Title: A Song of Wings and Embers
Summary:
"My life in your hands Nesta Archeron."
All it took was an oath of eternal devotion and the cold rage turned to burning flame like the pyres a little boy used to watch centuries ago. But no one should ever find out that the ancient song called to Nesta Archeron as did the embers that exploded from the blade the Illyrian General with the broken wings yielded with fury.
[Takes place several weeks after the end of A Court of Mist and Fury]
One-Shot / Complete
Warnings: Rated M for the PTSD elements. Emotional and physical trauma. References of violence and gore. Unresolved sexual tension. Drama.
Disclaimer: I own nothing.
Many thanks to Anastasia Dreams for editing the story.
Nesta Archeron's eyes flew open; she could hear the clanging sounds coming closer and closer. Like an echo. Like thunder. She felt her heart beating like a drum but it was not the sound of the steel that was calling to her. It was the heat and the smell of the fire and the rage igniting flying sparks with every thundering scrape of metal against stone and marble. It was a calling. It sang to her. A whisper carried in the wind wrapped in fire.
The whisper became a taunting singing in her head. An alluring enchantment calling. It would not stop. On and on the voice whispered and sang and hummed in her head.
"Come to me. To us. Don't you hear me? Us. Hear me! Hear us!
We are one you and I. Hear the cry.
We are the same. Made. Burning flame.
Anew and old. Come and dance. Burn the snow.
Come and be. Falling embers, you and me.
Hear us. You and I burning bright. Fire alight."
Nesta felt as if her heart would burst out of her chest, her muscles clamped and blood raced with every violent pumping beat inside her ribcage. So fast she felt her fingers tingling with heat and a fever erupting and rushing into her bloodstream, setting her whole body on fire and making the sheets underneath her steam. She turned her head to the side trying to focus on something else other than the voice in her head and the fury of the sound of the steel hitting the stone. She saw the shadows that passed through the gossamer curtains and noticed that even though dawn was just a breath away the blue of the dark of the night still prevailed. To the bed next to her, Elain was still asleep.
The tang of magic swiveled around her and hit her hard. It was magnetic. She could feel the embers falling like rain and calling her to stand in their storm.
She heaved and felt an ache deep inside her very soul. Drops of sweat fell on her forehead and between her breasts and she felt as if she was burning and the sounds of the sword that was abusing stone with manic beats was making the world not just burn but also twist and turn around her. It was as if she somehow could not only hear and feel it but could also see the glimmer of the steel igniting flickers of heat. The image was blurry and hidden in shadows but the hand that was yielding the blade was strong and blank ink swirled on it in different shapes that ran along the sculpted muscles.
Nesta Archeron could not understand what was happening. She could not understand anything anymore even though her mind always was filled with countless thoughts and ideas. She clenched her eyes shut and gripped the sheets. Her fingernails elongated and turned to incandescent claws that sizzled. She tried to get a grip but the soft material melted and turned to soot; the mattress was cut in ribbons as smoke and shadow cascaded from her body enveloping her and carrying her away. She fell through mist and shades of smoke as she traced the burn of the embers that was calling her closer. She hunted down that voice in her head, her eyes set on the vision she had and she focused on the whisper of the song and before she knew it she blinked and the spidery darkness evaporated as her feet touched solid ground.
Nesta found herself at the edge of a cliff. A very steep cliff. One step back and she would fall to her end. Wind howled around her sweeping away her hair and the light material of her nightgown.
She could not believe it but for some reason she had transported herself to a rocky cliff beneath the steps that led to the House of Wind. Beyond it was the falling abyss and above the mountain rock. But what lay beyond and above was nothing in comparison with what lay ahead.
Nesta remained unnaturally still. She did not breathe. She did not move and she tried so hard to winnow out of there. To make herself disappear again in smoke and mist but she did not know how to do it again. It was an accident the first time she did it as was every other time, like now, and she could not command winnowing at will.
A few steps ahead the General of the armies of the Night Court had his back turned, standing in front of an old marble pillar edged under the ancient steps. It created a sort of cavern in the wall of the mountain underneath the House of Wind. Morrigan had told her that there were wards that prevented anyone from winnowing to the peak of the mountaintop but obviously those wards were not placed on the steps that led up to the House of the Wind. Or at least they were not put where she was standing.
Nesta swallowed hard. Cassian had not noticed her. He was swinging his sword against the pillar and the vines wrapped around it. His strikes were unleashed with fury and the impact created glowing embers shooting from his blade and the marble. He was hitting the old stone with so much force that Nesta was surprised the whole mountain was not shaking and the pillars and the steps were not demolished to dust. Nesta watched as Cassian tirelessly hit the marble and the monstrous sculptures and the vines on it over and over and over again with rage and precision. He was shirtless and barefoot. He only wore leather pants hanging loose and low on his waist. His boots were cast aside and worn leather ribbons gloved his palms and wrists tightly leaving only his fingers free. His damp shoulder length hair was falling on his back and sweat rolled down his body. His muscles were clenching with every move he was making and more embers fell around him. The blade of the Illyrian long sword amazingly enough was not shattering despite the force with which he was yielding it and its punishing collision against the marble.
Nesta realized that it was the smell from those embers that called her for some reason.
"Come closer come. Be. Pyre, wildfire, spark and flame.
Hear me! Hear us! Come closer. Sing with us!
We are the same. Made. Burning flame."
It was that glow deep in the heart of the embers that danced in the air and called to a place inside her she could not name. It was a place of shimmering heatthat was so similar to the heat of those fire drops it sang to her but no matter the intensity of that internal inferno she did not care for that song now. Not when she could not take away her eyes from the sight of the Illyrian Commander who created those embers with his fury.
Cassian seemed like a male possessed. He kept heating the pillar as if it was an imaginary enemy of his. As if it was alive and he was destroying it. As if his strikes were killing a ghost. It was almost as if he was screaming without using his voice but he was so loud that even if he roared he would not he heard like this. Despair was rolling out of him in waves. He was beating the invisible enemy of his in a frenzy but somehow his pummeling was as precise as it was lethal. There was so much violence and wrath in his every blast and the sounds of the steel were a continuous deafening bang that made the hair at the back of her neck rise and sent shivers all over her body following his relentless rhythm. It was chilling and terrifying and captivating and enthralling.
