Archive of Our Own ^beta

The air was hot – stifling almost. At least, for Velaris.

Cassian wasn’t built for the heat, despite what many believed. He was born in the cold of the mountains, in the heavy snow and the freezing rain.

Summer was… decidedly not his favorite.

Still, the atmosphere was pleasant – the large boat Rhys had rented rocked soothingly along the river as it made its way up and down the outline of the city, and the sound of laughter and music was enough to soothe any of his qualms about sweating through the cotton shirt he wore.

They’d gotten everyone to come – surprisingly – including the governors, Varian, Lucien.

And her.

Though, Cassian hadn’t actually laid eyes on her for more than a moment.

While most of them were seated out on the deck under lavish tents, passing food around and all but gorging themselves on sweet wines, Nesta had firmly insisted on staying inside the cabin, where a few stragglers found more comfort.

Mainly those who didn’t do well on boats, according to the hired captain that was taking them around.

He knew Nesta was only here after a series of longwinded begging from Elain and Feyre – and he knew that she hadn’t boarded this vessel entirely sober.

Maybe she was feeling a bit green, because of it.

Her absence had him seated on the edge of the lush couch, nearest to the cabin door. He kept one ear open – if only to listen, to make sure she wasn’t doubled over, spilling the contents of her stomach all over silk carpets somewhere. Despite himself, he scanned his eyes down the side deck directly beside him every few seconds, as if she’d appear at any moment.

Azriel, who sat beside him, almost certainly knew his game. Cassian was more than thankful he didn’t comment on it.

"The Governors didn't know what hit them, when Feyre, Darling showed up in that dress," Rhys was saying, fawning over his mate's latest attempt at politics in small amounts of clothing. 

"Oh please. They were more bothered by your foaming at the mouth."

Cassian fought the urge to roll his eyes. Absently, he heard Amren say something along the lines of 'disgusting' with a scowl and caught a whiff of her scent as she passed by, entering the cabin where he knew she resided.

Something tightened in his chest.

The tiny ancient female seemed to be in a mood that evening. Like she was picking for a fight. 

A moment later, the side door opened, and Nesta stepped out, moving to lean against the railing, Amren hot on her heels.

Cassian frowned.  The last thing this party needed was a scene.

“Well, this is just sad, Nesta.”

Amren’s voice was sharp – far too sober for the rest of them. Cassian hadn’t had that much to drink, but still, they’d been at this for hours.

And he knew, without a doubt, that if the rest of his family caught onto whatever this was, they’d be far less tactful.

“Fuck off.”

Nesta’s voice was just on the side of strained – about as ill composed as she’d allow in this company, he’d wager.

He found himself leaning forward, eyes fixated on the pair that had, at one point, been something like friends. If Amren had those.

“A little seasick?” The tiny female taunted. “Or is it all that whiskey you’ve been downing? Gods, you can’t even stand up straight.”

Nesta’s fingers flexed over the railing but didn’t waver. Instead, she leaned a bit heavier against the metal bars, and replied,

“What does it matter to you?”

“It doesn’t. It’s just pitiful to see what you’ve become.”

“And what is that?”

“A waste of life. A pathetic one.”

Cassian sat up straight, unsure if he heard the words correctly. Amren stood beside Nesta with her arms crossed, an unimpressed expression on her face, as if she were discussing the weather.

But Nesta – Nesta was leaning on the railing of the boat like her life depended on it. 

Or… like she was about to jump over.

Even from here he could see the way her knuckles were white as her fingers wrapped tighter around the top bar. Any harder and it would break.

It took several moments for Cassian’s mind to catch up with the gravity of what the Night Court’s Second had just said.

Gods, Amren.

Clearly, the liquor had only made her meaner.

But Nesta didn’t spare her a glance, her eyes instead fixated on some random point in the distance – perhaps an effort to keep from hurling.

She never responded, and was instead silent for a long, long while.

