Summary: Picks off right after the ending of ACOMAF, and Nesta, sick and tired of being stuck in the cabin, demands to go see Velaris. Mor relents, but first they stop by a familiar townhouse…with some familiar winged faes.
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Nesta would absolutely go insane if she had to spend one more moment cooped up inside the cabin. She paced mercilessly from one side of the room to the other, her arms crossed over her chest as she waited.
The moment Mor arrived, she would pounce. She would demand to be taken to the city, or the town, or whatever the hell lay outside these wooden walls.
Maybe… maybe she'd be able to find something to cheer up Elain. She knew it would be pointless in the long run, but still, she just wanted to see her sister smile- even if just for a moment.
They'd been in a real state when Mor had winnowed them in- both of them soaked and crying. They'd been barely able to listen to Mor as she explained the workings of the cabin-and had tried to explain other matters, unsuccessfully. Matters that Nesta wasn't anywhere near ready to discuss or even think about.
She wasn't sure how long they'd been at the cabin. Days? Weeks? Not that it really mattered- not when all she could think about was Elain.
Elain who laid- who was laying- in bed at this very moment. Elain who had only uttered a few word since things had calmed down. And Elain who had barely got up to relieve herself and nothing more. Nesta had brought her food everyday; had to try hard to engage her sister in some semblance of conversation: otherwise she knew Elain would never utter a single word.
It unnerved Nesta, for she had never seen her sister shut down in such a way. Of course it also made Nesta a little angry as well.
Because damnit, she couldn't even look at herself in the mirror- she didn't want to. Didn't want to see her hideously beautiful face- her immortal face. She wanted nothing more than to lie in bed and never get out again- but then Elain would suffer.
So damn her- damned Elain for making her care too much.
She paced against the carpet, coming to an abrupt stop when she felt the bare wood beneath her feet.
A hole- a hole was in the middle of the carpet. She'd… she had burned right through it. She stumbled back into the armchair, gripping hard onto the plush fabric.
And ripped right through the green material.
"Damn." She cursed, flinging off the stuffing that clung onto her fingers. "Damn, damn, damned!" This body-oh how she hated this body. This stupid, damned, immortal body.
She was saved- more likely the armchair was saved- when a light rap sounded against the door. A moment later it opened to admit Mor.
"I brought some more soup- I noticed you were out last time I checked on you." Mor said by way of greeting. She sat the small sack on the kitchen table and then turned to Nesta.
She was pretty for an immortal, Nesta surmised, taking in the long blonde hair and athletic build. Purple bruise said beneath her eyes, ones that Nesta had been finding on everyone lately.
"I want to go to the city," Nesta said, pleasantries be damned. She didn't have time for them- and frankly she just didn't care for them.
Mor cocked her head to the side, examining her in a way that made Nesta's eye twitch. "Why?" A simple question, but somehow much more.
"Because I want to," she said, her voice biting.
"I thought you wanted nothing to do with our kind. Why visit a place filled with fae faces?"
Nesta grounded her teeth. She'd spoken rashly when Mor had first brought them here. True, they were words she had meant, still meant, but ones she should not have spoken out loud.
'If I have to spend one more minute in this cabin- that armchair," she pointed, "won't be the only thing to end up in ruins…. Take me to the city."
Mor nodded curtly. "Very well." Her eyes roamed over Nesta's simple lilac gown. "And wear something warmer- or you'll freeze the moment we step outside."
xXx
Velaris, Nesta thought, was nothing like their small village back home. Here the buildings shined and gleamed, as if they'd just been built. The city was a mixture of brick and dyed woods- varying from deeper browns to vibrant blues and reds- nothing at all like the aged, sagging, and practically rotting buildings back home.
Every building and walkway here was polished and beautiful, and filled with smiling faries. She hated it- hated the beautiful city and its inhabitants. Everything was abhorrent- every shiny glorious damned thing, was a mocking reminder of where she was- what she was.
Mor had… winnowed them into a townhouse at first; a rather understated home that, at first, Nesta had almost mistaken for a normal, human, home. She would have mistaken it- if it hadn't been for the fae bodies that had been crowded around the fireplace.
