Summary: An ACOSF Re-Write... Nesta was a wisp of the woman she once was, and as past becomes present will she crumble entirely or become who she was meant to be all along?
I’m almost positive I am moving out of state in August and tbh I don’t know how I feel about this. When you live in Texas, Texas becomes your personality. Who will I become?
Wait wait wait— @vidalinav and @ncssian y’all are both from Texas?! That’s where my family is from, although I live in Louisiana now!
Full disclosure, this thread caught me at “Bucc-ees” because we visited friends last weekend, and Bucc-ees is a must every single trip. It’s just a given.
good morning, afternoon, evening friends:) as of late ive been feeling so uninspired to write ACOSAS but i’m finally back on track. by the end of this week i should be able to guarantee a consistent posting schedule:) love you all
Okay... Trying to post this again lol. Hi friends!!! I missed you all tons, while I was gone I was committing to play a collegiate sport and got really busy with school. Thank god for week-long breaks. Extra-long update for yalls patience;) Love you all to bits and pieces!!!
Summary: Nesta and Cassian have always been falling for each other in a downward spiral, but love can't grow in the dark, and neither can they.
Nesta
Nesta dreamt of him.
Of those nights shared in a bleak tent with only the wind whipping outside. She remembered how his calloused hands felt on the small of her back, his battered breathing rattling in her ear as she slumped next to him.
Nesta had stomached all the bitterness of watching Mor take him from her knowing that she was the one sleeping next to him in his arms, in his bed, in his heart.
Prayers answered came in the form of no disturbance or sound other than Nesta’s even breaths and her turning, shifting, so she wouldn’t injure the already maimed wings more. Feyre and Rhysand had already made their rounds to check on Cassian and in their retirement, Nesta found her way into his bed, once again. She always did. But, it was in these moments, that reality settled into her bones and engulfed her. That this was her life, not just a story. It was in these moments that she knew there was something bigger than what she felt for Cassian, that there were greater things at play.
It was in these moments Nesta knew she would give anything for him.
Cassian was looking at her half-lidded, exhausted, but still- eyes only for her. The tent was poorly lit with a mere candle in the corner. But this, this was enough.
“What?”
“Nothing, Nes.” He’d whispered, dragging one hand into her hair, tracing stars on her hip with the other.
“I would believe you if you weren’t fighting off sleep to stare at me.”
But for him, words were too few to describe what he was feeling. Like the Gods had blessed him in particular for the very first time. They damned him as a bastard, as an orphan- he’d earned their good graces as a man of honor.
As repentance, he would cherish this gift every day, her.
Nesta had no idea what Cassian had truly felt at that moment, but it might’ve changed their fate if she did. As much as she ached for him, if he could only look at her this way alone, like she was a low tide and he was drowning, or the stars after abysmal skies- Nesta couldn’t stay.
She was willing to die for him but was beginning to realize he would only suffer for her.
If Cassian saw the raging symphony bounding in Nesta’s head he made no claim, he never did.
It was when the tears began to line her smoke-hazed eyes that he took her face in his hands and reached for her. Her eyes were a winter morning, his- the first day of spring after the snow melted.
He was the most beautiful person she had ever seen, but the beauty only went so far when slowly Nesta felt as she did back home. Loved in stolen moments, but never in flaming colors for all to see. She didn’t want to be overly affectionate, God's no, but… it would’ve been nice to not sneak in and out of Cassian's bed.
Her throat was now quivering, taking quick breaths in and out, knowing that Cassian's stare would undo her completely. Instead, he shattered her soul entirely in less than ten words.
“You, sweetheart, are my best-kept secret.”
With that their lips grew vines and wrapped toward each other, his words poison ivy staining any dreams Nesta might have had for them. They were stained glass that had shattered, and while he was mindlessly picking up pieces, she was cutting her hands to shreds.
So she let him hold her, run his fingers through her hair, and sing praises on her lips. She ran her hands up the swirls of black and drifted toward the scars. His kiss tasted like disaster, his soft groans rippling through her whole body. Her flesh a blank canvas next to him. When he finally fell asleep, she let his touch ink her skin everywhere.
It would be the only memory she’d allow of him to stay. This was the last time.
Cassian slept that night at peace that the woman he loved was alive, Nesta went to her sisters and knew that hope was a fraud and she- a victim.
***
It was too bright for her to still be in the Court of Nightmares. The sunlight streaming in from one lonely window of the room she was in seemed far too beautiful. A thinly veiled canopy shielded Nesta's eyes just enough from the blinding light to see a figure slumped in the corner.
Nesta screamed.
The figure jolted awake, clearly just as stunned as Nesta. As far as she could tell the moving figure was also a woman and wore a long pearl nightgown. But from Nesta's experience in life, no woman is as harmless as they appear and so she hiked herself up the bed, curling a pillow across her stomach as a means of protection. In-kind, the figure darted to the other side of the room, positioned near a dark wooden door that was wedged between two large tapestries of what looked to be the map of the courts.
Even in her terror, Nesta had to admit the room was stunning.
It was the other girl who spoke first, “You know, I would’ve much preferred you waking up like any other normal person.” She was curled into the corner now gripping both walls flanking her like a wounded animal.
“Well, maybe I would wake up like a normal person if someone wasn’t watching me sleep.” Nesta fumed, pillow still bound across her chest.
“I believe I deserve a “thank you” for saving your ungrateful ass from dying of a head injury in the library. But judging by the way you’re reacting I’ll just pretend you said it anyway. In that case, you’re welcome.”
“Who would I be thanking?”
“When you learn to play nice, you can know my name.” The girl was now moving from the wall. If she wanted to hurt Nesta, she would’ve done it already. There was no reason not to tell her.
“Nesta.”
Silence. The girl knew who she was. A flicker of hope had blazed in Nesta, quickly snuffed out knowing that no matter how far she fled, her name carried weight.
“Nesta, you say? I’ve never heard the name Nesta before. Interesting, albeit, but… it’s pretty,” as Nesta uncurled herself from the self-imposed shell she’d made, she watched as the girl wandered around the room. “You see, it’s funny that you’re here. No one comes here anymore. And when I saw a whole body laying on the floor of my library I thought to myself, “When I said I wanted to be in a book I didn’t mean a horror one.”, and then I realized you were breathing. Which was amazing, but also pointless. So there I was, carrying a living, not dead, body into my favorite room. I even tucked you in, and what do I get? You screaming at me before I can even introduce myself! How rude of you.” The girl's hands flung out in front of her expressively moving with each word as she paced the room.
“So… you don’t know who I am?” Nesta crawled over to the edge of the bed, kneeling almost face to face with the canopy. Her hair fell in long waves cascading her back, eyes peeking to see the glimpses of features in the girl.
Long red hair swung with her, “Of course I do, you’re the first person I’ve seen in the library since I came here and you passed out in the romance section. Now, Nesta, I don’t know if you expected some prince to come to save you, but I promise a friend is so much better than any real man.” With a hand on her hip, she turned and stared right at where Nesta sat.
A laugh bubbled in Nestas' chest. Foreign, but full of excitement. “So we’re friends?”
“Obviously, what other choice do we have? It’s not every day I save someone and you seem like the kind of woman who’s just waiting for her story to begin.”
Lungs swung forward, splitting the bottom of the canopy. Nesta perched her elbows on her knees, cradling her face. “You’d be my first friend in a while.”
“Today is just a wonderful day of firsts, isn’t it?” Even through the hazy gauze separating them, Nesta saw the smile that beamed from the girl's face.
“In honor of that, I think I should know the name of my first friend here.”
“So Nesta can play nice.” Rapid steps approached as the girl came and tossed open the canopy, ocean blue eyes and freckles everywhere, beautiful.
“Gwyneth. But just Gwyn for you, Nesta.” And with a grin that stretched across her entire face, Nesta knew she was trouble.
This was just the beginning.
Cassian
Azriel was far too good of a friend to Cassian. When Cassian fell short, Az had always been there to pick him up. Through countless battles, sleepless nights, the stoic man always had time for Cassian.
When Rhys had disappeared all those years ago, Cassian was left without a station. Why train armies when there were no wars to be fought? He served no purpose when his brother was wasting away. Cassian spent his nights fucking his way through the city to the point that almost every woman knew him by name. It was easy that way.
Azriel was the one to pull the bottle from his limp hands, the one who stayed as Cassian nursed every hangover.
Everyone loved to talk about what happened to Rhys Under the Mountain, but who cared to see how it killed the brothers left behind?