The quiet drew nothing but a sigh from Amren, who shook her head as she turned to leave.

“You could have been something, Nesta. Something useful. It’s a shame you’ve opted for nothing instead.”

Nesta didn’t move as she left and was instead deadly still. Strangely still.  

Dread settled uncomfortably in the pit of his stomach.

Cassian didn’t have the time to avert his gaze before Amren was walking towards him, back to the other couches.

“Eavesdrop much, boy?” She snapped, with a hiss.

“Was just making sure you didn’t fall overboard, dear Amren,” Cassian replied easily. “Varian is looking lonely without his weighted blanket.”

The scowl that painted her face would have drawn a laugh, at any other opportunity. But the Second merely walked past him with a click of her tongue, apparently not deeming him worth another word.

That was fine with him.

What wasn’t was the fact that when he returned his eyes to where Nesta had been standing, she was gone.

Gone.

Panic, cold and furious washed over him, and before he could think the better of it, he had pushed to his feet, taking steps up the deck, if only to confirm that she hadn’t actually gone in. No stopped him – the group of them exploding into riotous laughter at something Rhys said.

Approaching the railing, he spent far too long scanning the murky depths of the river, silently praying that he would not have to jump in after her. 

Brows furrowed, Cassian looked towards the other end of the boat, evaluating any potential hiding places she could have found. A closet, maybe, if she wasn’t drowning in the undertow.

How absurd would it be if he jumped overboard, just to make sure? 

“You lookin’ for the lass? The one who was a little…”

Cassian’s head snapped to an attendant who was looking at him with a quirked brow, his hand waving around his head as if to indicate that she was off.

It irritated him more than he expected, for her to be described that way.

“Yes,” He said quickly. “You seen her?”

Wordlessly, the male pointed towards the other end of the boat. “She went in there. Poor thing looks about to keel over. Probably seasick.”  

With a nod, Cassian pushed past him, towards the tiny room that may have been a closet, or a small mess. (He didn’t know enough about boats to care.)

The door was only half closed, though swayed with each rock of the boat. Tentatively, he pulled it open.

Nesta didn’t so much as blink at his arrival, seated on the sole wooden stool in the room, staring out at nothing – which at present were the wooden planks on the wall. At first glance, she looked entirely still, but as he observed her closer – eyes scanning from her head to the glass of amber liquid in her hands – he saw how she trembled.

Then her scent hit him, mixing with the distinct smell of river that had largely blocked out everything else. 

Terrified.

So distinctly different than how she’d appeared just moments ago against the railing.

Her eyes, though, were what jarred him the most.

Unseeing. Lifeless. Utterly dead inside.

Cassian sunk down to a crouch, having stepped into the space just enough to not be entirely out on the deck, but unable to fit all the way in. Tentatively, he reached out, his fingers brushing her own.

Her skin was like ice.

“Hey Nes,” he said softly. “Can you hear me?”

She didn’t respond, something that made him feel a little sick himself.

But he knew what this was. Had lived it enough to know.

“Sweetheart,” he urged, hands reaching out to close around the bottom of her glass, gently prying it from her grip before she dropped it. “Nesta, look at me.”

Still, nothing. He had half a mind to get someone – she needed a healer, clearly. But as he placed the glass down on the ground, the soft ‘thunk’ had her blinking once, twice, and then her head dipped downwards to observe where he’d put it, as if confused as to how it got there.

"Talk to me," he urged. "Tell me something, Nes."

“Cold,” she said simply, voice a rasp. “It’s cold.”

Cassian furrowed his brows, placing his hands over hers, in an attempt to ease the way her fingers shook.

“What is?” He asked, matching her tone -- soft and gentle.

“The water,” Nesta replied. “It’s cold.”

Tilting his head, he pondered her words.

“Well… it flows from the mountains,” he offered. “So it's always a bit colder.”

As he said the words, he assessed her again, searching for any place where she might be wet – wondering if she’d been splashed by the spray. But there was none. She was dry as a bone. 

