*A/N : Hello boys, girls and everyone in between. I'll start by admitting that I never intended to post this story. I wrote this at the end of the summer, last year for my cousin's birthday. It all started with a brain-storming session months before, when she and I, so burnt by ACOFAS, agreed that Nesta deserved better treatment, while acknowledging Cassian's emotional neglect during an incredibly dark time in her life. My cousin repeatedly said he didn't deserve her. For some reason it made me think who could; who, in the right circumstances might be good for her. I thought of Azriel's past trauma and his strained dynamic within the Inner Circle and I thought of Nesta's fierce affection. As we were talking, I just began pitching this story and though she didn't originally think such a pairing was comprehensible, I defended my reasoning and built on what the story might entail, how these two might find a way to grow past their pain together. After that night, she wanted me to write it for her. Months later, on a whim, I finally agreed. It took me about 3 months to write and I sent it to her in September. It was only ever supposed to be for her, because I didn't want to betray the beautiful potential that was NESSIAN, but after SJM's deviation of consistency and treatment of characters in ACOSF (couldn't finish it), I have decided to say screw it and show what I think Nesta deserved, versus the partial revenge porn that was written about her misunderstood and unjustly vilified character. I'm sorry to any NESSIAN fans that can't like such a pairing. Your opinion is valid and I wouldn't expect you to read it; I am just so utterly disillusioned with this writer. Both Nesta and Azriel deserve better, so why not each other? (#AZRIAN?, NESRIEL?) Thank you if you read this far. I am posting this story all at once since it underwent editing several times and I just wanted to add this to my stories. I truly hope you enjoy, because even if this ship might be controversial, I'm unapologetically proud of this romance. Please R&R I'm curious to see if I'm the only one who feels that Nesta has been wronged. Thank you so much! - Nikki
Nesta hadn't slept that night. She knew in the morning they were coming to take and lug her across the Night Court, like a fitting punishment for a child guilty of her transgressions. She wasn't afraid, nor was she angry anymore. The red-hot fury had grooved itself up her throat, in lieu of vicious words that wanted release, like some demon, perhaps even the darkest remnants of the Cauldron clawing its way out of her. No more than a few days in such a poisonous state of mind had taken a toll on her.
The eldest Archeron had felt her posture waver under the burdensome weight of emotions before; her recent grief had nearly evaporated the entirety of her essence, yet she had felt a small reminder in her anger. At first, it had been a comfort, the sharp edges in her thoughts and the building fire in her gut; it had awoken her for a moment. But as she blinked from her long-stretching daze, she could feel the sense of injustice, the indescribable pit in her stomach that this was wrong and something strange began to happen.
She had felt, for a moment, shadows calling to her, clinging to the venom in her mind. It had been the Cauldron, she knew, could feel it stirring in her veins, the power, the possibilities, all a haunting hymn of just what she was capable of.
Nesta shook her head, determined to silence those thoughts, just as she had two days prior. Taking to the task of packing, she finally experienced some small relief in the notion that the decision had been made and there was nothing to do but see it through. She could fight, but she no longer saw the point. There was no familiarity in this world of Fae and she couldn't deny that being surrounded by her only living kin had provided no comfort, save for the familial reminder that she was the anchor to every moment, the dark cloud dead-set on dragging the vapid, congenial crew down. No doubt a tormentor to the High Lord, a sour memory to his lady, a tool that had lost its purpose and a disappointment to the only other two she had thought of dearly. It had become clear in that moment, that though she rightfully objected to her banishment, it seemed the best chance for her to begin anew. She didn't want to ever become acquainted with the ferocious and ancient darkness that seemed to simmer not far from her surface.
She wasn't taking much with her, though it was the majority of what she owned. It didn't matter, for she knew her anxiety had nothing to do with the transfer of her possessions, more of her person. It'd be better to have it all done with, a simple winnowing trip, something the High Lord and Lady could manage in no more than an hour. Unfortunately for Nesta, though she had been deemed an irritant, punishable by banishment, she didn't seem to register high enough on their radar to be seen to personally. That meant he would come.
She didn't want to see him, didn't want to be doomed to care for another moment. And she most definitely did not want to fly with him for the greater half of a day. She pushed away her self-pity and resolved to begin going over the details of her departure. They were meant to leave just after sunrise and Nesta suspected it was so their General might return later in the day just in time for a bountiful feast and considerate appraisals of his patience to dispose of the obvious outlier.
She sipped on her tea, looking out the window, noticing the way the obsidian sky softened in navy and lilac. It was already morning and in no more than a few minutes, fiery pastels would signal the arrival of the sun and the end of her residence in Velaris. 'Good riddance,' she thought. From the second she had taken up in the Night Court, the picturesque region had been endlessly romanticized to her as the Court of Dreams and though she couldn't deny the truth of its name, to her it was never home. Despite the stunning view, it had never been beautiful to her; perhaps it was too much a Court of Dreams, for reality seemed to have fled long ago.
