Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

Nesta doesn’t remember much, but she remembers that male’s hands. 

She remembers the way his fingers paint pictures in her palms, how they glide along her own as if he can summon them to movement. He’s waiting, she thinks, but she doesn’t know what for, so Nesta pretends to sleep when he’s near... not that she really can open her eyes all that well. 

Her body aches and her head throbs and she can barely lift her arm past her torso. It’s farther than she’s ever gotten before though, so Nesta blinks awake blearily. The room is bright with the glow of a midafternoon sun and it stings her head as well as her eyes, but she zeroes in on the male who she thinks must be the one who’s so soft. 

She remembers all those whispered words. It’s okay Nesta. Stay with me, Nesta. It won’t happen again, Nesta, just wake up please. Truthfully, that’s the only reason she knows her name. Nesta, Nesta, Nesta is whispered into her ears like the constant drum of a heart. 

She swears she can hear his heart, too. She can hear every breath catch in his throat, feel the ache in his lungs. He holds onto her hand and she can feel all that worry in the warmth of his palm. 

His hand isn’t in hers when she wakes up, though. 

Nesta groans as she looks for him, the movement too much for her throbbing head. Vaguely, she can hear the creak of a seat at the other side of the room.  

“Don’t move too much,” the familiar voice says. “I’ll go get Madja.” 

Seeing him now is both familiar and strange. She can barely make out his form when she’s in and out of consciousness. Nesta tries to imagine him in her dreams, but she can barely make out reality. What is and what is not real? 

He’s a broad male with tired, sad eyes. His hair hits the edge of his shoulders. He has wings that protrude out of his back and she follows the lines of them as she looks. The male seems to stand straighter at her perusal and he holds in his breath. She can tell. 

Madja, she tries to recall. She doesn’t think she knows a Madja.

Her silence must concern him though, because his brows crinkle at the center. The male looks to the door and then to her and then to the door again, debating whether to stay or go. Some part of her wants to ask him to stay because she’s not entirely sure where she is. 

He’s the only thing that’s familiar. At least she knows the sound of his voice and the reassurance of his skin.

Nesta can only blink at him slowly. She feels her lips twist into a frown. The light from the window makes her head pound like drums. 

"Give me one second,” he pleads. 

Nesta counts to one, and the male is gone in a flurry of wings. She wishes she had wings...

Nesta’s not sure that she doesn’t, so she looks behind her, ignoring the bite of pain at the movement. There’s nothing behind her back, so she wiggles her toes and her fingers to see if there’s any other peculiar feature she has. She finds nothing strange besides a splitting headache and perhaps, the point of her ears. 

Maybe that’s why she hears things so well. 

Or perhaps she doesn’t hear well at all, because Nesta doesn’t hear when another male enters her room. 

“You’re awake,” he says with relief. “You slept for days, we were starting to get worried you’d never wake up.”

What a frightening thought, Nesta thinks, to never wake up. To be trapped in her strange dreams. She wonders if this is not a strange dream. Maybe she’s indeed still sleeping and someone on the other side is waiting for her conscious thought that never arises because she thinks she’s awake right here. 

But Nesta decides not to think on those things, when she can barely comprehend what is going on now. 

This male is also winged like the other, and he’s much too pretty to be a healer, that’s for sure. Perhaps, he’s a friend, then. He’s got the same color of eyes as the other one, too. Hazel that brightens in the light of the sun. 

“How do you feel?” 

Nesta decides on, “Confused. What happened?” 

“You don’t remember?” The male winces and Nesta watches his gaze shift to her head. Nesta lays a hand where he stares and she can feel the wrapping all along her skull. “I don’t blame you, you hit your head pretty hard.” 

The pretty male scowls but the ire doesn’t seem to be pointed at her, or at least he smooths out his expression when he notices her concern. 

“The stairs, Nesta...” He speaks so somberly as he talks. Something remorseful and caring. She doesn’t remember this male but she must be important to him to have him look so worried. “Where did you plan on going?” 

Nesta doesn’t even know where she is, so she supposes she can’t answer that question with any truth. She tries to think on it. She shuts her eyes as if that might help her remember, but all that’s behind her eyelids is a cool, dark color with specks of floating light. 

Nesta winces at the pain thinking causes. 

The male noting the look seems to understand. He moves across her room and his wings block that bright, burning light of the window. Nesta sighs at the blessed relief. 

“The stairs,” Nesta notes. She clears her throat and she’s just beginning to see the pain talking causes. Her throat is dry and her lips feel sewn shut. The male moves to one of the tables and pours a glass of water, handing it to her, but before she takes a sip... 

“Did I trip?” Nesta asks. Is she clumsy? She must be if she causes this much damage from some harmless stairs. 

The pretty male shrugs, “I didn’t see how you fell, just that you were falling... and then when you stopped.” 

Strangely, she thinks she can hear him swallow. Not as loud as a heartbeat, but the sound still makes her grimace. She wants to cover her ears, the way it hurts her head. 

“There was blood on the steps,” he says. 

From where she hit her head, Nesta gathers. She presses her hand against the wound as if she can feel the damage its wrought, but the flesh is still tender to the touch. “And I’ve been asleep for days?” 

“Five,” the male nods. 

There’s not many more questions Nesta can ask without being frank. Beating around the bush seems to mean both pity and sorrow from two males she’s never seen before and another person on the way. 

“And who is Madja?” Nesta asks. 

Who are you? she almost says. 

The winged fae tilts his solemn head. “Who am I?” 

Nesta wonders if she’s said those words aloud.

