Chapter Text
The hearth fire glowed.
Elyse stared at her grandparents’ bedchamber as if through new eyes. Garlands of juniper and holly graced the mantel, their sharp, wintry scent threading the room. The tiny lanterns her grandfather loved were strung in soft arcs between the posts of the bed and along the windows, their light pooling warmly over blankets and walls, turning the room soft and golden. The gifts, few though they were, sat in a small pile next to the chairs that had been pulled up to the fireplace. Ribbons and paper wrappings of greens and reds and golds gleamed in the fire’s light.
It was perfect.
Not perfect in the way Solstice normally was—there was no towering tree or crowded table or bustling groups—but it was perfect in its care and simplicity. In the way each decoration seemed chosen with intention and placed with care. They’d done it all in less than two days. Hours of hands working together, of whispered plans and careful adjustments, hanging lanterns while Grandfather slept and Grandmother watched with tearful joy in her eyes.
Her gaze drifted to the bed.
Her grandparents were there, just as they’d been all afternoon. Her aunt and uncle had brought in chairs for everyone to sit, but Grandmother had chosen instead to curl up beside her mate, both of them reclining against the pillows and headboard of their bed. Her knees were tucked underneath her and her silver-threaded braid hung over her shoulder. Grandfather was leaning back into her hold as if it were instinctive. She sat slightly behind him, one arm wrapped around his middle and the other braced at his shoulder. His head tilted gently towards her throat and Elyse watched as he murmured something that made her smile and kiss his temple. Their hands rested together, fingers loosely threaded, as if they’d reached for each other hours ago and simply forgotten to let go.
Elyse felt her chest tighten. She had seen her grandparents love all her life, but this—this closeness, this quiet leaning in—felt like being allowed to witness something holy.
She would’ve stayed there all night had Maeve’s voice not broken her reverie.
“Happy Solstice!” A blur of red dress and gold bows, Elyse watched as her younger sister scampered into the room on stockinged feet. She clambered up a chair and onto the bed before their mother’s warning could stop her.
The smile that broke across her grandfather’s face was the clearest she’d seen in weeks. He moved to sit up a bit with grandmother’s help and gently tugged one of Maeve’s unruly curls as she giggled. His voice was rough but full of warmth: “Happy Solstice, love.”
Elyse watched as Mama shook her head. “What did we say about being careful?” She scolded, gently.
Maeve had the sense to look decently reprimanded but Grandfather waved a trembling hand at Mama. “It’s fine,” he murmured. “Let…let her stay.”
Maeve beamed as if she’d been granted a wish and promptly settled herself against their grandfather’s side, careful in the way only small children know to be. Grandmother adjusted, tightening her arm and shifting her posture so Maeve could curl into grandfather’s side without jostling him too much. “One at a time,” Grandmother murmured softly, and there was no real reprimand in it.
Elyse smiled. It was all the invitation the rest of them needed.
The room filled slowly, as if everyone were afraid that too much movement would shatter something fragile. Only Kendric and Maeve seemed too focused on their grandparents to notice.
Chairs scraped softly across the floor. Atlas and Mykel hovered near the foot of the bed, looking stiff until Grandmother made a comment that cracked a smile on both their faces, and they playfully elbowed each other. Kendric took a spot in the chair by Maeve and pointed out that he wanted a turn to sit with grandfather when she was finished. Aunt Inara said something to Uncle Elias and then ducked her head as he pressed a kiss to her hair.
Elyse watched her parents settle close by the bed, their hands finding each other without thought. Her father’s eyes watched grandfather with a kind of waiting, as if ready to step in at the first sign of him tiring. Uncle Jax lingered near the doorway for half a breath too long before Aunt Celeste nudged him forward with a hand between his wings. Elyse felt a breath loosen in her chest.
As badly as she wanted to curl up by Maeve and feel her grandfather’s arm around her, Elyse took up a place by the bed where he could see her clearly without straining. She reached out and touched his arm and earned a soft, weary wink.
