. However, he was released if he promised to help the hero who defeated him. He promises to collaborate for a while but decides to run away trying to discover his true path and purpose.

More info:[xxx]

VERSES

CANONS AND HEADCANONS

RELATIONSHIPS

Father: Arlan Valleros

Mother: Unknown

Siblings: Baldur Valleros (deceased)

Other Family: None

S/O: None

Pets: None

#xaerinvallerosx

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malthemagnifisent · 5 months

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Pairing: Aerin x Male!elf Mc (Cyrus)

Summary: Things have settled down after the defeat of the Ash Empire. Cyrus is happy; Aerin is happy; things are good, but perhaps they could be better. Aerin had given Cyrus a ring once before, but that one was never on his finger, and the prince felt it was high time he put one there too.

Warnings: Kind of 18+, but only sort of. Nothing really happens, just some making out and suggestiveness that then fades to black at the end.

Tags: @oh-so-youre-a-nerd @baldwinboy5ive @lilyoffandoms @guinevre @renninflight @vicissavior (I’m just tagging the same people as last time, I am too tired to edit it and I assumed you would all enjoy anyway!)

Things with Aerin had grown peaceful. The world didn’t seem like it was out to get them anymore; they’d been living at ease for long enough now that Cyrus didn’t always have his guard up and that he no longer moved for a weapon at the most mundane of sounds.

Aerin was still cautious in some of the palace rooms; he had too many bad memories connected to them to ever feel truly safe in them, but even that had gotten better than it was, and Cyrus was proud of Aerin. It hadn’t been easy to overcome, but he was far stronger than he gave himself credit for.

It had been a rather long day for the both of them. There had been an urgent meeting in the palace, and both of them had been in attendance. It had only just ended, and Cyrus had chosen to immediately head up to their bedroom. He went alone at first, but Aeein followed soon after and stepped into the bedroom to find Cyrus half way out of his clothes with a bath prepared in the suite.

“The council still refuses to listen to me,” Aerin said, glancing Cyrus up and down, his annoyance faltering as his eyes settled briefly on the unbuttoned waistband of Cyrus’ pants, which were hanging loosely around his hips, tempting, always so tempting.

“If it makes you feel better, I don’t think it’s just you; they don’t seem to like me much either,” Cyrus responded, tilting his head to the side and raising a teasing eyebrow at Aerin’s staring. “They don’t like being bossed around by some Elven orphan from some backwater town with no relevance,” he sighed, as no matter how long he stayed in White Tower or how much he did for Morella, there were always people who looked at him with contempt.

He turned toward the bathroom, but paused in the doorway and looked back at Aerin, smiling invitingly as he made a beckoning gesture with his head, a silent question, ‘join me?'

He didn’t need words to convey such a thing, and Aerin certainly didn’t need words to answer; he just smiled and took Cyrus by the hand, allowing the elf to lead him into the steamy bathroom.

“How did you heat the water so fast? You haven’t been up here long,” Aerin asked, looking at the large tub that was carved into the ground. It was too big for just one person, even too big for two, but neither of them minded; it just gave them an excuse to sink into the water together, to bask in the warmth while laying back on an equally warm chest.

Cyrus chuckled and brushed the tips of his fingers over Aerin’s cheek. A spark of heat followed the touch, and Aerin’s eyes fluttered closed. “I’m magic, remember?” Cyrus whispered, only to drop his hands to Aerin’s shirt, which he unbuttoned quickly. He was very well versed in the art of stripping people of their clothes, especially Aerin.

He only does it for Aerin now. Only for him.

A kiss was pressed to Aerin’s shoulder, and Cyrus laughed when the prince shivered. Even in the warmth of the room, he trembled; it was really sweet.

“They’re all idiots, you know,” Aerin blurted out, opening his eyes and looking down at Cyrus, who was kissing his neck. “The council—all of them are fools if they can’t understand what a gift you are,” he added, his breath shaking slightly as Cyrus straightened up.

Long fingers pulled at Aerin’s belt, and Cyrus’ voice grew low, his lips by Aerin’s ear and his breath ghosting over the prince’s neck. “All of that’s true, of course, but I prefer we leave our problems out there; right now, I want to focus on you,” he mumbled, and that was all Aerin needed to let the tension release from his shoulders and pull a gentle sigh of contentment from his lips.

The remains of their clothes fell to the floor one by one, and Cyrus didn’t even care that they were probably getting wet from the damp floor; he just picked his way over to the bath with Aerin in tow and sank slowly into the hot water. He’d put bubbles and bath oils into the water, and as a result, it was quite a decadent bath, but he thought they deserved it.

There was a low seat in the tub, and Aerin sat down first, which gave Cyrus the much preferred position of settling himself between the prince’s legs so he could lay back against his chest, his eyes falling closed as the hot water rippled around them and the bubbles softly crackled.

Aerin’s fingers twisted in his hair and then trailed down his neck and arm, across his chest, down to his stomach, before slowly moving back up. It was exploratory and gentle, never straying too far without a word of approval.

Cyrus would have given approval if Aerin asked, but the prince seemed content just toying with him. Their fingers interlocked beneath the water, and Cyrus felt the tip of Aerin’s finger moving slowly around his ring finger, circling slowly and mindlessly.

