#Elain is going to kill Morrigan with her bare hands

[mardereads19]

Elriel Month 🌸🦇

Day 8:

Elain woke up with a cry, clutching at her stomach as a piercing pain exploded in the right side of her torso. Her vision went spotted and she had to shut her eyes closed to keep from getting dizzy.

Azriel.

She patted her right side and, just as she somehow knew, there was no arrow sticking out, no knife burrowed in.

Azriel.

He’s hurt.

“Elain?” Feyre stood by the flap of Elain’s tent, drawn by Elain’s whimper, and was was soon by Elain’s side. Her voice quivering a little as she asked, “What is going on? What happened?”

Elain forced the pain away and stood as much as she could. She felt a pulsating sensation near her ribs, like the weak beating of a heart.

He’s hurt.

Then she was running out her tent, hurrying to where she knew his was, ignoring every instinct that told her to be quiet, to keep her steps silent. Instead, twigs snapped beneath her feet, rocks crunched, her steps echoed around the glade. But that was not important now. She reached his tent and pulled the flap open.

Empty.

Elain breathed in gasps, fear becoming a living, breathing thing in her chest. She approached his cot, touching his sheets. Still warm. She had the certainty that he was not in the forest with them. Was he even in the continent still?

Koschei.

This was a nightmare, it had to be.

History tends to repeat itself, sweet face.

Soon you’ll understand.

Elain turned to see Feyre looking around the tent, brow furrowed in confusion. Elain clutched her arm and shook her with urgency. “Get Rhys over here right now!”

Feyre’s eyes widened at the authority that rang out in her sister’s voice, but she nodded. “What is going on?”

“Get him here first.” A tear slipped down Elain’s cheek and Feyre frowned at it with concern. “Please, hurry.”

Feyre was out of the tent by the time Elain’s second tear slipped out. Elain sat down on Azriel’s cot as she waited for her sister to come back with her mate. She tried not to let her mind take her to any dark place, but Elain was scared.

The pain remained, duller now but still there.

Is he dying? Is he conscious?

Elain reined in her sob.

Is he dead?

***

Azriel woke up with a start as someone splashed a cold bucket of water at him. He shook his head and blinked his eyes, trying to make sense of his surroundings.

His right side was screaming in pain, and it was that pain that centered him.

He remembered.

He had been sleeping when his shadows woke him. Their whispers had been alarmed and euphoric, but he had understood well enough.

Elain.

He had barely opened his tent flap when something had materialized in front of him, winnowed into their glade. Winnowed in. It should have been impossible, Rhys had put wards around the glade.

Truth Teller had been in his hand in a matter of a second, but Azriel’s knife wouldn’t have stood a chance against who had been standing before him.

“No amount of warding can keep me out, Shadowsinger,” Koschei had said, as if reading the direction of Azriel’s thoughts.

Azriel had not answered, just analyzed his best options for warning his family and getting to Elain before anyone could harm her. The rest would come after.

“Here I was, thinking finding you would have been difficult, but you came to me.” Koschei had begun moving, circling around Azriel. “Do something stupid, Shadowsinger, and the girl dies.”

Azriel’s breathing had altered. His instincts had told him to kill, kill, kill—

“None of that, no.” Azriel’s shadows had been preparing to strike, gathering in the air fiercely, to land a blow. “I have males stationed just outside and inside your female’s tent. Even if you tried to incapacitate me, you’d never get there in time.”

Stand down, Azriel had ordered his shadows, though everything in him had wanted to let them attack.

Koschei’s gaze had been appreciative, as he regarded how the shadows reluctantly retreated. “Good, boy.” Koschei had gestured with his finger. “Now come with me.”

Thinking only of Elain’s safety, his heart pounding with fear, he had followed after the death god. Azriel’s shadows had seen the males that had surrounded his flower’s tent and when he himself saw them, he had fisted his hands.

But all hell had broken lose when the male from the carriage had come out from inside Elain’s tent. His hands holding one of the pins she used in her hair when she slept.

Azriel’s heart had stopped beating for a second. His focus had narrowed down to that hand, to that pin. His mind had gone quiet. And then shadows had exploded from all around. All aiming towards that male. That male who had gone into Elain’s safe space. That male who had put his hands on her, removed her pin.

Azriel was going to kill him.

“I’d thinking better about that if I were you.” Then his shadows had frozen in the air. Azriel himself had frozen. He had not been able to move, but his eyes remained on the male just outside Elain’s tent.

Koschei had rolled his eyes. “It’s time we get moving.” All the males had come closer, forming a tight circle around Azriel and Koschei. The male from the carriage had smiled a nasty smirk at Azriel.

Inside, Azriel had been screaming, telling that male how he was going to kill him —slowly. But Koschei’s control over Azriel had kept him still.

With a flick of his hand, Koschei had sent them all winnowing until they had reached a dark room. And when they had gotten there, he had said, “I did warn you, Shadowsinger.” He had jerked his head towards the carriage male. “Pay him for the shadow show he put on.”

The male had enjoyed stabbing Azriel’s side.

Now, both Koschei and the male stood before him. Azriel’s hands were chained to the ceiling. His side aching as his skin pulled tight, but his wound had been somewhat healed.

“I won’t say anything to you,” he said to Koschei. “Torturing me will be a waste of time. You’re better off killing me.”

“Oh, I do not need to get any information out of you, boy.” Koschei came closer. “I just need you.”

And then he was controlling Azriel again. In his mind, Azriel heard the death god say, You’ll do what I want whether you want to or not.

***

“What happened?”

Elain looked up to see her High Lord approaching her. Behind him were the rest of the inner circle, save Morrigan and Azriel, almost all of them disheveled from sleep.

Elain stalked towards Rhys and grabbed fistfuls of his night shirt. “You need to save him!”

Rhys’s eyes skimmed her face and then around Azriel’s room. “Where is he?”

“I don’t know, I— I don’t know,” she sobbed. Her hands had begun shaking at one point.

Cassian strode closer now, studying Elain and the tent. “Did you give him a mission? Told him to scan the perimeter or something?” It took a second for Elain to realize he was asking Rhys and not her.

“No, I didn’t.” Rhys sighted, running a hand through his hair. “It’s possible he decided to do it on his own. It won’t be long before he—”

“No! You’re not listening to me!” Elain shoved Rhys back. Feyre put her arm out to steady him. Everyone turned to Elain in shock. Tears were flowing freely down her cheeks now. “He is not here. Not in this glade, not in this forrest.” She gestured to Azriel’s cot. “He was lured out. He was hurt.”

For a moment, everyone just looked at her in the dark. Elain knew that her hair was undone —one of her sleeping pins missing— and her eyes were blotchy from crying. She looked half-crazy.

But Amren strode past Rhys and past Elain to Azriel’s cot —her body still dressed in the gray suit she had on yesterday— and grabbed his pillow. She sniffed it. Her eyes met Elain’s, wide with shock. “Fear.”

Elain felt her heart break. What could have been strong enough to make the Night Court’s Spymaster have fear in this warded glade? What could have been scary enough to lure him out of this tent and allowed for Koschei to get him —hurt him?

What are you most afraid of?

The dark.

Could it be that Koschei used the darkness of his past against him?

Red shined in the room for a second before disappearing. Elain glanced to her side to see Cassian’s Illyrian leathers appearing over him. “Rhys, what are we going to do? Where do I go looking for him?” Elain saw the fear in his eyes, heard the strain in Cassian’s voice.

Cassian and Rhys are my brothers. It is not blood that determines that sort of thing, no matter who says otherwise.

Rhys was clenching his jaw, his eyes studying the floor. He reached his hand back for Feyre and she took it, giving him comfort. He met her eyes and they looked at each other in silence, a conversation occurring between them.

Then he frowned and looked towards Elain. She swallowed. “How did you know?”

She knew he meant about Azriel. “I felt him. I felt his pain.”

Amren raised an eyebrow. “You felt his pain?”

Elain nodded.

Nesta glanced between Amren and Rhys, her face wearing the same troubling expression as Feyre. “Is that possible? For her to feel someone else’s pain?”

Rhys stared at Elain, his eyes searching something in hers. “It only ever happens with—”

“We’re wasting time here, Rhys!” Cassian had begun pacing. Nesta moved closer to him, but did not stop him. She just followed his movements with her eyes, a gleam of worry and sympathy shining in them. Almost two years ago, it must have been her pacing and crying over—

Elain felt something inside her stir. And her surroundings vanished.

All around her was dark. She could not see anything, but something slithered around her feet. Something seemed to breath down her neck. She had become used to the feeling.

Shadows.

Then a light appeared at the end. A door? A window? She was never sure, but the light was as blinding as always. Shadows congregated near the light.

Her vision. The one she could never escape from. But this time the voice that spoke was different. She knew this voice.

I won’t say anything to you.

Elain sobbed.

Azriel.

Torturing me will be a waste of time.

Elain put her hands over her mouth, covering her whimpers. She needed to listen, to hear what he was saying.

You’re better off killing me.

Elain’s head went quiet. Her thoughts cleared out. Her tears stopped coming.

Oh, I do not need to get any information out of you, boy. I just need you.

A voice she had yet to know spoke, but it was not hard for her to piece together who was talking.

You’ll do what I want whether you want to or not.

The floor she stood on begun to shake. Shaking with fury and fear and hate. She felt emotion after emotion take root inside of her. And when she felt like she had her footing again, she let those emotions crash into her. Let them assimilate with who she was.

She became one with them, with Azriel’s pain, fear and fury.

She caressed the shadows that had become his friends. Her friends. The shadows that had helped him when no one else had. The dark that had kept him company while the light had been stolen away from him.

She would make sure he saw that light again.

The light at the end of the way pulsed once, then twice more. The shadows that congregated at its feet began to swirl in motions of frenzy. She heard their voice.

Follow.

Then a string of light shot out from the end straight at her. She reached out her hand, her feet still unable to move, and touched it. That was when she felt herself fall forward.

Her foot took a step to stop her fall.

And she opened her eyes to the tent with her friends and family. They all looked at her.

“What did you see?” Feyre asked.

Elain’s hand was still closed, the feeling of that golden thread still palpable in her palm.

Her heart was beating with a new purpose, with a new direction.

Follow.

Where are you, my love?

Follow.

Elain squinted her eyes, tilting her head.

Follow.

There. A shadow lingered outside of the tent. Waiting for her.

“I know how to get to him,” she announced to her friends.

Nesta reached for Cassian’s hand. He pulled her close, his hands shaking with fear. With fury.

She understood. She wanted to kill Koschei herself.

Follow.

I will.

“I’m getting him back.”

[houseofhurricane]

ACOTAR Fic: Bloom & Bone (19/28) | Elain x Tamlin, Lucien x Vassa

Summary: Elain lies about a vision and winds up as the Night Court’s emissary to the Spring Court, trying to prevent the Dread Trove from falling into the wrong hands and wrestling with the gifts the Cauldron imparted when she was Made. Lucien, asked to join her, must contend with secrets about his mating bond. Meanwhile, Tamlin struggles to lead the Spring Court in the aftermath of the war with Hybern. And Vassa, the human queen in their midst, wrestles with the enchantment that turns her into a firebird by day, robbing her of the power of speech and human thought. Looming over all of them is uniquet peace in Prythian and the threat of Koschei, the death-god with unimaginable power. With powers both magical and monstrous, the quartet at the Spring Court will have to wrestle with their own natures and the evil that surrounds them. Will the struggle save their world, or doom it?

A/N: Lucien attempts to return the Autumn Court to its rightful High Lord, while trying to figure out the worsening effects of the curse on Vassa. You can find all previous chapters here, or read Bloom & Bone on AO3. Thank you for reading! ❤️ If you'd like to get an early preview on the next chapter, follow me on Instagram at @house.of.hurricane.

The days after Vassa’s rescue are so filled with political deliberation between the High Lords and nobles of Prythian that even Lucien’s mind, so accustomed to strategy and scheming, is overwhelmed. He had planned for his reunion with Vassa to feature sleepless nights and tangled sheets, a variety of creative positions and a thousand different sounds of pleasure leaving Vassa’s lips. Instead, as soon as the meetings are over for the day, a member of the Night Court winnows her to the day’s meeting place so that she can join the long dinners, then ferries her to the Spring Court where she and Lucien fall into sleep. She reaches for him, insists despite the pain he can see in her eyes, the tears that fall as soon as their kisses reach a fevered pitch.

He always rises to find that in sleep, she has rolled to the farthest corner of the bed, where he cannot touch her even accidentally.

Still, when he tries to ask her what he can do, how he can help, she insists that he has other priorities. As if he cannot see the darkness around her eyes, the way that, in mere days, she’s grown almost frail. A shadow of herself.

When it’s decided there will be an attempt at diplomacy with the Autumn Court, Vassa rouses herself, invites Tamlin and Elain to join them for champagne to celebrate their emissaries, Lucien and Elain both having been selected.

“You’ll make sure she’s out of danger,” Tamlin says to Lucien as soon as they clink glasses, and Lucien, nodding, sees Vassa roll her eyes at Elain, who smothers her answering laugh behind her hands.

“You’re sure a firebird would not advance your cause?” Vassa asks, the joke turning plaintive. Elain reaches out her hand and then drops it, a thump against her skirts, before she can harm Vassa with a conciliatory touch. They’d agreed that the risk to Vassa did not merit the benefit of the clear alliance with the human realms. Not when the stories of Lucien and Vassa had begun to spread.

“I will keep him safe, Queen of Scythia,” Elain says after a moment, the smile in her voice, returning them to the moment, the kind of camaraderie she’d longed for in those weeks at the Night Court.

“Good,” Vassa says, and for a moment her face is alight as it ever was, her eyes sapphire-bright, “because I never worry about you anymore, Elain Archeron. You listen very well to me. Unlike certain High Fae males who love to hover over extremely capable women.”

She shoots a glance at Lucien, her lips pursed comically, and when he allows himself to laugh, he feels the brightness spread over his body, more intoxicating than the sparkling wine. He lets himself pretend, just for the space of an evening, that everything is fine, that this haven could be a lasting one, that he will hear these three laughing and teasing and happy all his life.

Before dawn, she kisses him and sets off for the lake alone.

“You can save this world with your words alone,” she says, her fingers on his face, gentle on the scars that surround his ruined eye. Watching her expression, he’d never know this gesture caused her pain. Still, knowing what he knows, Lucien cannot bring himself to take another kiss.

“I’ll save you next,” he tells her.

“Or you’ll watch as I save myself, Vanserra.” She smiles then, and swings herself from the bed to the door in a single fluid motion, as if they existed in a moment they have never known, when everything was all right.

Before the rest of the manor wakes, Lucien lights a candle, busies himself with the strategies, all the reminders he wants to give the rest of the diplomatic party, which will comprise Nesta, Elain and himself. It had been agreed that the High Lords would stay out of the initial stage of negotiations, and still Lucien worries that this group is too small, too tied to the Night Court, with two Archeron sisters with largely unknown powers who were all too recently human. And yet he has held his tongue. Because Elain has surprised him and Nesta has terrified him, and all three sisters seem to have a knack for prevailing when the rest of Prythian thinks they’re doomed.

For a moment, he wishes that he could consult Eris, but his brother has been staying in the Night Court, no doubt to Morrigan’s dismay. Still, given Rhysand’s relative strength, it makes sense to mark him as an ally. And for all that Lucien likes his brother in spite of himself, he much prefers the nights he spends in the Spring Court without the threat of his judgement and withering remarks.

Instead of ruminating over the past, he takes one more breath, reviews his notes, all the things that could unfold today, and decides that he is as ready as he can be.

By the time Lucien joins Elain and Tamlin for breakfast, he’s decided that the mission will prevail. Elain has even worn a dress in the tawny browns and deep greens of the Autumn Court, tied her hair back from her face with a red ribbon.

“Those colors don’t suit you,” Tamlin is saying, lifting a cherry turnover from the serving platter to her plate.

“What colors would you prefer me in, High Lord?” Elain’s cheeks are pink and while Lucien is sure that there are headier implications to her question, he decides he will not consider them.

Instead, he heaps his plate high and talks through the strategy with Elain, more for Tamlin’s benefit than hers.

“Do you think that Nesta will behave herself?” Tamlin asks, once the review is complete.

“Nesta likes Eris more than anybody,” Elain responds, in a tone that barely covers her amazement.

“Nesta’s job is to be terrifying,” Lucien adds.

“It’s what she’s best at, isn’t it?”

It is, of course, Nesta behind him, and Lucien shoots Elain a look, asking how will she kill me? Elain, standing to greet her sister, does not cover her commiserating smile, which seems to suggest his death is imminent.

“You’re ready for the Autumn Court?” Nesta asks Elain, who stand alongside the grand table, a study in contrasts. Nesta has come in her Illyrian, her hair braided in a crown on her head and her sword at her side. Her body is small but all of its angles are fierce, almost severe. Next to her, Elain looks impossibly soft, so gentle that Lucien is reminded why everyone always underestimates her.

But still Elain shoots back, “I’m the one taking us there. You’ll know when I’m ready for the Autumn Court. Would you like Lucien to remind you of the strategy?”

“Rhys and Feyre woke me up early to review. You’d think the dignity of the Night Court was at stake.”

“Only the peace in Prythian,” Lucien drawls, his eyes darting to Tamlin who, as expected, has his knife and fork clutched in an extremely tight grip.

“Feyre told me the same thing before she crawled inside my mind,” Nesta says, running her eyes over Lucien, redoubling her statement. “I know I’m only to speak when you want me to scare them.”

“And if Koschei is there, you do not fight him,” Elain adds, smoothing her fingers over her skirts. “Let Lucien winnow you.”