From that day on, Az and Cas built a bond, an understanding, that no one could decipher. It was stronger than the ones shared between the men and Rhys. It was hard to build a relationship with a man who used his power against you when he knew you were right. Azriel and Cassian were on the same level of the unsung court hierarchy, and as much as they loved Rhysand and served him well, a brother who sits on a gilded throne is merely a brother by blood. But what happens when brothers are bonded by choice and not blood?
The foundation cracks.
So, for the good of his people, of his court, Cassian sat with Azriel- the only man who understood what this felt like.
For the first time, the General had no motive, had no plan. Just unfathomable grief.
The House of Wind was where Azriel stayed most often, Illyria was out of the question. Whereas Cassian was able to grow over his indignation of the cruelties of that place, Azriel wasn’t. And that was alright.
Cassian might’ve lost everything, but at least his ghosts were dead and long gone. Azriel’s continued to breathe and walk those brutal mountains. Sending him back there would cause more bloodshed than the war.
So there they were, two calamitous souls with no direction simply existing together. There was a time when all four of them could be here, with each other.
But that was before Feyre, and before Mor’s relentless jealousy.
Cassian was happy for Rhys, but not like he should’ve been. Feyre was darling, kind and loving, but an imposter at the same time. As much as he adored her, she was still so young. Feyre did not have any political experience, no knowledge of warfare and tactics, and absolutely no understanding of the gravitation of her position. Feyre’s strength and courage were unmistakable, but to many in the Night Court- her Ladyship was fragile. It was when Feyre’s thoughts and opinions became more relevant than the High Lords General and Shadowsingers did he stop coming with them. Cassian knew love was strong, he didn’t realize it was more important than them, though.
All the same, he let two versions of Rhysand live, his brother, and his ruler. They could no longer co-exist, and the more Rhys had Nesta’s name in his mouth the less of his “brother” he saw.
And then there was Mor.
Mor with her glares and not so masked scoff at any mention of the eldest Archeron. She might’ve used Cassian as a buffer but Cassian used her just as much. Mor was the easy choice, but not the one he wanted anymore. At a point in time, she was everything he could’ve ever dreamt of. At a time, she was thrilling. He would’ve hung stars for her, hell, he would’ve killed an entire court for her honor. But that wasn’t love, it was dependence. Cassian fell for comfort instead of risk.
And so their routine of five centuries began.
But Mor was no longer in the picture, and she knew it, too. In her infrequent stays back at the Night Court she could tell she was losing her leverage over Cassian. He knew it frightened her.
Honestly, it frightened him too.
But he was done. Mor was losing the woman she was to jealousy and couldn’t even care to try. Not even for him. Although they were both at the intervention, no words were shared, none could be. Mor was glad of it, the spectacle of watching Nesta’s downfall.
Even with wings, Cassian felt like he was diving off a cliff with her too, both inevitably crashing and burning.
“Do you miss her?” Azriel picked up his bottle, his throat working with each swallow.
Cassian’s was nearly empty, now sitting on the wood between his legs as they perched on the balcony overhanging the mountain. The city was beautiful at night.
“Of course.”
“You think she’s managing okay?”
That made Cassian pause. “I don’t know… No one will tell me anything about where she is.” The bottle strained in his hand.
Azriel set the glass down between them, hands finding the rails on either side of him, “I have a feeling that’s done with intention, Cas.”, with a sidelong glance Azriel looked at him.
“They know I’d try to find her.”
“That’s obvious enough, but I have a feeling they severely underestimate her.”
Cassian looked up, “And what makes you say that?”
From beside him, Azriel's frame shifted, swinging over the ledge to land on even ground.
“I think sometimes we forget that Nesta had to figure out how to survive, too.” He turned, leaning against the wooden bars, “Everyone knows that Feyre was the huntress, but Nesta, Nesta was raised in the courts. I somehow think she’ll manage better there than she ever would’ve here.”
Cassian's knuckles were white, “What is that supposed to mean?” he growled.
“Not what you think, dipshit. Take a minute. Nesta was born in a courtier's life. She knows how to work around court, how to serve negotiations and treaties. She may wear simple dresses but a viper lurks beneath her skin. And with whatever the Cauldron did to her… she was scary as a human, but as a Fae, she will be terrifying.”
“And what if she fails?”
Azriel smiled, “I don’t think that’s possible.”
Cassian whipped his head to look at his brother. “You think she can do this?”
He shrugged, “I don’t know. I can’t speak for her, but you and I both know what it felt like to be in her position. She’s trying to survive in the worst kinds of ways. I hate that court, you know I do… but I know we turned out alright. And once a woman like her gets a grip, Mother help anyone who gets in her way.” Picking up his bottle, Azriel made his way toward the door, stopping as Cassian spoke.
“You know, you’re the second person to think she might come out on the other end of it.” Peering over his shoulder he could see the other man propped on the doorframe, leathers worn and hair windswept.
“I think I’m the second person to realize her getting better is the only way you can too.”
He thought for a moment, “You know where they left her, don’t you?”
The Shadowsinger smiled, “If you clean up your act and pretend you’re fine in front of the High Lord and Lady, I might tell you where she is.”
Cassian knew many names and faces, for her, he could manage acting one more time.
I just came across ACOSAS and I'm loving it and I know its too late for my fave Nesta thing but here you go. As an older daughter who was parentified bc of poverty, Nesta is my personal power fantasy. She said no and was was willing to bear the societal consequences. I love that and am slightly envious. It sucked but she said no in the face of society and I don't think SJM understood that and took that away in ACOSF.
SCREAMING… first and foremost, i’m still working on ACOSAS. I’m heading into college pretty soon and everything is insane right now so this break has been amazing for writing.
As for the role of being a parent as the older sister, I would LOVE to hear more of how you want to see this interpreted throughout the story because I completely understand where you’re getting at😉
#i dont hate her guys i just kinda wanted to throw a vase of flowers at her head after this
My Top Posts in 2021
#5
To all the people who question and wonder as to why whenever Nesta stans bring up Rhys everytime we go to “defend” her (it’s called critical thinking but whatever) it’s because of one simple fact: Far too often people who hate Nesta praise Rhys- and they excuse his actions because he’s hOt or sO swEeT to fEyrE or a fEminIst!
No, he is not.
He sexually assaulted her Under the Mountain, he never apologized for this.
He has murdered people in cold blood for no reason other than to prove a point (where the validity in this?)
He has ostracized and belittled HIS people in HIS court with the exception of 1/3 because they’re “special”
He gives the bare minimum to his wife and lets her make decisions (she should have this in the first place) and people kiss the ground he walks on because of it.
I’ll be honest when I say I LOVED Rhys, I thought he was absolutely perfect! I have grown from that and realized I should not romanticize a man who claims he works for the greater good and then is classist, assaults his future wife, and manipulates others then wonders why he doesn’t have their trust?
Nesta is bad too, and unlike some people who go to defend Rhys (or Nesta) I can admit that with no hesitation. She is rude, has failed to be a good older sister at times, and has done some unspeakable things.
She has also done good,
After ACOTAR she sat and painted with Feyre trying to make amends,
she broke off an engagement with Thomas because he wouldn’t help Nesta go find Feyre,
She opened up her home to people she did not know because her SISTER asked her.
This is not to say Rhys hasn’t done good either.... but it’s kinda hard to see what good he’s done at this point for me.
If you claim that ACOSF is a redemption arc for Nesta, please reread and consider the redemption she’s already had.
In this book we’re going to see her RECOVER, not redeem herself.
Sorry for this little rant but it was on my mind, I’m open to discussion and coversation because I’m always looking to see a new pov:)
234 notes • Posted 2021-01-25 03:38:30 GMT
#4
Sarah’s Live!!
- Eris is her favorite Autumn Court member (the Bad Boy Backstory) and she also loves the characters who don’t praise the ground Feyre and Rhys walk on.
- There’s apparently a lot of Azriel (is in there more than Eris) Cas and Az are very close, Az has his own stuff going on.
- Az is Mr. Brightside
- Az and Nesta have a “similar” journey and Nesta sees through his mask, he treats her NORMALLY (mutual respect and understanding)
- Az and Nesta LOVE to tease Cas
- CC2 has a threesome?
- Sarah says ACOSF is steamier than CC2 ( in terms of “bodily fluids”)
-Yes we will find out what was in the box
- Cassian spent a lot of time thinking about and tracking down said gift (it’s very precious)
- Feyre “may be” pregnant in ACOSF
- Other High Lords will make an appearance
-We get to see what Lucien is up to, a couple appearances Sarah says.
-King of Hybern is based off of Trump.
-SHOCKER RHYS IS NOT BASED OFF OF JOSH.
