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Chapter Text

The cold marble of the floor seeps through Nesta’s socks as she pads her way down the central hallway. Door after door. Room after room. The harsh brightness of the fae lights bounces off every polished surface.

She did have to give it to Rhysand’s dad. From what she knew of him, he was an asshole to rival all others, but he sure new how to design a palace. The Twilight Respite Center once was thought to be the High Lord’s summer home in Illyria- a place for him to stay out of the… ‘squalor’ he saw in the camps. The grand entrances, towering columns, and the wide balconies with stunning views of the Illyrian steppe (though ironic given its current function) really sold the palatial history of the mansion. However, once Rhysand came of age, the High Lord couldn’t rid himself of dealing with those ‘barbaric tribes’ and shoved the whole region, and empty palace, into her brother-in-law’s custody. At least, that’s what Nesta had overheard him telling Feyre at one of the family dinners she was forced to attend a few years ago.

Her steps echo as she finally reached the main rotunda from the dormitory. The mansion, though only intended for Rhysand’s family of four, could have comfortably housed every single noble from the Hewn City for a grand ball during its heyday. Far too big, in Nesta’s opinion. There are two main wings, other than the dormitory: the physical rehabilitation wing and the sanitarium. She turns towards the hall leading to her psychiatrist’s office. She remembers, before everything happened, deriding Rhysand for the name telling him that he should ‘stop trying to find a nice way to say Asylum, Rhys’. Funny how it all ended up turning out, all things considered.

She continues passing through the long open-air corridors towards the back of the manor, finally reaching the office of Dr. B Carver, her psychiatrist of… Mother knows how long at this point. With a sigh, she knocks on the door. 

“Come in, Ms. Archeron.”

“I don’t know why you insist on calling me that, Carver. We both know they don’t claim me as their sister.” 

Nesta sees him shake his head as she enters the room, moving to her settee on the other side of his desk. 

“One of those days, then Nesta?”

She hums in agreement as she leans back on the couch. 

“Nightmares?”

“You mean memories? Of course. Same as always.”

“Should we start with what you saw last night, then? Did any particular memory catch you?” 

Nesta shrugs. “Same as it’s been around this time of year since I got here, Carver.”

“Would it help to walk through it again?” She sighs, closing her eyes. The memory wasn’t far away from her mind, though having spent so long talking about it and dissecting the intervention, she hardly feels like it happened to her. She wasn’t the one who just sat there as her life disintegrated in front of her; rather it was something that had happened to one of the protagonists in her novels. 

If she was the heroine of a tragic novel, the scene would have been set in the heart of winter instead of the heat of summer, or the intervention would have been by the people who loved and cared about her instead of… well… 

The sun beat against the pulse in her forehead, likely an early warning of the migraine soon to come. Occupational hazard she dismissed. With a groan, Nesta pushed herself up from her bed, if only to go close the curtains she kept exactly this reason. She nearly fell over when she hears a knock at the front door. Going through her mind, she didn’t think it was Sunday? She shouldn’t be getting called for another Cauldron-damned family dinner yet. She had another four days before she had to sit through that hell.  Did she forget to pay rent? Mother, did the guy from last night- and there must have been someone given the soreness she felt- forget something and was he at the door? She reached with a shaky hand for the dressing gown she kept next to the bed in her small studio. 

She felt so stupid as soon as she opened the door. Of course it was him. She could feel him there in the slow and steady bond that pulsed in her chest every time he looked at her. Not that he had said anything about it to her, or anyone… or that she had said anything. Plausible deniability and all. 

Cassian, handsome as always, leaned against the doorframe.

“Time to go, Nes.”

Her eyebrows nearly reached her hairline.

“Go where! What! I- Cassian!” 

He was never rough with her. No matter what. But today, something in the way he was looking at her had made her feel off balance. She took a step back. Unconsciously, she pulled at the bond to find some comfort. She hadn’t meant anything by it! Just something she had done reflexively. Cassian’s eyes closed. He took a rough breath, and Nesta watched as the warmth that she had come to expect from him vanished. Faded as if it was never there to begin with. She shivered. Even when she pushed him away the hardest, he still never looked at her like that. The-man-who-looked-like-Cassian-but-surely-couldn’t-be-HER-Cass stared hard at the window behind her head, refusing to meet her eyes. “Get dressed. You need to be in the High Lord’s office in ten minutes.”

Nesta rubs at the center of her chest, where she used to feel the bond tying them burn fiercely with every fight. A ghost of a habit at this point. No warmth. No golden light. Just an empty chest. An empty life, really. She takes in an unsteady breath and continues recounting her dream.

Ten minutes was hardly time for her to braid her hair, let alone wash yesterday off her or to dress to be presentable- Rhysand’s definition of presentable that is. Nothing out of place in his family, and if someone was then well… Nesta was flustered by the time Cassian deposited the two of them at the entrance to the River House. He stepped away from her so fast, she began to genuinely question if she smelled or something. Cassian refused to tell her why she was summoned, and hardly made eye contact the whole way here. Clearly something was going on considering she had only seen Cass act like this during the War. 

CRACK

Nesta shuddered. She could practically see her father’s limp body held aloft by that Cauldron damned King; Cassian’s broken wings bleeding into the mud as she covered his body with her own.

No. She won’t think about the war. Not here. She couldn’t afford that weakness in front of them. She’ll deal with it tonight after the pub. Cassian hesitated for a moment, as if sensing her momentary panic. Actually, she thought, he almost certainly felt that panic. It’s the only thing that could explain the soft comfort that he sent down the bond between them. He had only done that twice before when- no. Stay focused. 

“Good. Breathe, Nesta. Don’t let the other memories control you. Remember what we’ve been talking about. Work through this memory. You aren’t still with them. You’re in control in your mind. Allow the feelings to pass by you like leaves in a stream”. 

Nesta takes a shaky breath. 

Upon entering the River House, Nesta knew that that morning had been the last hours of the life that she had put together piece by painstaking piece.

The actual conversation itself was mostly lost to her now, funny considering it was the last time she had seen so many of them. Her sister’s family. But even so, their weekly dress-downs the High Lord’s inner circle called dinners all followed nearly the same script. As always, Rhysand took the first shot- something about how he’s angry or disappointed or some patronizing combination of the two because she either did something new to embarrass her sister (and by extension, him), or she needed to be reminded of what a terrible sister she was in the cabin, or that she just needed to be put in her place because it's been a rough day on old Rhysie and he knows Nesta won’t fight back anymore. Then The Morrigan joins in. Same inane comments about how she’s a bad sister and thus evil and that she shouldn’t be trusted to be a part of their family. No matter that Nesta had never asked to be a part of this incestuous dysfunctional Court in the first place, let alone to be turned Fae. She didn’t bother voicing that anymore, though. It only made it worse. After that, Amren ruthlessly tore into how worthless she was for some new or old infraction. Feyre cried out of worry. Elaine was despondent. This time, Azriel was away at work, again. He couldn’t buffer by changing the subject before they went too far. And Cassian? Her one protector, the one person who she had trusted to be on her side or at least to weakly defend her, was silent. 

She remembers Feyre apologizing at one point. Saying it would just be for a few months, to help her get clean. Her sister was nearly five months pregnant at the time and when she burst into tears, apologizing that she had let it get this bad, Rhysand had smiled magnanimously and asked Feyre to help get Elain out in the garden. The real truths didn’t start until Feyre was safely out of ear shot. 

“You’re an embarrassment to the Archeron name.” Said Rhysand.

“You’re a selfish bitch who only cares about herself.” The Morrigan.

“You are a worthless waste of life. Your power is wasted on you.” Amren this time. 

“You will follow my orders, or I will withhold all financial support from you. I will throw you out onto the streets. Maybe then you’ll understand what Feyre had to go through.” She was also there in the cabin of course, not that Rhysand gave a shit. 

“I wish the King of Hybern had just finished the job and killed you. He would have saved us so much trouble.” The Morrigan again. She really took the opportunity to drive the knife in here. Cassian even flinched. That was enough for the spark within her to flare to life.

“Oh, so you wanted him to kill me? How about Cassian? Don’t forget that your precious General was there too. He would have died with me.”

“I should have let you go alone. You killed half of my army, Nes. You murdered them. I should have let you do it alone.”

When Cassian finally spoke, she felt her throat dry up. She felt the world pulse around her as her stomach felt as if it had hit the floor. That feeling never left the memory, no matter the time that had passed.

Her voice had cracked. “I never asked you to come with me, Cassian.” 

“And I wish that I hadn’t. With how you’re acting, you aren’t worth the trouble.”

Her heart cracked within her chest. She’s not sure if she kept the whimper in. Her head swam and words left her. What could she have even said to that?

“I’m sending you to the Respite. Maybe you can come back once you’ve learned your lesson. Or maybe you’ll just be there forever.”

—————————-

When Nesta sees the large wings and slight glow from the blue siphons waiting in the grand room, she knows it must be the first Tuesday of the month. Which month? She can’t say. Time doesn’t really matter much anymore. But without fail, every four weeks or so she finds Azriel waiting to take her for a walk through the expansive gardens at lunchtime. It was how she counted the time that she had been here as the years had blurred together. 108 visits, give or take a few.

When his gaze crosses hers, he dips his head politely and extends his arm for her. She takes his arm with every practiced grace her mother had instilled in her.

The crack of the switch stings the back of her thighs as she stumbles during dance practice.

She must have noticeably stiffened, or at least noticeable to Azriel. He gently squeezes her arm with his free hand.

“Hello, Nes. Ready for our walk? Or do you want to go sit in the library?”

She takes in a deep, cleansing breath. Carver would be proud. Healthy coping mechanisms and all.

“The fresh air sounds nice.”

He hums in response. “The weather was really beautiful on the flight here. Perfect for a stroll through the gardens.” She gives him a practiced smile, and he leads her out to the veranda. “Bad day?”

“Not really. Just nightmares. Carver wanted to talk them out. Not sure why, honestly. It was one from the usual rotation.”

The flowers are beautiful, just like Az had said. He leads her out for a lap stopping at the same stone bench he always did. The cold from the rock seeps into the skin of her thighs like an anchor to the here and now.

“How’re the Valkyries? Did you read good books recently?”

“You mean how’s Gwyn?” Nesta bumped her shoulder into Azriel’s.

“No, I do care about your books. How else do I know what to bring you next time I visit?” Azriel gives her an offended look. “Speaking of,” Azriel pulls a stack of three books bound in a blue and silver fabric. “Sellyn Drake’s latest novel, ‘The Wings of Change’” Emerie’s pick this time, then. 

“You know you’re always welcome to join us if you read the book. Emerie and Gwyn both said it’s alright.” Sure, Gwyn’s face nearly matched her hair when she agreed and the conspiratorial smile that Emerie had given her looked like she was planning to eat the two of them alive, but they had agreed.

“Maybe next month.” He pointedly looks at the bodice ripper styled Illyrian male on the cover. “I’m not sure this one is quite my style.” The male on the cover wears his leathers slung low about his hips, and presumably nothing else. His thumb hooks in his waistband inticingly. His Carinthian tattoos rippled across his chiseled chest, interrupted only by the holster keeping his glowing red siphon over his heart. His wings extended off the page. His features were obscured by his shoulder-length hair, but Nesta’s imagination filled in the blanks. All she could see was the smile hidden in shadow. She couldn’t remember the last time she had seen him smile at her like that. It had to be before the war. Cassian was so beautiful when he-

Azriel must have noticed her growing distant. “But I mean, are they doing well?”

“They’re doing alright. Emerie is getting discharged next week, so we’re trying to figure out how we’re going to celebrate.” Azriel’s eyebrows shoot up momentarily. If she didn’t know him as well as she did, she’d have missed the quick flash of concern that he let slip. However, she has 108 hour long visits with nothing to do but learn how to read him, and mother made sure that she was excellent at reading people. “She’ll still be coming back outpatient for a while like you have been, but we’re all really happy for her that she can finally go home to re-open her uncle’s shop.”

Emerie had been admitted about 73 visits ago after her uncle had clipped her wings. It took some time for her to join group therapy. In the months since then, Nesta watched her regain confidence not only in sticking up for herself, but in her own physical abilities. About 58 visits ago, the Valkyries had found an old book about mental techniques to deal with anxiety from an ancient group of female Illyrian warriors -and promptly stole their name. Emerie and Nesta had taken the initiative and began to translate the methods described in the book into real-world exercises. They started practicing in the garden, first once a week. Then twice. Then others joined in. Eventually, Dr. Carver and Madja officially sanctioned the sessions as part of the standard therapeutic regimen. Madja had even suggested that Emerie stay on in the role of a physical therapist, but Emerie decided she needed to stretch her wings -literally- for a while before potentially coming back. She vowed that she would be back for book club. Then again, Feyre said she would visit and she hadn’t seen either of her sisters since she watched them leave Rhysand’s office to hide from her in the garden.

“How are your hands today?”

Azriel flexes his hands before forming them into fists.  

“A little better. They have been getting really tight the past two weeks. Luckly, Madja was able to loosen the scar tissue a bit. The pain was starting to get bad again.” She knows that his visits weren’t really to see her, but she is still glad that he chose to spend a precious hour with her after every physical therapy session.

The two sit in a comfortable silence for nearly half his visit. Nesta didn’t really mind though. His presence is enough for the deep seeded loneliness to recede a little more.

“Nyx is about to start his fourth year of primary school.”

Nesta nods at the update on the nephew she had yet to meet. She wonders if he was taking more after her sister or the High Lord. She couldn’t exactly bother Feyre for a painting or press Azriel into sharing one. No matter how curious she may be, she doesn’t want to find out. Given she is never getting out of the Respite, meeting Nyx would mean he had gotten hurt and that isn’t worth her own selfish curiosity.

“I still can’t believe Rhysand let him go. I thought he’d have a small army of tutors.”

Azriel laughs. “I mean, he still does. His mom is his art teacher, he has his dad, Cas, and I to teach him how to fight and to fly.” Nesta winces at his name. Azriel doesn’t notice, instead looking out over the flowers. “I’m sure that you already know, but he’s really hitting his growth spurt. He’s already taller than Amren. Madja thinks it’s only a matter of time until he’s taller than Rhys.”

She wrings her hands in her lap, suddenly uncomfortable.

“Actually I appreciate the updates. It’s nice to hear about him. I appreciate hearing about how he’s been growing up. People don’t really talk about the heir to the court, aside from a few mentions of his official duties. Your monthly reports almost make me feel as though I’m there, or at least allows me to pretend that I am.”

 “Well, I meant more that you probably hear more from Feyre. I’m surprised that she hasn’t brought him to see you. She is so proud of her son and talks about him constantly. I figured that she probably talked your ear off about him whenever she came to visit you.”

She snorts. “I’m sure she would if she bothered to come and see me.”

Azriel goes completely still. His shadows, so often drifting lazily around their bench, coalesce into a darkening mass around her feet. “What do you mean by ‘bothered to come and see you’?”

She hadn’t meant to say that out loud. She peaks over at her one companion. His face is completely unreadable. In fact, if she hadn’t known better, he almost seemed as though he was just a handsome gargoyle perched beside her on the bench rather than a living, breathing Illyrian. She felt her heart rate begin to pick up. What if he thinks that means Feyre didn’t think she was allowed visitors and stopped coming to see her? Her breath hitches. Feyre might have banned visitors for all she knew, or Rhysand could have. Nesta closes her eyes and focuses on her breathing. In for four, hold for four, out for eight. In for four, hold for four, out for eight.

“I mean, I haven’t seen her since the intervention.”

She can’t look at him. She can’t see the disgust that surely is starting to cloud him. After all, his High Lady didn’t deign Nesta worth her time. Why should he?

“It’s not too big of a deal though. I don’t really blame her for not visiting. She’s busy with her family and the Court and all that. She doesn’t need to bother herself with me. I’m fine on my own.”

“Nesta, who has come to visit you since you were admitted?”

She turns to look at him, then. Braving the inevitable hurt. If Nesta only has this last few precious minutes with the man who had become her best friend- her only lifeline to the outside world since she was admitted-, she is not going to waste them on panic; she can feel that later. Mother knows she had nothing better to do. She gives him a sad smile. His face was completely blank, but she spent the time memorizing his features anyways. She wants to ward off the inevitability of his features fading from her mind, at least for a little longer. She nearly laughs at the irony that she’d finally have a new memory to haunt her nightmares. Nesta had just complained about being tired of the usual rotation. She should have realized that she was just asking for a new one to be added to her repertoire. She’d have to find a new way to get her books now. Maybe Emerie will be willing to buy them for the rest of them.

“Just you.”

She felt his release of breath more than she heard it. Oh, the way his eyes switch between anger and pity is almost worse than the isolation she’ll feel once he is gone. She can’t remember him like this.

“I mean- I don’t blame them or anything. I won’t blame you either if you don’t come for our walks anymore. If she banned visitors or something, just blame me. It’s the least I can do in exchange for our visits. Really. It’s okay if you don’t come back. I won’t hold it against you if you do-“

“Nesta.”

Nesta’s mouth snaps shut as he interrupts her. Her eyes were starting to burn. She needs to get away from him before she loses her composure, but she feels rooted to the bench.

“I’m not going to stop visiting you, Nesta.”

She sucks in a breath. He works his jaw.

“I need to head back to Velaris, but I will be back next week, and we can talk more about what else my family has neglected to tell me.”

“You don’t need to go out of your way for me, Azriel. Really. I’m not worth getting in trouble with your family.”

“Nes, I will be back next week. I’m going to make this right, little sister.”

As the two of them walk back to the Respite, she works on grounding herself in this moment. The sun is warm on her skin. The flowers smell beautiful. Focus on those. She will deal with the feelings later. When Azriel pulls her into a tight hug before he takes off, Nesta lets herself feel a little hope that he was telling the truth, before she pushed that pesky feeling back down where it belongs. Hope did nothing but hurt her. She knows better than to let herself want things that she doesn’t deserve.

Chapter Text

Azriel pushes himself harder than normal as he flies back to Velaris. Try as he might to clear his head, Nesta’s voice continues to ring through his mind.

Just you.

His breathing caught in his throat again. Each sharp inhale and exhale intentional as he tries to quell the rage bubbling up from within. She couldn’t even meet his eyes when she had said it either. Like she was embarrassed that no one else had done the bare minimum! He’s not sure how he didn’t notice how alone she was. Azriel had just assumed that the others had been visiting her. Her sisters. Her mate. But no. By the Mother, he should have known! He is the damned spymaster. It is his JOB to know what’s happening in his court. He guesses that he had just believed his family was better than this. He should have known. Nesta never once mentioned anyone else coming to see her. Nor did anyone else ever mention her. Azriel racks his brain, trying to remember the last time that he had even heard her name spoken by the inner circle. Cauldron, it must have been three years ago. The only times that he can remember her coming up in conversation since she was committed was as a reason for why something went wrong in the court, or as a character in one of the stories Feyre told Nyx.

The anger he feels is all consuming, no matter how he tries to ignore it. He is supposed to be the picture of calm. He is supposed to be constantly cool and collected; the perfect spymaster as he has always been. He can take whatever was thrown at him. The last time he felt as though he was losing his grip on his temper like this was at the High Lord's meeting in Dawn before the war. Even in Rhys office during that one fucking Solstice party he was more composed. As Velaris comes into view, he feels a familiar scratch of a talon at his mental walls. With a centering breath, he clears his mind of his thoughts of vengeance for the female who had clearly given up on ever leaving the Respite, before opening it up to his High Lord. He wouldn't make his feelings known just yet. He needs to keep his composure.

'Az, head to the River House when you get back. We got a letter from Eris.'

Oh joy.

'On my way.'

Azriel closes his mental barrier before Rhys could reply. He’d probably have to apologize for it later or make up some excuse for being so short with him so that Rhys didn’t get passive aggressive about it. He didn't have the patience for that tonight.

As he lands in front of the River House, he makes his decision: he needs to gather more information before he acts. He needs to know why. He stretches his back, muscles tighter than usual from the speed of the flight here, though Azriel deserves the soreness he would surely feel tomorrow as a punishment for missing this for so long. Whether it was because he wanted penance or an outlet, it didn't matter. He just needs to act like normal so he can find out why; to find out how completely his family forgot his sister.

Of course, the whole foyer of the River House is plastered with Feyre’s paintings of their family. One of him and his brothers standing at the peak of Ramiel hangs across from the coat rack. A large portrait of Feyre, Rhys, and Nyx hangs above the fireplace, their little family looking regal, as is their due. The portrait of Feyre and her sister is hung at the base of the grand stairway. Nesta isn’t in it, obviously. Just Feyre and Elaine, the two Archerons of the Night Court. Azriel’s jaw works as he looks at the vacant spot to Feyre’s left. Feyre had left Nesta a place at least, but it seems that she had forgotten to ever fill it. That everyone had forgotten to remind her.

Azriel hears the telltale whoosh of a winnow behind him at the front door.

“Az! I thought you were going to be another hour or two!” Mor is as bubbly as she has always been. It hadn’t ever grated on him before, but now? Now he has to restrain himself as the barely leashed wrath begins to resurface. Azriel can't allow himself to lose his composure yet. He needs to push it down. Him and Mor had just started to heal their friendship over the past year. He doesn’t want to risk losing it again, or at least he doesn’t want to risk it before he confirmed what he already knew to be true. She hates Nesta. She advocated the strongest for her jailing in the Respite. Azriel closes his eyes and takes in a deep breath before turning towards Mor. Just act normal.

“Got lucky with the wind on the way back. We should head to Rhys’s office.”

She hums in response. As they walk towards the office, he can’t stop himself from asking. "Have you heard from Nesta recently?”
Mor’s brow furrows, “No? I don’t know why I would have. We never got along.” Azriel opens the door to Rhys’s office for Mor, ever the picture of chivalry. “Besides, didn’t Nesta move to Day or something?”

“Nesta? Cauldron, what did she do now?” Rhys replies from behind his desk. Azriel just feels empty as they confirmed it. They forgot her.

“She didn’t do anything. I was just curious. I hadn’t heard much about her for a while.”

“No, we haven’t heard anything about her for a few years now, thank the Mother. I was getting tired of writing diplomatic letters of apologies on behalf of the Court. She seems to have finally started to quiet down”
That’s one word for it. Azriel remembers the hollowness that he saw in her eyes on so many visits. Quiet doesn’t quite describe the fading light behind her eyes that gets dimmer and dimmer every visit, not that Rhys would know about that. By the Cauldron, half of the time, Azriel worries whether or not Nesta will even show up to their monthly visits, or if she would even mentally be there when she did. Too often she wouldn’t even be able to hold a conversation further than two sentences before she disappeared into herself.

“It’s the best thing that Nesta has done for this Court: step out of the public eye and stop causing problems.”

There is a sharp inhale from the doorway as Cassian stands there, frozen. He looks weary from his long flight from the ruins of Hybern, though Azriel is sure he doesn't look much better. Cassian’s hand rubs at the spot in the center of his chest where, according to his brothers, one might feel the mate bond. Rhys clearly has more to say about what a burden Nesta is to him personally, but with one pitying wince towards Cassian, the subject of 'why Rhys's least favorite Archeron is the worst' is dropped.

“Good,” Rhysand clears his throat. “Now that we are all here-" Azriel quickly scans the room and notices that 'we' apparently didn't include Feyre. "I've received a letter from Eris. He is calling in his favor. He wants to meet in three days. I extended an invitation to the Court of Nightmares, so we’ll need to start making preparations. He didn’t say for sure, but I think he means to finally make his play for Autumn. Mor, I’ll need you to plan a celebration to honor him for being there. I know how you feel about him, but we still need to treat him as the heir to Autumn.” 

Plans are traded back and forth. Azriel is asked about security in the Hewn City. He gives his report. Nothing out of the ordinary: scheming from Keir, unrest in Illyria, the Spring Court slowly rebuilding itself. Mor makes snarky quips about Eris and Autumn but is otherwise contributes nothing and is utterly unhelpful. Rhys and Cas trade war plans about what sort of help Eris might need- and how to make sure it won’t cause a diplomatic incident. It is eventually decided that the team would be as small as they could permit. Rhys orders Azriel to scope out the Court of Nightmares to see if Keir and his Darkbringers were stirring trouble again.

Azriel steps into the shadows. He will have to figure out how to help Nesta soon. As soon as he gets back to Velaris. He will make this right. In the meantime, he has a date with Truth-teller and which ever Darkbringer was unlucky enough to cross his path.

