Thanks to isabelas, KateWinters97, Anonymous, DouxBeGladiator, Guest, and snoopykid for all reviewing!
snoopykid: It's not set whilst Feyre's in the Spring Court, but I tried to take on as many of your ideas as possible, so I hope you like it.
isabelas: Thank you! I've added it on to my list for things to write.
KateWinters97: Thank you! And yes, it was Rowaelin's daughter ;)
Anonymous: I'm definitely interested in that idea, and I have a fic in the works for it.
DouxBeGladiator: Thanks for the review! I'd really like to explore how Lucien would react to that situation as well, so I look forward to doing that.
Guest: Thanks!
This oneshot was requested by snoopykid, and it's set before the last battle in ACOWAR, just after Feyre and Azriel return from Hybern's camp with Elain and Briar. I apologise to any Nesta fans out there if I mischaracterised her; I don't quite understand her as a character, so I apologise if she seems OOC. I tried to convey how she was changed by Elain's kidnapping, but I'm not sure how successful I was.
Disclaimer: I don't own ACOTAR, ACOMAF, or ACOWAR. They all belong to SJM.
Little Sister
I could hear each beat of Elain's heart, and it was both a blessing and a curse. I could hear each beat of Elain's heart, and it was both a blessing and a curse.
Blessing, because I knew with a certain clarity that she was alive, she was breathing, that the Cauldron hadn't stolen her away just to punish me.
Curse, because of the realisation each thump brought me closer to.
Elain had almost died. . . so the Cauldron could get back at me. To hurt me.
And it had worked.
I lay awake whilst my sisters and I were in that tent all night. I could hear the soft breathing of Feyre and Elain that told me they were sound asleep. Feyre had fallen asleep first, despite the ash wound in her shoulder - she must've been exhausted after spending all her magic impersonating that bitch priestess and flying out of there. Her side was pressed against mine, her face turned towards me.
I wondered if she knew how human she looked in her sleep. How similar to the girl she'd once been. So long as her hair covered her ears, the only difference there was to see was the peaceful expression on her face. In the cottage she'd always appeared solemn and grave, even when unconscious. But something about immortality had smoothed that worry from her brow, and left her looking young again.
Maybe it wasn't immortality. Maybe it was happiness.
The Cauldron had come for Elain.
To get at me. Not because it hated her; it loved her, if the gifts it'd granted her were any indication. And who wouldn't? She was so lovely, and sweet, and kind. . . It had no quarrel with her. No one ever did.
People only ever quarrelled with me.
Or Feyre.
And wasn't that why the King of Hybern had targeted us? Because Feyre had said that she loved us, and hated that she would go on living whilst we would die? Hadn't he changed us into Fae to prove just how hard he could hit, how much damage he could do? Hadn't he wanted to use us to destroy her?
It wasn't the first time I'd realised that. I'd known it for a long time, known. . . known that I would never be vital, like that. Not in the way Feyre was. I had hated her for how we'd been turned into Fae, mainly, but also for that. Because I could never make a difference the way she could.
Perhaps that was why I was so willing to work with Amren, and learnt to use my power. Because I wanted to make a difference too. And I hated how helpless I felt with Elain, and how useless I was to help her get better.
Just how useless I'd been for all those years in the cottage. . .
Could I blame Feyre, really, for being Made, for loving her High Lord and hurting and leaving and healing? Could I blame myself for what had happened to Elain?
This anger. . . it was everything. It was what kept me fiery when all other fuels had long since burned out. Could I afford to let it go now?
Feyre shifted against me in her sleep, a slight whimper escaping her. For an instant I thought she'd aggravated her wound, and a twinge of concern shot through me, before I picked up on her racing heartrate, and understood. She was having a nightmare.
I took her hand and squeezed it gently; better to soothe her whilst she was still asleep than wake her up. After a single hitched breath, her rigid spine relaxed, and she settled back down against me again. Her warmth bled into my side. I gave her hand a squeeze, then let go.
Soon enough, her breathing returned to normal, but now I was more awake than before.
I'd never realised my sister had nightmares.
I knew Elain did, and they were probably similar to my own: of a great gaping maw coming to devour me, drown me, and obliterate me from existence. Of great toothed gums, from which a roar sprayed whenever I yanked a tooth free.
But what were Feyre's horrors?
I knew she'd saved Prythian, back when she still loved the High Lord of the Spring Court, but I'd never thought to ask how. If anyone had tried to tell me, I certainly hadn't been listening. I knew she'd found it difficult, but I'd never thought our difficulties might be similar.
What demons stalked my little sister at night?
The thought haunted me until the sun rose. I didn't sleep one wink.
The thought still haunted me under the practical light of day, so I sought out the one person other than Feyre who might have the answers. Her mate.
It didn't take long to find him. His scent was a powerful one, and easily recognisable when I'd just spent hours in the company of his High Lady. I tracked it to the war tent where the High Lords strategized and plotted, and charged in without any sort of warning.
"Rhysand," I said as greeting, cutting off the one wearing a toga mid sentence. "I need to talk to you."
The male I'd interrupted raised an eyebrow, and the pale-haired one looked outraged, but Rhysand's tone was curiously neutral as he said, "Of course."
I marched outside, and I could almost feel him smirking as he followed. I had no doubt he'd learned that smirk from Cassian. Or Cassian from him. Or maybe they learnt it together.
He'd just fallen into step beside me, when I cut off his attempt to speak with a succinct, "I want you to tell me about Feyre."