“You’ll let Lucien winnow you also,” Tamlin says, his voice strangled with restraint. Lucien can tell that he is trying very hard not to loom over Elain.

“I will let Lucien winnow me,” Elain echoes, meeting his eye as her cheeks go pink. Nesta lets out a sigh that sounds very like a snarl, and if it weren’t a sign of worry, Lucien would bury his head in his hands.

There are a thousand more important things at this moment than romantic tension. And still Lucien wishes this was his only problem.

So instead he meets Tamlin’s eye and promises to winnow Elain, does not look away from Nesta’s glare as he tells her that she is welcome to speak, he’s heard she has good diplomatic instincts, but he will welcome her sword if everything goes to shit.

Then, because for a moment he feels like his old self again, he meets Elain’s eyes and says, “Let’s see if you’re a real emissary now.”

When Elain sticks out her tongue at him, it’s impossible to hold back his laugh.

“Feyre is having too much fun watching you,” Nesta says, extending her hand towards her other sister. “Now can you please take us to the Autumn Court so I can stop hearing her cackle in my mind? I don’t think it’s good form to be late.”

Elain’s smile flickers out but she reaches for Lucien and Nesta, lets the tethering spell bind them, and the Spring Court rips away.

&

&

&

The wall of fire around the Autumn Court castle is new.

“I told you we should have arrived directly inside,” Nesta says, eyeing the unbroken flames.

“It would be an act of war to simply appear inside the court itself,” Lucien says as levelly as he can, reaching out to the wall of fire with his own magic, scanning it with his golden eye. There are protective and defensive spells interwoven with the fire itself, powerful enough that unraveling the magic isn’t a practical option. Anyway, an alarm has likely sounded.

Sure enough, the flames part just wide enough to let a person pass.

Lucien knows things are headed to shit when he doesn’t recognize the gangly squire who appears to greet them. He had hoped that his mother would be the one to welcome their group, even if his brothers would have been the more appropriate group, would-be High Lords welcoming the delegation sent by the other rulers of Prythian.

Instead they are welcomed like beggars, and the young male who greets them looks nervous.

He sees Nesta reach for her sword and doesn’t bother to try and restrain her. His brothers begin with disrespect and then quickly move to violence.

“We are the delegation sent by the High Lords of Prythian,” Elain says, her voice honeyed in a way that makes this nervous page blush and fidget. “Lady Cybele should be expecting us after our message.”

“Cybele d-doesn’t rule this court,” the page says, trying out a nasty tone that distorts his features.

Elain flexes her fingers and her skin takes on a golden glow that is distinct from the firelight. When he glances at Nesta, he sees silver flames flicker to life in her eyes. He wishes they would save this bravado for his brothers, but at any rate, the page grows pale.

“We’ve come to meet with whoever does rule this court.” Elain’s voice is now too pleasant. “And I’m sure you can agree that we should expect to find that a brother of its ruler welcome to enter without this kind of horrible scrutiny.”

“I was told that the b-bastard has to stay outside.”

Elain turns her glance to Lucien, her eyes gone wide. She can pull Nesta from the world, but if Koschei is inside, Lucien was always intended to be the quick exit.

Nesta interrupts, fingers wrapped around the sword at her hip.

“Who is inside the castle, boy?” Her impression of Amren is impeccable, and the page’s face grows pale.

He reaches for Elain but Lucien is too swift, and in half a breath the darkness has enveloped them and released them to the forests of the Autumn Court.

“He was going to take you to Koschei,” Lucien says before Elain can begin her protest. “Thank the Mother that my brothers are too stupid to train their henchmen.”

“Tell Feyre that we’ll need protection at the Spring Court,” Elain says to Nesta, squeezing Lucien’s fingers as she gives the order. “They could be coming for Vassa next.”

“The Valkyries are guarding her today,” Nesta says, “but we should get out of this court before we have to deal with any more Vanserras.”

“One is enough?” he asks, preparing the tethering spell, snipping its edges so that only the three of them can be carried by Elain’s magic.

“I’m fairly certain you and Eris are the only decent ones.”

“His mother is trapped in that castle,” Elain points out, grabbing tight to Lucien’s wrist, to Nesta’s. The forest becomes the passageways, becomes a winter forest scented with pine, a marketplace, an expanse of tall concrete buildings seemingly held to the clouds by magic, becomes, finally, the great hall of the Spring Court, where Tamlin waits, clad in his battle armor, two swords strapped across his back.

Behind him, still in his flawless court jacket and shining boots, Eris waits. And it is to that spotless figure that Elain runs, all the colors of autumn, her magic still aglow on her face.

Lucien launches himself after her but there’s a hand on his chest. Nesta. A warning in her eyes that he can’t decipher.

Elain stops inches from Eris, close enough that his features are cast in her golden light. Behind her, Tamlin looms, a sword drawn in his hand, ready to strike. But Elain does not hear or notice him. Her focus is only on Eris.

“Will you break the alliance with Koschei?” she asks, her hands on her hips.

“We’ve discussed this at length,” Eris says. Lucien can see in the tightness of his jaw that he’s trying to determine whether Elain can kill him, whether Tamlin will slice him to bits at her command. That he’s realizing the relative weakness of his own position, his rightful position as High Lord dependent on too many factors. That if Elain tried to destroy him, perhaps nobody would stop her.

“I am asking you as emissary of the Spring Court and friend to the Queen of Scythia. As the person who helped rescue you from Koschei, the death-lord who holds you under a curse. I am asking as the female who can harm you with a single brush of my fingers thanks to his spell on you.”

“I didn’t think you realized that it wasn’t only your human friend under his spell,” Eris says, and nobody can miss the way he leans back from Elain, an unmistakable confirmation.

“Koschei will try to tear apart Prythian until he claims both Vassa and me. He is likely searching for you as well.”

There’s a shift in Eris’ features, a pain he tries to hide, and suddenly the situation becomes deadly clear to Lucien.

“What did he promise you?” he calls to his brother, the only one he has a sliver of hope in. In a flash of movement, Tamlin’s sword is pointed at Eris, and Nesta surges toward him, coming alongside Elain with her own blade pointed at the would-be High Lord of Autumn.

“I haven’t allied with him,” Eris says, managing to smirk even at the steel pointed at him, all the allies he stands to lose. “But there are whispers that he can break this curse on me. A curse which a High Lord cannot bear. Not if he will truly rule his people.”

Elain steps toward him, her skirts sighing. She’s so close that Eris could grab her if he wanted, Eris who never shows his hand until it suits him.

“I know what it is to be a pawn,” she says. “And I am working to understand the complexity of Koschei’s magic. I don’t know, yet, how we could release you from this curse but I am working to find out. When I learn how, I will unbind you myself.”

“They should write legends about the overconfidence of your family,” Eris says, assessing her.

“If you ally with Koschei, Eris, they will never write legends about you at all,” Nesta points out, letting the tip of her sword snag on a button, which falls to the ground with a ping. “And you will lose the allegiance of the Night Court.”

Tamlin only tucks Elain against his side. He knows the allegiance of the Spring Court does not much matter, especially to a member of the Autumn Court, who so easily invaded.

When Lucien finally speaks, he’s surprised at how easily the words fall from his lips. As if he had been dreaming them.

“If you vow to fight against Koschei,” he says to his brother, “I vow that I will not rest until the High Lords of Prythian go united into battle for your throne. You should know that I have friends in every court who listen to my counsel. You will not reclaim the throne without allies. And together, perhaps those same allies could join together and rid you of Koschei’s curse.”

He’s thrown in this last without knowing if it’s possible, without knowing if the High Lords would ever agree, especially given what happened to Feyre, but Elain stiffens at Tamlin’s side, the gesture her body makes when she has a new idea.

“I haven’t forgotten that you killed my father,” Eris says, finally, and the words sound like a threat, but Lucien knows his brother well enough to see the relief in his voice, the tiniest hint of the smile he’s unable to hide from a practiced observer.

“Beron tried to harm my friends.” Lucien meets his brother’s eyes, lets his meaning become clear. He lets his magic, the light and fire, burn in the air around him.

Eris steps back, away from the swords and the tense and thickening magic.

“Promise you’ll free me from this curse and I vow I will never ally with the death-lord Koschei.”

“As soon as Vassa is free, we will free you,” Lucien says, watches as Elain nods, as Tamlin lowers his sword, and Nesta reluctantly follows. “But first, it seems we will need to go to war for your throne.”

[unhealthyfanobsession]

Mor and Feyre discuss Nessian (or: me trying to rationalize the rest of Mor’s character with her spitting hatred of Nesta)

“You know that you can’t keep him, right?” Feyre says gently late one night at the house of wind, after everyone else has flown back to the townhouse, pairing off in the tension-filled odd couples that seem to fill their lives.

“I thought you stayed behind to drink with me, not lecture me” Mor grumbles, face falling from its usual bright mask. She runs a hand through knotted golden curls and sighs, refilling her glass. Again.

“It’s not a lecture” Feyre shrugs “but I know you won’t talk about this stuff with anyone else, which is fine. It’s also fine if you want to mope a bit, but I just have to be sure that you know that you can’t keep doing what you’re doing”

Mor grits her teeth, she does not get angry often but little speeches like this set her on edge and she’s had enough of them from Rhys throughout the centuries “look, I’ve never told Azriel that I’m in love with him, I’ve never slept with him, any time he gets too close I make a point of fucking whoever turns the corner next. I love him like a brother and I damn sure can keep him as my best friend! As far as I’m concerned I’ve been pretty clear and he chooses to stick around, so clearly whatever mess we’ve created in the last half millennium is working for him to some degree as well so just-“

“I’m not talking about Azriel. Though... I wouldn’t say any of what you have is working for anyone. Not really.”

“Then who-“

“The 6’3 mass of wings and muscle and easy smiles that you use as a human buffer shield to keep Azriel’s emotions away from you” Mor’s eyes widen just a little and Feyre looks down into her glass “you can’t keep him around forever Mor, and you can’t keep glaring at Nesta and snapping at her every time she so much as looks at him. He isn’t yours.”

She scoffs “I snap at Nesta because she’s a viper that’s going to bite him and leave him dying in the streets, it has nothing to do with-“

“Yes, it does” Feyre’s jaw tightens “Azriel and Elain spend most of every day together and not a word from you. It isn’t because Elain is sweet and kind and you want her for him. It’s because you want Az to find someone. But if Cassian does and Azriel doesn’t... there goes the buffer”

“Do you really think that I am so selfish that I would deny Cassian love if he truly found the right person?”

“I think that you don’t get to decide who the right person is. He does.”

Mor throws back a mouthful of wine, needing to be more numb to handle this conversation “Cassian isn’t choosing anything when it comes to Nesta” the name is like poison on her tongue.

“I get that you don’t like her, hell I don’t like her most of the time. But Nesta... she has her reasons for how she is, and she’s different with him. I know that you see it, it’s why you were all ready to go home tonight and then she asked him to fly her back and your teeth set on edge. It’s why you practically growled that you needed more to drink when he smiled brighter than the sun because she stepped into his arms, and it’s why you nearly cracked that glass when he laughed as they took off.” Feyre pauses, not missing the way Mor’s eyes are narrowed as she speaks “he is happy when he is with her, and he deserves to be happy”

“what you and Rhys have is rare” Morrigan speaks with a level of bitterness that Feyre has seldom heard from her “the mating bond looks for equals and strength. It’s evolutionary. It finds who will have the most powerful offspring. It’s why Rhys is... well, Rhys. His parents were mates because it would result in the most powerful lord in Prythian history, but they were never happy. They were drawn together, crazed into all kinds of wild sex so that they could make Rhys and fulfill their cosmic destiny”

“What does that have to do with anything Mor, I-“

“I’m sure Rhys told you that the bond is hard to sense before it snaps into place. He isn’t wrong, but you’d have to be fucking blind not to see it with those 2” she rolls her eyes “Cassian, Lord of Bloodshed, commander of the Night Court armies, the most powerful warrior in centuries. Who could equal that? Someone who went to war with the Cauldron itself, maybe? Who tore and shredded and fought her way into the kind of pure power that creates and takes away life itself. Cassian doesn’t only walk beside death, he dances with it, teases it, defies it.”

Feyre is silent, still grasping at the pieces of the puzzle Mor is laying out in front of her “but that is only a part of him. He isn’t really that person. The darkest most powerful parts of him are drawn into her. They are both conquerors of death in their own right, and their child... their child would tear worlds apart and build them up from the ground again if it wanted to”

“I’ve seen the mating bond go bad before, and I don’t want that for him. She isn’t right for him and I won’t let some fucked up cosmic power stick him with a cold snake who will never love him, because he loves. He loves so deeply and fully and brightly. It will kill him to constantly be yearning for a woman who can never return that”

Feyre takes a moment to think, not even sure where to start. “It upsets you that the universe might make this decision for him, but why should you know better than the Mother?”

“I’ve seen-“

“The bond go wrong, I know. But those were power hungry people, dark people- at least one of them was.” She speaks over Mor’s muttered ‘my point exactly’ “Nesta isn’t like you, she never will be. She isn’t like Cassian either, but that doesn’t mean that she can’t love him. She almost died for him, Mor. You can’t just cherry pick the facts. Nesta is cold and hard and she doesn’t like very many people, but when she loves...it is with everything she has” Feyre takes a sip of her own drink “Maybe they are mates, and maybe they aren’t. But if they are it won’t be because they are equals only in power. Cassian is a fixer, a protector. He’s been into the dark and come out the other side of it and he will help Nesta do the same. And Nesta... it is exactly someone like Cassian who can hold her heart. She gives her heart to people who aren’t like her. People who are kind and open and light, like Elain. It might be a weird comparison to you who doesn’t know her, but I grew up with Nesta. She loved Elain the second she saw her because she was warm and kind and her spirit stayed so light despite everything we went through-“

“You aren’t going to convince me that she will ever deserve him” Mor’s speech is a little slurred at this point, the wine bottle next to her nearly empty

“And I don’t have to. Because as I said before, it isn’t up to you” Feyre’s voice is firm and Mor sighs loudly at the sound of it

“I know” the words are barely audible, a human never would have picked them up “I know” she pauses, pouting a little “I guess I just always thought that if someone ever came to take him away from me at least it’d be like getting another sister. Like when you came and got Rhys’ sorry ass off my hands” Feyre laughs “it’s like a consolation prize, and... and it would mean that I know I wasn’t going to lose him, that I would still see him. But with her, who knows. What if she hauls him off to her cave and we never see him again”

Feyre giggles a little at the imagery “If Cassian ever ends up in her cave, I don’t think she’d be dragging him there”

“You know what I mean”

Feyre nods “I do. And I haven’t known Cassian as long as you have. I can’t imagine what you’re feeling, but it isn’t going to help the situation if you keep being horrible to her”

“She’s horrible to me” Mor grumbles into her glass

“Yes well Nesta is like that with everyone, people take notice when you are only mean to one person”

“I’m not mean!” Feyre raises her eyebrows and Mor laughs “ok fine. I’ll be nicer to Nesta” she takes her voice up in a whiny mimic, slogging back the last dregs from the bottom of the wine bottle, shrugging “I’ll try, at least.”

[flowerflamestars]

I just realized this... I was just wondering since daylight 3, what is going on with Feyre? everyone else seems to be involved in the war and everything that happened, but how does she feel about Rhys failing and all that? I know it's not about her and I'm more than happy not dealing with her nonsense, but I would think she would get quite psycho after everything.

Honestly, I love this question so much? ‘Quite Psycho’ is IT. Let’s go chronologically, as it does sort of weave in and out of the narrative

-Six months after Nesta left, Rhys and Feyre realize she’s gone. Rhysand immediately talks Feyre out of going after her, Fey goes off to hang out with Mor and gets her version of Cassian and Mor’s Nesta was always going to leave, the Cauldron broke the Archeron sisters conversation. 

Then she goes to the Illyrian mountains, Rhysand grinning and flirting by her side, to look for clues. Because she thinks Nesta would leave her a note? or something? Feyre doesn’t understand the depth or conditions of Nesta’s loyalty.

- Some months later, Elain fights her way back to the present. She gets a front row to the argument Az honestly has almost every other day. 

Feyre: YOU KNOW WHERE SHE IS

Az: (Silence)

Feyre: I KNOW YOU KNOW, I LOVE HER AND WANT TO HELP HER

Az: Order me. Try it.

-Meanwhile, in the background, the Illyrian rebellion is picking up slow speed as a brutal, bloody effort happening in time with a horrifically harsh winter and Rhysand kind of just... killing dissidents? He doesn’t want to. But they could threaten him, they could threaten Feyre.

-Further in the background, Helion has cut off the import of all nonessential items to the North. Gold. Whiskey. Morrigans wine. Summer fruit. Rhysand notices. Feyre doesn’t and he DOES NOT tell her

-Cassian goes missing between the lines of a disputed territory. His men can’t find him, the Night Court generals have heard nothing. Rhysand orders retaliation- Cassian reappears fighting against him. 

-Then the massacre happens, and the rebellion really begins. This is Feyre’s tipping point. Initially Cas shows up across enemy lines and Feyre is like: do they have Nesta hostage? what about magic? Is he cursed?

Feyre cannot imagine Cassian siding against Rhys. They’re brothers! They’s family! She also problematically does not understand the intricacy of the conflict. Lets remember that Feyre is young and traumatized- to fight and move forward she’s always needed (had to) assign pretty clear good vs evil roles. She’s not fighting for a cause, she’s fighting against evil person. It’s deeply personal.

Cassian siding with the rebellion is about the stratification of Illyrian society- the bastards and women and downtrodden. But Feyre can’t unsee it as against Rhys, and when the rebellion takes out the Lords whose power was shipped up by Rhysand’s rule, Feyre thinks it’s unspeakable. Insane. Barbaric. 