Before she has the chance to ask, the other male--the warm one--is bounding through the door again. She hears him this time, but it would be difficult not to. There’s something about this male that just screams loud. 

A female follows him. This Madja, she presumes. 

A part of her, and without her choosing, relaxes at the sight of him. Every part of him is large, she thinks, and it should be frightening. He moves in a way that takes up space. Every movement is clumsy. The other male steps back to make room for him, but it doesn’t seem like enough. This male bounds towards her in a chaotic flurry, his lips worrying behind teeth. 

She doesn’t know his name, but the concern is flattering and she remembers him so finely... perhaps it’s for that reason Nesta’s not afraid. 

“I think we have a problem,” the pretty one starts.  

“I think that’s obvious,” the sweet one gripes. The pretty one glares and that look has her frowning unconsciously. Nesta doesn’t like that look one bit. 

But the female, Madja, merely goes to unwrap her head. Her stern fingers poke and prod at her skin, combing through her hair, and when Nesta winces the sweet male barks out a be careful. 

She wonders if he’s always like this. She can’t imagine having someone this caring for all of her days. Or maybe they’ve only known each other for a short while... 

Maybe they’ve known each other all their lives. Nesta finds herself trying to imagine how she’s met him, but all she can think of is dreams. Whether she’s in one or not. She can’t seem to think of any scenario without her head throbbing painfully. 

“Can you lift you head for me, Nesta?” Madja says the words with patience, but she still thinks the sweet male might gripe. He only frowns like he’s unsatisfied at the the thought of her moving. “Well the wound seems to be healing nicely.” 

The other male, the one who stands in the corner, clearly perturbed that no one is listening to him, crosses him arms in a huff. “She doesn't remember any of us.” 

“That’s not--” 

But the male who holds her hand throughout her dreams, with a gaze that’s filled with moving flecks of color, looks her straight in the eyes. Nesta has the sudden urge to hide from his attention. Even Madja frowns in confusion at the pretty male’s words.

It’s Madja who asks, “Do you know your name?” 

“Nesta,” she repeats as she’s done since the moment she’s heard the word.  

“Do you remember me?” the sweet male asks. 

She remembers the warmth of his hands and she tries to smile kindly at the stranger who offers her comfort. “I remember you calling my name.” 

Madja nods slowly, but it does nothing to suppress the guilt of seeing him close his eyes, pain written across his face. Did she do that?

She must have, so Nesta does what she’s learned is one way to comfort someone who’s in a terrible, frightening position. 

Nesta grips the male’s hand, hoping the warmth of her palm calms that galloping heart. 

Chapter Text

Madja tells them both to keep Nesta relaxed. No training, no stress. Once she’s well enough to move, she should go about her familiar routine, and see if that drums up any memories. 

For now, Cassian keeps her company and answers all of her questions. She asks odd questions, too... none that he thinks she’d ask. 

How do your wings work, she wonders. Does everyone have them? Do pointed ears make you hear better? Nesta’s curiosity knows no bounds and every time she learns something new, when he answers her thoroughly and she’s had her fill, Nesta smiles politely with that satisfied grin. 

The Nesta with no memories is more polite than anyone he’s ever met. There’s no rage or bitterness. She’s snarky, still, but rather in a way that makes him laugh even if he means to be serious. She’s quick and so damn smart that he wonders if her head injury is so bad, if it left all of this knowledge behind--that thirst for it. 

“And the House, it gives me things,” Nesta says. She holds out her palm as if to show him. “Can I have a book, please?” 

The House obliges her requests and Nesta smiles lightly at the cover. She tucks a piece of falling hair behind her ear, and that’s different, too. Whether it’s from her injury or her lack of memory, Nesta doesn’t wear her hair up at all. She doesn’t even ask for a ribbon or a tie. She seems unbothered with the messiness of her appearance. 

It amazes him to see her this way. 

“It only seems to give me romances, though. Do I like romances?” 

“Very much so,” Cassian answers, trying to stave away the guilt. Nesta keeps asking him those questions. Do I like this? Do I like that? What’s my favorite color? Cassian, thankfully, knows enough to answer the simpler questions and anything he doesn’t he dismisses with a hopefully, we can see if you can remember once we get you up and about. 

Nesta nods excitedly at that. The journey is in the discovery, she says. 

The fear is in the discovery, too. Cassian half wonders how she’ll act when she knows. 

This Nesta is content and bold. That Nesta... was lonely and sad. She ached and she bled and she yelled across rooftops until she became such a quiet, little thing. Barely enough of her to take up space. This Nesta has never known quiet in her life. She talks so much, prattles on and on where wonders never cease and Cassian breathes in the sound of her voice. Nesta lights up this whole room.  

But he’ll be honest... Cassian doesn’t know what to make of her. 

It feels wrong to want this Nesta. It feels wrong to smile and laugh with this Nesta. And when she gets tired, her eyes blinking blearily, or when she grasps the back of her head as if she aches, it feels wrong to hold her hand. 

Cassian doesn’t know why he keeps holding her hand, but the worry in his chest never leaves. He sees her there... lying on the concrete while she doesn’t move an inch. Nesta doesn’t move even when he calls for her, and like the idiot he is, he thinks she’s lying. 

To get back at him, he thinks. She’ll make him worry just to dwell in it for a little while. But then, she doesn’t move and Azriel is there, and he’s asking what happened, and Cassian knows. Because he was practically there. 

He’s seen her fall. He’s seen her tumble and crash. It’s what she deserves, Cassian thinks, and afterwards maybe she’ll stop trying to go down. 