Maeve reached up to touch grandfather’s cheek and said something that made him chuckle. His breathing was a bit uneven still, but his eyes were bright, none of the normal fog in them. Elyse knew with a pang of guilt that he’d refused any of Meriol’s pain relieving tonic that morning. She’d overheard the hushed conversation from outside the door when she’d been bringing grandmother tea. Grandmother had tried to get him to take some, but grandfather had flatly refused, saying he wanted to be clear and present for them. Now, as Maeve’s laughter caused the lines around his eyes to crinkle, Elyse understood exactly what he’d meant.
Grandmother lifted her head and glanced towards the hearth, where the fire was burning with a steady, patient glow. “All right,” she said softly, “Before anyone gets too wriggly or tired.” Her eyes flickered meaningfully towards Maeve and Kendric, then gentled as they returned to her mate. “Where do we start?”
Kendric perked up from his place next to Maeve. “A story!”
Elyse watched Grandfather smile. “A story?” He hummed low in his chest, then looked conspiratorially around at all her cousins. “Which one?”
Mykel grinned. “The one where the House almost burned down.”
Grandfather’s smile deepened, the familiar spark lighting in his eyes, despite the careful way he drew breath. “Mm,” he murmured, voice rough but amused. “That…that’s a good one.”
Elyse watched as her father shook his head. “That wasn’t—”
“Your fault.” Aunt Inara finished, looking at him teasingly. “We know.”
Grandfather chuckled and coughed. He lifted a weak finger. “Not…entirely.”
Laughter rippled through the room, light and careful, as if everyone were testing how much joy the room could hold.
Atlas leaned in. “This one is my favorite.”
Grandfather winked at him. “Your father was…what, Nes? Ten?” He looked at Grandmother. At her nod, he continued. “It was cold. Colder…than it had been…in years.” His breath caught and he paused, hand flexing faintly in Grandmother’s grasp.
She leaned closer, her arm tightening around his middle. “And you’d insisted that the lanterns needed ‘more enthusiasm’,” she supplied, dryly.
Grandfather huffed at that. “They did.”
Elyse glanced up as her father cleared his throat. “Your exact words were: ‘fire likes confidence’.”
“That’s exactly what he said.” Aunt Inara murmured, smiling despite the shake of her head.
Grandfather chuckled, then fell quiet for a moment, breath working harder now. Elyse watched his jaw tighten in frustration—not at them, but at his body. He wanted to finish the story.
Elyse slipped her hand into his and squeezed twice. “I’ve got it,” she said quietly, and without waiting, she picked up the thread. “Grandfather decided the lanterns would look better if the wicks were lit before they were hung.”
Maeve gasped from her place tucked under Grandfather’s arm. She looked up at him with incredulity. “That’s not safe!”
“No,” Grandmother agreed mildly. “It certainly was not.”
Aunt Celeste grinned. “He handed Jax a flame and told him not to look so panicked.”
Uncle Jax, leaning against the wall, scoffed lightly. “I didn’t panic.”
Her father shot him a look. “You were definitely panicking.”
“Only because you were shouting.”
The air tightened—not enough to snap, but enough that Elyse could feel the old friction still warm beneath the surface.
Aunt Inara stepped in smoothly. “What matters,” she said, “Is the garland caught as the lanterns went up.”
Grandmother shook her head as Grandfather grinned. “And not a small flame. It went up like kindling. Smoke everywhere. Finn yelling, Inara trying to get Celeste to stop crying. Jax trying to put it out with a pitcher of cider.”
“It was closer than water.” Uncle Jax muttered.
Grandfather laughed—a quiet, breathless sound that ended in a cough he tried to hide. Grandmother stroked a hand through his hair and waited until he’d caught his breath again. “And in the middle of it,” she looked at the grandchildren, “Your grandfather stood laughing like it was the best Solstice he’d ever had.”
“Was…festive.” Grandfather rasped, a tired grin touching his lips.
Celeste spoke up. “And then Mama put it out with a blanket that Aunt Feyre had gifted her. And told Dad to clean up his mess.”
Elyse felt warmth bloom in her chest as the story took shape. “And afterwards Grandfather insisted everyone still light the lanterns.”
