Chapter Text
As Cassian arrived in Windhaven his heavy cloak whipped up in the harsh weather. He landed gracefully and folded his wings back, the leathery membrane curling against the blasting wind of the Illyrian Camps. The winter had taken over the camps early this year so he had decided to get over with the inspection and training well before solstice. He wanted to check up on Nesta, not that the said female was interested in his presence. Even saying she might be interested was putting it mildly after how vehemently she refused his gifts from past few solstice and Starfalls.
The training grounds were empty as Cassian’s gaze swept over the space. He could hear the distant shouts of the commanders over the howl of wind but most Illyrians had taken to the stone houses up in the village. The winters in Illyria were harsh even in best years, this year was going to be worse to due to the excessive rain.
Only a few guards were visible near the outer boundary of the camps, their stance sturdy and rigid despite the chill of the wind.
Cassian’s mind flashed back to when he used to be posted to guard duty in the camps in the winter when he lived there with Rhys and Azriel. How his limbs wouldn’t stop shaking at night when the temperature dropped several degrees below freezing point this high up in the mountains. The memory sent a chill down his spine that had nothing to do with the snow clinging to his face and wings.
Cassian shook off the thoughts of past and focused on the meeting as he started towards the main tent of the camp grounds.
Today’s meeting would decide the training regime for the camps till solstice and all the warlords were going to be present. He knew Rhys and Azriel would arrive sometime during the noon so he needed to meet with Devlon and do round up before hand though he assumed that would be anything but pleasant-
He only slowed when his eyes caught the small form sneaking around the fence just a few feet away, his hand moving to his sword on instinct but then stopped entirely when he saw the black wing—bent at an odd angle.
Apparently Cassian noticed that it was a kid the moment the guard did.
“Hey! Get back,” the sentry snapped, wings flaring as he stepped forward. “This isn’t a place for strays.”
The small figure— a boy, startled. He couldn’t have been more than six or seven judging from the length of the wings. He was too thin; leathers were hanging loose on his frame in a way that made unease curl in Cassian’s gut.
The sight was too familiar. Too painfully familiar. Yet he didn't want to look away. he couldn't.
A boy alone and injured in middle of blasted winters of Illyrian mountains trying to huddle in warmth and desperate to do anything to be let in. Cassian swallowed down the tightness in his throat and fully turned to look at the boy.
The boy’s one wing curled inward protectively, the membrane was thin and dull as if he hadn’t had the strength to clean and treat them in days. His cheeks were flushed an unhealthy red, lips pale as he whimpered softly and obeyed, shuffling back a few steps into the snow.
Cassian’s grip tightened around the hilt of his sword that he hadn’t realized he had drawn. He strapped it back roughly and stepped forward.
“Hold,” He barked gruffly already moving towards the kid who now tried not to let his wings sag and drag. They were so small, trembling as the snow that melted against the thin membrane.
The guard froze. “General—”
He ignored the guard, long strides eating the distance between him and the boy. Up close the boy looked much worse. His breathing was shallow and uneven, his dark eyes were glazed with fever and the right wing was folded tightly against his back and yet the crooked angle told cassian enough about how much it must be hurting.
The kid looked at cassian’s looming height, his wings and the scar across his brow and took an unsteady step back. He stumbled as his feet sank deep in the soft snow but caught himself to stand upright with visible effort even as his glassy eyes kept shifting between cassian’s hands and face as if waiting for a push.
“What’s your name, kid?” Cassian asked, lowering himself into a crouch so they were eye level.
The boy hesitated and then whispered, “Ryn.”
His voice shook like a leaf in a storm. His hands wrung the sleeve of the worn leather to cover his hands as he looked at cassian through lashes.
Cassian glanced at the curled wing and his chest squeezed tight. He knew the pain all too well; he knew the throb and his own wings twitched at the phantom pain. Carefully—gods, so carefully—he reached out, stopping just short of touching. “Does it hurt? Hmm?”
A nod was all the boy managed. He clenched his fists, teeth chattering now that fear was giving way to exhaustion.
Cassian swore under his breath.
“Why was he out here?” Cassian demanded over his shoulder.
“No family mark,” the guard said. “He was probably dumped. Happens after the cull seasons.”
Ryn flinched at the words. That did it.
Cassian shrugged out of his cloak and wrapped it around the boy in one smooth motion. Ryn stiffened in the cloak all too big for him and then sagged as warmth enveloped him, a tiny, broken whimper escaping his chest as his knees buckled.
Cassian caught him and picked the boy up. He stood and wrapped the cloak tighter around his small trembling form carefully to not disturb the wing.
“Easy,” Cassian murmured, cradling him against his chest as if it were the most natural thing in the world, for Cassian it might as well be. The kid was light—far too light for his age. He was swaying slightly as if even barest of movement made him dizzy. “I’ve got you, kiddo.” Cassian murmured low and soothing as he carefully wiped ryn's face with his cloak.
His mind drifted to the practice of abandoning families or during the worst season. Given they cant enter other camps, either they must survive the weather to prove their worth-- their strength and be welcomed back or die in the dense forests of the mountains. It was one of many practices Cassian had desperately tried to end in these mountains but with no definitive law he couldn’t control what happened in his absence. How this boy was alive and somewhat coherent was a miracle in itself.
Most camps ‘let go’ the families which didn’t contribute in camps under the excuse of high ration demand and no supply during winter even though many arrangements were now present for the same. The practice started during the first war when funds for camp rations and supplies were cut back to fund the soldiers on frontlines. So the camps had to focus on keeping the strongest alive and the ones who cant give back or wouldn’t due to ranging reasons from disability or lack of money and strength were cut off from camp supplies. Back then it was desperate attempt to keep the camps going when the high lord turned his back to Illyria.
The practice continued even after the war and especially during the time Amarantha ruled because many were either desperate to escape the camp conditions, cruel punishments she sought or were thrown out because they posed a threat or rebelled.
This led to many dead bodies being found in mountains each year once the sun melted away the frost. Most of which were frozen over and unable to decay or were half eaten by the hounds. The Illyrians called it the ‘necessary evil’ to survive in mountains where resources were scare and demand was always rising. The camp lords had used the same to get rid of any opposition or even females who tried to resist. Even if many of them were later punished yet they refuse to let go of such practice.
Cassian himself had feared being thrown out year after year when he was in Windhaven despite being under the wing of the Lady of the Court. Unlike azriel and rhys, he didn’t have a valuable power or title to protect himself against most practices. Especially once he started training with the rest of soldiers. His only protection was his strength.
So he had trained till his hands bled, till his body broke over and over, till he was useful to camp lords even if he was young. Once he got his siphons the animosity against him worsened because of his birth.
Ryn’s fingers curled weakly into Cassian’s leathers bringing him back from the memories to the boy trying to burrow deeper in the warmth of his arms. “Don’t… send me back,” he whispered, eyes fluttering.
Cassian’s jaw locked.
“No one’s sending you anywhere,” he said, voice low and iron-hard. He rose to his full height, wings spreading just enough to make the guard step back. “Get a healer. Now.” he commanded.
“Yes, General.” The guard rushed towards the stone path that led to the healer tents.
Cassian looked down at the boy in his arms, at the fragile wing tucked in like it had learned to make itself small.
“Well,” Cassian said quietly, something fierce and protective igniting in his chest, “looks like you’re with me now, Ryn.”
The boy didn’t answer. He’d already fallen asleep, fever-warm and trusting, against Cassian’s heart.