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I. Holding/To Be Held
Cassian only knew two things when consciousness found him in those murky, desperate days after Hybern.
First, he couldn’t feel his wings.
Second, Nesta Archeron was somewhere in this city, in devastating amounts of pain.
Her screams rang in his ears every time he opened his eyes, and every time he drifted through the nightmares of that day. Shouting her sister’s name, snarling at the Autumn Lordling who’d laid his claim on her. He remembered the agony in her eyes, so reminiscent of what he felt, yet so much worse.
Whatever ache he felt in his back, the burning in his wings, it was nothing in comparison to what he felt in his chest, what he imagined she was feeling. There weren’t words in any of the languages he knew to describe it. He tried to rationalize her suffering there, in that Cauldron. Rebirth perhaps, as birth was a painful, brutal process. But there was something else there, too. Death, deconstruction. Destroying, and reforming. Both had happened to the Archeron sisters. And now they were something else.
But every nerve in his body honed his focus towards only one of them– the one who had consumed his entire being from the moment her sharp words cut through him. Her words were cruel, but her eyes spoke of a different sort of sadness – of unsatisfaction. Nesta was a caged wolf – an Illyrian – yet had never been granted the freedom to meet her potential.
And from the moment they met, despite the judgement he’d so foolishly cast upon her, he could see her frustration. And with that revelation came a new desire – to know her wants, her dreams, her plans.
Plans that had almost certainly been destroyed now.
And so, when he broke through the haze of Madja’s tonics, of the agony of nearly losing the most sacred part of him – the fever that had, according to a teary-eyed Mor, almost taken him entirely – he had one priority. One need.
“Take me to her,” he’d commanded. “Where is she?”
No one had given him the answers, keeping him locked away in the House of Wind – though he had no recollection of being put there. For days and days, they evaded him.
She and Elain are recovering.
She won’t see anyone.
She’s as vicious as fae as she was human.
I’ve tried to give her things; she doesn’t want them. Ungrateful, I think.
There’s something wrong with that girl. Something different.
But Nesta had probably never been gifted anything without heavy expectation. Nesta probably didn’t feel comfortable enough in her own skin to even consider embracing these people, who’d been just as harsh with her as she them.
On the eighth day, when he could prove his ability to stand on his own, within the confines of his room, he begged his brother – the more rational of the two.
“Please, Azriel,” he said. “You can’t keep me from her.”
The shadowsinger – who had only just been cleared to be out of bed himself – let out a long breath, which shuddered as his lungs fought to regain their strength.
“She’s above you, idiot. Upstairs. Has been the whole time.”
Cassian would have to apologize to Madja later for any damage he did to himself with how quickly he moved.
The world tilted as he stepped into it properly for the first time, but he held firm – gripping the banister as he pushed himself up and up and up, down the hallway and towards the scent that was uniquely hers. It was deeper now – more complex – and something cold and ancient about it that both drew him in and made him guarded.
All at once, he no longer knew what he was going to do, when he laid eyes on her.
“Please, Elain. I know it hurts.”
Her voice was thick – as desperate as he imagined she’d ever allow it. He waited, expecting to hear the middle Archeron sister reply, but nothing came. Taking careful steps, he reached the doorway of the room the voice came from, just in time to hear,
“I’ll leave this for you. You have to drink it. Just… Just try, please.”
Another door sounded from inside, and Cassian realized abruptly that they’d likely been granted adjoining quarters. It made sense, with how protective Nesta had become, even in the few minutes he saw her before his world had gone dark. He followed from his side of the hallway and didn’t give himself time to be nervous before he pushed open what was presumably her door.
It wasn’t locked, though he wondered if she wished it was.
And when he lifted his eyes to take her in, the world stood still.
Nesta was… Nesta was devastating.
Being fae suited her – it brought out all the features that had transfixed him when she was human. It made her tall, sharp, and breathtakingly beautiful. Her ears that were surely pointed were hidden by her hair, tucked underneath the braid that wrapped around her head.
But as stunning as she was, Cassian felt her pain acutely – felt her sorrow, her sense of helplessness, her anger. It radiated off her, and he felt he could burn with it.
Nesta stood with her back to him, her hands on the windowsill, her head bowed. Her breaths came deliberately, and he realized, abruptly, that she was trembling. Her knuckles had whitened, and her fingers had started to indent the surface of it. It wouldn’t be long before it –
The crack of splintering wood made her flinch – and she all but stumbled backwards.
Cassian took a step forward, on instinct, alerting her to his presence.
She whirled; her face stormy – as if she were prepared to berate whoever it was for disturbing her. But when recognition replaced her ire, he saw her falter – saw the surprise mixed with all the horrible things she was feeling. For several seconds, they simply stared at one another.
“Nes…” He rasped, quietly.
“You…” She started, but then stopped, contemplating her words. “You’re awake.”
“I am. Presumably.”
Nesta’s eyes scanned over him, and it was then he saw the otherness there – the power that curled around her irises. He felt it as acutely as any prey would sense a predator. It was the first time in his life – even growing up with Rhys – that he felt truly outmatched by whatever stood before him.
And she saw that hesitation before he could so much as blink.
Jerking back, she turned to look outside, pointedly ignoring the chunk of windowsill that now sat on the floor.
“Why are you here?” She asked bluntly.
“Because I had to see you.”
“Well, you’ve seen me.”
Cassian took in a breath and let it out. He could not let her rile him – he knew it was her goal, so he’d oust her like the others. She was hurt, a cornered animal waiting to lash out.
“I have. Are you alright?”
“Elain won’t move. She won’t eat. She won’t drink. She hasn’t said a word. She just lays in that bed and stares and stares and stares up at nothing.”
She practically spat the words; her unbridled rage as apparent as the shaking she couldn’t hide in her hands. Nor her aversion to looking at them. Cassian nodded, and took another careful step into the room, shutting the door behind him.
“She is awake, though?”
Nesta shrugged. “It makes no difference. She is gone.”
“I’m sorry.”
Her face snapped towards him, eyes ablaze. “What for?”
“I promised I’d keep you safe. I failed. I’m so sorry, sweetheart.”