It’s a horrible thought, and then she doesn’t move. Her eyelids are pressed together. They could be glued shut. He starts imagining coins across them and his heart lurches in his throat. He just screams her name over and over.

Azriel calls for Madja when Cassian can’t move. He’s useless then, too, and he remembers that most when Nesta says she can’t remember a thing. 

He doesn’t let go of her hand, because it’s the least he can do. Now, she smiles fondly, when he does it and he doesn’t think of the implication of the touch. Her cheeks are such a pretty shade of peach. Her skin is filled with color and she’s alive. That’s all he can hope for. 

But touching her... 

The other Nesta, he knows, would have never allowed his touch and so touching her seems sacrilegious. It seems wrong. Cassian keeps reminding himself of that, but he holds her hand anyways and tells himself this is the only touch he’ll allow. When she let’s go, he’ll never touch her again.  

“You held my hand the entire time I was unconscious. I could feel you,” she remarks. Nesta closes her eyes as she shifts more comfortably on her pillow. The flutter of lashes and those pretty pink lips are enough for him to tell her he’ll give her anything if she asks. “Why?” 

Why? Why? Why? Why? Why?

Is this a punishment, he thinks, for not catching her when she falls. For not being there earlier, even before the House. Or perhaps he’s done something terribly awful in another life to be punished like this. Where the Nesta who likes his touch is arguably the Nesta he shouldn’t have. 

She’s so close and even a hand hold is a sin. 

“I couldn’t let you go,” he says. 

Nesta doesn’t answer, but her lips raise lightly and soon her breathing evens. Cassian wants to brush her hair out of her face, and pull the blankets up around her shoulders, but he can’t... 

He can’t do that to her. She doesn’t know what he’s done. 

So Cassian remains placated in his seat, still holding her hand. Sometime later, Azriel comes in and gives him that accusatory look, Cassian’s seen well these past few days. 

“You shouldn’t get attached to her. She’s not yours,” he says. 

But she is... Cassian knows this well. Maybe not in a way that means anything, but in a way he can feel down deep in his soul. 

But Cassian will never reveal that truth to his brother, even if he’s sure he already knows. 

“She’s not a different person,” he argues instead. “She’s the same.” 

The same face and lips and eyes. The same nose. The same expressive way she talks. 

“She doesn’t remember anything,” Azriel keeps reminding him. “What will happen when she finds out?” 

“I’m not doing anything wrong.” 

Azriel sighs, looking pointedly at the touch. “She likes you because of the bond. Nesta didn’t choose you.” 

It’s a hard truth to swallow, so Cassian dismisses the thought and runs a thumb across her soft skin. He can feel her pulse on her wrist, and he lightly wraps his hand around there, because it calms him more than anything else. 

“She could choose me still,” he mumbles to himself. 

“Cas, she’s vulnerable.” 

Those words seem to punch him in the gut, and he can’t help but raise his voice. “I’m only holding her hand. Is that small comfort, me taking advantage of her?” 

“Yes,” Azriel says, sternly. “It is. So tell her the truth before you make anything worse.” 

“I will.” He was planning on it... as soon as Madja says it’s safe for her to know. When her head doesn’t ache just by thinking too hard. “I will.” 

“She doesn’t love you, Cassian. Nesta might not remember that, but you certainly can’t forget.” 

No, he can’t forget that simple fact. He can’t forget the past. 

But... 

Can’t he dream a little while longer? Just while Nesta’s asleep. 

At least there, Cassian can pretend Nesta loves him, too. At least then, holding her hand won’t make him feel like the worst person alive. 

Chapter Text

Going back to normal routines is easier said than done. Nesta’s normal routines are physically exerting... or they would be if she completed them, if she ever dared to get off that rock and learned to punch and kick like she’s supposed to. Liked they planned.  

Something about this new Nesta tells him that she’d be more appeasing to that request, and so Cassian doesn’t tell her what her routines are, aside from helping in the library in her spare time. Azriel tells him that he’s lying by omission, but Cassian can’t bear the thought of her getting hurt again or going to Illyria and seeing just how awful the situation is.

Nesta’s proud… elegant and pristine. Even now she wears dresses and fancy ribbons. The lady she was born and bred to be. It seems that part of her is half a learned experience and half a preference. He sees her preferences in baby blue and creams, and simple lace. She could go for the leggings or the pants, and the flowing tops that are better for galivanting across the House. But Nesta chooses none of these, and none of the leathers. Nesta chooses dresses and she looks as beautiful as summer rain.

Right now, she’s not made for war zones and if he’s honest, this situation tells him that she didn’t fare well in the last one. She might be curious about fighting, and if she is one day, Cassian will indulge her and teach her everything he knows, but there’s no way going to Illyria will help his case. Not with those males leering at her if they’re not sneering at him.

It was a bad idea and it shouldn’t have taken a head injury to know that. But he’ll be damned if Nesta gets even one scratch on her when she hasn’t even fully healed.

Nesta says she’s fine, ready to remember, ready to get out of bed and learn who she is. Cassian finds those words fill him with apprehension, so he makes some excuse as to why she shouldn’t be up to too much right now and shouldn’t be in the library, shelving tomes. 

“Just until your head is a little bit better,” he pleads, looking towards the invisible wound already healed. She complains of headaches still. At odd times in the day, she leans on the wall or a table, with her hand on her head, and Cassian grabs her arm to steady her. He’s barely left her side, too fearful that more damage might be done. 

Usually she’s asleep by the afternoon anyways, and that concerns him too, but when he urges Madja to come check on her, the healer says that it’ll take more than a few days to heal. Relearning and remembering might be exhausting for her. 