Grandfather’s eyes found hers, bright and attentive. So full of pride and love that Elyse could have wept. “And he said Solstice wasn’t about doing things perfectly—it was about doing them together.”
Grandfather’s hand squeezed hers, weak but warm. “That’s right.” He breathed. “Exactly right.”
For a moment, the room held the aftermath of the story like a lantern cupped between careful hands. Elyse watched the way Grandmother’s arm tightened around him, the way her thumb brushed smooth circles over his ribs, as if she could will breath back into him by sheer willpower and love.
Then, Maeve made a small, impatient sound.
Elyse’s gaze flickered down long enough to see her little sister twist where she sat, her amber eyes bright, cheeks flushed with the joy of everyone finally together. Her attention darted from Grandfather’s face to the small pile of wrapped gifts near the hearth.
“Presents?” Maeve whispered.
Elyse watched as Mama laughed as shook her head.
Grandfather’s mouth curved again, the lines around his eyes deepening, and he looked so himself for a moment that Elyse had to blink. “Presents.” He agreed.
Grandmother kissed his temple. “One at a time,” she instructed. “And gently.”
Maeve didn’t need to be told twice.
She wriggled free of the space she’d claimed under Grandfather’s arm and slid down the bed with all the awkward determination of her three years. Bending at the hearth, she tugged free a small parcel wrapped in green paper with a red ribbon that was crooked enough to make Mykel’s eye twitch from across the room.
Maeve grunted with effort as she used the chair Kendric sat in to wriggle back up Grandfather’s side. She sat with her knees tucked under her and grinned breathlessly at it. “I made it.”
Grandfather’s smile widened. “Is that…so?”
Maeve nodded vivaciously. She placed the small box into his hands. “Open it!”
Elyse watched with a tight throat as Grandfather’s hands fumbled with the ribbon, the tremor that had plagued him the past few weeks making it difficult to grip the small pieces. Grandmother stepped in without fanfare and steadied his hands, and they unwrapped the gift together. The paper fell away in pieces, revealed a lumpy, misshapen salt dough ornament, painted in streaking gold and dusted with glitter. Maeve’s handprint was pressed into it, with her name scrawled in large, half-backwards letters along the bottom.
Maeve could not contain her excitement. “It’s my hand!”
Grandfather stared at it for a long beat. “So it is.” His eyes shimmered.
“It’s so you don’t forget.”
Grandfather pressed a kiss to the top of her head. “As if…I could ever.” He whispered, clutching the ornament close.
Maeve patted his cheek with all the gentleness she’d been taught over the past few weeks. “You’re supposed to hang it, Grandfather.”
Grandfather let out a weak laugh. “Yes ma’am.”
Grandmother kissed Maeve’s head next. “We’ll hang it tonight, love.”
Maeve beamed at both of them. Scooting closer, she settled back in against Grandfather’s side, content with a job well done.
Elyse noticed the way her father’s shoulders had gone tight—like he was holding something inside that was threatening to burst out. Mama’s fingers found his and squeezed hard, and her father’s jaw worked as he swallowed.
Uncle Jax, from his place near the doorway, was half in shadow, arms still folded across his chest like he didn’t know where to place his hands. His eyes were on Maeve and Grandfather, unblinking. Something raw sat in the line of his mouth.
Elyse didn’t look at him for too long. She still didn’t know what to do with the knowledge of grief so deep it could even make her loud, reckless, distant uncle look as though he’d been cracked open.
Kendric didn’t wait for his invitation. “Mine next!” He called, scrambling down the chair with only a fraction more grace than Maeve had shown. Elyse caught the corner of the chair before it could tip as he climbed back onto it. He leaned in towards Grandfather and handed him a canvas. “I drew it.”
Grandfather’s brows rose in mock surprise. “By…by yourself?”
Kendric flushed with pride. “Mama didn’t even help at all.”
Grandfather took the canvas with reverent slowness. He lifted it a bit higher, squinting slightly. Grandmother shifted behind him, her arm braced to help him sit up a bit. He didn’t ask for help. He never asked. He just tried harder.
The drawing was of the House with the whole family gathered outside. There were too many windows and both the sun and moon were out at the same time. The figures were stick with wings of various sizes and hair of questionable color. Grandmother and Grandfather were both in the center, holding hands and smiling widely.