Chapter Text

She shouldn’t have been surprised when she woke up the next morning, down-swing in full force. It’s a classic pattern really. Worsening nightmares bring her back to the headspace she had been when she was still able to drink or fuck it all away. Then the bad voice in her head comes back with a vengeance to remind her exactly of what she deserves for the evils that she had done and let pass. Once she starts beating herself up, she would be too fragile. At that point, all it takes one thing to go wrong and wham! Nesta loses control of herself and takes it out on everyone around her. So, on days like this, she stays alone with her thoughts.

This time, Nesta lies in bed, blankets wrapped around her like armor against the harsh world outside of her room. Or maybe the blankets are a way to contain the monster that lived inside her from ruining anything else. She isn’t crying yet, which is good. That's coming though, Nesta is sure. The numbness is a nice break from her mind. She can’t exactly dwell on how worthless she is if she can’t think or feel. Nesta stares ahead at the sterile walls of her room, unable to even bring herself to look out the window. Maybe if she stops thinking for long enough, she will finally be able to stop existing all together.

Nesta knows this escape into numbness wouldn’t last. Her feelings will crash back into her anytime now. The reprieve is still nice though. She has needed a break from being in her life, in this new body she still sometimes feels isn't her own. Though, if her dream last night was any indication, this is only the calm before the storm. She never had the heart to tell Carver it's useless to try to break the cycle of her thoughts. She still has things she must atone for, even if her life has been utter shit for years.

The air seems to grow colder and colder as she huddles under the blankets. It too cold. She starts to feel her toes going numb. No, no, no. She could feel the waters starting to rise as the memory took over.  

The waters of the Cauldron lapped at her ankles like the fire of a pyre. Oddly fitting, considering this Cauldron is the tool of her execution. Elain lay on the floor, barely covered by the red-haired fae’s jacket. She could see her sister’s pointed ears from here. Elain wasn’t moving. Why wasn’t she moving? Nesta twisted and turned in the fae male’s arms as they began to force her into the water. Cassian and Azriel lay broken against the wall, life slowly leaving them as Feyre sobbed and pleaded for their lives. Her sister obviously didn’t understand that Nesta was a lost cause, or maybe she was too stubborn to see it. Nesta almost smiled at the thought. Everyone else already knew this was it. The human queens. The High Lords… hells even Cassian could see the writing on the wall. One way or another, the Nesta Archeron that was brought into this room wouldn’t walk out.

She thrashed as she felt their hands move to her shoulder, forcing her down under the water. She nearly laughed at the futility of it all. Her death was inevitable, fated even. She would still fight though. Nesta would not go gently into the night. It isn’t in her nature.

Nesta’s eyes met those of that fucking King who just smirked back at her. He was enjoying this, watching her life end. No, Nesta won’t die like this. She won't let herself die with him watching on as if she were the dinner entertainment. Fuck. That. If she was changed, she would make sure that that fucking king paid for taking her life from her. Her arm broke free  from her captors for only a brief moment, but it was enough to point her finger at the little bitch of a man on the throne. If I survive this, I'll be your death. She saw the brief flicker of worry that crossed that fucking king's face, and she smiled when she was finally pushed under. At least she wasn't going quietly.

It was like fire.

She was burning alive. She had to be. She could feel her blood boiling in her own veins. There was no end to this torment. She couldn't think. She wouldn't breathe. The only thing there left was the silvery cold fire that burned her down to her very soul. She could feel herself fading away as the pain became too overwhelm. She had thought that she would have seen some memories of her life as she went, but at least the gods of death showed some mercy. She remembered the look on her youngest sister’s face as she was pushed into the Cauldron. The terror painted on Elain’s face as she looked at her before her head had been pushed underwater. Cassian’s hand had reached out to her even as he could barely crawl towards the dais. Her lungs cried out for air that would never come. The fear clawed at her heart with nearly the same fury as the current of the water.

Nesta wouldn’t die here. No. She still had too much to do. Too much sorrow to avenge.

Please. Please give me the power to get revenge for this fucking nightmare. Please let me live through this.

She doesn’t know who she was asking. The Mother? The Gods? Fate? The Cauldron itself? It didn’t matter. All that matters was the deep resonance she felt in her very soul as the silver flames enveloped her. Maybe, just maybe, one of them had listened. Then Lady Nesta Archeron, mortal daughter of Lord Arthur and Lady Elisabeth Archeron, exhaled her last breath and inhaled the icy waters of the Cauldron.

She sucks in air, drinking in the oxygen in the room as she had done once when she was tipped out of the Cauldron. She can’t breathe. She still can’t breathe. She presses her fist against her rapidly rising chest. Nesta sinks down out of the bed, her body curling into itself. She sits, unmoving, on the cold, hard tile. There are those tears she knew were coming. Fucking awesome. Feelings. Just what she needs right now. If she were herself, she'd have rolled her eyes. Instead, she looks around frantically. She needs to calm down. If she grounds herself in this moment, maybe she might be able to keep this from getting worse. She has techniques for this, Nesta’s distant thoughts reminded her. Start with RAIN then reassess.

Recognize- Nesta is having a panic attack. She scrunches her eyes closed, still trying to focus on her breathing as she pushes herself to separate from the thoughts fighting to control her mind.

Allow- She is allowed to panic when she is feeling distressed. It’s a natural response to fear. Nesta starts counting her breathing out loud.

Investigate- Nesta is feeling cold and numb and it’s triggering an unpleasant memory. Her heart rate starts to become more regular as the black spots begin to fade from her vision.

Natural Acceptance- Nesta survived the Cauldron. She has... She is... Nesta can’t think of anything. Shit. Shit, shit, shit. The panic started clawing at her again. The Cauldron did this. It made her into a monster. She feels the silver flames rising in her again. Stop. Please stop. 

No, no. She is worthy of love. She is worthy of happiness. She is allowed to take up space. She-

“Such a pretty little slut.”  She could still feel Tomas’s stinking breath burn against her neck as he pinned Nesta against the barn wall.

“No one would know if I just took you now. No need for a wedding. Not that I would marry you anyways. You’re a charity case, only good for a good fuck. Maybe I'll give you some cash and we can make this a regular thing. You'd like that wouldn't you?”

The bile rose in her throat. Nesta ripped her hand free from his grasp and slaps him hard across the face. “Fuck you. I bet you wouldn’t even know where to put your cock if you ever get the chance.” This marriage was all she can do for her sisters. Her virginity was all she had left to give. All that she knew she could give.

Tomas didn’t wait to get payback. He grabbed her in wrists in one hand and slams her head back into the wall. Nesta’s vision swam.

“All in good time, bitch. Let’s see if your mouth is as good at taking me as it is talking back to your betters.” She could feel him unlacing his pants with his free hand. She had to get out. Not. Like. This. Nesta brought her knee up hard into his crotch. Tomas cursed and dropped her wrists. Nesta didn’t wait to see what he would do next. She ran as fast as she could into the crowded market.

She couldn’t run away from the fae male who had taken her the one night she decided to go to Rita’s with Feyre’s family after another Cauldron-dammed dinner. The male had started off nice, saying all the right things. She could feel the burn of Cassian’s glare in her back. Or at least she thought it was his eyes burning a hole in her back. That had been the goal, at the time. To piss him off.

She should have known something was wrong when the world started swimming too few drinks in. When he had ushered her out of the bar, Nesta was incoherent. Not that anyone noticed the High Lady’s loose sister acting too drunk when she left with a strange man. To most of the patrons, that was just any other Tuesday evening The only ones who would have noticed had left hours ago when Azriel had disappeared, citing an early morning, and when Cassian had stalked off into the night, unable to stand being around her any longer. She thought she saw The Morrigan still dancing in the club as she was being pulled out, but everything was still fuzzy. She could remember laying frozen in a strange bed, faebane and some unknown chemical trapping her in her own body as the male’s hands groped and grabbed and touched.

She could feel the Hybern soldiers’ hands grasping her shoulders as they ripped her from her bed, dragging her in only her nightgown to meet her fate in the Cauldron.

She felt Cassian’s hand circle her forearm with too much force as he pulled her along to that final meeting in Rhysand’s off-

Nesta shakes her head violently at the thought. She would not think of him like that. No matter what happened, Nesta could not let herself think of Cassian like that. He wasn't them. She pressed her hand flat against her sternum, remembering those early days before everything had gone to shit and she could still feel his warm, golden presence with her. He hadn’t closed it all at once. It started with him just blocking her nights out. She didn’t blame him for that, obviously- even if a small part of her had wanted to punish him. Nesta knew the pang of jealousy he'd feel. She had felt it's sting all too often while watching him with The Morrigan. It made sense that he would block her constant betrayals of... whatever it was between them. She won't use the M word. He wouldn't want that. Then he kept closing off the bond more and more often. One day, somewhere around 25 visits into her imprisonment, she realized she couldn’t remember the last time that she had felt him at all. When she tried to reach out to him, there was nothing. The golden thread tying them together was gone. Instead, she was left with a gaping hole in her chest, and a brick wall separating her from her m- Cassian. She was happy for him that he was finally free of her; that he wasn’t stuck with her dragging him down to the deepest pit of hell with her. She could only hope that he didn’t feel the same emptiness that she did. He didn’t deserve to hurt like her.

Nesta absent-mindedly picks at the skin around her fingernails, only to feel something wet on her cuticle. She looks down, seeing the blood pooling at her fingertips from the small wounds she had been digging into the quick of each of her fingers. She must have been working at them when she was caught in her memory.
The red beading up on her skin isn’t new to her either. She looks at the phantom scars across her knuckles. Reminders she used to have from her lessons with her mother, now ghosts of a life long since lost. She can still feel the ruler rapping against her skin, even though the Cauldron had erased the scars from her body. Even though they were long gone, she can still see the lines they had left on her hands. Such pretty lines. She pulls in a slow breath, shooting a glance at her armoire and the hidden drawer hiding a small, unassuming jewelry box.

Nesta sighs, pushing herself to stand on her unstable legs. Not yet. She needs to be seen downstairs anyways. People would notice if she was gone an entire day and she isn’t about to invite the doctors’ scrutiny. Plus, she is more than capable of putting on the mask she needs to, the one that they would all expect.

She slowly makes her way to her private bathroom. She stares into the mirror, at the face too similar and altogether too foreign to that of the Nesta Archeron of the before times. She had spent half her life as a faerie now, and only had an eternity left to go. She misses the fire that used to gill her, none of this silver shit that she can see shifting in her irises. Nesta watches as she lets her feelings leach from her face, putting them into their little designated hole in the back of her mind. They'd come to eat her later, but that's okay. Her eyes dull a little too much to pass as normal, but she can’t find the energy to give a fuck. Whatever. She’s just gonna tell anyone who asks to fuck off anyways.

She scrubs her hands entirely too hard in the burning hot water from the faucet and watches the only evidence of her breakdown slip down the drain.  Nesta runs a comb through her hair before re-braiding it into her signature crown. Beauty is armor, mother had always told her. As she pushes open the door, finally leaving the bedroom and making her way to the cafeteria, Nesta feels her body falling away. She floats above herself and feels her body move mechanically down the familiar halls of Respite. All Nesta could do is to hope that she can make it back to her room tonight without incident. Just a quiet day. She can’t handle another blow. She won't survive it.

Chapter Text

Sitting in the group room at one of the tables with her Valkyries feels normal. Nesta can almost forget that this is the last time that she will ever see Emerie. Just like Azriel, she knows that Emerie is just being kind and lying to her about coming to visit. It’s okay though. Emerie deserves a good life, without Nesta to bring her down. She's happy for Emerie, really.

The three of them hadn’t acknowledged that this will be the last club meeting. Nesta appreciates the silence. It lets her pretend that everything is fine. The memory won’t be tainted this way.

It had only been two days since Azriel’s final visit. Nesta had just started to come back into her body this morning during training with Emerie and the others. It was nice to get to experience Emerie's last day instead of being forced to watch the session from above her body. Nesta also had been starting to worry if she would ever return to herself, but the mechanical feel to her joints finally softened that morning.

“There’s no way Catherine couldn’t tell that the new guy was just August in disguise. Like seriously. Sellyn isn’t even trying to hide it at this point. Is Catherine just stupid or something?” Emerie scoffs.

“She’s also a giant hypocrite too though. She was so upset that August was pretending not to be the heir that she didn’t speak to him until the ball? As if she hadn’t done the same thing! I can’t believe that no one called her on it.” Nesta adds, rolling her eyes. “What do you think Gwyn?”

“Honestly, I was more caught up on the smut. Like, I might not be the best healer, but I don’t think a body can move like that. Bending like that just shouldn’t be possible. Not to mention that there’s no way he would have even been able to fit either. 12 inches is just excessive.” Gwyn says through a blossoming blush. Nesta snorts.

“To be fair, maybe she has joints like yours? We’ve all seen you stretching. It might work if she prepped well enough. As for the size thing, we could always ask Azriel if he’s ever had any issues.”

Emerie hums in agreement as Gwyn chokes on her water. Nesta bursts into laughter. By the Mother that feels good.

Gwyn has come so far in her recovery since she was admitted. She used to not even be able to read romance books with any spice, but now being able to critique it? Since she got here 90 visits ago, she has already grown so much. Of course, Nesta knows that means it is only a matter of time before she leaves like Emerie and Azriel. At least Gwyn wouldn't have to be in Nesta's presence and pretend to like he anymore. It really would be for the best. Gwyn deserves healing. Nesta won't be selfish and wish for Gwyn to stay in the Respite forever, just like she will. Nesta feels the ache in her chest as she realizes that she will never get to see Azriel and Gwyn actually get together anymore, what with Azriel being gone for good. It will still be fun to tease Gwyn about him, though. No need to tell her about him leaving Nesta. She could carry that alone.

“What- Why- Nesta!” Gwyn sputters as Emerie and Nesta chime in.

“Illyrian males always say there is a correlation between wing size and the sizes of other parts.”

“Feyre mentioned it once when she was drunk, the poor thing. Rhysand’s wings aren’t exactly… broad.”

“I just meant- We shouldn’t bother Azriel about something so private. August is just so unrealistic. No need to confirm it.” Gwyn suddenly finds the page she had been pretending to read for the past thirty minutes has become the most interesting page in teh world. “Can we go back to talking about how dumb Catherine is?”

The moment Nesta has been dreading for weeks happens with no warning.

“Oh Emerie! There you are. We just finished your discharge paperwork.”

The conversation dies. What can they even say anymore? This is the end.

“I guess it’s time then.” Emerie says with a sad smile.

Nesta feels her eyes begin to burn. She wouldn’t cry though. She can’t sour this moment for Emerie. She won’t so selfish to take this victory from her. Emerie had made it. 

“Oh wonderful! Ms. Berdara. We were just looking for you." Nesta's stomach bottoms out. "The transfer paperwork just processed. Someone from the Library should be here this afternoon to winnow you to Velaris. It has been a pleasure to have you both here these past few years and I wish you both the best in your continued journeys to healing.” The nurse says brightly before leaving the three in silence, as if she didn’t just send Nesta’s word crashing hard to the ground.

“What?” Nesta could barely hear the word crack out over the rising sound of static beginning overwhelm her.

“I thought I’d have more time to tell you. Carver cleared me for transfer last week. I have been trying to find the words to tell you since he filed the paperwork. I just didn’t know how.”

“Gwyn! I’m so happy for you! I know you’ve been working towards going to the Library since you were admitted! I bet you can’t wait to get back to working as a priestess! That is so great!” Emerie hugs their friend tight. Gwyn can’t contain her smile.

“It’ll be good for you, Gwyn. I’m glad for you. You really deserve it.” Nesta hopes that the smile she had plastered on her face looks convincing. She can’t hear the excitement and celebration between her friends. She tries her best to match the two of their energies. She can mask like the best of them, after all. She had known it was only a matter of time. Nesta prepared for this moment. She thought of the box in her room. She can keep it together, just for a few hours more. She wouldn’t ruin this for Gwyn or Emerie. They deserve to be happy. They earned it. They didn’t ruin their families, like she had. Only one of the three of them is truly evil. Things are really just righting themselves. Being able to have them as friends was the aberration. She deserves this

Nesta hugs her friends tight.

“We’ll still come visit. I’ll be here as often as I can get away, Nesta. I promise.” Gwyn gave her a sad smile. “This isn’t a goodbye. We’re Valkyries. We’re not going to leave you.”

Pretty words meant for someone else who actually deserved them.

Nesta closes her eyes and lets the numbness take her. She won’t ruin this for them.

“Of course. It’s not a goodbye, just a see you later.” Nesta floats above herself as she gives Gwyn one final hug and then pulls Emerie in as well. “Congratulations, truly.” She closes her eyes, trying to savor the feeling for one last time.

The two don’t seem particularly convinced by her mask, but that’s fine. They just need to believe it enough to get away from her. Nesta watches, fake smile plastered on her face, as her supports crack around her. She was going to be alone again. Forever this time.

Emerie leaves first. With a wave of her hand, Nesta watches Emerie disappear out the front door, presumably to be winnowed away by one of the high fae staff. Gwyn gives her one more sad smile after she packs her room. A gentle, soothing touch on her arm. Or at least Nesta thinks it should be soothing. She only feels cold. Then Gwyn leaves.

Just like Emerie.

Just like Azriel.

Just like Feyre and Elain at her intervention.

Just like Cassian after he left her here at his High Lord’s order.

She won’t do it again. She can’t. 108 visits. Without any more visits, how will she know how long it’s been? She’ll be stuck here as the world carries on outside. She would have no companions. No way to tell the time. Nothing to look forward. Just a miserable existence in trapped in sterile walls and living the same day over and over and over again. She won't do it. She can't. Now that everyone is finally free of her, no one will have to pretend to miss her. 

Nesta thinks of the box that had been hidden in the secret compartment in her armoire as she makes her way back to her room. She nods and smiles at the people passing her in the halls, as is appropriate. No need to worry, everyone. She’s fine. Nesta is still the bitchy spitfire they expect. Nothing has changed and there is nothing off about her to notice. She can play that part. Her mother made sure of it.

Nesta opens the door to her room and locks it behind her. She can’t take her eyes off the armoire. She knows she shouldn’t. She doesn’t really want to. Maybe just a few lines to calm down. Nothing more.

Nesta can almost see her younger self in her mind’s eye. The human Nesta would never have felt like this. She was strong. She wasn’t affected like this when people left her. The human her would be able to heal for something like this with time.

She remembers the snap of the cane against her ankles in dancing lessons and the sting of the ruler against her knuckles in classes with her tutor. That Nesta was made of iron. Now… the Cauldron corroded her iron, and she was crumbling.

Nesta could almost see Feyre and Elain’s starved faces that first winter in the cottage in the woods after they had lost everything. She remembers how her little sisters had looked at her, desperate for her to do something, anything to make this better. She remembers her father staring vacantly into the unlit fireplace as she huddled with her sisters underneath the few threadbare blankets they did have. Things got better once Feyre learned to hunt, but every single time that she returned, Nesta hated herself just a little bit more than the last. She was the eldest. It was her job to provide. Feyre was the baby. She didn’t mean to take out the anger on Feyre. She just started talking and couldn’t stop. She could never stop. Even so, Nesta waited each and every day by the door to make sure that Feyre came home, biting dirty nails to the quick on days her sister took too long to return.

That’s why she kept pursuing Tomas for so long. He was wealthy enough that she would be able to protect her sisters. Feyre wouldn’t have to risk herself for them anymore. It was all Nesta could do for them. So what were a few too many lecherous looks or subtle gropes if it meant her sisters would have food to eat. She just had to get through it. Cauldron, she might have let him take her that day if he hadn’t told her he was never planning on actually marrying her.

“Weak. Pathetic.”  She could hear her human self spitting at her. Nesta shakes her head, scrunching her eyes shut as the tears finally start coming.

“No. No, you’re not real.”

Her human self speaks with a familiar voice- that of her mother.

“You deserve to be alone. You did nothing for any of them, little Dove. You only made everything worse for your sisters, and they both know it. That's why they left you here. They don't want you.”

She feels the hands crawling over her as she had during her many nights out after the war.

Whore. 

She sees her father, hears his neck snaps with the sickening crack that follows her every day in the fires. His ghost looks at her.

“I have always loved you.”

Nesta scrambles forward to reach for her father as the ghost fades.

“You didn’t even try to save him. Any of them.” Nesta can see the thousands of Illyrians simply cease to be in the aftermath of the Cauldron. She still feels that same Cauldron every night in her dreams as its icy waters killed her again and again. That same fire is the only thing she can see when she catches a glance of herself in the mirror. The broken creature staring back at her couldn’t really be her, could it? Her hair hangs in oily clumps around her face, braided crown long since fallen. Nesta’s face is puffy and red and the tracks of her tears glisten on her cheeks. She doesn’t pay her disheveled appearance too much attention. Instead, she focuses on her glowing silver eyes, matching the surface of that water in the Cauldron. She nearly vomits at her reflection. Those eyes mark her as what she is: a monster. She sees the figure in the mirror rocking back and forth as it hyperventilates.

She can't look at it anymore. Nesta lets out a strangled scream and runs to the mirror, punching her fist through it. She doesn’t even feel the pain from the glass, only relief that she doesn’t have to look at the abomination that she had become in the mirror.

People will have heard. She needs to make a choice.

She goes to the box and retrieves the small knife she had smuggled into her room nearly 100 visits ago just in case she ever needed it. She wouldn’t be alone again. She’d rather die. She coats the knife with a blue, metallic smelling substance-faebane she had stolen from the medical side, supposed to be used during surgery. It’d slow her healing just long enough.

Bloody footprints track from the bathroom to her closet and back to her bed. She must have cut her foot on the glass. Her knuckles weren’t fairing much better either. It doesn’t really matter. She is numb to it anyways.

She doesn’t feel herself dragging the blade across her wrist. She only watches as the blood begins to spill from the line left in its wake.

She sees her sisters, dirty and too thin, looking up at her with such hatred. “You didn’t help us.” She adds another line.

“You ruin things, Nesta. You ruined your sisters’ lives.” She sees Rhysand glaring at her with such hatred. Another line. Someone starts frantically pounding on her locked door.

“All that power is wasted on you, girl. If you’re going to kill yourself, just do it already.” She imagines that Amren would just be bored by all of this. Nesta is beneath her anyways. She is starting to get cold. Not like she was in the Cauldron. No, this cold is almost fuzzy. Welcoming her rather than burning her.

They’re calling out now, behind the door.

“Cassian deserves so much better than a hateful wretch like you, Nesta.” Morrigan is right as always.

Cassian.

As the world starts to fade at the edges, she feels a pang of regret that she won’t get to see him again and apologize. He’d get over her eventually, if he hadn’t already. With a slight smile, she drops the knife. All those years ago, they had promised they would go together; that they would have more time.

“Maybe in the next life, Cassian. I’ll find you this time.” She mumbles to herself, closing her eyes.

It might be selfish, but she doesn’t care. She reaches once more for the bond. With the last of her strength, she swears she can feel an echo of that golden tether in her chest and hopes that somewhere he can feel the love she pours down their bond. The apology.

Faintly she hears the door burst open with a loud bang. She can sense the frantic motion around her, but she smiles as she holds on to that fading thread while the world goes dark around her.

Chapter Text

Feyre pulls her sister into her arms, tears pricking at her eyes. Happy tears. The cake that Elain has made for Lucien, covered in edible violets, raspberries, and sugared lemon slices, sits on the counter of the River House. The process has taken her two full days of painstaking detail work and sneaking around from her mate, but Elain finally finished it.

Her mate. Feyre smiles.

“I am so happy for you, Elain.” Feyre wipes a tear from her cheek.

“None of that, Feyre. I’m just a winnow away. Helion said you’re always welcome to visit us. It'll be like I never left.”

“After the frenzy, that is.” Feyre nudges her sister’s shoulder playfully.

“Oh right, of course. After… that.” Elain blushes, pulling away to fuss over the already-perfect cake.

“Did Rhys already send over the snacks? We wanted to give you a bit of a housewarming gift and well… I suggested something with protein. Maybe a few carbs? Considering all the energy you'll be burning.” She wiggles her eyebrows at her sister.

“Feyre!” Elain swats at her sister while Feyre just laughs and laughs.