-Enter, Feyre remembering she has two dangerous sisters. Recall from Daylight 3, the Trouble Trio arriving ‘looking like they came from a firefight’ and ‘blood from Rhysands broken nose on Lucien’s hand’.

Azriel caught the thought that Rhysand was thinking maybe (maybe Cassian should. just. die.), and pulled back every spy he controlled on the off chance Rhys was going to pick an assassin.

At the exact same time, Feyre and Rhys go to see Elain and Lucien. Feyre rolls up like hey sister mine, remember the war? Remember how I bought you this insane mansion because you were too crazy to talk to? Remember how much I love you and how many ugly flower paintings I made for your walls?

And Rhysand is like, in all his ‘I’m being genuine’ splendor: We need your help. 

Elain, perfectly sane as always: This isn’t the war. 

Feyre, feyreing: But we are AT WAR. Cassian has gone crazy, Nesta is gone, the Court of Nightmares dogs our every step! I need you to be my sister.

It becomes clear, dear reader, that ‘be her sister’ means go back to battlefields to predict what the Illyrian’s are going to do so Rhysand can more effectively clobber them into a) grinding submission or b)total annihilation

Rhysand: I need your help. I want a safe world. A world safe for your sister.

Elain, who can see a thousand years into the past and a thousand in the future. Who knows Feyre is safe, rich, and perfectly fine. Who can see the five hundred years Rhysand spent doing the bare minimum while Cassian agonized. Who can also see right in front of her, Rhysand starting to make that same fucking face he made at Nesta, wanting her to lower her head, thinking that Elain is about to say yes: No.  

Rhysand has a very Rhysand reaction to this, Azriel shows up to Lucien yelling at Rhys to fuck off because Elain is a person, not a tool, don’t look at me, she just told you she won’t do it- right in time for Lucien to break Rhysand’s nose. 

They winnow to Day for asylum, which brings us up to the date.

-The last battle comes. Rhysand sends in the Darkbringer army, but stays away. The Darkbringers die, the land shakes, Cassian that is not Cassian rides out of Illyria on the wings of a storm carrying the wrath of generations and the power of a god. 

He goes after Rhysand, to quote Lucien in Daylight 4 ‘like fucking vengeance’. 

He takes Illyria from him, takes his wings. Rhysand kills him. (temporarily) The storm hits the walls of the City and Amren, ward-weaving tenacious monster Amren, remakes the border. Morrigan drags Rhysand bleeding back into the city, to Feyre’s waiting arms.

She leaves Cassian.

Feyre’s done. Rhysand will never fly again. Az killed Keir without Morrigan’s blessing- killed her whole family. She’ll still make sure Elain- crazy, broken, gentle, clearly hoodwinked Elain- is taken care of. 

Feyre growls revenge, mops Rhysand’s brow. Stays in her beautiful City of Starlight, angry but content to rule her small kingdom. The world changes, but all she wants is peace.

Eventually, she hears the once again, Prythian has a Librarian. It’s whispered: the Ten Thousand Libraries, where all knowledge lives. Stories that breathe, information that knows your deepest need and cherished dream.

 Feyre wonders, if there’s any secret that could ever let Rhys fly again, surely- surely it’s in the Library. 

[inkedstarlight]

Bittersweet: Chapter Four

Summary: In which Nesta and Elain are introduced to the Inner Circle. Note: Read it on AO3 here! Warnings: mention of eating disorder, weight loss Bittersweet Masterlist

September

Nesta was staring at her reflection when Elain knocked on her bedroom door.

“Feyre’s here!”

“I’ll be right out,” she called back.

Nesta directed her gaze back to the mirror. She didn’t know what to make of what she saw.

Her face was jaunt, the shadows under her eyes resembling purple bruises. Her face had always been angular, but never so bony. Her thick golden hair now hung limply, greasy strands falling into her face. Nesta hadn’t showered in days, and her breath reeked thanks to a lack of nutrients. She was the color of a ghost, nearly blending into her surroundings with her tiny presence. Nesta was shrinking into herself little by little. Until nothing remained.

She had never been so underweight, not even when their mom forgot to cook most nights. At Nesta’s normal weight, her toned thighs touched each other. Rolls formed on her stomach when she bent over. She looked like a woman.

But as she stared at the mirror, Nesta looked like a girl.

It wasn’t intentional. Gods, she’d seen what that sort of thing did to people. Elain struggled with an eating disorder since she was thirteen.

Those couple years were brutal. Their dad was emotionally absent, their mother gone. Feyre was working every day. Nesta did as much as she could, but… there’s only so much she could do. Their family couldn’t afford a therapist or nutritionist. Elain didn’t want to get better.

Then, Elain passed out walking home from school. That’s when Nesta had enough. She couldn’t stand to watch her sister completely disappear right in front of her eyes. So, she talked to Elain’s guidance counselor, Alis, who was the only qualified person there. The other counselors did shit. All they cared about was academics and nothing more. Alis gave Nesta pamphlets for free group therapy. Nesta marched home and told Elain about it.

She refused for a month.

Nesta had never seen Elain so angry and hopeless during those few weeks. Angry at Nesta for getting into her business. Hopeless in the way that she didn’t particularly care what happened to her.

Then, one day, Elain found Nesta sobbing on the floor of their bedroom. When Elain took a step closer, Nesta snapped. She screamed. Gods, did she scream. She begged – begged – Elain to stop killing herself. Nesta was desperate, and she knew the only way Elain would agree to get help was if Nesta asked her to do it for her. And so Elain agreed.

It took a long time; recovery isn’t a linear process in the slightest. But with time, Elain healed. She healed until she was doing it for herself, not just for Nesta. And now… now, Elain cherished her body. She’d once told Nesta that the intrusive thoughts still surfaced, but they weren’t nearly as loud as they used to be.

Nesta’s sudden weight loss… it wasn’t the same. It was the depression that was gnawing at her very flesh, the guilt that was eating her away until it hit bone. She didn’t care to eat. She didn’t care to do anything.

Elain had been trying to get her to eat every day. Three meals a day. She had always been a fabulous cook, baking and cooking until the sun set. Nesta wished she could stomach Elain’s food, but she felt as if she would throw up if she consumed anything more than a piece of fruit.

Nesta sighed with resignation. Turning her back to the mirror, she walked out of her room to find Feyre and Elain lounging in the kitchen. Elain’s profile was backlit by the window above the sink, highlighting her light hair.

“What do you want?” Nesta asked as she approached them, taking a seat on the stool. She’d completely lost energy during the past few weeks, and any semblance of patience was easily lost on her.

Feyre ignored her brash tone. “How are classes going?”

“Fine.” She didn’t bother elaborating. There wasn’t much to tell anyway.

“You look thin,” Feyre commented, running her eyes over Nesta’s barely visible body.

“Are you here to criticize my appearance or can I retreat back into my room?”

“It was just an observation, Nesta,” Feyre told her. Then, she addressed both of them. “My friends and I are having a dinner party tomorrow night at my house. It’s a small tradition that we do every other week. Do you guys want to come?”

“Yes!” Elain jumped up excitedly. She gripped Feyre’s shoulders, the latter smiling widely. “I finally have a reason to dress up!”

Feyre unraveled herself from Elain’s grip and turned to Nesta. “Are you in?”

“I’m invited?” She couldn’t help but ask. Feyre hadn’t exactly gone out of her way to spend time with Nesta. It wasn’t like Feyre was cruel to her; they’d simply become strangers after years of no communication. Feyre had shown Elain around town, but that courtesy didn’t extend to Nesta.

Feyre blew out a breath of air and nodded. “I want to try to fix… this.” She gestured between them.

Nesta would have laughed if it weren’t for the nervousness in Feyre’s eyes. “I appreciate the offer, but I don’t think I’m ready to meet your friends quite yet.”

I know I'm not ready.

Nesta had been doing better since the semester started; that much was true. Even so, she rarely talked to anyone, save the obligatory conversations with professors as well as her T.A.’s. She only left the apartment for classes and never lingered on campus to study or socialize. Considering it was a challenge to talk with her peers, Nesta was pretty sure she wouldn’t be able to make conversation with her estranged sister’s friends.

“It would mean so much to me if you met them, especially Rhysand.”

“I said another time.” Nesta’s voice was hard.

Feyre squeezed the bridge of her nose as she tried to reign in her temper. “Please, Nesta? It would be good to get out of the apartment.” She looked resigned, as if she knew Nesta would refuse. “You don’t even have to say anything. No one there will question your silence, I promise. They’re all easygoing.”

She wasn’t asking much of Nesta. In fact, Feyre was asking for the bare minimum. And as much as Nesta dreaded the idea of being surrounded by a group of complete strangers…

You need them as much as they need you. Her father’s words echoed in her head.

Nesta nodded. “Okay.”

And with that, the tether between them began to mend.

------------------------

Feyre and Rhysand’s house lay at the edge of the city, the stars brighter without the light pollution of the city. Elain marveled at the mountainous backdrop as she and Nesta pulled up to their spacious home in Elain’s old Beetle. Nesta’s stomach twisted when she noticed several cars parked in the driveway. She should turn around and return home, she wasn’t ready for –

“Let’s go inside!” Elain sang as she unbuckled her seatbelt. She wore an off-the-shoulder pink dress, the pastel color complimenting her fair skin. The soft fabric fell just below her knees, a gentle breeze caressing the skirt of the dress. She was stunning. Nesta had told her as much when Elain emerged from her room.

Nesta, on the other hand, had chosen to wear ripped jeans and a black hoodie. How she and Elain were related, Nesta had no idea.

They strolled to the front door, Elain bouncing with each step. She’d gushed throughout the entire car ride about the stories Feyre had told her about Rhysand, which somehow led to Elain rambling for ten minutes about her dream wedding.

Gods, Nesta had never met a bigger hopeless romantic.

Sounds of laughter could be heard from inside as they stepped onto the front porch. Elain didn’t hesitate as she knocked three times.

Feyre answered the door just seconds later. Her golden hair tumbled to her shoulders, an easy smile on her face. Nesta had never seen her sister look so happy. She was glowing, and it wasn’t because of the warm lights behind her.

“You made it!” Feyre exclaimed happily, opening the door wider to let them inside. She noticed the dish in Elain’s hands as they walked past her. “You didn’t have to bring anything, El.”

Elain only scoffed as Feyre closed the door behind them. “Like you would have been able to stop me.”

Just as Feyre was about to address Nesta, a few people – her friends, Nesta presumed – entered the foyer.

“Everyone, these are my sisters, Elain and Nesta.” Feyre gestured to them as they stood awkwardly in the doorway. “Elain and Nesta, this is everyone.”

A tall, dark haired man approached them, sliding his hand onto Feyre’s lower back.

Nesta knew who it was before he spoke.

His violet eyes sparkled. “I’m Rhysand,” he reached in to shake their hands. “I’ve heard a lot about you both.”

Elain really wasn’t lying about his eyes.

 He directed a blindingly white smile at Elain to which she returned. But when his gaze slid to Nesta, his grin slipped slightly, eyes narrowing.

What the hell?

“Well, isn’t this lovely,” a seductive voice drawled. Nesta’s attention was grabbed by the tiny girl who’d spoken, her hair sleek and short. She was standing at the kitchen table with her arms crossed over her chest, staring at Rhysand, and a raised brow that seemed to say, Really?

“I’m Amren.” She flashed Elain and Nesta a wicked grin. “Excuse Rhys’s poor manners.”

Nesta liked her already.

“This is Azriel,” she pointed to the brooding man behind her. He nearly blended into the shadows, his presence calm and quiet. Nesta couldn’t help but notice the scarring on his hands. She instinctively pulled her sweater over her wrists.

The man – Azriel – gave them an awkward wave, his gaze hovering on Elain who returned his greeting with an equally awkward wave of her own.

“I’m Morrigan,” a raspy voice sounded from the kitchen counter. A woman sat at the breakfast bar with a wine glass in hand. Her lips were painted the same crimson color of the drink she held. “But you can call me Mor.”

Another woman stood behind her, hands playing with Mor’s blonde hair. Her skin was a dark hazelnut, waves of thick, black hair framing her face. She wore a bright smile. Together they were regal, the picture of beauty. “This is my girlfriend, Aurra.”

Aurra murmured a greeting, to which Elain reciprocated with a bubbly enthusiasm.

“There’s one more of us, Cassian, but he’s in the Marines. He’s stationed in Turkey right now,” Rhysand explained. He directed the statement towards Elain. He didn’t seem to care to acknowledge Nesta’s presence. “He’ll be back in December.”

“Oh, I completely forgot!” Feyre jumped in. She looked at both Nesta and Elain. “I meant to mention this to you guys when I visited you the other day. Cassian actually lives in the same apartment complex as y’all. I think his place is just a floor above you, so you guys will get the chance to meet each other. It’s hard, though, because he never knows when he’s going to be deployed.”

Nesta nodded absentmindedly, uninterested in these people’s lives. She doubted she would see them again, much less the friend who lived near them.

After the introductions, everyone got settled. Feyre gestured Nesta and Elain to follow her into the living room.

“Dinner isn’t ready quite yet,” she explained, sending a pointed glare where Rhysand stood. He lifted his hands up in surrender. “So, I figured we can just drink and chat until Rhys can cook us something edible.”

Mor snorted from the kitchen at Feyre’s jab. She grabbed Aurra’s hand and they waltzed to the armchair that sat next to the vast fireplace. Aurra pulled Mor onto her lap, Mor giggling as she took a sip of her wine.

Feyre offered them wine. Nesta took hers and followed everyone to the living room. Luckily, she found a seat that distanced her slightly. Feyre sat atop a stool, Rhysand behind her to keep an eye on dinner. Amren lounged on a plush floor cushion, leaving Elain and Azriel on the loveseat.

The conversation came easy. Rhysand and Mor fired question after question at Elain, to which she answered happily. Feyre kept her word; everyone respected Nesta’s space. She was faced only with the occasional, “More wine?” or “The bathroom is over there.” It gave Nesta the opportunity to sit back unbothered and listen to the conversation.

“So how do you all know each other?” Elain asked curiously, gesturing to Feyre’s friends.

Rhysand smiled with fond memories. “I lived across the street from Azriel as a kid. Cassian is my adopted brother, so we all grew up with each other. Mor over here is my cousin. We all went to the same university. Amren…” Rhysand got silent. A small, contemplative smile grew on his face. “I don’t really know how she joined us. I’m pretty sure she approached us and told us that we were now friends with her.”

Amren nodded to confirm as everyone laughed. Her smile resembled the Cheshire Cat.

“And Feyre darling,” Rhysand looked at his girlfriend lovingly. “She stumbled upon us in our sophomore year. That’s a story for another night though.”

Nesta couldn’t help but snort at his nickname for her. Feyre shot her a glare.

After dinner, which ended up being soup thanks to Rhysand’s lack of cooking skills, they all retreated back to the living area. Feyre popped open yet another bottle of wine to top everyone off, and Elain brought out the cupcakes she’d made.

As they were enjoying her sister’s dessert, which was droolworthy like every dish in the past, Elain and Azriel caught Nesta’s attention from the loveseat. She’d noticed they hadn’t spoken much beyond “Hello” and “How are you?” Nesta attributed that to Elain’s innately nervous nature, so she was surprised when she struck up a conversation with him.

“Do you go to school?” Elain asked Azriel timidly, taking a sip of wine.

His head dipped down, tufts of black hair falling into his eyes. “I, uh, work at an animal shelter.”

Elain gasped loudly. She clutched his leg and looked at him with wide eyes. “I love animals! I want to rescue a dog.” Elain began rambling about the bunnies who lived in her garden, the many strays she’d found on the street back in high school, the bird she tended to when she noticed his broken wing.

Nesta watched Azriel smile for the first time tonight. Where most men would cringe from Elain’s incessant chatter, he leaned forward with interest. Nesta could tell he was hanging on to every word that left Elain’s mouth.

As the night went on, Nesta watched the dynamic between everyone. Where Azriel was timid, Mor was booming. She was always laughing at something (usually her own joke), and she made her opinions known. Nesta respected that.

Amren, though? Amren was a creature of her own. She was snarky to her friends, but the love could easily be seen in her eyes. Nesta immediately took to her.

And Rhysand? Nesta was unnerved by how… domestic Feyre and her boyfriend were. They acted like they were a married couple, for gods’ sake. She got second hand commitment phobia just by looking at them.

When it was time for them to leave, Feyre’s friends demanded they join again next week. Elain promised they’d be back again with a giggle, and Nesta swore she saw the light in Azriel’s eyes flare.

So, once a week, the lot of them got together to hang out. Feyre and Rhysand hosted most dinners thanks to their spacious house but occasionally, Mor and Aurra offered their place which was equally gorgeous.

As the weeks passed, Nesta slowly became more comfortable with everyone – though Rhysand typically avoided her, and she did the same. Though she remained near silent during the nights, Nesta found herself looking forward to the dinner gatherings.

And perhaps, perhaps she could find a home here.

[f-ferrari-forever]

Leaflets in The Sun: Chapter 1

Prologue - Chapter 2

Summary: An equinox ball started it all. But shall another one end it?

Vassa's time is running out with every sunrise she dreams of seeing with human eyes. With only weeks before she has to return to the lake and the death-lord, she now belongs to, Feyre's failing attempts sparking the fire already burning inside, the mortal queen demands help from the one person who may hold the answer, but has dismissed her from the start.

When Beron invites the members of the newly forged alliance to celebrate the autumn equinox, Vassa sees her chance.

And with a queen who'd do anything to break her curse onto him, Helion is mortified when the mating bond between him and the Lady of Autumn at last snaps into place. And is exposed to the world.