This time, it was Grandmother who spoke. “This is lovely, Kendric.” She leaned forward to cup his cheek. “Thank you, darling.”
“I like…us all together.” Grandfather murmured, patting Kendric’s arm. “Thank you.”
Kendric glanced back at his parents, who nodded encouragingly. Elyse didn’t miss the shimmer in her Aunt Inara’s eyes.
Next was Atlas. He hovered by the bed a moment, as if deciding whether he still wanted to be seen. Elyse watched her younger brother and knew the posture was a shield.
Grandmother’s gaze landed on him softly. “Atlas?”
Atlas hesitated, then stepped forward, a wooden carving in his hands. No paper, no ribbon. As if he mistrusted shimmering things in this room.
Grandfather’s gaze sharpened. “You carved it?”
Elyse knew from the scabbed nicks on his fingers and knuckles that he had. He nodded solemnly.
Grandfather took the carving and turned it slowly in his hands. It was a lantern, no bigger than his palm. The edges were rough in places and smooth in others, but the shape was clearly distinguishable. Grandfather’s eyes lit with pride as they landed back on Atlas. “This,” he drew a thin breath. “Is solid work.”
It was just the thing Elyse knew her younger brother needed to hear. His bottom lip quivered for a moment and he nodded. Then, he leaned forward abruptly and pressed his forehead to Grandfather’s shoulder—just for a moment—before jerking back and pawing furiously at his eyes, as if embarrassed by his own softness.
Elyse watched as their mother held her arms out to him, and he went into them willingly. Her father’s hand squeezed his shoulder once, grounding and firm.
Mykel went next, presenting a string of glow-stones attached at perfectly placed intervals on a piece of string. The magic within them glowed softly, a warm turquoise and purple that swirled a bit in the fire’s light. Mykel grinned as Grandfather admired them. “These won’t catch anything on fire.” He promised.
Grandfather chuckled. “I love them.” He leaned back into Grandmother’s shoulder, as if the effort of staying upright was slowly becoming too much. “We’ll…hang them…later, hm?”
Mykel nodded. He leaned forward and hugged Grandfather with as much force as he dared.
Grandfather’s arms lifted—slow and trembling—and closed around him. Barely a squeeze, but Elyse knew it was enough.
When Mykel stepped back, Grandfather’s eyes fluttered for a moment. His head tipped towards Grandmother’s jaw, as if briefly losing touch with wakefulness. Grandmother shifted and pressed a kiss to his temple, mouth lingering there before whispering, “Cass?”
“Still…here,” Grandfather murmured, forcing his eyes back open.
Elyse felt the words like a hook beneath her ribs. Grandmother didn’t scold him for fading, or tell him to rest and stop pretending. She simply smoothed her palm down the front of his shirt and tightened her grip on his hand.
But Elyse knew he was fading. She saw it in the tremble in his fingers, the way his breath came with a soft scrape on each inhale, the way his eyes, brighter only moments ago, now looked as though they had to wade through depths to focus.
Selfishly, she wished for more time. But she leaned in so he could see her without straining and murmured, “Grandfather, do you need to rest now?”
Grandfather’s eyes found hers immediately.
For all the fog and shadows of pain that dulled his movements and words, there was nothing unfocused or unsure in the way he looked at her. He drew a careful breath, the sound soft and hitching slightly, and shook his head.
“Not…yet,” He said, and she knew the words cost him. His fingers twitched weakly towards her and he smiled wearily. “One more.”
Elyse swallowed hard and told herself to save her tears for later. She nodded. “Okay.”
She reached into the pocket of her dress and drew out the warrior braid. It was a simple gift, like the others. Handmade. Just black and silver and red woven together in the old Valkyrie style that Grandmother had taught her when she’d turned eleven. But woven in was a strip from her own leathers, softened by sweat and wear and long hours in the ring. A piece of her life. A piece Grandfather had built.
Grandfather’s gaze dropped to the braid, and as the recognition flickered, he didn’t try to hide the emotion in his eyes.
