Disclaimer: I do not own these characters – our Queen S. J. Maas does. I'm just dealing with ACOWAR withdrawal and waiting impatiently for the next instalment.

Some OOC might be present. Headcannon is fun that way.

In the Night court, it was custom to mark a deal with tattoos.

Although, at the time he uttered the words, he wasn't thinking of it as a deal, a bargain, a trade. He hadn't been thinking at all, if he had to be honest.

He beat his wings, once, twice, catching a current of air and letting it carry him over the House of Wind. Buoyed in such a way, he could soar for hours at a time - a great skill on a long trek. And a terrible way to procrastinate.

Come on, Cassian thought, willing himself to change angles and land. Come on. You're an Illyrian, for Cauldon's sake, not some fledgling bat.

He could fly into war, he could fly into crisis; he could take on a dozen enemies with a grin on his face. He was even - despite Rhysand and Azriel's mocking - able to converse with a female for more than five seconds without getting a slap in the face.

Nesta Archeron did not wait so long. She always went for the offensive.

As if on cue, a window opened in the house below. He beat his wings harder again, gaining altitude. He noticed the long hand, the elegant wrists and fingers… and the iron ring, adorning one of them. Elain. Just Elain.

The relief was short-lived, for Feyre's younger sister looked up, straight at him. "Cassian," she spoke loudly, although she needn't. He would have heard her call out across the city.

Then again, he could not pretend that he hadn't heard her, either.

That, he knew, would have been a fledgling move.

"You could have just used the window," Elain said a minute later, coming out on the terrace to meet him.

"Ah," Cassian said, landing. "But the inside of a lady's chamber is not for all to see. If I took such a liberty, your mate would have my head."

Elain smiled… then her eyes glazed over a bit and she said, in a slightly softer voice, "If my sister does not beat him to it. You are here to see her."

Cassian started to say no, then thought better of it. "I'm surprised your gift tells you such things."

"Not this vision," she said, then blinked and refocused her attention on him. "But I've seen you hovering around the house a lot. You would not be so idle if there was an emergency, and you are never flustered around me."

So much for subtlety. Azriel would never let him hear the end of it.

"I suppose it's pointless asking how it will go," Cassian said. He folded his wings tighter - his whole being flinching already. He should have spoken to Rhysand beforehand. Or even Lucien. Azriel was no use, for obvious reasons, but between the other two, surely he would have gotten some good advice on how to break the news of a mating bond.

Elain was speaking to him, but her voice was lost in the rush of blood in his ears. He knew it would not be easy, but being here, so close, in the house she inhabited, it was near unbearable. The panic would have swallowed him whole, if he didn't catch the last of her sister's words.

"…set off at dawn."

"Set off?" He let out the breath he'd been holding, relaxed his stance. "Nesta… left?"

"Just for a few hours," Elain said. She must have seen the thought in his eyes, or else Seen him flying about the place, searching, and spared him the effort. "She said that nothing will happen, and she will be back sometime in the afternoon."

"Did she say where she's going?"

Elain shook her head. "She won't tell me, and I cannot See. But so far, she hasn't come to harm."

So far? So while he was flying in circles around the House of Wind, working up the courage to come down and speak to her, she hadn't even been there?

How could he have been so stupid?

And, more to the point, how could he not have felt it? Cassian let his senses wander, opened his eyes and ears, and though he had none of Azriel or Rhysand's skills, he could tell, Elain was telling the truth. She was alone in the house.

"Is this something to do with her training?" he asked. "With Amren?"

"I've not seen Amren for a while," Elain said. "Although perhaps you should ask her."

And make even more a fool of himself? No - no, he'd had enough for one day.

"Thank you for telling me, Elain," he said. "I won't take up more of your time."

"Before you go…"

He was already preparing to take off, then turned too quickly. One of his wings nearly knocked into Elain, and would have cut her quite formidably, had she not stopped and danced out of its reach again. Her eyes refocused, and she smiled. "My visions are getting clearer," she said, smiling.

"Yes," Cassian said, and quietly thanked the Cauldron that she hadn't been harmed, or Nesta really would have killed him. "Although I should say, you're getting better at seeing."

Elain smiled, and for a split second, he could see what Lucien, Nesta, and Feyre all saw. What compelled them to love and protect her, at any cost, at any time. That fierce sort of feeling, not just protectiveness, but love, that she inspired.

But it was not Elain he came to see, not her smile he craved. If anything, he suspected the one he wanted never smiled at all.

"What… can I do for you?" he asked, before he got too lost in his own head again.

"She usually leaves from the West entrance," Elain said, not specifying who she meant. "And she takes the same path to come back from the forest. If you want to speak, that is usually the best place to find her."

"My goodness, he lives," Rhysand said, almost as soon as Cassian went through the door of the tavern. "Did you lose your way, Cassian, or got distracted by something shiny?"

"With that look on his face," Azriel said, "I reckon he got attacked. By a company of ravens."

"Or a parliament of owls."

Cassian made a rude gesture at both of them, then got them all a drink. He didn't care how bad it would feel in the morning. He felt like getting rip-roaring drunk, and he would do just that.