- We will be proud of Nesta’s growth, her growth has been the most PERSONAL to Sarah.
finally getting to finishing my chapter outline for ACOSAS and i’m so damn excited…. if y’all have any ideas or thoughts please lmk so i can add them to the list:)
Okay... Trying to post this again lol. Hi friends!!! I missed you all tons, while I was gone I was committing to play a collegiate sport and got really busy with school. Thank god for week-long breaks. Extra-long update for yalls patience;) Love you all to bits and pieces!!!
Summary: Nesta and Cassian have always been falling for each other in a downward spiral, but love can't grow in the dark, and neither can they.
Nesta
Nesta dreamt of him.
Of those nights shared in a bleak tent with only the wind whipping outside. She remembered how his calloused hands felt on the small of her back, his battered breathing rattling in her ear as she slumped next to him.
Nesta had stomached all the bitterness of watching Mor take him from her knowing that she was the one sleeping next to him in his arms, in his bed, in his heart.
Prayers answered came in the form of no disturbance or sound other than Nesta’s even breaths and her turning, shifting, so she wouldn’t injure the already maimed wings more. Feyre and Rhysand had already made their rounds to check on Cassian and in their retirement, Nesta found her way into his bed, once again. She always did. But, it was in these moments, that reality settled into her bones and engulfed her. That this was her life, not just a story. It was in these moments that she knew there was something bigger than what she felt for Cassian, that there were greater things at play.
It was in these moments Nesta knew she would give anything for him.
Cassian was looking at her half-lidded, exhausted, but still- eyes only for her. The tent was poorly lit with a mere candle in the corner. But this, this was enough.
“What?”
“Nothing, Nes.” He’d whispered, dragging one hand into her hair, tracing stars on her hip with the other.
“I would believe you if you weren’t fighting off sleep to stare at me.”
But for him, words were too few to describe what he was feeling. Like the Gods had blessed him in particular for the very first time. They damned him as a bastard, as an orphan- he’d earned their good graces as a man of honor.
As repentance, he would cherish this gift every day, her.
Nesta had no idea what Cassian had truly felt at that moment, but it might’ve changed their fate if she did. As much as she ached for him, if he could only look at her this way alone, like she was a low tide and he was drowning, or the stars after abysmal skies- Nesta couldn’t stay.
She was willing to die for him but was beginning to realize he would only suffer for her.
If Cassian saw the raging symphony bounding in Nesta’s head he made no claim, he never did.
It was when the tears began to line her smoke-hazed eyes that he took her face in his hands and reached for her. Her eyes were a winter morning, his- the first day of spring after the snow melted.
He was the most beautiful person she had ever seen, but the beauty only went so far when slowly Nesta felt as she did back home. Loved in stolen moments, but never in flaming colors for all to see. She didn’t want to be overly affectionate, God's no, but… it would’ve been nice to not sneak in and out of Cassian's bed.
Her throat was now quivering, taking quick breaths in and out, knowing that Cassian's stare would undo her completely. Instead, he shattered her soul entirely in less than ten words.
“You, sweetheart, are my best-kept secret.”
With that their lips grew vines and wrapped toward each other, his words poison ivy staining any dreams Nesta might have had for them. They were stained glass that had shattered, and while he was mindlessly picking up pieces, she was cutting her hands to shreds.
So she let him hold her, run his fingers through her hair, and sing praises on her lips. She ran her hands up the swirls of black and drifted toward the scars. His kiss tasted like disaster, his soft groans rippling through her whole body. Her flesh a blank canvas next to him. When he finally fell asleep, she let his touch ink her skin everywhere.
It would be the only memory she’d allow of him to stay. This was the last time.
Cassian slept that night at peace that the woman he loved was alive, Nesta went to her sisters and knew that hope was a fraud and she- a victim.
***
It was too bright for her to still be in the Court of Nightmares. The sunlight streaming in from one lonely window of the room she was in seemed far too beautiful. A thinly veiled canopy shielded Nesta's eyes just enough from the blinding light to see a figure slumped in the corner.
Nesta screamed.
The figure jolted awake, clearly just as stunned as Nesta. As far as she could tell the moving figure was also a woman and wore a long pearl nightgown. But from Nesta's experience in life, no woman is as harmless as they appear and so she hiked herself up the bed, curling a pillow across her stomach as a means of protection. In-kind, the figure darted to the other side of the room, positioned near a dark wooden door that was wedged between two large tapestries of what looked to be the map of the courts.
Even in her terror, Nesta had to admit the room was stunning.
It was the other girl who spoke first, “You know, I would’ve much preferred you waking up like any other normal person.” She was curled into the corner now gripping both walls flanking her like a wounded animal.
“Well, maybe I would wake up like a normal person if someone wasn’t watching me sleep.” Nesta fumed, pillow still bound across her chest.
“I believe I deserve a “thank you” for saving your ungrateful ass from dying of a head injury in the library. But judging by the way you’re reacting I’ll just pretend you said it anyway. In that case, you’re welcome.”
“Who would I be thanking?”
“When you learn to play nice, you can know my name.” The girl was now moving from the wall. If she wanted to hurt Nesta, she would’ve done it already. There was no reason not to tell her.
“Nesta.”
Silence. The girl knew who she was. A flicker of hope had blazed in Nesta, quickly snuffed out knowing that no matter how far she fled, her name carried weight.
“Nesta, you say? I’ve never heard the name Nesta before. Interesting, albeit, but… it’s pretty,” as Nesta uncurled herself from the self-imposed shell she’d made, she watched as the girl wandered around the room. “You see, it’s funny that you’re here. No one comes here anymore. And when I saw a whole body laying on the floor of my library I thought to myself, “When I said I wanted to be in a book I didn’t mean a horror one.”, and then I realized you were breathing. Which was amazing, but also pointless. So there I was, carrying a living, not dead, body into my favorite room. I even tucked you in, and what do I get? You screaming at me before I can even introduce myself! How rude of you.” The girl's hands flung out in front of her expressively moving with each word as she paced the room.
“So… you don’t know who I am?” Nesta crawled over to the edge of the bed, kneeling almost face to face with the canopy. Her hair fell in long waves cascading her back, eyes peeking to see the glimpses of features in the girl.
Long red hair swung with her, “Of course I do, you’re the first person I’ve seen in the library since I came here and you passed out in the romance section. Now, Nesta, I don’t know if you expected some prince to come to save you, but I promise a friend is so much better than any real man.” With a hand on her hip, she turned and stared right at where Nesta sat.
A laugh bubbled in Nestas' chest. Foreign, but full of excitement. “So we’re friends?”
“Obviously, what other choice do we have? It’s not every day I save someone and you seem like the kind of woman who’s just waiting for her story to begin.”
Lungs swung forward, splitting the bottom of the canopy. Nesta perched her elbows on her knees, cradling her face. “You’d be my first friend in a while.”
“Today is just a wonderful day of firsts, isn’t it?” Even through the hazy gauze separating them, Nesta saw the smile that beamed from the girl's face.
“In honor of that, I think I should know the name of my first friend here.”
“So Nesta can play nice.” Rapid steps approached as the girl came and tossed open the canopy, ocean blue eyes and freckles everywhere, beautiful.
“Gwyneth. But just Gwyn for you, Nesta.” And with a grin that stretched across her entire face, Nesta knew she was trouble.
This was just the beginning.
Cassian
Azriel was far too good of a friend to Cassian. When Cassian fell short, Az had always been there to pick him up. Through countless battles, sleepless nights, the stoic man always had time for Cassian.
When Rhys had disappeared all those years ago, Cassian was left without a station. Why train armies when there were no wars to be fought? He served no purpose when his brother was wasting away. Cassian spent his nights fucking his way through the city to the point that almost every woman knew him by name. It was easy that way.
Azriel was the one to pull the bottle from his limp hands, the one who stayed as Cassian nursed every hangover.
Everyone loved to talk about what happened to Rhys Under the Mountain, but who cared to see how it killed the brothers left behind?
From that day on, Az and Cas built a bond, an understanding, that no one could decipher. It was stronger than the ones shared between the men and Rhys. It was hard to build a relationship with a man who used his power against you when he knew you were right. Azriel and Cassian were on the same level of the unsung court hierarchy, and as much as they loved Rhysand and served him well, a brother who sits on a gilded throne is merely a brother by blood. But what happens when brothers are bonded by choice and not blood?
The foundation cracks.
So, for the good of his people, of his court, Cassian sat with Azriel- the only man who understood what this felt like.
For the first time, the General had no motive, had no plan. Just unfathomable grief.
The House of Wind was where Azriel stayed most often, Illyria was out of the question. Whereas Cassian was able to grow over his indignation of the cruelties of that place, Azriel wasn’t. And that was alright.