It was supposed to be a paradise, one that had been earned and fought for, but to her it felt like willfully escaping truth. In her world, in the human world, most went hungry, suffering never ceased to claim the day and life was lost constantly. It was never glossed over, the visceral necessary ache of existence and though she could not profess to miss it, she understood its purpose, preferred it to the consistent pretending and self-applauding actions of the world she had been living in since being made anew in immortality. There had been no purpose in her lethargic existence, still trapped in her inconvenient grief; she knew that she was not meant for this place, nor these people, it would seem; so, she sat as darkness diminished from the horizon, waiting for the sound of wings.
Cassian and Azriel flew in silence to her residence. Azriel's usually verbose brother teemed with a tension that had taken the effect of clamping his mouth completely shut. In truth, he did not want to assist Cas in this difficult task. The General was always meant to be the one to see her off, it had been known without a word needing to be spoken. The Illyrian Mountains were his ultimate home and he was the one attached to the eldest Archeron … though, Azriel couldn't help but wonder if that was quite the right word? There had been something between Cassian and Nesta, surely. Something unspoken and almost fierce, but entirely unrealized.
After the war, Azriel had seen it stretching, the ever-growing chasm between the two. He never remarked on it, never thought to antagonize a conversation regarding his brother's attachments; something he'd stopped questioning a long time ago. And yet, the Shadowsinger couldn't help but sit upon the question, how the Illyrian General could be pulled in so thoroughly, so immediately by a being (an anomaly) such as Nesta Archeron, only to turn from her like a moth fleeing a snuffed-out flame?
Deflated, the once-human daughter had become. It often stunned Azriel, just how entirely devoted she was to a life that no longer existed, an existence that had practically been wiped clean. What would Illyria look like to her? Could she return to who she had once been, deprived of the comforts she had developed a reliance upon? Though he could not mourn a loss of luxuries, he was unable to silence his curiosity for just how she was meant to continue in this relocation, this banishment, he suspected it to be.
Upon touchdown two sets of hazel Illyrian eyes roamed over Nesta's belongings packed and placed neatly outside the door in two large bags and one square trunk just slightly larger than the width of its owner.
A minute later the very enigma exited the residence without a single look behind, no fondness on her face for the structure she departed. Cassian's wings twitched just barely and Azriel could feel the jagged edge hollowing his breath at the weakened sight of her. Nesta was thin and pale, her eyes darker than either had ever seen, like some feathery ghost, ready to drift away. Still, there was immense power there, burrowing so deep beneath the surface, Azriel wondered if she even knew it was there, when her gaze was now so cold and tired.
Cassian's arms were opened expectantly, though his eyes held no warmth. Nesta's brow arched as she ever-so-slightly narrowed her icy orbs. She spoke with no greeting, only an edged voice. "My baggage weighs more than I," she said without the slightest hint of irony as she began to pass Cassian. "It only makes sense that the heavier burden be given to the brutish mass of muscles, don't you agree?" It was clear who she was speaking to, though she didn't look back at the General, instead focusing her attention on Azriel. "Do you mind, Shadowsinger?"
Azriel looked at his friend and noticed the way his large shoulders sagged, as if he could not bring himself to argue with her, when she was choosing to leave without the slightest objection. He shook his head and opened his arms for her.
"Thank you." She spoke softly once they took to the air, her arms wrapped around herself, as if guarding her midsection. She looked over and he nearly believed her capable of burning a hole through his brother's wing from where he flew up head.
Azriel almost felt a trespasser to her emotion, seeing it bleed through her eyes. He knew that look, understood it on a level deeper than blood, stronger than agony. It was the way you looked at someone when you were plagued by one question; why?
Where it leaked through the relatively new immortal, Azriel had been drained long ago; he'd learned to cope with it by the simplest justification: what good would an answer do? Truth never mended a scar, he thought as a tightness gripped his hands.
Nesta's eyes widened and she looked over at the quiet male who had been lost in thought. "Sorry," he mumbled, feeling the need to avert his eyes when her own looked back at him, so naked and completely unaware. "My hands cramped." She nodded and looked to the sky above them, as if the ground was merely a memory now. With the awakening sun behind them, Azriel could see the soft sky begin shedding its darkness into a shy paisley, striking against the golden shadow he could see across his brother's back and feel warming his own; the melancholy color reflected in her eyes as she stared into the oblivion above. It took him a moment to question if her sharp blue eyes were truly capable of being so easily persuaded to envy, even imitate the hue of the celestial sphere cast upon them? And yet, there was no doubt it was the same color. He grumbled awkwardly, causing her to look back at him.
"Did you say something?" She asked, entirely unprepared for the possibility.
"I was saying you're welcome." He offered, not wanting a heavy silence to strike up so early into the flight. She looked back at him, slightly puzzled. "For when you thanked me."
She nodded and a hush infiltrated the small distance between them as he held her steadily through the air. He sent another glance back to her face and an odd thought passed through him; perhaps the Cauldron's influence within had forced the sky to match her eyes?
They had hardly made it halfway through their journey in a natural silence when he felt her body go limp in his. Her chest still heaved and though her exhales were small, he could hear the quiver in her breath. It reminded Azriel of the way a crying child would push themselves into an exhausted delirium with body-shuddering sobs; although her closed eyes were dry, each sigh seemed weighed down with a similar fatigue. It made him wonder just how long it had been since she had slept?