He thought nothing of it.

Aerin pulled Cyrus’ hand from the water and held it up, watching as the water and bubbles trickled down his blue skin in shining rivulets, each one catching the warm light that filled the bathroom.

Slowly, Cyrus tilted his head back and stared up at Aerin, an amused little smile tugging at the corners of his lips. “What are you doing?” He asked, more than a little confused by Aerin’s sudden obsession with his hand.

Oftentimes, Aerin zoned out as he stared at Cyrus, and usually it was flattering, but this felt rather different. Aerin didn’t look far away or out of it; in fact, he was smiling. It was a small smile, but Cyrus could see it easily enough.

“You have nice hands,” Aerin said, meeting Cyrus’ eyes like he expected him to know more than what he was letting on, but all Cyrus could think to do was laugh and nod his head in agreement, though he still didn’t know what had brought on such an out of the blue compliment.

“So do you,” Cyrus responded, reaching up with his free hand to place it against Aerin’s cheek. He left a smear of bubbles across his pale skin, and a few drops of water ran down Aerin’s neck, but the prince barely reacted. He never seemed to do anything Cyrus did, as if somehow he was incapable of seeing Cyrus’ faults, of which there were many.

Aerin only hummed softly, the sound vibrating through his chest and causing Cyrus to press close to him, craving more of the sound and the feeling it gave when the prince’s chest rumbled and his heart beat faster.

It was everything he needed at the moment—perhaps all he would ever need again.

Something in Aerin’s expression shifted; his lips pursed nervously, and his eyes flickered between Cyrus’ own and the high window that was set into the far wall of the room. He swallowed loudly, and Cyrus was about to question him, to ask what was wrong, but before he could get out a word, Aerin broke the silence.

“They’d look better with a ring on them,” he said, the words falling from his lips in a rush, followed soon after by a warm blush creeping up his cheeks and even touching his hairline.

For a moment, Cyrus didn’t process the words, and he just stared in confusion, but only a second later, he was sitting up in a hurry and turning around to the loud sloshing of the bath water.

Their eyes met as Cyrus very pointedly set his hands on Aerin’s shoulders and climbed onto his lap. Each knee settled onto the bench on either side of Aerin’s legs, and his hands dropped down to the rim of the bath until Aerin was effectively caged in.

The room stood still; neither of them breathed for a moment, but their eyes met, and that was everything. The whole world was in Cyrus’ eyes; he had a universe in his mind; he had Aerin’s heart in his hand. He was everything.

“Was that what I think it was?” Cyrus asked, leaning in so close that Aerin could feel his breath and the warmth ghosting across his lips and cheeks. Soft, always so soft, except when he needed things to be hard. Oh, then Cyrus was so happy to oblige.

Aerin swallowed again and summoned every ounce of courage he had so he could speak. “If you thought it was a proposal, then yes, but it can be whatever you want,” he said, looking sheepish and almost apologetic. He had realized what a strange way to propose it was.

He had planned to be far more romantic, to get down on one knee, to beg for eternity with Cyrus by his side, to offer him everything, to give away all he was just to hear the word “yes,” but all that had been forgotten in the moment. Somehow, right now, it seemed like a good time, and all his words had failed him.

If it had cost him Cyrus’ agreement, then he would curse himself for the rest of his life.

Cyrus blinked, he stared, his eyes moved to Aerin’s lips, and then, beautifully, mercifully, wonderfully, he smiled.

“Yes,” he whispered, leaning in the last few inches.

Their lips met, and Aerin was pressed against the wall of the bath, his back arching until his head slipped back and Cyrus moved down to his neck.

The bath water has cooled significantly, but Aerin felt hotter than ever; how could he not when Cyrus’ hand was winding into his hair and the man’s teeth were catching at the skin of his collarbone?

Aerin knew there were going to be marks on his skin later, but for once he didn’t care; for one night he would be above decorum.

It was perfect; everything was perfect. Then Cyrus pulled away, and for a moment Aerin couldn’t breathe, but Cyrus was dragging him up as well, with no intention of leaving him behind. “If you think I’m spending my engagement night in the bath instead of our bed, then you’re not as smart as I thought you were,” he said, climbing out of the bath and barely even bothering with a towel, just wiping away the worst of the water before he gave Aerin an impatient look and headed out to the bedroom.

Aerin didn’t waste a moment, hurrying after Cyrus as fast as he could. He nearly slipped on a wet path of ground, but even that couldn’t slow him down for long, and as soon as he stepped into the bedroom, he was tugged into another kiss.

Cyrus wasn’t gentle, and Aerin didn’t want him to be. The world had tilted, everything had changed in only a few moments, and he needed the rough reminder that he really was alive, that this was real, that Cyrus was his, and that he had agreed to be his forever.

For always.

With a gasp, they broke away, and suddenly Aerin was being shoved onto the bed. Cyrus stood over him for a moment, his eyes alight and his face split with a smile as he looked Aerin up and down. “It wasn’t the most romantic proposal, but I don’t care; I’ll get you on your knees soon enough,” he said, climbing onto Aerin’s prone body and settling on top of him like he owned every inch of Aerin’s being.

He did, of course, though Aerin wouldn’t admit that out loud.