Nesta knew she was intruding on a personal moment she should not be witnessing or invading but she could not avert her eyes. Instead of looking away and trying to find a way to sneak out of there unnoticed, her gaze locked on his...wings and heat brimmed in her eyes.
She had not seen Cassian since the day she turned into this new creature she hated staring at the vanity mirror every morning. And now, seeing him like this made the ground beneath her feet shake. It felt like a punch in the stomach and it was as if ice water was thrown at her, waking her from a heat induced stupor that had turned her lethargic for so long.
For the past weeks she had felt drained and emotionally empty and she had turned all her attention to Elain. She had hidden from the world feeling shame and rage for what she had become against her will and worse for what she had allowed these monsters to do to her sister.
And in all those endless tortuous weeks that passed she had not seen Cassian. Not even once. At first she believed that sooner or later he would come barging in the house she was staying with Elain in with all his insufferable ego and annoy her but he never came. Not that it mattered. It didn't. It shouldn't matter. And yet she had seen everyone from Rhysand's inner circle, as he called it, but not Cassian. Not him. Never him.
There were times she was tempted to ask about him but she never did. Even if that was ungrateful since she remembered how hurt he had been after Hybern and how he had tried to reach out to her when they were pushing her into the Cauldron.
That nightmare she would never forget. She would remember every moment of it and she would demand retribution one way or another. She would remember. Even if she survived eternity she would always remember and that meant that she would never forget her enemies as she would not forget Cassian either. She would never forget his damaged shredded wings. Those wings that now twitched in tatters on his back every time he lashed out against the carved column.
Nesta wanted to get away but it was as if her legs had turned to roots that grew deep into the mountain's rocky floor and turned her to stone too. The tint of orange Cassian's blade brought to life was almost hypnotizing now. It felt unreal. As everything else felt too. Days had passed so slowly since they had fled Hybern and taken refuge in Velaris. She did not ask to see or to know about Cassian and no one talked to her about him. Morrigan was the only one that was trying to help her and Elain train and come to terms with their transition.
Rhysand and Azriel were preparing for war according to Amren which as it happened was the only person she was able to tolerate lately. Despite Morrigan's best intentions most of the time her efforts to train them felt pointless. Elain was confused and sad and as for her...she was being, for lack of better term, uncooperative. She was not like Feyre after all. She was not a huntress or a warrior. She never had been.
She was trying not to show it - mostly for Elain's sake- but she was not taking her transition well. She only felt anger blooming inside her and felt as if she was cursed. Cassian was nowhere to be seen and for some reason that also made her angry. It was as if she wastrapped inside a strange body. She felt helpless and hopeless as she had when her family was thrown in poverty years ago and just like back then she was failing once more. And so she found refuge in seclusion and isolation. She became Elain's strength and comfort when she felt she had none to give. She knew she had to be strong or at least pretend to be. For Elain.
Elain, sweet Elain, that despite their predicament managed to remain civil and sweet especially with Azriel when he was visiting Velaris. It had taken time but the Shadowsinger had recuperated and Nesta assumed that Cassian must have had too.
According to Elain, Azriel and Mor had told her that Cassian was still healing but the healers did not leave much hope for his wings and Nesta could now see why. She was present when Elain had asked Azriel about Cassian three weeks ago. She still remembered the grave expression on the spymaster's face when he spoke of Cassian's situation. For a powerful male who was a master of whispers and shadows and knew how to keep his emotions at bay at all times, his eyes had been extremely expressive when he spoke of Cassian. Yet despite the sting of pain that radiated through her bloodstream after hearing this, she did what she always did best. She kept her placid expression and pushed all her frustration and anxiety under a blanket of ice. What happened to the General was not her problem. It shouldn't and wouldn't be. And she would not feel bad about it or feel ashamed for not showing any compassion. Not when she had her own problems to deal with. Not when she had lost everything. Even her sense of self. Not when her own sister was missing, lost in enemy territory and her other sister needed someone to rely on. Not when her heartbeat still throbbed with the aches of a humanity that was totally out of her reach now that she had turned to what she had been taught in all her life to fear and despise.
The memory of Cassian's screams and then of his stirring when she was bound and led to the Cauldron while he was on the floor unconscious was something that should not matter. Not when she could not dare take a long look at her reflection in the mirror. Not when she looked at her sweet sister and only saw pointed ears and longer limbs and her pain for not being able to return to her fiancée and their home. Cassian had his friends to care for him. She and Elain had no one left. Not even Feyre and she could do nothing to help. It was useless. She was useless.
So when Morrigan had said that Cassian was not taking the loss of his wings well and for some reason had stared intently at her, she did nothing. She said nothing. Her face remained stoic. Cold. She kept her impassive expression and kept the fire that streamed inside her at bay. Morrigan had looked at her with a look of disappointment for some reason but said nothing. It was the same look many times Feyre used to cast at her whenever she refused to show pity to their father. She was used to people looking at her that way and it didn't matter and yet somehow the fire she felt inside kept growing. Kept burning. Kept hurting and the more it burned the more she stifled everything under blankets of ice and apathy.
But, somehow, even though she had seen Cassian's wings that day in Hybern after she got out from the Cauldron with eyes that were sharper and could take in everything in more color and detail, she had kept the memory of the strong male. A male that seemed to stand tall, especially in the face of danger and war as if nothing was able to bring him down. The Illyrian with the imposing terrifying wings that covered the world in shadow when he was taking flight. The arrogant bastard, who as he said, commanded Rhysand's most important armies and stood by the High Lord of the Night Court. The male that was able to make everyone cower in his presence and bowed to no one. The same person who vowed to fight for her. To protect her and her people.
And now, that memory was fading fast into oblivion as Nesta stared at his tarnished wings. An image grotesque. Those glorious majestic wings were now gone. In their place only a fragile cobweb of threads and torn membrane was left. Nesta gritted her teeth at the sight of the gaping holes and shredded tissue that looked more like trashed piece of paper and thin hair that were about to fall off. So different than the lively limbs that once were able to cut through wind and skies, breaking the sound barrier with booming flutters. Nesta could only imagine the pain Cassian must have felt when magic had burned through his wings and torn them to pieces. And she could not even begin to imagine the pain he must have felt afterwards. The pain he was feeling now.