She relishes moments like these, where it’s just her and her sister and they get to be the Archerons instead of High Fae royalty. No expectations from the court. No duties to concern themselves with. They are just two sisters.

“Maybe we can go see Nesta, now that I’ll be in Day.” Elain smile softens.

“Yeah, maybe.”

Feyre feels her heart crack at the mention of her oldest sister. Ever since Nesta was admitted to the rehab center in the Day Court, she had been refusing visitors. Feyre and Elain still asked every year, on Nesta’s birthday and on the anniversary of their father's death, but every time, Rhys said she still wasn’t accepting visitors. Feyre still hopes that she is getting the healing she deserves there. If she wasn’t willing to see her sisters, then Feyre would honor that, no matter how much it hurt. Nesta deserves the chance to heal the way she wants to, especially since they had all forced her into it.

“Right.” Elain smiles and takes a deep breath, breaking the somber mood that has settled on the sisters. This is a happy occasion. They should celebrate. “I should be off. If something happens, just-“

“I’ll mind link you, don’t worry. Go. Lucien is waiting!” Elain delicately balances the cake and her luggage in her arms, slowly inching towards the door clearly terrified of dropping it. Feyre can't help but laugh.

“You know you can just winnow from inside, right?” Elain freezes in place, turning back to her with a bashful smile.

“Right. Force of habit. Oh! I almost forgot. I found some of Nyx’s stuff in the townhouse when I was packing up. I put it all on the desk in Rhys’s old office.”

Ah. Maybe that’s where the paint set her son had been looking for had gone off to. “Okay, I’ll head over there after you leave. Now seriously, go! Your mate is expecting you and I don’t want him say we've been keeping you. Considering you are now the wife of the heir to the Court of Day, such a slight might cause a diplomatic incident.” Feyre teased.

Elain rolls her eyes. “We can’t have that. But you're right, I shouldn’t keep Lucien waiting. I’ll see you son, Feyre.” And with a smile, Elain is off.

Feyre still is surprised how much Elain has changed since she started truly seeing Lucien. She never used to be so open and unguarded, even just alone with Feyre. Now though, the two could joke with and tease each other without that awkward aftertaste left by years of baggage. Cauldron, she would give anything to be able to get to that point with Nesta. She misses her sister.

“Rhys? Could you watch Nyx for a few hours? Elain left some stuff for me at the townhouse.”

Rhys’s mental reply is almost instant.

“Of course, Feyre darling. I’ll take care of it. Take your time, love.”

“I love you too. See you tonight.”

He really is so wonderful. Feyre sighs happily and she quickly throws on some shoes before winnowing into the townhouse. They've been together for almost a third of her life now, and still they haven't lost that spark between them. She can't believe how lucky she got with Rhys.

The townhouse feels uncomfortably empty without Elain and Lucien's belongings. Before, it had almost looked like a greenhouse with all of the extra windows and potted plants that Elain had been tending in the living room. And in the dining room. And in the converted guest room. Feyre holds in a little chuckle at the memory. Now, she hears the echo of each of her steps as she walks through the empty house towards Rhys’s office, the one room that Elain and Lucien had kept the same, aside from Rhysand and Feyre's bedroom which had 'too many bodily fluids to convert. Feyre opens the door and the faelights flicker to life.

“There you are.” Sitting at the top of the pile of baby pictures and memorabilia of Nyx’s early childhood is a small wooden case filled with paints of every color and so many memories. She crosses the room to dig through the pile. She sets the case to the side and thumbs through the rest. Feyre smiles fondly at the early drawings Nyx had made for her and Rhys, just smears of paint on paper but so darling she wants to save them forever. She vividly remembers the scrubbing it had taken to get said paint out of his hair and the carpet when he decided the paper wasn’t the only thing in the room in need of some color.  Not that Nyx has changed much since then. Just yesterday he knocked over a vase, two easels, and what she hoped wasn’t Rhys’s great-great-grandfather’s ashes trying to fly across the room to get out of dressing up for the mating ceremony. That little rascal. 

Feyre holds up a small, knitted sweater Elain had made for his first birthday. It’s hard to believe he was ever this small. As she folds the little garment onto the pile of things she’s planning to bring home with her, a small envelope appears on Rhys’s desk.

She furrows her brows, reaching over to pick it up. Normally, Feyre would have just left it and brought it to Rhys, but the letter has ‘URGENT’ in bright bold letters across the front. Something feels off about the letter and she can’t suppress the feeling that she needs to open it.

The letter says it’s from somewhere called the Twilight Respite Center and immediately her eyes catch on to a name. Nesta.

‘High Lord- Regarding care of Nesta Archeron. There has been an urgent development in her status. Please come immediately to discuss next steps. -Dr. Bennedict Carver.’

Feyre gasps, reading through the letter another time. Nesta. She knows where Nesta is. She looks at the address listed in the heading and has to do a double take. She knows that town. It’s in Illyria. Not the Day Court. Illyria. She remembers Rhysand complaining once or twice that he had to plan Azriel’s missions around his monthly visits to the center. Maybe she just misremembered where Rhys said they had sent her all those years ago. Yeah, that must be it. There’s no way he would have lied to her about something so important. He had been the one to comfort Feyre when she cried about how much she missed her sister and about how worried she was about her. No. He wouldn’t have lied.

She looks back at the letter.

“It does say urgent… No one should mind if I were to go instead.”

-----

When Feyre arrives at the Twilight Respite Center, the first thing she notices is how beautiful the building is. The white marble edifice stands out against the green rolling hills of the Illyrian steppe and the pine forest just beyond. The building is surrounded by a multitude of flowers, each brightly contrasting the gravel of the walking paths. She almost wishes that she had brought her easel so that she could paint it. But she is on a mission. Nesta.

As Feyre makes her way up to the grand entrance of the palace, she suddenly feels hesitant. What if Nesta really didn’t want to see her? Is she making a mistake, going in Rhys’s place? Feyre shakes her head. No. The letter said it's urgent. She is the High Lady of this Court and, more importantly, she was Nesta's sister. Feyre straightens her spine and pushes open the door into the grand entrance.

Again, she is nearly overwhelmed by the size of the place. It almost felt bigger inside than it looked from the garden. Though the room itself is bright with natural light, she can’t help but notice the rising sense of foreboding that seemed to permeate the air. Something is wrong. Very wrong. She looks down at the letter once again. Dr. Bennedict Carver. She needs to speak with him.

She looks around to ask a staff member for directions.

“Excuse me?” She tries to ask a high fae who seems to not hear her as they quickly push past her running from one wing to the other.

She tries again, this time asking another lesser fae female, but the words die in her mouth when she sees the beads of sweat forming on her blue skin. Feyre can wait just a little bit longer. She doesn't want to get in the way.

She sees an Illyrian male, hobbling on his crutches towards a set of doors in the middle of the great room. His wings sway awkwardly as they try to keep him balanced. Another set of frenzied staff members crosses the room. The male looks at the two of them and sighs. Before he can turn his attention back to the door, his gaze catches on Feyre, standing uselessly in the doorway.

“High Lady!” The male falls into his best attempt of a bow, causing him to lose his balance and begin to tip over.

“Oh no! None of that!” Feyre crosses the distance between them and helps him to right himself.

 “Thank you, High Lady.” He mumbles, bowing his head.

“None of that. I’m not here as High Lady. I’m just a visitor today.” Feyre hesitates before asking: “Actually, would you be able to help me? I’m looking for a Dr. Carver. Do you know where I might find him?”

“He’s probably with the patient right now, but he should be getting to his office at some point if you would like… I can let one of the staff know you’re waiting? They should be able to get a message to him.”

Feyre feels her heart drop at his words but does her best to cover it with her High Lady voice. “That would be great! Where should I wait?” It can’t be good if this Dr. Carver couldn’t get away from this ‘patient’. She hopes it isn’t too serious. More selfishly, she hopes whatever is going on has nothing to do with Nesta. Please not Nesta.

“Dr. Carver’s office is at the end of that hallway on the right. You can’t miss it, his name will be on the door.”

“Thank you, Mr.?” Feyre hesitates, waiting for him to give his name.

“Eoin, High Lady.”

“Thank you, Eoin.”

He gives her a slight, respectful incline of his head before he returns to limping his way to the middle doors. Feyre looks up in the direction that he had pointed then starts climbing the stairs of the grand rotunda.

He wasn’t lying. The door of Dr. Carver’s office is hard to miss. His name hangs on a placard adjacent to the door. The door has a little handing sign reading ‘FREE’ in big, green letters. Feyre catches the words ‘With a Patient’ on the opposite side. The door itself is mostly closed, though the bolt of doesn’t quite meet the frame. She knocks on the side of the doorframe.

“Dr. Carver?” Feyre waits a few seconds for a response. Nothing. She slowly pushes open the door. The desk is empty. In fact, the room itself is empty. The dark wooden desk sits in front of a floor to ceiling bookshelf. She absently thinks that Nesta must love it. Across from the desk is a deep red settee. Feyre passes by the desk as she makes her way to sit on the small couch. She can’t help noticing the mess of papers covering the desk. It seems Dr. Carver had left in a hurry. The anxiety filling her keeps growing.

Nesta has been in the Night Court this whole time. She has half a mind to reach out to Rhys but decides against it. Dr. Carver could come back at any moment, and Feyre has a sinking feeling that she’ll need to have that conversation with her mate in-person. He had to have known she was here. There has to be some reason that he hid it. He promised he wouldn’t hide things from her again after their fight when she found out about the complications of Nyx’s birth.

Elain would want to know. If it weren’t the first hours of the frenzy, Feyre would have mind linked with her other sister immediately. She doesn’t risk mind linking with Nesta. Her walls are probably up anyway. They had been for years.

She should tell Cassian, but Feyre can already see the devastation on his face if something had happened to Nesta. She shouldn’t worry him yet. She needs more information. Maybe it's a good development. Maybe she is willing to come home. That wouldn’t necessarily require an urgent missive but… but it could have, right? Maybe she’s overreacting and Nesta is fine. Nesta is fine.

Feyre starts pacing across the room, no longer able to sit still .

Just because the letter says it's urgent doesn’t mean something bad happened. Nesta could be fine. Feyre can’t let her think otherwise, even if every minute it took for Dr. Carver to arrive only deepened the sense of foreboding she has felt since she arrived.

When Dr. Carver walks in the door nearly an hour later, all it takes is one look at him and Feyre feels her stomach hit the floor.

“Ah, High Lady. I was surprised when I heard that you were here. How may I assist you?” He looks exhausted, eyes half glazed over. He doesn’t meet her eyes when he walks to his desk, but Feyre can’t help but notice the barely contained tension in his voice.

“Can you take me to see my sister?” The words burst from her lips before Dr. Carver can even fully sit down. She swears she hears the male scoff.

“Madja and I have decided that, given the delicacy of Ms. Archeron’s current condition, we will only allow regular visitors to see her as to not distress her further.”

Feyre feels herself deflating as she falls onto the couch. “How bad?”

Dr. Carver takes a deep breath, and Feyre can see him forcing himself to put on a professional demeanor. He’s angry. No. Angry isn’t the right word for this. He is furious and trying his best to make himself appear to be the neutral, detached doctor he needs to be.

“High Lady, your sister attempted to end her life this morning and nearly succeeded. Madja was able to stabilize her, but it was touch and go for several hours.”

The breath leaves Feyre’s lungs as she feels the world around her spin. She can’t speak. She has so many things she wants to ask. How long had this been going on? How long had her sister been in so much pain while she just sat there in Velaris doing nothing? Why did she- why would she? Feyre closes her eyes and tries to calm herself. Nesta is stable. She is going to be alright, or at least alive. Feyre can work on making it better. She still has time to save her sister.

“Due to her current mental state, we want to make sure that she isn’t startled by unexpected visitors when she wakes up.”

“She’s asleep?” Feyre’s voice cracks.

“Yes.” Dr. Carver quickly assesses her. Feyre must look so destroyed by the news that he softens. “We were lucky, High Lady. She should wake up on her own in a few days. We can reevaluate the visitation rules once she is able to decide who she wants to see.”  

Feyre nods slowly. She could do that. She owes Nesta that.

“Will you tell her that I came? That- that I want to see her, when she’s ready that is.”

Dr. Carver nods. “We’ll let Nesta know when she wakes up and inform you of her decision once she makes it. She’s out of the woods for now, High Lady. There is still much that we will need to work on once she wakes, but she is alive. Rest assured, we will take the best care of your sister that we can. As we have been doing since she arrived here. Now, unless there is anything else that I can do for you, I would like to get back to your sister.”

Feyre nods numbly. She almost lost Nesta. She almost never got to say goodbye. Feyre has so much she wants to tell her sister, and she almost never had the chance.

“Thank you, Dr. Carver. Please- please keep me updated on her condition. Even if she doesn’t want to see me, I- I just want to… I-“ Feyre trails off. There’s no words for this. How does she explain that she didn’t know? That she would have been here if she had known? Dr. Carver nods as if he understood. He is a doctor, after all. Maybe he does.

“I will keep you updated. Now if you would excuse me.” The doctor stands and inclines his head before walking out of his office.

Feyre doesn’t know how long she sits on the couch in that office. She stares ahead at the bookshelf trying to sort through her racing thoughts. She should have been here. Nesta had needed her, and Feyre wasn’t there. Sure, she might have been snarky or unhelpful, but her sister was always present when Feyre needed her. Even in the cottage, she knew that Nesta was helping in the ways that she knew how to. Nesta was the who made sure the housework was done. Nesta was the one who took care of her when she was sick or when she had cut herself on branches during a hunt. Sure, her sister would have a barb or two to throw at her, but Nesta would always make sure her wounds were clean and bandaged. But where was she when Nesta needed the same thing? She didn’t even notice her pain when Nesta was still in Velaris. Looking back, Feyre can see the signs for what they are: the drinking, the sleeping around, the gambling. It all seems obvious now, but back then she didn’t even try. She was too focused on how Nesta’s behavior reflected on her. Her own pain. Her mate's. 

Feyre lets out a shaky breath. She didn’t lose her. Nesta would survive this. She'll will make it right, and she knew where she will start. She had been too quiet, too forgiving of her family when they berated her sister. Her family made the decision to send Nesta to get help. She needs to know who knew; who didn’t tell her.

Feyre stands up from the sofa and makes her way down the hallway, the setting sun casting long shadows in its golden light. She couldn’t hold back the anger as she stalks out of the building and mind-linked the Inner Circle.

Emergency meeting. Now. Get to the River House.

She locks down her walls before Rhys can ask her why. She feels the familiar talons raking down her mental walls. Not yet. She would speak to him once she pulls herself together. Feyre winnows to her studio. She needs to make a plan before she walks into the meeting. She will fix this. She has to. For Nesta.

Chapter Text

At first, Azriel doesn’t think much of Feyre’s message. He is simply too... invested in the Darkbringer currently suspended in one of his many dark rooms beneath the Hewn City. Azriel may have gone a bit overboard with this interrogation, but each slice of Truth-teller has still been giving him more information so it's not that excessive. Though he does almost feel bad for the male hanging in front of him, trembling and coated in blood and sweat. He's busy doing his job on behalf of the court. Feyre surely would understand his tardiness.

Then he sees the letter.

Azriel pauses. He envelops the man in his shadows before walking over to the table. Rhys sometimes sent letters like this when Azriel was interrogating a prisoner. The contents could be confidential, better not to risk the male seeing them. the contents might be able to wait, so he might not have to stop his interrogation. Then he sees the red block letters reading URGENT across the sealed envelope. He furrows his brows, slowly approaching the table where the letter lay over his instruments, slowly dampening with blood.

Azriel doesn’t open it right away. The heavy weight parchment seems almost leaden in his hands. The letter isn’t marked with the seal of the North Court, like Rhys would usually do when he sent a letter like this. Rhys might have been too rushed to add it. That could be explained away. The color of the wax isn’t quite right, though. Azriel breaks the seal and freezes as soon as he sees the sender.

Twilight Respite Center

The paper shakes in his hand as he reads.

Lord Azriel,

As her primary relative, I am writing to inform you that this morning Nesta Archeron attempted to take her life.

Azriel takes in a sharp breath. He can’t even process that they had called him Nesta’s primary relative. The ringing in his ears is deafening as his world narrows to the folded paper in his scarred hands. This couldn't be happening. 

We were able to stabilize her and currently we are waiting for her to wake up. Her body has gone under significant stress and currently we have no estimate when she will wake. Please come at your earliest convenience to further discuss her care. Nesta is currently being held in the main healing ward. Staff will be waiting to give you directions.

Dr. B. Carver and Healer Madja

He turns to the Darkbringer as his shadows melt away to reveal the crying male.

“You are one lucky bastard.” Azriel stalks out of the room and slams the steel door open. The guard standing sentinel outside of the cell nearly jumps out of his skin.

“L-Lord Azriel!” He stutters, eyes wide.

“I’m done here. I don’t care what you do with the prisoner. There’s nothing else to gain from him.” Azriel growls as he brushes past him towards the winnowing point. The wards of the dungeon are more frustrating than usual. He barely sees the man flinch. His focus is singular. Nesta needs him. He won’t let her wake up alone.

He shadow-steps as soon as he feels the wards fall away. Arriving in the grand rotunda, Azriel sees a lesser fae woman shifting her weight, clearly nervous. She spots him about the same time that he does her.

“Lord Azriel-“

“Take me to her.” He interrupts. There is no time for pleasantries. Not now.

The female flinches. Briefly, Azriel considers how he might look. He hadn’t taken the time that he usually would to calm himself after an interrogation, let alone clean himself. He probably has been leaving a trail of that Darkbringer's blood in his wake. Considering he also likely looks as manic as he feels, Azriel must be more terrifying to behold than usual. Doesn’t matter. Azriel needs to get to Nesta.

Fear paralyzes, though. Azriel needs this female to be functional. “Take me to her.” He repeats slower, attempting to soften his voice as not frighten the female further.

"Of course, Lord Azriel." She scrambles forward towards the familiar ward. He stalks after her. Every moment that it takes him to get to Nesta is a moment too long. However, when Azriel finally reaches her door, he hesitates. He doesn’t know what will lay on the other side. He doesn't know bad Nesta will look. Azriel needs to open the door, he owes that much to her. He hadn’t been there for her. He hadn’t advocated for her. The least he can do is sit with her. He knocks on the door.

“You may enter.” Madja’s familiar voice answers from the room. Not Carver's. It should be Carver with her. This does not bode well.

When he pushes open the door, feels his lunch start to crawl back up his throat- something no interrogation had made him feel in years. Nesta shouldn’t look like this. He didn’t know what he was expecting, but certainly not this.  

She looks… small. Nesta shouldn’t look small. Even when she had a bad day, she never looked this fragile. Nesta is laying on a sterile-feeling hospital cot. Madja and a team of her healers circle his sister. Her skin, normally rosy, looks completely devoid of color, nearly indistinguishable from the sheets. Nesta’s lips were completely white. All that stands out from her pallid skin are the angry red lines covering her wrists. Her usual braided crown is gone. Instead, her hair hangs in dull tangles on her pillow. Azriel can’t remember ever seeing her hair down. He can't help but notice how much softer she looks now, asleep in the bed. The harshness of her expressions are smoothed out. She looks almost like Elain. It makes his skin crawl. 

Madja is so absorbed coordinating the chaos of the room, that it takes her several minutes to notice Azriel in the room. He just waits. What can he do but wait? He'll just get in the way.

“Lillia, she needs another blood-replenishing potion. There should be one in the supply closet.” Madja directs. The attendant nods before rushing out of the room. She brushes Azriel’s shoulder as he stands frozen in the doorway. The female excuses herself before disappearing down the hall.

Madja finally looks up.

“Oh. Azriel.” She acknowledges him and wipes her hands on her apron. Azriel can’t help to notice the faint tracks of blood in their wake. “I thought you would be here a little later. No matter. Come. Let’s speak outside.” She motions him out the door. With one last look at Nesta, Azriel follows.

Azriel doesn’t even know what to say first. Words completely elude him. The ringing in his ears seems to intensify. He just listens. That's what he's good for, after all. Even if he's apparently done a shit job of that for years now. 

Madja sighs. “We got lucky. When Nesta missed group this morning, we sent the staff to check on her. We don’t know how she got the knife, but it’s been confiscated.”

“Will she be alright?” Azriel knows the answer. He remembers when it had been him in that same bed for that same reason. Madja seems to remember as well.

“Eventually. With time.” She gives him a harder look. “And with support from her family.”

Azriel winces. “I didn’t know, Madja. I just assumed and I… I failed her. I can’t go back and fix it.”

“No. You can’t.” Madja sighs. “At least you came to see her. I can’t say the same of the rest of them.”

“What do you think triggered it?” Azriel thinks back to when he had seen her three days prior. Nothing seemed too out of the ordinary for their visits. She seemed like herself, a little sarcastic at times, a little quiet in others. It's what he had come to expect from her. Nesta had even teased him about Gwyn. She wouldn’t have done that on a Bad Day. Then, he remembers the look on her face when she saw that Illyrian male on the book cover. The one that looked a little too much like his brother. Then, Azriel remembered the panic that crossed her face after she had told him he was her only visitor. Her quiet, broken whisper rings through his mind.

Just you.

Azriel pushes the rising anger he feels from the memory down. Now is not the time for that. Anger will come later, when he sees them. He remembers the way Nesta told him that he didn’t need to come back, that she would understand. Her breathing had picked up and she couldn’t even meet his eyes. Then she had looked at him like Feyre did when she was trying to paint him, studying his every feature. He had noticed that her eyes seemed to empty a bit towards the end of their meeting, like the spark behind them that was just so inherently Nesta was just… gone. He thought she had understood him when he said he'd be back, but what if… What if she hasn’t believed him? He closes his eyes and prays to the Mother that he's wrong.

“We have a suspicion that it might have something to do with her friends departure from the facility. According to the staff member who was present, Nesta seemed to retreat into herself after they had left. We had been planning to address the situation after group therapy this evening, but that was a mistake. One that nearly cost Nesta her life. For that, we are deeply sorry Azriel.”

He inhales deeply, a sick feeling growing in his stomach. It isn’t too hard to put the pieces together. Nesta thought she was alone. He didn’t- he wasn’t-. Madja seems to study him. Relieved by what ever she found in him, she continues.

“We’ve decided to limit visitors to those who have been around her the most, as to not risk overwhelming her and worsening her status. You are welcome to come to visit at any time. Due to your occupation and role in the court, we’ve decided to lift our usual restrictions on visiting hours." Madja closes her eyes, exhaustion beginning to take hold. "Come when you can, Azriel. She needs someone to be there with her.” She adds, without the authoritative tone he has come to expect from the healer. 

Azriel nods. He could do that. He might not be able to fix what happened, but he could be there. 

“Thank you, Madja.”

“You can thank me by having a conversation with the rest of your family. I sent the High Lord a missive about Nesta’s situation. Dr. Carver informed me that the High Lady stopped by a few hours ago.” Madja’s voice is interrupted by familiar talons scraping against his mental walls.

“Speaking of, it seems she would like a word with me." Azriel grits his teeth as Feyre once again pesters him for entrance to his mind. He wouldn't be able to put off this confrontation for much longer. "Thank you again for taking care of her. I don’t know what I would have done if-“ His voice cracks before he can even finish his sentence. It had been too close. Far too close. 

Madja gives him an understanding smile. “We’ll be here with Nesta when you return.”

With a nod to Madja, Azriel opens his mind to his High Lady.

Azriel where are you? Everyone is waiting in Rhys’s office.

I’ll be right there, Feyre. I had something important to finish.

He rolls out the tension in his neck before stepping through his shadows into the River House. 

The uneasiness in the room is obvious once he steps into the office. Azriel doesn’t even try to hide his contempt for his family. They did this. Nesta is lying in a hospital bed half-dead because of them. Because of him. Cassian gives him a questioning look, but he ignores it. Not that Azriel could have said anything anyways because as soon as he enters the room, Feyre immediately launches into tirade.  

“This afternoon when I was cleaning up the townhouse, I received an urgent missive from some place called the Twilight Respite Center. Imagine my surprise when I read that my sister isn’t in some facility in dawn but actually has been in Illyria this. Whole. Time. And worse than that! I have to read that Nesta is in critical condition after nearly dying. Someone needs to start talking. Now.” She glares at Rhys whose eyes widen almost comically. Out of the corner of his eye, he sees the color leech from Cassian’s face. He almost looks as pale as his mate. Good.