But Nesta has all the curiosity of someone with no self-preservation skills, and he follows her around the House as she learns as much as he does, how much the House caters to Nesta’s musings. There’s a bathhouse in one room now. A garden overlooking the city. A giant terrarium off of the training area at the top. The House indulges her... and so does Cassian, if he’s honest. 

He likes seeing her happy. So free and spritely. She grins or gives him a smirk so teasing his blood boils in his veins and there’s nothing in the world Cassian wants more than this. To keep this moment and trap it in a jar so he can stare at it when the moment slips between his fingers.

He’s buying himself time, he thinks, because she’s not going to be like this forever. She’s going to remember and then he’ll have blood on his hands and it won’t be from a wound he loses sleep over. It will be from her trust—her happiness—that look on her face as she explores the House with him. That he’ll never get back, because this is not who Nesta is.

Even now she grows tired of this place, she can’t leave. Nesta looks to the city below, and he knows she wants to know what exists there, too. As big and wonderous as the House is, it’s much too small for someone who yearns to learn the whole world.  

So, Cassian holds his breath for when she asks to take her down there, when he must introduce her to a world which he punishes her for.

He’s not sure what he’ll say. She’s technically supposed to make it there by herself in the evening after her monitored routines, but Cassian doesn’t want her even close to the stairs. What would he even say if she noticed the dried stain on the steps? How would he explain to her that she’s supposed to climb down them all or she can’t view the city in all its glory—that she lost that privilege because she was hurting so much she was drinking herself to ruin?  

It sounds awful saying it to himself. It feels awful, because every time he does say it aloud or think that thought, he wonders why he didn’t try harder. Emotional pain is not as easy to heal as physical wounds, but what stopped him from doing then what he is doing now?

Nesta’s more pleasant, yes… but the guilt is not.

Being in this house is starting to seem like a punishment. A punishment for him as well as her. Maybe it’s always supposed to be that way. At some point, Cassian must have thought that this whole ordeal was proof that they cared about her, cared about that stubborn head of hers that dismissed them so easily. They only want her to be somewhere safe to heal, rather than out in the world she proved she couldn’t handle. 

Cassian is starting to wonder if it’s they who couldn’t handle her. 

Nesta gazes outside wistfully, reaching her hand out of the open window to touch a floating cloud. The mist works its way around her fingers and Nesta smiles lightly. Something childlike and innocent, something from someone who doesn’t know any better. 

“Let’s go to the city once you feel up to it,” he offers. It’s the only solution he can think of. To rid himself of this guilt, he’ll indulge in Nesta’s whims and wiles. He will make sure she’s happy until she isn’t any longer. Until those memories come back and he can no longer hold her hand like he wants.

Nesta gives him a smile so wide and ready. “I feel up to it now.” 

“Tomorrow,” he offers, giving her one of those looks she’s called his fussing look. It seems to make her more amused than angry to see it, and that’s a good thing because he can’t stop fussing. She’s... open to him this way. She doesn’t close herself in, and because she doesn’t stop him from staying by her side, he can’t help how protective he gets. 

It’s the... mate bond. It might be. It might be just that Nesta is worth protecting. She’s worth indulging and getting to know and spoiling rotten with time and all the affection she allows. His heart belongs to her anyway, so why should she not get to rip it out of his chest when this is all through? Maybe that will wonderfully stop that guilt from tearing it to shreds.

But then Nesta blinks her eyes tiredly, and he again is reminded why she’s like this, and Cassian feels the guilt well up in his stomach and sit there. 

Was she not worth protecting before? 

“You get tired around this time, lately. And besides,” he adds when she looks like she wants to say more. “I can plan the whole day for us.” And Cassian can figure out where everyone will be. Out of sight, out of mind. Less to explain, because he didn’t explain the whole story…

“Like a date,” Nesta remarks lightly. Her pretty, pink lips set into an almost devious smile and she takes his hand in hers. She sets it on his chest, as if she wants to know exactly how fast his heart beats against her fingers and in her palm.

Cassian tries to swallow the sound of his heart breaking in two. “If that’s what you want to call it, but it could help jog up some memories… and if not it’s good food.” He shrugs nervously, and he can feel his cheeks warming at her soft gaze. She doesn’t fault him for the noncommittal answer, instead Nesta seems to track the changing color of his skin.

“This is flattering,” she says, swiping a thumb over his cheekbone. “You always seem to blush when I’m near.”

That’s another thing that’s changed or maybe never changed—maybe it’s who Nesta is, he vaguely remembers her being this outspoken. Never to him, of course. Never so… endearingly similar to flirting.

Cassian can’t stand it. Is this who he misses by being so unaware of her needs?

She smiles up at him softly, and she steps an inch closer to him. Cassian has to resist stepping back, putting that distance between them like the real Nesta would want. But Nesta only reaches for his hand again, entwining their fingers together as she’s done like that first day. Her hands are so much smaller, so much softer than his and he’s almost ashamed of his callouses. 

“I would like to see it all with you.” 

Cassian can feel his cheeks warming even further—his whole face must be red and there it is again... that guilt. It eats away at his stomach. It crawls up his throat. It sits on his tongue ready to spew the truth, if the lie didn’t taste so sweet. 

You don’t want me at all. 

~

Cassian flies her down in the morning, while the sun is peaking through the night. The shades of color has Nesta aweing. She likes the way the light peeks through his wings, makes them seem orange in the glow. 

She fits so well in his arms and she’s as dainty as he remembers. She hasn’t gained enough weight being in the House, and that’s another thing that feels like someone is poking a needle at his chest. Remember. Remember. Remember. 