It was easier to scrutinize the feral female's features when safe from her own watchful cerulean gaze. Her brows knitted together in silence as if she disagreed with her subconscious while it spun short dreams of her slumbering thoughts. Azriel was surprised to find that she was no longer threatening when unarmed of her sharp gaze. The lines of her face were feminine and proud, resolute as the regality of her disposition; somehow it seemed wrong, unnatural to think she had been born into the ordinary, tucked away in the unspectacular for so much of her life, soaked in mortality before she was forced to inherit infinity. The Cauldron had cowered before her; he had felt it, tensed under the pressure of her change as it scrambled the world around them. Nesta Archeron had taught fear to the very genesis of creation and it bothered Azriel to see just how quickly everyone had forgotten that.
He didn't fear her; he wasn't sure he was still capable of dread, yet he was wary. There was something in her, something bold and unyielding, as warm and steady as the blood coursing through her veins, like magic she had been born with that only now sought fit to manifest; it filled him with questions. Whereas Elain's abilities, her bequeathment of the Cauldron now seemed thoroughly explained, a large question mark still hovered over the eldest Archeron's head.
Her sleeping face softened and his eyes narrowed in response. Sending her away was the wrong choice; he knew it and though he wouldn't argue against his Lord and Lady without reason, he was sure that Nesta's power was far from depleted. This was merely a brief reprieve before further development. She needed training. He shook his head and looked at Cassian, nearly struggling from the awkward pile in his hands. Azriel knew they were due for a break soon but wasn't sure how to land with the small female slumbering in his arms. He didn't want to jostle her and disturb the temporary rest she had stumbled upon, something told him she needed it. Though it often fell upon him to point out the necessity of boundaries in both fight and flight, he resolved himself to stay quiet and not prompt the stubborn Cassian, at least not until his passenger awoke of her own accord.
Nesta wasn't entirely sure what awoke her. She was much too preoccupied by the realization that she had fallen asleep at all, especially in mid-flight, her stomach warned against opening her eyes. Strong, warm hands steadily held her close to a firm chest and her thoughts stuttered at the comfort she experienced in the foreign touch. She quickly determined the cause to be relief for it wasn't the brute that held her, but his much gentler brother. Reluctantly, she opened her eyes and was taken aback to find the Shadowsinger's amber own watching her. He didn't seem surprised to see her waking and it caused her to wonder if she had stirred, which made her worry that the nightmare had come again. Yet the Illyrian said nothing to prove her suspicion and gave her a quick nod as he cleared his throat.
"Perfect timing, Miss Archeron. We were just discussing the need for a rest-stop." He gestured his head in the direction of his counterpart that comprised the 'we'.
When Nesta glanced ahead, she continued to be met with the sight of the Illyrian General's broad and stubborn back. She mutely nodded, ripping her eyes away.
The rest lasted no longer than an hour in almost complete silence. Nesta sipped on a chamomile tea, unable to stomach anything of substance with the prospect of flight looming ahead, while her companions scarfed hungrily inside the small café they had come across. Once Cassian left to relieve himself, Azriel gave her a tense, pensive glance. "Perhaps you should eat something before we resume our journey."
Nesta looked his way, appreciating the lack of authority in his tone. It was no demand, but a simple request laced with concern. A small grin just barely tugged at the corners of her lips. "I actually have an aversion to flying with food in my stomach, lest I…" She cleared her throat and wiped at her spotless mouth. "Lose it prematurely." His mouth quirked slightly and Nesta accurately chose to interpret the twitch as a smirk. "Courtesy of flying with your High Lord."
"It's not supposed to be like that." He offered.
"No, I daresay it's not. Something I just learned today." Azriel had no impediment interpreting her comment for the compliment it was intended to be. "All the same, I see no issue erring on the side of caution."
"Then you'll no doubt be famished once we reach our destination." There was a harmless edge in his voice that let her know that although he was understanding and agreeable, he wasn't stupid.
She gave him a tight-lipped smile as her eyes narrowed slightly. "Any recommendations?"
"Food." He replied bluntly and Nesta angled her expression with annoyance. "I'm not the right person to ask. Food is food. I'm not what you would call particular."
"And yet your plate has not been licked clean." She referenced the spotless dish of their absent companion.
"Just because I eat anything, doesn't mean I'll eat everything. I'm no glutton."
'Perhaps not for food,' she thought. "Are you sure about that?"
Before Azriel could question the transparent understanding looking back at him, Cassian burst through the door. "I could fly through the night now." He sighed contentedly with relief.
Nesta took one final sip of her tea and stood. "I'm sorry my internment isn't farther away then." She quickly exited the café as a tension roiled through her empty stomach. She was beyond wary for the remaining flight ahead of them and also impatient to get in the air and wash her hands of the Night Court's tangled Inner Circle and her absent kin. The chill began to creep into her bones as she looked ahead to snow-capped mountains off in the horizon. What would it be like, her new home?