Her mouth opened and shut, staring at him almost blankly for several seconds. For a moment, he thought she wouldn’t answer him, but then she replied,
“Don’t be ridiculous. You were… You couldn’t have… I never actually held you to that promise.”
Cassian swallowed past the tightness building in his throat. “Why not?” He whispered.
“Because you owe me nothing. You would love to see me dead, anyway, I’m sure. I never expected you or your family to protect me. Nor Elain.”
The words cut through him deeply, and almost sent him to his knees. So much so that he had no words for her.
He realized the mistake of his silence as soon as she turned her head back, her face barely suppressing a shudder. She’d taken a lack of response as agreement. He wondered how often she did that – assumed the worst as truth because no one did anything to say differently.
“You’ve seen me,” she said briskly. “Now leave me alone.”
But Cassian stepped forward, brazen. “Nesta, I would have died to protect you. I need you to know that. Watching you go into that Cauldron is one of the largest failures of my life.”
Nesta’s shoulders hunched, her fingers curling again. “You didn’t fail, Cassian.” She murmured. “You were practically dead yourself.”
Cassian shook his head but knew to leave it be. She was tired – exhausted, probably. And she had enough people to battle with, at present. So instead, he tried,
“You didn’t answer my question.”
“What?”
“I asked if you were alright. You told me about Elain instead.”
“Because Elain is not alright. She’s… Her entire life is ruined, because of this. She was supposed to be wed, you know, and now-”
“Nesta,” Cassian called softly, approaching her side. He kept a healthy distance – despite his desire to be closer to her.
Nesta looked at him again, surprised he’d interrupt her.
“I’m asking about you.”
Nesta pursed her lips. Gesturing to the wood on the floor, she muttered, “I’m sure you saw well enough.”
Cassian nodded. “Are you in pain? Physically, I mean.”
A scoff left her lips. “You are the first person to ask me that.”
His brows shot up, and not for the first time he began to wonder just what the hell the rest of his family had been doing, while he was healing.
“That surprises you,” Nesta said. “It shouldn’t.”
“Answer the question,” he pushed, electing to ignore the comment. Because if he didn’t know the answer, it might actually kill him.
Her brows furrowed, just a little. She contemplated it for a moment, perhaps judging whether or not it was safe to tell him. In that moment, he wished desperately that he’d established that trust better. That he hadn’t been so brash.
“Yes,” she said softly, curling her hand again.
“Tell me,” he pleaded.
Nesta let out a shuddering breath. “Why?” She asked. “So, you can report back to your High Lord, and they can come try and figure out what’s the matter with me some more? They think I’m wrong, you know.”
He didn’t, not really, but it didn’t matter to him.
“No,” he answered honestly. “So, I can try and make it better.”
She did laugh, then – a short, bitter thing. “You can’t make this better.”
“Nesta,” he said again, his tone bordering on exasperation. “Please. Tell me what hurts.”
Her brows knitted properly then – surprised he didn’t take her bait to argue, perhaps. She shifted her feet, before she looked past him, at whatever art hung on the wall.
“I-… All of it. My limbs, my head. It’s too loud, too bright. It hurts to walk, to sit. Every breath I take feels like too much, yet not enough. It feels… wrong. I keep…” Nesta gestured silently again to the damaged windowsill. “It’s too much. I feel like I need to be restrained, that I’m out of control. Like maybe they should lock me up somewhere.”
As she outstretched her fingers, the trembling in her hands was pronounced. Automatically, he reached for her, unable to stop himself from his natural instinct to touch her. It was what he knew best – to help someone in pain this way.
But Nesta – Nesta flinched back. At first, he thought it was fear, and was prepared to apologize for it (on his knees, at that.) But then he saw her face. There was no fear there, just… just abject confusion.
“What are you doing?” She asked, voice painfully quiet.
“I-…” Cassian started, then stopped, tilting his head. “I was going to hold you.”
When her confusion only seemed to grow, he added, “you said you felt like you needed to be restrained, so it might help. I’m sorry I didn’t ask; I am typically generous about these things.”
“You want to hold me?” Nesta asked, almost as if he was speaking a different language.
The implications of it broke his heart, just a little more.
“Yes,” Cassian answered.
“Just hold me?”
“Yes, Nesta. Hasn’t anyone ever held you, just because they could?”
She stammered, and Cassian wondered how such a powerful woman – female – could be thrown off by something so simple. It seemed entirely foreign to her, this concept of touch for the sole sake of her comfort.
But then, he supposed, it made sense, with everything Feyre had told him about her personality towards their father.
“It can help, to feel grounded,” Cassian said again. Perhaps a technical explanation of it would make more sense to her. “So, it doesn’t feel like too much. It tends to make us feel safe, to be wrapped up tightly, like a mother would-”
Her face shuddered again, and he stopped short.
Clearly, Feyre didn’t know the half of it.
“You want make it better,” she murmured, repeating his words from moments before.
“Yes,” Cassian replied. “Can I try?”
Nesta glanced around, as if to assure herself there were no prying eyes. It wasn’t proper, he supposed, from the perception of her upbringing. Still, she was in pain. And he would do anything – anything – to ease it.
Her nod was minute, but it was enough.
He moved slowly, giving her ample time to move away. She was like a frightened horse – one that would spook if he went too quickly.
“I’m going to touch you, alright?”
She blinked, almost owlishly at him, before she nodded again.
He let out a breath, and lifted his arms, brushing her shoulders gently. She tensed under his touch, but didn’t pull away, and he allowed himself to pull her in. The sent of her filled his nose, and the tension in his shoulders automatically eased, as if this was a natural remedy to all his ailments. He tucked her gently against his chest, his arms circling around her shoulders.
She, on the other hand, was stiff as a board. It would have been amusing, if the circumstances weren’t so tragic.
“Take a breath,” he said softly. “Close your eyes.”
She did as she was told, and he squeezed gently, as if encouragement.
It took a while, several minutes, but gradually, her breaths got longer, and eventually, some of the tension in her body eased, though her trembling remained.
“That’s it, sweetheart,” he murmured, resting his cheek on the top of her head. “Does that help?”
“I… I don’t know,” she murmured.
He smiled, just a little, at her blunt honesty. “Do you want me to stop?”
“No,” she replied, but cut herself off, as if he would tease her for it.
