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illyriantremors · 7 years

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The One Where Nobody Dies - ACOTAR Fluff - 1/1 - G

The fic that spawned the Spring Bride!Cassian headcanon and honestly one of my faves because fluff <3

AO3 LINK HERE

Block my fics with #sdcfics

Pairing: Light Moriel, Cassian x Accidental, unwanted Bridehood, and Amren x Goats

Summary:

In which Azriel is terrible at texting back, Morrigan continues to endure the idiocy of her dysfunctional family, Cassian becomes The Bride of Spring, Amren cannot maintain long-distance relationships with goats, and Rhysand is barely mentioned.

Special Guests Include: Flower Crowns, Polygamous Nymphs, and most dangerous of all, Vegetarians.

Tags: Fluff, Letter Writing, Spring Bridge!Cassian, Long Distance Relationship, Starfall, Canon Compliant pre-ACOWAR

A month after Azriel left for the Dawn Court, Morrigan’s patience ran out. Cassian, who had been the only other one to remain behind for this mission, had done his best to keep her entertained; To his credit, she’d lasted more than a week before writing, which was her previous record. Two weeks before starfall, however, she could take it no longer.

Slamming her bedroom door behind her, she sat down at her writing desk, seized a pen as if it were a mighty sword, and wrote:

Dear Two-Faced, Good For Nothing Liar,

I believe I am now owed four letters, according to your promise of a weekly deliverance? For someone wielding a blade named ‘Truth-Teller’, you are either the biggest con artist in the Night Court (which we can both agree is a tremendous feat) or extraordinarily bad at keeping track of time. Or perhaps the Dawn Court is entirely barren of paper and ink? I wouldn’t know, since I’ve never been there. Hence why I asked you to keep me at least a little bit in the loop.

Although, at this point, I’m not sure I’d care even if they all were starved cannibals or psychotic cultists up there. If they are, tell them I hope they enjoy devouring you, and that it doesn’t cause them to inherit your penchant for breaking promises. I’d hate for there to be another court full of liars.

I have attached a perfectly good pen, and a blank piece of parchment. If you do not return this letter, I shall know for certain you have been eaten.

Yours ever so bitterly,

Mor .

Dear Cruelly Betrayed Damsel,

When have I ever kept the promises you force me into, to write to you on missions? As someone involved in such matters, I can inform you with ample evidence that written correspondence is by far the most frequently intercepted. Many a High Lord has fallen due to his subjects’ liberties with a pen.

Yours Sincerely,

The High Lord of The Night Court’s Spymaster

Dear Self Important Asshole,

A reply, and on the same night it was requested? By the Cauldron, what miracle is this?

Judging by your patronising tone, perhaps you do not think me capable of basic levels of intelligence. However, I would like to inform you that I am plenty aware that this ‘mission’ you are accompanying my cousin on has nothing whatsoever to do with war, or corruption, or scheming (for once). Celebrating a wedding and brokering a treaty is supposed to be a joyous occasion. Honestly, what sort of people have you been in the company of to be so disturbingly suspicious? They must be intolerable.

If I cannot persuade you to reveal all of your secrets to me, might you be willing to indulge my curiosity about the Dawn Court? It is the only one I have never had the chance to visit, and given how secretive and insular they are, I may never get the chance to. Especially if this letter does indeed cause the downfall of The Night Court.

I’m certain that you elite mission-goers care not for those you abandoned, but if you ever need some amusement, I shall relay what’s occurred in your absence. I hope you shall return the favour.

Cassian’s still furious he was left behind, and it’s made him dreadfully restless; he’s been at Rita’s every night since you left. I’d accuse him of having a drinking problem, if I wasn’t so worried he gets into all of this trouble sober. Some tales of his adventures are too abhorrent to risk committing to paper, but last night’s tale (or more accurately, this morning’s) is one I believe you’ll enjoy.

When I left Cassian last night in the middle of Rita’s, he’d devolved into his usual favoured drinking game of arm wrestling and shots (though he seemed to drink regardless of whether or not he lost) and so I thought he was perfectly safe - As you well know, worst case scenario, I’d have to clean him up the next morning, along with whatever stray pretty thing he brought home for the night. Or so I thought.