Unfortunately, his friends weren't in such a hurry, and took their time with their pints, chatting over this and that. Most of the conversation, he noted as he drank, seemed to revolve around the restoration efforts in the South, funny stories the relief groups brought back as the rotation ended, old feuds between courts getting settled and new ones being made. Nothing too interesting, as far as he was concerned.

His thoughts kept straying. Over the hills and far away, or at least as far as the house on top of the hill, where, he hoped, Feyre was sitting with both her sisters, catching up.

There was a nudge - not in his physical body, but the edge of his mind. Cassian blinked, and found his friends staring at him expectantly. "Sorry, what?"

"I asked, where do you want to go," Rhysand said. "Although a better question is - where did you go just now?"

Now would be a good time to have that conversation.

But Cassian couldn't bring himself to speak. Not because he worried about being insensitive - Azriel was well-used to that by now - and not because he feared their mockery - because he had dealt a fair bit of that himself, and payback was overdue.

No.

He couldn't speak because speaking made things real.

Growing up, Cassian only knew two things - that he was a bastard, and only as good as his fighting. If he wanted something, he had to fight for it - to pry it, as was, from the hands and feet and backs of his enemies. He coveted nothing, pretended to care for insignificant trinkets, and made sure to show the least amount of care for his most precious possessions. What he wanted was always in danger of being broken or stolen - indifference was the only way to save them.

Nesta would have some objections to that analogy, Rhysand spoke inside his mind. Cassian started - in his distraction, he'd let his shield drop.

His High Lord retreated - enough for the wall to come back up. When he spoke next, it was a different subject altogether. "The last relief group we sent South will return with the full moon. The one scheduled after them is from Yggard's camp, but there is some… resistance."

"You don't say," Cassian muttered, staring into his brew. "I'm surprised the old git even followed us into battle in the first place. He opposes you at every turn."

"It's not as simple—" Azriel started to say, but Rhysand shook his head.

"He is set in his ways," he said.

"Set in his ways, hah!" Cassian drank, too embarrassed to notice his friends exchanging a worried glance. "Donkey on a bridge, that man, and I say that with the utmost respect. I swear, if we didn't have a war to deal with, I would have gone up there and rearranged his face for him several dozen times. Then he'd see reason."

"I doubt he could see any straighter with his eyes on either side of his head," Rhysand said. "Although I appreciate the sentiment."

Cassian wasn't listening. "There are rumors that he's clipping the females' wings again. After you banned the practice."

"I've not received such confirmation," Azriel said. "Although, if he continues to go against orders, it's possible that he will do that as well, eventually."

"The problem is that there never was time to properly talk," Rhysand said. "It was hard enough to get his support, we didn't want to push him by insisting he embrace our views too."

"Embrace our views…" Cassian said. "I'd get him to embrace our views. Give me a chance, and I will make that man see sense, I promise."

"Do you now?" Rhysand asked. "Are you willing to make it a deal?"

For a second, the words didn't seem to register. Then Cassian stared at his Lord's face.

"You don't… you're saying I should go?"

"Well, you made such a bold claim, and a generous offer," Rhysand said, looking serious. "Things are calm right now, we can focus on rebuilding. Why not also try to change a few minds? Unless—" he added, smiling at last "—that was all boast."

Cassian didn't know what to say. To leave Velaris seemed huge, even for a few days. And going to Yggard's camp, to try and change minds, instead of fight…

"Why would you even consider putting me up for this?" Cassian asked. "I'm no diplomat."

"No," Rhysand said. "A diplomat is the last thing they want to see."

"It would do you good," Azriel said. "If only for a… change of scenery."

So that I don't fly to the House of Wind every day. So that I don't come back looking defeated, without having said a word.

The idea made him feel sick, and yet… yet, he saw the sense in it. Especially if tomorrow's plan worked - he could see the benefit of putting some distance between himself and Velaris.

"Alright," he said. "Challenge accepted. Now… who wants another drink."

Later, much later - it took a while for him to want to be alone - Cassian stumbled to his rooms in the townhouse, and collapsed in his bed. He wanted to just lie there in his clothes until sleep claimed him, but there was something he had to do, and he knew, he would not rest until it was done.

Carefully, he sat up and rolled up his sleeves, to look at the skin on his arms. There were tattoos there already - to commemorate milestones, challenges, victories. But there was also a smattering of ink that marked deals, too. Or rather, oaths that he had taken - with himself, and with others.

The newest, across his left wrist, was the challenge Rhys given him, but others were much older. A promise he'd made and could not keep, that Feyre's sisters would not come to harm if they helped them talk to the mortal queens. A promise he'd made that the two would not be in danger again, after they had been remade by the Cauldron.

And the final one… made at Death's door.

"I will find you in the next world - the next life. And we will have that time. I promise."

What he had suspected - so many moons ago - had solidified in this one moment, a blaze of knowing that had given him strength and then shattered him at the same time. He could not give her safety, or protection, but he thought, at least in that, he could keep his promise. At least in that…

But the next life was at them, or rather, their old life had been extended. And he still could not find her. He still could not get through.

To hell with it, Cassian thought, lying back down. I will see her tomorrow. And if she will not have me, then… then…

Then he would go out, find a fight, and let himself be shattered in other ways. Luckily for him, Illyrian fighting camps had plenty of that.