Cassian was earth bound, unable to taste the skies, and if Morrigan was right about how Illyrians viewed their wings, then this earth he was tied to now was more or less an early grave for him. An anchor meant to drown him into an abyss and bury him forever. Forever broken.
'Forever' Nesta thought. That word now meant something. Immortality was Cassian's future as was hers. And that was a terrifying reality she didn't know if she wanted. It was so vast and bleak and unrelenting. So...unnatural. Like the state of Cassian's wings now. Those poor wings that somehow triggered more rage inside her. So much rage she felt as if it was choking her. She could not breathe anymore. Every sense was turning to pain. To fire. To so much fire.
"I do not need your pity," Cassian spat without turning to look at her.
Nesta jumped up and almost took a step back falling into the endless void behind her. He had known she was there. Of course he had. How foolish of her to think otherwise. She was right at her first assessment of him. He was dangerous. With shredded wings or not. And she should never forget it.
She took a deep breath and regrouped, taking a step forward. She squared her shoulders and faced him. Hearing his voice again did something unexplained to her and made her angrier still for some reason.
"Well tough, cause you have it," she threw at him with not even a glimmer of kindness, not denying the truth of his words and looking away from his wings. The sight of his them was pitiful indeed. And if he was punishing marbles and stones with his sword with so much menace he obviously believed the same. This was not just training. Nesta had been swimming in dark waters of rage for quite some time now. Long enough to be able to recognize when others like her and like Cassian were diving into the same waves.
Cassian's jaw clenched at the dismissal he heard in Nesta's voice and his muscles flexed when he threw the sword on the ground; the steel embedded deep in the stone in one strike. He raked his hand through his tangled hair and turned to see her, ready to lash out and order her to leave.
His anger was clouding his vision and had turned his whole body rigid. He knew she had been there from the very start. He would have recognized her scent everywhere. Now that she was High Fae that scent was pronounced and when she winnowed here it was the first thing that caught his attention. That damn smell of hers that enveloped him and made him crave things he shouldn't. He hoped that she would leave him alone if he pretended he had not known she was there spying on him.
He did not want to see her. He didn't want to see anyone anymore. For weeks he had chosen solitude and those close to him had let him be. They knew better than to go to him and push him now that he was like that. They respected his wishes and he was grateful for it even though he knew that it was just a matter of time before they would hound him and try to make him return to the fold, but he had decided that he was not going to that. Nothing and no one could convince him. Not anymore. Not when he was like this.
At the beginning, the pain had almost driven him mad as did the realization of what had happened to him and when he stopped feeling his wings all together he came to terms with what happened. Whatever remnants were left hanging from his back felt as if they were not even there. Everything turned numb. He turned numb. He went through endless days of anguish and pain; he stayed in bed immobilized for days. He endured scalpels and stitches on his back and his wings and suffered the agony of the magical remedies and of the painful potions and balms and even the side effects of pure agonizing magic and all for nothing. The healers did not even dare to look at him when they told him that maybe his wings would be able to heal in a few years but it was not...likely.
Nothing and no one could comfort him after that. He had lost the one thing that mattered to him. That which made him whole and after that he did not want to see anyone. The physical pain he could endure. The pity in the eyes of those that saw his ruined wings and felt sorry for him was not a burden he could bear. He always considered himself to be a bastard but now as far as lowlifes went, being a bastard did not seem so appalling as it did before. Now that he was left with nothing and was nothing. A lesser kind inside his lesser kind. Brilliant.
He had stopped caring all together. He threw himself to the wilderness and buried his siphons deep in the forest near the Illyrian Steppes. He was not worthy to command and lead the Night Court's armies anymore. He was a disgrace and no Illyrian warrior would now take him seriously or obey his commands. He would be a laughing joke.
He had returned to Velaris because despite his worthlessness, he still wanted to know how his friends fared but he remained at a safe distance. He became a shadow like those that surrounded and hovered over Azriel. He hid from the world and dwelled in his self pity. When he could not take the misery anymore he drank the whole Sidra in wine. Drinking himself to a stupor was the only thing that allowed him to move on. Falling into oblivion and dreaming of a time when his wings were not broken and when he could actually fight was the only thing that kept him sane despite the fact that it was draining him every day and night. There were times he was burning with rage and others where he was wallowing in desperation. Times when he cried and puked his guts out and others when he laughed hysterically.
There were times, times when the phantom limb pain in his back drove him insane, enough he wanted to take his sword and cut out whatever was left of his wings. To bleed out. To cut and cut so deep until there would be nothing left. At those times he took his sword and took his rage out against the trees and stones and mountains and even the creatures deep inside the forests far away from Velaris. Something that could very well be a suicide mission since his body had not still healed completely but every time he killed and maimed and threw his sword at anything he saw the King of Hybern and killed him over and over again. He saw Azriel on the ground choking in his own pool of blood. He saw Nesta's creaming and fighting as she was being pushed inside the Cauldron. He felt Rhysand's silent agony and Feyre's pain and sacrifice. He saw enemies and traitors. And he was killing the King again and again and he was cutting his wings again and again and it was never enough. He was still failing. War was coming and he would not be able to fight. Not like this. He would be a liability now. He was worthless and a bastard and condemned to face eternity a half male. A coward that deserved nothing. A Cripple. Maimed. Destroyed. A Bastard.
And all that pain, all that torment made him to want to punish anything and anyone that would dare face him now that he was in this state.
And Nesta was here today provoking the beast inside him!
But now that he faced Nesta Archeron somehow nothing of that mattered. Nothing mattered. He did not matter. His pain did not matter. All that mattered was...her. He had seen her only once from afar. He had not dared come any closer to her every since the day she was made. The last time he stood close to her he was in front of her and had wiped a tear from her face. He made her a promise and what she had become reminded him that he failed to keep his promise.
