Chapter Text
A scream ripped through Nesta as she plunged into darkness. She couldn’t see anything, everything was dark and unknown to her. All she could do was scream and claw and fight at the cold harsh waters pulling her down; trying to drown her.
Nesta tried gasping for air, trying to get to the surface, trying to find the light - but there was none; only darkness thrived here, any chance of light and hope was slaughtered by the feeling of the cauldron ripping into her skin, breaking something deep within her.
Immense pain flooded through Nesta, everything within her heart shattering. She screamed and screamed and screamed.
No one came to help her.
She was alone and she was in the worst pain of her life.
Whilst she felt like she was breaking into a thousand tiny pieces the cauldron just kept trying to take from her.
It kept ripping at her skin, the darkness of the water blinding her. She could feel the changes being made to her body. She didn’t want this.
Damn the King of Hybern.
Nesta knew she would kill him the moment she escaped the world of the cauldron.
Nesta was pissed.
Every time the cauldron tried to take something from her she would take twice as much. The cauldron was fighting Nesta at every step, but Nesta did not falter, she did not give in. She kept taking and taking and taking; she was draining the cauldron of its gits.
If the cauldron was going to take her humanity she was going to take the cauldron's gifts. She would get her revenge. Nesta knew deep in her soul that this cauldron had taken more than just her humanity, it had taken something else. Something unknown to even Nesta. All she knew was that it was being taken.
Nesta felt like she was drowning forever, felt that she was clawing and screaming and tugging and drowning and swimming as far up as she could but every time she came even close to the top a calloused unfriendly hand would shove her down, deeper and deeper into this monster.
Until she climbed to the top and fought and fought. Next thing Nesta knew she was on the cold ground, back in Hyberns castle.
She could feel the death around her, she could see Cassian's shorn wings, she could see Adriel trying to help his brother to no avail, Feyre was in shock trying to reach Elain but a guard was holding her arms back, not allowing her to move, restraining her.
The Cauldron had already stolen her body, her very life as a human.
Nesta wished death would claim her now, end her misery, return her to her former form and release her from this fae body. Return her to what she once was, not what she now was.
Nesta continued to spiral and pray for death as she could feel magic in the air. An ancient song was sung to Nesta - not a song of death though, but a song from the dead and from the heartbroken.
Nesta screamed. Gods above, she could do nothing but scream.
Something was being stolen from her and every moment felt like a thousand years were passing and she was frozen in time. The world was moving around her but she couldn't find it in her to move. She could not move. Nesta has lost something she never truly knew she had.
Nesta wanted to scream from the mountaintops, she wanted to burn the fae to the ground and she wanted revenge. The only sound that pierced her spiraling conscience was a scream, a scream that had left Feyre’s mouth.
Nesta stared at her youngest sister, wide eyed and fear very much present in her eyes and her expression.
In that very moment, for one of the few times in her life, Nesta was certain of something; she did not want to live. She could not feel as though there was anything worth living for now.
Nesta drifted into the depths of her mind and lost all tugs to her current reality.
Mor comes rushing to Nesta and grabs and reaches her other arm out to touch Elain.
The next moment felt as though Nesta were infinitely falling, but that made no sense she was moving forward but felt as if she would drop into the 7 circles of hell at any second.
Mor was trying to say something to Nesta but she couldn't comprehend anything she was saying.
Nesta had stopped screaming, but screams filled her mind, and they wouldn't stop. A girl's - no, a woman's - scream tormented her mind. A scream that was all too familiar, though she had only ever heard that scream when it was for joy, but this time it was for fear and death.
Nesta knew that she wasn't there when the woman had actually screamed - if she had actually screamed. Nesta can only ever guess what happened that day. I guess that is another thing Nesta would never be able to learn.
Nesta could feel herself being lifted, by whom, she could not register. Her body was alive but her mind, gods above, her mind was so incredibly far away, her mind was not on this planet, not at this moment. Nesta’s thoughts have left the lands of mortals and immortals.
Nesta felt her body in someone's arms, but she could not see them, no, what she could see was a golden bridge. A bridge that looked so magnificent and beautiful, a sight Nesta was unused to.
This bridge is a beautiful creation, it was made of gold - or a golden color. The bridge looked as though it were constructed of brick but of golden bricks.