When she went silent again, staring down at her glass of whiskey, he gripped her hands a bit tighter, rubbing his thumb along the back of her palm.

“Are you cold, sweetheart?” He pressed, the frigidness of her skin deepening his concern.

Because it wasn’t cold in the slightest. It was stifling.

“The water’s so cold,” Nesta repeated, murmuring almost to herself. “So cold, it hurts.”

“What water, Nes? Where do you hurt?”

Nesta kept her gaze downwards, brows furrowing. It was something, at least. Because the confusion that now painted her face confirmed it for him – the state of her mind. 

“Nesta, do you know where you are?”

She murmured something again, to herself, though he couldn’t make it out. Gently, he ran his hands up her forearms and back down, an attempt to warm her.

Gods, how she could be so cold in this weather?

“I don’t want to go in,” she whispered. “I already went in.”

Abruptly, her eyes flicked up, to meet his, though they were still dull and unfocused. 

“Don’t make me go in.”

Cassian’s lips parted, his confusion lasting far longer than it should have. But after a moment, it was all too clear.

“Oh, sweetheart,” he breathed. “You aren’t going back in there. Ever.”

Tears suddenly collected on her lashes, but didn’t spill over. Her fingers twitched against his own, and he squeezed hard, if only to bring her out of the fog.

“Nesta,” he said a bit more firmly. “Nesta, you aren’t going back into the Cauldron.”

She looked at him as if he was speaking nonsense and replied,

“Then why are we here?”

Cassian shook his head, not entirely sure what she meant, when she added,

“I know it’s below us. It’s there. I know it. And it’s… it’s so cold. So cold it burns.”

He ransacked his mind, trying to find the clues, the hints that he might have missed that she was still this traumatized. But then, he hadn’t seen much of her at all, lately.

No one had.

“It’s not below us,” he said. “I promise.”

Lifting her hands in both of his, he leaned down, to kiss her knuckles. “I promise, Nesta. We aren’t making you go anywhere.”

The situation was abundantly obvious to him now. She’d been triggered from the moment she’d arrived, the sight of the water, the spray of it, seeming to send her further and further into distress. It was no wonder she’d insisted on staying inside the boat’s cabin.

“I don’t believe you,” She said. “You said I’m a waste, why wouldn’t you-?”

Rage, hot and ugly flooded Cassian’s veins. She was staring at his face, but didn’t see him. She saw Amren.

Amren, telling her she was a waste of life. That she was nothing.

“You aren’t,” he countered. “You’re not a waste, Nesta. That wasn’t true.”

Traumatic episodes, he could handle. He had handled them. But having to separate memories from the fresh wounds of harsh words was a challenge he wasn’t prepared for. At least not here.

Which meant he had to get her off this boat.

Nesta shook her head at him, and he rubbed her arms again before reaching up, to cup her face. She flinched at the touch, then blinked at him some more, brows knitting together even tighter.

There it was. Recognition.

“Hey,” he urged. “Keep looking at me.”

Her lips pursed, and suddenly she was shaking all over.

"I don't want to drown again," she whispered, holding his eyes. "I can't." 

“You won't," he promised. "I promise, you won't."

A soft whimper slipped from her throat, and her hands lifted, clinging into the loose fabric of his shirt. 

"It’s alright,” he soothed, holding her gaze as he stroked his thumbs over her cheekbones. “It’s alright, Nes. Can you tell me where we are?”

She breathed in, a shaky, ragged breath, before she whispered,

“This fucking boat.”

He huffed, despite himself, and nodded his head.

“Yeah. That’s good. You want to get off this fucking boat, sweetheart?”

Nesta closed her eyes for a long moment, a tear dripping down her cheek.

“Please.”

It was all he needed to hear.

“Okay,” he said. “Let’s get you back on solid ground, okay? Then we’ll get you warm.”