This morning though, he hadn’t come home. Last time, you had your ‘eyes and ears’ locate him in thirty minutes passed out in a fountain canoodling with a goat (I am still certain he was trying to make Amren jealous). I, being only a mere, ignorant savage, had to go out and find him on foot.

There are few things more delightful than asking people - who know and respect you as the cousin of the High Lord - if they have seen your hungover, beaten up alcoholic of a friend. Incidentally, I may not be able to go out to the Rainbow for a while - at least not until they’ve forgotten my name and face entirely. Especially since one woman informed me that people like us ‘are the reason Velaris is falling to the deviant ways of The Court of Nightmares’. Well. As they say: You can take the woman out of the Court of Nightmares, but…

Sorry, I’m getting away from the report - because yes, this ended up being quite the mission. Anyway, eventually a lesser faerie, who I’m not sure spoke our language, nodded and ushered me into his home. It wasn’t a large building, but it was overflowing with faeries of all shapes and sizes running about everywhere, some children, some adults, all chattering in foreign tongues. He guided me to a room upstairs, opened the door, and sure enough, there was Cassian, in bed with a stunningly beautiful nymph who frankly could have done better. Along with five others.

But- well. You know nymphs, Az. In their culture, to bed a nymph is to propose, so…

Long story short, Cassian and I are going to be spending the week trying to avoid his being wed into yet another family. Although, quite frankly, I think he should go. His bride to be is beautiful, the mother very enthusiastic about his wingspan (perhaps you’d be best to avoid meeting them), and I’ve been told they all write letters to one another all the time, since they live all over the courts. Much better than our family.

Dragging Cas out as six nymphs all cried ‘My Husband!’ though was both mortifying for me and for them. I fear we may have caused yet more domestic drama for Rhys’ citizens. I fear The Night Court may fall regardless of my letter writing or lack thereof.

Az, Cassian is never boring, but I am missing you. Please write. I need someone to keep me sane. Especially with the gaggle of nymphs coming knocking for their husband every hour.

Yours pleadingly,

The Last Sane Person in Velaris.

Dear Maid of Honour,

I have informed the rest of Cassian’s family of his recent engagement. They are all overjoyed, and wish him joy and happiness in his new life. Rhys has offered to wreathe him a flower crown for the occasion. Amren said she would sacrifice the finest goat in all of Velaris and let him bathe in its blood the night before his wedding. She assures me it will work wonders for his skin.

I for one am inclined to agree with you. However, I think the saving grace of this shotgun marriage shall be that it is to six women. I fear only six or more people would be capable of taking care of the overgrown baby I have come to call a brother.

Have you helped him to pick out a dress?

Celebrations aside, I suppose I could let you in on some of the secrets of The Dawn Court. In return, however, I demand to be made a bridesmaid at the wedding. I would like a pink dress, please; Lady Aelin said it would bring out the colour of my eyes.

I’m afraid to inform you that you really are missing out, Mor. The Dawn Court is… You remember how seeing your first starfall felt? Coming here, it was just like that, only knowing it surrounded you, and would go on forever and ever. The sky here always looks as though you are viewing it through frost-covered glass, and no matter the time of day, even night, it’s full of so many colours, shades upon shades upon shades, always shifting. Everything is so still, and yet it always feels as if something wonderful is coming round the corner, like some long-needed surprise is brewing. I don’t know how to explain it. There’s something in the omnipresent gentle breeze, the hum of birdsong, and the not-quite-yet-warm-but-getting-there cool of this place that leaves it caught between perfect serendipity and anticipation.

Rereading that, I realise I am never going to be cut out to be a poet. I should have written Rhys’ charming speech of praise that he rattled off to the High Lord. You’d describe it better, if you were here. I’d understand it better, if you were here to talk about it, to give words to feelings and thoughts.

There is a reason I never wrote before.

But, you have forced my hand. Now you must endure my stunted vocabulary and prose.

It’s very quiet here without you. I never thought I’d be one to say this, but I miss the noise.