It didn’t matter; nothing mattered now except Cyrus’ hands on his chest, Cyrus’ thighs at his waist, Cyrus’ lips on his neck, and down his chest, Cyrus, Cyrus, Cyrus.

#choices #playchoices #mine #play choices #pb #bolas #blades of light and shadow 2 #blades of light and shadow #choices fanfic #playchoices fanfic #mc x aerin #aerin x mc #choices aerin #bolas aerin #aerin valleros #prince aerin #writing #my writing

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bladesappreciationweek · 3 years

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Riverbend: A human town, home to our MC and their adopted brother Kade. Its citizens are kind, but life there is quiet and removed from adventure.

Temple of Ellara: Located a day’s walk outside of Riverbend. It is a sacred temple of the Church of Light, and contained the first of the Onyx Shards.

Port Parnassus: A seaside city known for its lawless citizens and wild taverns, and was home to the Library of Parnassus before it was destroyed.

Cartesian Sea: The body of water between Port Parnassus and the Shimmering Isles is known as the Cartesian Sea. It is home to Mermaids, Bloodsquid, and Grobtars, among other dangerous threats.

Flotilla: A floating city that serves as the capital of the twelve orcish fleets’ alliance. Ventra Tal Kaelen, queen of the united orc Clans, lives there.

Deadwood: An ancient sprawling forest that offers the only path to Undermount. Once a lush place full of Light, it has been poisoned by the actions of the Shadow Court.

Undermount: Undermount exists within the boundaries of Morella, but humans have no jurisdiction over it. According to Tyril, poets called it the ‘City of a Hundred Thousand Alleys’ due to the many paths through the city.

Whitetower: The capitol city of Morella. Home to Prince Aerin, it is a town of contradictions that contains both the wealth of the royal palace and the poverty of the Nooks and Crannies.

#playchoices #pixelberry #choices stories you play #blades of light and shadow #bolas #bladesaw #creator resources

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francoiserenaldt · 3 years

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the last night

or the disgraced prince of morella receives a visitor.

warnings: a little gore toward the end, some incel logic

word count: 1.3k

note: this was a secret santa present but then I remembered @bladesappreciationweek was happening and I couldn’t not share this. enjoy.

I hate you.

It’s all over her face; her expression appears tight and furrowed under what little moonlight slips into the castle dungeons through cracks of crumbling walls. Her knees are taut against her chest, her breathing shallow, as she rakes her eyes over every nook and cranny of the cramped holding cell, committing every detail to memory.

Anything was better than looking at his face, he figures.

And yet, he can’t make sense of why she won’t just open her mouth and say it; after all, there’s not a soul within 100 miles of Morella that could argue that he doesn’t hate her too.

And really, who's fault is it that he's in this predicament anyway? Sure, no one told him to stab the arrogant bastard he loathed to call his brother in a room full of witnesses or to kidnap a priestess and transport her into the Shadow Realm, but no one told her and her lackeys to make it so easy for him, either. She’d done it to herself.

No one told him to put everything he had on the line at the first opportunity that showed itself just to fail in the end, but no one told her to revel in destroying everything he’s worked for in the name of being a hero. She had no right to hate him when everything about this night was her fault.

And despite everything she’s said and done to him, she sits outside of his holding cell in the King's Palace under the cloak of night, taunting him with her silence and scorn.

What in the hells is she waiting for?

He scoffs at the thought. The only thing she’s doing outside of his cell is wasting his time.

"Come to see me one last time?" He croons to her. The ache in his previously dormant throat is only quelled slightly by the deepened furrow in her brow.

"I'll be at the beheading tomorrow. That will be the last time." She retorts as the back of her head brushes against the rotted ivy along the walls.

"You want it to be the last time." The sentence borders on accusatory and she scoffs, far too loudly for the hour.

She rolls her eyes. "Of course I want it to be the last time. You’re not someone I look forward to seeing."

"Then why are you here?" Aerin hisses. “To watch me wither away?”

"Something like that." Her furious expression falls into a lackadaisical smirk as she turns her head to peer at his crippled and disheveled form in the darkest corner of the cell. The whispers of corruption linger on his skin like burn scars and he knows that she wants nothing more than to dig into them. "You're looking even worse than I thought."

"You enjoy it, don’t you?” He snaps, glaring. “Seeing me like this."

Another scoff. "I don't enjoy anything about you, Aerin. Not anymore."

"Not anymore? You mean to tell me…"

She curses under her breath and he grins for the first time since he exited the Shadow Realm. If he’s interpreting this correctly, then that means that she…

No, she couldn’t be that foolish. There’s no way.

Her expression is unreadable now, her gaze fixed on a medium-sized rock that lays at her feet. She punts it into the northernmost corner, grunting underneath her breath.

All this time he had thought she came to gloat about her outrageous victory when she really come to give him an earnest love confession. It was no wonder why she couldn’t look him in the eye; he too would be embarrassed beyond belief. Still, the thought of the great mage who conquered the Shadow Court paying him a visit to mourn her love for him—the absurdity can’t be lost on her, he refuses to believe it—rips a deep chuckle from his core.