He didn't want to see the pity in her eyes even though he had braced himself right now for that condemnation. The pity he had felt when she was secretly watching him moments ago and the ridicule he had heard in her voice did not prepare him for what he actually saw now that he faced her. He stilled. Completely. His rage evaporated as if it had never been there. It was such a shock to see her like this. She was one of them now. He had isolated himself for the last weeks but whenever he was sneaking in Velaris he always found his way close to where Nesta now lived. He could not help it. And yet, aside from that one time, he had not dared to go see her.
He had only once seen her and Elain from afar when they were training with Morin a clearing. Or trying to train because he would call that spectacle many things but training was not a word he would use. Morrigan had seen him stalking Nesta that day but had said nothing and he had left.
Even though they were wearing hoods, he had taken a glimpse of the physical changes in both sisters that day but now that Nesta was so close those changes seemed more pronounced. More real. Seeing her like this was like an attack without warning. It rendered him speechless.
She was like fire trapped inside bone and skin. Like burning rage under melting ice. She was the same and yet different and that startled him to the bone. He forgot everything that taunted him for the last weeks and focused only on her.
He knew that Feyre had been human before he met her the first time in Rhysand's house but he had only seen her as High Fae. But Nesta? He had met her as a human. As a fierce savage human that was able to terrorize even the most fearful of his kind. Even him, not that he would ever admit that out loud. She had been a mortal trapped in a fragile body and now she had transcended into something different. Like the blades he was re-forging in fire turning them sharper, adamantine and unbreakable. Nesta might have been ferocious before but now she was also everlasting. Her eyes had hardened somehow. There was something indestructible but so very dark lurking just under the surface now. A darkness he had seen before but only in warriors in the battlefield. In people that had suffered loss and had seen carnage. In people that had faced death and a part of him wondered what Nesta felt when she was shoved into the Cauldron and what the Cauldron had felt when it had to endure Nesta's wildness and defiance in its belly.
Nesta had already been his equal as a human but now she was different. She was still Nesta but she was more and less at the same time. There was something that felt so right and something that felt off.
She was more beautiful than he remembered. Taller. Her ears had delicate edges now and her limbs under her nightgown which barely hid anything from his prying eyes were longer. Smooth, feminine and yet strong.
Her tangled hair seemed luminescent somehow as if it had trapped fire in it's threads. She looked as if she could compete with the dawn that was rising behind her.
But it was not just the change magic brought to her body as it reshaped it into Fae. It was not just the thrumming magic that danced under her skin.
Nesta looked...different. Underneath what the eyes could see. Her increased beauty was a delusion. It was the veil of immortality that created that fake illusion.
She was pale and so much thinner that he remembered. Looking twice he realized that she looked fragile when she shouldn't now that she should be stronger. Her hair was longer and she looked slender but so very tired. She had black circles under her eyes and her cheeks looked sickly white and sunken.
He had wanted to scream at her to leave. To leave him alone and never come back. To forget that he even existed. He wanted to curse her and to take her words and throw them back in her face but now that she stood in her flimsy nightclothes looking as if she was about to shatter to pieces he felt sick to his stomach. More than he had felt ever since he lost his wings and he didn't think this would have been possible.
Nesta Archeron had been strong. He remembered her strong. Unrelenting. Proud. A torrential force of nature. And now she looked like a ghost. She reminded him of those poor Illyrian females after their wings had been clipped and that felt wrong. It felt so wrong.
He opened his mouth to say something but he closed it immediately. He almost allowed himself to take a step towards her but he didn't dare. No matter how jaded Nesta looked, he could sense her horrified expression at his back. Her pity. She was feeling sorry for him. And that felt like a worse blow than the very magic that took away his wings. He felt his anger returning in full force again.
His eyes swept over her and he saw how her own narrowed in return.
"What are you doing here?" he bit out in a tone that made it obvious that she was not welcome there.
Nesta's lips pursed into a line that turned unnaturally white. Her lips had already been purple and chapped. She must have been gnawing at them when no one was seeing her.
Her expression tightened but then she frowned.
"I don't know," she admitted in an unmistakably aggressive whisper. It was obvious that she hated showing weakness and being so confused.
Cassian tilted his head to the side and folded his arms in front of his chest. Nesta tried to look anywhere else than the bulging muscles of his torso and the tattoos that were painted on them.
"You winnowed here Nesta," he told her slowly as if he was talking to a naive child but even he had to admit that he was impressed. When he had seen Nesta training with Mor he had felt the urge to run at her and shake her by the shoulders. She could do better than flail around and fail constantly. Should she actually try, her survival and fighting skills would not remain at such a pathetic level. But now she had managed to transport herself as if it was nothing. She covered a big distance and it might not have been intentional but it had been seamless and in a blink of an eye she managed to do what even centuries old High Fae were unable to do without a lot of training. Most of them were unable to push themselves in long distances,despite decades and centuries of training and here Nesta was swallowing miles in seconds. And it was not taking any physical toll on her. She hadn't exerted herself at all.
"Obviously," she scoffed sarcastically. Cassian noticed that her stance was not just hostile. She was defensive and guarded and he snorted knowing that this was enraging her and just as he predicted she threw her most cold glower at him.
"But you don't know how?"he taunted her, implying how funny he found her feeble attempts to yield her newfound powers. He could not help but provoke her.
Nesta gulped down her outrage and her palms turned to fists but she looked almost distressed as she turned her attention to the sword that was now embedded in the ground next to him. She looked as if she could not take her eyes away from it. Cassian followed her gaze and furrowed his brow.
"What?" he asked, puzzled by her reaction at the sight of his blade.
"Your sword. The blade was giving away sparks," she muttered, still looking at the sword. At the steel and not the hilt.
"So?"
"I- I felt them. I don't know how. It was like a ...song," she whispered, looking as if she was in a trance and Cassian for a moment swore he could smell smoke. He had not smelled that smoke in centuries. The last time he had tasted such magic flaring in his nostrils was at some very old relics that some war tribes deep in the Steppes had inherited. Artifacts that had passed down through generations from a time that was considered to by a myth. Relics that were not even given but were uncovered countless years ago and belonged to the uncharted history that was lost eons before Prythian's known history.
"Genesian. It can't be," Cassian muttered under his breath and all color drained from his face.