Cassian might’ve lost everything, but at least his ghosts were dead and long gone. Azriel’s continued to breathe and walk those brutal mountains. Sending him back there would cause more bloodshed than the war.
So there they were, two calamitous souls with no direction simply existing together. There was a time when all four of them could be here, with each other.
But that was before Feyre, and before Mor’s relentless jealousy.
Cassian was happy for Rhys, but not like he should’ve been. Feyre was darling, kind and loving, but an imposter at the same time. As much as he adored her, she was still so young. Feyre did not have any political experience, no knowledge of warfare and tactics, and absolutely no understanding of the gravitation of her position. Feyre’s strength and courage were unmistakable, but to many in the Night Court- her Ladyship was fragile. It was when Feyre’s thoughts and opinions became more relevant than the High Lords General and Shadowsingers did he stop coming with them. Cassian knew love was strong, he didn’t realize it was more important than them, though.
All the same, he let two versions of Rhysand live, his brother, and his ruler. They could no longer co-exist, and the more Rhys had Nesta’s name in his mouth the less of his “brother” he saw.
And then there was Mor.
Mor with her glares and not so masked scoff at any mention of the eldest Archeron. She might’ve used Cassian as a buffer but Cassian used her just as much. Mor was the easy choice, but not the one he wanted anymore. At a point in time, she was everything he could’ve ever dreamt of. At a time, she was thrilling. He would’ve hung stars for her, hell, he would’ve killed an entire court for her honor. But that wasn’t love, it was dependence. Cassian fell for comfort instead of risk.
And so their routine of five centuries began.
But Mor was no longer in the picture, and she knew it, too. In her infrequent stays back at the Night Court she could tell she was losing her leverage over Cassian. He knew it frightened her.
Honestly, it frightened him too.
But he was done. Mor was losing the woman she was to jealousy and couldn’t even care to try. Not even for him. Although they were both at the intervention, no words were shared, none could be. Mor was glad of it, the spectacle of watching Nesta’s downfall.
Even with wings, Cassian felt like he was diving off a cliff with her too, both inevitably crashing and burning.
“Do you miss her?” Azriel picked up his bottle, his throat working with each swallow.
Cassian’s was nearly empty, now sitting on the wood between his legs as they perched on the balcony overhanging the mountain. The city was beautiful at night.
“Of course.”
“You think she’s managing okay?”
That made Cassian pause. “I don’t know… No one will tell me anything about where she is.” The bottle strained in his hand.
Azriel set the glass down between them, hands finding the rails on either side of him, “I have a feeling that’s done with intention, Cas.”, with a sidelong glance Azriel looked at him.
“They know I’d try to find her.”
“That’s obvious enough, but I have a feeling they severely underestimate her.”
Cassian looked up, “And what makes you say that?”
From beside him, Azriel's frame shifted, swinging over the ledge to land on even ground.
“I think sometimes we forget that Nesta had to figure out how to survive, too.” He turned, leaning against the wooden bars, “Everyone knows that Feyre was the huntress, but Nesta, Nesta was raised in the courts. I somehow think she’ll manage better there than she ever would’ve here.”
Cassian's knuckles were white, “What is that supposed to mean?” he growled.
“Not what you think, dipshit. Take a minute. Nesta was born in a courtier's life. She knows how to work around court, how to serve negotiations and treaties. She may wear simple dresses but a viper lurks beneath her skin. And with whatever the Cauldron did to her… she was scary as a human, but as a Fae, she will be terrifying.”
“And what if she fails?”
Azriel smiled, “I don’t think that’s possible.”
Cassian whipped his head to look at his brother. “You think she can do this?”
He shrugged, “I don’t know. I can’t speak for her, but you and I both know what it felt like to be in her position. She’s trying to survive in the worst kinds of ways. I hate that court, you know I do… but I know we turned out alright. And once a woman like her gets a grip, Mother help anyone who gets in her way.” Picking up his bottle, Azriel made his way toward the door, stopping as Cassian spoke.
“You know, you’re the second person to think she might come out on the other end of it.” Peering over his shoulder he could see the other man propped on the doorframe, leathers worn and hair windswept.
“I think I’m the second person to realize her getting better is the only way you can too.”
He thought for a moment, “You know where they left her, don’t you?”
The Shadowsinger smiled, “If you clean up your act and pretend you’re fine in front of the High Lord and Lady, I might tell you where she is.”
Cassian knew many names and faces, for her, he could manage acting one more time.
Okay... Trying to post this again lol. Hi friends!!! I missed you all tons, while I was gone I was committing to play a collegiate sport and got really busy with school. Thank god for week-long breaks. Extra-long update for yalls patience;) Love you all to bits and pieces!!!
Summary: Nesta and Cassian have always been falling for each other in a downward spiral, but love can't grow in the dark, and neither can they.
Nesta
Nesta dreamt of him.
Of those nights shared in a bleak tent with only the wind whipping outside. She remembered how his calloused hands felt on the small of her back, his battered breathing rattling in her ear as she slumped next to him.
Nesta had stomached all the bitterness of watching Mor take him from her knowing that she was the one sleeping next to him in his arms, in his bed, in his heart.
Prayers answered came in the form of no disturbance or sound other than Nesta’s even breaths and her turning, shifting, so she wouldn’t injure the already maimed wings more. Feyre and Rhysand had already made their rounds to check on Cassian and in their retirement, Nesta found her way into his bed, once again. She always did. But, it was in these moments, that reality settled into her bones and engulfed her. That this was her life, not just a story. It was in these moments that she knew there was something bigger than what she felt for Cassian, that there were greater things at play.
It was in these moments Nesta knew she would give anything for him.
Cassian was looking at her half-lidded, exhausted, but still- eyes only for her. The tent was poorly lit with a mere candle in the corner. But this, this was enough.
“What?”
“Nothing, Nes.” He’d whispered, dragging one hand into her hair, tracing stars on her hip with the other.
“I would believe you if you weren’t fighting off sleep to stare at me.”
But for him, words were too few to describe what he was feeling. Like the Gods had blessed him in particular for the very first time. They damned him as a bastard, as an orphan- he’d earned their good graces as a man of honor.
As repentance, he would cherish this gift every day, her.
Nesta had no idea what Cassian had truly felt at that moment, but it might’ve changed their fate if she did. As much as she ached for him, if he could only look at her this way alone, like she was a low tide and he was drowning, or the stars after abysmal skies- Nesta couldn’t stay.
She was willing to die for him but was beginning to realize he would only suffer for her.
If Cassian saw the raging symphony bounding in Nesta’s head he made no claim, he never did.
It was when the tears began to line her smoke-hazed eyes that he took her face in his hands and reached for her. Her eyes were a winter morning, his- the first day of spring after the snow melted.
He was the most beautiful person she had ever seen, but the beauty only went so far when slowly Nesta felt as she did back home. Loved in stolen moments, but never in flaming colors for all to see. She didn’t want to be overly affectionate, God's no, but… it would’ve been nice to not sneak in and out of Cassian's bed.
Her throat was now quivering, taking quick breaths in and out, knowing that Cassian's stare would undo her completely. Instead, he shattered her soul entirely in less than ten words.
“You, sweetheart, are my best-kept secret.”
With that their lips grew vines and wrapped toward each other, his words poison ivy staining any dreams Nesta might have had for them. They were stained glass that had shattered, and while he was mindlessly picking up pieces, she was cutting her hands to shreds.
So she let him hold her, run his fingers through her hair, and sing praises on her lips. She ran her hands up the swirls of black and drifted toward the scars. His kiss tasted like disaster, his soft groans rippling through her whole body. Her flesh a blank canvas next to him. When he finally fell asleep, she let his touch ink her skin everywhere.
It would be the only memory she’d allow of him to stay. This was the last time.
Cassian slept that night at peace that the woman he loved was alive, Nesta went to her sisters and knew that hope was a fraud and she- a victim.
***
It was too bright for her to still be in the Court of Nightmares. The sunlight streaming in from one lonely window of the room she was in seemed far too beautiful. A thinly veiled canopy shielded Nesta's eyes just enough from the blinding light to see a figure slumped in the corner.
Nesta screamed.
The figure jolted awake, clearly just as stunned as Nesta. As far as she could tell the moving figure was also a woman and wore a long pearl nightgown. But from Nesta's experience in life, no woman is as harmless as they appear and so she hiked herself up the bed, curling a pillow across her stomach as a means of protection. In-kind, the figure darted to the other side of the room, positioned near a dark wooden door that was wedged between two large tapestries of what looked to be the map of the courts.
Even in her terror, Nesta had to admit the room was stunning.