"Oh, gods. You liked me. You thought that I was interested in you." He tilts his head back and releases a full-bellied cackle, an unusually bright sound considering his predicament. "All that time planning for my rise to power and I was beaten by a vigilante with a crush." Aerin's laughter subsides at last as he gazes upon the warrior with lidded eyes, shaking his head softly. "I never stood a chance, did I?"

"I am not a vigilante."

"Of course not, with your shiny new medal and all. In case it wasn't clear by now, you're an idiot."

"I don't even want to think about what that makes you, Aerin." She snaps, rising to her feet and dusting herself off. Gods forbid that the hero of the kingdom sustains so much as a speck of dirt on her outfit. “Especially considering that you’ll be a dead man this time tomorrow.”

"Leaving so soon?” He purrs. After the hell he’d endured, he was going to have fun with this. “I thought you wanted to see me."

She growls before shaking her head. "I've seen more than enough of you for a lifetime."

"I don't think you've seen nearly enough," Aerin smirks.

She, against all law of rational thought, turns back toward him. Gods, she really is a fool. "Really?"

"Really." He crawls toward the cell doors, catching her eye as he comes closer and closer to the light.

"What will you show me?"

"I'll show you anything you want, everything you want"

"I'm guessing this means that I need to break you out of here, don’t I?”

"No, no. All you have to do is come in with me."

"No can do, Prince Aerin.” His eyes narrow at the derision in her voice before he can stop them. “I have a life to return to and I get the feeling that you don't plan on letting me go."

Aerin leans forward, his dirt-covered face just inches from hers. "Does this mean that you'll take me with you?"

She grins. "Not a chance."

And then she's gone. Whether she's off to solve the next adventure and win some medal for inevitably saving the world or to sneak back into someone else's bed—he tries not to linger on the idea too long—he'll never figure out. His last night alive and she's left him alone with nothing but the cool, unattainable moonlight for company.

The chill is too bitter for sleep tonight, so he lets his mind wander. He was never one to linger on his thoughts—thoughts were quickly turned to letters on parchment until they were safe to speak, a rarity with castle staff and Baldur around every corner—but he'll make an exception, just for tonight.

He thinks of the night the Dreadlord had approached him, promising to make all of his dreams come true.

He thinks of the night she kissed him and how great of a distraction it was from the pain. Something strange tugs him, but he dismisses it. He no longer had the luxury of pondering.

He thinks of the night he obtained the shards, how beautiful and powerful the Blade had been in his hand, and the rush he’d feel when he fed the Dreadlord to the priestess.

He thinks of her confession: the earnest way she'd seemed to give her loyalty to him, even after everything he'd done, and the insurmountable rage he'd felt when she snatched it from him.

He thinks of his father, the man he used to admire more than anything, and how carelessly he'd thrown Aerin into the castle dungeons.

He thinks until he’s yanked out of the solace of quiet and into the execution room, where the castle’s most pristine cleaver slices into his trachea at the first crack of dawn for all of Morella to see.

Fin.

#aerin valleros #aerin x mc #blades of light and shadow #bladesaw #day 6: the realm of shadow

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zhoras-bitch · 8 months

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Not going to lie, I contemplated not taking the diamond scene in chapter 16 and letting Aerin go intentionally. In the end, I decided not to because of how the premium choice system works, with diamond choices being 'better'. But narratively speaking, I definitely think Aerin escaping potentially makes for a much more exciting story.

For one, that means he could continue to be a thorn in MC's side for longer for my sick entertainment. But more importantly, I feel like him being taken prisoner is kind of the easy way out for him. Like how harshly would they treat a prince anyway, even after everything he's done?

Nah. I want him to feel the full extent and weight of his actions. I want him to suffer the consequences. I want him to be forced to survive in the world alone, without the perks of being a royal or the support of the Shadow Court, all while being the most wanted criminal in Morella. And while he's on the run, I want him to hear the entire kingdom celebrating MC and their friends as heroes, because they were right and he was wrong.

I also want him to be a real person for a change. Not a Valleros or a Shadow Prince, or whatever role he was playing his entire life, but just Aerin. I want him to try to build himself back up again from the wreckage of his past failures. And as he struggles, I want him to know that he did it to himself. That everything that's happening to him is his own damn fault. And I want him to just live with that for a while.

If I were to speculate on what is actually going to happen rather than what I want to happen, though, I feel like Aerin is going to end up in the Shadow Realm one way or another. Possibly, if he is captured and faces justice, he is exiled as a punishment. And since he has nowhere else to go, he ends up in Shadow Realm, which is how the diamond and non-diamond paths converge. This makes sense in giving him a purpose in the grand scheme of the story, and it would force him to adapt to a new life in a harsh and foreign world. But in terms of his internal journey, I do think it's a little less satisfying as it separates him somewhat from the consequences of his actions. In the Shadow Realm, he's a nobody. Which is a step down from being a crown price and therefore quite humbling, but still better than the traitor and murderer he is in Morella.

#i might actually write this fanfic #about aerin traveling through morella as a criminal and all #i already took like 2k words worth of notes #but idk i never actually finish anything i write #choices book club #blades of light and shadow #playchoices #aerin valleros #bitch speaks

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retvenkos · 3 years

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“and we were destroyed before we were made whole.”