Could Nesta be a master of fire? A phoenix reborn into a fire singer? That kind was eradicated and extinct centuries ago. Brutally wiped off the face of the earth. They had grown so powerful that some believed they carried some of the Cauldron's unadulterated essence inside them. Undiluted mystical power capable of creation. A direct link to the Cauldron itself. Yielding fire was one thing but fire calling fire? The Song of Fire. Meant to drive those that could hear it but were unable to sing it mad.
If the legends were to be believed, according to the tales, Genesians not only predated the Courts but had been the ancestors of his race. Illyrians, just like him, were made fire into flesh. Born from Genesians with one purpose only. They were meant to protect the fire singers and their sacred city; but the fire that originated a long time ago was extinguished eons ago leaving the Illyrians that survived torn between power and weakness. A lesser kind knowing of no songs and tales. Nomads. Survivors born in battle and ruins who still fled to the mountains and the wastelands. Wild things still running from the ghosts of ancient enemies that waged war against them and so war they became.
No. This could not be. His imagination was running wild. He was tired and still half drunk from last night. His body was still healing and the pain was messing with his mind. It was not possible. For should Nesta be one of the old ones she would be hunted. More so than Rhysand and he ever were. He was so absorbed in his thoughts that he did not hide the panic from his features and Nesta immediately caught on it.
"What?" she snapped at him.
"Nothing," he merely murmured and hated that the word was uttered uncomfortably and meekly.
"Don't lie to me," Nesta demanded harshly.
Cassian drew in a deep breath forcing himself to appear calm and even scolded his expression back to one of boredom and unpleasantness.
"Leave," he barked gruffly and turned his back to her not caring that he showed her his mutilated wings again. She had to go.
"You know I did not ask for your pity either but here we are," she simply said. She had seen the way his eyes paled at her pointy ears. The way he even refused to look at her even now. To even speak to her. And she saw the way his face twisted with disgust at the sight of her. It made her burn inside. It made her to want to scream but she had to stay strong and keep it together for Elain. For her sisters and yet right now she felt as if her mind could not contain her rage any longer. Everything was turning more intense and everything was falling apart. She was falling apart and she hated herself and everyone else because of it. She hated Cassian because of it. Even if it made no sense, she did and she did it with so much intensity it terrified her.
Cassian's body twisted around at the lethal cold he heard in her voice and he blinked in confusion. She refused to look away and she locked her gaze with his. She looked at his unshaven face sharply. Her heart skipped a beat at the way his lips parted for a moment and then he drifted closer to her. Steady steps until his breath caressed her face.
"It was not pity Nesta. Never that," he vehemently swore to her and Nesta stiffened.
Cassian didn't even understand why he felt the need to comfort her especially when he knew that she would not even let him.
Nesta shook her head, a bitter smile contorting her features into an ugly mask he did not like seeing on her face. Her cunning and calculating acid he could take, and even her rejection and pity, but this kind of disbelief and loathing that was directed more at herself than him was something he could not tolerate or bear and for some reason he could not explain, he did not want her to believe him to be a liar.
His head hung and he closed his eyes resigning himself to this worry for her. The scent of the overwhelming smoke was gone now. He could only smell that familiar feminine fragrance that was only...Nesta. It called him closer. It silenced all the voices in his head and awakened every demanding desire his body had. The scent he had been dreaming for months now.
"It was guilt," he rasped. His sigh revealed the truth and he cursed himself for it at the same time. This kind of weakness was ruining him when he was already ruined.
"For what?"
A bitter smile appeared on Cassian's lips. Nothing like the cocky grin that usually adorned them.
"I once promised to protect you and I failed. What male would dare stand in front of you again after that?"
"You-"
Her sharp intake of breath and the way her voice wavered was something that twisted Cassian's insides. Painfully and without mercy. "You were the only one that fought for me till the end. Even while-"
"I was...Crippled," Cassian spat the last word viciously interrupting her and Nesta shook her head and instinctively gripped his forearm. Her nails sunk into his flesh and he felt electricity course through him. She had initiated physical contact and it left him breathless.
"Even while- I meant nothing to you," she corrected him with a fierce tone that left no room for debate,"You still fought for me. I won't forget that. I will never forget that," she promised and her fingers wrapped around his arm tightly. Her touch burned and so did her words.
Cassian's eyes roamed over her face searching for any sign of dishonesty. He found none. And then he remembered Feyre's words.
"She will never forget that you offered to defend Elain. Defend her people. As long as she lives, she will remember that kindness...deep down she is grateful, and perhaps does not possess the ability to say so. Yet the feeling -the heart- is there."
And the world shifted. Rotated in new speed. It was if the axis had moved and he could see a new side of Nesta Archeron and he did not know where that left him. He thought he had understood what she was made of and that he knew her but he didn't. She was a stranger to him now more than ever before.
Many things had changed. Everything that happened in Hybern changed them both in ways he could not even begin to describe or even comprehend. Nesta still had the heart -a human heart- and maybe this was a moment of vulnerability or even her guilt that was showing because she could not contain it anymore within her new strange heart belonging to a creature she loathed to be. Still here she was opening up to him and he knew beyond the shadow of a doubt that she would not allow herself such weakness again. He knew that once all was said and done she would indeed consider this confession of hers a mistake.
They looked at each other and Nesta's gaze fell on his wings expanding behind his back. This time she did not avert her eyes and Cassian's shoulders tensed but he remained still despite feeling the weight of her gaze upon him. Despite feeling the need to hide and escape those eyes that saw not just the shards of his wings but the broken part of his soul. The bastard, the cripple, the lost worthless boy.
"I was unable to save my sister," Nesta then said, "both of them. I failed. Again" she mumbled and Cassian expected many things to come out of her mouth but not that. He expected sarcasm and irony but not this kind of honesty. It was not regret reflecting in her words. She was stating the facts.
Nesta then pointed at her ears and touched the delicate edges and when she flinched he felt the need to take her in his arms and tell her that all would be fine.
"These are just a reminder of that. But those," she said and pointed a finger at his wings, "might be broken for now but you sacrificed them for your friend and you protected him. That is not something you should be ashamed of. Quite the opposite," she told him quietly and for the first time in quite some time Cassian did not feel self conscious for how he looked now that his wings were broken.