Elyse leaned closer, and took his wrist, tying the braid gently around it. Gods, his skin was so thin and cool now, it made her chest ache. But she knotted it snuggly, making sure it sat comfortably—not too tight, not loose enough to slip—and held on a few beats longer than necessary.
Grandfather lifted his hand—slow, trembling—and cupped her cheek. The touch was light as breath and stole hers away. He didn’t speak. Elyse didn’t need him to. She knew all the things he would say. Knew he loved her. Knew he was proud. Knew what it had taken to step into this room and celebrate in defiance of the crushing grief that threatened to envelop them. She turned and pressed her lips into his palm, willing all her love into the action.
The moment passed too quickly.
Grandfather’s hand fell back to the blanket, the effort of holding it to her cheek too much to sustain. His fingers twitched, once, then stilled.
For a moment, Elyse thought he’d fallen asleep. His body had gone heavy again, weight settling back into Grandmother’s hold. The room stayed quiet, expectant, as if waiting to see if he’d wake again. She felt a strange mix of relief and disappointment bloom in her chest. He’s tired, she thought, that’s all.
Then, his breath hitched.
It wasn’t the gentle, drifting exhalation of sleep. It was a sharp, rasping sound that seemed to scrape against his lungs. His brow creased, mouth parting as he tried to draw in more air than his body would allow.
Grandmother felt the change instantly.
She sat up sharply, one arm tightening around him as the other came up to cup his cheek. “Cass?” Her voice was low. “Cassian?”
Grandfather’s chest shuddered again, and the breath he drew was painfully thin. Elyse watched as the color drained from him and his jaw tightened, as if air was something he needed to fight for.
“Cassian.” Grandmother again, louder now.
The room broke.
Elyse’s father was at the bedside in a heartbeat, the chair he’d been in clattering loudly as it fell back. Aunt Inara was there too, one hand braced on Grandfather’s shoulder.
“Dad?” Her father’s voice, too tight, too controlled. “Hey, Dad, look at me.”
Elyse knew he tried—she saw it in the way his throat worked, the way his fingers curled weakly in the blankets, grasping at nothing. Each breath took such effort—like something being dragged up from deep water rather than drawn freely.
Maeve whimpered.
Her little sister was still tucked against Grandfather’s side. She had one hand fisted in his shirt and her eyes were wide with confusion and panic.
“Grandfather?” She whispered.
Elyse saw her Mother move instantly.
Mama scooped Maeve up in one smooth motion, pressing her close, one hand firm at the back of her head. “Shh,” she murmured, calm and steady though her eyes were full of pain. “It’s all right.”
Maeve began to cry.
Elyse couldn't move.
Her feet were nailed to the floor, hands numb, cheek still remembering the touch of her Grandfather’s palm against it. The lanterns above the bed swayed slightly with the movement in the room, casting golden arcs of light against the room.
It was suddenly obscene.
They had been so careful.
“Atlas,” Mama called, reaching out for him. “Come here.”
Atlas hesitated, eyes wide, breath coming too fast, then obeyed, allowing her to pull him back. Uncle Elias had already ushered Kendric and Mykel towards the door, his voice low and firm even as Mykel twisted to look over his shoulder, face paling.
Grandfather gasped, a scraping, broken sound tearing free of his chest, his eyes fluttered open—but they didn’t focus.
Another ragged breath scraped out of him, broken and wet-sounding.
Inara’s face paled. “Daddy—”
“Get Meriol,” Grandmother snapped, all iron and old command even though her hands shook. “Now.”
Aunt Celeste was already moving. She turned on her heel and ran, skirts gathered in her fists, calling Meriol’s name down the hall with a voice that broke on the second shout.
Grandmother leaned over Grandfather then, forehead pressed to his, cradling his jaw with one hand while the other splayed across his chest. “Stay with me,” she whispered fiercely. “Stay with me, Cassian.”
Grandfather’s eyes rolled briefly, unfocused, his breath stuttering again before cutting off entirely for a terrifying half second.
“No—” Grandmother breathed. “Cass? Please, no, no—”
Elyse tasted metal.
Then, Meriol burst into the room.