He decided to ignore the twinge he felt at the disbelief on her face – as if the idea of his help was so unexpected she hadn’t even considered it as an option. Instead, he offered her a tiny smile, and ran his hands up and down her arms, to try and warm her. 

When she nodded, he grasped her fingers and kissed her knuckles once more before he pushed to his feet, taking her with him. Instantly, her knees buckled, and he slid his arm around her waist, a soft flow of comforting words slipping from his lips.

“Easy, love” he soothed, guiding her out of the tiny space. "I've got you."

They only managed a few steps when she froze, her eyes zeroing in on the water.

Cassian shifted, spreading a wing to try and block her view. He began to contemplate his options, how to best fly her out without making a scene.

“Close your eyes,” he said softly. “Don’t look, Nesta.”

Nesta’s body shuddered so fiercely that he was unable to do anything but pull her into his chest, his hand on the back of her head, to tuck her face into his shoulder. This close, he could smell the remnants of alcohol in her breath – but not enough to indicate she was trashed.

No more inebriated than the rest of them, he’d wager. At least for tonight.

Shifting a few steps further, he prepared to launch off the side, the others be damned. He’d explain it all later.

But having to carry her over the water…

“Let me help,” a voice suddenly murmured behind him, and he turned his head, meeting his brother’s eyes.

Azriel stood a few paces behind, his shadows with him. Beyond, the party continued on, undisturbed.

“Nes,” he murmured to her, dipping his chin to speak softly. “Hey, can Azriel take us somewhere safe?”

Nesta lifted her head, eyes shifting to assess the shadowsinger carefully. Azriel held her gaze, his expression soft.  

She pursed her lips again, visibly unsure, her fingers flexing over the cotton of his shirt.

"It will be quick," Azriel said. "No flying."

After a long moment, she nodded.  

Cassian offered his brother a small, grateful smile as he stepped closer.

Azriel’s movements were slow as he placed a hand on Nesta’s shoulder, on his forearm, and in an instant they disappeared into the shadows.

---

Azriel left them right outside the building – offering Cassian a simple nod of his head before he disappeared – though where he was off to remained a mystery.

Back to the boat, maybe, or to his own quarters.

As it happened, no one had yet to question either of them about their abrupt departure.

He’d thank his brother later, at length.

In his arms, Nesta sniffled, unsteady.

“Let’s go,” he murmured, guiding her inside.

She didn’t question him, but her fingers were still gripping onto his shirt like a lifeline. She still felt too cold for this summer’s heat, but her trembling had eased, just a little.

Carefully, they moved up a flight of stairs, down a familiar hallway, to the final door. Cassian lifted a hand, his siphons flashing, and the lock clicked as a series of wards opened for him.

It was a little stuffy – a consequence of his lack of use over the last few months – but it was well furnished, comfortable. More importantly, it was his, and no one else was going to bother him here.

“Sit, sweetheart, let me get you something.”

Nesta sunk down into the couch silently, her hands falling into her lap. Her eyes caught on the unlit hearth and held there, that same blankness overtaking them as he put a kettle on the stove and returned to her side.

He followed her gaze, felt the way she shivered, and offered, despite the absurdity of such a thing during this time of year,

“If you’re cold, I could light a-”

“No.”

Cassian blinked at the ferocity of Nesta’s voice, the desperation, and turned to look at her. Nesta hadn’t moved, but her eyes were lined with tears again, and her hands had bawled into fists.

“No fire.”

“Okay,” he said softly. “Can I… ask why not?”

Nesta shuddered, closing her eyes.

“It doesn’t matter.”

“Yes, it does,” he countered. “It matters to me.”

But she simply shook her head, her arms lifting to wrap loosely around herself.

“Where are we?”

A deflection, a poor one, but he’d let her have it.

“This is my place. I’m sorry it’s a bit dusty.”

Nesta’s brows furrowed. “I didn’t know you had a place.”

“I don’t use it often. I like to be close to my family.”