As secrets of the ruling line of Day come out, its High Lord learns the truth of his mate's last pregnancy, and the length she'd go to in order to protect her favourite son. Including hiding him from his true father. Especially as their daughter has been stolen at birth.

Chapter 1

"I think Feyre may actually kill her if she keeps insisting," Cassian said matter of factly, a smirk plastered on his face as he stared at his High Lady. 

Lucien raised an eyebrow, while Morrigan snorted. "She is the most annoying little thing I've ever seen. Insisting is one thing. This—this is harassment."

Cassian laughed a hoarse and mocking sound. "I thought Scythian people were your thing, dearest Mor. Or are you only interested in Malerians? I keep forgetting."

Lucien gulped. Mor's red-manicured nails stopped tapping on the dining table. "Shouldn't you be in Windhaven, Cassian? Or have you decided to let Nesta murder Devlon in his sleep?"

Cassian's grin widened. "If she succeeds in doing that, I'll have Rhys make her a war-lord right away."

"Shouldn't you be helping Tamlin lick his wounds?" Mor turned her attention to Lucien, eyebrows raised. 

Cassian nodded his head. "Az had to whisk Elain away when she heard you were coming over. You make her very uncomfortable, Vanserra."

Lucien felt his cheeks heating up. "Why is no one asking me if you 

make me uncomfortable?" 

"Because I live here! And so does Elain!" Cassian exclaimed, almost knocking over his glass of liquor as he waved his hands.

Mor tsked, shaking her head. "There is no need to be rude, Cassian. Lucien lives here as well. Well, that is if you ask Feyre."

Lucien furrowed his brows at her. "You do realize I am not my brother, don't you?"

Mor tilted her head to the side as if studying his appearance. "I fail to see any significant differences. Your complexion is darker, I'll give you that. Besides that, all I see is Eris with a metal eye."

Cassian chuckled. "Who's being rude now?"

"Oh, I am not rude at all," the female said, her grin matching the one plastered on Cassian's face. "I am merely doing what I do best. Speaking the truth."

"Your banter is surprisingly dull to watch. I'd say the youngest fox of Autumn here takes the least after his father. Do learn to compliment the wonders of genetics, Morrigan."

Lucien whirled his head around. Cassian knocked the glass over this time, cursing. Mor doubled over in her chair, half-falling out of it. Helion Spell-Cleaver stood in the doorway, a lazy grin resting on his face.

"What. The Holy Hell. Are You. Doing. Here." Cassian gritted his teeth, talons bared.

The High Lord did not seem concerned. "Is this the way you welcome friends into your home here in the Night Court?" 

"We do not welcome anyone into our home," Cassian hissed.

"Then what is he doing here?" Helion pointed at Lucien. His blush only deepened.

"I invited him," Feyre said, stepping into the house, Vassa following her closeby. His friend's eyes were furious as she slammed the terrace door behind her. 

"I invited both of them," Feyre concluded, slumping into the closest chair she could reach.

"And why in Cauldron's name would you do that?" Mor let out, staring at Feyre as if she'd grown another head.

Feyre gestured to Vassa, who had taken to resting against the fireplace, her eyes shooting daggers at everyone in the room.

"How did you even get here?" Cassian demanded, pointing a taloned-finger at Helion.

The High Lord grinned at him. "Rhysand winnowed me in, of course."

"You've both lost it," Mor said to Feyre, brown eyes wide. "You've both completely and utterly lost it!"

Feyre groaned loudly. Glancing at Vassa, Lucien noticed that the mortal queen had moved her attention to the High Lord. Helion was grinning at her, a cunning and unpleasant smile. Vassa grinned right back. Cauldron help me, Lucien thought.

"Vasilisa Alexandrovna Premudraya," he said, the smile never faltering one bit. "'The Wise', your people call you. I would have thought someone with your reputation would have the common sense not to anger a Fae High Lord. I must say I am disappointed."

"You don't seem angry," Vassa said, holding Helion's gaze. "You seem bored enough to have taken time researching my whereabouts. Including my awful full name."

Helion chuckled. "What else did your librarians tell you about me, Helion Spell-Cleaver?"

"So much fascinating information, I wouldn't know where to start."

"Pick your favourites," Vassa said, her tone daring. Challenging. 

"Your father, the late King Alexander, was sterile. An unfortunate riding accident in his youth," Vassa raised an eyebrow, as if unbothered by Helion's words. "His reign was coming short and he was still heirless. He stooped lower than any mortal before him, recoursing to Fae magic. Some vile, dark sorcery no decent Court would ever harbour." His amber eyes pinned Lucien as he said it. A shiver ran down his spine.

"And he succeeded," Vassa concluded.

"He succeeded in killing his wife in the process. He never could love you, could he? You reminded him too much of what he did. The price he paid."

Anger passed Vassa's face. It was brief before her features bore mockery instead. Lucien had gotten to know her well enough to realize a storm was coming.

"Should I tell you what I know about you, Helion Spell-Cleaver?" Vassa said, her blue eyes sparkling. "What my spies told me about you? The Day Court may dispose of the vastest libraries in Prythian, but Scythia has the greatest network of spies there is. We are everywhere. Even in the Day Court. Even in Autumn."

Lucien's brows furrowed. What was she talking about?

Feyre chocked on her drink. Mor and Cassian jumped from their seats. She waved her hand, dismissing their concerns. Cassian was eyeing the glass still grasped in her hand wearily.

Lucien turned away from the three of them and gaped. Vassa and Helion were staring each other down as if they were circling their prey. "Did you know," Vassa hissed, her voice venomous. "That the Great Palace of Yaroslav was built by Fae seeking refuge from your Court? Women, legend has it. Women your ancestors exiled because they were wiser then they were. My people descend from yours."

"Be very careful," Helion growled. "When choosing your next words, mortal."

"Did you burn the evidence as you do with the bodies of the daughters of your line? How much blood do you have on your hands? An abundance, given your reputation—"

Helion lunged for her. Lucien barely had time to register Cassian's yell. He moved, praying that his slight closeness to Vassa would be enough. He reached her an instant before the High Lord did, shielding her body with his. Helion's clawed hand struck his face, knocking his metal eye out of its sockets. He felt the old scars being reopened and yelled, clutching at his face.

Vassa was cursing, both at him and Helion. Cassian had his arms wrapped tightly around the High Lord, holding him back. Feyre had her hands to her mouth, her face white, Morrigan staring wide-mouthed at the High Lord.

"Feyre, darling," The front door to the townhouse slammed open. "Has Helion managed to help our mortal queen yet—What the bloody Cauldron happened?" Rhysand shrieked, the horror on his face matching Feyre's.

Helion had stopped struggling in Cassian's grip, his body limp as he stared at Lucien. His eyes were wide, mouth slightly opened. It seemed he was seeing Lucien for the first time.

His astonishment lasted only a moment. He turned to Vassa, the growl escaping his lips almost wolf-like. "If you—or any of your little spies—step foot in my Court ever again, I will hang their insides around Yaroslav until there's no spire of that shithole not splotched with blood."

Cassian let got of Helion. The High Lord straightened, shooting Vassa a dead glare as he strolled towards Rhysand. "Enjoy being cursed, Your Majesty. I hope you spend every waking moment knowing I hold the answers to your search and would not reveal them."

***

"Where do you think you're going?" Lucien asked, catching up with Vassa as she strode along the Rainbow.

"Fuck off," Vassa said through gritted teeth, not turning to look at him.

"Harsh," Lucien chided, adjusting his pace to match hers. "Seriously, Vassa. The sun's almost up. Do you want to give the people of Velaris the scare of their life? I'm pretty sure Cassian would skin us alive if we disturb their peace."

"Why the fuck did you jump in front of me like that?" She whirled around, poking his chest with her finger.

Lucien gaped at her. "He would have killed you! Me on the other hand, he barely scraped."

"Barely scraped? Barely scraped?" Vassa echoed, her voice rising. A Faerie with glimmering pale green skin was smirking amusingly at them from the doorframe of an art studio. 

"Not you too," Lucien groaned. "Feyre already fussed about me until I managed to escape the house. He didn't go that deep. It's already closing up."

"Your eye—," she started, but he quickly waved her off.

"Rhys promised me he'll drop me in Dawn later. I haven't seen Nuan in ages, anyway."

Vassa folded her arms over her chest. She did not seem convinced. She glanced towards the sky, eyes saddening. "I don't want to go back, Lucien."

"I know," he whispered, offering his arms out to her. She let out a muffled sob before crashing into his chest. He encircled her, resting his head atop hers. "Why did you provoke him?" he let out. "You're smarter than that. You must have known he'd never help you after—"

"Because I don't want his help. I wanted the High Lady's."

Lucien frowned. "Why in Cauldron's name not?"

"There's...history between his people and mine. History I could never forgive myself if I'd throw away for selfish reasons. My people would never forgive me."

"But if what he said is true, and he really could help you—"

Vassa seemed sad as she gazed up at him. "I'll never know now, will I?"

"I could talk to him. I've been to his court before, negotiated things for Tamlin with his advisors."

Vassa shook her head. "You've already been hurt enough because of me."

She took his hand in hers and guided him to the nearest stone bench. "Why did your mate leave when she heard you were coming over?" Lucien started. Her nosiness was back in full force.

"I told you Elain has trouble accepting our bond."

"But you said she was willing to try to get to know you." Vassa pointed out.

Lucien shook his head. "She's changed her mind."

"Do you think something is going on between her and that Shadowsinger?"

Lucien sighed. "I wouldn't know. And if there is—if he makes her happy, who am I to step in their way?"

Vassa's brow was furrowed, her fingers absently tapping on the bench. "She seems sad, most days. There's a longing to her, one I can relate to. It's like—like she doesn't want to be here sometimes."

Lucien nodded his head. "She misses her human life. She's accepted it more now, but—I don't think this longing would ever go away. I feel it sometimes, pushing through the bond."

Silence was the only response. He glanced at her and saw her blue eyes glued to the sunlight creeping in through the night sky. Dawn was here. It was a matter of minutes now, he knew.

"Speaking of relationships," he teased. "How are things between you and Jurian?"

Vassa snorted, staring incredulously at him. "Still half-crazy, so no thank you. I don't do mental rehabilitation."

Lucien burst out laughing. "Did you tell him that? Because he seemed all over you that last time I saw him."

Vassa playfully slapped the back of his head. "There's nothing wrong with having admirers, asshole."

"Sane admires, sure. Insane ones though—"

He didn't get the chance to finish. Heat began coming off her body, his magic awakening to shield him from the flames that burst through her.

Cries of awe could be heard from the passers-by as the firebird blazed to the early morning sky. Lucien stayed there until the sun was fully up, watching Vassa as she flew above Velaris.

***

Lucien closed the door of the townhouse behind him, leaning heavily against it. Tiredness washed over him, his eye heavy as he closed it for a moment, the pain in his left side still throbbing.

"Lucien? Is that you?" Feyre called out from the living room.

Sighting, he staggered forward, clutching the metal eye in his jacket pocket. "Vassa may have startled the inhabitants of the Rainbow into oblivion. Expect paintings of firebirds to line up the studios soon enough."

Feyre rested her head in her hands, groaning. "Tell that to Cassian and Mor," she let out.

Lucien plopped down next to her on the couch. "Why did you invite Helion over, if you knew they didn't like outsiders inside their Court?"

"Rhys and I decided we wanted to change that. Open the Night Court to the outside world. They don't agree with our choice."

Lucien nodded. "Why did you invite me as well? I've barely said a word at all. And if Elain is distressed by my presence—"

Feyre gripped his arm. "Because you're my friend. And Vassa's. I thought you being here may calm her spirits—"

Lucien laughed. "You do not know Vassa at all, in that case."

Feyre only shook her head. "Actually—," she started. "There's something else I've been meaning to talk to you about."

"What is it?" He asked, his heart beating faster in his chest. He couldn't handle being told to never step into Velaris again. That he wasn't welcome here anymore. Not when his scar was still burning from the pain—

Feyre handed him a piece of folded up paper she'd been clutching in her fist. His heart tightened as he recognized the symbol etched there. If something had happened to Mother...

His eye roamed around the lines, his mind spinning. "I don't understand," he let out, staring at the paper as if the words would mix up and form a different message soon enough.

"That's what Rhys said," Feyre breathed. "Mor threatened to resign and move out if we brought her along."

"Is that why she kept telling me I reminded her of Eris?"

"Yes," Feyre sighted. "Helion said he got one as well. I can assume so did Tamlin and the other High Lords."

Lucien suppressed a shiver. "I'm with Mor on this one. I'm never willingly stepping foot in there again—"

"No, no," Feyre said frantically. "I didn't mean that—I'd never ask that of you."

"I'm sensing there's a but coming on." Lucien gritted his teeth.

"I wanted to ask your opinion. What should we do? Could it be some sort of trap?"

Lucien rubbed at his temples. "I can tell you for certain my father has never been sorry for anything in his life. Nor has he ever done anything to earn someone else's forgiveness."

"Rhys thinks that if we don't show up we will offend him."

Lucien snorted. "He's already humiliated enough because of Hybern. But I do agree with Rhysand. You two should go."

Feyre threw her head back, resting against the back of the couch. "If it makes you feel better, I don't think Tamlin will bother crawling out to attend."

"Can I count on you to babysit Mor?"

He groaned, grabbing at his hair. "I'm messing with you," Feyre giggled, shaking her head.

"You'd better be."

"Equinox ball, huh?" Feyre let out, her eyes staring distantly through the open windows.

"Haven't been to one in almost a century," he said, resting his head next to hers.

[strangely-constructed-soul]

Not My Enemy Chapter III

Fic Masterlist/ Main Masterlist/Ao3 version(Tumblr version is better)

Feyre

“This is not good. This is not good.” Mor muttered as she paced the apartment. Feyre couldn’t have agreed more; the demands Hybern had made of Rhys were almost driving Feyre to tears of frustration.

Feyre couldn’t keep her mind off of the threat that was clearly aimed at her.

“If you aren’t out of Rhys’s cabal by the end of the week, we’re going to have some issues, aren’t we Elain?” Hybern was such a devil. Feyre’s sister had been put on the line after Feyre had demanded to hear it from her lips so she knew that what Hybern had said was true. “Feyre? Feyre, is that you? Please, he’s got me locked up, I” She was cut off as Hybern drawled again from his side of the line. “That’s enough from you, little doe. You have five days.” With that, the line had cut off.

Now, about six hours later, Feyre was shaking slightly, and she couldn’t seem to get rid of the sickening chill that had crawled its was up her spine. Her hope was starting to fade, and that left her feeling like she was about to pass out.

Luckily, Rhys noticed the shift and ushered Mor into the dining room, murmuring something into her ear that Feyre was barely to make out other than when Rhys said “Call Az.” Mor nodded and vanished from the apartment, presumably to find a burner phone.

Rhys returned a few moments later with a mug of hot tea. He walked her over to the couch and she leaned against him for support. He tensed slightly before sliding an arm around her shoulders.

“Let’s go find her.” Feyre stated with determination. Rhys agreed readily, and despite some hesitation from Mor, set off to go find Elain.

That’s how they ended up in the darkest, dirtiest part of the slums of Velaris. Feyre sighed as she remembered when she was a child how beautiful the city had been when it was led by a royal family, their names forgotten by time and erased from the minds of most people who lived in Velaris. Her own mother had died just before the uprising, so she never had to see her beloved city or husband fall into despair. The Spring gang had killed the ruling lord, his wife, and their two children; some said that Tamlin himself had killed them.

Tamlin was thirty six to her twenty four. She had been fifteen, less than a year younger than the lord’s eldest son had been, when the gangs took over after slowly gaining power for several decades. Would Elain be slaughtered too, just like the lord and lady’s children had been? Feyre shook the thought out of her mind.

As if reading her thoughts, Rhys slowed his efficient walking pace to a stroll, and turned to her.

Rhys

“I miss it too. The music, the lights,” He murmured, a remorseful look crossing over his face, “I lost everyone I loved that night.” The gangs had been ruthless, unforgiving in their path to controlling the city. Feyre remained silent until she tentatively reached out and took his hand. He sighed, glad that she hadn’t asked more about his confession, knowing how risky it would be to reveal his secrets in such a place.

Suddenly, there was a distinct crunching sound, the sound of one carelessly loud footstep. Rhys dropped Feyre’s hand and continued walking for a few moments. He pretended to ignore the Hybernian guard stalking them, Feyre following suit. He knew what he needed to do; he took Feyre by the waist and presses her up against a nearby wall and kissed her.

Feyre

Rhys was kissing her. Rhys was kissing her, and she was kissing him back. The footsteps stopped. Feyre wove her fingers into his hair, just as she had dreamed of doing ever since he had woken up from the injury. Rhys ran his tongue over her lower lip, and she opened her mouth. Feyre groaned into his mouth and his hands tightened around her waist. There was the unmistakable sound of someone turning around and practically running in the other direction. Rhys pulled away too quickly, something sad and something like shame flashed in his eyes as he averted them. Feyre quickly realized what she had done, and she couldn’t bring herself to look at him. After what he had been through, he probably never wanted to be touched again, let alone be kissed. Rhys had told her in a loose explanation of what Amarantha had done to him. Then again, he had initiated the kiss, even though he probably didn’t want anything like that from her. Feyre felt like she had jumped from a precipice, and she could only hope that something would stop her from her guilt and loneliness before it was too late. Because kissing Rhys had made her feel something that made her want to hold on.

They walked in silence the rest of the way to Hybern’s lair.

Azriel

In spite of their disguises, Azriel knew the minute Feyre and Rhysand walked into the darkness of the converted hotel that Hybern had turned into his own sick version of a palace. To be fair, Mor had called him ahead of time, but he would have recognized one of his closest friends and “the Huntress”, or as he knew her, Feyre Archeron.