A/N: the amazing @brokenandheadoverheels asked me to talk about my mc for blades of light and shadow so here we gooooooo

@bladesappreciationweek, Day 7: MC + Wild Card SOME GENERAL INFORMATION ABOUT OLINDA, MY BLADES OF LIGHT AND SHADOW MC...

background: while i do like the mc’s original background, sometimes you have to disregard canon for the drama of it all. so.... just kind of disregard the “bandits killed my parents” storyline.

she’s a human - more about her look here

she and her family lived on the outskirts of riverbend - they were humble farmers, working the land, and they were old friends with kade’s family.

when olinda is five, there’s a drought.

it hits right right before crop season, and nothing can grow. droughts in morella are rare, but when they hit, they last for a long time - years. the crown is expected to have resources saved in the event of these

king arlan, a man of excess and pride, blew through a lot of morella’s saved resources throwing the most elaborate of banquets to get nobles on his side, rather than his twin brother

(who was the more popular of the two but younger by just a few minutes, denying him a birthright that many would have loved to see challenged.)

when the drought hit, it was a crisis that needed averting.

the position of king’s advisor was a revolving door because arlan was intent on finding someone who could fix this problem, without having to negotiate with orcs or elves or (even worse) send expeditions beyond morella’s borders to hopefully find aid in the people only spoken of in stories and legends.

charlatans, arlan thought, there was no possible way that there could be a species of people more intelligent and more capable than his own.

eventually, one advisor of the dozens suggested encroaching on private land in the southeast - a place where the drought was suspected to have hit less. those lands were all privately owned because long ago, the land was gifted to brave men who served on the front lines of a war, but that was long enough ago that few remember it. besides, it’s already farming country, most of it. it’s been mostly forgotten. the idea was to take back the land, get the most fruitful harvest they could, and give the biggest rations to those in Whitetower - the home of all the nobles. the nobles wouldn’t care enough to check to see how the poorer parts of the nation were doing, and as long as their bellies were full, they would support arlan.

arlan agrees that the plan is engenius. so how do they decide to steal land from innocent, hard working farmers? by taxing them, of course!

so one day, kingsguard marches up to houses, declaring an emergency increase in taxes. when the struggling farmers inevitably fail to pay, they seize the property. and if anyone is to put up a fight, they’re jailed for their crime. there are a few “aggressive” farmers who put up a fight, and a few are killed or gravely injured. the crown manages to hush it up for the most part, and due to such aggression, they have reason to strip many others of their property.

it’s terrible, and a little prince named aerin sees what is happening and cries, one night. his brother baldur laughs and whispers “you’re just as weak as they are. i’d be careful you aren’t next.”

there is much unrest in the rural parts of the kingdom, and during this time, kade, his mother, his lame uncle, and a former neighbor move in with olinda’s family. together, they are resourceful enough to scrape up enough for the high taxes, and because their property has always been less fertile than those around them, they are overlooked.

for two years, the makeshift family survives, going to sleep without food in their bellies, selling their valuables and conserving as much as they can. no one knows when the drought is going to end, and until it’s truly over, they have to be careful.

kade’s uncle passes

one of olinda’s parents dies, something like pity for those who live on their face

when spring comes around again, it’s mostly dry. one night it rains, and olinda and kade dance in the downpour, ignoring their family telling them they’ll get sick.

it’s still a painfully dry season, and everything is dry enough that if it were to be lit on fire, the whole countryside would burn before you could make it to the river to get water.

during the day, the family works and the children are left to themselves - sometimes assigned menial tasks but mostly just left to roam with the strict warning to never step foot on a neighbor’s property. most of it belonged to king arlan, now, and if they were caught, they would lose a hand.... and perhaps something more.

olinda was mischievous, though, and kade was nothing if not the person to egg her on. together, they got very good at sneaking through the trees, using their own renditions of bird calls to play and tease the other.

one day, during their usual games, kade raced to olinda, cheeks blotchy, and told her he found an apple tree. olinda thinks it’s just another one of his tricks (“you’re always turning shadows into boogeymen and clouds into dragons.”) but kade insists.

“show me, then.”

“well...”

“see? i knew it was a lie.”

“it isn’t! it’s just... well, it’s on one of the king’s farm.”

“so?”

“you know we can’t get close to those farms!”

“you did if you saw apples.”

“well... they were sort of small. and definitely not ripe.”

“did you see them or not?”

“i did!”

“so you can take me back.”

“but, olinda—”

“kade, all of this land belonged to us before it belonged to them. those are our apples. besides, we’re not going to eat them - we’re just going to take a look.”

they decide to go after night fall. no one will be out in the fields that late at night, and their parent’s won’t know they’re gone.

but in true seven year old fashion, they don’t realize that it’s going to be too dark to actually see the apples from a distance.

olinda convinces kade to take them closer - onto the property so that he can prove they’re actually there.

when they get close enough to the tree to properly tell, kade’s stomach growls and olinda says they’ve already come this far - they might as well take some.

they take three apples and stop to eat them in the woods before they go home. the apples are terribly unripe and pitifully small, but they eat all three and lick their sticky hands clean. kade insists on planting the seeds, despite the drought, and so it’s well into the night by the time they start to make their way back home.

i believe it’s the light they saw first. the heat was already unbearable, that time of year, and the ash was too akin to dust and dirt for their young minds to reason.

