A mini fanfic of what I wish Cassian would tell Nesta, post HOFAS bonus chapter.
Of all the things that could have happened Nesta did not expect a red-headed alien, with an eight-pointed star on her chest twin to the one stamped across her own heart, to completely change everything she knew about her world—about life itself. That there were other worlds out there, with powerful beings that walked between them, leaving a path of death and destruction in their wake.
She had never expected other planets full of fae, let alone humans, to be hunted and brutalized, to be turned into a source of food and entertainment for intergalactic parasites. It was for the sake of the humans that she handed over the mask. She couldn't bare the thought of them at the mercy of the Asteri, with nothing to defend themselves, so she made the choice to help the female who called herself Bryce, and loaned her what might just tip the scales in their favour.
And then Rhysand and Cassian found out. She didn't care that Rhysand was upset with her, for she could scarcely remember when the high lord was not. It was Cassian's reaction that ate at her. He was furious, even more than Rhysand was.
She remembered Ember's horrified expression when she quipped Rhysand might execute her for her alleged treason. Rhysand wouldn't, of course, if not for Feyre and Cassian. She supposed Ember didn't understand her particular brand of dark humour, and she'd had to promise her that she was safe, that there was no impending execution to be had. The silver lining to it all, however was watching Ember Quinlan, a human woman, hand Rhysand his own ass, something not even Amren had successfully done.
It had been days since she and Cassian spoke. Once again they were fighting. He was angry that she had done the unthinkable and given a trove item to a prisoner. And she was livid that he had taken Rhysand's side in all this. That Rhysand would have preferred her to kill Bryce before handing over the mask.
She had not been this enraged since she had been locked up in the House of Wind and carted off to the Illyrian mountains. She was not some simpering female to be ordered about. She understood the consequences of her actions and decided if the people of Midgard were not safe, then no one was safe. The threat of the Asteri would have eventually reared it's ugly head upon Prythian and enslaved them all. She had seen what one of them could do, in the prison, she couldn't imagine what a host of them might do if they got their hands on Bryce and ripped open a portal to their world.
When Bryce appeared she had no time to do much else but offer the mask, it was a fleeting moment, a wrinkle in time and space and then Bryce was hurtling back to her world, gone before she even had time to blink, the portal winking out with her, leaving her parents as collateral. Those days with Ember had been everything to Nesta. She was the mother she never had. Warm, loving, understanding—so unlike the one who birthed her.
During those days Ember and Randall were the only two she had the heart to interact with, other than Azriel. She and Cassian were not talking and it began to show. Ember was the one who brought it up. Said that it wasn't healthy for them to avoid eachother like this. She had Randall talk to Cassian about it as well. She supposed they were right, how many more days could she lock herself up in her room. How many more nights could she sleep alone?
That was when the knock came. And the house, the traitorous house, opened it's doors to reveal Cassian. She didn't want him to see her crying, to see her weakness. She sniffed back tears and seethed, "go away."
Cassian’s hazel eyes locked with Nesta’s, two endless pools of blue grey. Eyes he could get lost in, that could drown him in their depths. Something fractured in him as he watched a lone tear trickle down her cheek, escaping that carefully constructed mask she always wore.
Their bedroom was littered in piles of discarded books. Some half opened with cracked spines, shoved to the side ranging from smut to battle strategy. Steaming mugs of tea and trays laden with truffles and petit fours were scattered across the room. As if the house was desperate to comfort the female standing before him.
“I—I am so sorry.” He said. His voice low, cracking. It was not the only thing that cracked.
“That’s not enough.” She said, in the ghost of a whisper.
“Nesta…” Cassian said, his voice strained, as he lifted a hand towards her. She flinched, backing away.
“Please… just talk to me… tell me what to do…” he pleaded.
“I’m so tired of this. I’m so tired of everyone telling me I’m wrong, of having you—the one person—my person—doubt me," she said, swallowing deeply, as if there wasn't enough air in her lungs.
"How could you—?" she breathed, feigning her head to the side, as if trying to hide that thing inside that threatened to burst. Her eyes turned silver, not with flame, but with tears. Tears that would devour him and her. That would devour the world. Cassian would rather have been burned by that unholy fire he'd seen in her eyes. Would rather be turned to ash, a thousand times over, than see those tears falling from them.