Az had been in deep cover for the past few weeks, scouting out Hybern’s defense system and helping captives escape. Hybern had no reason to suspect his new security ‘lackey’ was Rhysand’s highest level spy. He reported everything he learned directly to Mor.

Azriel had been incredibly surprised to find that the beautiful young woman that Tamlin had dragged into the main cavern was, in fact, Feyre’s sister Elain. Morrigan had filled him in on the situation.

Most surprising of anything was the way that Rhys was looking at Feyre. Somehow, in the past month that he’d been in this gilded hellhole, Rhysand had fallen for the most elusive assassin in the city.

Azriel didn’t have to question why Feyre could mean enough to Rhys for him to risk everything for her sister, no, he questioned why Lucien cringed every time Tamlin’s hand reached out to graze Elain’s shoulder. He didn’t have to wait long to find out. Because it was then that Tamlin leaned down to kiss Elain, and she kissed him back.

Rhys

Feyre hadn’t even tried to be subtle when she fled from the lobby, and Rhys hadn’t hesitated for a second when he followed her. Even though two onyx eyes that haunted his nightmares had followed his every movement, her red lips twisting into a sadistic smirk as she saw how his face paled when she dragged her nails dug groves into the wood of her chair.

Amarantha

Rhysand had no idea of the deliciously dreadful things Amarantha planned to do to him and his Feyre. She stifled her cough until she got out of the throne room and into her private suite. The napkin that she used to cover her mouth came up bloody. She grinned at her reflection in the mirror, well, it was less of a grin and more of a scowl. With the blood dripping down the corner of her mouth and the hard look in her onyx eyes, she looked and felt ready to take down the Night gang and it’s lordling, even if it was the last thing she would ever do. Another coughing fit overcame her, and she collapsed onto her bed.

Elain

Elain squeezed her eyes shut and rubbed her temples when Tamlin finally let her return to her room. The tiny hotel room on the top floor of the hotel felt less like a room than a cage.

The events of the past week flew through her mind as she struggled to recall anything other than the pure terror she had felt when Tamlin told her that she would be killed if she didn’t accompany him to Hybern’s… residence.

Only at night did she let the tears fall. Only at night did she let herself mourn her parents and the life she once had. Before all of this, before Hybern took everything away.

There was a knock on the door, and Elain brushed her tears away quickly. No one here knocked. Ever. The man pushed the door open, and she saw someone she didn’t expect. The handsome man who had been watching her in the hotel lobby closed the door behind him with a resounding click. His hazel eyes softened as he took in her disheveled appearance.

“Miss Elain? I’m Azriel. I’m here to help you.”

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A/N: So it turns out I can write angst? Who knew? Certainly not me. Ahh I need sleep. Anyway, let me know what you think about this chapter, and/or if you want to be tagged! Feel free to message me or ask about my writing, or anything else, I’ll be here(probably). I have some ideas for chapter four and I think I’m going to make a masterlist for this. Hope you enjoyed this chapter! :)

[rhysand-vs-fenrys]

The Cabin By the Lake: NSFW Bonus Chapter 3b

This is an extended Morridwen scene from my fic “The Cabin by the Lake”, where Mor and Cerridwen’s reunion is extended into an NSFW scene.

Chapter 1 (Feysand) || Chapter 2 (Azuala) || Chapter 3: (Morridwen) || Chapter 4: (Elucien) || Chapter 5: (Amrian)

For my fanfiction library visit @rhysand-vs-fenrys-vs-writing​

The Cabin by the Lake (Exclusive): NSFW Morridwen

That night meant nothing.

Mor could still taste the female’s kiss.

She meant nothing.

The sound of her breathless gasps still filled Mor’s fantasies.

None of it meant anything.

A kiss so fiercely passionate it set their blood boiling and drew and undignified moan from her lips.

I love you, Morrigan.

And then she simply vanished.

For three hundred years Mor took up a vigil on the anniversary of their meeting. Centuries of searching for a female no one knew in a city no one could enter or leave. She should have been found in a day- but she’d remained elusive. Mor still took lovers, but a part of her would inevitably compare them to that perfect, dark-skinned female and suddenly they were the ones who meant nothing.

Both of them had been masked and far from sober. The sex wasn’t what stood out in her memory- it was how right everything felt. Her body fit against Mor’s perfectly, her dark skin was a perfect complement to Mor’s golden tone, and the sound of her voice-

-it was the most perfect sound she could imagine.

That perfect match was what her greedy heart craved.

But… nothing. Three hundred years, and not so much as a whisper of her.

Perhaps it wasn’t the mysterious female who meant nothing. Perhaps it was Mor herself.

Would she be disgusted to discover that the third in command of Night was utterly in thrall? Did it make her laugh when she pictured Mor pining away decade after decade? A single night- that was all they’d had. Why did it have to be more than that?

Well, it didn’t have to be, but that was what Mor wanted above all else.

Rhysand was taken Under the Mountain, and Mor forced herself to set aside the ghost of that cruel, divine female. She had to at least try to be stronger for the people of Velaris.

Fifty years passed, and now with Elain, Lucien, and Nesta in tow their expanded family descended on Rita’s for the Feast of Souls. Rhysand and Feyre were… otherwise engaged at home, but Mor was determined to have fun. It didn’t matter that she had felt that anxiety and pain again the moment Rhys returned from Under the Mountain- as if the female were somewhere close. It didn’t matter that the dark eyes of her lover were haunting her once again.  She would have fun, and she would find a way to move on.

Tension hung over Mor, thick and nearly tangible. She felt a twisting guilt in her chest, as if she’d forgotten something. It was a feeling she’d had every Feast of Souls since that blessed and damnable encounter. She always thought ‘Maybe this time she’ll be there,’ and yet she never was.

Still… what if?

As Mor wrestled with the decision to stay on the dance floor or go home, Rita caught her eye, glanced at the door to the upstairs party, and nodded.

It was Rita’s mate who’d introduced her to the stranger. They both knew of Mor’s centuries-long quest for her identity. 

Could that mean-

Mor didn’t care who saw her. She ran to the door and took the steps two at a time. Anyone who got in her way was moved with a hurried ‘sorry’ and a not-so-gentle shove. She almost knocked the doors off their hinges in her rush to enter and-

-and sitting at the table Mor had conducted her vigil from was a dark-skinned female in a black dress, her identity hidden behind a black veil and a gold-and-diamond mask that obscured everything beneath her obsidian eyes.

She gave no thought to who may see her unmasked face. Mor went straight to the female she’d loved and lost. Delicate, slender hands slid to her hips as Mor lifted the veil just far enough to seize the female’s mouth- a boundary she’d set on their only meeting. Her shattering kiss was as devastatingly perfect as the last they’d shared.

Mor didn’t even bother to excuse herself from her friends downstairs. Rita would tell them she’d left with someone. She winnowed the female across Velaris, straight into her apartment.

“Where have-“

The female put a finger on Mor’s lips to stop her as they both struggled for breath. They were trembling with need, but the female took a step back.

“I was scared for so long. I thought you would hate me if you knew. Every year I watched you look for me, and every year it killed me to stay away. After Under the Mountain, I refuse to be afraid.”

“Under the Mountain?” Mor paused- then it hit her in a wave of terror and ice. Only two females from Velaris went Under the Mountain- two females far, far too close to the Inner Circle, “Which one?”

There was no hesitation as the half-wraith removed her veil- the shield that gave her the courage to love Mor openly for just one night so many years ago. Her almond-shaped eyes and the crook in her left eyebrow- Mor knew instantly.

“Cerridwen.”

She stared at her for a long time- at Azriel’s spy who she’d loved with quiet ferocity for three long centuries. The female who’d wrecked all others for her, who’d vanished after a kiss that Mor could still feel on her lips even now.

A female who was something far greater than nothing… the one Mor had long since realized… was her mate.

“You didn’t give me a chance last time,” she whispered. “You didn’t wait for me to reply, so let me say it properly now.”

Mor stepped in close, erasing the gap between them. She cupped Cerridwen’s face in her hands and stroked her silken cheeks, just as she’d done after their first and only night together.

I love you Morrigan.

“I love you too.”

Cerridwen barely managed to stifle a sob as Mor grabbed her and drew her into a long, hard kiss. Her entire body was overwhelmed by lightning and fire- by the feeling of that golden female she’d loved so much for so long, it was hard to even breathe each time she was dismissed from her presence.

One of Mor’s hands slid around Cerridwen’s lower back while the other moved up her spline to gently hold the back of her neck. It took three hundred years to find Cerridwen again, she wasn’t about to let go.

Memory tended to distort with time, or so Mor believed. A pleasant memory becomes magical, the bad get worse. After her desperate search, a part of Mor had long since accepted that even if she did find the female, things couldn’t possibly be as perfect as she’d imagined.

She was wrong.

If anything, time had dulled the fantasy of Cerridwen’s lips against hers. Mor couldn’t taste enough of them. They were perfectly formed, and she could hardly stop herself as she sucked Cerridwen’s lower lip between hers, acutely aware of the other returning as much attention to her upper one.

The first brush of Cerridwen’s tongue between her lips elicited a soft, pleading moan. Both still had a barrier up- those same walls of uncertainty and fear that separated them for so long. With Mor’s arms tight around Cerridwen and the wraith’s stroking her hair, they were still two beings.

Separate. Individual. Apart.

So, Mor opened her mouth, and let Cerridwen’s tongue enter.

The taste of her lips had only been a shadow of the divine sweetness Mor found in her mouth. Her own tongue stroked and teased as Cerridwen returned her moans.

Slowly, almost on their own, Cerridwen’s hands moved from Mor’s hair to her back, her sides, her hips. A soft nudge- barely more than a shifting of the feet, adjusted their hips so that each female’s pelvis pressed against the other’s thigh. That pressure sent a shiver through Mor, but it was nowhere near enough.

She broke their kiss and opened her eyes to meet Cerridwen’s gaze. Their bodies were pressed against one another, with pesky clothing keeping them apart. A blush covered the wraith’s chest and cheeks. Her eyes were wide as she panted.

Cerridwen held still as Mor stepped back. Her dark eyes followed a golden hand as it rose to cup her cheek. She turned her gaze back to the shining female and nuzzled her palm, turning ever so slightly to lick at Mor’s thumb, then draw the tip in to lightly scrape with her teeth.

Mor’s eyes never left Cerridwen’s as she traced her thumb along those perfect lips. Once she’d circled back around, the wraith nipped at it once again. Mor slid the thumb in to her mouth to the first knuckle, then began to slowly pump it in and out as Cerridwen started sucking at the skin. She stroked the pad of Mor’s finger with her tongue slowly, showing her exactly what she planned to do between her legs later on.

Aching need was building in Mor and she whimpered at the heat of Cerridwen’s mouth. The apex of her thighs pulsed in time with her lover’s tongue.

Her thumb withdrew and she returned to Cerridwen’s embrace. She cupped her lover’s neck once more and trailed kisses along her jaw, earning a happy sigh. The shy desire in Cerridwen made Mor burn hotter, and she slid a hand down from neck to shoulder, drawing aside the strap of Cerridwen’s black dress. The wraith freed her arm from it entirely and with a kiss of cool air, her breast slipped free.

Red silk scraped across the too-sensitive flesh of her erect nipples as Mor pressed against her. The hand on Cerridwen’s shoulder slid down to the newly exposed flesh. Mor gently squeezed her breast, earning a sweet gasp.

Again, it was even more perfect than Mor remembered. A comfortable handful of warmth and impossibly soft skin that all pulled towards a mahogany nipple the perfect size for nibbling.

Mor swirled her thumb around the nipple before pinching it. Cerridwen’s next gasp was swallowed by Mor’s lips as she drew her once more into a deep, open kiss. Refusing to release Cerridwen’s breast, Mor stepped back and pulled her lover along.

Cerridwen smiled against her lips as Mor pulled her from the foyer to her bedroom. She broke the kiss only to draw some much-needed air. “I’ve had three hundred years to dream of how I would do this.”

“I’ve been dreaming of it far longer.” Cerridwen let or sit on the bed before lifting her skirts and moving to straddle Mor’s hips. She stroked her golden face and smiled at the way it seemed to glow against her darkness. Mor’s arms circled her waist, holding her secure. On a whim, she rested her cheek along the draped fabric of Cerridwen’s half-on dress, her nose gently pressing against the wraith’s breast.

“When Azriel brought Nuala and I to meet you all- the moment I saw you I was lost,” Cerridwen cradled Mor’s head, basking in the miracle that was at last in her arms. No fear, no shame, and no mask to conceal her identity, “I loved you quietly every second those years. Even Nuala noticed I’d lost myself to someone- not that she ever knew who. I went to Rita’s that night because she told me to find a female who could help me forget the other.”

“You always knew it was me beneath the mask, didn’t you? Before I even took it off?” There was pain in her voice, a deep, aching regret for every second they’d lost because of her fears.

“I did,” Cerridwen tipped Mor’s chin up until their eyes met, “and I don’t hold it against you. You looked for me, I was the one hiding. I saw how sad you were and I just- I was too scared of losing you to risk having you.”

“Feyre knows… what I am.” Mor’s arms tightened and she hid her face once more in Cerridwen’s chest, “If it is the only way to be with you, I’ll tell the others.” Her words were muffled, and Cerridwen’s heart cracked.

She returned to stroking Mor’s hair, comforting her, “Don’t you dare, not for me.”

“I would do anything for you,” Mor whispered, and she meant it. Three hundred years apart, and yet now, in Cerridwen’s arms, she knew she’d found home at last.

“Love me,” Cerridwen lifted her face and kissed Mor, “trust me, and hold me. But don’t reveal yourself for me. Do it for you, and only when you’re ready. My sexuality is the easiest part of me for people to understand, so I have never feared it or questioned how others would see me. I can’t imagine how hard it must be to reveal that precious side of yourself and I would never make it a condition of my love for you.”

Mor sobbed against her lips and salty tears mixed into their kiss. Cerridwen was a miracle she didn’t deserve. To the wraith, Mor was a blessing from the divine.

Cerridwen kissed away Mor’s tears, but the golden female needed her to know how much her words and actions meant. She seized Cerridwen’s mouth with hers and rolled to lay her on her back. She kept a hand on the wraith’s cheek as she shifted to straddle her leg and whipped blindly through the fabric of her skirts. Once she found a way in, her fingers reached for Cerridwen’s leg and followed it up towards something warm and swollen with need.

That was where the desperation eased somewhat. Cerridwen had foregone undergarments and Mor’s fingers traced the curve of her smooth entrance. Up and down her finger slid, never enough to part the folds, no matter how Cerridwen whimpered against her mouth or angled her knees out and away- opening herself.

When Mor’s finger parted her at last, it came away shining with moisture.

She continued her light tracing, only offering the tip of her finger- enough to tease the inside of her folds but not touch her entrance or touch her knot. Still, a drop of something slick and sweet soon rolled down her finger.

“Please,” Cerridwen gasped at last. Her hand grasped Mor’s elbow as if she could force her hand in deeper, but the other resisted.

She slid another finger through Cerridwen until it too was covered in her wetness. Despite her whispered pleas against Mor’s lips, she continued to tease her- all the while torturing herself.

“Take it off,” Mor said at long last, moving the skirts from beneath her knee. Cerridwen didn’t hesitate- she shifted her hips up- straight into Mor’s waiting knot. Mor gasped and ground against Cerridwen harder and harder, until she managed to pull her skirts out from under her and finally threw her dress off the bed.

Mor fell onto her aching breasts in an instant, and as she sucked one into her mouth she slowly pushed her fingers into Cerridwen. The wraith arched in an instant, pushing herself against Mor’s mouth with a wordless cry. Too long- it had been too long since she felt so whole and complete. She wanted to kiss Mor- to return as much of this incredible feeling as she’d been given.

While Mor focused her attentions on Cerridwen’s slit and breast, Cerridwen began to roll her hips up into the slow plunge of her fingers. Mor moaned and her own breath hitched as the leg beneath her shifted to rub against her knot through the fabric of her gown.

“Take it off,” Cerridwen threw Mor’s words back at her.

Mor was forced to withdraw from Cerridwen’s body, leaving her empty and hungrier than ever. She slipped a hand beneath Mor’s skirts as the golden female negotiated hidden ties- then those of the ruby corset beneath. Cerridwen had no love for undergarments, but Mor most certainly did. She felt silk lace and stroked the front of that- hard enough to encourage Mor to undress faster, but not hard enough to offer any reprieve.

The dress was, at last, flung aside, and with it her corset. Cerridwen slipped her hand down the front of those red silk panties and hooked two fingers into Mor. When the female bent down to kiss her, she dodged her lips with a smirk and immediately took one of Mor’s large breasts into her mouth.

Nothing existed beyond Cerridwen’s touch- nothing save the scent of her arousal. Mor pushed her cool fingers back into her lover and curled her thumb down to press- finally- against her knot. Cerridwen’s shout of pleasure was little more than a hum as she continued to bite and suck at Mor’s breasts. As sensitive as she was there- it was almost as good as rubbing her clit too.

Cerridwen had Mor’s breast to absorb her gasps and cries. Mor had nothing. She was shaking, whimpering with need and desire. A thick, wet sound came from both and only served to encourage the wave growing inside her. That lewd sound represented what she could do to Cerridwen- as much as the wraiths tortured cries. It also stood for what Cerridwen was capable of drawing from her.

Mor’s free hand pinched and squeezed Cerridwen’s breast as her fingers slowly began to pick up speed. Cerridwen’s hips began to rise as she released Mor’s breast and looked up at her- mouth frozen open. She exhaled low and slow, but the tension in her body gave it sound. Mor was almost lost, but she smiled at that sound.