I miss you.

Not as much as I’ll miss the blushing bride when he joins his new family, mind you.

I shall be awaiting news on my dress,

The Future Bridesmaid.

Dear Fool,

Have you forgotten my warnings? If the bride’s family ever sees you and your wingspan, they will surely disown Cassian immediately. Could you really live with yourself after crushing his fragile dreams?

To update you on the wedding preparations, Cassian has now taken to hiding up in the House of Wind to escape the nymphs’ persistence. He is every bit the anxious bride - he paces all day around his room, fretting. I’d worry he was getting cold feet if I could not hear him constantly declaring ‘I’ll never drink again!’

I am very proud of him for not only deciding to settle down, but to turn over a new leaf and give up his rapscallion lifestyle. They’ll make an honest man of him yet.

Going by a notice I saw put up in the Rainbow, a room has been booked for the wedding reception this Sunday. Managing to book a room a week before starfall? The bride’s family must be impressively influential to secure a deal like that. Just who has Cassian managed to ingratiate himself with?

I don’t need you to be a poet, spymaster. Hearing it in your words was more than enough. Rhys would just tell me about the politics, and Cassian about the attractive noblemen and women. Amren would- well, are there any goats there to wax lyrical about?

I loved it. And now am incredibly envious and wish I could be with you there. Take me one day, will you, when you’ve helped secure the most bountiful treaty of all time between our two courts? It might have to be just us, since Cassian is being whisked away and Rhys and Amren are so fond of Velaris. Would you mind being my personal tour guide?

See, now that you’ve indulged my wish for you to write to me, I want you all to myself. This is a slippery slope you’ve set off on, little Illyrian boy.

Oh, and just a thought: Who is Lady Aelin? She clearly has excellent taste in fashion and eyes.

Yours selfishly,

An Acute Sufferer of Wanderlust.

P.S. Come back home already, and I’ll fit the dress for you myself. It shall be the prettiest in all the lands. I promise.

Dear Flighty Wedding Planner,

Haven’t you got an event to plan? I’ve been informed weddings are a nightmare to organise. You’d best take this seriously; we can’t have all of Prythian knowing that Rhys’ Third in Command can’t even ensure a wedding goes off smoothly.

To your credit, you have cured Cassian of his brewing alcoholism (no pun intended).

Amren is due to return to Velaris tomorrow; The Dawn Court has failed your dreams of cannibalism and cult sacrifices. In reality, they are all strictly vegetarians. Far more dangerous than our letter writing has been the way Amren’s been eyeing their beloved livestock, which they regard as being next to sacred.

I’m not a storyteller like you, but I will try to explain why she is, unofficially, being banned from the Dawn Court. I expect when she returns she will not wish to be questioned, so I am saving you from some icy glaring if nothing else.

High Lord Kaal led us on a ride, to the borders of his court, so that we could view his lands and assets. Rhys was sold on the idea of treaty early last week, but he’s dragging it out to try and get the terms in our favour, so we’ve been playing the usual Night Court act. Amren has been terrifying everyone with her dead silence and never dropping a glare. They tto believe she is a great and terrible being out of their myths, and she’s been indulging that theory gleefully.

Anyway. The tour was going well. We all stopped at the borders and dismounted, Kaal showing us how secure the boundaries are. There were talks of signing the treaty tonight and being done with it. All was well.

When we turned back around, however, we realised Amren was still on her horse. More… pressingly , she had her mouth at the horse’s neck. I didn’t think it within her character but looking closer, she did indeed have her fangs out and sunk into the poor creature’s neck. She was still mounted, gnawing upon its neck, blood all over the white riding clothes of The Dawn Court she wore.

It’s complicated the whole mission completely, but Mor, it was entirely worth the while just to see Amren’s face when she realised what she was doing. She looked like a child caught sneaking pastries from the bakery. Certainly, she still strikes the fear of the Mother into me, but I’ll never take her quite so seriously again.

I think she’s a bit embarrassed, if Amren could ever be such a thing. Try to be gentle with her.