“Feyre darling, you have to understand that we were doing what was best for Nesta. We wanted to make sure that she was healing before we invited visitors. I never meant to keep you from your sister. I-“

Azriel can’t keep the laughter in. He's always been the quiet type. Always watching but never speaking unless spoken to. But today, since he's the only person in this room who has any sort of common fucking sense, it seems that he'll be the one talking. The room quiets at his outburst, clearly shocked. All the better for them to hear him. 

He glares at his brother. “Don’t bullshit her, Rhys. You weren’t trying to let her heal. You just wanted to keep her away from Velaris so she didn’t keep embarrassing you.” Azriel can hear the disgust in his own voice. He doesn’t care. Every single time he blinks he can see nothing but her unconscious body, ghostly white and far to fragile to be his Nesta. Azriel scoffs at the High Lady.

“And you shouldn’t sanitize it, Feyre. She tried to kill herself. Nesta was so fucking lonely she almost died.” He is almost yelling now. He feels Rhys put up a sound shield. Good. He’d hate to wake Nyx just because his parents fucked up. He is just a kid. He isn't complicit or directly at fault. Only his family is. 

“Is she..?” He hears Cassian’s voice crack out from across the room. Azriel turns, giving him an ice cold look he usually would reserve for an unfortunate soul at the wrong end of Truth Teller. Cassian flinches.

“No. Your mate is currently stable, thank the fucking Gods. Not that you did anything to help her.” He turns and assesses the room, looking at his family one by one.

“You all knew she was there and you forgot.” He goes through his family systematically, his rage fueled by the thought of Nesta's body in the hospital bed. No one in the room deserves to escape his wrath.

He shifts his attention to Mor and Amren first. “Of course you two wouldn’t have cared of she died. You hated her. You wanted her gone more than anyone except maybe Rhysand.” He nearly snarls at his brother.

“I can’t believe you, Rhysand. After Ariana?” Rhysand flinches at the mention of his sister. Good. “Your own sister spent two years in Respite. I spent nearly three years, what with all my injuries over the years. Cassian had his wings repaired there. You went there yourself for most of the time Feyre was stuck in spring. Not to mention the time you spent there after you got out from Under the Mountain. You know the Respite is built to house patients temporarily and you just left her there to rot. I am so ashamed to call you my brother right now. You know exactly what it’s like to be abandoned by your family. I know what it feels like to be isolated like that, Rhys- just in case you forgot where I came from. I spent eleven fucking years like that, you asshole. She's your sister-in-law yet you still subjected her to that special kind of hell. You deserve to be stripped of your titles for what you did to her.”

“Azriel I-

“No, Rhys. You don’t get to talk right now. I’m. Not. Done. Speaking." Azriel bites out, effectively silencing his High Lord. "You are acting like your father, Rhysand." Judging by how angry Rhys looks, that one seems to have actually hit where Azriel had been targetting. Why stop now? "If this is where you are taking the court, I don’t want any part in it.”

Azriel looks at Feyre, really looks at her. He can see she had been crying. Good. She might just understand the gravity of what she has done.

“You and Elaine didn’t even try to find her. By the Mother, Feyre. She is your sister,” Azriel hisses. “You don’t get to defend her. You don’t deserve that honor because Where. Were. You?  Oh, that's right!" Azriel quips sardonically. "Our High Lady was in Velaris deciding what color best suited the foyer of the River House." Azriel lock his eyes on hers. "You know, when I saw her this week she told me that she thought you had banned visitors.” Feyre sucks in a ragged breath, her tears freely flowing. “Not Rhysand. You.” Azriel sees Rhys open his mouth to try to defend his mate, but Azriel silences him with a withering look before turning his attention to the last male in the room.

“She still reaches for the bond you know, Cassian. She still cries when I accidentally mention you. Even so, she still asks. She still wants updates on your life even though you forgot about hers. Whyare you doing this, Cassian? The Cauldron chose to give you a mate and this is how you treat her? Did you forget that mates are rare? If this is how you treat yours then I don't know why the Cauldron chose you. I would kill to be in your position yet you waste the gift you've been given. You are the biggest idiot of us all, Cass.” Azriel seethes.

“I never- I never cut her off, I only ever dampened it when she was still- “ Cassian stammers trying to justify himself. Not. Enough.

“Bullshit. You cut her off from your bond because you were trying to punish her.”

The room is quiet before Cassian speaks, his voice too small. Cassian's shoulders are hunched forward and he isn't able to meet anyone's eyes. He looks destroyed. Nowhere near as destroyed as he has seen Nesta over this past decade, but it's a decent start.

“I didn't break the..." Cassian's face is sheet white. "I felt her. This afternoon I mean. Through the bond. Regret and apology. I didn’t realize… I didn’t know.”

“Of course you didn’t know. You. Haven’t. Been. There.” Azriel sighs, annoyed with this conversation. Annoyed with all of them. This was taking too long. He needs to get back to Nesta. He won't let her be alone. The people in this room aren't worth his time.

“I’m not saying that I am blameless in this." He adds. "I had just assumed that you were all decent people and were also going to see her. Hells. I should have been there more myself. Since I found out that I was the only one of us visiting her three days ago, I have been trying to figure out the words to say to you all. I haven't been able to focus on anything this week aside from how furious I am with all of you. You should all be ashamed of yourselves.” Azriel took in the room. He couldn’t even look at Mor or Amren. Rhys wouldn’t meet Azriel's eyes. Feyre’s shoulders shake as she sobs into her hands. He notices Rhys try to comfort her, but Feyre pulls her arm away before he can touch her. Cassian stares into the distance. A familiar look to Azriel. He had seen it on Nesta during so many of their visits.

“It’s been a decade. An entire decade.” He exhales sharply. “And she was just trapped there. This was our fault. We all should be grateful that we are nearly immortal. Maybe, just maybe, if we work hard enough, Nesta might just forgive us. Gods know we don’t deserve it.”

He fixes his gaze on the desk where Rhysand and Feyre sit. “Now if you would excuse me High Lord, I am going to check on my sister.” Azriel snarls at Rhys, turning to leave the room. 
“Oh, you should all probably start thinking of ways to fix this. Madja isn’t allowing random visits from people who clearly don’t give a fuck about Nesta Archeron.” He calls over his shoulder as an afterthought. Just like she had been to them for so many years.

He doesn’t look back at his so-called family, though he sees Cassian slump to the floor from the corner of his eye. Instead, Azriel steps into the shadows once more. He has somewhere more important to be.

Chapter Text

‘Ms. Archeron!’

Distantly, Nesta feels a flurry of movement around her. Panicked voices. Someone tilts her head back and pours a potion down her throat.

“Come on, Nesta. Stay with us.”

She keeps hold of the golden tether as the world around her fades back to darkness.

Nesta groans as she comes to. Her bed, as always, is far too warm and the wing draped over her body like an extra blanket sure isn’t making it better. She wants to push Cassian off her, but after that dream, a little more time in his arms won’t hurt. She snuggles closer, curling into Cassian’s side. It's too bad he is such a light sleeper. It would have been nice to get a few extra minutes of cuddles today.

“Nes?” He groggily pushes himself up on to his elbows.

“Go back to sleep, you big bat. It’s too early to be up.” Nesta whispers. He looks so adorable in the mornings with his hair all messy and the indent of his pillow red across his cheek. Just another reason she loves him. She presses a kiss to his cheek. Maybe she can convince him to stay just a few more minutes. 

Cassian slowly turns his head to look out the window as the dawn sunlight begins to spill through the window. He sighs, starting to extract himself from Nesta’s arms to start the day. Well that simply wouldn’t do. She tugs on his arm.

“You know, I can think of some much more entertaining ways to work out this morning, Mate.” Cassian freezes at the M-word, just like always. Gotcha. He turns to her with a lecherous smile… which drops when he sees her face. Shit. Nesta tries to send a quick feeling of comfort down the bond. She’s okay, really. Nothing to worry about.

“Do you want to talk about it?” He asks slowly. 

“No.” Nesta says with as much finality as she can muster. Conversation over. That nightmare doesn’t deserve to be voiced. Cassian nods.

“What do you want to do about it, then?” He raises his eyebrow suggestively. Damn that eyebrow. He should be illegal. Even his smirk is a weapon, the way it makes her heart stop every time he flashes her with it, that prick. It’s surprising that he even needs siphons with that face. He could probably stop a war with a wink. And don’t get Nesta started on his body...

“Do you want some water, Nes? You’re looking a little… thirsty.”

She rolls her eyes. Fucking Cassian. “Please. Get over yourself, you big brute. Not everything is about you-ah!“ She loses the end of her sentence to a squeal, much to her chagrin. But what was she supposed to do when Cassian pulled her in for a kiss? She's just a female after all. Gods, she loves this. She loves him. The taste of him. The feel of him as he rolls on top of her. She loves how the weight of him fits perfectly between her legs. Cassian continues to kiss her hungrily. Nesta wraps her arms around his shoulders, avoiding his wings… for now at least. Cassian braces himself on one arm while his free hand is already slipping under the hem of her night dress.

She pulls away, smirking up at him. “Can’t even wait thirty seconds, huh Cass?”

He takes the opportunity to start kissing her jaw, moving to whisper in her ear. “Neither can you, sweetheart.” He grinds against her, hard. Nesta bites her lip to stifle a moan. She feels Cassian smirk against her neck as he continues kissing down her body. Her heart flutters at the memory of his face with that stupid, beautiful smirk. Cauldron boil her, the things she'd do to-

“I heard that.” Ah fuck. Nesta tries to roll her eyes. Really, she tries. Then Cassian reaches that one spot in the junction of her shoulder and words leave her. But this is their game, and Nesta doesn’t feel like losing. Nesta accidentally brushes her finger along the joint between his wing and back.

“Fuuck, Nes.” Cassian groans, head dropping against her shoulder. Nesta smirked. Nesta 1- Cassian- 0.

“I heard that.” She parrots him with a smirk. Cassian rolls his eyes at her. 

He sits back on his thighs and grabs the neckline of her night dress. Nesta hears the fabric rip, and shivers at the cold air of the room meeting her now-bare skin.

“You didn’t.” She glares down at him, leaning up on her elbows.

“I’ll buy you another.” Cassian pounces, hands trailing up her stomach to cup her breasts. He takes one nipple in his mouth while rolling the other between his fingers. She didn’t try to hide the moan then, as her head drops back onto the pillows. He is perfect. How is he this perfect?

“I don’t know, sweetheart. I guess I was just born this way.”

Oh shit, was that out loud? 

“Don’t be an ass, Cassian.” She pushes on his shoulder and rolls him onto his back, careful of his wings. Nesta smiles down at Cassian, falsely sweet, then she grinds herself down on him. She knows he can feel her wetness, only two layers of thin clothing from him. But that goes both ways. She smirks at the growing hardness beneath her. She's got him now.

“Nesta…” He bites out through a groan. “Don’t play with fire.” Nesta slides her hands across the planes of his chest. He looks so beautiful beneath her. Pity she’ll be under him in three…

“What if I want to get burned?” Nesta smirks at her mate.

Two…

Cassian’s eyes darken and his hands grip her hips.

One…

Cassian almost tosses her back to the bed as he climbs back over her, claiming her lips once more. Too easy. 

“Why are you always such a brat?” He growls out between kisses, hands no longer gentle as he grips her hip and trails his hand up her body. She closes her eyes and smiles. The moan that follows is unintentional. She’d have to make him pay for that one. This is still their game, after all. And Nesta doesn’t like to lose. Cassian hand wraps around the back of her neck, his thumb almost reaching the opposite side. She could feel the rough calluses earned by centuries of training scratch against the sensitive skin of her neck. It should be illegal to have hands like this. It’s indecent.

“Why do you ask questions you already know the answer to? I swear you’re so dense sometimes.” Nesta smirks up at him. Cassian hums in response and tweaks a nipple just to the edge of pain.

“Maybe.”

Nesta closes her eyes. Not paying too much attention to the Illyrian man slowly tracing patterns down the length of her stomach. She shivers involuntarily. Nesta needs to think of something to say. He can’t win. At least not yet. He’ll be insufferable all day. She needs to focus. Nothing. Still nothing. She didn’t have time for this. She could always just try to provoke him again? Nesta starts throwing some of the greatest hits together.

“Big Illyrian brute, talking a big game and not following-“ He somehow, without her noticing, had slipped off her undergarments. Oh shit.

“Fuck, Cassian!” He sucks her clit into his mouth. Nesta-1 Cassian-1. Her eyes roll back into her head as she tries to think of how to get him back for that. Fuck, she can hardly think of anything. She gasps as he gently took her clit between his teeth. She twists her fingers in his raven locks. Cauldron, he's making her feel like she's flying. She needs to get herself together. She is NOT going to let him have this. She deserves the win after that fucking dream. An idea comes to her as she grinds herself against Cassian's face. Maybe she doesn’t have to think of a comeback after all. She could just draw her name from him the good old-fashioned way. Nesta tightens her grip in his hair, and he groans.

“Nesta…” She props herself up on her elbows once more then grabs his chin, bringing his lips to hers. Nesta-2 Cassian-1. Nesta climbs onto his lap, holding his face with both her hands as she kisses him. Her head is spinning from lack of oxygen but she can survive without it. Nesta can breathe him in instead. Nesta grinds down on his lap again, drawing out another beautiful little groan from him. She smirks against his mouth.

“All you need to do is ask, Cass.” She shifts back; her eyes locked on him. Finishing blow. Literally. Thank the Mother he didn't sleep in his leathers last night. They may make his ass look absolutely divine, but Cauldron boil her they are a bitch to take off.

“Oh no you don’t.” Cassian lifts Nesta's back up and pulls her to his chest before rolling them back onto the mattress. “I know you’re counting, sweetheart. If you think I’m going to let you win, Nes, you clearly don’t remember last time.” Oh, she certainly does remember last time. She has been remembering last time for the past two weeks now. That prick she calls a mate tied her to the bed and didn’t let her finish for three hours! How could she possibly have forgotten? Cassian pins her hips to the bed with his own. He snatches her wrists and presses them into their mattress.

“Sweetheart, there’s no need to fight it. Just let me make you feel good. We’ll both win.”

Tempting offer. Counter proposal- what if she didn’t do that. Nesta tries to buck Cassian off of her using her hips just like he taught her in training. He almost loses his grip. Almost. When she glares at him in a final attempt to piss him off, she isn’t met by the smug smirk she expected. Instead, Cassian stares down at her with pride. Nesta feels her heart soften.

“Good try, Nes. It would have worked if I wasn’t expecting it.” He looks back down at her, all pretenses gone. “Do you want this right now? If you don’t want to after that dream I would understa-“

“Cassian Archeron if you don’t fuck me in the next three seconds, I swear to the Mother I will tell Rhys and Azriel you cheated in last snowball fight last Solstace.”

His laugh… Fuck Nesta loves his laugh.

“Got it, my lady. Your orders have been received.” She feels him reach between them and line himself up while she rolls her eyes.

“You’re such an idiot.”

“Yeah, but I'm your idiot.” Cassian gently pushes in and Nesta loses the ability to think. The stretch is exquisite, as always. Each and every time that he has taken her in the ten years they had been mated still felt like their first: fucking divine. Cassian looks at her with such reverence. He had told her once that he considered sex with her to be a religious experience. Cauldron, one time he had even tied her up and ‘worshiped’ her body for nearly 12 hours. She certainly doesn’t see herself as a deity, but under Cassian’s hands, she sure felt like one.

When she feels Cassian begin to move, Nesta doesn’t care about the fucking game anymore. He's right (though she'll never admit that out loud). She’s winning either way.

“Fuck, Cass!” He grins at her, pressing his forehead to her own.

“I love how you say my name. Come on, sweetheart. Let all of Illyria know who’s fucking you.” That’s the best part about their home in the Illyrian mountains: No matter how loud she got, no one would hear. Still, that hasn't stopped Cassian from trying.

Nesta continues to cry out his name as Cassian continues to pound into her, reaching a hand between them to circle her clit. It’s too much, and he knows it. Damned bat. She feels her walls starting to flutter around him. Right as she feels herself tipping over the edge, Nesta writes her name with her finger on the sensitive underside of his wing in an invisible claim. 

“Nes, I-“ As she falls over the edge, she feels Cassian’s hips stutter as he finishes, filling her. After all, they are mates. Where one goes, the other will follow.

‘Madja!’

Nesta registers movement as she is rushed through a long hall. The way the light and shadow dance with each window they pass is disorienting, given she's hardly oriented in the first place.  When she comes to a stop, she hears a familiar voice she doesn’t have the energy to place.

‘By the Mother. Carver, you need to tell the High Lord. Tell Azriel too.’

Darkness is more insistent this time than the last. The potions probably, if Nesta has to guess. The wave of sweet oblivion swallows her once more, a smile playing on her face.

Nesta brushes out the tangles in her hair as Cassian finishes lacing his leathers. Apparently Nesta stares a little too long, as she sees Cassian’s reflection stepping behind her in the mirror.

“We might be able to fit in another round before Az gets here if we’re quick.”

“Unfortunately, I’ve been here for twenty minutes now.” Azriel’s dry voice rings out from the front room. “I made coffee.”

Cassian winces and Nesta stifles a laugh.

“I’d say sorry and that I won’t do it again like I did last week, but we both know that’s bullshit.” Cassian calls from inside their room. Nesta can see Azriel’s eyes rolling from the other side of the door. 

“Training ring in five minutes, brother. We’re wasting sunlight.”

“Yeah, yeah. I’ll be there in a sec.” Cassian turns to look at his wife. “Are you sure you’re still up for dinner with the family tonight? Feyre said Rhysand was invited.” Nesta rolls her eyes.

“I promise I’ll be on my best behavior Cass. Plus, I can’t exactly kill the father of my favorite nephew. That would be frowned upon.” Her smile falters for a moment. Something feels off. She can’t place it. Weird.

Cassian snorts in laughter. “Nyx is your only nephew.”

Nesta rolls her eyes at her mate. “That doesn’t mean he’s not my favorite. Plus, Feyre and I are just starting to really get somewhere after everything. I can put up with the Whiny Lord in exchange for time with my little sister.”

“You know, one of these days you might slip and call him that to his face.” Cassian opens the door dramatically, holding his hand out to help Nesta stand from the vanity. She smooths her hands over her dress before they head out into the living room.

Nesta rolls her eyes at her husband. “What’s he going to do? Throw me in (redacted)?” Nesta says the words, then is overwhelmed by a profound sense of confusion. Cassian smiles and presses a quick kiss to her lips.

“Not if I have anything to say about it, sweetheart. Plus, I think Feyre is still considering castration after last time. Poor bastard. He deserved it but still she was so… descriptive” Cassian winces. “I’ll be back by lunch. I left the novel you wanted on your chair by the window.” He smirks at Nesta. “You know, if you want to watch.” She swats at him playfully as he bounds out the door. Still, she can’t shake that strange feeling.

“(redacted).” Nesta repeats the word slowly. Her lips move, but she doesn’t know what she’s saying. As she tries to focus, her thoughts are lost in a cold, black mist.

‘Can I stay with her?’

‘I’m sorry Lord Azriel. We don’t have any extra-‘

‘Yes or no. Can. I. Stay.’

Please stay, Az. Please don’t leave me again. Nesta feels her consciousness fade once again.

Nesta and Azriel sit on her front porch overlooking the mountains of Illyria. The two sit in a comfortable silence. Two souls that deeply understand each other. They don’t have to say anything. They just exist together, taking in the snow that has started to softly fall.

Azriel breaks the silence first.

“How have you been doing, really?” She considers Azriel’s question then gives him a soft smile. She didn’t need the mask with Azriel in moments like this; he’d read through it anyway. These conversations reminded her of (redacted). Nesta follows the train of thought to try to fill in the missing word, only to once again get lost in the black mist. Something is blocking her. She doesn’t know why she should be distressed about it, though. She’s surrounded by her best friend and the male who would go to the ends of the world to protect her and defend her… and Cassian. Cauldron, she loves her little family.

“Better. I think it’s finally set in that this is real.”

Azriel hums in response. She notices one of his shadows playing with the hem of her long skirt.

“You should control that one, Az before Cass gets back.” He rolls his eyes.

“You and I both know they like you too much, especially after-” His eyes grow distant for a moment. “After everything that happened.”

Nesta is momentarily confused, but for some reason, a profound sense of melancholy overwhelmed her. She hadn’t thought about (redacted) in years. There it is again! Nesta focuses on the fleeting thought.

“Nesta? Are you alright? You seem off.”

She shakes off whatever this weird feeling is. “I’m honestly not sure. I think I just have a migraine or something.” He assesses her slowly.

“If you say so.”

They both look out at the meadow around the cozy cabin. Distantly, she sees Cassian looking through a large patch of flowers Elain had helped them propagate a few years ago.

“Do you think Rhysand gave us the Cabin as another apology gift, or to get Cass and I to stop trying to fuck in every room in every one of their houses?”

Azriel snorts. “Definitely both. Though I thank the Mother every day that I don’t have to keep walking in on you in random places.”

“…except when you walk into our living room knowing full well what we're doing.”

“Yeah, well. Cassian was late and I was hoping that our General would have enough situational awareness to notice someone entering the house.”

“Nah. He was too busy entering me.” Azriel fake dry heaves. Nesta snickers. “Plus, not all of us have natural spies watching from the shadows.” She wiggles her eyebrows suggestively. “I didn't know that voyeurism was something you were interested in, Azriel. You always could have just asked to join us.”

Azriel sighs, looking up at the blue, cloudless sky. “I don’t know why we’re friends.”

“Shared trauma and momentum?” Nesta suggests. “Mutual social circles? But if we’re going to stop being friends, I’ll let you have weekly visitation with Cass in exchange for visitation with Gwyn.”

Azriel laughs. “We better stick together then. Who else will I judge the rest of the family with during court meetings? I might actually have to speak up if you aren’t there to yell at them for acting like idiots.” He bumps his shoulder into hers. 

“Speaking of Gwyn though, she wanted me to ask if you were still on for drinks with her and Emerie tomorrow?” Azriel asks as the two of them see Cassian starting to turn back from the garden. Azriel stands and offers his hand to help Nesta up. Such a gentleman.

“I wouldn’t miss it.” 

“Az, would you please stop flirting with my wife. Don’t you have like literally anywhere else to be?”

The pair roll their eyes.

“Oh Azriel! You have finally won me over with your endless brooding and gigantic wingspan. Please, save me from my loveless marriage to this Illyrian brute.” Nesta deadpans. Azriel chuckles, then chances a look at Cassian and winces. Her husband is such a baby. It’s like he forgot that Azriel is happily mated. Or that Nesta is also happily mated… to him. Idiot.

“Well. I will see you both tonight. I have somewhere important to be.”

“Inside Gwyn doesn’t count!” Nesta calls out after him as he starts to fly away.

“Fuck off, Archeron! I’m telling her you said that!”

Nesta gives his retreating form a rude gesture before turning back to her mate.

Cassian approaches her, holding something behind his back as he leans down to kiss her.

“I got something for you.”

Nesta rolls her eyes. “I wonder what it is. Could it be related to the mud on your leathers?"

Cassian glances down, finding nothing. Nesta bites back her laughter as she watches Cassian’s eye twitch. A little trick between mates never hurt anyone.

“You’re such a brat, Nes. I almost don’t want to give you your present.”

“Oh please, Cassian. We both know how much you love it.” She pouts her lip. Mostly sarcastic. He knows that. She knows that he knows. It doesn't matter though, because it still works.

“Alright, I guess I can make an exception. Just this once though. And you better be on your best behavior.” He winks down at her before kneeling before her with a flourish, brandishing a bouquet of flowers. Or at least what she thinks is flowers, all she sees is a ball of black void, cold as death. Even so, Nesta feels pure love between the two of them through the bond. She allows herself a moment to simply bask in it. Cassian loves her. Nesta sees him clearly talking to her and explaining his gift further, but every word is lost to her in the dark smoke. Nesta isn’t going to worry about the strangeness of her thoughts, though. Not with her mate kneeling in front of her, staring up at her like she hung the moon and personally painted the stars above Ramiel.

‘Please, Az. Please let me just see her.’  

Nesta's heart twists at the familiar voices. He wouldn’t be here, though. She doesn’t want him to see her like this.