You must never forget.  

Nesta stares at his wings as he flies, asking him questions in his ear, and he refrains from shivering at the warmth of her breath on his skin. She wants to know exactly how they move to let him fly, when he learns, how it feels.

She reaches out a hand and Cassian grabs it before she can touch them, his thumb pressing in her palm. “They’re really sensitive,” he offers sheepishly. 

“Are they?” she asks in wonder. 

“They’re—” Cassian coughs, clearing his throat, hoping that the city might swallow him instead of making another omission he’s very much losing track of. “It’s an intimate thing to touch them.” 

Those aren’t the right words, he learns.

Nesta frowns in a way that makes him want to immediately give her his wing. “Can I not touch them?” 

She sets her hands back at her side, and Cassian can almost see the wheels turning in her head, that distance she marks between them by his words. Nesta has always had walls. They build brick by brick until he can only see grey and none of the emotion beneath. Her eyes are the color of storm clouds and she peers into his own, commanding thunder, forcing out rain.

He’s rarely seen that look in these past days—that you don’t know anything about me look. But it’s there. It’s building up and up, so Cassian rushes to appease.

“You can,” he says, a great fit of urgency in his voice. “Maybe not when we’re flying though. It’s hard… to concentrate.” 

Still, she looks wary, glancing back at his wings and then to his body as if she’s just noticing how close they are, how easily they cling to each other. Cassian entwines there fingers together, raising them his lips, and finding that her hands are too cold. “You’re the only one, Nesta, who can touch my wings. The only one I want, I promise you.”

Her gaze turns softer, happy to hear those words. She smiles at that sweet kiss he lays on her fingers—the way in which he pulls her just a tad closer. Cassian breathes deeply in relief as she settles back in again, her head sweetly resting in the crook of his neck.

They haven’t defined any aspect of their relationship, anyway, and until Nesta asks, he supposes it’ll be fine to enjoy this for a moment. 

It’s not untrue. 

She is the only one he wants. 

~

There is an airy quality to her voice. So sweet and rich, like the chocolate she eats with that tiny pastry spoon. She eats all manners of dessert and Cassian can’t help but point at more, calling the attendant over before she even agrees to try the confection.  

When Nesta raises a brow, Cassian only shrugs a shoulder. “What?” he insists. “It’s to jog your memory so it won’t help to skimp out on things.” 

“Yes, but I’ve already had three slices of cake, a candy apple, and a whole balloon of cotton candy. At this point, the rest is excess.” 

It might be, Cassian thinks. But Nesta should have it all. 

Nesta should have had it before. If she didn’t like porridge without sugar then he should have planted sugar cane on the balcony or at least shook the House for a vial of it, so she could like the food she ate in the morning. Sugar makes people happy... that’s the first thing he should have went with. 

If she didn’t like porridge, he should have offered to make her something else. Anything to have her eat something. Eggs, bacon, pancakes, a pastry… The joy that appears on her face would have been worth squandering down every instance where he’d want to urge her to eat something healthier and more sustaining. Nesta isn’t him. She doesn’t have to fight for a cause or in an army. She only needs to look at the world and not resent being in it.

Why should he take away small joys?

“You like sweets,” Cassian notes, jutting his chin to the half-eaten slice in her hands. “You should have all the sweets you like. Chocolate seems to be your favorite.” 

“Are you taking down notes?” Nesta laughs, a clear and bright sound, “I thought I was the one who lost their memory.” 

Cassian shrugs, keeping his calm, reminding himself that this is for Nesta to remember who she is, not for him to learn about who she is when she’s never once allowed it before. “I want to remember everything about today,” he says simply.

I enjoy being with you, he wants to say, but it seems… too intimate. Too much like they’re in a relationship when they’re not, even if he hasn’t stopped holding her hand or being close enough that he can smell lavender and honey in her hair. He’s taking liberties, he knows. It’s too easy to do it when Nesta’s so trusting and she looks at him with big eyes and soft smiles. Everything in him roars that this is exactly where he’s meant to be—exactly what he’s supposed to be doing.

Cassian watches as she takes a bite. All day she’s been offering to share it with him, but he won’t. He can’t. So, he shakes his head again when she looks down at the last bit of cake and then back to him. He gestures for her to finish it all and when she moans a little happy sound, Cassian swallows his nerves and tries to hide the flush of heat that worms its way down his chest.

“I’m going to go throw this away,” she says, waving around the plate. “Don’t buy anymore food while I’m gone.”

“No promises.” Cassian chuckles nervously, and moves to the next booth where the pop of corn has the air smelling faintly of caramel. Oh, Nesta will like this one.

Cassian smiles wide without meaning to, perhaps because he’s lost sight of the mission in his head of satisfying guilt and it’s now only about how well he can make Nesta laugh or grin or talk his ear off. 

He shifts to look for her, trying to search the crowd for a baby blue dress and that contented smile.  

“You’re supposed to be in the library,” Cassian hears.

Nesta straightens as Amren grabs a hold of her dress and Cassian’s hands clench into fists on instinct. She tries to shrug the female off, but Amren holds on tighter to her skirt. 

When she doesn’t loosen her grip, Nesta’s gaze finds him in the crowd, but he’s already moving. Something about the caution in her eyes—the wariness and distrust—has some beast inside of him roaring about protecting what’s his.

He can’t help it when he’s stomping over, looming faster, glowering at the ferocious female. A sound very similar to a growl ruptures out of his throat when Nesta says, “quit touching me.”

Her words are irritated and haughty, the first words he’s ever heard from her that sound like the Nesta before, but they’re laced with this new Nesta. With some fear that has him wanting to grab at her hand and lace their fingers together to reassure himself that she’s okay.

