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Fae pregnancies were notoriously difficult.
It had been an undisputed fact, and one Nesta had been aware of early into her life as one of them. But, of course, it was a risk many attempted. Younglings were precious, and wanted by mated pairs more than anything- perhaps even more than one another. Seeing Feyre and Rhysand’s true happiness with their son had only made Nesta want one more- especially knowing how much Cassian did.
A family like she had never had. Children who were not abused or neglected; who would never want for anything. To do right by them the way she had never been.
It was her most precious dream.
She and Cassian had been trying (true, with little hope for results) since a little under a year past their mating ceremony. Why not, they thought in gentle excitement, when it could take years? When there was little chance of anything coming of it, but they knew it was something they wanted for themselves?
And it had worked.
Nesta was pregnant, and had been for little under two months.
She had never been so happy. Perhaps Cassian had noticed a shift- increased crankiness and affection respectively, that she rarely had bad days any longer- but she had gone to lengths to hide it from him. The shift in her scent, the healers told her, would not be apparent until almost the three-month-mark, which worked in her favor. And damn her, but Nesta wanted to make the announcement herself- make it an occasion for him, if only to see him as happy as she knew he would be.
But in Nesta’s entire life, luck had never once been kind to her. And that was what fae pregnancies required- lots and lots of luck.
It wasn’t just conception that was difficult- it was keeping the baby healthy once it had taken root. It was that her womb, strong and Illyrian though it might be, was by flaw of faerie evolution a harsh environment for a child to grow in.
And she had lost it.
Lost their baby.
Her dream, her happiness, gone in the blink of an eye.
When the blood had come, when she had assumed it was spotting but instead found something larger, she had rushed to the healers, terror like she had never known coursing through her. And it was then that she had been informed she was no longer with child.
The day before she was to tell Cassian.
Time and space were meaningless. Condolences were, too. Nesta moved as if in a trance, back to the House, back to her room. And there she sat on the bed, staring at nothing.
Waiting for someone to come and tell her the healers were mistaken, that it was just a cruel joke, that in her womb was a healthy, growing child that would grace the world in eight months.
But she knew there was nothing there. And she had never felt more empty.
“Nes?” Cassian called the name out into the hallway as he wandered idly through the House. She hadn’t been in the ring for training that morning, but that wasn’t a real reason for concern- she could have been caught up with library work or the family. He had finished training with the priestesses and set out to find her shortly after.
He followed her scent to the door of her old bedroom- not the larger one they used now, which was a heartening blend of both of their personalities and possessions, but her old room- full of all her old memories.
His brow furrowed as he pushed the door open. “Nesta?”
She was sitting on the bed, staring at the wall. Cassian began to worry. “Nes, sweetheart? Are you alright?”
She nodded but didn’t turn.
He walked in and closed the door behind him. “Hey.”
He came to sit by her on the bed. She wasn’t crying, and no emotion flitted over her face. Only emptiness.
He brushed a knuckle over her cheek, and asked, brows furrowed, “You wanna come train? I’ve still got some energy.”
Training- to distract her, get her to talk to him. If this was one of her bad days- which had been noticeably fewer in recent weeks- it might help to express some violence. He knew it did so for him.
She shook her head, turning away again.
Worry began to darken Cassian’s thoughts. They had dinner at the River House tonight, but if she was having a bad day, they should postpone…
“How about we stay in tonight, hm?” he proposed.
She gave a single nod, returning her attention to the wall.
He squeezed her shoulder. “Want to come back to our room?”
She nodded again, and he took her hand to lead her out.
When they were settled back in the bedroom, Nesta sinking worldessly into an armchair, Cassian sat opposite her. “What’s wrong?” he asked, concern palpable on his face. “Are you hurt?”
She shook her head- to which question, he didn’t know.
“Do you want me to stay?” he asked, softer.
Tears finally began to brim in her eyes. She nodded again, and crossed to him slowly.
He opened his arms automatically, and she crawled into them, knees tucked, clutching his shirt. He wrapped his arms around her and held her firmly, rubbing soothing circles on her back. She didn’t cry, but she did clutch him tighter.
He would hold her forever just to banish her pain.
The rest of the day was slow and careful. Nesta didn’t speak once.
Cassian was growing more afraid by the hour- every hour she didn’t speak, didn’t really move, didn’t appear to be full of any emotion at all.
He worried most of all that this wasn’t the regular type of bad day. That something else had happened.
So help him, if someone had done this to her… nothing in the world could keep him from flaying them alive.
When they turned the lights out and crawled into bed, Nesta kept to her side- rather out of the ordinary considering they usually slept practically on top of one another- her golden-brown hair unbound and sprawled across the pillow.
