Chapter Text
In another war, after another battle, Cassian was the last of them to return to the camp. Nesta had searched for him and his red-flaring siphons amongst the crowds for a good hour before she saw him. Huge and towering, his shoulders and wings slumped. Covered in mud and blood. Their eyes met. His were different. Gone was the smirk, the spark. Dulled the light. He came straight over and they hugged tight without a word. Pressing their foreheads against each other. Quickly he pulled away, went to look over the casualties. She had already seen to hers and the wounded of the band of Valkyries she led. She went to her tent. Peeled her leathers off. Washed her hair and skin as best she could.
Afterward, she parted the flap to his tent and found him sitting on the bed. Elbows on his thighs, head hanging. A single candle lit. He looked at her and smiled with the same strange eyes from before. She went over to him and placed herself between his legs, her knees on the damp mud floor.
“Hey,” she said.
“Hey,” he said back. She caressed his dirty cheek. He leaned into the touch and sighed.
“You smell,” she said and he laughed dryly.
“I bet.”
She went to the corner of the tent to get a small bowl of water and a towel. Then she cleaned his face. Slowly. He stared at her as she did so.
“It was bad today, Nes.” She nodded.
“There was this one male,” he continued, ”so young. Barely grown. And I- I killed him before I could think. Pure instinct. And his eyes..” he trailed off. She cupped his cheek again and looked him in the eye. “And another, he held out his hands. He surrendered. And I stopped but somebody behind me threw a spear and he was pierced. I had just seen hope in his eyes and then he was dead. So many dead. And I remember their faces. Sometimes I see them all. Sometimes they stare at me and I see them clearly. Other times it’s all a blur.” He paused, then started again. ”I think I blacked out for some part of it today. There are… things I can’t account for. I stood over a bunch of dead people when I came to once. Theirs and ours. And I don’t know which of them I killed. I might have killed our own. We know it happens in battle. It is common even, in the chaos. We just don’t talk about it.” He looked at her pleading. “And in the end, aren’t they all fae?” Nesta looked at Cassian. At least there was sorrow in his eyes now and not the deadness from before. He broke the eye contact and shook his head.
“Why are we in this war again?” He asked. She shrugged.
“Did we really exhaust all diplomatic solutions?” He continued.
“Rhysand seems to think so,” she said and he sighed. End of discussion.
“I have fought wars for dubious reasons and just ones. And in the end, all I know is, good people on both sides always die.” He trailed off again. “I just…I feel old, Nesta.”
“You are old, my friend.” He smiled sadly.
“I feel too old for this,” he said looking away.
“You have done this a long time,” she said as she held strands of his hair and let the towel drag over them, removing the blood and mud. Quickly turning the water in the bowl an unsavory color. She went to change it. Her dress stained with mud where her knees had been on the floor. When she came back she placed the bowl down and said,
“Let’s get you out of these dirty leathers.” She helped him stand and their four hands started on the various straps and buttons, the leathers stiff from dirt and stale sweat. It was a time-consuming effort even with the two of them working together. Eventually, it all came off. Usually, she liked the smell of his sweat. She wouldn’t admit it to anyone, least of all him, and attributed it to being madly in love or some kind of mate magic. But today his sweat had a sour sting to it. Like fear or panic. She wanted it off him. So she lifted his arms gently and washed his armpits and his tattooed chest. Down his back. When he was reasonably clean he pulled on a shirt and pants and sat on the bed again. Nesta sat down beside him. She started on his forearms where dirt had crept up. Took his hands in hers and cleaned them meticulously. Between every finger. Under every nail. The blood sticking to his skin, hiding under his nails, making her work difficult. When she was done she held his now clean hands in hers and stroked them with her thumbs.
“What would these hands do if they were not fighting and killing?” She said, still looking down at them.
“I don’t know, Nes, it is all I have ever done.”
“I know, but you never really chose it did you?”
“There are not many choices for Illyrians. Fewer still for Illyrian bastards.” He smiled a crooked smile that was so Cassian it broke Nesta’s heart.