It was the other girl who spoke first, “You know, I would’ve much preferred you waking up like any other normal person.” She was curled into the corner now gripping both walls flanking her like a wounded animal.
“Well, maybe I would wake up like a normal person if someone wasn’t watching me sleep.” Nesta fumed, pillow still bound across her chest.
“I believe I deserve a “thank you” for saving your ungrateful ass from dying of a head injury in the library. But judging by the way you’re reacting I’ll just pretend you said it anyway. In that case, you’re welcome.”
“Who would I be thanking?”
“When you learn to play nice, you can know my name.” The girl was now moving from the wall. If she wanted to hurt Nesta, she would’ve done it already. There was no reason not to tell her.
“Nesta.”
Silence. The girl knew who she was. A flicker of hope had blazed in Nesta, quickly snuffed out knowing that no matter how far she fled, her name carried weight.
“Nesta, you say? I’ve never heard the name Nesta before. Interesting, albeit, but… it’s pretty,” as Nesta uncurled herself from the self-imposed shell she’d made, she watched as the girl wandered around the room. “You see, it’s funny that you’re here. No one comes here anymore. And when I saw a whole body laying on the floor of my library I thought to myself, “When I said I wanted to be in a book I didn’t mean a horror one.”, and then I realized you were breathing. Which was amazing, but also pointless. So there I was, carrying a living, not dead, body into my favorite room. I even tucked you in, and what do I get? You screaming at me before I can even introduce myself! How rude of you.” The girl's hands flung out in front of her expressively moving with each word as she paced the room.
“So… you don’t know who I am?” Nesta crawled over to the edge of the bed, kneeling almost face to face with the canopy. Her hair fell in long waves cascading her back, eyes peeking to see the glimpses of features in the girl.
Long red hair swung with her, “Of course I do, you’re the first person I’ve seen in the library since I came here and you passed out in the romance section. Now, Nesta, I don’t know if you expected some prince to come to save you, but I promise a friend is so much better than any real man.” With a hand on her hip, she turned and stared right at where Nesta sat.
A laugh bubbled in Nestas' chest. Foreign, but full of excitement. “So we’re friends?”
“Obviously, what other choice do we have? It’s not every day I save someone and you seem like the kind of woman who’s just waiting for her story to begin.”
Lungs swung forward, splitting the bottom of the canopy. Nesta perched her elbows on her knees, cradling her face. “You’d be my first friend in a while.”
“Today is just a wonderful day of firsts, isn’t it?” Even through the hazy gauze separating them, Nesta saw the smile that beamed from the girl's face.
“In honor of that, I think I should know the name of my first friend here.”
“So Nesta can play nice.” Rapid steps approached as the girl came and tossed open the canopy, ocean blue eyes and freckles everywhere, beautiful.
“Gwyneth. But just Gwyn for you, Nesta.” And with a grin that stretched across her entire face, Nesta knew she was trouble.
This was just the beginning.
Cassian
Azriel was far too good of a friend to Cassian. When Cassian fell short, Az had always been there to pick him up. Through countless battles, sleepless nights, the stoic man always had time for Cassian.
When Rhys had disappeared all those years ago, Cassian was left without a station. Why train armies when there were no wars to be fought? He served no purpose when his brother was wasting away. Cassian spent his nights fucking his way through the city to the point that almost every woman knew him by name. It was easy that way.
Azriel was the one to pull the bottle from his limp hands, the one who stayed as Cassian nursed every hangover.
Everyone loved to talk about what happened to Rhys Under the Mountain, but who cared to see how it killed the brothers left behind?
From that day on, Az and Cas built a bond, an understanding, that no one could decipher. It was stronger than the ones shared between the men and Rhys. It was hard to build a relationship with a man who used his power against you when he knew you were right. Azriel and Cassian were on the same level of the unsung court hierarchy, and as much as they loved Rhysand and served him well, a brother who sits on a gilded throne is merely a brother by blood. But what happens when brothers are bonded by choice and not blood?
The foundation cracks.
So, for the good of his people, of his court, Cassian sat with Azriel- the only man who understood what this felt like.
For the first time, the General had no motive, had no plan. Just unfathomable grief.
The House of Wind was where Azriel stayed most often, Illyria was out of the question. Whereas Cassian was able to grow over his indignation of the cruelties of that place, Azriel wasn’t. And that was alright.
Cassian might’ve lost everything, but at least his ghosts were dead and long gone. Azriel’s continued to breathe and walk those brutal mountains. Sending him back there would cause more bloodshed than the war.
So there they were, two calamitous souls with no direction simply existing together. There was a time when all four of them could be here, with each other.
But that was before Feyre, and before Mor’s relentless jealousy.
Cassian was happy for Rhys, but not like he should’ve been. Feyre was darling, kind and loving, but an imposter at the same time. As much as he adored her, she was still so young. Feyre did not have any political experience, no knowledge of warfare and tactics, and absolutely no understanding of the gravitation of her position. Feyre’s strength and courage were unmistakable, but to many in the Night Court- her Ladyship was fragile. It was when Feyre’s thoughts and opinions became more relevant than the High Lords General and Shadowsingers did he stop coming with them. Cassian knew love was strong, he didn’t realize it was more important than them, though.
All the same, he let two versions of Rhysand live, his brother, and his ruler. They could no longer co-exist, and the more Rhys had Nesta’s name in his mouth the less of his “brother” he saw.
And then there was Mor.
Mor with her glares and not so masked scoff at any mention of the eldest Archeron. She might’ve used Cassian as a buffer but Cassian used her just as much. Mor was the easy choice, but not the one he wanted anymore. At a point in time, she was everything he could’ve ever dreamt of. At a time, she was thrilling. He would’ve hung stars for her, hell, he would’ve killed an entire court for her honor. But that wasn’t love, it was dependence. Cassian fell for comfort instead of risk.
And so their routine of five centuries began.
But Mor was no longer in the picture, and she knew it, too. In her infrequent stays back at the Night Court she could tell she was losing her leverage over Cassian. He knew it frightened her.
Honestly, it frightened him too.
But he was done. Mor was losing the woman she was to jealousy and couldn’t even care to try. Not even for him. Although they were both at the intervention, no words were shared, none could be. Mor was glad of it, the spectacle of watching Nesta’s downfall.
Even with wings, Cassian felt like he was diving off a cliff with her too, both inevitably crashing and burning.
“Do you miss her?” Azriel picked up his bottle, his throat working with each swallow.
Cassian’s was nearly empty, now sitting on the wood between his legs as they perched on the balcony overhanging the mountain. The city was beautiful at night.
“Of course.”
“You think she’s managing okay?”
That made Cassian pause. “I don’t know… No one will tell me anything about where she is.” The bottle strained in his hand.
Azriel set the glass down between them, hands finding the rails on either side of him, “I have a feeling that’s done with intention, Cas.”, with a sidelong glance Azriel looked at him.
“They know I’d try to find her.”
“That’s obvious enough, but I have a feeling they severely underestimate her.”
Cassian looked up, “And what makes you say that?”
From beside him, Azriel's frame shifted, swinging over the ledge to land on even ground.
“I think sometimes we forget that Nesta had to figure out how to survive, too.” He turned, leaning against the wooden bars, “Everyone knows that Feyre was the huntress, but Nesta, Nesta was raised in the courts. I somehow think she’ll manage better there than she ever would’ve here.”
Cassian's knuckles were white, “What is that supposed to mean?” he growled.
“Not what you think, dipshit. Take a minute. Nesta was born in a courtier's life. She knows how to work around court, how to serve negotiations and treaties. She may wear simple dresses but a viper lurks beneath her skin. And with whatever the Cauldron did to her… she was scary as a human, but as a Fae, she will be terrifying.”
“And what if she fails?”
Azriel smiled, “I don’t think that’s possible.”
Cassian whipped his head to look at his brother. “You think she can do this?”
He shrugged, “I don’t know. I can’t speak for her, but you and I both know what it felt like to be in her position. She’s trying to survive in the worst kinds of ways. I hate that court, you know I do… but I know we turned out alright. And once a woman like her gets a grip, Mother help anyone who gets in her way.” Picking up his bottle, Azriel made his way toward the door, stopping as Cassian spoke.
“You know, you’re the second person to think she might come out on the other end of it.” Peering over his shoulder he could see the other man propped on the doorframe, leathers worn and hair windswept.
“I think I’m the second person to realize her getting better is the only way you can too.”
He thought for a moment, “You know where they left her, don’t you?”
The Shadowsinger smiled, “If you clean up your act and pretend you’re fine in front of the High Lord and Lady, I might tell you where she is.”