Her other most treasured memory took on new significance- the way Cerridwen screamed her pleasure as it devastated her. For a quiet, secretive wraith she could make the most wonderful sounds.

At the same time, both females slid their fingers from one another. Cerridwen turned half onto her side and lifted her leg for Mor to grab. The other female ripped her panties in an effort to get them off faster, then shifted so that she was straddling Cerridwen’s open legs. She pressed her heat to her lover’s entrance, hugged the leg tight to her chest, and began to roll her hips in tight, focused circles. Within a few passes, her folds parted against Cerridwen, and the wraith’s against hers.

They cried in unison as their knots found one another and that glorious, wet noise filled the air once more. No female ever fit so completely against Mor, and Cerridwen never felt more powerful or powerless as she did beneath this one. Her pleasure slid back for a moment as she found their rhythm, but now it was rushing at her hard and fast.

It would be impossible to hold back the tidal wave.

As much as Mor loved Cerridwen’s screams, Cerridwen loved the flood unleashed by the other’s orgasm.

Mor’s gaze was drawn from Cerridwen’s at last and her circling focused exclusively on the swirling of their knots. She pressed down harder and harder as Cerridwen’s gasps turned to shuddering cries and her body tensed.

A squeak from Mor was the sign that the wave was upon her. That squeak sent Cerridwen over the edge.

Her back arched and two growing cries were torn from her lips before her jaw clenched and a scream ripped through her. Her entire body was hard and loose as Mor ground against her knot, made a far quieter shout, and was immobilized by blinding, glorious fire. The first splash of her against Cerridwen’s knot took the very breath from her lungs, and the wraith quickly reached down to pull her lips open wider.

She screamed again and took over for Mor, grinding their bodies together as another jet of Mor’s release hit hard against her quaking entrance. Mor fell to her side on the bed, but still she held Cerridwen’s leg, and the wraith didn’t stop moving until Mor’s body shuddered and she forced a hand between them, protecting her core.

Mor shivered and shook with the force of her climax. White spots danced before her eyes and she wasn’t entirely sure she could fight back the darkness that threatened to take her as she shielded herself from any more stimulation.

Only when that other tension left her did she let Cerridwen untangle their legs and crawl up the bed to kiss her.

“I love you,” Mor murmured, her body still shuddering with violent pulses of pleasure.

Cerridwen settled against Mor and held her- mound to mound and breast to breast. There was no denying they fit perfectly. She wanted to kiss her through the next ten minutes- until Mor had recovered enough for Cerridwen to wreck her again. But there was something she had to do-

“This time we can say it in the same century,” she whispered against Mor’s lips. “I love you too.”

[mardereads19]

Elriel Month 🌸🦇

Day 31: Free Choice

Continuation of Day 25: “Azriel”

Elain twisted towards the death god, heartbeat speeding at the sight of him. Azriel’s shadows moved behind her, some peaking over her shoulders as if readying to strike, others caressing her lower back, tapping her fingers until she unfurled them.

Koschei tutted. “Enough of that.” He glanced to the shadowsinger as he said, “Come over here.”

Elain stilled, waiting for Azriel to start moving, but he remained chained and immobile. Cassian, who had blades on both of his hands and whose Siphons flared bright, also frowned in confusion when nothing happened, however his eyes remained full of hate.

Koschei blinked and raised an eyebrow. His gaze shifted between the shadows gathering behind Elain’s back, Azriel, and Elain. “Interesting.”

“What is?” Cassian challenged, voice quaking in fury.

Koschei tilted his head, examining her. “You’re a shadowsinger.”

Elain said nothing, revealed nothing with her face, putting on the mask Azriel usually donned. But her mind spun at the realization.

Could it be? She’d become a shadowsinger? That would explain why she could suddenly understand Azriel’s shadows.

A shadowsinger.

Koschei glanced between Azriel and her. “What an interesting turn of events.”

“You already said that,” Cassian spat.

Koschei smiled. “You’ll learn, Lord of Bastards, that the person with the most power can do and say whatever they want.”

And Elain watched Cassian go as still as a statue. As still as Azriel was beside her. Cassian’s arms lowered beside his body, still gripping those blades.

Attack! Attack! Attack! the shadows whispered in her ear.

Not yet, she ordered.

Koschei’s attention came back to her, his eyes glancing at the shadows, as if he had heard her exchange with them. Elain held his gaze when he focused on her.

“I had not planned on taking you, too.” Koschei shifted on his feet, as if preparing to leave. “But fate works in ways that even I can’t understand.” He laughed, a raspy sound that Elain hated. “And if it works in my favor, then who am I to question it?”

He turned around.

“You will let us go,” Elain called. “The three of us.”

Koschei’s back went ramrod straight. In the dim lighting, she could have sworn his skin went a little bit paler. He glanced over his shoulder at her, and the anger gleaming in his dark eyes made her take a step back. He marked that step with his eyes.

“How are you moving, trembling fawn?”

How am I moving? It took Elain a second to understand. When he had frozen Cassian, he had also tried to control Elain. She was supposed to be as still as the two Illyrian warriors, yet here she was still acting of her own will.

“Perhaps I’m a god, too.”

Koschei turned back to her. His eyes roamed her body, her face. They shifted towards the shadows that took up movement once more.

“What’s your business with me?”

“You know why I’m here. I already told you.” Elain forced herself to keep her chin up. Act as arrogant as he did. Like she was the person with the most power in this tent.

The noises from around the camp kept their normal rhythm. No one had been notified of their presence. Only Koschei. Elain guessed he could see through Azriel’s eyes —hear through his ears. Now was the perfect time to escape. It was now or never. Once the rest of the death god’s males found out of their presence... There were too many to fight at once. Especially with Cassian and Azriel unavailable.

But she couldn’t leave with them under Koschei’s grasp like that.

Koschei glanced at Azriel and Cassian. “If you must go, then I can let the general go with you. I have no need of him, though it would have been fun. The other I—”

“I said the three of us leave.” Elain tilted her head in bored contemplation. “Should I also point out who I mean by the three of us? Since you’re too dense to understand me.”

Koschei bared his teeth. “Do you think you can come to my dwelling and demand things of me?” He raised his hand towards Cassian. “You should have taken the general and left when I was feeling generous. Now I don’t so much.” He twisted his hand.

Cassian’s brow began to furrow and relax, furrow and relax, furrow and relax. A noise full of pain came out of him. He dropped his blades. Elain’s breath caught as his legs gave out and he fell to his knees. Blood began to pour out of his nose. Her heartbeat was a drum beating out of her chest when Cassian began to cough blood.

Her mind went to Nesta. How her sister would break down if Elain had to tell her Cassian was killed. Her sister would never forgive her for allowing this to happen, for provoking the death lord to do this. Her sister would go back to her self-destruction.

Elain startled at Cassian’s full gasps of air.

Azriel’s body began to tremble beside her, like he was fighting Koschei’s control on him. To help his brother.

Azriel and Rhys? They would hate Elain, too, for this. Feyre and Morrigan and Amren. They would all hate her.

Elain would hate herself.

Cassian with his easy smiles and winking and bating and teasing. Cassian with his playful arrogance and kindness and bravery.

Sister. He’d called her a sister.

And this was how she would pay him?

No.

Elain did not cry as she lifted her fist that she had kept hidden in the shadows and said, “Stop.”

Koschei looked at her, at the female who had commanded him with so much authority. “You will learn, Lord of Death, that the person with the most power can make others do as they please.”

Koschei’s face blanched at what she held in her hand.

His soul. That’s what Elain held in her hand. That’s why he couldn’t control her.

Elain had seen that onyx box in her vision. She had gone after it to that tent, the shadows distracting the males guarding it enough time to let her slip inside on silent feet. She had followed her instinct, some voice in her head whispering the way. The box had been locked by wards, but her magic had nudged here and there and it had opened for her. There were a couple of items inside the box, but the one that called to her was a golden egg.

What’s with this guy and birds? she had thought, recalling how he imprisoned women and females in bird forms. But it made sense, she supposed, that he placed his soul in the prettiest and sturdiest egg one of his prisoners laid. A cruel joke.

She had wanted to keep it a secret, that she had his soul. If she could have saved Azriel and left without Koschei knowing, Rhys and Feyre would have come up with a plan to beat him without Koschei preparing in whatever way he could.

She could have brought them Koschei’s weakness without the Lord being the wiser.

But she had to use this card. To save Cassian. To save Azriel.

She’d show her hand.

Koschei fixed his expression to one of triumph again, but it had been too late. She had seen his fear. “That won’t do anything.”

Cassian began to double over.

“Then nothing will happen if I drop this?” Elain extended her arm and made to throw the egg at her feet.

“No!” His arm lowered and Cassian clutched at his chest, breathing deeply, face contorted in pain and full of blood.

Elain held the egg tighter and lifted it again.

Her shoulders relaxed slightly when Cassian glared at the death god and spat blood at his feet. He reached for his fallen blades. His Siphons flared red once more and his wings twitched as the warrior stood on shaking knees. His breath remained labored, and there was a small glimmer of fear in his eyes, but the fury had all but diminish from his gaze.

Elain glanced to her side to find tears in Azriel’s cheeks. His heart was thundering. She placed her other hand on his back.

I’m here. We’re getting out.

Koschei did not avert his hateful eyes from Elain.

“Here’s what I want you to do, Koschei,” she began. “You’re going to let Azriel go, both from his shackles and from the grasp you have on his mind. You’re going to let us winnow out of this place, so undo your wards.” She threw him a pointed glance. “Silently. No one needs to know.”

“I can kill your shadowsinger within seconds,” he seethed.

“Granted, but then I’ll kill you.” She smiled, squeezing the egg until Koschei trembled. “And something tells me you value your life more than you do anyone else’s.”

A silence extended for a moment. Or at least, silence inside the tent. Outside she heard the snores and pacing of the others.

“I want that egg back,” he added.

Now Elain tutted. “You’re in no position to demand anything, Koschei. Remember who holds the power here. I’m being generous enough in letting you live.”

Koschei bared his teeth again. “Who are you?”

Elain smirked. “I am Elain Archeron. Cauldron blessed. Seer. Kingslayer,” she tilted her head. “And if you keep talking instead of doing what I told you to, soon I’ll add Godslayer to that list.”

Koschei lifted his chin. “If you kill me now, all the people I’ve imprisoned will stay cursed. He,” he nudged his chin towards Azriel, “will stay locked up for eternity.”

Azriel locked up again? Not an option.

Elain nodded. “Then we’ll meet again.”

Azriel fell forward, his shackles magically undone, and Cassian reached for him as Koschei answered, “We’ll meet again, brave fawn. And then,” he stood straighter, “I’ll make you pay.”

Elain glanced into Azriel’s eyes, no longer glassy but clear, his arm circled her waist. She held back the need to kiss him and touch him and cry in the crook of his neck, where she could take in his scent and reassure herself that he was alive and well.

She glanced back at Koschei as she willed the shadows to winnow the three of them outside this camp, back to the Night Court —where her family had agreed to return.

“If you ever go after one of my friends or family again, I won’t hesitate to end you.” She threw Koschei a last smirk before being swept away.

No one would harm those she loved without facing her might ever again.

[ekaterinakostrova]

Relationships between Mor and Nesta.

I strongly believe that Mor was the first one, who sensed the mating bond between Nesta and Cassian in this particular moment (chapter 57 of the second book):

“Nesta’s throat bobbed. “Please.” I didn’t think I’d ever heard that word from her mouth. “Please—do not leave us to face this alone.”

The eldest queen remained unmoved. I had no words in my head.

We had shown them … we had … we had done everything. Even Rhys was silent, his face unreadable.

But then Cassian crossed to Nesta, the guards stiffening as the Illyrian moved through them as if they were stalks of wheat in a field.

He studied Nesta for a long moment. She was still glaring at the queens, her eyes lined with tears—tears of rage and despair, from that fire that burned her so violently from within. When she finally noticed Cassian, she looked up at him.

His voice was rough as he said, “Five hundred years ago, I fought on battlefields not far from this house. I fought beside human and faerie alike, bled beside them. I will stand on that battlefield again, Nesta Archeron, to protect this house—your people. I can think of no better way to end my existence than to defend those who need it most.”

I watched a tear slide down Nesta’s cheek. And I watched as Cassian reached up a hand to wipe it away.

She did not flinch from his touch.

I didn’t know why, but I looked at Mor.

Her eyes were wide. Not with jealousy, or irritation, but … something perhaps like awe.

Nesta swallowed and at last turned away from Cassian. He stared at my sister a moment longer before facing the queens”.

So, we already know that Mor does not have romantic feelings towards Cassian, as well as Cassian, because in the short story he considered her as “dear to him as family”. And initially he was with Mor only because of jealous. He didn’t love Mor as a lover, and the main reason, why he slept with her was Azriel, who did not belong solely to him anymore. A boy, who was raised without family and kindness, whose mother was abused and killed; he cherished fiercely, passionately any honest relationships he had ever have. And Rhys, and Azriel became his first and only family. Therefore, this kind of jealous towards Mor is natural.

“He wasn't stupid. He knew she and Azriel were... whatever they were. Knew Azriel had been in love with Mor from the moment she'd strutted into the Illyrian war-camp five centuries ago. And Cassian had been jealous - of Mor's shy glances at Azriel in those first few weeks, and the fact that his dearest friend and brother... was looking at someone else. That she'd appeared, and then Azriel had changed. Only slightly, but Cassian had known his friend did not belong solely to him and Rhys anymore.

So when Mor had asked him to bed her... He'd done it. A jealous, stupid prick, he'd done it, and regretted it at that very first thrust, when he'd felt her maidenhead yield to him, and realized the enormity of what she'd done. But then she'd walked away, and Azriel hadn't made a move, and... Mor was still there between them. Somewhere between friend and lover. Dear to him as family, but... Cassian had hated himself for that look on Azriel's face afterward”.

Coming back to Mor. Her power is Truth, so I believe that she could see the sparkle of mating bond between Cassian and Nesta during the meeting with mortal Queens.

“I am the Morrigan. You know me. What I am. You know that my gift is truth. So you will hear my words, and know them as truth – as your ancestors once did”.

And, once again…

Her eyes were wide. Not with jealousy, or irritation, but … something perhaps like awe.

They all were raised with stories and legends about the greatness of feelings between soulmates – star-crossed lovers. And to meet in your present life a mate is some sort of miracle or a gift from the whole universe. So, my opinion

“Cassian’s face turned uncharacteristically solemn, and he remained quiet for a moment before he said, “I get jealous sometimes. I’d never begrudge you for your happiness, but what you two have, Rhys …” He dragged a hand through his hair, his crimson Siphon glinting in the light streaming through the window. “It’s the legends, the lies, they spin us when we’re children. About the glory and wonder of the mating bond. I thought it was all bullshit. Then you two came along.”

Readers know nothing about what happened to Nesta in the first month at the Night Court, but she was trying to hide her long and pointed ears with her hair, felt, how her mortal body had changed, and how strong this new body became - wounds instantly healed. I think she was ashamed of her new nature and despised herself, and in the story, she simply hates her form, her new kind, as if giving herself to countless men Nesta confirms that she does not care about her new body. She does not belong to herself. Why does she need to care about her new nature and shape?

Cassian flew to see Nesta every day to say "Hello, Nesta." This is confirmed by the dialogue in chapter 42:

Mor sagged a bit, jewelry glinting with the movement, and went to take Cassian’s arm.

But he’d at last approached Nesta. And as the world began to turn to shadows and wind, I saw Cassian tower over my sister, saw her chin lift defiantly, and heard him growl, “Hello, Nesta.”

Rhys seemed to halt his winnowing as my sister said, “So you’re alive.”

Cassian bared his teeth in a feral grin, wings flaring slightly. “Were you hoping otherwise?”

Mor was watching—watching so closely, every muscle tense. She again reached for his arm, but Cassian angled out of reach, not tearing his eyes from Nesta’s blazing gaze.

Nesta blurted, “You didn’t come to—” She stopped herself.

…

“The next time, Emissary, I’ll come say hello.”

So he constantly had been visiting her just to say “Hello”, and at some point these greetings have become his excuses to see her, to know that she is alright. However, Cassian was crushed by seeing Nesta's condition, and Mor saw his despair and self-destruction. She saw, how much his quarrel with Nesta affected his state, and partly, Mor thinks that Nesta does not deserve Cassian, and resists any connection between them just to prevent further Cassian’s grief.

“Cassian’s hazel eyes shuttered as he crossed a booted ankle over another, stretching his muscled legs before him. “I go up there every other day. It’s good exercise for my wings.” Those wings shifted in emphasis. Not a scratch marred them.

“And?”

“And what you saw in the library is a pleasanter version of the conversation we always have.”

Mor’s lips pressed into a thin line, as if she was trying her best not to say anything. Azriel was trying his best to shoot a warning stare at Mor to remind her to indeed keep her mouth shut. As if they’d already discussed this. Many times”.

Mor deliberately tries to prevent any development of relationship between Cassian and Nesta.

“But he watched her—didn’t take his eyes off her face, the brows bunched and lips pursed in concentration.

And when she’d tied it neatly, his wrist wrapped in white, when Nesta made to pull back, Cassian gripped her fingers in his good hand. She lifted her gaze to his. “Thank you,” he said hoarsely.

Nesta did not yank her hand away.

Did not open her mouth for some barbed retort.

She only stared and stared at him, at the breadth of his shoulders, even more powerful in that beautiful black armor, at the strong column of his tan neck above it, his wings. And then at his hazel eyes, still riveted to her face.

Cassian brushed a thumb down the back of her hand.