She pursed her lips, seeming to close up again as he said the words. When the kettle whistled, he pushed to his feet, preparing a cup of tea in silence. When he returned to her side, she was sitting up straighter, her expression guarded.

“Here,” he said. “This will warm you up.”

“Why are you doing this?” Nesta asked, even as she accepted the cup from him.

Cassian tilted his head.

“Because you aren’t alright, sweetheart. You think I was just going to leave you like that?”

Nesta shrugged, taking a sip. “It wasn’t worth your evening. You’re wasting your time.”

“I think I’ll be the judge of what is a waste of my time, Nes. And you’ve never fit that description.”

A mirthless laugh slipped past her lips, but it cut off in what sounded to be a stifled sob. It was as good as her saying ‘I don’t believe you.’

“I’m sorry,” he offered. “If I’d known the water upset you, I would have…”

“What?” Nesta asked, her voice cracking. “What would you have done? Talked your brother out of hosting a lavish party? Stopped Elain and Feyre from wanting me to be normal?”

“I would have done something, Nesta. Your triggers are important to respect.”

She huffed, reaching up to rub roughly at her face, as if to erase the evidence of her distress. Too roughly , as if she had no care for her body. He fought the urge to reach out, to stop her. 

“Well, like I said. It doesn’t matter. I’m a waste, you know.”

Oh, Cassian would be having words with Amren.

“She shouldn’t have said that to you.”

It earned him a grimace.

“She wasn’t wrong.”

“Yes, Nesta, she was.”

Nesta pinched her brow, suddenly looking so, so tired.

“I don’t have the energy to get into it, Cassian.”

Her fingers were shaking again, and he gave, then, reaching out to grasp them once they came down from her face.

“That’s alright,” he said softly. “We don’t have to.”

She raised her brow but kept quiet, allowing the touch. For a few moments, he contented himself with stroking along the back of her hand.

“Are you still cold?” He asked after a while, once she’d stopped taking sips of her tea.

“I’m always cold,” she murmured. “Always. Have been ever since…”

Cassian’s fingers squeezed, hard.

“How often does what happened on the boat happen to you?”

Nesta blinked, shrugged. “I can’t keep track anymore.”

His throat was suddenly tight, and it hurt to breathe.

“Okay,” he said, voice a rasp, deciding to address that in the morning, when they’d both had rest. “Let me get you warm, yeah?”

He didn’t wait for her to reply, instead pushing to his feet and moving into the bedroom. Opening a closet, he retrieved the blankets normally saved for winter and placed them on the bed, pulling back the sheets.

They smelled fresh, a courtesy of the charms the apartment came with, though it wasn’t as if they’d been slept in recently. He’d drape her in the finest silks and wools if he could, but for now these would have to do.

Content with his work, he walked back out to the living room, contemplating his approach to convincing Nesta to get into bed.

It would be the most comfortable, and without a fire, the warmest, short of a hot bath.

But he’d gotten the message clear enough tonight.

No water. No fire.

Approaching the couch, Cassian took a deep breath, prepared for battle.

“Alright, Nes, let’s-”

He paused as his eyes fixated on the female in question and halted in his step.

In the few minutes he’d been gone, Nesta had curled up on the cushions, her shoes kicked off by her feet. Her head was propped at an awkward angle against the armrest, but her eyes were closed, and her breathing was slow.

Asleep.

So quickly, as if her exhausted body simply couldn’t bear to be awake any longer.

He certainly couldn’t blame her for it.

Quietly, he came to her side, reaching out to brush her shoulder gently, in an attempt not to scare her, should she only be dozing. But Nesta didn’t stir, and he felt reasonably confident she wouldn’t try to kill him as he bent down to gather her into his arms.

The first thing he noticed was the boniness of her frame, followed by the perpetual chill of her skin. Nesta had always been frigid, even as a human, but this felt… different somehow. Like the cold itself was a permanent, deep-seated part of her.