“Were the Illyrians always a fighting people?”
“I don’t know. It is what I have been told.” He frowned. “But then again they couldn’t have been, right? At some point in history, there must have been something else? No people can start out as warriors, I don’t think.”
“And yet it is the perfect thing to tell a people if you want to keep them nothing but warriors.” She said. He looked at her. Gave her the ghost of a nod. They were on dangerous territory now. So they kept silent.
“What would you have chosen, if you’d had a choice?” She insisted.
“I have never really thought about it.” He looked at his hands as if he was trying to get an answer out of them. After a while he said,
“Cooking maybe, it is silly but-”
“I can see that,” Nesta interrupted him. She looked up at him and smiled. He smiled back, something returning to his eyes.
“Oh yeah? Do you see me in a cute little apron? Cooking you up something delicious?” She closed her eyes.
“I see it.” She licked her lips and his eyes were on them. “What is that delicious smell?”
“An Illyrian stew,” he said with amusement in his voice.
“A stew?” She opened her eyes and wrinkled her nose.
“That is right, a stew.” He said sternly. “Don’t give me that snobbish look. Close your eyes again and let me finish cooking.”
“Alright, alright.” She held up her hands, placed them on his thigh, and closed her eyes. Then she laughed out loud.
“What?” He laughed back.
“I just saw your apron.” She could hardly get the words out.
“What’s wrong with my apron?”
“It is so frilly,” she laughed.
“I like my aprons frilly, okay? No more judgments from you today, young lady, or you will go to bed hungry.” She bit down her laugh.
“Okay, I will be good. Wouldn’t want to miss out on that stew,” she said, peeking one eye open to look at him. He held out his big hand and closed her eye again.
“What are you putting in the stew?”
“Onions, carrots, potatoes, meat, and some spices.” He cupped her cheeks and gave her one kiss for each ingredient. Going over her entire face. Kissing her cheeks, lips, eyes, and nose.
“What kind of spices?”
“Chili, cinnamon, cumin perhaps? All the c’s.” He smiled.
“Will there be dessert?”
“So greedy,” he chuckled, “of course there will be dessert. I am going to fatten you up real good.”
“Mm, I can already see you with an impressive gut hanging over your pants.”
“Oh, really?” he raised his eyebrows. “I am not the one who will be doing the eating. I will be cooking. You on the other hand. You will be all nice and round. No more sharp edges. I am liking this plan more and more, Nes.”
“Me too,” she said. “But where are we living?”
“Foot of the Illyrian mountains? By a lazy stream? The winters are harsh but the summers are gorgeous.” She nodded her head. “Or by the sea maybe,” he continued, “I could see you by the sea.”
“I love the sea,” she answered. “We could fish. Own a few goats.”
“Goats? Really? Nesta Archeron, kingslayer turned goat farmer?” She hit his arm playfully.
“Baby goats are the cutest.”
“Mm, no. Do you know what would be the cutest?” He said smiling wryly.
“What?”
“Our ten kids.”
“Ten kids? You are insane.”
“Seven then.”
“We can have seven kids if you carry and birth them.”
“I’ll do four, you do three?”
“If breastfeeding is included it is a deal.”
“It is a deal baby. I am glad we are on the same page.”
“Always.” They stared at each other and burst out laughing. Cassian’s eyes warm and bright on hers again.
“It would be a quiet life,” he said trailing off in thought.
“Not with seven kids it wouldn’t be,” she countered, “especially not if they are anything like their father.”
“Oh yes, ‘cause their mother is a real timid thing.”
“You see, no quiet life for you.”
“Not with the wife I have chosen.” He stroked her hair.
They were interrupted by Azriel who poked his head through the tent flap. He looked pained, an apology hidden somewhere on his face. “Rhysand wants to see you.”
Cassian sighed, closed his eyes. When he opened them again the deadness had crept back in them. Nesta could scream. They stood up. He held onto her hand as long as he could as he walked away. Until only their fingers touched and then he was out of her reach. She stood alone in the tent for a moment. Went over to the single candle and put it out.