‘Fuck off, Cass. You shouldn’t be here.’

Thank you for defending me, Azriel. Thank you. The darkness claims her again.

“Can you tie the back?” Nesta turns and lifts her hair so Cassian can access the tie at the back of her neck. She feels his warm hands on her back as he ties the strip of fabric. He leans down to press a gentle kiss onto her shoulder. He takes her into his arms and Nesta sighs. This is what she had wanted when she thought of romance all those years ago. She lives for moments like this. It took them so long to get here. When they- Nesta’s thought is once again interrupted by the smoke that feels like death. An icy chill crawls down the length of her spine. She shakes her head to clear the feeling.

“Everything okay, Nes?”

“Yeah, I just feel a little off.” He turns her around to face him. Cupping her cheek, he tilts her face up and brings his lips to hers.

Cassian pulls away with a soft smile. “We don’t have to go to dinner if you aren’t feeling off. I’m sure everyone would understand.”

Nesta snorts at the incredibly dumb comment. “And let Rhysand have another reason to play the victim in the next inner circle meeting? No thanks. I’d rather go swimming in the Bog of Oorid than deal with that shit.” She rolls her eyes.

“Don’t even joke about that, Nes. You remember how (redacted).“ Cassian’s words are once again lost to the smoke. This is getting ridiculous. She feels herself reply with some quip that melts away before she can even hear it. She sees his lips moving but can’t read them. Every time she tries her mind goes blank again. That’s enough. Talking without being able to understand her own words is incredibly disorienting.

“Cassian, we’re going to be late.” Nesta interrupts, a little harsher than he likely deserved. He raises his hands in acquiescence.

“Alright, alright. We won’t talk about it. So, are you winnowing us or are you going to let hold you for a whole hour?”

Nesta considers that flying would give her an excuse to be close to him for. Then she considers the fallout from being late and how annoying their family would be if they walked in mid-meal. Pros and cons. 

“Well, you took too long getting ready, so I guess we’ll have to winnow.”

Cassian laughs. He playfully tosses his hair over his shoulder. “Well, sweetheart, it takes time to look this good. I’ve never heard you complaining.” He is too beautiful, it’s sinful. Nesta can hardly breathe as his hooded eyes scan her body.

“Are sure you want to go? We can always stay here, and I can untie-“ Nope. She isn't about to let him distract her again.

“After. Dessert comes after dinner, Cassian. Don’t ruin your appetite. Plus, do you really want Azriel to walk in on us again? Twice in one day is just cruel, you know.” Nesta smiles up at her husband. Cauldron boil her, she loves this man.

“Azriel’s such a cockblock.” Cassian grumbles. He is so cute when he pouts. “Fine. Let’s go.”

Nesta grabs his hand, pulls him to her, and winnows to the River House.

‘Another bouquet came. Where would you like me to put it?’

‘Can I say the trash?’

If she could, Nesta would laugh.

The darkness pulls at her once more.

After dinner, Feyre and Nesta sit in front of the fireplace, sipping tea while their mates take the opportunity to spar upstairs. They both watch the silenced flames. Nesta sees the painting of her and her sisters hanging on the wall.

“When did you paint that? Is it new?”

“No, actually.” Feyre turns her attention to the painting. “I painted that one about two years after everything. I think it’s one of the better paintings I've done of the three of us. It’s hard to capture you properly in a picture.” Nesta nods in agreement.

“That one’s pretty close. You didn’t get my smile quite right. My chin should be turned up a little more. You know, so the viewer can tell I’m better than them.”

Feyre snorts. “I was going to say that your eyebrows should be more drawn together. You aren’t you without at least a little scowl.”

“You wound me, Feyre.” Nesta exaggerates, feigning fainting back on the couch.

“Oh, shut up!” Her sister rolls her eyes at Nesta's antics. 

“Fine, fine. I’ll leave you alone." The two sisters sit in silence. It's a comfortable silence, for once in their lives. Gods it took so long to get here but- she feels cold black smoke drawing up from the floorboards.

“Nesta are you alright?” Nesta tries to nod but she is paralyzed as the smoke begins to consume her. She feels dizzy as the world fades to a cold, black void. The darkness is so cold it is almost as if she has been submerged in icy water, just like she had in the Cauldron. Nesta feels familiar silver flames begin to flare, banishing the darkness with their blinding light. She feels like nothing but a ghost as she floats through the flames. Slowly, very slowly, she feels herself beginning to settle into a body. She flexes her toes as she melds into the body on the bed. Her body.

Nesta inhales sharply. If this is her body then all of that was… She isn't really… She claws at the memory of the dream, trying desperately to keep something, anything for herself. She feels the dream slipping like sand between her fingers.

She feels like she should cry, but she’s not sure why.

She feels stiff in the bed.

She wasn’t going to cry. There was no reason to.

Instead, Nesta opens her eyes.

Chapter Text

Immediately after opening her eyes, Nesta is assaulted by the soft natural light streaming through the windows.

“That was stupid.” Azriel’s tired voice rings out from the corner adjacent to her bed. Nesta tries to push herself sit up with trembling arms. As if they could sense her struggling, Azriel’s shadows materialize behind her back and help push her up.

“Thank you?” Nesta whispers to her helpers, voice still hoarse with sleep. The shadows spin around her almost as if they're… happy? They dissipate and return to Azriel. Nesta catches a glimpse of her wrists. The evidence of the attempt is already almost gone. Only a thin, fading red line remains. Fae healing is truly a marvel.  A deep sense of melancholy starts to overwhelm her as the reality of the past few days comes back to her. Nesta can still hear the cold voice of her mother egging her on. She feels a warm sense of comfort flow through a faint golden thread leading from her chest. She must be imagining things. Clearly this is some residual hallucination from that dream she can’t remember.

She looks around the room, deliberately avoiding Azriel. The sterile room is so familiar to her own. The only change is the veritable garden of flowers sitting on the dresser. “Still in Respite then?” Nesta doesn’t even try to keep the disappointment from her voice.

“Yes.” 

“Pity. I was hoping that my hell would be the cottage. I’m pretty bored of the décor here. Maybe if I try again, I can get a different hell. Hey gods, on the off chance you’re listening to me, can we get a transfer.” Nesta nearly laughs. Of course she wouldn’t get so lucky. The gods stopped listening to her a long time ago.

“Nesta.” His voice is even. Controlled. Just like she should be. Though what's the point of that now? He clearly already knows her weakness. Nesta knows he’s sitting in the corner, but she can’t look at him. He shouldn’t have seen her like this. No one should see her like this.

Nesta scoffs. “What Az? You shouldn’t be in my Hell. Are you here to watch the show? I’m thinking we should title it ‘The Failed Archeron can’t even Kill Herself Right.’ I’m willing to workshop it, though. Thoughts?”

“Nesta stop.” Azriel speaks with such authority that her voice catches in her throat. She turns to face him for the first time since she woke up. Meeting his eyes, Nesta notices how tired he looks- though she's pretty sure that he's always tired. The shadows beneath his eyes have deepened since she has last seen him. His wings droop over the armrests of his chair. By the Mother, is he slumping? Nesta wasn't aware that's something an Illyrian could do. A small ottoman has been brought to the room and sits next to his chair. His voice even holds the characteristic gravel that comes with sleep deprivation. Nesta tries to focus on talking to him, though her head still spins.

“Why are you even here, Azriel?” She can’t help but ask. Nesta couldn’t think of a reason he would want to stay. He looks at her like she just said she wants to move to the Middle. Or like she had dyed his leathers baby pink.

“Because I care about you, little sister." Why does he sound so offended? "How was your nap? Feeling rested?”

No. She feels horrible.

“I’m absolutely refreshed.” Nesta responds.

Azriel raises an eyebrow. “You know my shadows can sense when someone is bullshitting me?”

“Really?" Nesta’s eyes go wide. No wonder he's the High Lord's Spymaster. 

Azriel snorts. “No. You just look like shit.”

Nesta glares at him. “Oh, fuck off. You’re not looking any better,”

Azriel rolls his eyes. “You try sleeping on a chair for three days, you’d look like shit too.”

Nesta has another quip ready, but it dies in her throat.

“Three days?”

“Three days.” Azriel nods. Nesta feels her world start to spin again. “Glad you’re up, though. This couch sucks to sleep on.” He shifts in the chair.

“What?” Nesta blinks, confused. Surely, she misunderstood him.

“This couch sucks to sleep on.” Azriel repeats himself, slowly enunciating each word. Nesta still can’t comprehend what he’s saying.

“Why were you sleeping here? Surely Rhysand had other things for you to do more important than sitting here with me.”

Azriel’s eyes darken, and his shadows begin to writhe on the tiled floor. Something must have happened while she was out if Azriel’s getting this agitated. Nesta mentally notes that question for later. Azriel clenches his jaw. “I wasn’t going to let you wake up alone. You’ve been alone enough already. And since Carver isn’t letting anyone else visit, you’re stuck with me.”

“What do you mean?” Nesta had a sneaking suspicion that she knew what he’d say next, though she hoped she was wrong.

“Dr. Carver banned anyone who hasn’t visited before from seeing you.”

Nesta’s breath catches in her throat. She wasn’t wrong. “They know?”

“They know.” Azriel nods. He steels his face, already anticipating the coming storm that is Angry Nesta.

Her hearing goes first. Then the world takes on a red tinge. This cannot be happening. Nesta’s stomach drops to the floor. No. No they can’t- If they know she can be vulnerable might use it to hurt her. No. They aren't allowed to know what she did. She can feel the memories of her first intervention starting to drag her back into another episode and she rips herself free. Nesta has shit to do. Feelings can happen later. For now, she needs to know who to kill. She feels the silver flames starting to spark in her eyes and closes them, trying to use the Valkyrie breathing technique to calm herself down. Once she didn’t feel like exploding and destroying the entirety of Respite, Nesta begins the interrogation.

“Why. The Fuck. Do they know.” Nesta seethes. She levels Azriel a glare that would make a lesser man flinch. Not him though. He’s used to it. If she weren’t so angry, she’d feel somewhat guilty that she has snapped at Azriel enough for him to develop a Nesta-tolerance. But for now, he is suspect number one. “Did you tell them?”

“I was going to.” Nesta nearly launches herself at him, then Azriel continues. “But Feyre did first. Apparently, Carver gave our High Lord and Lady notice about your condition.”

What. The. Fuck. Suddenly the flowers make sense. Apologies and well-wishes from a family that only now is trying to claim her. She wonders what the High Lord’s angle is in all of this. He always had one.  Either way, someone has to pay for publicizing her weakness. She contemplates killing her sister for a moment, then Nesta feels a wave of nausea. Not her sister. She can’t take this out on Feyre. Nesta can't be any more of a burden on her sister. Of course the culprit is the one person she cannot retaliate against.

Azriel gives her a conspiratorial smile. ”I may have told them all to go fuck themselves when they tried to be upset about it.”

Nesta’s spiral stops mid phrase. Nesta falters. “You did what.”?”

Azriel shrugs, as if standing up to his family is completely normal for him; as if he speaks up in meetings. “You weren’t there to call them on lying and they should be careful how they speak about my little sister.”

Nesta’s not crying. Her eyes are sweaty. Azriel has been calling her his sister for several visits now. She didn't think he meant anything by it, but to defend her against the rest of the family like that... Nesta is almost overwhelmed with emotion. She doesn't know what to say or how to thank him. The little part of herself that she has long since thought dead starts to wake up. Hope? Friendship? Too much soft shit. She's been too vulnerable to roll over and show her belly by losing control of herself.  Nesta can’t have that.

“Oh fuck off with that little sister shit, Az.”

He laughs at her attempt at an insult. “Love you too, Nes.”

Nesta grumbles something about stupid bats before turning her attention to the floral monstrosity on her nightstand. Between the four separate vases and bouquets, she sees two small stacks of letters.

She gestures with her head at the stack of presents. “What’s that about?” Nesta feels that weird golden thread again. A trick of her imagination, surely.

“Well, Carver said they couldn’t visit to grovel in person, so they all decided to try and buy your forgiveness.” Nesta barks out a laugh.

“Figures they wait until I nearly die to remember me.”

Nesta looks at the four vases. One on the far left is a beautiful arrangement of white hydrangea, azalea, and blush pink roses. It's vase is made of porcelain and has an elegant pink trim. The next over is probably the most generic bouquet that she has ever seen: red roses are surrounded by a few sprigs of Queen Anne’s Lace. She would have thought it was thoughtful, if she didn't see the price tag reading ‘SALE! 3 Silver Marks! Final Purchase’. The next one over was a mason jar filled with several eclectic flowers, some wild and others not. The last one is in a beautiful onyx vase and purple hyacinth, lily of the valley, peonies, and rue. Nesta can’t stop the chuckle.

“Of course Rhysand would use flower language to apologize.”

Azriel turns to her confused. “What?”

Nesta sighs. “In the human world, flowers used to be a way to convey secret messages between people. An outdated practice sure, but one still taught to ladies of standing, such as myself. Of course that prick would try to apologize without having to actually write the words. Meanings weren’t uniform, but he’s probably using the system that I learned since it was made by the old lords of Prythian.” Nesta points at each flower in turn. “Purple Hyacinth means ‘please forgive me’; Lily of the Valley has two meanings. Rhysand likely intended to mean ‘returning happiness' or 'humility', but the other meaning- purity- is pretty ironic given he put me here. I’m going to assume he meant shame with the peonies, given he’s happily married and wouldn't be stupid enough to try and cheat on my sister with me of all females. Last but not least, rue has a couple of meanings. I think he knew both of them when he selected it too. The High Lord probably couldn’t resist the dig. It means 'regret' and 'sorrow', but also 'disdain'. I’d interpret the bouquet as meaning something along the lines of ‘please forgive me. I still hate you, but I took it too far.’" Nesta turns to Azriel, raising her eyebrow. "Was I right?”

Azriel shakes his head in disbelief. “I’d say so. I already took the initiative and burnt the letter he sent with it. It was on his official cardstock and just read ‘Apologies of behalf of the Night Court’. So… I'd say you're pretty spot on.”

“Can I guess the others?” Nesta eyes the three remaining vases. Azriel nods.

Nesta points to each arrangement in turn. “The pink one with all the flowers I adored as a kid is from Elain. The general store one is from Morrigan or Amren. Finally, the mason jar arrangement is from Feyre because she’s busy and flower arrangement has never been her strong suit.”

Azriel claps slowly. “Pretty spot on. Elain sent the first one along with an apology that she can’t be here right away. She and Lucien are currently… celebrating their mating.” Azriel winces. She vaguely remembers stolen glances between her sister and the male in front of her. Nesta also clearly remembers holding Elain as she sobbed over her ended engagement to Grayson. Last she saw Elain, she hated Lucien. So much seems to have changed.

“So they finally worked their shit out?”

“Yeah. They have been seeing each other for a few years. I’d have told you earlier, but honestly, I thought you knew. I thought you knew a lot of things.” Azriel’s face starts closing off and Nesta interjects.

“And everything that I do know, I learned from you. Don’t try to take credit for others’ mistakes. You shouldn’t be the one to carry the weight of the Court’s fuck up.”

Azriel is quiet for a moment. His shadows swirl across the floor. 

“Aren’t we talking about you? You know. The one on bedrest.”

Nesta shrugs. “Turnabout is fair play.” Azriel rolls his eyes before returning his attention to the flowers.

“The generic one is from Mor. I went ahead and burned the card she got too. It read ‘Get Well Soon!’. She bought it yesterday morning and just gave it with the flowers.” She nods numbly. Nesta’s beyond tired of this, of the double talk and expectation. She had lived her whole human life under those rigid social rules, and now to deal with that same bullshit in her fae life? Nesta needs a chance to breathe.

“And the last vase-“

Nesta interrupts. “Azriel, how long has it been?”

He furrows his brows. “You were asleep for three days. I just told you. Are you feeling alright.”

“That’s not what I meant.” Nesta huffs a breath. “How long have I been here?”

Azriel watches her for a moment. “Do you not know how long it’s been since you were brought here?”

Nesta rolls her eyes. “Obviously not. I wouldn’t have asked otherwise.”

“Then how did you-“ Azriel struggles to find his words. Nesta takes pity on him. 

“I used your visits, actually. Days and years kind of blended together once I realized I was never getting out. Time wasn’t all that important.”

Azriel gives her a strange glance. Nesta can’t do anything but wait for him to say-

“Ten years.” Azriel’s voice is steady. Nesta breathes out and closes her eyes.

“That’s less than I thought it would be honestly.” This time it’s Azriel who takes the calming breath.

“I think that might be a talk for another day.” He seems to get lost in his thoughts, getting progressively angrier.

Nesta sits forward, pulling her knees to her chest. “Was I right about the other vase?”

Azriel turns his attention back to her. “Actually no. Those flowers were from Cassian. I guess I got the vase, but he’s been sending you new flowers to add every day along with his letters.”

“Letters?” Azriel brings over one of the two stacks of letters to her bedside table.

“He’s written one every day you’ve been asleep.” Nesta's heart stutters and the golden thread in her chest warms. “He’s probably outside writing the next one now.” Something in the way he says that makes her pause.

“You don’t mean…?”

Azriel nods then gestures towards the door. “Carver won’t let him come in, but he’s been sitting outside. He wanted to be here just in case you woke up and asked for him. Now that you mention it though, I do believe that I owe Cassian a good beating. He needs to know exactly what I think about people hurting my sister.”

Nesta’s words feel stuck in her throat. “You’re not going to-“

“No, Nesta. I’m obviously not going to do any permanent damage. Though, he probably would let me right now. Either way, he’s still my brother- a stupid brother whose face I’m about to beat in, but still my brother. Plus, I don't want you to go crazy over a fucked-up mating bond.”

“I’m already crazy and have a fucked-up mating bond.” Nesta deadpans. Why does she even care what Azriel does to Cassian anyways? Cassian clearly doesn't about her. Azriel shrugs.             

“Semantics. I was half feral when I got out of my father’s dungeon and look at me now! Perfectly sane. Just give it some time after we get you out of here.” Nesta looks him up and down and starts laughing. Really, genuinely laughing. Perfectly sane isn’t quite the words she would use to describe the make. She wipes a tear.

“I needed that, thanks Az.” Nesta can practically hear him roll his eyes as he pushes himself up to standing with a groan.

“Are your joints already hurting? When did that start? 300? 500? It must be hard to remember when you’re that old.” Nesta smirks at him, but, as usual he doesn’t rise to her provocations. Instead, Azriel smiles at her fondly.

“Glad to see you’re feeling like yourself again.”

“Fuck off, Azriel!” She calls after him. It doesn’t matter if it sounds like she’s smiling. Az gets it.

“Love you too!” Azriel opens the door, and she swears she sees a familiar head of hair pop up, mostly blocked by Azriel’s wing.

“Is she?” She sucks in a breath but can’t seem to get enough air. She may have not heard that voice in- Cauldron- a decade, but she’d know his voice anywhere. He really has been waiting outside the door. Her heart skips a beat. Nesta stares at Azriel's back and the silhouette of the male behind him. 

“Yes. Now let’s go to the sparring ring.”

“Did she-“

“Sparring ring.”

“Can I at least-“

“Now.”

Azriel all but pushes him from the door. One shadow carries in a letter and deposits it on her bedside table, along with three others from the table with the flowers. She waits until the shadow closes the door before she turns her attention to the letters. Her hand trembles as she sees the familiar handwriting across three of the four letters. Nesta’s fingers hover over the sealed page, unable to bring the courage to look at them. Would she be able to read it if he actually hated her? Yeah, it wouldn’t make sense for him to have waited outside her door if he did, but what if he was just making sure that his m- the bond between then wouldn’t be broken by her death. Nesta makes the cowardly move and neatly piles his letters, pushing them to the other side of the table for later. Instead, she reaches for the letter written in an unfamiliar hand.

The letter bares an official seal of the Night Court. Given Azriel already burned the High Lord’s letter, this could only have been written by one person. Nesta smiles at the letter her sister wrote. She runs her finger over her name. Feyre’s writing has gotten so much better since she has last seen it. Nesta takes a deep breath and dares to hope that, for once, the letter will bear good news.

Nesta,

I can’t believe I am finally able to write to you. I know you probably won’t forgive me, but I am so sorry that I couldn’t find you sooner. I wish I had known you were in Illyria. Elain and I had been searching for you in all the wrong places it seems. We’ve been trying to find you. I am so sorry, Nesta. Those words don’t even cover half of what I feel. I understand why you’re limiting visitors. Though I am incredibly jealous of Azriel, I cannot fault you for trying to protect yourself. Caudron knows I’ve done a shit job of that since I left for Spring after killing the wolf all those years ago. One day, I would love to get to see you again, Nes. I miss my sister.

I included a picture from Nyx. I have been telling him stories of you for years now. He is very excited to meet you when you’re ready, but no pressure.

You may not believe me, but I love you Nesta and I am so relieved to know you’re alive.

Your sister,

Feyre

Nesta doesn’t know what to think of the message. Her head swims as she tries to reconcile the message with what she already knew. Too much didn’t make sense. She feels her head start to pound. When she folds the letter so she can return it to the pile to re-read it later, she notices another paper falling from the envelope. Nesta flips it over and her heart clenches. Written at the top in the unsteady hand of a child is the title of the drawing: ‘My Family’.

The drawing itself is very impressive for a nine-year-old. Nesta smiles to herself. Maybe Nyx took after Feyre after all, thank the Mother. Rhysand doesn't need a clone. In the center of the drawing, there is a little boy with bat wings smiling brightly labeled ‘Me!’. On either side of him, she sees a crude rendering of Feyre and Rhysand, each with a hand on his shoulder. Nyx really is tall, if the drawing is even a little bit accurate. The top of his head is nearly reaching Rhysand’s shoulder. Their likenesses are captioned ‘Daddy’ and ‘Mommy’ respectively. She counts the other figures surrounding the little boy, nine in total. Next to Feyre, there's a male and female in golden finery labeled 'Auntie Ellie' and 'Uncle Lucy'. A blonde female in a red dress stands on the outside: 'Auntie Mor'. Nesta chooses to ignore the sting at seeing her with that title. Next to Rhysand, there's a... creative rendering of an Illyrian warrior titled 'Uncle Az' complete with blue glitter-glue siphons. Next to him is another Illyrian- this time with messily-applied red glitter glue siphons titled 'Uncle Cass". Her breath catches when she sees the final female, standing hand in hand with Cassian. A drop of water falls onto the paper, blurring the ink of the sun Nyx had drawn in the corner. Nesta quickly wipes her eyes, unwilling to risk sullying the paper any further. 

The woman holding Cassian's hand has her blonde hair braided up into a crown. Her blue-grey dress contrasts nicely against the black leather of Cassian's armor. Nesta swallows before slowly shifting her eyes down to the caption. She runs her finger over the messy script, tears coming unbidden. The caption reads 'Auntie Nesta'.

Chapter Text

“You know,” Emerie’s familiar voice rings out from the doorway. “If you hated ‘The Dragon Lord’s Forbidden Desire’ so much, we could have just picked another book. No need to go to this extreme.”

It’s been a little over a day now since Nesta woke up, and it seems that word has gotten to her ‘friends’. Gwyn is a rush of blue gown and red hair as she catapults herself from the doorframe to Nesta’s bed. The priestess pulls her into a crushing embrace. It doesn’t make sense why they would go out of their way to come to visit her, but Nesta isn’t about to question a good thing, even if the dissonance of it all is a bit grating. First Azriel, then Feyre and Cassian, now them? It doesn’t make sense why they’d care. She hadn’t thought that they would. It’s all so confusing.

“If you ever do something like that again, I’ll kill you myself.” Gwyn mumbles into Nesta’s shoulder. Gwyn pulls back and checks Nesta’s face as if she is looking for any sign of instability. Like Nesta would show that kind of weakness.

Emerie shoots Nesta a conspiratorial smirk. “I mean, personally, I was hoping we could read ‘Claimed by the Shadow Lord’ next. What do you think Gwyn?” 

Azriel chokes on his tea from what had become his chair across from Nesta’s bed. Gwyn glances over at Emerie with a scathing glare. The ‘Emerie shut up!’ is obviously implied. Nesta bites her lip to keep the laughter back. Or at least she tries to.

Azriel sighs. He glances over at Nesta. She nods. Nesta can handle being alone. These are her 'friends' after all; no need to chaperone.