He never could, so instead he just squeezed tighter, despite the twinge it sent through the muscles in his back.
“It will be alright,” he said, closing his eyes. “Elain will be alright.”
“How do you know?” She whispered.
“Because I’ll do everything I can to ensure it. That is a promise I will keep, Nes. Hold me to it.”
She didn’t answer him verbally, but her fingers settled into the fabric of his shirt, at his chest, and squeezed. It was enough.
---
II. Hand Holding
The war jarred Nesta more than anyone seemed to realize.
She had curled into herself, at least mentally, dedicating her energy to helping the females in the healing tents. Everyone was too busy, he supposed, to notice. Which, with how devastating their situation was, wasn’t an entirely unfair situation.
Still, Cassian couldn’t take his eyes off her. Couldn’t shake the feeling that she needed him, no matter how distant she’d been with all of them. It was her first war, and he knew the horrors of it well.
Which was why, when he’d been injured, he let her care for him.
She’d been cautious, almost, in her movements, sitting herself down and silently holding out a hand, expectant. He offered his wrist to her – a light sprain, nothing more – with a soft smile, anything to try and get even a little emotion on her pale face.
It didn’t work – she had become hyper focused on wrapping bandages, around and around until they were tight, secure. As she finished, she didn’t raise her gaze from his now tended wound, and he caught the way her eyes had gone blank, her mind probably entirely silent in her shock.
Gods, how he wished he could have spared her from this.
Lifting his good hand, Cassian brushed a stray lock of hair out of her eyes, behind her ear. It seemed to jar her, and in the same breath, he twisted his wrapped wrist, allowing their fingers to intertwine. He squeezed with as much strength as he could muster.
She looked just as uncomfortable with the touch as she did when he’d held her in her bedroom at the House of Wind, but didn’t pull away. Instead, she matched his movements, until she was gripping tight.
“Are you with me, sweetheart?”
Her head finally lifted, and he saw the exhaustion there, likely a mirror of his own. But it was more than that – it was the pain of still trying to adjust to a new body, of having something within her that none of them quite understood. It was the pressure of trying to do something when the skills that had been beaten into her since birth did little to serve them on the battlefield, knowing that her newfound family expected the absolute least of her.
He knew he was at fault for that final injury as much as any of them.
He’d tried to bring her out of her head – if not with casual touches (which seemed as foreign to her as intimate ones), then by calling to that fiery spirit – that stubbornness, that allowed her to match him, and even best him, in any verbal sparring match.
It often left him fuming, confused out of his mind how this female who he had been predisposed to hating somehow consumed every aspect of his being (and ignoring the implications that none of them had yet to voice out loud). But it was something, at least. And that was better than her shutting down, like Elain had.
“Where else would I be?” She asked blandly, her fingers twitching around his own.
“That mind of yours is vast,” he replied. “You could be anywhere.”
Nesta shook her head. “I always end up back here, no matter where I go.”
Cassian nodded. “There aren’t words for experiencing it for the first time.”
“I suppose it’s rather pathetic, to you.”
Straightening, Cassian shifted his hand to cup her cheek, if only to command her to give him her attention.
“No,” he asserted. “You are not pathetic.”
Her lips twitched. “You certainly thought otherwise, when we met.”
“You’re the one who called me thick-headed. You aren’t entirely wrong.”
Nesta tilted her head, assessing. “You claim to be that way, but you aren’t. You just let your family treat you as such.”
Cassian’s brows furrowed at her observation, unsure what to do with it. Deflecting, he said, “regardless, I should have behaved better.”
Nesta shrugged, looking back down at his hand.
“Tell me though,” he pressed. “Are you afraid?”
“Yes,” she replied. “Are you?”
“Yes,” he answered honestly. “But fear is good. It means you haven’t become entirely soulless.”
“Are you afraid to die?”
Cassian let out a breath, brushing his thumb along the back of her hand. “If the Mother has deemed it my time to go, then I will be content, so long as it was in the name of protecting the people I love.”
Nesta nodded, apparently finding his answer satisfactory.
“It’s okay,” he said. “To be afraid to die. It’s only natural.”
Nesta’s fingers squeezed around his hand, lightly.
“I’m not afraid to die,” she said firmly, meeting his stare. “I already have.”
Cassian’s lips parted, his brows raising. The words hit him like a blow – so simple yet conveying such a heartbreaking truth. He realized, abruptly, that she was squeezing his hand hard, her only tell that it was a difficult thing to express.
He squeezed back, attempting to be something close to comforting, as his mind scrambled to find the words to reply.
But just as he found them, just as he opened his mouth wider to speak, the flaps of the tent opened, and Mor was calling his name.
---
III. Carrying
Watching Nesta self-destruct was almost harder than nearly losing her, that day on the battlefield.
And now, tucked away in the House of Wind, Cassian had begun to wonder if this was actually a good idea – if this kind of intervention would even work on her.
He’d been hesitant – the idea of forcing her to become something without actually asking what she wanted out of her now immortal life. But she was weak, dangerously so, and he feared for her health if he let her wither away.
And so, he’d agreed.
Training, and work in the Library.
But still, there was a degree of animosity to all of it that had him uneasy – the glint in Amren’s eyes a touch too pleased when Nesta yielded to their demands, the smirk on Rhys’ face upon learning of just how basic their training had to be, due to her poor condition. It chafed against his anxieties, his care for this sharp, jaded female he now shared a living space with.
Couldn’t they all see the dangerous line they walked on? Or could they see and simply delighted in her suffering, just a little? A punishment for the eldest sister that didn’t do enough, when it counted.
Cassian had believed that fervently when they met. Now, he felt differently.
Not in the least when he closed his eyes and was met with flashes of her own as she looked down at him, the warmth of her skin as she covered his body, the way she didn’t so much as tremble as she awaited death.
But the coldness, the sharp edges she used to protect herself, remained violent as ever. Her words stung, and she had no mercy for those who pushed her too hard and learned the consequences. And thus, they’d put her here. A quiet place for her to find herself, to stay alive, at the very least.
She was furious at them for it now, and he would be too, if he was honest. But he hoped, one day, she’d forgive them. Forgive him.