when they saw the fire, kade was the first to run. he made it far on his spindly legs before a coughing fit overwhelmed him and he staggered backward.

their house and all their crops were on fire

burning before their eyes.

olinda was the first one to remember what their parents had always said, in case a fire should start. she pulled kade to the place where they were to wait - a wooded area that was far away enough to hopefully be safe, but close enough that they could watch their world burn to the ground.

their parents weren’t there, and for some reason, olinda thought that they would come

kade’s mother was probably just trying to pull on her shoes or something. they would meet them there - just like they always said they would.

olinda waited all night for them to come, even when kade knew they weren’t coming

part of her is still waiting.

farmers and the king’s guard were the ones to put out most of the fire, and for some reason, it rained that night - barely more than a sprinkle, but enough to dampen olinda and kade’s clothes and enough to calm smouldering ashes.

by that time, it was too late - the fire ravaged the area and much was lost. their house was burnt down, and some time in the morning, olinda and kade crawled back to its foundations, finding very little in its wake.

they ash stuck under their fingernails and collected in their throat. kade was coughing from how thick it was, and olinda rubbed his back, as though trying to ease the pain that ate at him.

who started the fire, olinda and kade would never know. bandits, some said, the hungry, thought others. some people even blamed the drought itself.

but aerin knew. he had heard his father and baldur speaking through a crack in the door about two families who they couldn’t oust from their land. they somehow managed to keep up with the tax - no matter how high they pushed it. they were survivors.

baldur (barely ten, at the time) expressed that everyone could be crushed, somehow. “can’t they just burn?” he had asked, with something dangerous in his eye.

arlan had thought for a moment, and eventually said something about how legend said a phoenix could rise from the ashes. perhaps the land could, too. he then patted his son’s head and left, a swish of furs and jewelry.

a nearby farmer went over to the burned ruins in the morning to make sure nothing was left burning, and when he found two kids, he put them in his cart and took them to riverbend - the failing town nearby.

he brought them into the pub, and the town christened two new orphans - nowhere children, they called them.

riverbend knew a lot of tragedies, and orphans with nothing to their name were called what they were - children who came from nowhere and were going the same.

the farmer couldn’t feed two more hungry mouths. neither could anyone else, for that matter. the pub owner said they could watch them for a week or two - then they’d become someone else’s problem.

kade seemed to be sick, after the fire. he was paler, feverish in the dreadful heat, and the bright look in his eye was fading.

it was olinda’s eighth birthday when someone new came to the pub. he was a weathered looking man - younger than he seemed and tired - the pub owner seemed to know him, and kade and olinda were introduced to him, not too long after his arrival.

he had been a nowhere child, once. he still was, really, with very little to his name. but he was working as a blacksmith and a farmhand at some place nearby. he didn’t have money for two kids - especially when one of them looked like a ghost - but he had a debt to pay forward. he figured this was the way to do it.

“but you’re going to earn your keep - you hear me?”

kade simply coughed

“i can earn it for the both of us.”

and the man nodded at olinda, something dark in his eyes “yeah, i reckon you can”

and olinda did well.

having lived on a farm her whole life, any task she needed to do was a quick study, and having been born from tragedy and drought, she was constantly working, used to the grime beneath her fingernails and the sweat that lingered on her brow.

olinda was strong and worked in the fields, and kade was smart and helped count money and barter with vendors in town. his sickness never really left him, it lingered in him always, but most days it wasn’t bad. he worked as best he could, but much fell on olinda’s shoulders.

when olinda was 9, the drought was over. four years later, and things were growing again. the taxes stayed high for a while, but at some point, word started to get out that arlan had suspiciously high taxes on certain farming regions, and whispers of when they were imposed started. arlan’s twin brother seemed to be currying favor with the king’s privy council.

the taxes lowered again.

fear didn’t leave the hearts of the farmers, though. they knew what had happened, and they knew how vulnerable they were. olinda and kade grew up alongside fear and ruin, and it would stick with them for the rest of their lives.

when olinda and kade were 10, kade’s sickness flared up again, this time far worse than anything olinda had ever seen.

riverbend had a name for this, too - ghost sickness. a way the dead damn the living for having survived when they shouldn’t have. a way the dead promised to claim kade soon.

but olinda had already lost too much to lose kade, too.

she worked all day - harder than before to account for kade’s lack of work - and at night, she would pretend to sleep but really stay up, listening to his coughs to see if they got worse, and making sure he was breathing, when he finally did fall asleep.

the townsfolk told kade stories during this time, and the bard in him was born. he was always a charismatic speaker, and now, with such fanciful tales... it wasn’t just pity that earned them free bread.

during this time, an anger festered in olinda. all of life was so cruel to her and kade. it took everything from them when they were so young, and now it threatened to take away what little she had fought so hard to build.

by 13, olinda would get into fights with other kids her age. they looked at her funny because she was a nowhere girl with a dying brother, and she was tired of it. she would give them a reason to respect her, if they needed it.

the farmer that had taken them in (and still cared for them, the three drifting here and there, wherever they could find work) found out.

he advised her to take out her anger on things other than people, but also taught her proper form. he told kade, once, when they thought olinda was asleep, that he knew that anger far too well - it was bound to come out, at some point.