“I doubt this is polite in any circumstance.” 

“That’s rich coming from you. Who’d you con into helping you neglect your responsibilities?” Amren raises a brow as if waiting for Nesta to fight her on it, to argue, but Nesta doesn’t. Instead, Cassian watches as Nesta blinks tiredly at the question, raising a hand to her head. 

Cassian raises a soft hand to her cheek before he can stop himself, and he’s mouthing the words you okay? Nesta gives him a tired grimace, looking to the tiny female.

Cassian steps ahead of her, blocking Amren’s view.

“Oh,” Amren says, wrinkling her nose. “She could have just said that. You took her down.” 

Nesta slips her hand into his, squeezing at his palm. He can feel the light brushes of her body against his wings, but Cassian doesn’t focus on that feeling that makes his skin erupt in shivers.

He shifts towards her slightly but her gaze is merely open and curious, less skittish now that she has someone to hold onto, and she waits for his explanation as to who this fae is. Cassian mouths, I’ll tell you when we get home. He smiles conspiratorially as if it’s a secret to tell, a gossip only she can know. He hopes the look stops her from asking any questions. 

Madja says to have her take it easy, to learn her memories slow. He doesn’t want to know what harm might be caused if Amren are spouting the remnants of past days to her. 

The only thing that matters right now is that Nesta’s safe and that she’s comfortable. 

“I can’t say I’m surprised,” Amren says jutting her chin to their hands. “Though I didn’t think it would happen so soon. Thought she might have put up more of a fight.” 

“We’re just enjoying our day.” Cassian tries not to grit his teeth, but the words sound biting and cantankerous.  

“How’s your training? Last I heard, you were still sitting on a rock.” Amren raises a wicked brow, and looks at Nesta with distaste. Cassian sneers in her direction, baring teeth. “Finally found the easy way out I see.”

Nesta looks to Cassian at those words, but she doesn’t say much, seemingly knowing that Amren is trying to bate her into offering more information… not that Nesta has much information to give.

He wonders what Nesta thinks about all this. If she’s gathering information about her own life or about the company he keeps. Which is more important to her? Which direction will this sway into? Will it harm her own opinion of herself or harm his opinion in her eyes?

He prays it’s the latter.

Secretly, he hopes she takes it as neither. That this is a one-off thing with a person who is cranky at the best of times and monstrous at the worst. This tiny female has nothing to do with them. Either of them…

But that’s a lie, if he’s ever heard one.

“Leave us be. We’re not causing any harm by being out in the city.”

“Not yet,” Amren says, her voice filled with disdain, “but the day is still young.”

Amren looks over at Nesta and with a sneer that has Cassian want to fly her home and take down Amren at the same time, she says, “lying on your back might make him compliant, but we haven’t forgotten what you’ve done.”

And with those ominous words, Amren steps away as if she was never there at all. Cassian loses sight of her somewhere past the booth beyond kettle corn and only then does he loosen a breath. He’s very certain he’s going to have to fight Amren one of these days, but not in front of Nesta now when she rests her head on his arm like her head is too heavy to carry.

Nesta blinks up at him slowly, “I have a headache again.”

Cassian sighs and tucks her under his arm. His wing shifts to hide her from them all--this whole city. “Let’s get back to the House and I’ll explain everything.”

Chapter Text

Nesta isn’t sure when it happens, but a light bulb flickers on. A flash of lightning pierces the room, and suddenly, for a moment, Nesta blinks wide at the brightness of all she can see... and just for a moment, it all seems like a trap. 

For a moment, Velaris feels menacing. 

She can see it outside of her window like a monster hidden in the depths of the  night. She’s tucked beneath covers, in a house so high above, but the lights below flicker in the distance chanting up a summons. 

Remember, remember, remember. 

Remember who you are. 

Remember what she feels, would be the better retort. Nesta’s not so sure anymore. 

She feels... unsteady. As if she’s standing on a ledge of a very tall tower and one push of the wind might make her tip. Cassian says he’ll explain everything once they get home, but he only lays her down in bed. He won’t let her go from his arms the whole way, mumbling something about her injury. Her head does hurt so Nesta doesn’t argue. 

But it’s her chest that hurts more. Something heavy sits there, pressing there like Cassian does his fingers to her head. Tap taps like the pitter patter of rain and the summoning of a storm that may or may not be coming. For surely, if there’s lightning, there must soon be rain. 

He rubs at her head and Nesta thinks of storms. He combs his fingers through her hair until she blinks so slowly she might already be floating, sinking into that flooded Sidra. Cassian turns off the lights with promises of tomorrow, “tomorrow I’ll tell you everything” and Nesta sees that flash of lightning. Like a lightbulb flicking on and off again.  

Velaris in the distance winks cruelly and Nesta thinks of that tiny fae female with eyes that might bite, and an ugly, bitter taste floods her mouth. It tastes like blood... and wine... and hurtful, aching words. 

It feels like falling. 

It feels like hitting tarmac and cement. 

It feels like never getting back up. 

Nesta wills her eyes shut, praying she forgets it all. She doesn’t want to remember the taste, the touch, the feel of knowing. She only wants to feel Cassian’s hands as they were before he shut the door and turned off the lights, before they even made it down the mountain. She wants to hear his voice and the humming in his chest where his heart beats a melodic song. She wants to feel the warmth of his body against hers, protecting her against the cold, piecing wind as they fall.  

Nesta wills herself not to remember. 

For something cruel and dark lives there in the depths of her memories. 