As if sensing the onslaught, a soft, cotton napkin materialized in Nesta's hand.
“I know—I know.” He whispered as he watched red splotches spread across her face while she shuddered and heaved. The navy blue drapes unhooked themselves, sliding across the brass railing to cover the bay windows overlooking Velaris, as if to conceal the crying female from any potential onlookers flying by.
“You know what the worst part of it is—I don’t think you know what it is that you did wrong,” she faltered, wiping her tears on the cloth provided to her by the house.
“That you think I did not consider your soldiers, your brothers in arms, who might lose their lives if a war came here. I did consider it, I thought of everything. And all I could think of was about someone like my father, who wouldn’t stand a chance—"
"So I gave them a chance.” She choked out, ringing the cloth in her hands. "I gave them a chance," she repeated.
“And I took one too. But you—you couldn’t take one on me.” She faltered. As each word landed he felt those threads between them slacking. As if their very souls were unravelling.
Something inside of him felt like it was drowning, as if wave after wave were crashing down on that thing in his chest, beaten and battered. Threatening to drag him in the undertow of the storm he was facing.
“Let me make it right. Give me that chance I should have given you.” he pleaded.
“That’s not enough Cassian. It’s not enough and you know it. I refuse to be second when I put you first.” Something flickered in her eyes before quickly sputtering out. He promised himself then and there that he would never let that ember inside of her die out. That he would spend his life dedicated to kindling that fire. That he was a mere shadow that could only exist in the presence of her flame.
“I once told you I have no regrets in my life. Well I was wrong. I regret ever hurting you, ever causing you a moment of pain, ever doubting you. Not putting you first. Because I was afraid. Afraid of disappointing people. But you're the only person who matters. And I will spend whatever time I have left in this life showing you that, if you give me the chance. And if that’s not enough I will keep on trying. As long as you let me."
“Why now? What’s different? What’s changed?” Nesta narrowed her reddened eyes. “Aren’t you sick of being shackled to me?” She squared her shoulders, her eyes turning into two silver slits, giving him that "I will slay my enemies look" that nearly had him falling to his knees.
“The thought of living life without you is unbearable. Without you I am nothing. It's why I was so angry—I was thinking about you. Of losing you. It wasn't just about the last war. It was about what would happen in this one. All I could think of was you throwing your body on top of mine and nearly dying. And—." The words tumbled out of him, erratic and desperate.
"And what a world without you might look like. So I—I lost my mind." He said, his voice thick, eyes pleading.
"Nesta, being your mate is the greatest honour of my life. And I am sorry that I have ever made you feel otherwise."
The space between them waned, and the room somehow became smaller, as if the house was closing the distance between them.
Cassian slipped Nesta’s hand in his and slowly lifted it to that shattered place upon his chest. “You are my everything Nesta Archeron. You are my soul. My heart. My life.”
Clutching her hand to him, he lowered himself, until he was kneeling before her. She could feel his heart pounding, her own beating to the same chaotic tune, as if each pulse and each breath was taken together.
“I love you.” The words spilled out of him. “I have always loved you.”
Somehow he gripped her hand even tighter against his chest and she sunk her nails in. It felt as if she was holding his heart in her palm. Perhaps she truly was. And he just held her hand there, as she marked him. Five crescent shapes imprinted on him, dotted in red, from the base to the apex of his heart, her signature, her claiming.
“And I will always love you.” He breathed, his eyes wet, his face lifted up, meeting hers.
“I love you too.” She whispered, voice hoarse, as she grabbed at his chest, now pulling him towards her until there was no space left between them. Until their lips were crashing against one another, breathing the other in. And those golden threads began to weave themselves back together until they shone, forming an eight pointed star, a guiding light, their compass home.
"You're lucky that I believe in second chances." Nesta said, a slow smile breaking across her face like the sun peaking through the twilight sky. And it was all he needed before he met her smile with one of his own, before he pulled her down to him, until they were flush against eachother.
"I am lucky,” he whispered in her ear, his breath hot, mouth hungry, as he traced his lips along the curve of her neck, “the luckiest male alive.”