“Well then. I think I’ll leave you ladies to it. Nesta, I’ll be be back in a few hours. If you need me, ask one of the healers and I'll be back sooner.” He places his mug on the table, now with only two of the vases: Elain’s and Cassian’s ever-growing collection. Azriel stands and makes his way to the door. “Ladies.” He tilts his head, eyes lingering on Gwyn as he steps from the room.

The three girls wait until the male closes the door behind him then burst into laughter. Or at least Emerie and Nesta do.

“Hey! Guys it’s not-“ Gwyn protests weakly. She smiles gently at Nesta. Nesta doesn’t know the last time she laughed like that, free and unburdened. Cauldron, it must have been at least 30 visits- almost three years ago. She knows how long it's been. She'll need to switch to using years if Azriel was honest with her about trying to get her released. Even if he was lying, his visits have been too frequent to use as a marker now. She'd have to figure out a new metric if he left.

“I am terribly mad at you, Nesta.” Emerie slumps on to the bed opposite Gwyn, her two friends now surrounding her. Friends. Nesta can call them that. Even if it's only for a little bit. She can indulge in fantasy. Who knows. Maybe they aren't lying after all.

“No. None of that.” Gwyn speaks up, pinching Nesta’s arm.

“Hey!” Nesta rubs at the sore spot. “What was that for!”

“You were thinking something dumb. You have a huge tell. Your eyes get a little dull and you bite your tongue.” Gwyn says matter-of-factly. “I agree with Emerie, though. I’m pretty angry with you too.” 

“What were you even thinking?” Emerie stares at her like this is a question that Nesta might actually know how to answer. Nesta squirms under her friends scrutiny. She doesn’t know the answer. Of course she doesn’t know. Or at least she can’t make the reason palatable.

“I wasn’t.” 

“Bullshit, Nesta. You hesitated.” Emerie isn’t going to let her dodge the question. Shit.

“I don’t know what you want to hear from me, Em.” Nesta tries to deflect. 'Tries' being the keyword. Gwyn squeezes her arm.

“If you don’t want to talk about it, we’ll respect that. But Nesta, we just want to know how we can help you. We don’t want to lose you again. I won't lose another sister.” She sounds so sincere. Gwyn looks at her with her kind eyes. Maybe she does care. Maybe Nesta can risk honesty. Neither Gwyn nor Emerie have tried to hurt her before, aside from leaving her here. Maybe it wouldn’t be so bad to trust them, just this once. 

“I didn’t want to be alone anymore.” Nesta closes her eyes, unwilling to see the reactions of the other girls. She hears the sharp inhale from where Emerie sat to her right and feels Gwyn’s arms tighten around her again.

“You weren’t alone, Nesta. We weren’t ever going to leave you here. Azriel wasn’t going to leave you here. We love you. You have to know that.” Emerie sounds so concerned. This isn’t making sense. Nesta doesn’t deserve kindness. She doesn’t deserve love. Azriel is the exception to the rule, at least for now. He'll forget about her eventually.

“Nesta, you know we love you, right?” Gwyn asks from Nesta’s arms. She risks opening her eyes. Looking between the two other females, Nesta could feel their sincerity. She feels something around her crack.

“Yeah, I… I know.” Nesta forces out. She knows somewhere, deep down that she isn’t lying. Everything is just confusing. So infuriatingly confusing.

“You know what?” Emerie repeats, expectantly. Nesta inhales sharply. It’s obvious what Emerie wants from her. Nesta remembers Carver telling her once that the first step to healing and rebuilding herself is to trust the people around her. She can do that. Nesta can take that step.

 “I know that you two are my friends and that you love me.” Nesta’s voice still catches on the L-word, but she gets it out. The two other females seem satisfied, so Nesta must have done well. That means they'll stay for a little while longer.

“Good. Now that that matter is settled, and we have all decided that your really fucking stupid choices this past week are absolutely idiotic and never going to happen again, I propose we carry on with this week’s book club.

It feels good to have friends. Really good. Nesta finds herself talking and joking with Emerie and Gwyn as they spend the next two hours discussing the intricacies of the barely-there plot of one of Nesta’s favorite smut series. It feels normal. She feels… happy.

After what feels like no time at all, Emerie and Gwyn start to pack up to leave when there is a knock on the door.

Emerie and Nesta turn to Gwyn, wiggling their eyebrows salaciously.

“That must be Azriel. He said he’d be back soon.” Emerie says, bumping her shoulder into Gwyn's.

“I’m not cleared yet to walk, so Gwyn would you please open the door for him?” Nesta asks, falsely innocent.

“Oh I-“ Gwyn stutters.

The knock sounds again.

“Go!” Nesta smiles at her friend, shooing her towards the door.

Gwyn crosses to the door. She looks over at her friends, clearly nervous.

“You got this!” Nesta whisper-shouts encouragingly, giving her friend a thumbs up. Her friend. It still feels so strange to call someone that and mean it. A good strange, but strange nonetheless.

Gwyn opens the door. “Hello Azr-. Oh.”

“You must be Gwynneth.” It’s him. Nesta can’t see him fully because of the door, but the tops of his wings, the glow of his siphons… Cassian is unmistakable. 

She can’t see Gwyn’s face but judging by the step back she hears Cassian take from behind the door, Nesta isn’t sure she wants to. Nesta doesn't know what she's feeling at the sound of his voice. After so long, his voice is still like a balm on her broken heart. Then the sadness, the anger, the yearning she has felt for the -Mother bless her- ten years she was without him come rushing back and Nesta wants nothing more than to scream at him. To rip his stupidly beautiful head from his annoyingly broad shoulders. But if she did that, then she wouldn't hear his voice anymore. It's just too confusing to feel this right now. Nesta finds the little box she keeps in her mind just for moments like this and stuffs her feelings down into it. She'll deal with them later... maybe.

“General.” Gwyn’s voice is uncharacteristically cold.

“Lord Cassian. What brings you to visit today?” Emerie asks, heading towards the door with purpose and angling it such that there is no chance he'd see Nesta. 

Cassian tries to get a word in, but Emerie isn’t done speaking.

“Why, specifically, do you want to see Nesta today? You know, your mate? Why didn’t you want to visit her any of the other years she was here? Where were you, General? What gives you the right to be here, now?” His presence seems to shrink in the door as her friend’s voice gets louder and louder. Gwyn even steps aside, unwilling to be between the two.

“Cass.” Azriel speaks softly from the other side of the door. It seems that he just got back from whatever he had been doing “We talked about this.”

Nesta can hear Cassian’s wince. It’s strange that she could still remember what it sounds like after all these years. “I know, Az. I had just thought-“

Emerie snorts. “No you didn’t.” Gwyn takes the chance to quickly pack up the rest of her things.

“Emerie.” Azriel attempts to mediate from the other side of the door.
“No he didn’t think. You might give him leniency, Lord Azriel, but that is my friend currently on the hospital bed just as much as yours. And I owe him no kindness after what he did.”

“I understand that, Emerie. I just wanted to drop this off for her.” Cassian sounds so small. Dejected, even. If she was allowing herself to feel right now, Nesta might even feel sorry for him. 

The silence that follows is only interrupted by Gwyn accidentally bumping into Azriel’s chair. The air feels charged, for some reason Nesta could not understand. Then the conversation flips to Illyrian, and she knows she must have missed something. Nesta hates feeling like she missed something.

“Emerie, it’s fine.” Nesta calls from her bed. The hurried conversation at the door stops.

Emerie says one more thing in Illyrian, dripping in vitriol that transcends the language barrier, before looking back at her friend.

“It was great getting to see you Nesta. Gwyn and I will be back as soon as we can.” Nesta hears the awkward shuffling of wings as her two friends leave. It hurts, seeing them go. But hopefully, they will actually be back just like they said.

“Nesta I-“ Cassian tries. As soon as she hears her name on his lips, the lip of her Feelings Box is ripped open and every single thing she has been feeling surges over her like a tsunami. No, no. Not now. Not with him here. She can do this. She can put it back. She takes a steady breath.

“Get out.” Nesta closes her eyes, praying to the Mother that he would just leave. It would be so much easier that way.

“You heard her, Cass.” She hears Az pat his brother on the shoulder.

“Yeah. I just- I wanted to-.” Nesta almost broke then, at how pitiful Cassian sounded, then she remembered the coldness in his voice at her intervention.

“I never should have gone with you.”

“You aren’t worth the trouble.”

“Just go. Please.” Nesta croaks out from the bed. She shouldn’t be weak around Cassian. She needs to get a dig in, or he’ll know. Nesta doesn’t know what she could say to him anymore. Anything that would hurt him would only hurt her ten times over.

Azriel saves Nesta the trouble. “Just go, Cassian. I’ll give it to her. Be safe.”

Nesta sees him hesitating at the door, something unspoken passing between the brothers. She hears the breath leave Cassian’s lungs in defeat. Nesta could practically see his shoulders slouch from the other side of the door.

“I miss you, Nes. I’ll see you when I get back.”

Nesta doesn’t breathe until Azriel closes the door behind him. Azriel himself seems defeated as he brings the two new additions to the ever-growing bouquet. Azriel places one of the flowers, a tall stalk covered with hundreds of thin purple petals, into the vase with particular reverence. Before she can ask, Azriel changes the subject.

“How was your visit with the girls?”

By the evening, Azriel and Nesta had fallen into a companionable silence, each absorbed in their own reading. Nesta hazards a glance at her friend as he sighs for what must be the third time in the past five minutes. While he looks significantly less shit than yesterday, that bar is in the depths of the Hewn City. Azriel’s dark circles seem to have deepened since that morning. He massages his temples while he shuffles through then combs his hair back with his fingers which, judging by the current state of his hair, must have been the hundredth time that hour.

“Do you want to talk about it?” Nesta offers. They have never talked about his work before, but he looks so drained. It's the least she can do to offer him a chance to talk it out, especially after all he has done for her. That's what... That's what friends are for.

“Huh?” Azriel looks up from his notes and tries to blink some of the sleep from his eyes.

“Azriel, you know you can go home, right?”  Nesta says, cautiously. “If you’re staying for me, I appreciate it but…” She trails off.

“It’s not an issue. I’d be up anyways. Perks of being the spymaster.” He quips sarcastically to himself before turning back to the reports.

Nesta waits a few minutes before speaking again.

“Is it bad?”

“Is what bad?” Azriel doesn’t look up from the papers in his lap.

“Whatever’s going on that’s got you worrying like that?”

Azriel sits back into the chair, neatly placing the documents on the table. “It’s not really clear how bad it is or isn’t. That’s what I’m trying to figure out.”

Nesta waits for him to go on. When he doesn’t, she prompts. “So current assessment is?”

He rolls his eyes. “My current assessment is classified and utterly useless until Cassian gets back.”

Nesta hums, trying to divorce the name from the feelings that are quickly rising in her at its mention.

“What is Cassian doing then?” Azriel’s eyes widen in surprise when Nesta says his name. Maybe she shouldn’t have asked. Azriel responds before she can take it back.

“Eris, the eldest son of-“

“The High Lord of Autumn and an arrogant, scheming prick after Rhysand’s heart. Yes, I remember him.” Nesta interrupts, rolling her eyes.

“Yes well,” Azriel continues, pretending to be annoyed. “Eris noticed that several of his soldiers went missing and called in his favor with Rhys for us to look into it for him. He seems to think that it’s something significant going on, or at least significant enough to use a card we think he had been saving for taking over Autumn entirely. We got some credible intelligence yesterday so Rhysand asked for me to go and investigate further, but Cassian volunteered. Loudly.” Azriel winces at the memory.

“Is that where Cassian went today?” Nesta has a bad feeling.

“Most likely. He didn’t say for sure, but I’d say it’s safe to assume as much.”

Nesta nods. “Why do you think that Eris’s soldiers went missing?”

“Honestly?” Azriel toys with the idea for a moment. “I don’t have enough information for specifics, but it doesn’t seem like a typical case of deserters. So we’ll--”

Nesta gasps, unable to hear Azriel further as emotions slam into her. The feeling is overwhelming. After so many years, feeling the bond between her and Cassian in its fully glory makes her dizzy. She is enveloped in the warm, golden light of the bond. Nesta presses her palm to her sternum in disbelief.

“Nesta?” She hears Azriel asking something distantly.

She closes her eyes, content to just feel this moment. His emotions rush across the bond to her. The warmth of his love for her, unending and unapologetic, hits her first. Then the regret for time wasted and the pain he had caused her. Before Nesta can even comprehend the feelings flooding her, the bond grows colder. Agony. Sheer agony. At time lost. Words unsaid. That he won’t see her again in this life. The pain. The overwhelming pain. Then nothing at all.

Nesta doesn’t realize she’s screaming until Azriel pries her fingers off her face.

“Nesta! What’s wrong?” She races to catch her breath, enough to form the words as Azriel’s panic begins to mirror her own.

“Cassian. He’s dying.”

Chapter Text

The bite of the wind stings his wings as Cassian flies south. He doesn’t know why he expected anything different when he went to see Nesta. He knew that she wasn’t going to want to see him. No matter what he hopes for, he knows she has every right to turn him away. Cassian doesn’t deserve a chance to even catch a glimpse of her, and he knows that. He's learned a lot of things over the past few days. Cassian knows now where everything went wrong. He knows why this decade has been hell. 

“She’s going to kill herself, brother.” Rhys pours Cassian another glass of whiskey as they sit in his sitting room. Azriel is in Autumn, again. He seems to be away a lot these days. Rhys takes a swig of his own whiskey. “We need to do something, Cass.”

Cassian knows Rhys is right. Cauldron boil him, he knows he’s right. Nesta is slowly dying. He sees it every time he went to bring her to family dinners. She is so thin, too thin. Her eyes don't have the light that he has always thought made Nesta Nesta. He had to pick fights just to see if she is even still there behind the hollow shell. Every night he sits on the roof of her building, trying to ignore his own feelings as male after male took her. Cassian doesn't mean to stalk her, just make sure that none of those males try to hurt her. He knows Nesta doesn't want him like that. He may still be haunted by her face on the battlefield as they prepared to die together, but that is his burden- not hers. If he isn’t what she needs, he isn't the sort of male to force her to choose the bond. Though Cassian isn't going to let her be in danger. Instead, he watches from above as she drinks her sorrows away and falls into the arms of others, no matter how much it hurts. Nesta didn't want him to interfere with her life anymore but he can't help himself. All Cassian can do is just keep vigil as Nesta slowly wastes away into nothing.

Rhys is right. She can't keep going like this forever. Cassian shut his eyes and tried to fall back on his training to calm himself. He needed to be objective, for her. He can imagine the hollows in her cheeks the last time he saw her. 

“What are you suggesting?” He'd do anything. Anything for Nesta. 

“We should bring her to Respite, let her have a few months to cool off after the war.” Cassian growls at the choice of words. How fucking dare him. How fucking dare him for talking about his m- Nesta like that. 'Cool off'? Rhys can take his poncey bullshit and shove it up his-

Rhys holds up his hands in surrender.  “We don’t have to, but I think it would be good for her. Like it was good for Mor after Autumn, and for Elysia after… what happened.”

Cassian hesitates. After Mor recovered from her injuries, she spent about two more months in Respite recovering from the trauma of what happened in Autumn. Rhys’s own sister had spent nearly three after a group of Illyrians attempted to clip her while she was visiting them in Windhaven. He remembers how much better they had felt after they left Respite. Maybe Rhys is right that it was what she needs. It is beside the point though.

“Nesta would never be willing to go.” Cassian states firmly.

Rhys looks at him carefully. “She doesn’t necessarily have to go willingly, brother.”

He must have heard Rhys wrong.

“What the fuck did you just say?” Cassian grit his teeth against the rising anger he felt towards his brother. He'll fucking kill him. Damn the consequences. Feyre's already High Lady, Rhys is redundant.

“Hear me out, Cassian. Nesta needs help. We both know it. Don’t you want her to get better, Cass? Don’t you see where she’ll end up? Don’t you want to help your mate?”

It burns when Rhys said it out loud. He hasn't even said the word to Nesta, nor she him. It's too charged. The word is too heavy with expectations they aren't ready for.

Cassian knows his brother was right. And he’ll do anything to keep Nesta from destroying herself. Even if it means he'll become her villain. At least she'll live.

How do you suggest we convince her?” Gods above, the words feel sickening as they leave Cassian's mouth. 

“You’re not going to like it.”

"N o shit."

Seeing her face when he said the words is worse than any physical injury that he will ever experience. Cassian knows he fucked up irreversibly as soon as they left his lips; that he never should have gone with Rhys’s plan in the first place. It's far too late now, and Nesta’s blank face says it all. Cassian broke her. He did this. He glares at Rhys and the others as they continue to berate her, but all he could do is bite his tongue. What did it matter? He is no better than them. He had hurt her the worst of them all. When draws her into his arms to fly her to the Respite, Cassian apologizes over and over but judging by her blank stare, he knows she didn’t heard him. He did this. Cassian watches as the team from Respite carries her in through the door. The doctor tells him he can write to her in a month, and Cassian just nods dumbly. After they check the sealed intake forms that Rhysand gave Cassian, the fae managing her paperwork looks at him like she knows that he did this. Rhys didn't show him what it said, but whatever it reads seems to make the intake nurse nervous. They tell Cassian that he'll be allowed to visit Nesta eventually, with her permission of course. He doubts she will want to hear from him, but he will try- just in case. He won't abandon her, unless she is well and truly done with him. 

The Illyrians whisper in poorly veiled fear anytime the General walks into a camp. They don’t know why he has changed so much over the past two, but he had become a beast. Cassian would tear through camp after camp, exacting the High Lord’s justice, enforcing his laws, training the legions with a fervor he had never shown before. On his bad days, when they see the blonde female in the red dress visit him, everyone knows to avoid him like the plague. Anyone unlucky enough to cross his path those days would be found that evening, broken and bleeding into the snow. Even with their pride, the legion isn't stupid. Challenging him on those days is suicide. They would see him in the training ring on those nights after the female visits, forcing himself to train past any known limit. They all breathe a sigh of relief once he returns to his tent, downtrodden and knuckles bleeding.

“Anything?” Cassian asks Mor when she enters the cramped tent that had become Cassian’s home for the last two years. It is just close enough to Respite that he could feel her every so often, albeit faintly.

“No. She ignored the letter, as usual.” Mor says, sitting down on his bed as he stares at a map of the Illyrian camps. “I’m surprised you still try, Cassian. She clearly doesn’t want you anymore.”

“Mor.” He doesn’t look at her. He doesn’t need to. The only reason she is even here was that he didn’t trust himself to deliver the letters and not barge in to see her. It has been nearly two years of ignored letters now. Two years of hoping that one day she might forgive him. She shouldn’t, but maybe, just maybe she might. The Mother isn't that kind. 

He flinches as Mor sets her hand on his shoulder. “Maybe you should just stop with the letters. Take the hint, Cass. She’ll reach out when she’s ready.”

“Fuck off, Mor.” Cassian shakes Mor's hand off of him.

She rolls her eyes. “You can’t keep living like this, Cass. You’re going to get hurt if you keep being this reckless.”

“Fuck. Off. Mor.” He emphasizes. He is done with this. Done with her. She doesn’t know what it's like, having a mate and ruining any chance of ever seeing her again. She can’t comprehend the penance he must pay for what he did to Nesta. However long she deems to be necessary.

“Alright. I’ll be back next week then. Be safe, Cass.” Mor gives him a pitying smile. He hates their pity. It's why he hardly goes to Velaris anymore- only going for Court business or to see Nyx and Feyre..

When Mor finally leaves, Cassian sighs in defeat. He slumps onto his bed, head in his hands. Maybe Mor is right. Maybe his constant pestering is slowing her recovery. Maybe that’s why she hasn’t come back yet.

As he has so many nights before, Cassian reaches for the bond in his chest, just to feel it there so he’ll know she is still there. His breath catches in his throat, his too empty chest tightening. He can’t feel her. Cassian can't breathe. Nesta finally did it. She closed the bond. Cassian doesn’t know when he started crying, only that he can’t stop. Cassian has known it was only a matter of time. If he focuses, he can feel her there faintly. There is still tension in the rope that tied their fates together. She isn’t… she isn’t gone. She has only left him.

He can’t help but keep sending letters after that, at least on her birthday and to mark the years she has been gone. He has to see if she might be willing to see him; that she knows he is so sorry and has lived every day knowing that he lost the right to her heart. Mor always looks at him with such pity when she leaves with his letters. Cassian can hardly feel it anymore. He can hardly feel anything. He knew his family can see it. It doesn’t matter. Maybe Rhys will think him so broken that he’ll send him to Respite and Cassian might finally see Nesta again. No. He didn’t deserve that. Someday. Someday she might want to see him. He can live for that someday.

He doesn’t hear the chaos that follows Azriel’s exit from the Inner Circle meeting. He doesn’t feel his knees hitting the ground, nor Feyre’s hand on his shoulder. When he had felt the bond open that morning, he had been so happy that he could feel Nesta again. He hadn’t put the feelings she had sent him together. Nesta had been saying goodbye. 

Hours later, when Cassian is finally able to pull himself from the floor of Rhys’s office at the River House, he scrambles towards the door. He needs to get to Nesta. To see her. He can hear Rhys calling out to him from somewhere behind him. His High Lord tries to grab his shoulder to stop him. Cassian rips his brother’s hand from his shoulder.

“Fuck off, Rhysand. You did this to her. This is your fault and if she dies, I will never forgive you. I’d kill you, but unlike you, I’d never subject my sister to the agony of losing her mate.”

Cassian doesn’t stay to hear whatever excuse Rhys said after. It doesn’t mean anything anyways.

Cassian has never flown that fast in his life. His landing feel more like a fall as he stumbles into a full sprint towards the door. He grabs the first person he can see inside of the building.

“Nesta Archeron. Where is she?”

The terrified lesser fae female points in a direction and Cassian sprints off  without so much as a thank you. He stumbles as he runs through the wing, checking hallway after hallway until he can smell her against the sterile hospital ward. Cassian nearly vomits at the accompanying coppery smell of blood. Az is there. Good. Nesta isn’t alone. He approaches the room quietly. When he opens the door, Azriel’s head shoots up before he can even see her.

“No.” Azriel’s voice is quiet, but with an authority Cassian has never heard directed at him until that day. Mother above, now he understands why his brother is so feared by the prisoners.

“Please, Az. Please just let me see her.” He begs his brother who only snarls back at him.

“Fuck off, Cass. You shouldn’t be here.”

Cassian’s shoulders slump. “I know I shouldn’t. I just had to see-“

“Like all the times you ‘had to see her’ over the past ten years? Bullshit, Cassian. You don’t get to just walk back into her life right now.”

“I know I can't, Az. I just want to see that she’s still here. I won’t… I won’t say anything.” Cassian stares at the floor. He feel so heavy, as if the floor will swallow him whole.

“You know she wouldn’t want that, Cassian. She wouldn’t want the first time you see her again to be like this.” Azriel just sounds tired. Cassian know he is right, too. Nesta would never want someone who she didn’t trust to see her vulnerable like that- and what has he done over the past decade to keep her trust? 

“I can’t leave her, Az.” Cassian's voice cracks, tears beginning to finally well up after the events of the meeting. His brother takes pity on him; a small kindness that Cassian will be grateful for until the end of his days.

“You can sit outside the door, if you don’t get in the way of the healers.”

Cassian nods, attempting to smile at his brother though it likely looks more like a wince. “Thank you, Az.”

“She won’t be alone, Cassian. I won’t let it happen.”

Cassian only left the floor to grab flowers and more paper to write letters to her. Just in case she ever woke up. Nesta will wake up. The alternative is enough to make Cassian sick. Even so, she probably wouldn’t read them, just like she had ignored the others. But Cassian can’t help it. He watches as the bouquets from the rest of his family arrive. They don’t try to see her. Not like he had. The only people who come in and out of the room are her healers, who would occasionally take pity on him and give him an update on how she is doing. Azriel hasn’t left the room since Cassian had arrived. He only sees his brother when Azriel accepts Nesta's flowers, his shadows forming an impenetrable barrier to cover Nesta from view.