Nesta opened her mouth at last, and I braced myself—

“You’re hurt?”

At the sound of Mor’s voice, Cassian snatched his hand back and pivoted toward Mor with a lazy smile. “Nothing for you to cry over, don’t worry.”

Nesta dragged her stare from his face—down to her now-empty hand, her fingers still curled as if his palm lay there. Cassian didn’t look at Nesta as she rose, snatching up the pitcher, and muttered something about getting more water from inside the tent.

Cassian and Mor fell into their banter, laughing and taunting each other about the battle and the ones ahead.

Nesta didn’t come back out again for some time”.

And even in the novella, when Cassian sees Nesta for the first time after a long period of time, Mor tries to divert his attention.

“But Mor waved him off and moved to pass Cassian his gift; but the warrior didn’t take it. Or take his eyes off Nesta as she undid the brown paper wrapping on the box and revealed a set of five novels in a leather box. She read the titles, then lifted her head to Elain”.

Mor does not hate Nesta, but despises her for her attitude towards Cassian. She does not want him to suffer. However, at the end of the third book, when Nesta defended Cassian and was ready to die with him - the Mor’s attitude towards Nesta has changed, she has become softer.

[aster-ria]

Heirs of Prythian Profiles

Name: Artemas "Art"

Birthday: 31. December

Age (600 Years after Acowar(a.A.)): 571

Epithets/Nicknames:

Moon's Hunter

Nightbringer

Most Powerful Fae/Being/Future High Lord

Archer of Destruction and Death

Little Moon (by family)

Position/Titles:

Prince of Night

Heir of Night

Future High Lord of the Night Court

Magical Abilities:

Misting

Glamouring

Winnowing

Healing

Daemeti Power

Flight by Wings

Magic of all Courts (Same as Feyre's)

Family:

Rhysand and Feyre (Parents)

Arianna and Asteria (little Sisters)

Nesta, Elain, Leda Morrigan and Amren (Aunts)

Cassian, Lucien, Azriel and Varian (Uncles)

Hemera, Helena, Aurelia, Callista, Felicia, Cadan, Cleon, Echo, Morena, Morpheus, Pluton (Cousins)

Tamlin, Rosary, Primula, Briallen, Rubin, Jaicen (In-Laws)

Sexuality: Demisexual

Romances:

Jemima (ex-girlfriend)

Laverna (Mate/Wife)

Best Friends: Cadan, Hemera, Nikos, Rubin

Squads:

Heirs of Prythian

Night Court's Future Inner Circle

Night-Archeron Cousins

Hem-Cad-Art Trio

Hobbies: Painting, Hunting, Reading

Three characteristics to describe them:

Lazy, Charismatic, Cunning

Hogwarts House: Slytherin

Aesthetics: 1 & 2 & 3 & 4

Well I would love to know where to start with him.... But he is in fact the only character who I have developed in so much details in my head so far .... But let's see ... This is going to be a long one ... Ah I know!

On the last day of the year in the early hours of the evening, the High Lady of the Night Court was going into labor, the heir would be born soon, in excitement und anticipation the family of the High Lord and Lady waited in front of the room, the High lady was giving birth in. After hours of waiting, in the middle of night, the heir was born with a mighty scream that shook the whole night court itself. The newborn heir released so much magic that all the other High lords took notice.

And with that Artemas announced his presence, his magic, and his power to Prythian.

Of course the Court of Dreams (and family) were surprised, they did expected strong magic in Art but not on that level nor at that age, since he was not even a minute old. But after the first scream, no other powers were released from Art, but they still could feel the power radiating off him. But this didn't hinder nor squished the joy of the family to welcome their newest member. The High Lord himself was crying while holding his son.

Art was powerful from the very beginning and had strong magic as a baby. His temper tantrums - from when he was young - are very famous in the Night Court, because if he felt something too strongly, his magic acted out.(It still does that sometimes, but only when he gets a panic-attack. And when he does have a panic-attack, don't try to help, just run and wait until the dangers of dying are over. Only then help him. He is probably unconscious by then and save to approach.)

When he once was 6 months old, he started crying so hard and so loud, that he plunged Velaris in complete darkness for half an hour, because than Feyre, Rhys, Nesta, Cadan, Elain, Hemera (the Archeron sisters were meeting for tea and cake with their children and Rhys winnowed later in panic to them after the darkness came) got him to calm down and sleep. This is one of the famous "temper tantrums events" Cadan and Hemera (especially Hemera) will tease him about for eternity. And Art is actually really easy to tease, because he will blush and huff and pout and whine no matter his age.

Rhys doesn't have the ability to really say no to his children or his nieces and nephews. So Art, Ari and Asta are spoiled, none of them will deny it. So therefore Art always gets what he wants one way or another. When he was little, he simply mostly made puppy-eyes and pouted at the adults and he almost always got whatever he wanted. But now he uses mostly loopholes, manipulation and a little blackmailing. He is very cunning and knows exactly how to talk to people to get what he wants.

Art was on both parts a very easily to entertain and a very easily distracted child. It depends on how you try to entertain him. Because if you gave him paper and colourful crayons (or at least the Prythian equivalent of that) or paints, there was a good chance that he will barely move from his spot for hours.

(Fun story: Elain was once babysitting Art when he was 3, but it was good weather outside, so she decided to do some gardening outside. So she put Art on the magical enchanted blanket, like she did with Hemera and Cadan before, under some shadows with some paper, fingerpaint, colorful pencils, his bottle with juice and some snacks. The blanket had spell on it e.g. to warn her if the baby wants/tries to leave the blanket, to keep the baby on it until someone is there to take baby, to warn Elain if something is wrong with the baby, to keep the baby from harming itself accidentally, etc. Everything to keep a baby safe, in one place, alive and protected. And she didn't go that far off, to do some gardening. At first she looked after Art every few minutes, but after three hours straight, she realised she hadn't looked at him once and no spell was activated. So in growing panic she turned around and is stunned. Because Art was lying on his stomach, talking to himself and drawing. His bottle was almost empty and half of the snacks were gone. And Art looked happy that nobody was bothering him. Elain didn't want to disturb him but it was getting late and she had promised Art to decorate his favourite cookies (sugar cookies (he loves to decorate them)). So she gently asked him what he was doing and Art almost jumped out of his skin, turned his head, looked Elain dead in the eye, smiled and said: "Auntie Elain! I forgot about you! Sorry!" He only then looked at his surroundings and than sat up and yelped: "We wanted to decorate cookies!" He stood, took a giggling Elains hand and dragged her inside. And with that everyone found out later how easily you can entertain Art, if you leave him to himself sometimes.)

Or you could read him/let him read a story and if it is either a love story/fairy tale or a spooky/horror story, he will listen/read wide-eyed and curious/awed glimmer in his eyes. Everything else was a gamble, if he would be entertained or would abonden it and do something else.

Art is a logical thinking Fae even as a child, he understood pretty early on how powerful he is or even more going to be. Which makes him on some level practically invincible, so little Art came to the easy conclusions that no real creature/monster could kill him, so his last shards of fear of them fall away on a very young age. But he never really got scared of anything to begin with, nothing is too horrifying or terrifying to him.

He finds Bryaxis cute (when he was five, he begged Rhys and Feyre for months to allow him to make Bryaxis his pet. They only allowed him that as long as he stays in the library when they are in Velaris and that he will never ask them again, if he could have any other creature as a pet. Because he did that a lot.), the Suriels are really interesting and cool (he liked to sit in their laps when he was little and listen to the stories they would tell him), various monsters, that haunt the forest of Prythian, are either pretty, beautiful (on an odd level) or cute and also very easy prey. No Creature or Being scares him. He even finds Hewn City aesthetically pleasing and appealing to the eye (he still doesn't like most of the people there but he likes to chill and party there with friends).

The only thing/being Art is scared of, is the Cauldron itself. At first he wasn't afraid of it, but when he was about 300 years old, they (Night-Archeron Family) visit Drakon and Miryam on their island. And since the Cauldron is hidden there, It wanted to have revenge against the Archerons and Amren. And It wanted it to happen, where it would hurt them the most, so It attacked their children. However the spells and enchantments on the Cauldron, prevented It from killing them directly, so the overgrown bathtub took a more mental and also more painful approach. And so after a few minutes after the Night-Archeron Family touched down on the island, Art, Ari, Asta, Cad, Cleon, Hemy, Hely, Aura, Feli and Pluton (yes, not Calla because the Cauldron loves her) fell to the ground spamming, screaming and holding their heads. The Archeron Sisters and Amren of course had felt the Cauldron and It's doing, tried to counter It. But their Children started bleeding from their eyes, noses, mouths and ears. The Cauldron had released a loud white noise in their heads. Their brains were being fried and they came very close to dying. But Rhys, Mor and Az had all of them winnowed as far as possible and as fast as possible. They barely survived and they needed months to recover from that horrible experience. Since then Art and the Rest are mentally scarred for life. And the Cauldron still sometimes taunts them in the back of their head. Even the mere possiblity of the Cauldron being in near proximity to them, will send all of them running in the opposite direction. (Yes to answer your unasked question, if Art could get close to it, he could destroy it with only a few little problems. But he will never (if the world isn't ending) get close to it.)

Artemas did go to the Illyrian Training Camps, because he mainly needed allies from the Illyrians (and to know how to fight without magic, but that was just an afterthought). Art's Dream for when he is the High lord is to a unifie the Night Court between the Illyrians, Hewn City and Velaris. And with that create a strong, more peaceful and powerful Court. But for that he realised he needed allies in both Velaris and Hewn City. But he also needed close friends and allies from the Illyrians to get most of them on his side. So he went to the camps with the full intend to make as many friends as possible there. That friends making wasn't the problem though, because Art always has been a very charismatic, kind, funny and respectful. Making friends is easy to him. This is also where he met and befriended his best friend/future Commander of the Illyrian Armies Nikos, and his future General Commander Of the Night Court's Armies Marcella (short Marcy).

The only problem he had, was that he didn't like close physical fights, because his first instinct for everything is magic. And since he had a lot it didn't end very well for him and his opponent, when he accidentally used some while sparing. So he needed very early on a lot of restrainers on him, to block his magic but the older he got and the stronger his magic grew, the more restrainers he needed because he kept breaking them a lot. But his magic wasn't the only thing that hindered him but also his sheer dislike of physical confrontation and fights. They made him uncomfortable. (well they still make him uncomfortable and also send him sometimes into panicking) Because of that he developed a fighting style, that mainly is about distance, dodging, hiding and getting the opponent defeated as fast as possible and with as little contact as possible. It worked but none of the camp lords nor most of his opponent were any kind of happy with that. He was always walking on a thin line in the camps when it comes to the rules and traditions. It was also here, where his enjoyment of loopholes and finding the easy way out began. The camp lords were angry and annoyed with this behaviour and he was almost punished every other week (no not leashes (he only got 3 leashes in his entire stay there) just some work here and there, some cleaning up etc.) And through that he learnt a lot of patience and discipline (which he lacked as a child). And this was the only other good thing that come out of his stay and training. He still very lazy though, that didn't change much.

All of this is also the reason why his preferred weapons are bow and arrows. He loves it. The distance, the concentration, the calculation, the easiness to hold a bow, the elegance, the creativity with the arrows. He swears he was born to be an Archer. It is perfect for him. Feyre had taught him when he was around 7, because he saw her using a bow and was immediately interested. But he honed his skill to near perfection in the camps. This was one of the only things the camp lords were never annoyed about with him.

He ended his training barely within the standards and was actually glad to go home and not partake in the bloodrite, but after he was almost done with packing and only a few hours before the bloodrite, the camp lord informed him that he actually would participate in it. Art's Brain shut down after the lord was done explaining and it only restarted when was already thrown out in the forest for the rite. But the rite wasn't actually that hard for him. It still wasn't easy, but not as hard as he feared it would be. Marcy found him by accident and was surprised to see him there. They started to search for Nikos right after. After they found him, they come to the agreement that Art would provide them with the fastest and safest way and how to survive in this wilderness. Marcy and Nikos would fight the others off. So began the literal hide and seek between the other Illyrians (who wanted either revenge for lousy fights or just wanted to get their hands on a quarter-breed and the heir of the night) and Art (who didn't fought once in the entire bloodrite and was glad about it), since he avoided them as much as possible. And within a week the come to the top of the mountain and finished the bloodrite almost as fast as Rhys, Cass and Az did. Art spent his Bloodrite just hiding and running away from fights. And he will proudly announced that to anyone who asks him about it.

Art has absolutely no pride in being a warrior or being from Illyrian blood, he finds the notion of having pride of something like that very stupid for himself. Though he does respect people who has that kind of pride in them, it's just not up his alley. He will admit publicly that he is not good at fighting and that almost anyone with combat training could beat him, well as long as it is purely combat, but if magic is allowed, you will get your ass handed to you in seconds, because even then Art doesn't want to fight anyone any longer than he needs to.

There is also another reason for why he will avoid fights involving any kind of weapons like his life depends on it, but more on that someday later. It has something to do with his PTSD. He has three triggers that will give him panic-attacks. They have various levels of how fast they make him panicking and lose control. The slowest is being surrounded by at least three armed individuals who are trying to kill or fight him. The next one is being hanged by his wrists over his head. It gets worse if he can't touch the ground with his feet or if can't use his magic. And the fastest is having any kind of blade near his throat or neck. If he panics in any of this situation, he will shortly after fall unconscious and his magic will explode out of him and destroy everything in a few miles radius. (he once almost completely halft a Mountain) If you are really close to him when that happens, you are most definitely death, since Art has no control in that moment. But these moments don't happen really that much since Art is avoiding them like they are a plague and with almost childish stubbornness.

So to make one thing clear, Art is a lazy ass. Everyone knows it. Art is lazy. If he finds a way not to do something himself or an easier way to get it done, then he will not hesitate to use that way. He will also never hesitate to ask for help, if he thinks someone will make it easier or do it completely for him, because they can do it better than. Art knows what he can and can't do, therefore he will not waste time and energy to try to do it himself, when he can just ask someone right away to help him. Art never does more than he absolutely needs to do. And these things he will do fast, efficiencently and perfectly. It is an absolute nightmare to get him to train, because you will need literal years to have him agree to training. He almost ever refuses to do everything that is taxing or tiring (except hunting, flying, archery(he loves all that shit)). But also if someone, who he loves (his friends and family), loves that activity that they ask him to join in, than he will probably do it for them with a lot of complaining (in a mostly teasing and humourous way)(well except for fighting even if it is Ari's and Echo's favorite thing in the world). Art loves to make people happy and likes to help them. But he will never go completely out of his way for anyone (except for Laverna), but he will try to help as best as he can manage.

He has a lot of people employed in his office even before he is high lord, because they make his life a lot easier. And yes he has an office building, because his parents are giving him a lot work to do, to prepare him to take over the Night Court. He also has three writers employed just for his paperwork, because him writing something longer than half a page is preposterous. He would either mentally or verbally dictate what they should write down. (They also have a better handwriting than him. Artemas handwriting is messy, rushed and inconsistent, which contradicts his artistic side and makes him mad at himself.)

(Fun Story: The Heirs need to do reports about their findings and solutions in the Biannual "Prythian Court Meeting", since they have their own little meeting. Art tried to get his writers to do it for him, but Rhys (as a little revenge plan) made the law about them so airtight that Art - to his horror and dismay - was forced to handwrite all the reports. But since all the heirs were not that happy with this law, they decided to make their longest report yet. This was their revenge, because their parents need to read them. So they made a 150 paged report, were every possible solution was listed and every solution was explained in excruciating detail and also how effective they would be etc. It was informativ but also very painful to read, because the writing style was awful and overly overcomplicated. And the High Lords and ladies needed to read them. And the heirs even controlled and tested if they read them with some buzzwords that were hidden in the texts. And since neither the HoPs nor the High Lords and Ladies wanted this to ever happen again, so decided that the maximum number of pages is 50. The only really good thing that came out of this, was the combination of two solutions for the problem, of which one the high lords and ladies never thought of.)

Art at this age has already a complete Inner Circle and all of them are monster when it comes to magic, powers and/or combat. His Inner Circle has ten members (if you count the future high lord and high lady in than they have 12 but I don't so just ten). Five males and five females. (Five of them are family to Art) They are going to be the strongest and most efficient Court in whole Prythian and also in history. And also the most independent, since Art is "training" and "designing" them into being able to function without him or with only the minimum input from him.

Since this is already over 3k Words long, I think that this will be enough for now. And I am not done with Art yet, but I don't think I will write for any another of my HoPs even close to that number. I will probably continue Art someday, since I love him so much. He such a Lazy Smartass. He is the best. 😉

If someone has any questions about Art or any of the other Characters, feel free to ask. I'd love to answer them. 😊

Which one of the Heirs should i do next? (please no little siblings except for Ari, because i don’t really want to do younger siblings berfore older ones. Thanks)

Tags: @thelaziestgeek @iamthebonecarver @mindnumbmikey

[theladyofdeath]

Friday Night Lights {ACOTAR}

Chapter 15

Summary: Inspired by the series Friday Night Lights. In a town that is obsessed with football, a group of teenagers are glorified for what they bring to the field. But what the people of Velaris don’t realize is that there is a lot more to life than football, and it’s not always pretty.

Revolves around Cassian, Nesta, Elain, Lucien, Azriel, Morrigan, Amren, Feyre, and Rhysand.

*Warning: This fic deals with sensitive material.

*Note: A chapter will be posted every Sunday & Wednesday.

Click here for previous chapters.

Author’s Note: Five more chapters and SHIT IS ABOUT TO GET REAL. 

Enjoy.

(I legit cried at y’all’s comments on chapter 14 ohmygod thank you.)