Cassian knew many names and faces, for her, he could manage acting one more time.
Okay... Trying to post this again lol. Hi friends!!! I missed you all tons, while I was gone I was committing to play a collegiate sport and got really busy with school. Thank god for week-long breaks. Extra-long update for yalls patience;) Love you all to bits and pieces!!!
Summary: Nesta and Cassian have always been falling for each other in a downward spiral, but love can't grow in the dark, and neither can they.
Nesta
Nesta dreamt of him.
Of those nights shared in a bleak tent with only the wind whipping outside. She remembered how his calloused hands felt on the small of her back, his battered breathing rattling in her ear as she slumped next to him.
Nesta had stomached all the bitterness of watching Mor take him from her knowing that she was the one sleeping next to him in his arms, in his bed, in his heart.
Prayers answered came in the form of no disturbance or sound other than Nesta’s even breaths and her turning, shifting, so she wouldn’t injure the already maimed wings more. Feyre and Rhysand had already made their rounds to check on Cassian and in their retirement, Nesta found her way into his bed, once again. She always did. But, it was in these moments, that reality settled into her bones and engulfed her. That this was her life, not just a story. It was in these moments that she knew there was something bigger than what she felt for Cassian, that there were greater things at play.
It was in these moments Nesta knew she would give anything for him.
Cassian was looking at her half-lidded, exhausted, but still- eyes only for her. The tent was poorly lit with a mere candle in the corner. But this, this was enough.
“What?”
“Nothing, Nes.” He’d whispered, dragging one hand into her hair, tracing stars on her hip with the other.
“I would believe you if you weren’t fighting off sleep to stare at me.”
But for him, words were too few to describe what he was feeling. Like the Gods had blessed him in particular for the very first time. They damned him as a bastard, as an orphan- he’d earned their good graces as a man of honor.
As repentance, he would cherish this gift every day, her.
Nesta had no idea what Cassian had truly felt at that moment, but it might’ve changed their fate if she did. As much as she ached for him, if he could only look at her this way alone, like she was a low tide and he was drowning, or the stars after abysmal skies- Nesta couldn’t stay.
She was willing to die for him but was beginning to realize he would only suffer for her.
If Cassian saw the raging symphony bounding in Nesta’s head he made no claim, he never did.
It was when the tears began to line her smoke-hazed eyes that he took her face in his hands and reached for her. Her eyes were a winter morning, his- the first day of spring after the snow melted.
He was the most beautiful person she had ever seen, but the beauty only went so far when slowly Nesta felt as she did back home. Loved in stolen moments, but never in flaming colors for all to see. She didn’t want to be overly affectionate, God's no, but… it would’ve been nice to not sneak in and out of Cassian's bed.
Her throat was now quivering, taking quick breaths in and out, knowing that Cassian's stare would undo her completely. Instead, he shattered her soul entirely in less than ten words.
“You, sweetheart, are my best-kept secret.”
With that their lips grew vines and wrapped toward each other, his words poison ivy staining any dreams Nesta might have had for them. They were stained glass that had shattered, and while he was mindlessly picking up pieces, she was cutting her hands to shreds.
So she let him hold her, run his fingers through her hair, and sing praises on her lips. She ran her hands up the swirls of black and drifted toward the scars. His kiss tasted like disaster, his soft groans rippling through her whole body. Her flesh a blank canvas next to him. When he finally fell asleep, she let his touch ink her skin everywhere.
It would be the only memory she’d allow of him to stay. This was the last time.
Cassian slept that night at peace that the woman he loved was alive, Nesta went to her sisters and knew that hope was a fraud and she- a victim.
***
It was too bright for her to still be in the Court of Nightmares. The sunlight streaming in from one lonely window of the room she was in seemed far too beautiful. A thinly veiled canopy shielded Nesta's eyes just enough from the blinding light to see a figure slumped in the corner.
Nesta screamed.
The figure jolted awake, clearly just as stunned as Nesta. As far as she could tell the moving figure was also a woman and wore a long pearl nightgown. But from Nesta's experience in life, no woman is as harmless as they appear and so she hiked herself up the bed, curling a pillow across her stomach as a means of protection. In-kind, the figure darted to the other side of the room, positioned near a dark wooden door that was wedged between two large tapestries of what looked to be the map of the courts.
Even in her terror, Nesta had to admit the room was stunning.
It was the other girl who spoke first, “You know, I would’ve much preferred you waking up like any other normal person.” She was curled into the corner now gripping both walls flanking her like a wounded animal.
“Well, maybe I would wake up like a normal person if someone wasn’t watching me sleep.” Nesta fumed, pillow still bound across her chest.
“I believe I deserve a “thank you” for saving your ungrateful ass from dying of a head injury in the library. But judging by the way you’re reacting I’ll just pretend you said it anyway. In that case, you’re welcome.”
“Who would I be thanking?”
“When you learn to play nice, you can know my name.” The girl was now moving from the wall. If she wanted to hurt Nesta, she would’ve done it already. There was no reason not to tell her.
“Nesta.”
Silence. The girl knew who she was. A flicker of hope had blazed in Nesta, quickly snuffed out knowing that no matter how far she fled, her name carried weight.
“Nesta, you say? I’ve never heard the name Nesta before. Interesting, albeit, but… it’s pretty,” as Nesta uncurled herself from the self-imposed shell she’d made, she watched as the girl wandered around the room. “You see, it’s funny that you’re here. No one comes here anymore. And when I saw a whole body laying on the floor of my library I thought to myself, “When I said I wanted to be in a book I didn’t mean a horror one.”, and then I realized you were breathing. Which was amazing, but also pointless. So there I was, carrying a living, not dead, body into my favorite room. I even tucked you in, and what do I get? You screaming at me before I can even introduce myself! How rude of you.” The girl's hands flung out in front of her expressively moving with each word as she paced the room.
“So… you don’t know who I am?” Nesta crawled over to the edge of the bed, kneeling almost face to face with the canopy. Her hair fell in long waves cascading her back, eyes peeking to see the glimpses of features in the girl.
Long red hair swung with her, “Of course I do, you’re the first person I’ve seen in the library since I came here and you passed out in the romance section. Now, Nesta, I don’t know if you expected some prince to come to save you, but I promise a friend is so much better than any real man.” With a hand on her hip, she turned and stared right at where Nesta sat.
A laugh bubbled in Nestas' chest. Foreign, but full of excitement. “So we’re friends?”
“Obviously, what other choice do we have? It’s not every day I save someone and you seem like the kind of woman who’s just waiting for her story to begin.”
Lungs swung forward, splitting the bottom of the canopy. Nesta perched her elbows on her knees, cradling her face. “You’d be my first friend in a while.”
“Today is just a wonderful day of firsts, isn’t it?” Even through the hazy gauze separating them, Nesta saw the smile that beamed from the girl's face.
“In honor of that, I think I should know the name of my first friend here.”
“So Nesta can play nice.” Rapid steps approached as the girl came and tossed open the canopy, ocean blue eyes and freckles everywhere, beautiful.
“Gwyneth. But just Gwyn for you, Nesta.” And with a grin that stretched across her entire face, Nesta knew she was trouble.
This was just the beginning.
Cassian
Azriel was far too good of a friend to Cassian. When Cassian fell short, Az had always been there to pick him up. Through countless battles, sleepless nights, the stoic man always had time for Cassian.
When Rhys had disappeared all those years ago, Cassian was left without a station. Why train armies when there were no wars to be fought? He served no purpose when his brother was wasting away. Cassian spent his nights fucking his way through the city to the point that almost every woman knew him by name. It was easy that way.
Azriel was the one to pull the bottle from his limp hands, the one who stayed as Cassian nursed every hangover.
Everyone loved to talk about what happened to Rhys Under the Mountain, but who cared to see how it killed the brothers left behind?
From that day on, Az and Cas built a bond, an understanding, that no one could decipher. It was stronger than the ones shared between the men and Rhys. It was hard to build a relationship with a man who used his power against you when he knew you were right. Azriel and Cassian were on the same level of the unsung court hierarchy, and as much as they loved Rhysand and served him well, a brother who sits on a gilded throne is merely a brother by blood. But what happens when brothers are bonded by choice and not blood?
The foundation cracks.
So, for the good of his people, of his court, Cassian sat with Azriel- the only man who understood what this felt like.
For the first time, the General had no motive, had no plan. Just unfathomable grief.
The House of Wind was where Azriel stayed most often, Illyria was out of the question. Whereas Cassian was able to grow over his indignation of the cruelties of that place, Azriel wasn’t. And that was alright.