by 15, kade began to get his strength back. he was still thinner and weaker than most, but he lost the pallor to his skin and he could hold a meal and get through a day of activity.

the farmer they lived with died when kade and olinda were 16, and once again, it was just the two of them.

olinda could do most everything by now - she was a decent blacksmith, a skilled farmhand, a fisher, a rudimentary carpenter, a fletcher, a leatherworker... kade joked that if she ever wanted to be a gladiator she could.

point is, she was decent at a lot of things, explaining why she was able to so easily pick up skills during the book.

kade, on the other hand, was an entertainer with the added skill of having an encyclopedic knowledge on random things (like, he knows what flora and fauna are safe to eat or he knows a crazy amount of geography and can use maps really well). he also knows elf and orc languages - all thanks to the people who would keep him company, at his bedside.

it’s a big superstition in morella that one of the few ways to wash away your sins is to appease the dying. they are close to the veil and if you visit them when are in between, they will remember you and give you blessings, later on.

kade also worked as a peddler for a while, selling things that olinda made while drifting from here to there. they traveled a bit between small towns, staying at pubs and inns. kade often charmed them a decent meal for cheap and at the end of the night, olinda got them kicked out for brawling.

they always came back to riverbend, though, never going far. despite not having a home, they seemed to be tethered to riverbend, like they had unfinished business, there.

personality/relationships:

as you can see, olinda is a little more.... pugnacious and rough around the edges than the actual mc for blades.

she’s seen how terrible this world is to the best of people, and she has had to bear the brunt of misfortune on her shoulders from very young. it’s only natural that she have some of that anger in her heart.

olinda may not believe in the goodness of the world, but she has hope for it, yet. that’s all because of kade’s stories - he would tell them to her every night and make her swear that she wouldn’t give up on the world, and at some point, olinda started to believe that maybe things weren’t so hopeless, after all. it was just their poor luck that landed them where they were.

this also means, though, that olinda is extremely caring and sensitive when it comes to those who are suffering. she would rather die than turn her back on someone in need, and this will put her in sticky situations over the course of her journey.

olinda doesn’t really see herself as a hero - she would like to save the world, but she has only ever been a nowhere child, and nowhere children don’t go anywhere. she thinks it would be amazing to do something grand - something that could change the world, but she truly doesn’t think herself capable

it takes a lot of prodding to get olinda to realize the weight of her actions and the possible outcome, and when she realizes that what she is doing could truly change the world, she has a hunger and thirst to prove herself.

olinda always gives 100% to whatever she’s doing, and it can often come at her detriment. when she’s given the chance to be more, she seizes it - damn the consequences.

olinda doesn’t have a lot of friends or close relationships - she has lost everyone who has ever gotten close, and part of her wonders, especially when kade looks sick, if it’s her. maybe she curses whoever comes near.

when olinda first meets nia she is baffled by her innocence. it’s not refreshing nor is it something that angers her - it’s just confusing. and maybe, at some point, olinda envies nia for her rosy view of the world. to nia, fire is just fire; it’s not a burning funeral pyre that haunts her dreams. to nia, sickness is just sickness; it’s not a vengeful ghost ripping away the one good thing she relies on. to nia, shadows are just shadows; they’re not something she has been running from ever since she was seven years old. olinda wants a bit of that. and maybe she’s worried that she will ruin nia, if they were to ever become closer than travel companions.

nia definitely teaches olinda the beauty in the world. kade taught olinda beauty in the past and the possible future, but he could never teach her to love the beauty of the present. nia does, slowly but surely. she shows her how things manage to grow, despite the world conspiring against them. she shows olinda how this world is still good, deep down. there is always light, with nia, and when she instills that view in olinda, it’s important.

when meeting mal, olinda immediately saw something of a kindred spirit - he was clearly damaged, too, this world against him from the beginning. they were both survivors looking for their family but while still being afraid of letting others close. although mal seemed to hide his damage better. instead of righteous fury, mal was ambivalent, and olinda wanted desperately to learn how he did it. olinda quickly learned though, that mal was an avoider - he didn’t let things roll over his shoulders, he jumped to the side before they could get to him. together, these two get some therapy and learn to take this world without letting it change them.

what i absolutely adore about their relationship is that they are both constantly teaching each other new skills. mal teaches olinda how to throw knives and how to be sneaky and she teaches him how to set traps or how to make a scabbard for his knives. they are constantly trying to one up each other by knowing how to do more things or being better at select skills, but it’s just friendly competition that keeps the other on their toes.

when it comes to tyril, olinda is less than enthused. these two had the hardest time getting along, and it all kinda stemmed from tyril being like,,,, “don’t slow me down” and olinda is like,,,,,, you invited yourself??? but also, i think that he reminds olinda a lot of the farmer that took her and kade in, so it’s a wound that tyril unwittingly hits. but also, tyril and olinda both know that the other is useful, and part of them knows to make a person who has the most potential of becoming a future enemy a friend, first, so that’s why they swallow their pride to reach out. they’re both headstrong, but they also both have deeper wounds, and that connects them. it’s like,,,,, i see you and i respect you, but if you weren’t on my side, i would not hesitate to end you.