As for Lady Aelin, she is the young daughter of Kaal. I’ve been assigned to occupying her whilst Rhys courts her father. She has somewhat… extreme views, and it’s best if they’re not expressed repeatedly during diplomatic conversations. She is pleasant enough on other topics, however, so it hasn’t been too tiresome.

Look after Amren for us,

Azriel.

P.S. Forgive me if I decline that generous offer. I fear you might exact your revenge for my letter writing habits if armed with needles and have me at your mercy.

Dear Azriel,

Amren returned an hour ago. She left the moment she arrived; I believe she is at the butchers, but I cannot confirm this.

I’m glad to hear Lady Aelin isn’t too tiresome. I’d be crestfallen to think that amongst all that splendor, the company was letting you down. I hope her conversational skills stretch beyond what colours compliment your eyes, however.

Yours sincerely,

Mor.

P.S. I just might.

Dear Morrigan,

I spoke the truth; Aelin isn’t as trying as most foreign court royalty tends to be. However, she is still only a child, barely into adulthood. She hasn’t seen anything beyond the borders of her kingdom, and though she thinks herself fierce and wise to the world’s horrors, she’s as naive as a human who still believes in iron and holy water.

Forgive me for deviating, but I wanted to remind you that you are sorely missed here in the Dawn Court. Everything here is so strict and spiritual, I am keenly feeling the absence of your humour and good sense. Not just myself; Rhysand has started talking to himself as if you were there with him, and whilst it’s thoroughly amusing to witness, it reminds me of your absence all over again.

Unfortunately, I fear we won’t return before Starfall. Amren’s slaughter of the horse has created more distrust in this court than I’d thought possible given how well things were going. Please, watch and enjoy it for me.

How is the blushing bride faring?

We miss you,

Azriel.

P.S. I’m beginning to doubt pink is my colour. Perhaps you could give me some more experienced advice?

Dear Lonely Boy,

You won’t be back before Starfall? I thought it was assured that you would? Didn’t we have plans for the evening? I am certain you promised to let me take you to Ritas for the first time.

I understand, however. The mission always has to come first, and I don’t want you being murdered by people who get all up in arms over some horse. I’m not particular fond of animals at the best of times, but when they are used to start wars, they’re particularly irksome. And when they keep you (and Rhysand, of course) away from me when I have delightfully delicious plans for you, well then. I hope Amren enjoyed her meal.

Apparently, the men down in Velaris have been so inspired by the nymphs’ persistence in affairs of the heart that all six of the nymphs have received nearly a dozen proposals. Cassian, it seems, has been quite forgotten. Rumour has it that one of the proposals was from an Illyrian with an even larger wingspan than his.

Don’t tell him I said this, but I think he’s more than a little jealous of how things worked out. I think the constant deliveries of love poetry and flowers were starting to grow on him. Amren has been helping mend his broken heart though, don’t worry. They’ve spent all day in his room together. Amren has been showing him how to weave flower crowns; we’re all to wear them for starfall, apparently.

They’re making one for you, too.

So please try come back for then. It won’t be the same without you.

Yours hopefully,

A Future Flower Princess

P.S. Lady Aelin sounds quite intolerable

P.P.S. There may be no wedding, but I will still happily fit you a dress.

Dear Azriel,

It’s been nearly a week. I know you are busy due to complications but it’s starfall tonight.

Are you coming home?

Yours,

Mor.

Az,

Starfall is in an hour. Rhysand isn’t replying either.

Are you okay? What’s going on?

Please be safe,

Mor.

Out on the balcony that looked out across Velaris and the vast expanse of the horizon, Mor hurriedly tried to finish scribbling yet another letter. Cassian was organising the others who’d come to watch below, and Amren was skulking around somewhere, systematically crowning all of the guests with the hundreds of flower crowns they’d been able to make out of the hoard of bouquets.

Already, the stars were beginning to bud and brighten in the sky, and Mor knew Starfall was about to begin. Before she had a chance to magic her desperate note away, however, a slip of paper appeared beside her hand.

Mor,

I would never endure a starfall without you.

Yours,

P.S. Turn around