Mor had left Nesta standing in the hallway as she'd went and sat next to the tall, dark haired warrior near the fire. "How is he?" She'd asked, by way of greeting.
"The same as yesterday." The High Lord of the Night Court said from beside the mantle. "The healers are working endlessly- but they won't know for a while whether the damage is permanent." His violet eyes slid to Nesta. "You're welcome to sit down."
Nesta stepped over to the large burgundy armchair, but remained standing. "Any word from my sister yet?"
"Feyre is still within the Spring Court; working on ending this once and for all." He was so unreadable- this High Lord. Everything about him was so carefully crafted- each move intentional, calculated. He never gave up more than he wanted to: it unnerved her.
She cocked her head to the side, eyeing Rhysand in a way that would have made Cassian hiss. "So you're using my sister as a pawn. You are using a mere woman to fight your battles. Do fae males not fight for themselves?"
"Your sister chose to be there, girl." Nesta stiffened and turned, her eyes landing on a small, ancient creature, who sat the furthest from the roaring flames. "If it wasn't for your sister, you'd still be in Hybern's clutches. You should be on your knees thanking your lucky stars that she saved you and your sister. A little gratitude would do you some good."
"Gratitude?" Nesta hissed, her blood rising, boiling in anger. "I have nothing- nothing to show gratitude for. If it wasn't for Feyre, Elain and I would have never been taken in the first place; we would have still been human."
"And what miserable humans you both were: leaving a child to take care of you- to keep you warm and fill your bellies at night." She picked her nails, her silver eyes narrowed. "I may be a little withdrawn from human cultures, but -correct me if I'm wrong- doesn't the role of caretaker usually fall to the eldest?"
Nesta's eyes flashed, and she seethed from behind the chair, "It is non-,"
"Feyre," Rhysand interrupted, earning glares from both women. (To his credit, he didn't flinch… physically). "Feyre is exactly where she needs to be and she can take care of herself. She is the strongest person I know. But believe me, Nesta Archeron," his voice became hard, impenetrable: a promise, "the moment Feyre needs my help, there will be no lengths I would go to, to bring her back. Nothing will stop me."
His gaze was hard upon her and she hated herself for looking away first. She heard him take a breath, as if steadying himself, and said in a much lighter tone, "The healers left a tonic for Cassian on the table. Mor, if you and Nesta could take that to him- then you two can leave and do whatever it is you came to do."
A dismissal then, Nesta huffed. For half a heartbeat she considered ignoring the High Lord's order- if only to continue her argument with the tiny little busy body, but instead followed Mor, if only to better prepare herself the next time she met the tiny ancient little troll.
Mor squeezed the warrior's shoulder and wandered up the staircase. Nesta followed a moment later, noticing the way the warrior's eyes followed after the blonde.
Upstairs, the hallway was wide, a mixture of wood and wallpaper against the plush red carpet. The design was simplistic, plain, but nice- and if she was desperate, she could perhaps pretend she was back home in her mortal realm- pretend that she was visiting some old acquaintance.
But she wasn't desperate, and she was stupid enough to spend her time dreaming about something she'd never get to experience again. No matter how much she wanted to see her lands- she couldn't, wouldn't step foot there- wouldn't let anyone see her, not like this. Not now that she was this hideous creature.
Mor stopped near the end of the hallway and pushed open the door to her left. The room was large, yet understated, with deep red walls against the cherry paneled wood floors. A large four poster bed stood in the middle of the room and a large winged male laid propped up by layers of plush, ornate pillows.
Nesta's eyes narrowed on his wings- or what was left of them. They were shredded, in tatters, holes bigger than her fist scattered throughout the membranous material. It reminded her of the time Elain had brought home a stray cat who'd clawed the living room curtains to shreds: there hadn't been enough fabric left over to create new ones- there'd only been enough to create a single, practically useless rag. A mere wisp of what it had once been.
His wings looked as if a mountain lion had shredded straight through them. It was a gruesome sight to behold, and yet somehow she couldn't take her eyes away from them.
"How are you feeling?" Mor placed the tonic on the nightstand and gingerly sat on the edge of the bed.