It was such a rare moment for a minute there he thought he might be hallucinating. Maybe he was not as sober as he thought or maybe the pain had been too much and he was starting to lose his mind but somehow he never felt more grounded.
And then it hit him so hard he felt as if he would fall on his knees.
Pride.
He felt it waking under the firm guide of Nesta's words when he thought he would never feel it again. It didn't last but it was there and it was Nesta that spoke of it. She was talking about selflessness and sacrifice and of all the things no one could ever believe Nesta Archeron could feel and value but there she was. A revelation. A soothing balm extending a fleeting peace offering between them and somehow it was not exactly pride he felt. Or at least not just that.
It was pain and agony and torment. Things he now saw in Nesta's eyes and for a moment he forgot about his own misery and self loathing and wished to be able to take that pain away from Nesta. To surround her with everything she was missing and everything she needed but for a woman like her a male like him had nothing to offer. If he only had.
"If only.." he paused when he voice broke and then he cleared his throat quickly, "..I had been able to shield not only Azriel but you too. I would not have thought twice about it," he admitted and saw the surprise in Nesta's eyes and the tears gathering there.
"Why? You barely even know me. You don't even like me," she stared at him incredulously.
He wanted to laugh at that. It was true. He didn't like her. Like was not a word he would ever use for Nesta Archeron. There were so many others and yet whenever he tried to put in words whatever it was he felt for this woman he couldn't. Words failed him. It was so confusing but it was as if words had turned small and empty and were unable to describe Nesta or whatever it was that she had made him feel.
"You are my High Lady's sister," he dodged her assumption refusing to reveal to her the things he was not ready to even admit to himself and he thought that he saw a flash of disappointment pass through her eyes. And he didn't like it. Not even a little bit.
And to think there was a time he wanted to break her impenetrable armor and hurt her just so he could see if she was actually human underneath all the acerbic poison she threw at him. To see if her selflessness knew any bounds. He had also wanted to see if he could unbury her passion and to somehow solve the enigma she was and now he did not only see passion and humanity. He saw so many layers. More than he could count even if he spent eternity shedding them.
"And you are also a woman of courage," he said before he could stop himself and then he kept talking,"Without my wings I am a half male," he opened up to her, "a bastard," he laughed, "but I won't make the same mistake twice,"he promised knowing that war was coming.
"My life in your hands Nesta Archeron. Should it come to that. I will gladly give it for you."
They just stood there. A breath away from each other and Nesta only looked at him. Her face had no expression. She turned cold again and when she said nothing, Cassian's heart cracked. He did not know what he expected. In truth, he was not expecting anything in return and Nesta didn't need anyone to protect her. She never did and even less now that she was made anew. She could fight her own wars. But a part of him ached when he realized that his offering meant nothing. That he was rejected like this.
But that nothing turned to something. He felt it the moment it did. He felt the change of the winds around them.
Amber color rose underneath them. Embers exploded and danced and twirled and the stones glimmered with flame. Crimson color reflected in the shine of his blade. Cassian hissed when fire rain dropped in the tender part of his damaged wings and his eyes fluttered when for the first time in weeks he felt the sensory parts of his wings groaning and aching as their numbness gave way to feeling. He tried to breathe through the ancient smell of the smoke that filled his lungs but Nesta's fire was bringing him back to life and he could swear he could feel deep inside him the boom of the wings that once flapped on the ethers. Wings he thought he had buried. There was burning hope and healing again but that hope was stifling his breath as puffs of smoke glittered with sparking golden light rose in cyclones around their feet.
And so he understood. This was not a healing touch. This was rage and a savage torrent of emotion that threatened to burst into a hurricane. They were standing in the eye of the firestorm and the storm was Nesta herself.
Nesta's transition was seemingly flawless so far but he knew better. The woman always buried everything under layers of coldness and drowned her emotions in ice but the Cauldron gave her fire. The fire she always feared. The fire that always burned her and now was about to get out of control.
The winds and the smoke rose around them and Cassian tried to reach out to her only to see parts of the stones melt around them. Cinders fell on the ground with cracking noises as the crackle of fire raged. A whirlwind of fiery cocoon was wrapped around Nesta and he could not get to her. The heat was overwhelming and Cassian thought that he was about to burst into fire himself too. He felt his knees almost giving out. The ground under his bare feet was scorching hot and all the stones had turned to blazing coals.
Nesta shook her head and suddenly the inferno around them cooled down but Cassian realized that she had not stopped from burning.
A band of gold pooled in her irises and around her orbs turned circles of fire. She turned into an otherworldly creature. The one that had pointed condemnation at the King of Hybern and did not drown in the Cauldron but dove deep into the uncharted mystical waters and claimed her power.
The veins in her neck and in her hands were glowing. Red and silver white. She was boiling from the inside out. And then Cassian felt ice. Where the stones previously turned to coals now they were covered with soot, ash and ice. Nesta was absorbing all the world's heat, taking it in and turning it to her own element that combusted inside her turning her body to an ocean of flame and rage leaving nothing but snow and cinders in her wake. She was containing everything in but it would take only a breath to unleash her burning fury and set the world in fire.
"Nesta!" he called out to her but she could not hear him. Whatever was triggered in her was taking control.
Cassian was suddenly shivering, despite being accustomed to harsh winters, and he wanted to wrap himself in wings that no longer obeyed him or were able to surround him and shield him. Instead he moved closer to the woman that now stood as the embodiment of flame and saw her red bloodshot lips and glowing hair. He saw in awe the searing skin that glowed and the fear that she was swallowing down like poison. She was afraid of hurting him and of unleashing her power that was now out of control. So much incredible power he had never felt before. But Nesta was afraid of that power and of what she was. The cunning cleverness was now gone and panic dueled in her eyes.
"Nesta. Breathe!"
He tried to soothe her fear and he tried to command her. The wall of smoke around her shook as he tried to push through it. He coughed but kept trying to find a way to bring her back to him.
It was of no use. He could not get through to her. Again and again he told her to breathe until somehow she let him in; when he gripped her by her arms the leather straps he had wrapped around his palms melted. His hands sizzled as he touched her flesh. Flesh that glowed with light and all the colors of the dawn of the solstice's inferno. He held on to her despite the stinging pain and did not let go no matter the burning flesh of his palms or the smell of his charred hands. He cursed and shook her.