He hadn’t seen her in hours – she’d locked herself away somewhere after coming back from the Library and hadn’t come out since. Azriel told him to leave it be – to take it slow and not expect so much so fast, and he was valiantly trying to adhere to his advice.
But when the clock struck eleven at night, his anxieties got the best of him. He just needed to make sure she was alive. Even if it earned him a cutting insult.
He trailed through the halls, listening for her, searching for her scent. It shouldn’t have been as surprising as it was to find her in the small library she’d once occupied while Elain fought within herself to find the will to stay with them.
As he pushed open the door, he found her there, curled up tightly on the couch, her head pillowed on the arm of it. It was certainly an uncomfortable angle for her neck, but her eyes were closed, and her breathing came slowly, evenly.
Nesta was deeply asleep, a book on the floor, spine cracked open. Her feet were digging into the cushions, perhaps to keep warm due to a lack of a blanket, and her shoes were placed neatly at the base of the couch. Her face was, for once, relaxed, though exhaustion was still evident in her features.
It was a breathtaking sight – though, he supposed was biased.
Still, she couldn’t spend the night this way – not when her body was already bearing the brunt of the horrors that captured her mind. And thus, he was resolute in his mission, even if she hated him for it.
Reaching for her, he was careful as he slid his arms under her torso, her knees, before he lifted, trying not to let himself tear up at how light she’d become. She felt almost like a child, with how easily he could bundle her up.
She didn’t so much as twitch as he walked around the coffee table, out into the hallway. The lights had been dimmed to accommodate the late hour, and he knew for a fact Azriel was somewhere else in the city – probably finding something to take the edge off.
He made it halfway – up the flight of stairs towards her room – before she stirred. It was violent, abrupt, almost as if she had woken from some kind of nightmare. She tensed up instantly in his arms, jerking away from his chest, and almost rolling out of his hold all together, before his voice got through to her.
“Shh, sweetheart. It’s just me. Just me, Nesta.”
“What-” She began, her nails digging firmly into his shoulder, “What the fuck are you doing?”
Cassian adjusted her, securing his grip, before he turned his head to meet her gaze.
“You fell asleep, in the library,” he explained. “I’m taking you to bed.”
Nesta blinked, clearly not fully awake, despite how quickly her heart raced.
“Why?” She asked, brows furrowed tightly as she valiantly tried to rally her energy, to put up some kind of front. But her eyes were hazy, almost unseeing.
Gods, she must be so tired.
Cassian smiled sadly at her, not for the first time wishing these kinds of things didn’t confuse her so deeply, from her lack of experience.
“Because you need to rest,” he said, gently. “I wasn’t going to wake you from what was surely your body demanding sleep just so you could walk up a flight of stairs and get back into bed. It’s no trouble to take you myself.”
“That’s… unnecessary.”
Her voice was a murmur, and he couldn’t resist nudging her with his nose, encouraging her to rest her head back on his shoulder.
“It’s what we do for people they care about,” he said. “Close your eyes, Nes. We’re almost to your room.”
“I don’t understand you,” she replied, though her head was heavy as it rested against his neck. Already, her breathing was evening out again.
“That’s alright,” he countered, with a small smile. “One day, you’ll understand perfectly, and it won’t seem so strange.”
She didn’t answer him, and he assumed he’d lost her again to the confines of sleep. Pushing into her room, he allowed himself to relish in the warmth of her for just a few extra seconds, no small part of him wishing he was getting into the blankets with her, to hold her tightly through the evening.
But her needs were far greater than his selfish desires.
And so, he pulled back the blankets, easing her onto the mattress, before tucking them back up under her chin. As expected, she was already asleep, her face lax again. He brushed hair from her forehead gently, unable to resist, and began to pull back.
He stopped short, however when he felt the fabric of his shirt pull, and looked down to find that her fingers were gripping it, wrapped like a vice.
“You don’t care about me,” she whispered, almost a slur, her eyes still closed.
His chest suddenly felt tight, and it was with as much gentleness as he could muster that he pried them free. He squeezed her hand in his own and leaned down to kiss the back of it once, an indulgence.
“Yes, love. I do. I care about you very much.”
She didn’t answer, so he placed another kiss on her hand before placing it down on her chest. He adjusted the blankets again, tucking them just right, before he stood up straight, to take his leave.
“Sleep well, sweetheart,” he whispered, as he left.
Closing the door behind him, Cassian took a moment to breathe, leaning back against the wood.
It seemed hopeless now, perhaps. But one day, it would be worth it.
He would make sure of it.
---
IV. Hair Washing + Brushing/Giving a Bath
Cassian buzzed with energy, with anxiousness, his desire to see her.
Nesta hadn’t woken when they landed at the Moon Palace, and instead had been almost lifeless in his arms, blood streaming down her legs, her face a mess. He wondered why no one else was as concerned as he was, why no one had run to get Madja, or do anything, really, except tell him to tuck her into bed, and to clean her up.
It was like they didn’t know what to do with her now, knowing she could wield that mask.
The mask that was currently under lock and key.
It was only after dinner, after they’d discussed at length what to do with it, and with her, that Cassian had enough. The plate he put together was more to give him a reason to go to her – to give him an in. Because he wouldn’t be going anywhere once he laid eyes on her.
She was – blessedly – awake when he opened the door. But that was as far as his relief went.
Because Nesta was gripping the end of the bed so hard her knuckles were white. Her legs shook, but she looked vehemently determined to get into the bathing pool across from her, where steam curled up in gentle spirals.
Cassian had to remember to put the tray down softly instead of dropping it. The porcelain clanked anyway.
“Nes,” he said, just as her head snapped up to assess him. He didn’t give her time to acknowledge his presence before he moved into her space, gripping her elbow to steady her. “Easy.”
“I’m fine,” She argued, but her voice was a rasp, and he could feel her muscles trembling in the effort to stay upright.
“Sure,” Cassian replied. “And I’m the High Lord of the Night Court.”
Nesta narrowed her eyes at him but didn’t take the bait. She was tired, he realized, and rightfully so. There would be no fighting tonight.
“How long have you been awake?” He asked, sliding his arm around her waist.
“Just a few minutes,” she murmured. “But I won’t go back to bed I…I need to be clean.”