~

But morning comes too soon and Cassian takes her hand. They’re going down again, he explains, to meet the people she’s forgotten. 

Forgotten like they don’t even matter at all.  

“I should have mentioned them sooner,” he keeps remarking, but Nesta’s not so sure she wants to know who they are even if that thought drums up so much guilt that it makes her nauseous. 

That heavy feeling is back again and her heart beats a bit faster, her limbs are a little more stiff, her back stands a little bit straighter. She keeps clenching her fists. Cassian keeps unraveling them, kissing at her palm and rubbing at the indentation of her nails. It reminds her of teeth and bite marks and cruelty. 

A few days ago, there was nothing but dreams and today, the drums sound in anticipation and the noise rings in her ears. She can barely comprehend what Cassian says as her head aches, pounding away.   

“Feyre will be happy to know you’re well.” 

Feyre, she breathes. Feyre is her little sister and Rhysand is her sister’s mate. It’s all she knows of them. That and the fact that they live down below and Nesta lives high above, so high that she must be trapped in this place. 

It’s a thought that persists, for no one should live so high and away from the rest of the world. 

Cassian only looks her up and down, and it’s further proof that there must have been something wrong with her to be kept so far away. He’s caution against cradling her in his arms. She’s never seen him so hesitant in these past days and it has her eyes stinging, but she wills herself not to reach for him. She must stand on her own two feet. 

This is how she’ll remember. 

His eyes settle on her hair, and Nesta tries not to fiddle with the straying pieces. “You’ve braided it back,” he notes. 

She resists touching the twists it pulls on the scab of a wound still healing. But for some reason, Nesta likes the pain. It’s the one thing she can’t forget. It’s there persisting, nagging her forward. 

The sooner you get this over with, the sooner you can take it out. The sooner you’ll be free.

So Nesta shrugs in answer, because she doesn’t know what to say. 

“It’s familiar,” she says quietly and those are not the right words for a sadness so deep she could drown in it flashes through his eyes. This time she doesn’t stop herself from rushing to him and finding solace in his massive frame and he doesn’t stop himself from holding her close.  

Cassian holds her tight, one of his hands settling on the back of her head as if he can keep her there permanently. She doesn’t know why this feels like a goodbye, but she wants to pull at his hand and plead for them to stay here where it’s safe, where nothing exists but them and this house. 

But soon enough, she’s wholly in his arms again, his wings catching the wind as they fall. 

The house they arrive at is much less grand then the mountain, though large in its own right. Nesta wonders if it will also grant her everything she wishes... perhaps all houses do that here. Perhaps there is nothing really special about it. Just like her, who only boasts pointed ears and nothing else. 

The door opens for them and Cassian merely walks through like he’s been here before and she’s sure he has because it’s she who doesn’t remember. Lives have been lived without her knowing this entire time. 

Cassian leads the way and when they enter what seems to be a living room, Nesta’s gaze catches a wall of pictures just as a set of arms move around her frame. 

“Oh, Nesta, are you okay?” Feyre, Nesta presumes, says. She squeezes the life out of her, but Nesta does nothing but hold her arms to her waist in a way she wishes Cassian would instead. So she wouldn’t feel so unsteady within these walls and within her sister’s arms. “I’ve been worried sick. Amren told me she’d seen you and Azriel wouldn’t say a word.”

Behind her sister, leaning up against that wall, a male’s gaze flickers to hers and then to Cassian’s. Dark and dangerous... Velaris’s flickering lights. 

“Cassian told us you fell,” he says and at his voice, Nesta wills herself once more to not fiddle with her hair. So instead she focuses on the pictures that fit so fully on the wall. Family and joy and warmth and smiles of people she should recognize, she knows. She hopes it fills her, hopes it calms her racing heart. 

“We’ve been worried sick,” Feyre says, but at Rhysand’s stern gaze, Nesta wonders if that’s a lie.  

But some truth settles in Nesta’s chest as she looks back up at those smiling faces. A truth so heavy she wants to cry. 

A lightning bolt strikes and Nesta knows. 

No love for her lives here in this house.  

Chapter Text

Cassian can only hold his breath. He counts to ten, lets out a breath, and holds it again. Holds it again because there’s a tightness against his throat and it’s not Nesta’s hand.

Cassian grazes his fingers against his Adam’s apple, like he wishes Nesta would do with hands much smaller than his. Light traces of her fingertips. Loving touches. But instead he thinks the next time she touches him, her hand will be on his throat. A little tighter like he deserves.

So, Cassian practices suffocation.

Cassian practices saying nothing.

But is that not how he sins? Is that not the grievance he carries?

“They don’t love me,” she says after they leave Feyre and Rhys.

“Why do you say,” he asks.

“Because they do not put me on their wall.”

Cassian can’t say he hadn’t noticed. He’s a general so of course he notices the lack of her. He notices every lack of her, because she digs holes so deep she can never resurface. They can’t dig her out. Mud and dust and dirt settle on her body and there are no pictures to remember her by.

That is her punishment.

Falling is her punishment.

Cassian is being punished. He is being punched in the gut when he sees her eyes water. Her hand goes to her throat. She holds it there. Lightly grasping her neck as if she can keep it all inside. Inside where she hides secrets in her lungs that she’s never gasped allowed. They’d been trying this whole time. It’s all they wanted.

Tell us anything.

“Tell me what you want from me.”

“The truth,” she says.

But Cassian can’t give her that. Not yet.

So, Cassian does what he does best. He bites his tongue and follows orders like a good little soldier.

“They love you so much.”