Cassian might’ve lost everything, but at least his ghosts were dead and long gone. Azriel’s continued to breathe and walk those brutal mountains. Sending him back there would cause more bloodshed than the war.
So there they were, two calamitous souls with no direction simply existing together. There was a time when all four of them could be here, with each other.
But that was before Feyre, and before Mor’s relentless jealousy.
Cassian was happy for Rhys, but not like he should’ve been. Feyre was darling, kind and loving, but an imposter at the same time. As much as he adored her, she was still so young. Feyre did not have any political experience, no knowledge of warfare and tactics, and absolutely no understanding of the gravitation of her position. Feyre’s strength and courage were unmistakable, but to many in the Night Court- her Ladyship was fragile. It was when Feyre’s thoughts and opinions became more relevant than the High Lords General and Shadowsingers did he stop coming with them. Cassian knew love was strong, he didn’t realize it was more important than them, though.
All the same, he let two versions of Rhysand live, his brother, and his ruler. They could no longer co-exist, and the more Rhys had Nesta’s name in his mouth the less of his “brother” he saw.
And then there was Mor.
Mor with her glares and not so masked scoff at any mention of the eldest Archeron. She might’ve used Cassian as a buffer but Cassian used her just as much. Mor was the easy choice, but not the one he wanted anymore. At a point in time, she was everything he could’ve ever dreamt of. At a time, she was thrilling. He would’ve hung stars for her, hell, he would’ve killed an entire court for her honor. But that wasn’t love, it was dependence. Cassian fell for comfort instead of risk.
And so their routine of five centuries began.
But Mor was no longer in the picture, and she knew it, too. In her infrequent stays back at the Night Court she could tell she was losing her leverage over Cassian. He knew it frightened her.
Honestly, it frightened him too.
But he was done. Mor was losing the woman she was to jealousy and couldn’t even care to try. Not even for him. Although they were both at the intervention, no words were shared, none could be. Mor was glad of it, the spectacle of watching Nesta’s downfall.
Even with wings, Cassian felt like he was diving off a cliff with her too, both inevitably crashing and burning.
“Do you miss her?” Azriel picked up his bottle, his throat working with each swallow.
Cassian’s was nearly empty, now sitting on the wood between his legs as they perched on the balcony overhanging the mountain. The city was beautiful at night.
“Of course.”
“You think she’s managing okay?”
That made Cassian pause. “I don’t know… No one will tell me anything about where she is.” The bottle strained in his hand.
Azriel set the glass down between them, hands finding the rails on either side of him, “I have a feeling that’s done with intention, Cas.”, with a sidelong glance Azriel looked at him.
“They know I’d try to find her.”
“That’s obvious enough, but I have a feeling they severely underestimate her.”
Cassian looked up, “And what makes you say that?”
From beside him, Azriel's frame shifted, swinging over the ledge to land on even ground.
“I think sometimes we forget that Nesta had to figure out how to survive, too.” He turned, leaning against the wooden bars, “Everyone knows that Feyre was the huntress, but Nesta, Nesta was raised in the courts. I somehow think she’ll manage better there than she ever would’ve here.”
Cassian's knuckles were white, “What is that supposed to mean?” he growled.
“Not what you think, dipshit. Take a minute. Nesta was born in a courtier's life. She knows how to work around court, how to serve negotiations and treaties. She may wear simple dresses but a viper lurks beneath her skin. And with whatever the Cauldron did to her… she was scary as a human, but as a Fae, she will be terrifying.”
“And what if she fails?”
Azriel smiled, “I don’t think that’s possible.”
Cassian whipped his head to look at his brother. “You think she can do this?”
He shrugged, “I don’t know. I can’t speak for her, but you and I both know what it felt like to be in her position. She’s trying to survive in the worst kinds of ways. I hate that court, you know I do… but I know we turned out alright. And once a woman like her gets a grip, Mother help anyone who gets in her way.” Picking up his bottle, Azriel made his way toward the door, stopping as Cassian spoke.
“You know, you’re the second person to think she might come out on the other end of it.” Peering over his shoulder he could see the other man propped on the doorframe, leathers worn and hair windswept.
“I think I’m the second person to realize her getting better is the only way you can too.”
He thought for a moment, “You know where they left her, don’t you?”
The Shadowsinger smiled, “If you clean up your act and pretend you’re fine in front of the High Lord and Lady, I might tell you where she is.”
Cassian knew many names and faces, for her, he could manage acting one more time.
Okay... Trying to post this again lol. Hi friends!!! I missed you all tons, while I was gone I was committing to play a collegiate sport and got really busy with school. Thank god for week-long breaks. Extra-long update for yalls patience;) Love you all to bits and pieces!!!
Summary: Nesta and Cassian have always been falling for each other in a downward spiral, but love can't grow in the dark, and neither can they.
Nesta
Nesta dreamt of him.
Of those nights shared in a bleak tent with only the wind whipping outside. She remembered how his calloused hands felt on the small of her back, his battered breathing rattling in her ear as she slumped next to him.
Nesta had stomached all the bitterness of watching Mor take him from her knowing that she was the one sleeping next to him in his arms, in his bed, in his heart.
Prayers answered came in the form of no disturbance or sound other than Nesta’s even breaths and her turning, shifting, so she wouldn’t injure the already maimed wings more. Feyre and Rhysand had already made their rounds to check on Cassian and in their retirement, Nesta found her way into his bed, once again. She always did. But, it was in these moments, that reality settled into her bones and engulfed her. That this was her life, not just a story. It was in these moments that she knew there was something bigger than what she felt for Cassian, that there were greater things at play.
It was in these moments Nesta knew she would give anything for him.
Cassian was looking at her half-lidded, exhausted, but still- eyes only for her. The tent was poorly lit with a mere candle in the corner. But this, this was enough.
“What?”
“Nothing, Nes.” He’d whispered, dragging one hand into her hair, tracing stars on her hip with the other.
“I would believe you if you weren’t fighting off sleep to stare at me.”
But for him, words were too few to describe what he was feeling. Like the Gods had blessed him in particular for the very first time. They damned him as a bastard, as an orphan- he’d earned their good graces as a man of honor.
As repentance, he would cherish this gift every day, her.
Nesta had no idea what Cassian had truly felt at that moment, but it might’ve changed their fate if she did. As much as she ached for him, if he could only look at her this way alone, like she was a low tide and he was drowning, or the stars after abysmal skies- Nesta couldn’t stay.
She was willing to die for him but was beginning to realize he would only suffer for her.
If Cassian saw the raging symphony bounding in Nesta’s head he made no claim, he never did.
It was when the tears began to line her smoke-hazed eyes that he took her face in his hands and reached for her. Her eyes were a winter morning, his- the first day of spring after the snow melted.
He was the most beautiful person she had ever seen, but the beauty only went so far when slowly Nesta felt as she did back home. Loved in stolen moments, but never in flaming colors for all to see. She didn’t want to be overly affectionate, God's no, but… it would’ve been nice to not sneak in and out of Cassian's bed.
Her throat was now quivering, taking quick breaths in and out, knowing that Cassian's stare would undo her completely. Instead, he shattered her soul entirely in less than ten words.
“You, sweetheart, are my best-kept secret.”
With that their lips grew vines and wrapped toward each other, his words poison ivy staining any dreams Nesta might have had for them. They were stained glass that had shattered, and while he was mindlessly picking up pieces, she was cutting her hands to shreds.
So she let him hold her, run his fingers through her hair, and sing praises on her lips. She ran her hands up the swirls of black and drifted toward the scars. His kiss tasted like disaster, his soft groans rippling through her whole body. Her flesh a blank canvas next to him. When he finally fell asleep, she let his touch ink her skin everywhere.
It would be the only memory she’d allow of him to stay. This was the last time.
Cassian slept that night at peace that the woman he loved was alive, Nesta went to her sisters and knew that hope was a fraud and she- a victim.
***
It was too bright for her to still be in the Court of Nightmares. The sunlight streaming in from one lonely window of the room she was in seemed far too beautiful. A thinly veiled canopy shielded Nesta's eyes just enough from the blinding light to see a figure slumped in the corner.
Nesta screamed.
The figure jolted awake, clearly just as stunned as Nesta. As far as she could tell the moving figure was also a woman and wore a long pearl nightgown. But from Nesta's experience in life, no woman is as harmless as they appear and so she hiked herself up the bed, curling a pillow across her stomach as a means of protection. In-kind, the figure darted to the other side of the room, positioned near a dark wooden door that was wedged between two large tapestries of what looked to be the map of the courts.
Even in her terror, Nesta had to admit the room was stunning.