Nesta shifted her mind to go towards the side of the bridge and look down, now that was what rattled Nesta to her very core.
It was truly a sight to behold, a sight so unreal she knew you would never see something so gorgeous anywhere mortals could walk, Nesta knew that even the fae did not have such sights in their magical courts.
She was in a sea of stars. The bridge was floating in a universe of its own, it looked like the drop down was endless, but what shook Nesta even more was that the bridge was floating, yes but the golden bricks melted into the unknown sea of stars. The bridge remained the same but holy shit, under the bridge was like a waterfall of golden water and sparkles.
Magic.
This was magic.
Only then did Nesta realize something - her pain from earlier was non-existent now that she was on this bridge.
Nesta came away from the edge of the bridge and returned to the center, that was when she finally looked across and saw something - no - she saw someone.
Nesta wanted nothing more than to run to the person on the other end of the bridge; and she tried to.
Nesta sprinted towards the other end of the bridge, however she got two thirds of the way there before the person at the other end of the bridge reached their hand out.
Strong winds attacked Nesta violently. She tried her best to fight against the wind threatening to whisper her back to the other end of the bridge, but no matter what she tried she couldn't not go against the wind. How there was wind here, well only Nesta knew the answer to that.
“Not yet Nesta, it is not your time yet.”
The voice spoke so softly, a comfort Nesta had been used to once upon a time - a time that now felt almost like a different age, a different universe, a different timeline altogether.
The person was looking deeply into Nestas eyes, she felt as though she should look away but she could do nothing but state back into the brown, almost black, eyes of the woman across the bridge.
“What do you mean not now?” Nesta asked, she had to know, she needed to know.
“Across this bridge is death Nesta, and I am telling you it is not your time now.” The woman looked at Nesta and observed her.
The woman had black hair, almost an onyx color. Her eyes were doe-like, they looked innocent but Nesta knew those eyes had seen plenty of horrors. She wears a plain, ankle-length woolen dress in earthy tones, hand-me-downs from her older sister. Her dress is adorned with a simple linen apron to protect it from dirt and stains. A leather belt cinches her dress at the waist, providing a practical place to hang a pouch for carrying small items. She wears well-worn leather shoes suitable for navigating the uneven village roads.
Nesta knew she had to ask now, she knew her time here, on this bridge, with her, was limited.
“Clare, your house went up in flames but when i went in after the fire was put out i could find the remains of your family, but nothing of you, what happened to you? How did you die?”
Nesta trembled and shook as she asked the question, her body betraying a kind of fear she had been so careful to hide since she was but a small girl. This was the type of fear her mother did her best to beat out of Nesta.
“Nesta, another horror was bestowed upon me, dying in that fire would have been a mercy. How I died-”
Clare was cut off by someone's shouts.
“NESTA”
“NESTA”
“NESTA”
“WAKE UP”
“FOR FUCKS SAKE WAKE UP NESTA”
Nesta sat up straight almost immediately, unfortunately for whoever woke her up, she had bashed someone's face in the process. Her eyes had yet to adjust so she couldn't quite tell who it was but she could make out the man stumbling back clutching his nose.
Nestas eyes finally adjusted and she saw that the man - no, he was no man, but he was a male - was Cassian.
Not him. She thought.
“Mor said you lost consciousness when she was trying to talk to you last night. She said you collapsed on the spot and now I come into your room because I hear screaming and see you violently shaking.” Cassian said softly, still rubbing at his nose, presumably trying to check if it was broken or just in pain.
Did she have a nightmare? Did she actually talk to Clare? If so, Nesta was right, Clare didn't die in that fire, her family did, but not her.
Nesta felt angry with Cassian for many reasons, but now she felt it a bit more than usual. She knew he didn't know what she was seeing or dreaming about but he woke her. Nesta never wanted to learn of the horror that had befallen her friend, it was something she didn't know if she could handle or not. Now it was clear, she had to know.
Nesta look around the room she was in, ignoring Cassian. It is a massive room, it was beautiful though. She was in the bed and if she looked to her left she could see a wall of windows overlooking a city and snow capped mountains in the distance. It was truly a sight to behold. Nesta might have appreciated it more if she weren't in her current predicament. As soon as she spotted the mirror in the room she bolted out of the bed, ignoring Cassian's pleas to stay in bed because she was still weak from going into the cauldron.