Another price of the Cauldron, he’d wager, for what she’d stolen. Perhaps it was a retribution of sorts, to take her warmth just as she took its power.

He’d just have to provide it for her.

With her head tucked against his shoulder, he walked back into the bedroom, settling her carefully on the mattress, tucking the blankets up over her shoulders. For a few moments, he simply watched the way her breaths came, the soft twitches of her fingers, until he was sure she was settled.

Reaching out, he stroked his hand once over her hairline, before he turned towards the old armchair he’d stuffed in the corner of the room.

Plopping down into it, Cassian stretched out his legs and began his vigil.

---

It was the earliest hours of the morning when Nesta was ripped from the depths of sleep, lips parted in a scream.

She felt the weight of the agonized world on her shoulders, her chest, crushing, snuffing out the breath, the life, the warmth.

The salt of tears burned her nose, and her body jolted with the force of the sobs that her mind was still too frayed to properly hear, her ears full of pressure.

She’d been drowning again.

Staring up at the surface, sinking further and further, cold and heavy.

No one came for her.

No one cared.

And why should they?

You’re a waste of life.

“Oh love, no. You’re precious.”

Pathetic.

“You are precious, sweetheart.”

Nothing.

“You are so precious to me.”

Nesta jerked, that voice breaking through the cacophony of pain, of fear. Blinking through her tears, she became attuned to the sensation of his palm on her waist, the scent of him.

She felt the weight of blankets, heavy, but not oppressive. There were soft pillows beneath her head – softer than the one she kept in her apartment.

She waited for the chill – for her body to shiver – but there was none.

Just warmth.

Just him.

“Just breathe,” he said, voice steady. “Just breathe, Nesta, it’s alright.”

She sucked in one breath, then another, and another, until the room had cleared into focus – it was not hers.

The memories of the evening floated back into the forefront of her mind – the boat, this apartment, him.

“Good,” he murmured, and his voice was close, as if he sat just at her back. His thumb stroked comfortingly at her waist, not quite at her hip, as he offered, “That's good. Let me get you some-”

Nesta’s body seized, her own hand lifting, grabbing, and squeezing tight. If he left, so did the warmth. If he left, she’d slip back beneath the depths, into hell.

“Stay.”

She didn’t recognize the sound of her own voice – wasn’t entirely sure if the word had come out coherent, or even audible.

But it was a plea. A desperate one.

Behind her, he was silent for a long moment – and she squeezed her eyes shut, prepared for the rejection, the inevitability of it.

Waste.

When the bed dipped, the added weight sent her body rolling back, just a bit, jostled.

There was a beat of nothing. Of hesitance.

Then, their joined hands shifted forward, so his arm could drape over her waist. Nesta drew them close, to rest against her chest, her fingers squeezing as hard as she could muster.

He let out a long breath – the sound one made when finally lying down to rest after a long day. She felt the warmth of it on the back of her neck, before he pulled, gently, tugging her body so it fit against his.

The large, leathery expanse of a wing draped over her, an added blanket, and then she felt the press of his lips into her hair.

“I’m here, sweetheart,” Cassian vowed, voice hushed in reverent promise. “I’m here, and I’m staying.”

Tension eased out of her body like the tide – relief.

A feeling so bygone she almost didn’t recognize it.

Squeezing his hand once in silent thanks, Nesta closed her eyes, to simply relish this strange scrap of peace she’d been given, on tonight of all nights.

Behind her, he breathed long and even, silent, but steady, until her own breaths mimicked the rhythm.

Exhaustion weighed heavy on her – the short-lived adrenaline of her terror evaporating, replaced by this profound sense of coziness that was quickly overtaking her. Sleep was suddenly right there, for the taking.

Something often so elusive so close and easy.

“Rest,” his voice came again, lips still pressed to the crown of her head. “Rest, and I’ll stay right here. I’ll keep you safe. I promise.”

And she did.