"Like shit," Cassian's voice was hoarse- as if he'd been screaming.
Nesta looked up at the sound of his voice, and found hazel eyes trained on her. "I can't say that I'm not surprised to see you here. Couldn't keep away from me sweetheart?"
Her eyes narrowed. "Believe me, this is the last place I wanted to be. I'm only here until I can escape into the city."
"Don't you mean the mortal realms?" He smirked.
"It's none-" she was cut off by the his sudden coughing. A hideous hacking, grating sound that chilled her bones. Her mother had sounded like that only once before….
Mor rushed to Cassian's side and forced him to drink the tonic. He sputtered, spitting half of it back onto the plush comforter. "God's damned," he cursed. His wings spasmed, sending a deep, rumbling shudder through his entire body. "I'm going to kill that rudding bastard king."
"You'll have to get in line." Mor said, forcing a fake lightness into her too tight voice, as she pulled the blanked higher over his chest.
He coughed again, a deep painful noise. "Well I'm pretty damned sure I'm at the front of that line- especially after what that bastard did to me. He deserves to suffer."
"He deserves to be butchered like the animal he is." Nesta interrupted, her voice a quiet, steading storm. "You are not the only one he's….ruined." Cassian flinched at the words, but she didn't care. "I'll kill him myself for what he did to my sister and me."
"You can't even look at yourself- I saw how quickly you looked away from the mirror when you came into this room. What makes you think you can kill the King of Hybern? Especially when you can't even stand what you are; when you can't even handle yourself enough to control your own power?"
"You're one to talk," She seethed. "Your wings are ruined, and yet you just lie in bed and talk about killing the king. How are you any different? How is that going to work? Are you going to send him an invitation- inviting him to his own death? I'm sure that'll work just splendidly…"
Mor stood, her arms crossing as she glared at Nesta. "That is enough. Now is hardly the time to have it out with each other."
But Cassian merely laughed, a painful rasp of air and said, "Would you like an invite too sweetheart? Maybe I'll even be generous and let you help me kill him." His smile was wan, but his eyes, which had been dull, gleamed- a small, but noticeable difference. "You'll be my guest of honor."
Nesta's nostrils flared, scenting- scenting the change in the room. "You'll be lucky if there's anything left of the king when I kill him. Don't hold your breath for an invitation though." And without a second glance, she stormed out of the room.
Mor had followed a few minutes later and Nesta had pointedly ignored her disapproving gaze as they wandered around Velaris. As if she cared what the fae thought of her…
The blonde beauty stayed several paces behind her and Nesta couldn't help but wonder if Mor had been given the task of babysitting her and Elain by Rhysand. As if she needed to be looked after.
It had only taken Nesta a few minutes after arriving in the city to realize she had no currency; had no way to buy Elain anything- but she'd be damned if she asked them for help.
No. Instead she found a small bloom of tulips and had plucked the nicest ones she could find. She walked back to Mor, interrupting her conversation with a dark haired fae male. "I'm ready to go." The male eyed her appreciatively, but disappeared quickly under Nesta's steel blue gaze.
They winnowed back to to the front door of the cabin. "I'll be back in a few days to check on you." Mor said, stepping away.
"We don't need a babysitter." Nesta said coldly. "We are not children. Tell your High Lord-."
"My High Lord," Mor hissed, her calm facade finally cracking, "didn't command me to do anything."
"So I'm to believe you're here because you want to be?" Nesta crossed her arms, eyebrows raised.
Mor straightened. "I am not a liar, Nesta Archeron. I am here because of your sister. She sacrificed herself so that we all could be here- including you and your sister. I love Feyre, she is my family, and therefore so are you and Elain- even if you don't like it. I know what you mean to her, even if you don't realize it or care enough to realize it."
Nesta, was a statue, as immovable as stone as Mor vanished into smoke and mist before her eyes. She stood there a moment longer and blinked, the only sign she'd allow herself to make, that meant Mor's words had broken through, past her own facade. She stared at the melting snow a moment longer, and then wandered inside to give Elain the flowers.
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Thanks for reading! :)
This story is also on my tumbler: tarynannabanana
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