Guilt pinched at his chest for not doing more to ensure her comfort when they’d brought her up here. Because she still looked a mess, no matter how he tried to assess it.
“Take your weight off your leg, at least,” he said, encouraging her to lean against him. “We’ll get you clean, sweetheart.”
“We?” She asked, skepticism clear in her voice.
“Yeah. Would you let me help you?” He offered. “I can see it in your face that you’re in pain.”
She opened her mouth, perhaps to retort, but fell silent, conflicted.
“I won’t if you don’t want me to,” he added quickly, internally chastising himself for not saying it sooner.
“You want to help me,” she repeated, almost to herself.
“Yes,” he affirmed. “Can I?”
Nesta didn’t answer for a moment, contemplative, before she suddenly pushed off his chest, turning towards the bathing pool.
“If that’s what you want,” she replied, her tone just a little clipped.
“It is,” Cassian said. “Is that what you want?”
Nesta pushed the remnants of the cotton shirt she’d worn under her leathers off her shoulders, letting it fall to the floor. She wobbled as it went, balancing on one leg, but didn’t fall. Even like this, she was absolutely breathtaking.
“I don’t know what you plan to do,” she said, reaching up to undo her hair. “But I suppose I’m willing to learn.”
Cassian smiled, just a little.
“At any time, you don’t want me to-”
“I know, Cassian.”
What she didn’t know was how much power over him she wielded, when she called him by his name.
Still, Cassian valued her consent more than anything else. So, he was slow and careful in his movements. Approaching her back, he reached up, stopping her hands from where they were struggling to get her hair free.
“Let me,” he encouraged.
She froze, but allowed him to take over, unraveling her braid until her hair fell in messy waves. Gathering it up, he draped it over her left shoulder, before he gripped her elbow again, to support her weight.
“Watch the steps,” he instructed, guiding her until her feet stepped down. She made it down two before she froze up, her fingers suddenly tightening on his arm.
Watching her face, he observed the hesitance – the fear – that she was trying to hide on her face. It made perfect sense, in his mind, for her to be nervous around the water. After the Kelpie, it must be…
“Would you… Would you get in with me?”
Cassian blinked, straightening, and she was quick to add, “Just to help.”
“Sure,” he replied softly, taking care to keep his voice from stuttering. “Sit on the edge here, while I take these off.”
She obeyed him, her knees coming up in a way that made her look too small for his liking. He made quick work of his clothes – tugging off his shirt and unlacing his pants. He left his underwear on, if only to emphasize that this was about her, and not about whatever effect she was certainly about to have on his body.
He entered the water easily, dipping down to wet his shoulders before he approached her again, lifting his hands to her waist.
“Alright?” He asked, his thumbs stroking the skin.
She nodded, her lips pursed, and he eased her down the final steps, into the water, and across the pool to one of the benches, where she could perch. Once she was settled, he pulled her hair back, and reached for a small cup that had been left on the edge, filling it, and wetting the strands.
She was tense – she always was when they did things like this. He wondered how long it would take before she learned to accept his touch. Or anyone’s, really.
“Are you feeling averse to the water, after today?” He asked as his hands began to lather soap into her hair, against her scalp.
Nesta’s head tilted back, just a little. She breathed in, then out.
“Since the Cauldron,” she murmured, and he paused, brows raising.
Gods, that long?
“I’m sorry.”
“For what?”
“If I’d known, I’d have…”
“What? Kept me company while I pour buckets of water over myself?”
“No,” he replied. “I would have found an alternative for you.”
Nesta hummed. “Feyre said the same thing, once.”
“And?”
“And I’m assuming she forgot.”
Cassian grimaced, his fingers working tension from her head, her neck.
“When we get back to the House, we can have something else installed.”
Nesta shrugged. “The House… does its best. It’s helping, gradually. It puts things in the water to distract me.”
“Like what?” He asked, with a small smile.
“Scents. Bubbles. Whatever it can find, I expect. Depending on its mood.”
Cassian didn’t press her for what exactly she meant by that. The House’s magic had been acting strange since she’d settled in there, perhaps she knew things he didn’t. Before he could dwell on it further, she shuddered as his fingers ran through her hair, and then let out a long sigh, tension easing from her posture.
“Alright?” He asked, refilling the cup to begin washing the suds out of it.
“Tender,” she supplied, her voice closed off in a way that suggested she didn’t want to elaborate.
Cassian lightened his touch, without comment.
As he washed the soap from her long tresses, replacing it with softener, they fell into silence. It was only when he finished, when he began rubbing soap into the skin of her shoulders, her back, that she said, quietly,
“I thought you might be here for something else.”
Cassian let out a breath, his mind flashing back to those heated moments between them – the ones where he should have been better, been stronger, yet had failed.
“You’re hurt,” he replied, carefully. “I won’t take advantage of you like that.”
“You wouldn’t be, if I’m willing,” Nesta countered, turning around to face him. In an easy movement, she shifted closer, cocking her head. “I can feel the tension radiating off you.”
If he looked down, he’d be able to see all of her. As it was, he could feel her, just slightly pressed against him. But he wouldn’t cross that boundary, not tonight. Besides, he had a sinking feeling she wasn’t offering because she wanted to be loved and cherished, and he wouldn’t enable that. Not again.
“I care about you more than whatever tension I have.” He said. “I’ll help you with this, but nothing else. You need to rest.”
She tensed, just a little, and he saw something a bit too close to hurt flicker in her eyes. So, he tilted her chin, and leaned to kiss her softly, just once, careful of the cuts healing around her mouth.
“Don’t think I don’t want to,” he said against her lips. “You have me at your mercy more often than you think. But let me take care of you now. Properly.”
“Properly,” Nesta repeated, as if it was a foreign concept.
“Yes. And, for the record, I don’t take you to bed because I want to get a release. It’s not my intention to use you, like that.”
Her brows furrowed and she stared at him for a heavy second, her face somewhere between offended and deeply sad. He parted his lips, to say something – anything – to try and convey just how worshipped she would be, if she let him, but then she turned back around, her hand reaching for the soap, and began washing her front.
Cassian frowned, but resumed his touches, washing the dirt from her back and soothing away the tension. When she finished washing herself, she hugged her knees, waiting for him to be content with his cleaning of her skin.