No matter how many times he has been summoned to Velaris, Cassian doesn’t listen to his messages until Nesta wakes up. He only responds this time to get Rhys to stop pestering him and Azriel... and because sitting there outside her door, listening to her muffled voice is too much for him. Azriel already beat the shit out of him when Nesta woke up, Cassian isn't stupid enough to provoke him further. During their 'fight', Azriel probably noticed that Cassian wasn’t fighting back as hard as he normally would. It didn’t matter anyways. Cassian deserves to hurt after everything that he had done to Nesta.

Cassian was proud of his restraint when he gets to the meeting with Rhys. Feyre stops him at the door.

“Is she…?”

He nods tersely at his High Lady and watches the relief flood her. Rhys act the same when Cassian tells him, but he doubts the authenticity of his response. Not that it matters. Nothing matters but her.

“There was a credible sighting of Eris’s missing soldiers on the border of the Middle and Dawn. Usually, I would have Azriel follow up to confirm, but seeing as he is currently occupied-“

“I’ll do it.” Cassian won’t take Azriel from Nesta. She needs Az, not him.

There isn’t much information for Rhys to even give Cassian before he sets off. It doesn’t matter, though. So long as Azriel is with Nesta and she is awake.

Cassian stands outside her room, almost afraid to even knock. He holds the flower and his letter in shaking hands as red-haired female opens the door.

“Hello Azrie- Oh.”

“You must be Gwynneth.” Cassian gives her a small smile, trying to seem non-threatening. Azriel has told him so much about the priestess he met at Respite. Cassian had even teased him a bit about the crush he so obviously had on her. Gwyneth's eyes hold none of the laughter that Azriel has mooned over.

“General.” The priestess's voice is devoid of all feeling. 

Gwyn is interrupted by an Illyrian female- Emerie id he remembers right- stalking over to him and beginning to give Cassian the dress down he sorely deserves. he just lets her speak. He feels Azriel come behind him, attempting to temper Emerie’s anger. Azriel shouldn’t have.

Cassian closes his eyes. He has to leave soon if he is to make it back tonight. “I know, Emerie. I just wanted to give her this.” He holds out the letter and the purple blazing star. The other two Illyrians go quiet. Of course they did. They understand what he is trying to say.

“How dare you.” Emerie’s voice is quiet and cold as she switches to their native language.

“Cassian…” Azriel sighs, disappointed. Cassian doesn’t care. He has this feeling that he needs to give it to her. Not the best omen for this mission, but he won’t risk not giving her the flower. Just in case. 

“I’ll fucking kill you.” Emerie seethes. Azriel gives Emerie a look and she stops just short of launching herself at Cassian.

“Cassian, she won’t understand what that means.” Azriel puts his hand on Cassian’s shoulder. Even with the anger between the two brothers, Azriel knows what this meant to Cassian. He won’t stop him. Cassian knew he wouldn’t. Azriel will let him have this.

“I know she won’t, but I need to. I can’t explain it. I just need to. If something happens to me, I need her to have that. So she’d know.”

Cassian started to brace himself for the tirade Emerie is about to unleash on him before a soft voice that has haunted him for a decade broke through the momentary silence.

“Emerie, it’s okay.”

Cassian closes his eyes, trying to drink it in. The sound of her voice. The way her words are shaped when they leave her lips.

He sees Emerie shoot a look over her shoulder before turning back to face him. She points her finger into Cassian's chest. “I don’t know how you’ll fix this, but if you do and you break her again, I will rip the wings from your back.”

Cassian nods. “I’d let you.”

Cassian slightly inclines his head to Azriel as he reached out to take the flower from him. It hurts to give him the flower rather than to be the one to place it in Nesta’s hand, but this will have to be enough.

He doesn’t see her before he leaves, only the outline of her legs, covered in a soft blanket.

It will have to be enough. It is what he deserved.

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Cassian knows something is wrong as soon as he lands in the mountains between Dawn and the Middle. The air had become more frigid and stagnant as he approached the middle from the sky. Now, the usually cobalt sky of the Dawn Court is almost completely concealed by a thick, suffocating fog. The trees branch up at odd angles. Each bough drips with a slimy green moss. He had expected at least some noise from animals, bugs, or even wind once he landed. Instead, as he begins to trek further into the mist, all Cassian can hear is the echoing sound of his own feet against the muddy ground.

Cassian keeps alert, falling back on centuries of training. Each shadow seems to shift dangerously in the indirect light. The overgrowth continues to build as he continues on. Eventually, he reaches a small clearing- only in the sense that there are no trunks for several feet around him. There still is not a hint of sky.

He pauses before he continues into the clearing, eyes catching on a patch of mud at its center, and the lone boot print in its center. Cassian scans the surroundings for any sign of the person who had left it. His skin prickles as he slowly inches towards the boot print. The silence makes his skin crawl. Cassian doesn’t know how Azriel can stand this. He needs to buy his brother a drink or something after this, Azriel deserves one if this is what he has to deal with everyday. Cassian takes a knee to examine the boot print. The moment he touches the mud, hell breaks loose around him.

It starts with a cracking branch. Cassian whips around to see two fae males in Autumn livery.

“Oh thank the Mother, I thought I’d have to spend more time here looking for-“ Cassian’s voice dies in his throat as he sees the vacant look in the males’ faces. “Well, fuck.” Cassian mumbles to himself, drawing his swords and falling into that familiar dance.  How many did Eris say disappeared?

He counters the first attack easily, steel clashing on steel. The red glow of his siphon scatters through the mist with each attack parried or strike shielded. Rhys had told him Eris wants the soldiers back alive. That complicates things. Cassian flips his sword and brings its hilt down on the skull of one of the two soldiers. The male collapses to the ground, only to be replaced by two more soldiers stepping into the clearing. Centuries of discipline and training take over. The impact of each hit falls hard against his shield. Trying to do this non-lethally feels like fighting with his sword-hand tied behind his back. He allows a burst of energy from his siphon to empower his arm as he brings his elbow back into one of the soldiers, his nose cracking with a sickening crunch. Two more appear. Cassian smirks. Four-on-one is almost fair. Or it had been fair when Cassian was twelve. He parries a sword before it could cut him for being distracted. He sees four more soldiers approach the clearing as he spins, trying to protect his wings from the onslaught. Resolve strengthening, Cassian is a flurry of steel and red power as he defends himself.

Cassian first notices something is wrong with the soldiers when he takes the arm of one man and, rather than reacting to the wound, the man continues to fight. That complicates things.  He smashes his elbow back into the eye socket of the soldier behind him and slams the hilt of his sword against the armless man’s temple. Both go down.

Cassian is too focused on the six soldiers in front of him to hear the twin twangs of bow strings behind him. He only feels the burn of the ash arrows piercing his shoulder and wing. He bites out a curse, unable to even turn as the soldiers in front of him keep him occupied. One sword breaks through his shield, carving through his sword arm. Cassian grits his teeth.

Fuck Eris. He’s doing this his way. With a red wave of force, the six soldiers around him are blasted back onto the ground. Cassian turns to face the two archers as two arrows find their mark in his chest. His siphons activate almost automatically to staunch the bleeding. Cassian draws a knife from his belt and flings it straight into the first archer’s forehead, not waiting for the thud of a body against the ground before doing the same to the other.

Cassian doesn’t hold back anymore. He can already feel something leeching from the arrows into his circulation. Faebane probably, if he had to guess. His arms shake with effort as he brings his sword through one of the soldier’s torso. He gave Nesta the blazing star, his promise to return to her. He isn’t going to break a promise to her again. He imagines what she would look like, holding the purple flower as Cassian continues cutting through the soldiers. He can do this. Five left, then four.

Cassian feels the burn of another sword, this one piercing through his stomach. He can’t hold back the cry as the white-hot pain pulses through him. Cassian's siphons flicker, straining against the faebane now pumping through him. His magic can barely patch that wound, let alone the others he has been accruing. Cassian separates the soldier’s head from his neck. Three left.

Cassian’s sword arcs through a soldier’s overextended arm. He pivots to the soldier behind him, slashing through his belly, kicking him to the ground, and turning his attention back on the remaining combatants. Two left.

This pain doesn’t matter. This is nothing compared to what he put Nesta through.

The tip of his sword punches through the back of the armless male’s throat before Cassian kicks him off his blade. He spins around, slicing through the chest of the remaining soldier and all is quiet.

He stands in the middle of the clearing, the bodies of the twelve missing soldiers around him. Cassian can feel the blood, theirs and his own, dripping from him onto the mud. He falls to his knees in the center of the clearing. The world is starting to spin around him. Better let Rhys know the job is done. So Cassian might get to go back to her.

Rhys, I found the soldiers. It was an ambush. I need an extract. Hurt bad.

Cassian’s racing heart makes it hard to think. He thinks Rhys responds. Cassian did his job. He is a soldier, after all. His only regret is that he won’t get to see her again.; that his last words to her had been scripted barbs meant to hurt. He feels a tear roll down his bloodied cheek as he stumbles to his knees, no longer able to keep himself standing. Well, this sucks. Not how Cassian thought he'd go, but oh well. 

He sucks in a ragged breath, no longer able to hold himself up. Nesta. He has to at least say goodbye. He feels for the muted bond between them and pushes his emotions through. He feels the veil that has been muting heir bond obliterate with the force of his goodbye. The Mother apparently is giving him a gift on his way out, a little too late but a few seconds of feeling her again is more than he ever hoped for. Cassian closes his eyes, drawing all of his focus on pushing his thoughts to Nesta. 

I’m sorry, Nesta. I loved you.

Cassian falls face first into the mud, his world going dark.

Chapter Text

Nesta,

I honestly don’t know what I should say. I’ve written this letter about four times now, but every time I can’t find the words to express how sorry I am. I know that you wouldn’t want to see me, but I couldn’t stay away. I’m sorry. When Azriel said that you almost died, I couldn’t think about anything else but sitting by you. I know that you haven't wanted to see me for years and I know nothing has changed but by the Mother I… I don’t even know. I’m just so sorry. It feels different, writing to you from this close. Azriel said he’d give you the letters once you wake up. And you will wake up. You’re a fighter. It’s okay if you don’t read them, though. I don’t know if you read any of the others, but I won’t blame you if you burn this like the rest of them.

I’m sorry that I didn’t give you the space you wanted. I needed to be close to you. Selfish of me, I know. You can add it to the list of things that I need to apologize for when you wake up. Azriel and Carver won’t let me see you. I deserve that, for avoiding coming here to confront you. I thought I was doing what you wanted. Obviously, that was wrong of me. I'm sorry I didn't respect your wishes.

Anyways, I would love to talk to you when you wake up. I appreciate you opening the bond a bit yesterday. It was terrifying to feel you saying goodbye. I think I almost passed out. Rhys nearly called Madja. Obviously she was busy so- I don’t know where I’m going with this. I’m not as good with words as you are, Nes. When you first opened the bond yesterday and it was just the warmth flowing to me, I felt like I was flying for the first time again. I could hardly breathe. I thought you were finally ready and wanted to see me. I was just standing up to go to you when the regret hit and the feelings started to fade. I think I knew what was happening, even if I didn’t recognize it at the time. I think I was in shock or something. Rhys said I almost ran out of the room after Feyre sent her message. I’m guessing you know what happened after that. Azriel probably told you already. He is such a good friend to you, Nesta. Keep him with you. He was right to call me out for all the things that I didn’t do for you or all the things that I had assumed you wanted me to do. I was an idiot. I’m not going to let myself be an idiot like that again. You deserve the world.

Considering I’m just going to be sitting here until you wake up, I think I am going to use you as a captive audience for a bit of a lesson in Illyrian culture. Given you read these of course. I don’t know how many letters I’ll write. At least one a day until you wake up, so hopefully not many. Anyways. Rhys mentioned something about flower languages when I was leaving. I don’t really understand the point of all that but getting you flowers felt right. So, I’m including one flower from the flower dictionary I stole from him, and one from the meadow across from the garden. We Illyrians are more just warriors, you know. Sometimes I think our family forgets that. We have so many stories about the world around us, so I’ll try to pick flowers with stories attached to them. I know I don’t deserve it, but I would love to teach you about my culture. You love reading, so maybe the stories would interest you, whether or not you choose to sever the bond.

Fuck. Nesta I am begging you, please don’t break off the bond. At least… let us talk first? I know that’s selfish of me to ask and I know I don't deserve it but please, Nesta. Please grant me that.

Eternally yours,

Cassian

p.s.

Here’s your flower lesson for the day. I’m including a red rose. Their meaning is pretty obvious. I’m not going to say the words in a letter. If you let me say them, I want to say them with you in my arms.

I’m realizing that I am going to have to translate a lot of the stories from Illyrian to common and I’m going to need some time with that, so here’s an easy one for today. The little pink flower with the tiny petals and big yellow center is called an aster. The High Fae say that each patch of aster grows where a spirit lands during Starfall. I’m pretty sure whoever came up with that story has never been to Illyria because there are far too many fields full of them to be from the journeying spirits. Instead, we believe that asters bloom in the wake of the birth of someone who is destined to touch the stars. I wanted to give you one because the stars are only the beginning of where you're destined to go. Who knows, this might even be one of the asters that bloomed at your birth. I believe you will get through this, Nes. You are the strongest person I know and if anyone can push through this, it's you. I’ll see you when you wake up.

Chapter Text

Nesta,

Day two of your being asleep has so far been uneventful. No big events or visitors yet. Hopefully there won't be anything too exciting, unless you wake up that is. Azriel is still with you, and I am still sitting out here. Actually, one of the nurses brought me a chair. That was nice. I feel like if I were to apologize like I did in the last letter, you might hit me. So I’ll spare you the speech. Just know that I am sorry and I care for you deeply. I’ll save the rest for when you wake up.

I think I can feel you again, in the bond I mean. It still feels quieter than it did during the war, though. I’m not sure if it’s just cause during the war everything was heightened or if there is something else going on. I’ll leave it to you when you wake up. You’re the smart one. You felt really happy this morning, Nesta. If that was from the bond, then I’m glad. I hope you’re having the best dreams, Nes.

Here's the story about today’s flowers. I’m told this white one is called Edelwiess. Apparently, it means ‘devotion and noble purity’ but honestly, I just thought it was pretty. The other flower, the one with the red petals, is one the High Fae call a poppy. It’s pretty common in some parts of Illyria, but we call it Eodyn’s blood. The story goes that there was once a warrior Eodyn- his prowess in battle second to none (just like mine). He was married to a female named Reyna whom he loved more than anything. Her beauty is said to have been as striking as the midday sun but was surpassed by her intelligence and heart (much like you). One day after leaving for battle, Eodyn’s village was attacked by a rival camp. Reyna, thinking quickly, hid the other females and children in the forests on the outskirts of the village to keep them safe. Eodyn, hearing that his camp had been ransacked, flew back as fast as he could only to see his home burnt to the ground, and wife missing. Eodyn then turned his blade on the invaders. Fueled only by vengeance, Eodyn sliced through fifty warriors before finally succumbing to his injuries. That evening when Reyna returned to the village, she saw the bodies strewn through out the streets and followed them to the body of her fallen love. Reyna cried tears of life over her husband and his chest rose once more. The blood that he had spilt sunk into the ground and blossomed into bright red flowers. It is said that Eodyn’s blood will bloom from the blood of any righteous warrior who dies in battle. The flowers will continue to grow as they wait for their Reyna to wake them. It’s just a fable, but I thought you’d enjoy it.

Yours as always,
Cassian.

Chapter Text

Nesta,

Feyre came by this morning with a bunch of flowers. She apparently isn’t speaking with Rhysand at the moment. Not sure why. That's not exactly true. I'm also not speaking with him at the moment, and I'd bet her reason is along the same vein as my own. Namely, he's a lying asshole who ruins things in the name of the greater good. Or at least that's what I'm starting to think. Cauldron, he is my brother but I can't fucking stand him. I'm an idiot for trusting him with you. I'm sorry Nesta. Anyways, Feyre said one of the bouquet’s is from him. She brought another one from Elain. I know everyone always says Elain is gifted with flowers and all, but I didn’t really get it. I do now. They’re almost as beautiful as you. I wish your sisters had been there with you, though. I honestly thought they had been seeing you and were just not telling me out of pity. Well actually, the whole staying in Illyria six days a week probably didn’t help either. It was stupid and selfish of me to assume that others were doing what I could not. I didn’t think you wanted to see me. I wish I could change what I have thought over these past few years. I wish I could change a lot of things.

Az almost didn’t take Rhys’s bouquet. It wasn’t as bad as the bouquet Mor brought when she came to visit, or at least that’s what I heard. I was out grabbing your flowers for the day and missed her.

Speaking of the flowers, today I got you a big bunch of purple flowers that apparently is called a heliotrope? I don’t know. They’re pretty and mean eternal devotion and, though I have done an absolutely shit job of showing you, I am eternally yours. Have been since I met you in the human lands. Fuck. I can’t believe that I let Rhysand convince me this was what you needed. 

Anyways, the white flower is called a snowdrop. We-

I just heard your voice. Thank the Mother, I just heard your voice. You’re awake. I can’t make out what you’re saying only that- i don't know. 

I am so happy you’re awake, Nesta. Oh shit wait, are you yelling? You’re yelling. Poor Az. If you do read this, please remember he is your friend. He didn’t mean whatever it was that he did. Cauldron, it’s good to hear your voice.
I hope you’ll let me talk to you. I have so much I want to tell you; to apologize for. Thank the Mother you’re awake.

I just heard my name. Shit. I’m trying not to listen, Nesta. I promise I’m trying to respect your privacy. Fuck- wait is that Az coming to the-

Yours
Cass

Chapter Text

Nesta,

Part of me is hoping that I will get to talk to you today, instead of giving you this letter, but I’m writing it just in case.

I know there is so much I need to answer for and so much between us to figure out, but I want to make sure you know that I will be forever yours.

I’m heading to go after a lead on Eris’s missing soldiers. I’m sure Azriel can tell you more. I might not be the brightest of my family, but I am not stupid to write down sensitive information. Anyways, Rhys said he was going to ask Azriel, but I volunteered instead. I don’t want you to be alone and you need him. At least this is something that I can do for you. Plus, for some reason I think something bad is coming and I’d rather it be mine than his if the reaper were to take a soul today.

If for some reason something happens, I need you to know that there is nothing that I regret more in my 550 years of life than letting you slip away. You were the best thing that I never deserved. I have lived the last decade in constant regret for the words Rhys convinced me to say and I wish that I could go back in time to stop myself from making the worst mistake of my life. I can’t. So, if I were to not return to you, I ask that you might one day forgive me so my soul might pass on- though an afterlife spent watching you live would be more than I deserve. I love you, Nesta Archeron. I have loved you since I first laid eyes on you in the parlor of your manor in the human realm, even if I hadn’t admitted it to myself yet. I know I said I would wait to tell you, but I have this feeling that I need to say it now. I love you.

The flower is called liatris, but it’s better known in Illyria as the blazing star. It’s supposed to be a promise given by a warrior to his love on eve of battle. It’s a supposed to be a ‘blazing star’ to lead me back to you once the fight is over, in this life or the next. I haven’t actually given one before, so I’d have to ask someone to be sure that I do the whole exchange properly. There’s something with a kiss and a hand gesture? I don’t know. It seems complicated and I usually was too distracted with the whole 'going to war' thing to focus on the actual exchange. Well,  further than “Oh look! He’s giving her a blazing star". It’s just a superstition, but I hope the blazing star leads me back to you, even if I did the whole thing wrong. You’ll look beautiful with the flower anyways, whether or not the whole story is bullshit.

Fuck the other one’s meaning. It’s just pretty, like your eyes.

I’ll see you when I’m back. You can yell at me for what I wrote then.

I love you.

Cassian.

Chapter Text

“Fuck! What the hell, Azriel!” Cassian spits blood into the sandy training ring outside his and Nesta’s cabin. His brother shrugs.

“Stop thinking about your wife and focus.”  Cassian rolls his eyes, falling back into his familiar fighting stance. He swings wide and Azriel ducks under his arm.

“Can you blame me though? I mean-“ Cassian spins out of the way of Azriel’s punch and returns it with his own. He hears Azriel grunt as Cassian’s fist lands on his jaw.  “- I am married to the most perfect female in all of Prythian.”

Azriel groans. “You’re an idiot.”

“Oh shut up, Az.” Cassian grins at his brother. Out of the corner of his eye, Cassian catches a glimpse of golden blonde hair in the window. Of course she's watching. He'd best put on a show. Maybe flex a little harder?

Pain shoots up from his stomach as Azriel’s fist lands, forcing his attention back to the other Illyrian in the sand pit.

“You didn’t have to rush off alone, Cassian. I would have gone with you. Wake up, brother. I’m sick of seeing my family in these beds.”

Azriel’s voice is eclipsed by the pain from the wound in his stomach and the black takes Cassian once again.

The wildflowers remind him of her, beautiful and free. Distantly, Cassian recognizes that Azriel is right. He is stupidly in love with Nesta Archeron. It doesn’t matter what other people think about him though. All that matters is that she loves him. It has taken years of work on his part but, by the Mother, she loves him.

After her stay in Respite and everything that happened with (redacted), he is so grateful that they could- His train of thought freezes. Cassian tries to remember what he had been thinking about only to lose the words in a dark black mist. Strange.

A gust of wind disturbs the flowers, their sweet scents filling the air. He plucks a few more to add to his collection. Nesta will love them. Of course, she’ll pretend she doesn’t. Par for the course with his wife. His wife. Cassian smiles at the thought. He loves his wife. All of the shit that happened with (redacted) was worth it if it led to Nesta being his. He frowns at the black mist that seems to be stewarding his thoughts away from something. Cassian closes his eyes, directing all of his focus into the center of the black mist obscuring his thoughts. His head begins to throb in time with his heart. Cassian swears he hears someone cackle at him from deeper in the shadowy mist as his vision clouds over.

“Are you sure, Nesta? You don’t have to be here.”

She takes a beat to respond. “Yeah, I’m sure. I won’t stay long. I just want to see him.”

Azriel sighs. Cassian can hear the creak of a chair as Azriel sits back.

“Whatever you say, Nes.”

Cassian watches Nesta laugh and sees Azriel look away, embarrassed. Ha. Serves him right for being a dick earlier.  Warmth fills his stomach as he looks at his little family. His wife and his brother. He could imagine two winged toddlers, a little boy and girl, running through the field to their mother. Not yet though. All he wants right now is to spend some more years with just him and Nesta. The rest can come after. When they decide they're ready.

“I wouldn’t miss it.” Nesta smiles at Azriel as Cassian finally makes it into ear shot.

“Az!” Cassian calls out as he approaches the pair, carefully keeping the flowers he had gathered behind his back. “Would you please stop flirting with my wife? Don’t you have like… literally anywhere else to be?”

Nesta looks so beautiful, especially when she’s annoyed with him. She rolls her eyes at Cassian. Nesta fakes a gasp, one hand over her heart and another feigning distress on her forehead.

“Oh Azriel! You have finally won me over with your endless brooding and gigantic wingspan!” The wingspan part is unnecessary and hurtful, but whatever. “Please, save me from my loveless marriage to this Illyrian brute.”

Normally, Cassian wouldn’t flinch at the quip but something about the way she says it today chafes harder than normal. His jaw works. Nesta wouldn’t leave him for Azriel. Obviously, she wouldn’t. She loves Gwyn too much to run away with her mate. Nesta and Cassian don’t have a loveless marriage. They love each other. They say it all the time. Hells, they had made love this morning. Cassian shouldn’t be worried Nesta felt like that about him anymore.

He tries to smile, but his eye twitches and betrays him to Azriel. Reading the room, much better than he had this morning, Azriel promptly fucks right off before Cassian can even tell him to do so. Maybe his shadows told him. Who knows? Not Cassian. And Cassian can’t be bothered to care when his beautiful wife is sitting right there in front of him. He feels strangely nervous in front of her, as if it had been years  since he had held her in his arms instead of just this morning. He tries to track the feeling, only to run into the black mist yet again. Cassian shakes his head. Nesta is here. Why should he be anywhere but this moment? The mist can wait.

“I got something for you.” Cassian smiles down at his lovely wife.

Nesta rolls her silver eyes at him. “I wonder what it is. Could it be related to the mud on your leathers?” Nesta jokes at him.

Cassian glances down. Shit. Did he really not clean himself off at all before he came to see her? Nope. His siphons glow red, perfectly spotless just as he had left them this morning when he dressed. Cassian hears Nesta giggle, and he looks back up at her. He was dumb to have fallen for something like that. He tries to school his smile into a disapproving frown. Nesta takes one look at him and bursts into laughter. A beautiful sound. His heart swells looking at his wife. Cassian knows his lines, though. He tries to keep the smile from his voice.