Cauldron be damned.
She walked over to the mirror. It was now or never.
She took a deep breath, her trembling hand reaching out to touch the ornate frame of the mirror. Reluctantly, she looked at her reflection, and what she saw filled her with anger and sadness. Her once chestnut hair was now a deep brown and no longer had any wave to it, it was now pin straight, her eyes transformed into striking silver orbs that shone with an otherworldly light. Her features were delicate, and her skin seemed to glow with an ethereal radiance.
Nesta had always been beautiful but now no one could ever deny the fact.
It was a cruel mockery of the life she had once known.
Cassian watched her from a distance, the tension between them palpable. Their connection was tainted by the seething anger and sorrow that filled Nesta's heart. He had witnessed the transformation, but the animosity that simmered beneath the surface was impossible to ignore. Nesta knew he still hated her for letting Feyre go into the woods and hunting when they lived their life of poverty.
No matter where she looked in the mirror, her eyes continued to find Cassian, who was leaning against a wall, his wings tucked tightly to his back, his injuries from the previous day still evident despite the miraculous healing powers of the fae.
Their eyes met and Nesta couldn't help but remember their confrontations and the hurtful words they had exchanged only a couple days ago. It was clear that things between them hadn't changed, regardless of the horrors that have occurred in the past weeks.
Cassian had been severely injured during their confrontation with the King of Hybern yesterday. She could see the lingering pain in his eyes as he met her gaze. There was a tense silence as they stood there, neither of them willing to speak first.
Finally, unable to contain her curiosity, Nesta broke the silence. "How are you even standing?" Her voice held a hint of incredulity as she gestured towards his battered form.
Cassian offered a wry smile, a mix of pain and amusement in his eyes. "Fae magic can heal many things, but it can't take away the memories of what we went through yesterday. And it can't mend everything."
Nesta nodded, her gaze softening slightly, but the tension between them remained.
"Nesta," Cassian said cautiously, "I understand this wasn't your choice."
She knew he was referring to her new fae body and the events of yesterday.
Nesta turned to him, her voice filled with anger and grief. "You understand nothing. I never asked for any of this. If anything, I recall asking for quite the opposite actually.”
Cassian dropped his gaze from hers in the mirror.
"You're right. You didn't choose this, but you can choose what to do with it now."
Nesta's anger boiled over, her tears held back by sheer willpower. "And what would you suggest I do, Cassian? Embrace this new existence and pretend like I'm happy about it?"
Cassian met her gaze with an unyielding determination. "No, I - and no one else in this court - would expect you to accept something like this, especially when the wound is still raw. It will take time, but I promise you Nesta, it does get easier.”
Nesta's shoulders slumped, her anger giving way to a deep well of grief that threatened to consume her. She may have been transformed against her will, but she couldn't change the past. With a heavy heart, she turned back to the mirror, looking at her fae reflection with a sense of loss that she knew would never truly fade. There was a long and arduous road ahead of her, and she wasn't sure how she would navigate it - if she could navigate it.
Nesta was still looking into the mirror until she noticed some movement. She could see Cassian stood from where he sat on the bed and looked to her before he spoke.
“I have some things to attend to but I will come see you again later. If you get hungry the kitchen is downstairs on your left, the dining room is the same direction but instead of left it is through the set of double doors at the end of the downstairs hallway. The doors are kept open so you won't miss it. If you want to see Elain she is in the room next door. This is the House of Wind by the way. Everyone is at the townhouse, the one Mor originally winnowed you and Elain to, however Azriel is here. He will be at the training ring all day which is just outside, again, you can't miss it. His room is directly down the hall, next to the staircase if you need him during the night and if he is not at the training ring he will be in there. ”
With that he opened the bedroom door and left.
Nesta still stood before the full-length mirror, her reflection a stark reminder of her forced transformation. She had been unwillingly thrust into this new existence when she was pushed into the Cauldron, and it was a life she never would have chosen for herself.
Now that Cassian was gone her thoughts returned to what happened in what must have happened to Clare. Nesta also couldn't help but ponder what she actually saw in her state of unconsciousness.