"Come on sweetheart. Let it go," he encouraged her. His voice a purr, only a whisperer trying to tame wild horses would use.
Finally, his voice seemed to be the connection she needed. A lifeline that brought her back to sanity. A tear fell from her eye but evaporated on her skin and Nesta blinked confused and everything stopped.
No wind. No fire. No smoke. Sweat covered their bodies and Cassian felt the heat bounce between them. He tentatively moved closer to her, holding back his breath out of fear of scaring her.
Nesta heaved and when his forehead touched hers, he looked deep into her eyes encouraging her to regain her control. To breathe again. To let the fire turn to coolness and life. Nesta seemed to relax and he could have sworn that her toes curled just enough to propel her body closer to him and to bring her mouth just an inch away from his. His hands fell to her hips. How would it be to feel the swell of those lips. To burn and lust and heal. To feel the Cauldron chant in one kiss. How would it be to kiss a woman like Nesta Archeron? Damn him to the Mother's curse how would it be to kiss Nesta? To feel her cling to him and surrender to the desire that burned through her?
But all his questions would be left unanswered as Nesta stumbled back and straightened her spine as if lighting passed through her, reminding her of who she was and who he was. A match not compatible. A bastard with tarnished wings and a Lady that was just beginning her immortal journey amidst loss and war. A woman who deserved more than he could give. More than him.
His hands fell to his sides; but then he felt his heart twitch and lose a beat at the softest touch he ever felt. Nesta's hands covered his and she turned the inside of his palms upwards bringing them closer to her inspecting the burns and looking at him appalled. With guilt.
"Your hands," she whispered horrified, realizing what she had done to him. Only a touch and he had been hurt. The unspoken apology hovered between them but Cassian knew that it would never fall from Nesta's lips.
Cassian pulled his hands back as if her touch had burned him again and Nesta looked at him with shame and horror. She did not dare speak now. Telling him how sorry she was would not matter and Cassian realized that she thought that he hated her for burning him but truth was that he could not bear her touch nor the close proximity now that her nightgown was almost transparent from her sweat and clung to her every curve. The hem and parts of the cloth had burned away, revealing parts of her body that would now haunt his every waking hours.
He tried to look into her eyes and to keep his stare on her face and his burned hands turned to fists. And then anger blinded him. He had gripped hot metal and heated blades in the past. That kind of burn meant nothing to him. What meant everything to him was that Nesta should have been able to reign over her powers by now. It had been weeks and maybe he had not been there for her but he had trusted his friends, his family, to care for her. For the sake of Cauldron she was Feyre's sister! Damn him they should have taken better care of her and here she was breaking apart unable to control her power. Her destructive power at that. She was a danger to others and to herself.
Weeks after her transition and Mor has been incompetent when it came to teaching Nesta how to put a leash to her new found abilities and control them. Where the hell had Rhysand and Azriel had been? Why did they not supervise Nesta and Elain?
Where the hell had he been?
He cursed under his breath and took an angry stride towards Nesta. He saw how she winced and almost backed down but instead she looked at him with conviction and decisiveness.
The urge to smile rose in his chest at her bravery. He firmly took her hands in his own and looked at them carefully just like Nesta had done with his. Nesta's breath hitched and she tried to yank her hands away but his growl made her cast him a furious glower instead. He towered over her but he could see that he did not intimidate her. It seemed as if Nesta was welcoming the shadows of his height as her sharp eyes inspected his every move. Whatever it was that she saw in him he did not know but he felt vulnerable under those bright eyes.
He inspected the delicate wrists and the bruises blooming on the smooth skin from the rivulets of fire that ran in her veins. She had injured herself. Badly. He could not only see it but he could also tell from the sound of the painful intake of erratic breathing that her bones had fractures in places too and her flesh was tender. She was in a lot of pain and yet she had cared for the burns of his hands instead. Cassian saw that her bruises were slowly healing but they should not have been there in the first place. Nesta had instinctively pointed her power inwards and had hurt herself. This would not do.
"You need training," he noted objectively with a stern voice. He used his non bullshit tone that had the ability to make even the whole Court of Nightmares run away from him. His gaze scanned her with interest. He was pensive as his thumbs caressed her traumatized skin, trying to take some of the pain away by applying the right amount of pressure at the right spots.
He recalled the one and only time Amren came to see him ignoring his wish to be left alone. She had not paid attention to his wings or to the hot mess he was and only talked to him about...Nesta. He had been half drunk and he had wanted to lash out but when Amren dropped Nesta's name he had done nothing. At first he had thought Amren was trying to get a reaction out of him but then he was in awe when he realized that for some reason that firedrake actually came to like the nasty girl as she called Nesta. She was actually impressed with her and had found a match in her. Of course those two would click he had thought sourly not liking it at all. They were surprisingly similar in many ways and it should not surprise him that Nesta had found a kindred spirit in one of the most ancient, complicated and dangerous creatures to have ever walked this earth. Amren told him that Nesta had fighting potential but despite Mor's best efforts she refused to allow it to flourish and come out.
She had then used her most grating innocent tone to tell him that Nesta needed another kind of trainer and firm guidance and he had to control every inch of his battered body to not take Amren's clever bait or even comment. He had stood silent as Amren kept talking -first time since he ever knew her had he even seen her being so talkative- and telling him how Nesta fought against herself and was shutting down whenever anyone who tried to reach her. How she always shielded her emotions that triggered her powers in unpredictable ways -winnowing included- and from what he witnessed right now this was an understatement at best. He did not know why Amren felt the need to go specifically to him to talk about Nesta but she had been right. Nesta needed help. And training.
"So everyone says," Nesta snorted unapologetic for her weakness while pulling her hands away from him, flinching from pain at her rush movement.
Cassian gave her a hard glare full of reprehension.
"They are right," he resolutely told her looking at her sharply. His seriousness grave.
It was then that he saw her rise her impenetrable walls again and he gritted his teeth. Damn the Cauldron and the Mother but he had never met such stubbornness in a woman or any other for that matter. It was infuriating. It was also so...rejuvenating. And after so long he felt like himself again. What was it about Nesta that always made him feel so alive?