“Let me see your leg,” he said quietly, his hands sliding down her arms to help her up and back over to the steps. Sitting her there, he lifted her calf out of the water gently, assessing the deep cuts that had already begun to scab over.
“It’s fine,” Nesta replied, her arms crossed loosely over her chest.
“It’s healing,” Cassian corrected. “You’re bruised, badly. You’ll need to take it easy, for a few days.”
His fingers brushed over her leg, as if in silent apology over not being there, to protect her from this. He was so consumed by it that he almost missed the way she quietly muttered,
“Whatever you command.”
It was a sore subject still – this training at the House, her work in the Library. It seemed to be helping, at least to gain her strength, but he knew her heart wasn’t in the idea of being a warrior. He saw it in her eyes and felt it in his chest.
The idea that she felt as though she was being forced into it to serve purposes like retrieving the Dread Trove didn’t sit right with him.
“It’s not a command,” he replied, but left it at that. Standing, he held her steady again as they exited the bathing pool, and he let her pull away from him, pulling on a robe that had been left out for her and settling at a dressing table.
He was being selfish, he knew it, but he couldn’t resist going over, and reaching for the brush resting on the tabletop.
“What are you doing?” She asked, even as she didn’t protest when he gathered her hair up again, his intention clear.
“Taking care of you properly,” he replied. “Like I said.”
“The bath was more than sufficient.”
“Maybe,” he said. “But I want to do this for you, just because I can.”
“You’ll regret it, within a few minutes. It’s a mess.”
“Clearly, you haven’t seen my hair after a day in the field.”
Nesta’s amusement didn’t show on her face, but he could feel it, just a little. Taking her silence as agreement, he began running the brush through her hair, taking care not to snag on the numerous tangles. With the softener, it was easier, and he took far too much pleasure when the strands fell in a silky sheet.
“You have beautiful hair,” he commented. “You should wear it down more often.”
“That wouldn’t be very conducive to training.”
“I guess not,” Cassian murmured. “But you don’t have to train forever.”
Nesta quirked a brow. “Do I not?”
“No,” Cassian replied, though didn’t lift his eyes from his work. “I wanted you to have an outlet for your pent-up energy, to get some strength back into your muscles. But it was never with the intention of defining your life for you.”
“I’m not sure your High Lord agrees.”
Cassian bit back his instinctual irritation at the condescension in her voice as she referred to Rhys, determined not to make this an argument.
“Well, I don’t care what he thinks. Once you feel healthy and strong, you can stop. You are not a weapon to be honed, or a warrior to lead armies, unless you want to be.”
Nesta went quiet, perhaps surprised he didn’t come for her. He met her gaze in the mirror, just long enough to offer her a reassuring smile. The furrow in her brows had yet to ease – and he knew the expression well enough by now. She couldn’t make sense of why he was doing this –touching her and caring for her. It was foreign.
It only made him more determined.
Going back to his work, he began to braid her hair into a loose plait, the strands silky smooth between his fingers. It wasn’t as complex as she normally wore it, but it would do, to sleep, and her exhaustion hung heavy over her.
“No one has done this for me since I was a child,” Nesta commented suddenly as he tied off her hair with a small band.
The information didn’t surprise Cassian in the slightest.
“I’m honored to be the one to do it again,” he said, squeezing her shoulders once, gently.
Nesta met his gaze in the mirror again, as if to challenge the idea. He held it easily, attempting to convey the emotion he felt, the dedication he wanted to show her. And after a heavy moment, when she averted her eyes, there was a little less darkness within them – a victory, if Cassian ever saw one.
---
V. Cuddling/Snuggling/Sharing a Bed
It was over.
It was all over.
And yet, Cassian couldn’t quite convince himself that it was.
Every minute that went by, he was ready to be faced with the real possibility of losing his family again, with losing her – his mate, that was so deeply exhausted after the hell that she’d been through that she was all but deadweight against his chest.
His Nesta. His radiant, resilient, brilliantly strong Nesta. His mate who had given and given and given, and had not stopped to rest until she quite literally collapsed in the living room of the River House – much to her Valkyries’ and her sisters’ horror.
He suddenly understood Rhys much better now, with how viciously protective he became in those few moments between picking her up off the floor and flying her up here, to the House of Wind. Understood, yet desperately still wanted to throttle, for all of this.
He would, later.
Nesta breathed deeply as she nestled into his neck, a soft sigh slipping past her lips. She was awake, barely, and finally, after the time they’d spent together, seemed to melt into his touch, the patterns he was drawing on her bare skin.
She’d woken when he entered the House, had fought valiantly to stay awake as he bathed the blood and gore from her skin, her hair. But she’d dozed as he quickly rinsed himself off, comfortable on the benches of the bath, and had barely protested as he wrapped her in the fluffiest towels the House could conjure and brought her to bed.
And now, hours and hours later, after they’d both had what was at the very least a solid nap, she’d stirred again, but only just.
Cassian turned his head, pressing a kiss to her temple, smiling slightly when she pressed into the affection.
“Alright, Nes?” He murmured.
“Fine,” she replied quietly, her legs stretching out as she settled herself on his chest, her fingers stroking along his chest, the tattoos that swirled along his collarbones.
“Just fine?” He asked, stroking his hand down her back, along her spine. “Do you need something?”
Nesta lifted her head, just a little, squinting at him in her sleepiness.
Cassian nudged her with his nose, affectionately.
“You can go back to sleep, baby, I’ll be right here.”
Nesta frowned, tilting her head into his touch.
“Are you alright?” she asked.
In his chest, he felt her tendrils of anxiety, and slid his fingers back over her skin, tracing patterns as he went.
“I am,” he affirmed. “Unharmed, and in my favorite spot.”
“Bed?” She asked, with a raised brow.
“Wrapped up with you, mate.”
Her brows furrowed in her unique way that indicated she was surprised by the answer – by the affection he offered.
It was a work in progress, convincing her that she deserved such a thing, but he was a patient teacher.
He guided her back down against his chest, his arms wrapping around to squeeze her tight.
“One day you’ll have to start believing me,” he teased.
Nesta was quiet, contemplative.
“I’m trying,” she murmured, her voice holding her nerves much more distinctly than usual.