She came fast—satchel already half open, eyes snapping to Grandfather’s face with precision. There was no softness in her now No bedside calm. She moved like someone who knew time was not on their side.
“Clear space,” Meriol said, sharp and cutting.
The room obeyed her.
Elyse watched as her father stumbled back, the movement jerky, as if his body were working faster than his mind. Aunt Inara followed, hands hovering uselessly for a heartbeat before she pulled them back against her chest.
Grandmother didn’t move.
She was braced around Grandfather like a shield.
“Cassian, please.” She was all fierceness and broken edges. “Please, look at me.”
He didn’t.
His chest shuddered again, a convulsive motion that made Elyse suddenly nauseous.
Meriol was at the bedside now, fingers already at Grandfather’s throat and wrist. “Please, my lady, he needs to sit up.”
Suddenly, Uncle Jax was beside her, moving Grandfather’s body so that he was propped higher against the pillows.
“My satchel, the amber vial—” Meriol was speaking to Uncle Jax, and he moved like he understood, pulling out the vial she’d requested. “Tilt his head.”
Elyse watched as Grandfather arched faintly against their hold, fingers clawing weakly at the bedsheets.
Someone sobbed. Elyse couldn’t tell if it was her.
Uncle Jax and Grandmother held Grandfather’s face as Meriol slipped the tonic past his lips, murmuring something under her breath as she tipped the vial. Grandfather swallowed once—ragged, pain-filled—then again, slower than the first.
His throat worked visibly, the tendons in his neck standing out as if even that small act demanded more than he had to give. Meriol didn’t pull the vial away. She waited, watching his mouth and jaw.
“Again,” she murmured, steady and relentless. “Once more, General.”
Grandfather’s brow furrowed. His lips parted, a faint sound catching there before another swallow dragged its way down.
Elyse flinched.
Grandmother didn’t. She stayed braced around him, eyes trained on his face. “Easy,” she whispered to him, and pressed a kiss to his temple. “I’ve got you. Just breathe for me.”
The medicinal took its time.
For several, unbearable seconds, nothing changed.
Elyse watched Meriol’s face. She didn’t panic, but her mouth had gone thin, her focus razor-sharp. She pressed two fingers to the space beneath Grandfather’s jaw, then shifted her hand to his chest, counting silently. Waiting.
”Don’t fight it, General.”
Then—slowly, as if it took years—Grandfather’s breathing shifted.
It didn’t smooth entirely, or grow soft. But the sharp, desperate pull became less erratic and the pauses between breaths slowly began to regulate. His chest rose a fraction deeper, the awful scrape softening into something closer to a wheeze.
Meriol exhaled through her nose. “There you go.”
Grandfather sagged back against the pillows, like invisible strings that had been holding him were suddenly cut. His head lolled towards Grandmother’s shoulder and his eyelids fluttered.
“Cassian?” Grandmother’s voice rose to near panic once more.
Meriol put a calming hand on her shoulder. “It’s the tonic, my lady. It’s just doing its job.”
Grandmother looked unconvinced until she had counted a few of his breaths. Then, some of the tension slowly bled out of her. She bowed her head, forehead pressing to his. Her shoulders trembled once. Twice. Then steadied.
“Will he—” Elyse looked up as her father spoke, then stopped himself. His face was pale, and his wings were taut behind him.
Meriol met his gaze. “He needs rest. Deep rest. No more excitement.”
As if to prove the point, Grandfather’s lips parted and a breath left him. slow. Heavy. His eyes drifted closed. His chest rose once. Twice. Not strong, not easy. But there.
Grandmother let out a sound that was half sob and half breath, and drew him closer, cradling his head against her shoulder as if the world had narrowed to just the two of them.
Elyse realized her hands were shaking.
The Solstice lights still glowed. The garlands still hung on the mantle and windowsills. But the air in the room felt thin now. Borrowed.
Elyse took a small step back, suddenly too aware of her own too-harsh breathing. Her eyes fell to the braid she’d secured around her Grandfather’s wrist. She knew what this night had cost him—and how willingly he’d paid it.
Solstice had come.
But it had taken something with it.