Was it real? Was she truly speaking to clare?
Nesta felt a profound sense of grief and loss that weighed heavily on her heart. Nesta and Clare had been close friends for years, sharing countless memories, secrets, and dreams. They had supported each other through life's ups and downs, creating a bond that used to be unbreakable - and it was unbreakable. Clare might be dead but their bond still lives, especially if her dream/vision meant anything.
Nesta knew it had to be real. She had stopped dreaming when she was little, why would she start again now? The answer was that she wouldn't. Whatever happened last night was real.
The pain of losing Clare was like a relentless ache in Nesta’s chest, a constant reminder of Clare's absence. Nesta missed the way Clare's laughter had brightened up even the darkest days and the warmth of her embrace during moments Nesta dared show any sense of vulnerability.
Nesta found herself grappling with a deep sense of guilt, wondering if there was anything more she could have done to prevent Clare's tragic fate. She replayed the memories of their last moments together, thinking about the last words they had exchanged and wishing she had said something different or held onto Clare’s hug a little longer.
Her grief was also accompanied by a sense of numbness, as if she were floating through life in a daze, unable to fully comprehend the enormity of her loss. Nesta felt isolated, as though a piece of her heart had been torn away, leaving an emptiness that no one else could truly fill.
Nesta turned away from the mirror and sat in the arm chair overlooking the city. Nesta Archeron had always been a woman of fierce independence and strength. Yet, nestled deep within the fortress of her heart were moments of vulnerability that only Clare Beddor could unveil. One such memory stood out, a fond recollection that had etched itself into Nesta's soul.
Nesta and Clare would have only been 13 at the time, this memory was from before Nesta’s family had fallen from grace. Clare’s family was by no means rich but they were excellent tailors and amazing in the craft of sewing and designing, the Archeron family only ever ordered clothes from their family. The Beddors were the only people to still treat us with grace and kindness, even after we fell on hard times. Sometimes, if they had a few coppers to spare they would buy food for us or clothes. They were kind people.
It was a bright spring morning, and the Archerons gardens were in full bloom, a riot of colors and scents that danced on the gentle breeze. Nesta and Clare had decided to escape the pressures of court life for a day, seeking the solace of the garden's enchanting beauty.
They walked together, arms intertwined with one another, as if they never wanted to let go, along a cobblestone path. The sun caressed their faces with its warmth, and Nesta's heart felt light and free. This was a time before Nesta knew true tragedy.
Clare always had a mischievous glint in her eyes. "Nesta," she said with a grin, "I have a challenge for you."
Nesta raised an eyebrow, intrigued. "What kind of challenge?"
Clare pointed to a cluster of daffodils, their bright yellow petals swaying in the breeze. "I want to see who can pick the most beautiful flower."
Nesta chuckled, a rare sound that came easily when she was with Clare. "You're on."
They set off in opposite directions, their laughter filling the air as they competed to find the most exquisite bloom. Clare moved gracefully among the flowers, her fingers brushing over the petals as if in conversation with them. Nesta, on the other hand, approached the task with determination, her eyes scanning for the perfect daffodil.
After a few minutes, they reconvened, their hands full of daffodils. Clare's bouquet was a vibrant mixture of colors, and Nesta's was a carefully selected bunch of pristine, pale yellow blooms.
Nesta couldn't help but admire Clare's bouquet, the various shades of daffodils reflecting the depth of her love for nature. "You win," she admitted with a smile, extending her hand to offer her collection of daffodils.
Clare, however, shook her head and took Nesta's hand, intertwining their fingers. At that moment, amidst the blooming daffodils and the golden sunlight, Nesta realized that the most beautiful flower in her life had always been Clare.
The memory of that day remained etched in Nesta's heart, a reminder of the love she had found and the vulnerability she had allowed herself to embrace. It was a memory that illuminated her darkest moments, a beacon of hope and warmth in the complex tapestry of her life.
Since Clare passed, Nesta hadn't wanted to think of her because when Nesta did think of Clare she felt an immense yearning and immense sorrow. Nesta missed Clare. Clare was Nestas person just as Nesta was her. Without Clare Nesta felt incomplete.