Cassian lay awake for what could have been hours, worrying. Feyre had been concerned, too, when he had canceled on dinner, asking if something was up, and Cassian hadn’t had an answer. He had hoped that he would have found one today.
He hadn’t. It was driving him insane.
Nesta must have been awake, too, because suddenly, after all those hours, he heard her start to cry.
“Hey.” he said gently, scooting over to her and wrapping his arms around her waist from behind as her shoulders began to shake with sobs. “Nesta.”
She only cried harder.
“What’s wrong?” He whispered, smoothing the hair back from her face. He wiped a tear away gently.
“I- I lost it.” she breathed, voice hitching.
“Lost what, my love?” he asked softly, hands still working to soothe and support, brushing away her tears. From where they lay, he couldn’t see her face, but he saw her eyes fluttered closed as she spoke.
“The baby.” she cried.
Cassian went entirely still- dread and sorrow overtaking every part of him, even as he didn’t know the story, didn’t even fully know what she meant- “What?” he asked, his voice breaking.
“Our baby.” she sobbed. “I lost it.”
The words clanged through him. Our baby.
Their baby- Cassian’s and hers. A child. Nesta had been pregnant.
“Oh.” he said weakly, despair and grief working its way through him.
“I’m sorry.” she cried out. “I’m so sorry.”
He immediately moved, turning her gently, sitting her up against the pillows as he wiped more tears from her face. “You were pregnant?” He didn’t understand, couldn’t comprehend this world-shattering change-
Her shoulders curved inward, and lifted her hands to her face to cry into them, nodding.
He pried them away gently. “Why didn’t you tell me?”
“I was going to.” she sniffed.“I was going to today. But- but I l-lost him instead.”
A boy. “Him?” he asked.
“The healers told me a week ago. A baby boy.” she sobbed. “And now he’s- he’s gone.”
He crushed her to his chest. “Oh, Nes.”
Tears rose in his eyes as he held her to him, as they quietly cried together.
It consumed him, this grief, this sorrow, this emptiness. So that had been that change in her- that gentle joy these last weeks he had marked and smiled at when she couldn’t see. And now- gone.
Gone with their miracle that had blinked out.
What did he do? What did he say? Be strong, something told him. Be strong for her.
And he would- Gods, he always would.
“I’m sorry.” Nesta cried. “It’s my fault.”
“It is not your fault.” he said firmly. He tipped her chin up so she would meet his eyes.
“Hey. Listen to me, Nesta- this is not your fault. None of it is.”
In her eyes he could see how little she believed him.
“It’s a horrific fact of this life, but this happens all the time. Most fae couples lose ch-children.” he stumbled on the word. His child- his babe. “It’s not your fault, Nesta.” he repeated.
“Who’s fault is it, then?” she snapped, though it lacked the bite.
“It’s the way the Cauldron willed it, I suppose.” Cassian offered sadly.
Nesta sniffed again. “I hate the Cauldron.”
He gripped her harder. “Me too.”
They were quiet for a while, just crying together.
“W-what if I can’t- what if it doesn’t work, next time?” she mumbled.
That grief shot through him again. “It might be hard. There might be nights like this one. But eventually, Nes, it will work. And we’ll never forget the ones we lost on the way.”
Nesta cried harder.
Their son. Their son.
Cassian cried with her.
It took days and days for them to leave the House, or be seen by anyone, really.
Cassian told Rhys and Feyre mind-to-mind what happened, and they both stopped by to express their own grief. Feyre hugged Nesta for close to an hour and exchanged few words indeed- Nyx, wisely, left at home.
In that time of recovery, Nesta and Cassian talked and talked and held one another. They stared into each other’s eyes and tried to learn how to move on, how to… move.
Eventually, with many tears, she told Emerie and Gwyn. They, too, cried with her.
On the twelfth day, Nesta entered the bedroom to find a small glass orb on the desk, illuminating from within by a ball of shimmering light. Like a tiny, trapped star.
In Rhysand’s handwriting, a note was pinned beneath it-
To Remember.
Nesta didn’t realize tears were rolling down her cheeks until they wet the paper, smudging its ink.
She and Cassian put the star on the wide mantel that evening, so their unborn son could watch over them all, forever. So they might remember.
They stood side by side, Cassian with an arm wrapped around her waist, watching him glow. Cassian pressed a kiss to her temple, and Nesta laid her head on his shoulder. Her mate was there- as he had always been- grieving with her.
Grief. Always grief. But shining behind it, brilliant as the dawn… hope.