Cassian paused, dipping his chin to assess her.
“I know, sweetheart.” He said earnestly. “You’re doing perfectly.”
She tilted her head back up, though he knew she’d never ask him if he truly meant it.
So, he kissed her, gently, his lips quirking upwards in a smile. “I’m beyond happy with you, do you know that?”
“I still can’t for the life of me understand why.”
Cassian brushed some hair from her face, his fingers tracing over her brow, her cheek bone.
“Even after today, you can’t understand why?”
Nesta shrugged, settling back down.
“I suppose now that I’m the person everyone wanted me to be it’s easier.”
Cassian sobered, frowning slightly. He could attribute her honesty to her exhaustion – she rarely expressed these kinds of feelings so easily. And while he was grateful for it, it was a revelation he knew was coming but didn’t want to hear.
“I’ve never wanted you to conform to what anyone else wanted. I’m sorry that things have played out so that you felt like you had to.”
“You said as much on the hike,” she murmured, eyes closing again, perhaps assuming that would end the conversation.
But Cassian felt that if he didn’t express this truth to her right this moment, he would die.
“I’m sorry for that.”
Nesta lifted her head again, confused, and he took the opportunity to sit them up against the headboard. He tugged so he could pull her legs into his lap, to cradle her.
“What are you doing?” She asked, even as she settled easily into his hold, something that was a victory in itself.
Cassian cupped her cheek, pressing a kiss to her hairline.
“I should have told you the moment we got back. It was a mistake to punish you for what was ultimately Rhys’ error. I know you told your sister the truth out of anger, but she needed to know. And I knew you were in a bad headspace, and I ignored it until you couldn’t walk anymore. I should never have let you suffer like that. I’m sorry, sweetheart.”
“I thought you said it was good, that I broke down.”
“Your tears were good,” he said, tracing Illyrian words over her shoulders. “But I broke you down until there was nothing left for you to do but cry. You were vulnerable and hurt because of our secret keeping and manipulations. I told you I didn’t want you to change, or that you needed fixing, but my actions said otherwise.”
Nesta let out a long breath, assessing his words.
“I thought I’d finally gotten it right,” she murmured. “And now you say it’s wrong?”
Her voice had a thicker component to it, as if she was close to tears.
Cassian shook his head, pressing their foreheads together. “You didn’t need to get anything right, my love. You aren’t wrong to begin with. You’ve never been wrong. You’ve never needed to be right. I told you after the mask that the training and the work were to help give you a purpose – an outlet to put your energy towards, to distract and help cope with the pain. But I realized that, even afterwards, it may not have been executed that way. You did not need to become a new person to earn my affection, or the affection of your Valkyries or Azriel, or your family. You had it already.”
She shook her head, slightly. “You said-“
“I know,” Cassian interrupted, unable to hear her repeat it, selfish bastard that he was. “I know what I said. And I will never forgive myself for saying those things to you. Do you understand? Never, Nesta. It was out of line, and it wasn’t true. I failed you entirely in those moments. I never want you to question that you did not deserve to be spoken to that way. I’m so sorry I did.”
She shuddered, a stray tear dripping down her cheek. It filled him with a sense of deep, deep heartbreak, to know he was the cause of it. He wiped it away, and stayed stroking over the bone of her cheek, gently.
“I love you,” he said. “I was yours from the moment we met. It’s why you could goad me so easily, why I was so desperate to get a rise out of you. Why I offered to touch you, to do anything I could to distract you from what you were suffering. I did it poorly more than once. But don’t for a second think that you have to be anything other than yourself for me to love you.”
Leaning forward, he kissed her head, down over her eyelids. “I love you when you’re angry.”
He kissed her nose. “I love you when you’re sad, and grieving.”
Her cheeks. “I love you when you’re confident, and cunning, and even when you are wicked.”
Pressing a final kiss to her lips, he said, “and I love you when you’re happy. When you’re blissed. Or excited. Or determined. I love you no matter what. Always.”
Nesta leaned into his touch, her arms coming to wrap around his neck. “I love you too,” she said softly, earning another series of kisses, just so he could drive the point home.
“I’m sorry,” he said. “For you to feel like you had to earn this. That you had to change. You worked so hard for this, and I hope you know that what you accomplished with your Valkyries was all you. It was your strength, and your resilience. Not mine. And not what was required of you by the Night Court. But remember what I told you, Nesta. You are not here to be our weapon, and you are not here to be a soldier. Not if you don’t want to be.”
“I’m a Valkyrie,” Nesta replied. “I don’t answer to the Night Court.”
Cassian smiled, unable to hide his delight in her confidence, even if she had expressed her vulnerabilities just moments before.
“As long as you are happy, I will support you in whatever you wish to be, mate. As long as I get to keep holding you like this.”
Nesta rested her head on his shoulder, her fingers tracing over the scars on his chest, his skin.
“Your favorite place,” she repeated.
“My favorite place,” he affirmed, squeezing her tightly.
They enjoyed a few minutes of silence, where he could simply trace his affection for her over her skin, over and over and over. Even if she didn’t know it. After a while, he thought she’d fallen asleep again, coaxed into it by his ministrations. But then, softly, she said,
“Thank you. For saying that.”
Cassian smiled, slightly.
“I’ll tell you every day, sweetheart. I promise.”
---
+ I. Massage/Hair Stroking
The last year had been a whirlwind.
From spending the days with her nephew, to watching the Valkyries bloom into something bigger than she could ever hope for, Nesta spent the last few months feeling fulfilled, and happy, even.
She’d taken a step back from the warrior mentality. She knew she wasn’t weak, and she didn’t need to prove it to anyone. She trained in the mornings, usually just with Gwyn and Emerie. She kept up her strength, her skills, but had no plans to lead armies, unless it was life and death.
Emerie took to that more than most – resilient, and ambitious. She rallied the females who’d come to them better than Cassian or Azriel had in the last few centuries.
It had taken convincing, and a not so civil conversation between her and Rhysand, but even Illyrian females joined them at the House of Wind most mornings. And if not there, Emerie went to them.
Gwyn was the heart of their group – researching, documenting, strategizing. She was just as committed as Emerie was, and without her, they’d be lost.