"What I need is some peace and quiet!" Nesta coldly dismissed him and Cassian rose a challenging eyebrow at the bite of her words, "blasting your sword as a drum in the middle of the night won't do!" she accused him and Cassian's lips twitched until he flashed a grin at her.
He wisely avoided telling her that he was miles away from where she resided with her sister in Velaris. This place was secluded. Far up the mountain and deep into the cliff with the winds hitting it with roaring force from every side. No one should have been able to hear him even if he screamed. And truth was that when he had to take the stairs to climb up here he had screamed. In the past all it would take was a few seconds and he would have flown here but now. Now he was trapped inside his own body with no way out into the skies he so loved and he had made sure no one would hear his cries. No one but Nesta obviously.
Cassian pushed those thoughts aside and focused all his attention to Nesta and her complaints. Both of them knew that her demands were absurd given the circumstances but he knew that Nesta was trying to change the subject.
Cassian rolled his shoulders casually and cracked his neck to the side letting the tension fall away from his body. Even his battered wings obliged and relaxed. He strode closer to Nesta with a cocky smirk enjoying the way she momentarily sucked a breath.
"Did I wake you up, sweetheart?" he mocked her sardonically using a tone that was meant to convey 'concern' and he could swear that Nesta was about to stomp her foot down. He could not help but tease her but a part of him was vigilant and he remained alert because the last thing he wanted was for Nesta to kick him again where no male should ever be kicked! The woman was a menace after all. And if her knee could bring him down when she was just a human he did not want to know what she could do to him now that she had Fae strength. He cringed even at the thought of it.
Nesta's eyes sparked with fury now and he wanted to laugh at that. After what seemed like an endless time of eternity his lips curved to a satisfied arrogant smirk and he freely smiled for the first time in weeks. It was the way her cheeks blushed and the way her eyes grew in luminance with anger and spite.
"Maybe it was me you were dreaming of; why else would you come find me?" he drawled smugly and hovered above her. He leaned forward knowing that this was a game of wills and Nesta would not allow herself to back down. She glared at him but stood her ground even when his nose almost traced the column of her neck and he saw how the vein of her pulse now throbbed at every heaving movement her chest made, "sweetheart, dreams would pale in comparison," he promised and took in her scent before taking a step back and clicking his tongue, "If only you knew how to burn differently," he mocked her and gave her a knowing look and then his eyes roved over her exposed body and it was then that Nesta realized the state she was actually in and how she appeared. Ravished, sensual, wantonly promiscuous.
She was practically half naked and exposed to his eyes and Cassian challenged her with his gaze. Nesta was still a proper lady after all despite her bravado and she realized with shock how they both looked. So much exposed skin, so much sweat, so much temptation. They were so close and the heat around them now was of a different kind now. One that not even Nesta could refuse if she remained here for much longer. None of them would walk away unscathed.
"Burn in Cauldron's pits!" Nesta grumbled, her cheeks flushed and she glared at him with disdain and indignation; for a moment Cassian wondered if she would blast fire at him. Instead she pushed him back and he chuckled and let her but her push had so much force that he actually staggered back more steps that he intended and had to consciously keep up his balance. She was quite strong even now that she was hurt. Interesting.
Cassian raised an impressed eyebrow as Nesta vanished in smoke and darkness. He laughed as he realized that it was intense emotions like her anger and lust that inadvertently triggered her winnowing and then he sighed and went to retrieve his sword. He ran his tongue over his upper lips slowly as he tried to adjust his weight to his burned feet.
He looked at his sword intrigued. Should the blade had not been Illyrian it would have melted. He winced as the muscles of his back ached when he withdrew his sword and he could have sworn that he felt his wings itching. He shook his head. This was not time for dreams and hallucinations.
He looked at the place Nesta has been some moments ago and he sheathed his sword and took a worn piece of leather and tied his hair back to his head with a huff. He looked at the burns in his hands and at the grey and white ashes that covered the grounds like snow. He had to do some research. And to talk to Azriel. And to Amren too who was the only one of them old enough to actually have met Genesians. Maybe this was why she was so interested in Nesta in the first place?
Cassian shook his head. He had to know for sure what came out of the Cauldron when Nesta rose. If his suspicions were right, his life would not be enough to protect her. Which would be one more reason to dedicate his vow to her.
No! He refused to even consider any outcome in which Nesta would not survive. Nesta Archeron would be safe. He would personally see to that. More so he would see that she would rise from the ashes and burn bright.
There were no other options when it came to this. Even if he had to bring the heavens and the bowels of the pits upside down. Cauldron damn him but he would protect that woman even with his last breath. He didn't know why he was so fiercely protective of an insufferable woman like her but it did not matter. It did not change what he had to do.
However, for now he had to make sure that Nesta actually winnowed back to the house she was staying with her sister because he was sure if she landed almost naked in any place other than her room or even worse should she lose her way back to Elain then she would be capable of burning Velaris down to the ground.
But, he had to do more. He had to take charge and stop hiding and find a way to get through to Nesta. He had to train her even if she would hate him for it. She had to come to terms with what she was now and learn how to control her powers and if no one else was able to teach her then he would have to do it.
He wore a soft shirt and he winced when it made contact with his wings. That was weird. He had to get some rest probably and a bath would not harm. He started stepping down the steep stairs saying to himself that he only wanted to help Feyre's sister and that right now he only wanted to make sure that Nesta had returned home safely not because he cared for her but because it was his duty and the least he could do now that everyone he knew was battling their own inner demons.
And as it happened his demons had broken wings and Nesta's had burning embers of rage and somehow his demons had for once managed to silence their manic whispers as the raging embers shuttered their shadows today. It happened in the same way he remembered from when he was a skinny boy and watched from afar in the cold his brethren dancing in front of the campfires. Memories of wings that flapped and danced in front of the Illyrian fires blowing the flames into combusting remembered those embers from back then and they were very reminiscent to those that Nesta brought to life today. And he could have sworn that in the mist of those memories now the flames had a different color. The same color Nesta's eyes had.
A/N: I hope you liked my little writing endeavor into this universe and this couple. Feel free to review and share your thoughts with me. Did you like what you read? And please forgive any mistakes despite the editing. English is not my mother tongue.