i think that olinda and tyril eventually become great partners on the battlefield - they work in sync really well because they are both a little self sacrificing in their melee attack, and they are both fairly versatile. they definitely work well together, and they definitely teach each other patience. and don’t get me wrong - they have their soft, vulnerable moments together, but they’re too similar to be good for each other™

this leaves me to talk about imtura, who definitely vibes with olinda. they both do what they have to do, and while it infuriates olinda that imtura doesn’t open up much (she’s surrounded by kade and nia in the beginning, who are like - do you want to know my tragic backstory? i’ll tell you right now, even if you don’t want it. then, mal is willing to tell some parts, and tyril is just tyril. olinda is 90% sure that he doesn’t even have a past, he just has vague allusions. imtura just shutting her down right away because she doesn’t feel like it? blasphemy.) olinda respects imtura. they’re both self-made women trying to find their way through this world, and they both learn to really lean on each other.

funnily enough, olinda teaches imtura to let her soft side out. olinda “i will fight you if you so much as look at me wrong” teaches imtura to be vulnerable. it’s weird. but, olinda is big on emotions - harsh and vulnerable, so she teaches imtura to express those more. imtura teaches olinda when to let that anger simmer, without flying off the handle. think first, then pull out your axes. they do wonders for each other’s emotional maturity.

oh! i think i should mention aerin. at first, olinda is against aerin and baldur. she does NOT want to have to take care of two princes who have lived sheltered lives and are the reason she lost her family. however, it’s much easier to hate baldur and something about aerin reminds olinda of kade.... a smart, bookish boy who’s lonely and doesn’t mean much to anyone, in this world. the two definitely bond, (and while i chose some of the romance options just to see) they only become friends. it’s crushing when he betrays them, and for a moment, olinda is afraid that maybe when she finds kade, he’ll be the same.

random thoughts:

olinda has a fear of fire. her eyes follow it’s tongues very carefully and she’s always double checking that it gets put out. the company figures this out fairly early on, and nia is almost always the one to very pointedly put it out. the first time, she made a big show of it, and everyone laughed, but olinda thought it was very sweet.

it’s kind of a joke, now, that whenever anyone puts the fire out, they make some very pointed comment. olinda always rolls her eyes, but she won’t deny that she does sleep easier, now.

it’s 100% an inside joke between olinda and tyril that they make up the most outlandish constellations - all stemming back from that time they talked about kade making up constellations. tyril made up a constellation once while on the road, stretching his imagination to cheer up olinda. nia tried to (sweetly and carefully) correct tyril, but he insisted until olinda realized what he was doing and smiled. together, they’ve made up some pretty good ones, and when kade joins the group, he makes up stories for each constellation they make.

mal is a pickpocket, and one of the first things he ever taught olinda was that skill. they like to have little competitions to see who is the better pickpocket (tyril was the final level and the hardest to pickpocket), and at one point, the game changed to sneaking things into people’s pockets. mal slipped olinda a love letter once and it was vvv sweet. olinda will sometimes jokingly mock him for it, but we all know she enlisted kade to help her write one back.

imtura and olinda spar! they do it all the time, and even though imtura wins most of the time, they both maintain that it’s a tie - they’re both too good.

also, olinda 100% makes imtura a new gauntlet - it’s a collaborative process. imtura chose what she wanted it to look like and what materials she wanted and olinda made it for her, trying to teach imtura, but imtura was terrible at it.

olinda has long hair, and nia taught her how to do really intricate braids. my girl used to just tie it up into a bun or ponytail, getting all kinds of tangles. nia was rightfully appalled and taught olinda how to braid her hair nicely.

the whole company has definitely braided each other’s hair.

the only one allowed to touch imtura’s hair is nia, and tyril would rather die than let mal touch his hair, but all of them know how to braid hair and you cannot tell me that they haven’t helped each other tie their hair back before going into battle

tyril is the worst at telling stories, and it’s a joke within the whole company. whenever they’re all hanging out after dinner, they tell stories and at least one person tries to tell a story terribly, seeing if they can do it worse than tyril

at first this super annoyed tyril, but now he will correct people’s terrible stories, making them even worse by revising the story and cutting out entire chunks or just interrupting them, saying the premise is already too interesting.

the exact opposite happens with mal - his stories are all incredibly detailed, but they’re all the same

the company tries to make a “mal story” that checks off all the cliches

contessa?

poorly timed winks?

a daring escape that is 100% fake?

an increasingly large diamond?

a charming disguise?

nia is actually really good at coming up with the most outlandish stories. mal is very proud.

speaking of nia, this woman did not know how to cook. imtura teaches her, and it’s actually really sweet. everyone thought nia was going to get queasy at gutting a fish, but she was oddly okay with it.

imtura gets really connected to her culture later on, so the whole company knows orcish sayings and the know a lot of the customs. it’s very sweet.

olinda is actually really bad at flirting, so mal is constantly trying to give her “tips” which is really just an excuse to hit on her. tyril hates it, nia is slightly scandalized, and imtura joins in on the fun.

olinda is actually scarily good at deception, though, and she teaches nia, which scares the whole company.

AND FLUFF ENSUES.

-- taglist: @musicallisto, @missameliep // message me if you want to be added!

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