“You’re such a brat, Nes. I almost don’t want to give you your present.” Well, that sounded like he was bullshitting her. Maybe she'll-

“Oh please, Cassian. We both know how much you love it.” Caught. He smiles fondly at his wife.

“Alright, I guess I can make an exception. Just this once, though. And you better be on your best behavior.” Mother above, he loves this female. Cassian frowns slightly as Nesta’s eyes flash silver while he explains the meanings of each of the flowers. Normally, she would interrupt him and make corrections to the stories he told about each. She has done so for years after he had first written her those letters. The two of them kept adding detail after detail until the stories were almost unrecognizable. His smile falters as she stays silent.

“Sweetheart?” At his voice, Nesta seems to come back to herself.

“You’re such a sap, Cassian. Who even uses flower language anymore?”

Cassian snorts. Their answers overlap.

“You.” Nesta says confidently.

“Rhysand.” Oh shit, wrong answer.

Cassian knows he fucked up by the look Nesta gave him.

“You did NOT just compare me to the fucking Whiny Lord.”

Cassian laughs and laughs as his wife continues to rant at him.

He doesn’t know why the Cauldron found him worthy, or why Nesta ever forgave him, but he thanks the universe every day that he is hers.

“Hey, Asshole. Wake up. You can’t just- You can’t say what you did in those fucking letters and then just die. What the fuck, Cassian. You wanted to talk so… so wake up and talk you big fucking bat. How dare you? How dare you just… just say that in a letter? Ca- No. I don’t know what you’re talking about in half of these letters. You need to wake up and tell me to my face. I won’t believe you unless you tell me yourself. You can’t just show back up in my life and then leave me with this. Wake up. WAKE UP.”

Cassian and Azriel sit on the balcony of the House of Wind, drink in hand, as they watch the lights of Velaris sparkle below them.

“How romantic, Az. I didn’t realize you thought about me like that.” He elbows his brother, who rolls his eyes. “I’ll have to decline though, as I am happily mated. Plus, Nesta would probably geld both of us anyways- well maybe she’d be cool with it if she watched. I can get her if you wa-“ Cassian ducks to avoid the empty glass Azriel throws at his head.

“You would be so lucky, Cassian.” Cassian chuckles, finishing his own drink.

“That went surprisingly well.” Cassian says. “You’re the spy though, Az. How likely do you think we'll be burying our High Lord and arresting my wife for his murder?”

Azriel snorts. “With witnesses? Unlikely. I don’t think she’d do that to Feyre, though. Rhys has that stupid bargain keeping him alive. Unless she can find a way around it, our High Lord will continue to draw breath.”

“Pity.” Cassian is mostly joking. Mostly. He still blames Rhys for his part in convincing him to put Nesta in Respite- and everything that came after. But considering (redacted), Cassian isn’t sure what to think. The black fog swirls tighter around the line of thought. He frowns. This is getting annoying.

“Feyre and Rhys seem less rocky than they have in months.” Cassian adds. Azriel hums in acknowledgment.

“He moved back to the River House full time. They decided they’re going to try to figure it out for Nyx.” Azriel answers.

Ah. That makes sense. Even after (redacted), Feyre wanted to make sure that her son would know his father. Even if his father has a history of being a cunt. The black mist swirls faster as he loses his train of thought once more. No. Cassian pushes against the endless wall of black. His thoughts are his own and he will get them back. His head pounds in response and his mind goes fuzzy.

“You better not wake up right now. If you remember this and try to tell a single soul, I will deny I said any of this until the day I die. I’m only telling you this because Azriel left me here alone and I just need to get this out. You have no idea how much you hurt me, Cassian. You have no idea how many hours I spent crying over you and what you said to me. I don’t know why, but I still can’t get over you- even after everything. I still see your face in my dreams. I still feel your hands on me. I can still see you r-reaching for me when they forced me into the Cauldron and defending me against the King. I don’t know why I still want you after everything. I don’t know why you deserve it. I don’t know why I am, and I hate to even admit it, but I am still yours. I need you to come back to me, Cass. I can’t imagine having to go back to living without you. These past few days since the bond came back and I could feel you again are the first that I have felt alive in years. I don’t want to have to go back to living as the shell I was. I don't think that I can. Don’t leave me like this Cassian. Fight. Fight for me.”

Cassian loves it when Nesta wears strappy dresses like this one. She’s like a pretty present just for him to unwrap. And tonight? He wants to unwrap her slowly. Nesta stands in front of her mirror taking her beautiful hair out of its perfect braid. Cauldron boil him, he’s whipped. Who cares? If she asked, Cassian would die at Nesta Archeron’s hands again and again, and he'd die happy.

Nesta sighs his name as Cassian's lips trail up her neck. She feels so small, her back pressed against his front. One of his arms wraps around her waist pulling her close to him. The other wraps around her shoulders, thumb pressing up on the corner of her jaw to bring her lips to his.

Perfect. This is all he ever wanted. Her in his arms. His lips on hers. Cassian breaks their kiss to look at the two of them in the mirror. Nesta’s pupils are as blown as his, her lips kiss bitten.

“Twice in one day, Cass?” Nesta smiles up at him, not play fighting him or talking back to him for once.

“If you were willing, I’d keep you in my bed and never let you leave. But I will settle for what you permit me, sweetheart.” He brushes his thumb over her flushed cheek. “So, will you permit me, mate?”

“I am yours and you are mine, Cassian. Take me.” Cassian smiles down at his beautiful, absolutely perfect mate. He spins her to face him, lacing his fingers in her soft, golden hair.

“As you wish.”

Cassian presses his lips to hers,  brushing the shoulders of her dressing gown off her shoulders. She sighs, leaning into him as her gown falls in a pool of silver silk at her ankles.

“Beautiful,” Cassian murmurs as he draws his fingers down her body. He reaches underneath her knees and around her back, scooping her up and into his chest as he has so many times. He keeps his lips pressed to hers as he walks them across their bedroom. Cassian lays Nesta on the bed with all the reverence owed to the deity that she is. His breath catches in his throat as he pulls back to look over her, bare before him. Are there any other words for perfect? Why not just use Nesta? She is so incredibly Nesta.

“Cassian, are you going to join me, or are you just watching me tonight?” Nesta is smiling up at him when he returns back to the present. He wiggles out of his leathers as fast as he can, considering the difficulty posed by his hardness. Nesta snickers at the absurdity that is a proud, formidable Illyrian warrior struggling against the ultimate opponent, his own pants. “Do you need help, my love?” Cassian scowls down at her and Nesta laughs even louder.

“No.” He finally frees himself from the prison that is his clothing and crawls over his wife. Cauldron, he somehow convinced this perfect female to marry him. Finally. He peppers kisses along her stomach up towards her collarbone. Nesta’s laugh is musical in quality. He would be happy if he heard nothing else for the rest of eternity.  

“Cassian Archeron, what are you doing?” She speaks between her gorgeous giggles.

“Shhh.” He whispers to her. “I’m busy.” Cassian places kisses up the elegant arch of her neck, on her cheeks, on her eyelids, everywhere but her lips really.

“Cassian.”  He can hear her getting annoyed. That simply won’t do. Cassian caves and finally kisses her lips. Her mouth still tastes like the sweet wine he assumes she had with her sister after dinner. His hands draw up her sides to engulf her breasts, kneading gently and winning him a soft moan. One of many, if he has anything to say about it. He twists one of her nipples between his thumb and forefinger as he finally pulls away from her kiss.

“Will you sing for me tonight, Nes?” She smirks up at him.

“Will you earn it?” Nesta asks the silliest questions sometimes. Of course he would. Earning it is his favorite hobby.

Cassian sucks her other nipple into his mouth, rolling it gently between his teeth, just as his mate likes. Nesta rewards him with yet another beautiful moan. She might like their game, but this? This is what Cassian loves. He laves his tongue over her nipple once more before trailing open mouthed kisses down her stomach, holding her hips steady as she arches her back. He feels Nesta’s hands twine into his hair. Cauldron boil him, Cassian loves the feeling of her fingernails against his scalp. He feels her start to push his head down, and he hums in disappointment.

“Can’t I have my fun too, sweetheart?” He looks up, expecting a scowl or some other sarcastic expression. When he is instead greeted by soft, pleading silver eyes, Cassian is taken aback. Nesta had been off all morning. He could speed things up for her, if she really needed it. He momentarily mourns the fact that he wouldn’t be able to draw this out and worship her body properly. Oh well. They have forever, so he could allow it, just this once.

Cassian kisses the hollow above her hip bone, looking up at his beautiful mate. Another gorgeous moan. Cassian’s eyes nearly roll back in his hand at the sound. “How do you want me tonight, Nes? Tongue? Fingers? Skip it entirely? Your wish is my command.”

“Dealer’s choice.” Oh, that’s his favorite option. Cassian kneels before her, breathing her in. He runs his thumb up the seam of her, watching as she leans back into their mattress with another beautiful sigh. He closes his eyes, taking a final breath before burying his full attention to her sweet cunt. She tastes divine, though he can think of nothing about her that doesn’t scream divinity. He sucks gently on her clit, her moans- or as Cassian likes to call them: the music that moves his very soul. He continues to stroke her clit with his tongue, as he spreads her legs wide. He traces a finger up her slit, slowly pushing into her entrance.

“Fuck, Cassian! Please!” He doubles his attentions, pressing in another finger and spreading her apart. Her wetness nearly drips down his palm. He loves her. He loves her. Cassian rolls her clit between his teeth, and she screams. He continues pumping his fingers into her as he feels her walls flutter around him. That was quicker than he expected. Good on him. 

“Three or four?” Cassian says, gently pulling himself away from her. He presses a gentle kiss to her inner thigh while he waits for her soft voice to respond.

“What?” Nesta still hasn’t caught her breath.

“Do you want three or four tonight? I say we shoot for four and then see where we get from there, but it’s up to you.” She laughs, already out of breath.

“Only you, Cassian. Three? It’s been a long day, my love.” Cassian pouts. A waste of his talents, truly. Not to mention a complete disregard for the worship she deserves. But what the lady wants, the lady shall get.

Cassian kisses her clit one more time, eliciting another moan of his name from his lovely wife. “Until next time.” He whispers softly to her bud.

“You did not just-“

“Don’t interrupt us!” Cassian interrupts with mock hurt. “We were having a moment.”

Nesta rolls her eyes. “Are you going to fuck me or…?”

Cassian sighs, pulling himself from his knees and back over her. “Sometimes, I don’t think you appreciate the artistry.”

“Cassian?” Gods above, he loves how his name sounds from her mouth.

“Yes, love?”

“Shut up and fuck me already.” His mate has such a way with words.

“As you wish.”

Cassian doesn’t hesitate to line himself up and push into her. Once again, as he does every single time he takes her, Cassian feels the missing piece in his life become full. He slowly rocks into her, listening to the sweet music of Nesta’s quiet moans.

“So perfect.” Cassian whispers into her golden hair.

“Yours.” He hears Nesta’s voice croak out between moans. The prideful part of him preens at the reminder. She is his mate. Nesta is his. He thrusts deeper into her heat, earning him a long, beautiful cry of his name. Perfect. Utterly perfect. He captures the beautiful noises she keeps making in his mouth as he kisses her deeply.

He reaches between the two of them, tracing tight circles around her clit. He promised her three after all, and he is nothing if not a male of his word. He feels her breath catch in her throat as she claws at his shoulders. Not his wings, thank the Mother. He needs to wait a little longer still and for her to bring wingplay into this would be cruel.

Cassian feels her tightening around him as she grows closer to her peak. He draws a breath in anticipation, pulling back from her kiss. Her eyes are scrunched closed as she writhes in her own pleasure. Pleasure that he brought her.

“Come for me, Nesta.” His wife gasps as she crests, her walls gripping him like a vise. He bit down on the inside of his cheek hard, trying to keep himself from following  her over the edge. Just a little longer. Cassian stills, brushing a sweat-damp tendril of hair from Nesta's blissed out face. She is an angel. A goddess. Watching her come around him is better than any sunrise he has ever seen in his centuries of life. He leans down to kiss her again, as she catches her breath. He continues to kiss her, running his hands over her perfect body until she starts to writhe beneath him again.

“Fuck me!” Nesta tries to rock her hips up into his. While Cassian appreciates the gesture, it’s his turn.

“Ask nicely, sweetheart.” Cassian smiles down at her while she rolls her eyes at him.

“Would you please fuck me into oblivion, my dearest mate?” Nesta speaks as sweetly as she can. Cassian doesn’t care that she’s being a brat. His heart is busy soaring as if it has wings of its own. She called Cassian her mate. 

“You always say the sweetest things, Nes.”  He leans down and captures her lips with his, beginning to thrust into her again.

There is no pretense now. No need to play with her. The dance between them is practiced. He thrusts hard and deep to the sound of her soft moans, growing harder as her voice crescendos. She feels delicious around him. Like velvet. Cassian never wants to leave her. He brings his teeth down gently on her neck.

“I love you, Nesta.” He punctuates his words with deepened thrusts.

“I-“ Nesta gasps as he hits that spot deep inside her that he had been looking for. “I love you, Cassian.”

He smiles against her neck. Cassian will never tire of hearing her saying those words. Cassian angles himself so that he hits that spot with every thrust. He reaches between them, drawing tightening circles on her clit, anticipating what his devious little mate will do.

He promised her three after all. He feels the ghost of her fingertips against the sensitive membrane of his wing. He bites back a groan, intensifying his attack on her clit. One more. He can give her one more.

She continues to write something on the skin of his wing, and it is all that Cassian can do to keep his composure. Her walls begin to flutter around his length, thank all the Gods. He breath hitches as he feels her about to snap.

“Come with me, Cass-“ She bites out, holding herself back with what seems like her whole concentration. His spine tightens as she drags her fingernail along the crease of his wing.

“Always.”

He doesn’t know who finishes first. Only that colors burst through his vision as his release spills into her; that her voice cries out his name so beautifully that he nearly cries.

**

This is it. This is what he lives for. For her.

He rolls off of her, spent.

“That was perfect, you were perfect.” Cassian rolls over to take his wife into his arms, only to find the space she had occupied only seconds before empty. A mass of black smoke, cold as death fills the other side of the bed. On Nesta’s pillow, all Cassian can see is a single flower- purple petals and a deep purple fruit- belladonna.

No. No he isn’t losing Nesta to whatever this is.

Cassian pushes himself into the black fog.

“Nesta!” He cries out for her as the mist consumes him.

“Nesta come back to me!”

He sees her, pale as a ghost floating in front of him. He reaches out, trying to grasp her wrist, only to have her slip through his fingers.

“Nes, please!” Cassian's voice breaks as he falls to his knees. He watches as Nesta fades into nothing leaving him alone in the void.

His body feels strangely heavy as a familiar silver fire sparks in the hand that had touches her wrist. As the fire grows, burning away the darkness, Cassian swears he could hear an unfamiliar voice whisper to him.

Soon, Lord of Bloodshed. I will come for you soon.

Cassian wakes with a gasp.

Chapter Text

Cassian’s eyes snap open as a fading echo of a dream fades from his mind. His heart races as he starts to take in his surroundings. He is in a bed in Respite. Cassian had been in a fight with a dozen autumn soldiers, passed out, and somehow ended up here. It’s dark in the room and Cassian thinks he sees the light of the moon reflecting from the small window to his left. Considering he had left for the Middle in the mid-morning, he's likely been here for longer than a day- though he could have been here for a few hours. His head is still too foggy to really tell. Cassian scans himself for injury. His body feels stiff, likely from lack of movement. The lingering ache of healing magic echoes through him. No pain in his wings. His legs seem fine. His torso still burns, primarily in his stomach and shoulders. Cassian remembers the sharp pain of the arrows and sword strikes from… whenever he fought those soldiers. He’d have to tell Rhys soon about what happened. Now, probably. He's been in bed too long anyways. 

When Cassian starts to pull himself up, a heavy weight tugs against his arm. Tilting his chin to his chest, he sees a crown of golden hair resting atop his right forearm. He stares in disbelief. She couldn't be- He flexes his fingers to try to return circulation, only to realize hers was entwined with his own. Cassian inhales deeply, closing his eyes tight. This must be a dream. This can’t be real.

Cassian starts to carefully push himself up only to freeze as he hears a familiar voice across the room.

“Don’t. She just went to sleep. If you wake her, I’ll actually kill you.” Azriel glowers at him from across the room. Cassian swallows. He slowly starts to extricate himself from Nesta’s sleeping body. He won't wake her. She seems too peaceful. Nesta deserves some peace.

“Why is she- Why did she come? I thought-“ Cassian tries to find the words, only for them to elude him. It doesn't make sense that she would be here with him. Not after everything. 

“She asked to be here. I don’t know why she wanted to be here, but she did.” Azriel answers from across the room. Cassian feels Azriel's shadows slither across him to help replace his body with a pillow without waking the actual miracle sleeping on his bed. This is surreal. She's here. She chose to be with him. This has to be a waking dream.

“Cassian, I want to believe there is a reason for what you did to her, but I can’t come up with anything that could possibly explain your actions. You’re my brother, Cass. Rhysand was an ass, but I can logically understand why he did the shit he did- mostly. But you? It seems completely illogical to me. So just this once, because you have been my brother for 500 years, I’m going to give you a chance to explain yourself. I need to know why. So explain.” Azriel sounds so tired, anger burnt out of him leaving only it’s cold dregs behind. 

Cassian looks down at the sleeping woman on the bed next to him. The moonbeams fall on Nesta's golden hair like a crown. Cassian feels his heart creeping into his throat with every word. “She was dying, Az.” His voice is barely a whisper. “After the war, I mean. She was dying and I didn't know what I could do to help her. When Rhys told me she should go to Respite, I agreed, but I knew there was no way she would go on her own. I know I shouldn’t have taken the choice from her, but I couldn’t watch her waste away in front of me anymore. I was so selfish. I- I took for granted that she would be there once I had done my own healing after the war. I wanted to start over. By the time I started to reach out, she was already done with me. The only time that I could even get her to talk to me was when she was screaming at me. It was the only time that I saw her, the real Nesta that is, after the war. So I kept provoking her.” Cassian closes his eyes, trying to push down the profound regret once again starting to take over his very being. He needs to get this out. He could deal with how much he hates himself for what he did to her later.

“I let it go too far. Initially, I had tried to keep the others from being as cruel as they were, but I think I was also hoping that I would see that fire when she yelled back at them. It’s terrible of me to miss her yelling but, Cauldron boil me, I would take her calling me a bastard brute over seeing her empty eyes any day.” The memory of watching Nesta retreat into herself further each dinner, of the shell that was left behind staring blankly at one of Feyre's paintings has him tasting his own bile. 

“Once I started to notice the others taking things too far, I tried to talk to them outside of meetings and they told me they would stop berating her like they did. Then the next dinner they would do it again. I tried to stop it. Usually, they’d let up once I asked. The day of the intervention, though… I thought the only way she would go was if I stopped protecting her from them. Rhys told me that she needed to see how low she had gotten; that this was the best thing, the only thing that I could do to help her. So I did it.”

Cassian watches as Azriel drags his hand through his hair. When he meets Cassian’s eyes, Cass can’t help but notice the deep dark circles underneath his eyes.

“That was incredibly stupid of you, Cass. Did you seriously not even think of the consequences?” The Azriel's disappointment- though deserved- still stings. 

Cassian sighs. “As has been established so many times, I am an absolute idiot. I didn’t think. I just trusted Rhys. I was so scared and confused as to how to help her, I was willing to try anything.”

Azriel nods. “And the bond?”

Cassian looks down at his sleeping m- Nesta and shakes his head. “I don’t know Azriel.”

He can hear the tension in his brother’s voice. “You blocked her. I should have realized it earlier with how she reacted to your name, but why, Cass? You had something… something so special and you just wasted it. I’ve been wanting-“

“I didn’t block it, Az.” Cassian speaks softly. Azriel stops his rant, assessing him like he would a prisoner in the Hewn City’s dungeons. Cassian deserves that, of course. But it still hurt.

“Let’s say I believed you. How would you explain what happened?”

That is the million mark question, isn't it. Cassian looks up at the empty white ceiling, illuminated only by the distant moonlight. “I didn’t do it, Az. I thought she had cut it. It was like a black veil just appeared out of nowhere. The bond started to be muted around two years before she was admitted. It was like there was a black veil that sometimes fell over the bond every now and then. I thought it was just Nesta trying to keep me from feeling anything from one of her… conquests.” Cassian bites out the word, trying to not think of the men who had touched his m-. No. He didn’t deserve to be jealous. He hasn’t earned that right. “Then, one day, she was just gone. The veil had become a brick wall. I thought she had finally decided that she didn’t want to see me. I mean after she never responded to any of my letters-“

“What letters?” Azriel interrupts. Cassian furrows his brows. 

“I had sent her letters every week for the first few years she was in Respite. Carver and Rhys told me that I should give her space and come when she was ready, so I wrote to her to check up on her and see if she was willing to see me. After what I said, I didn’t want to force her to see me.” Cassian explains. He doesn’t know why Azriel looks so confused.

“She never mentioned any letters.” Azriel says carefully, watching Cassian’s reaction. He felt his heart drop. Surely Nesta had received the letters. Mor had told him about how she burned them as soon as she got them. Mor told him that Nesta asked him to stop bothering her. It was why- It’s… no. No that can’t have been true.

“I don’t know, Azriel. I had Mor deliver them. Nesta never responded. I was waiting for her to tell me she was ready to see me. I wanted to make sure that she saw me again on her terms. I thought she would want nothing to do with me after the shit that I said to her during the intervention, so I stayed away. I-“ Cassian feels the emotion boiling up from his stomach. He felt the room start to spin. These past few years, his whole world was built around the truth that Nesta wanted nothing to do with him. If that was a lie then he has put himself through so much pain thinking he is the noble one, only to have been hurting her more. Surely it couldn't have been a lie. Mor and Rhys wouldn't do that to him. He closes his eyes, the gravity of it all settling in as he says the words. “I thought she didn’t want to see me, Az. So I stayed away.”

The two sit in heavy silence. What can Cassian even think anymore? Nothing made sense. All those years of isolating himself, of throwing himself into conflicts, of mourning a relationship he never deserved were all based on such a deep lie. How can he even reconcile what Az is saying with what he had experienced? If she never for the letters then- Why would Mor lie about delivering them? Maybe Nesta just never mentioned the letters to Az. Yeah, that must be it.

Azriel finally breaks the silence before Cassian can spiral further. “Okay.”

Cassian lifts his head to look at his brother, then drop his gaze to Nesta, still sleeping soundly on her chair, head nestled on the edge of his bed.

“I believe you, Cassian.” Cassian didn’t know how much he needed to hear those words until he heard Azriel say them. He feels a weight release from his shoulders.

“Thank you, brother.” Cassian can’t take his eyes off of Nesta. He can't remember the last time he had seen her hair down. It lies in a messy halo, spilling like silk off the edge of the mattress. Oh how he yearns to be able to touch it, but he won’t. Not without her approval.

“I’m not absolving you, Cassian. You fucked up.” Cassian huffs a laugh.

“Trust me, I know.” Nesta looks so beautiful, Cassian feels his heart crack. “Do you think I can fix it, Az? I don’t know how I could even start, but would she even want me to try to fix what I did?” He hazards a look at his brother. Azriel wears a sad smile. That’s unexpected. Confusing even. He hasn’t seen Azriel with anything but a scowl in at least a week. Azriel gestures his chin towards the nightstand next to Nesta. Cassian turns. Resting on the nightstand are four familiar pieces of parchment, each with a broken wax seal. Next to them stood a mason jar filled with the flowers Cassian had picked himself.

“I don’t know if you can fix this, Cassian, but she read your letters. She wanted to come here.” Cassian feels his heart begin to swell with a cautious hope.

“I can’t tell you what’s going on in her head, Cass. But it seems that you might be able to have that chance. At least to talk to her.” Azriel gives him a hard look. “If you have the chance, don’t squander it. If you hurt her again, I will make you hurt ten times worse. Don’t fuck this up, brother. You’ll lose both of us.”

Cassian nods. “That’s more than I even thought I could ask for.”