It was the other girl who spoke first, “You know, I would’ve much preferred you waking up like any other normal person.” She was curled into the corner now gripping both walls flanking her like a wounded animal.
“Well, maybe I would wake up like a normal person if someone wasn’t watching me sleep.” Nesta fumed, pillow still bound across her chest.
“I believe I deserve a “thank you” for saving your ungrateful ass from dying of a head injury in the library. But judging by the way you’re reacting I’ll just pretend you said it anyway. In that case, you’re welcome.”
“Who would I be thanking?”
“When you learn to play nice, you can know my name.” The girl was now moving from the wall. If she wanted to hurt Nesta, she would’ve done it already. There was no reason not to tell her.
“Nesta.”
Silence. The girl knew who she was. A flicker of hope had blazed in Nesta, quickly snuffed out knowing that no matter how far she fled, her name carried weight.
“Nesta, you say? I’ve never heard the name Nesta before. Interesting, albeit, but… it’s pretty,” as Nesta uncurled herself from the self-imposed shell she’d made, she watched as the girl wandered around the room. “You see, it’s funny that you’re here. No one comes here anymore. And when I saw a whole body laying on the floor of my library I thought to myself, “When I said I wanted to be in a book I didn’t mean a horror one.”, and then I realized you were breathing. Which was amazing, but also pointless. So there I was, carrying a living, not dead, body into my favorite room. I even tucked you in, and what do I get? You screaming at me before I can even introduce myself! How rude of you.” The girl's hands flung out in front of her expressively moving with each word as she paced the room.
“So… you don’t know who I am?” Nesta crawled over to the edge of the bed, kneeling almost face to face with the canopy. Her hair fell in long waves cascading her back, eyes peeking to see the glimpses of features in the girl.
Long red hair swung with her, “Of course I do, you’re the first person I’ve seen in the library since I came here and you passed out in the romance section. Now, Nesta, I don’t know if you expected some prince to come to save you, but I promise a friend is so much better than any real man.” With a hand on her hip, she turned and stared right at where Nesta sat.
A laugh bubbled in Nestas' chest. Foreign, but full of excitement. “So we’re friends?”
“Obviously, what other choice do we have? It’s not every day I save someone and you seem like the kind of woman who’s just waiting for her story to begin.”
Lungs swung forward, splitting the bottom of the canopy. Nesta perched her elbows on her knees, cradling her face. “You’d be my first friend in a while.”
“Today is just a wonderful day of firsts, isn’t it?” Even through the hazy gauze separating them, Nesta saw the smile that beamed from the girl's face.
“In honor of that, I think I should know the name of my first friend here.”
“So Nesta can play nice.” Rapid steps approached as the girl came and tossed open the canopy, ocean blue eyes and freckles everywhere, beautiful.
“Gwyneth. But just Gwyn for you, Nesta.” And with a grin that stretched across her entire face, Nesta knew she was trouble.
This was just the beginning.
Cassian
Azriel was far too good of a friend to Cassian. When Cassian fell short, Az had always been there to pick him up. Through countless battles, sleepless nights, the stoic man always had time for Cassian.
When Rhys had disappeared all those years ago, Cassian was left without a station. Why train armies when there were no wars to be fought? He served no purpose when his brother was wasting away. Cassian spent his nights fucking his way through the city to the point that almost every woman knew him by name. It was easy that way.
Azriel was the one to pull the bottle from his limp hands, the one who stayed as Cassian nursed every hangover.
Everyone loved to talk about what happened to Rhys Under the Mountain, but who cared to see how it killed the brothers left behind?
From that day on, Az and Cas built a bond, an understanding, that no one could decipher. It was stronger than the ones shared between the men and Rhys. It was hard to build a relationship with a man who used his power against you when he knew you were right. Azriel and Cassian were on the same level of the unsung court hierarchy, and as much as they loved Rhysand and served him well, a brother who sits on a gilded throne is merely a brother by blood. But what happens when brothers are bonded by choice and not blood?
The foundation cracks.
So, for the good of his people, of his court, Cassian sat with Azriel- the only man who understood what this felt like.
For the first time, the General had no motive, had no plan. Just unfathomable grief.
The House of Wind was where Azriel stayed most often, Illyria was out of the question. Whereas Cassian was able to grow over his indignation of the cruelties of that place, Azriel wasn’t. And that was alright.
Cassian might’ve lost everything, but at least his ghosts were dead and long gone. Azriel’s continued to breathe and walk those brutal mountains. Sending him back there would cause more bloodshed than the war.
So there they were, two calamitous souls with no direction simply existing together. There was a time when all four of them could be here, with each other.
But that was before Feyre, and before Mor’s relentless jealousy.
Cassian was happy for Rhys, but not like he should’ve been. Feyre was darling, kind and loving, but an imposter at the same time. As much as he adored her, she was still so young. Feyre did not have any political experience, no knowledge of warfare and tactics, and absolutely no understanding of the gravitation of her position. Feyre’s strength and courage were unmistakable, but to many in the Night Court- her Ladyship was fragile. It was when Feyre’s thoughts and opinions became more relevant than the High Lords General and Shadowsingers did he stop coming with them. Cassian knew love was strong, he didn’t realize it was more important than them, though.
All the same, he let two versions of Rhysand live, his brother, and his ruler. They could no longer co-exist, and the more Rhys had Nesta’s name in his mouth the less of his “brother” he saw.
And then there was Mor.
Mor with her glares and not so masked scoff at any mention of the eldest Archeron. She might’ve used Cassian as a buffer but Cassian used her just as much. Mor was the easy choice, but not the one he wanted anymore. At a point in time, she was everything he could’ve ever dreamt of. At a time, she was thrilling. He would’ve hung stars for her, hell, he would’ve killed an entire court for her honor. But that wasn’t love, it was dependence. Cassian fell for comfort instead of risk.
And so their routine of five centuries began.
But Mor was no longer in the picture, and she knew it, too. In her infrequent stays back at the Night Court she could tell she was losing her leverage over Cassian. He knew it frightened her.
Honestly, it frightened him too.
But he was done. Mor was losing the woman she was to jealousy and couldn’t even care to try. Not even for him. Although they were both at the intervention, no words were shared, none could be. Mor was glad of it, the spectacle of watching Nesta’s downfall.
Even with wings, Cassian felt like he was diving off a cliff with her too, both inevitably crashing and burning.
“Do you miss her?” Azriel picked up his bottle, his throat working with each swallow.
Cassian’s was nearly empty, now sitting on the wood between his legs as they perched on the balcony overhanging the mountain. The city was beautiful at night.
“Of course.”
“You think she’s managing okay?”
That made Cassian pause. “I don’t know… No one will tell me anything about where she is.” The bottle strained in his hand.
Azriel set the glass down between them, hands finding the rails on either side of him, “I have a feeling that’s done with intention, Cas.”, with a sidelong glance Azriel looked at him.
“They know I’d try to find her.”
“That’s obvious enough, but I have a feeling they severely underestimate her.”
Cassian looked up, “And what makes you say that?”
From beside him, Azriel's frame shifted, swinging over the ledge to land on even ground.
“I think sometimes we forget that Nesta had to figure out how to survive, too.” He turned, leaning against the wooden bars, “Everyone knows that Feyre was the huntress, but Nesta, Nesta was raised in the courts. I somehow think she’ll manage better there than she ever would’ve here.”
Cassian's knuckles were white, “What is that supposed to mean?” he growled.
“Not what you think, dipshit. Take a minute. Nesta was born in a courtier's life. She knows how to work around court, how to serve negotiations and treaties. She may wear simple dresses but a viper lurks beneath her skin. And with whatever the Cauldron did to her… she was scary as a human, but as a Fae, she will be terrifying.”
“And what if she fails?”
Azriel smiled, “I don’t think that’s possible.”
Cassian whipped his head to look at his brother. “You think she can do this?”
He shrugged, “I don’t know. I can’t speak for her, but you and I both know what it felt like to be in her position. She’s trying to survive in the worst kinds of ways. I hate that court, you know I do… but I know we turned out alright. And once a woman like her gets a grip, Mother help anyone who gets in her way.” Picking up his bottle, Azriel made his way toward the door, stopping as Cassian spoke.
“You know, you’re the second person to think she might come out on the other end of it.” Peering over his shoulder he could see the other man propped on the doorframe, leathers worn and hair windswept.
“I think I’m the second person to realize her getting better is the only way you can too.”
He thought for a moment, “You know where they left her, don’t you?”
The Shadowsinger smiled, “If you clean up your act and pretend you’re fine in front of the High Lord and Lady, I might tell you where she is.”
Cassian knew many names and faces, for her, he could manage acting one more time.