~

“You seem well,” Elain says happily. She’s the only visitor Nesta allows. Because sister’s do not leave each other behind.

He wonders what she’d say if he told her that she left them behind for a shitty apartment across town and bottles of liquor on her sister’s tab.

Feyre does not come and see her or he’d wonder if she was allowed inside these walls—the House of Wind, a tower keeping her safe and sound.

A prison? Maybe.

There seems to be some disagreement about that now.

But Cassian holds his tongue. Swallows down lies, for it must have been a lie. All those years. Look how much she cares when she’s fine.

Nesta smiles at her younger sister. Smiles like the sun and she seems happy to chat. She offers her sister a cup and excitedly asks her to know all about their life together.

Elain only sips at her tea, looking at him.

It seems they’ve made a family out of lies.

Chapter Text

Morrigan reminds Nesta of the sun. It burns her eyes to look at her and she imagines the land to be lifeless in too much of her presence. But she is the only one who appears to be honest with her, because she’s the only one who doesn’t seem to pretend to like her.

Actually, Nesta is sure that Morrigan doesn’t like her.

She’s visited three times this week and each time Mor barely spares a glance her way, and she sweeps Cassian away to other rooms, where she can't follow.

Now, she leans against bookshelves, touching Cassian’s arm.

Cassian assures her, she’s family and what is family but a bunch of brothers and sisters?  

She’s not his sister, some voice in her head rings.

Call it intuition, but Nesta keeps her wits about her and her eyes on this female--cautious and leery.

“I heard about the fall. I’m sorry that happened to you,” Mor simply remarks, eyeing at Nesta’s hand that goes to rest in the crevice of Cassian’s other arm.

“You’re the last I am to re-meet of Cassian’s family,” Nesta says, politely.

“Not your family? We’re practically your in-laws with Feyre mated to Rhys and all.”  

“I suppose you’re right.”

“Nes is doing much better,” Cassian intrudes, with a wary glance to them, both. “Madja says she can resume moderate activity.”

“Like training?” Mor asks. “Mother knows how that turned out.”

Nesta can’t help the frown, “How did that turn out? I trained?”

Cassian squeezes her hand. “You were supposed to—”

“It didn’t go well, I heard. Someone decided it was beneath her.” Morrigan laughs, something short and haughty—dismissive, as if she’d all but waved her away.

Nesta only smiles, though she doesn’t quite know what to do with this information yet. Vaguely, she remembers her mother teaching her how to school her face. Hiding disgust is easy when it’s second nature. They must never know what you feel.

Nesta doesn’t know when it started—her lies.

She keeps telling Cassian that she doesn’t remember a thing, and yet she swears she can hear her mother’s voice in her ear. Oh, what her mother taught her might wipe away his grin. He lightly knocks his head against hers and Nesta thinks that her mother would have been proud for how well she deceives them.

But what else is she supposed to do, when they won’t tell her the truth… at least not quite. No person is so perfect and… she’s not on Feyre’s wall. Nesta can’t get that out of her head. The missing presence as if they’d all been smiling and happy when she wasn’t there.

Perhaps, because she wasn’t there.

And now this—a female who feels more foe than friend. A female who seemed to have quite an extensive relationship with her… Cassian.

Cassian would tell her if something was going on… wouldn’t he?

Just the thought has her head feeling like someone takes a spike to it.

Cassian wouldn’t lie to her, would he?

~

Elain keeps Nesta occupied throughout the week, so she never has a chance to ask Cassian about the training or what Mor means. Every moment is stolen by her sister who smiles a bit too brightly for such early hours.

She just asks too many questions really and how should Nesta know the answers?

At first, Nesta feels jovial, absolutely giddy to have a sister that seems to like her, but now… she’s not sure, she likes Elain. Question after pestering question. Clinging and coddling.

Something about her unravels her at the seam and any mention of the fall, gets her pitiful looks. Crescent moons are permanently indented in her hands, because she cannot stop clenching her fists.

But when Elain leaves for the evening, all Nesta feels is guilt. Her loving sister, who adores her older sister so much. She even made dessert for her. Even when the House can do it, she insists. How vile can Nesta be? How can she despise the sister who loves her? Perhaps she’s a glutton for punishment, because this should be a dream.

But something is off about Elain. Something sickly underneath that floral scent, and she’s surprised that it’s not sadness that fills her veins at the thought of her sister, but disgust. An annoying little feeling that pesters her to be annoyed.

Nesta’s positively moody and she wonders if she should ask Madja if a consequence of her head concussion is mood swings, because one moment she’s happy, one moment she’s crying, and in another she’s enraged as if hel had filled up her stomach and made room in her lungs.

Elain does nothing wrong, she has to remind herself.

She’s wrong.

She’s broken.

She’s the one who doesn’t remember.

So in the evening after Elain leaves and Cassian is nowhere in sight, Nesta hides in the closet—somewhere small. She’ll be alone with her thoughts and if she taps at her head to make the memories appear so be it.

At least she has the House. A little light glows on the ceiling as if to say I’m here.

“I feel like I’m going crazy,” Nesta speaks softly. “I know I should love them, but they just make me mad, all of them, and I don’t know why.”

Please tell me why, she asks the House.

But it gives her no more answers than anyone else.

~

In the morning, Nesta asks to host a family dinner and by the next evening, Nesta dreams of red velvet and it twists around her bodice, nice and snug. Deep red like a pool of dark liquid. She wipes her sweaty palms against the fabric.

This is her family. They sit around the table, a feast before their eyes, and they grin. Cheek to cheek, as if they are proud of the woman Nesta is.

“Please sit,” she says, all happy smiles.