Whatever he'd been expecting me to say, it was not that. He looked liable to choke, and his eyes went as wide as dinner plates.
I tried not to be too insulted by it. "I want you to tell me what happened to her after she left the manor for Prythian. I know the bare details - she won, she was locked up, she went to live with you - but I want the full story."
Rhysand looked over the square then, and I turned to see the blonde woman - Morrigan - talking to Feyre. Feyre was listening intently to whatever her cousin-in-law was saying. "Would you like to step away to hear it?"
I heard the meaning behind it. Do you not want Feyre to be present or within earshot, or can she come?
"I think. . ." I hesitated. "Stepping away might be best."
He betrayed none of what he felt about that beyond a slight raise to the eyebrows. But he led me away to the edge of the camp, and we sat atop the small foothills that overlooked the bustle of tents.
"When Feyre returned to the Spring Court from the Mortal Lands, she found it deserted. Only her old maid, Alis, was there, and it was Alis who explained the situation to her. She showed Feyre the passage that led Under the Mountain, and although she advised against it, Feyre still took it." A faraway gleam had entered his eye. "She didn't make it ten minutes under that rock, before the Attor caught her and dragged her before Amarantha.
"When she first came into that throne room. . . I was terrified out of my mind. I'd only met her twice before, but we were mates, and even if I hadn't realised it then, the urge to protect her was still raging. But I watched as she faced down Amarantha, and made a deal with her: over the course of three months, Feyre would complete three tasks to 'prove her love' for Tamlin. If she succeeded, Amarantha would free the High Lords and our powers. She was also given a riddle, and if she solved it, we'd all be instantly freed, but if she got it wrong, her life was forfeit."
"What was the riddle?" I asked, that intrinsic curiosity Feyre and I both possessed getting the better of me.
He gave me a stare, long and hard, before reciting:
"'There are those that seek me a lifetime but never we meet,
And those I kiss but who trample me beneath ungrateful feet.
At times I seem to favour the clever and the fair.
Bu I bless all those who are brave enough to dare.
By large, my ministrations are soft-handed and sweet,
But scorned, I become a difficult beast to defeat.
For though each of my strikes lands a powerful blow,
When I kill, I do it slow. . .'"
"Love," I said instantly. Elain, Feyre. Cassian. "The answer's love."
He nodded with a neat dip of the head. "Indeed it was."
"Feyre didn't get that?"
"Feyre, lest you forget, had significantly less education than you did, Nesta Archeron, so I'd watch where you shove your unwanted judgement."
I clamped a hand down on my rising fury; my power was rising with it, and I didn't want to cause a scene. But the amused look Rhysand sent me told me enough of how successful I was at muffling the effects.
I waved my hand. "Continue."
He obliged. "No sooner had she made this deal than Amarantha than the Amarantha's cronies descended on her and beat her to a pulp, breaking her nose in the process. They dragged her away to a cell. Lucien - Elain's mate," he added the last part with care, as though he thought I'd snap at him for the statement, "snuck into her cell later to heal her."
I didn't want to wonder whether he was saying that in an attempt to endear the male to me, or to simply support the story.
"In the few days before her first trial, Amarantha asked me about her. I told her the bare basics: Feyre was a huntress, she had killed the wolf, she had lived in poverty most of her life." There was definitely a jab behind those words. I tried not to bristle. "And the first trial was played off the fact she was a huntress, and she was made to hunt the Middengard Wyrm."
I'd read about it before, during those weeks we were living in the House of Wind. I shuddered.
Rhysand was watching me, and there were shadows in those strange eyes of his. "I know," he said, before continuing to speak. I only interrupted sparingly.
He told me the rest of the story, including the parts I already knew, even when his throat closed up and I could smell how his scent was drenched in terror at the mere memory of it. I listened intently the entire time, even when my thoughts started to drift - the Attor had attacked Feyre near our own manor? - and although I felt no pity for her, knowing she wouldn't want it, I tried not to belittle her experiences either.
I didn't know how to feel in regards to this. . . revelation. Did it bother me that I barely knew my sister at all?
"Is that what you wanted to hear, Nesta Archeron?" Rhysand asked once he'd finished. "Did that give you the answers you've been looking for?" I didn't answer, and he laughed bitterly.
There was quiet for a moment, then he said, "You know, when she was Under the Mountain, she wasn't just fighting for Tamlin."
I didn't want to hear this; I almost opened my mouth to cut him off, but he went on before I could. "She would recite names to herself, to remind her why she was fighting. Tamlin. Lucien. Alis and her boys. Nesta. Elain." I hadn't seen this sort of brittle anger inside him for weeks. I supposed he didn't have any time for it when he was at war. "Do you understand, Nesta Archeron?"
Did I understand why I'd decided to ask him? Did I understand why he'd agreed to tell me? Did I understand why I'd hugged Feyre yesterday, when it was Elain who'd gone missing?
I didn't have an answer. But perhaps that was answer enough for him.
So instead, I asked, "You love her? Truly?"
He looked almost offended at the insinuation that he didn't. "More than anything."
"Good," I said dismissively, already turning away. "Otherwise I might have to ban the mating bond again."
A chuckle came out of him as he no doubt remembered the same scene as I did: the House of Wind, whilst Feyre was still at the Spring Court, and I'd screamed whatever I had to at him to get him to leave us alone. It had been one of the more desperate things I'd shouted.
"I have a feeling there'd be a few people with objections to that," was his reply.
