First of all, I must admit that I wasn't planning on continuing this story because it was supposed to be a one chapter thing, but now I feel like I need to make it a little longer to get all the feels out of my system, so there will be maybe three or four chapters once I'm done with it. Anyway, I hope you enjoy this. And thanks to all those who left a review on the last chapter, all those who followed the story, and all those who favorited it, because I never thought anyone would really take the time to read it and I'm so gratefull to all of you :)
Nesta had always known that fighting and hunting was not her thing, that was part of the reason why she had never stopped Feyre from doing so to help their family, because she couldn't, and she had hated both her sister and herself for it. But a part of her had thought that maybe this new Fae body she had been cursed with would be different, but it seemed that her human soul remained, and it was obvious by the second day of training that they were getting nowhere. Sure, she had managed to learn how to give a few good punches and kicks from Azriel, who didn't seem like a bad company to have as he never said a word if it was not to correct her position, but that had been it. The High Lord had pointed out that Cassian would be a better teacher, but hadn't pushed the matter after the commander of his armies told him that he was not on his best moment. Nesta tried to ignore the feeling of pain and sadness that washed over her when she saw him staring at his now healed but useless wings. He had tried flying again, she had heard Morrigan say, but by the shadow dancing on the warrior's eyes it looked like he had not been successful.
Elain woke her on the middle of the night and she was quick to push away the shadows of sleep that threatened to claim her again. It was a second after she noticed Elain's distraught features –sharp High Fae features but her sister's nonetheless-, that she heard screams coming from the other side of the house.
"I hope he gets better." Her sister cuddled against her, trying to fall asleep again despite the noise, and Nesta didn't answer.
"They brought war into our home." She whispered after a while, thinking that Elain was already asleep.
"They tried to stop it from reaching our home." Elain replied, still half-awake, and Nesta smiled down at her in the darkness. She had always known that her sister was wise beyond her years. And yet Elain's words haunted her long after her little sister had fallen asleep.
I can think of no better way to end my existence than to defend those who need it the most. The words pounded in her head, and she knew Elain was right. Once again, she promised herself that she would meet the King of Hybern again one day, no matter what she had to do to achieve it, and then she'd kill him for all the pain he had inflicted.
The screams continued, and there was something in them, a desperation and agony that made her see Cassian was not screaming because he was in pain. He had stopped being in pain some days before. He was angry. Angry at the King for hurting his friends and making him weak, and angry at himself for not being able to fly. For not being worthy of the title of commander that his friend had given him.
And the whole manor seemed to shake under his fight and protest, reminding Nesta of the power she had felt coming off of him back on her family home, when Feyre and Rhys had sent him to handle the talks with the mortal queens. Wind and earth and a storm so strong she had hated how it'd make her feel. And fire. Fire made flesh.
After a while, the screams stopped, and the house felt silent. Nesta waited a little longer before she got out of the bed, careful not to wake her sister, who was finally sleeping without disturbance, and then put on a shawl over her nightgown before tiptoeing out of the room. She made sure to always have her right hand against the wall, not trusting her legs to support her as she walked down the hall. She had not told Elain or anyone else, but she had not been able to look at herself on the mirror since Mor had brought her and her sister to the town house, for fear she would not recognise her own face on it.
Cassian's room's door was ajar, and from her place among the shadows, Nesta saw that he was sitting on the bed with his head hidden between his hands. She shouldn't have been surprised by the tattoos that covered his chest and arms, having heard from Feyre what they meant to both Illyrian warriors and to their High Lord, and yet she tried to tell herself that it was because of the tattoos that she stared at his bare chest for longer that she had to. His wings fell down his back and to the bed, and when he looked up at her, the room too dark for Nesta to see the expression on his face, they didn't react. She hated how sad that made her.
"Get out." He groaned, his voice low and dark, and Nesta stiffened, ready to leave. "Nightmare. I've had enough of these dreams."
"I'm no dream." She snorted, rolling her eyes and daring to take one step into the room.
But the commander shook his head, his dark hair moving away from his face as his eyes stared directly at hers.
"You are. Nesta Archeron wouldn't be here." Cassian explained, letting out a bitter laugh. "I failed."
The Illyrian let his head fall and something inside of Nesta stirred, a fire burning through her very soul, because he reminded her of her father. Of how he had stopped fighting when crippled, and how he had not cared about trying anymore, even as he said, even as he promised, that he did. And a part of her wanted to move forward and slap Cassian to bring him back to his senses, because she knew that he was nothing like her father, that he was not one to give up. Once, Nesta had found him dangerous, so dangerous that she would not have wished the death his eyes promised to anyone. Now, she would like that danger, that power, to stand at her side and at her sisters' side to fight on the war to come, to vanquish the King of Hybern, but the warrior who had walked into her family's house seemed to be gone. The fire inside of her shifted, igniting with a rage she did not remember she could express, and clenching her fists, Nesta raised her chin.
"So much for the Commander of the Night Court's armies." She spat at him. "You failed, yes, but you are not yet dead and your promise stands. Keep it. Fight for it. If you don't you may as well never stand before me again. It seems to me that you really are nothing but a bastard-born nobody." Her words were cold as ice and she was a pillar of steel before him, not raising her voice even as she raged, not wanting him to see how much she wanted him to stand and fight, not wanting him to see that a part of her cared. And yet, Cassian had always seemed to see right through her very essence.
He stood, his hands shaking, and his wings still useless and unmoved at his back, but even as he towered over her she did not falter, did not cower, did not stand back, not wanting to give him the pleasure of seeing her doubt.
"Get. Out." Cassian said again, and the eldest Archeron sister didn't deign him with an answer, turning on her heels and leaving the room as swiftly as she had gotten into it.
Behind her, the Illyrian warrior fell back on his bed, rubbing the tears of impotence and anger that had formed in his eyes.