Nesta, for her part, did a mix of both. Training, but also dedicating herself to the ideology of the Valkyries, helping Gwyn resurrect their practices, embracing the mental health that they required. She felt more in tune with her power than ever, even if it was just a little less than before.
She could wield the Trove – at greater cost – and she had an innate knowledge of this unique kind of magic – the kind that struck fear into the hearts of High Lords, who still looked at her with caution, even after all this time.
But she had her family – she had Gwyn, Emerie, her sisters, Azriel, and Cassian. Nyx. That was enough for her.
Cassian had kept true to his word. He showed her every day through his actions that she didn’t have to change to be loved by him.
She didn’t believe it, most days – especially the ones where she could scarcely get out of bed, where she felt violent and argumentative. But all it took was one of his strong embraces from behind, soft kisses up her neck, to her cheeks, and the sharp sting of her anxieties eased.
Cassian needed touch like he needed air, she learned. Ever since that first day, when he’d offered to hold her so soon after the Cauldron. It was what he knew best, and what he thrived on. Usually, he touched her so frequently that she never had to think about offering the same. He was always in her space, close enough to brush her skin.
But sometimes, when he was stressed, he would be so dedicated to whatever it was he was doing that he’d pull away – tension radiating off him until he either released it in the training ring, or between the sheets. More than once, what had started in the training ring between them ended there, but in a much more scandalous fashion. And while Nesta delighted in that as much as any mate would, she knew he didn’t always want to wait until he snapped for that care.
It had taken her the better part of a year and a half, but she was slowly learning how to initiate the softer touches, the ones that were more casual, less asked for.
The ones she’d never received in her life, until him.
Today was one of those days. With the Illyrian Blood Rite on the horizon once again, he was immersed in running troop numbers, keeping males in line, and dealing with the unrest that continued to plague them, despite his best attempts.
He had barely said two words to her since they’d woken, and instead had locked himself away in the study he barely used.
Which is why, when the afternoon sun began to set, she decided it was time for a break.
He didn’t look up as she walked in, head bent over his desk as he scribbled away at whatever he was working on. It allowed her to settle behind him, and place her hands on his shoulders, squeezing gently.
He hummed, affectionately, and lifted his free hand to squeeze her own.
Nesta dug her thumbs into the base of his neck, grimacing at the tension there.
Cassin sucked in a breath, lifting his head as he leaned into the touch.
“Gods, sweetheart, give me a warning before you do something sinful as that.”
Nesta smiled, just a little, and pressed harder, working the tension.
“You’ve been at this for a while now,” She said. “Time for a break, I think.”
He leaned back against her, and she lifted her hands to run over his hair, undoing the strap of leather that held it out of his face. The sound that rumbled out of his chest was almost a purr.
“I’ve got to get these reports done,” he protested softly. “I’ve had worse tension than this.”
“I’d be a poor mate if I didn’t insist you take a break,” Nesta countered, stroking over his curls. “An hour, Cassian. Please?”
Cassian tilted his head back, eyes assessing her.
“You know I can’t resist you when you say it like that, Nes.”
Nesta smiled, and stepped back, allowing him to push up from the desk. Taking his hand, she guided him down the hall to the primary suite of the House, which had been theirs from the moment the deed was switched to her name.
The House had already dimmed the lights, lighting candles throughout the room, creating a soothing ambience. Nesta shut the door behind them, before he reached out to pull her close. Squeezing her tightly, he pressed a kiss to her hair, rubbing his hands up her back.
If she let him, he’d be content to spend the next hour worshiping her, rubbing over her skin as if she was the one who’d been working nonstop for hours. Instead, she pulled his shirt free from his pants, working the buttons.
“Lay down,” she ordered softly, sliding it off her shoulders. “Let me care for you.”
His face held his emotion, and he leaned down to kiss her once, twice. She pushed him towards the bed, gently, and watched as he obeyed her, laying down onto his stomach, crossing his arms. The House provided her with a bottle of oil, one scented with lavender, and she settled beside him, running her hand up the space between his wings.
The soft groan she got in answer provided her with all the answers she needed about how sore he was.
“You’ve been working too hard,” Nesta said, shifting so she could straddle the back of his hips, her thumbs digging in along his spine. “It’s not good for you in your old age.”
Cassian huffed a laugh. “Says the female that I have to carry to bed at least twice a week, because she fell asleep over her work.”
“I’m younger than you.”
“Oh please,” Cassian said. “As if you don’t carry your stress like they’re the burdens of the ancients.”
Nesta rolled her eyes, but a smile twitched at her lips. Her fingers found the spot where his wing branched from his back and prioritized her efforts there. He arched, with a whine, and she hushed him, leaning forward to press a kiss between his shoulder blades.
“You were saying?” She asked quietly.
Cassian lifted his arm behind him, to pinch her, lightly.
For the next several minutes she worked the tension from his muscles – slow and steady. Her pressure was firm, commanding his body to yield, to relax, until her mate had gone fully quiet – his breathing slow and even.
She worked until his wings rested limply on the bed, entirely at ease, and contented herself with stroking her nails lightly over the back of his neck, the base of his skull, until he murmured,
“C’mere.”
He lifted an arm again, beckoning, and she obeyed, settling against the headboard. He draped his arm over her lap, and she tugged, gently, until his head rested there too. He pulled, once, until she slid down enough that he could settle on her chest instead. The content sigh he let out killed any retort she was going to offer about his fixation with her breasts.
“You’re too good at this,” he mumbled, eyes closed, as she resumed scratching at the base of his head, over his curls.
“I had a good teacher,” She replied, relishing in the scent of him, the sense of security he provided.
Cassian hummed, his arm squeezing around her. It was an act she treasured now – to be pulled tightly to him. It had been so foreign before, so strange. But now, she could scarcely go the day without it.
“Go to sleep,” she ordered, when he grew heavier against her.
“Only if you do,” Cassian replied, his words almost slurred. “I nap with you, or not at all.”
Nesta sighed. “Illyrian baby.”
“Yours, sweetheart.”
Despite herself, she smiled at the notion. Even now, the idea that she was his filled her with such surprise and wonder. But it was true. She was his and he was hers.
And with that knowledge, that surety, Nesta shut her eyes.