"When you love something it loves you back in whatever way it has to love." - John Knowles 

Rhysand was breathless.

He had been with a lot of girls, and had seen a lot of beautiful things, but when Feyre opened the door he became weak in the knees. His bottom lip fell open, and he realized he looked like an idiot as she grinned, modestly.

He wasn’t alone, though.

Azriel was the same as he looked at Elain, then looked down at his own outfit, then back at Elain.

“You look beautiful,” Rhysand whispered, as he took her hand.

“Thank you,” she smiled, cheeks heating. “You look pretty good yourself.”

“Have fun!” a woman called from the doorway, as Feyre’s oldest sister stood beside her, scowling.

Rhysand waved as they walked to his BMW.

“Your sister looks like she wants to kill me,” he whispered in Feyre’s ear as he opened his passenger side door.

“She probably does,” Feyre muttered, sitting down and buckling her seatbelt.

He peeked over his shoulder after he shut Feyre’s door. Nesta was still watching him with slitted eyes. 

Yes, she definitely wanted him dead.

Azriel wasn’t saying anything, and Rhysand was pretty sure he was going into cardiac arrest.

Rhysand couldn’t blame him.

He peeked over at Feyre as he started his engine. She was stunning, in every sense of the word. Her red, silky dressed reached to her mid-thighs, and her golden-brown hair was curled and twisted so that it was neatly out of her face.

Beautiful. She was beautiful.

He cleared his throat. “So, ready?”

No one answered, and nervous tension filled the air.

Ready or not, they were off.

It was homecoming. 

Lucien and Vassa were riding in silence.

To Vassa’s surprise, Lucien had actually put quite a bit of effort into his appearance. It wasn’t that Lucien didn’t like to dress up – he actually did, a fact that Vassa loved about him. She was just surprised he had dressed up for her.

He wore a burgundy jacket and black pants, a gray button down shirt in perfect contrast to his red hair and russet eyes. His hair was combed back, out of his face. He was completely, utterly handsome.

She couldn’t stop sneaking glances at him for the entirety of the ride, then felt ridiculous.

Lucien and Vassa had been best friends since freshman year when they quickly bonded over their love for journalism and photography. He was her other half.

Or so she had thought.

They were made for one another. When they were together, nothing else mattered and all seemed right with the world. Until recently. Until Vassa had put herself out there and Lucien seemed to care less.

Until she put her heart on the line.Yet, Lucien only wanted to be with other girls.

With Elain. 

“So,” she said, trying to break the silence that had somehow grown uncomfortable. They had never had uncomfortable silence before. “Excited?”

“Yeah,” he said, although his voice was quiet.

“What’s wrong?” she asked, afraid of the answer.

“I just…..I don’t know. Not really looking forward to seeing Elain there with Azriel.”

Vassa tried to hide the hurt that was obviously showing in her eyes. “What’s so bad about Azriel?”

Lucien eyed Vassa. “Seriously? The guy is a freak. He sulks all the time and is incredibly secretive. He could be planning to kill her for all we know.”

“Oh, shut up,” Vassa snapped. “You’re being ridiculous.” 

Lucien raised a brow, his hands still on the wheel at ten and two. “What?”

“There’s no need to bash on Azriel because you’re jealous.”

Lucien snorted. “I’m not jealous.”

“Aren’t you?” Vassa yelled, and Lucien flinched at her volume. “That’s bullshit, Lu! You’re still hung up over this girl that you barely know. You’re the one sulking! You’re so bummed that you’re not going to the dance with her. Well, guess what, Lu? You’re not going to the dance with her. You’re going with me.”

Lucien pulled his car into the school parking lot. “You say that likes it’s a bad thi-”

“It is a bad thing!” Vassa tossed her hands in the air, the straps of her pine-green dress sliding up her shoulders as she did so. “At least, you seem to think it is.”

Lucien pulled into a spot near the back of the parking lot and put the car in park. “What is your deal?”

“My deal?” Vassa scoffed. “My deal is that I have spent four years picking up the pieces of your heart every time some random girl has stomped all over it. And it’s been pointless, Lu, because the girl you should have been with all this time is me.”

Lucien looked at her for the first time since they entered the parking lot, his eyes widening. “What?”

“This was a mistake,” she said, rubbing her temples. “I was so stupid for asking you to the dance and actually thinking you would want to go with me. I’m wasting my time.”

“Vassa –“ he began.

But she had already thrown open her door. “Have fun, Lucien. I’ll see you Monday.”

“You’re being ridiculous!” he said, trying to grab her wrist, but she quickly snatched it away.

“I’m being real,” she said, wistfully, embarrassed that tears were shining in her eyes. She swung her legs out of the door and brushed down her dress as she rose onto the pavement. “I’m so stupid. I’ve been chasing you for years and you are so obviously not into me. Stupid. So, so stupid.”

“Vass –“

She slammed the door, and by the time Lucien was out of the car, she was walking away.

“Can’t we just talk for a minute?” he asked, his eyes wide with concern.

“I’m done talking, Lucien,” she said, barely looking back over her shoulder. “I’m done talking. I’m done hoping. I’m done trying. I just…..need some time to myself, okay?”

She was embarrassed. She was mortified. The last thing she needed was to see the pity written plainly across his face.

She was going home, and she was going to slip out of her ridiculous dress, and wipe off her make-up, and get into her pajamas. Then, she was going to watch a movie that would surely make her cry, and lie awake staring at the ceiling until she no longer felt like an idiot for throwing herself out there to a guy who didn’t see her in the same light that she saw him.

Lucien called her name until she was so far away that she could no longer hear his broken voice.

Mor had picked up Cassian in her Volkswagen, and they had dropped Alana off with Reina, Rhysand’s mother.

“Okay,” Mor said, as she pulled out of the Lunasa’s driveway and headed toward the school. “Answers. Now.”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“Cut the bullshit,” she rolled her eyes. “Your sister called me this morning and asked me why you weren’t taking Nesta to the dance. Nesta, who was at your house. Nesta, who was in your bed, wearing your clothes. Nesta, who is in charge of you in detention –“

“Okay, okay!” He interrupted, rolling up the sleeves of his crimson button-down. “You can stop. Remind me to hide my phone from Lana.”

“No, I should be reminding you to make better choices.”

“She’s only a year older than me. And she’s different, Mor. She’s not…..Never mind.”

Cassian was frustrated. She wouldn’t understand. She wouldn’t get it. People saw Nesta in a certain light, but it was all just a show on her part. A defense mechanism. She would rather people hate her or feel nothing than feel anything remotely human toward her. 

“No, continue,” Mor ordered. “Because you are walking dangerous territory and I want to know why.”

Cassian looked out the window, at the cloudless sky they were driving under. The weather was perfect, the sun shining, the temperature warm but not too hot. Autumn had reached Velaris. Soon, the leaves would be changing colors and falling to the ground. It was Cassian’s favorite time of year.

“Are you listening to me?” she snapped.

“Yup,” he said. “And I am choosing not to answer.”

“You’re a pain in the ass.”

“So are you.”

They fell into a silence that made Cassian’s head pound. They had known each other for a long time, and although they used to date, in what seemed like a different lifetime, Cassian knew she wasn’t speaking from jealousy. Worry, maybe, but not jealousy.

“She makes me feel better than I am,” he said, at last. “Not because she sees me for better, but because she doesn’t care about my faults. She’s seen everything I have to offer, Mor, and she still looks at me like….” Mor waited, her lips thin, as he grasped for the word. “Like I’m an actual person, not a poor kid with no money, no family, and nothing to show for my life.”

All the tension in Mor’s features faded as she stopped at a red light and looked at him, pensively. “Is that how you see yourself?”

Cassian shrugged. “Some days.”

“Why?” she asked, quietly, as she began to drive again.

Cassian ran a hand through his lose hair. “My mom may as well be dead, so I won’t even go there. My dad left before I could memorize his face. I’ve taken care of my sister since I was thirteen and I’ve done a shit job at that. Shit, Mor, she’s swearing and telling people that I’m up all night kissing women, for the Mother’s sake. She has no idea what it’s like to have a real family. She has no idea what it’s like to sit down with her family and eat a proper dinner. She has no idea –“

He stopped himself. Partly because he could go on and on for hours about how he had done that little girl wrong, and partly because his voice was breaking.

Mor reached across the middle seat of her ancient Volkswagen and put her hand on top of his. “Your mother is shit. So is your father. But Alana looks at you, Cass, and sees the world. She sees the boy who had to become a man when he was still a child and raise her, and she loves you more than anyone else in the world. She doesn’t look at you and see everything she does not have, Cass. She looks at you and sees a good life with a brother who would do anything for her. She is smart, and kind, and confident, and she is that way because of you. So, you can say your parents are shit, because I agree. But, you can’t say that you’ve done a shit job at raising Alana, because you have done an amazing job.”

He nodded, still looking out the window, and tightened his hand on hers.

Then, Mor said, “As for Nesta…..is she worth it? The hiding? The risk? She could get fired, Cass. And it’s not like people look favorably upon students who sleep with faculty. What if it got around to the schools you’ve applied for? The scouts?” 

Cassian looked at her then, as they pulled into the school parking lot, and intertwined his fingers with hers. “Yeah, she is.”

Mor shook her head, a small smile forming on her lips. “You love her.”

“No one said anything about love.”

“You do, though,” she chuckled. “Out of all the people in the world, you fall for the ice queen of detention. Just be careful, okay?”

Cassian said nothing, but he couldn’t stop the smile from spreading across face.

Because there was a lot of things he could be with Nesta Archeron, and careful was not one of them.

Homecoming was in full swing when Azriel and Elain walked into the gymnasium.

Streamers were hung, in blue and black and gold, and there were way too many balloons for Azriel’s taste.

Elain was nervous, he could tell, but nowhere near as nervous as he was. The last time he had dated anyone was Ianthe, if that could even be considered dating. It was more like a one night stand, one that he tried to dwell on as little as possible, although he had a baby with the woman.

He glanced at Elain as he held out his arm, and she humbly took it.

He wondered what she would think when she found out he was a father and how he was going to tell her the news. 

“Are you having fun?” he asked, then wasn’t sure why. They had just gotten there, and the ride was awkward as hell.

But, she nodded, smiling gently. “Of course, I am. Want to dance?”

Azriel cursed inwardly. He sucked at dancing. Maybe it wasn’t even that he was bad at it, but that he hated it in general. It made him feel uncomfortable. “Sure.”

They walked into the crowd of students, and Azriel figured that there were so many people, maybe he would even look impressive in the midst of them.

He was wrong.

“I’m sorry,” he shouted, five minutes later, above the fast-paced music. “I’m horrible at this!”

She giggled, and moved closer to him. “I think you’re doing great!”

Elain brushed her fingers along his arm making his stomach do something he couldn’t quite comprehend. “I’m really glad you asked me!”

“I was terrified as shit!” he shouted back, realizing he was on a roll with saying pathetic, ridiculous things.

“What?” she yelled. “I can’t hear you!” 

“Never mind!” He quietly thanked the loud music for erasing his last statement. “You look beautiful!”

The song ended as soon as he spoke, and the crowd around him turned to look as his ears turned pink.

Elain bit her bottom lip as she smiled, then replied in her normal voice, “Thank you. You like quite handsome yourself.”

“Thanks,” he said, rubbing the back of his neck. “So, I’m really nervous. I don’t do this often.”

“Dance?”

“Well, yeah. Dance, and ask beautiful girls to said dance. Not just any beautiful girl, either.” He stopped before he could say something stupid, and held out his hand as a slow song began.

She gladly accepted it.

He pulled her close to his body, but not so close that she would feel uncomfortable. He pulled her close, but kept her at a healthy distance. He thought. He hoped.

He cleared his throat, his chin almost touching her forehead. “Is this okay?”

“Perfect.”

“Okay.”

The song played quietly as they swayed back and forth, Azriel’s hands on her hips. Her fingers were brushing his neck, right above his collar, gently. He was sure he was going to mess it up. He didn’t know how, but things were simply going too perfectly.

She laid her head on his shoulder and he stopped for a moment from utter surprise.

She noticed, and giggled as his hands tightened around her waist.

It was going to be a good night.

Mor and Cassian were slow dancing when she caught Andi’s eye.

She was standing with a group of friends, and waved at Mor, mouthing, You look beautiful.

Mor grinned, swinging Cassian around so that his back was to her. Thank you. You too.

“Who the hell are you talking to?” Cassian muttered into her ear. “If you’re seeing people who aren’t really there, we should really get you some help.”

Mor rolled her eyes. “Shut up.”

Cassian peeked over his shoulder to sneak a peek of her conversationalist, and she stomped on his toe. Cassian, in typical Cassian fashion, cursed obscenely.

“Sorry, I’m a bad dancer.”

“Mor, you took dance for ten years, you are not a bad dancer.”

Mor looked at him pointedly, and he stared back in the same way.

“You’re acting weird,” he continued.

The tension faded from Mor’s shoulders, and she swung Cassian around so that her back was to Andromache and her friends.

Cassian blinked. “Who the hell am I supposed to be looking at?”

“White dress. One o’clock.”

Cassian blinked, again. “Andi?”

“Yes.”

“You were talking to Andi?”

“Yes.”

“Flirting? You were flirting with Andi?”

“Yes.”

Cassian looked down at her then and flicked back her hair, which Mor reached up and quickly brought back over her shoulder. “Shit, I knew I saw a hickey earlier.”

“Will you keep your voice down?” Mor hissed, making sure her hair was put back the way it was, continuing to sway back and forth with Cassian as memories from the night before flew though her mind.

Her and Andi, sitting by the bank of the river, kissing until her lips turned red and puffy. 

Cassian grinned. “You and Andromache. You two are, like, a thing, then?”

Mor shrugged, looking away from him. “Yeah. Yeah, I guess, we are.”

“Does she make you happy?” he asked, genuinely curious.

Mor arched a brow, looking back up at him. “Huh?”

“Andi. When you’re together. Does she make you happy?”

Mor smiled, sadly. “Yeah, she does.”

“Then why do you look like you’re about to cry?” Cassian asked, into her ear. To anyone else, it would have just looked like a romantic  gesture between a couple. He placed his hand just above the small of her back - a hand of safety, of comfort. “Does she treat you right?”

“Of course,” Mor laughed. “It’s Andi. She’s, like, known as one of the nicest people in the school.”

“Yeah,” Cassian agreed, “but people like Eris, too.”

Mor nodded. He had a right to be concerned. She knew he would be, too, no matter who she started dating after her relationship with Eris had ended.

Dating. She was dating Andromache.

“She’s amazing,” was all Mor said.

Cassian smiled, and she could feel it forming on his lips as they brushed along the top of her ear. “Then what the hell are you doing here with me?”

“You asked me.”

“So? Rejection is good for my ego.”

Mor chuckled. “I guess.”

But what would people think? Would they care? What if they did? Gods, Mor, why does it matter?

As if he could sense her thoughts, and he probably could judging from how long they had known each other, he said, “Your friends are all that matter, Morrigan. And we just want you to be happy, and find someone who treats you like you deserve to be treated. We don’t give a damn who it is.” 

Mor knew it was ridiculous, but her eyes began to swell up with tears. “Cass –“

“I’m gonna go,” he said over the music, leaning back. “I want you to enjoy your night, Mor. Go be with who you want to be with.”

Mor’s eyes widened. “No! Stay!”

He stopped, looked at Andromache, then back to her. “Not ready?”

Not ready for them to find out? Not ready for everyone to know? But that wasn’t really fair to Andi, to keep her hidden. It wasn’t fair to herself, either.

“No, it’s not that,” she said, and she almost felt confident about it. “I came with you. I want to finish the night with you.”

“It’s okay,” he smiled, and she knew he meant it. “I’ve got a headache, anyway.”

It was a lie, and a weak excuse. When Cassian lied, he always averted his eyes.

Mor shook her head.  “You’re a sucky liar.”

“But a good friend.”

Mor laughed, and fell into his chest, tightening her arms around his waist. “Yes, a very good friend.”

“If you’re not ready, though….I get it. I’ll stay. I don’t want you to feel like I’m pressuring you to take a step you’re not ready to take,” he said, in all seriousness, tightening his own arms around her shoulders. “But I know who you would rather share the night with, Mor. I want you to be happy.”

Mor took a minute to think about it as they swayed back and forth to the music. “A headache?”

“Yeah,” Cassian sighed, dramatically. “It’s horrible. It’s all in my eyes….and stuff.”

“If you want to stay –“

“I’ve got other plans. Don’t worry about me.”

“Nesta?”

He gave her a knowing look, but said nothing.

Mor smiled. “Make good choices.”

“Yeah, you too,” Cassian laughed, then took Mor’s hand and walked her to the sidelines.

He stopped by Andromache, and let go of her hand, then winked at Andromache before finding his way out of the gym, hands in his pockets.

“Hi,” Mor said to Andromache.

She looked from Mor, to where Cassian had just walked out, then back to Mor. “What just happened?”

Mor shrugged. “I’m ready to be happy.”

Andromache grinned and reached for her hand. Mor intertwined her fingers with Andi’s.

And for a moment, Mor felt free.

Suddenly, the music abruptly came to a stop.

When Mor turned around toward the DJ booth, the DJ was no longer operating the laptop.

A girl stood there, a girl who Mor hadn’t seen since she had graduated the year before. A girl who she knew a certain someone there wouldn’t want to see.

“Excuse me,” she said into the mic, her long, blonde hair in perfect curls. There was a slight slur to her voice, and Mor concluded there was a solid amount of alcohol running through her system.

“Who is that?” Andromache asked.

Mor shuddered as she replied, “Ianthe.”

Ianthe grinned, her eyes set in the middle the gym. Mor followed her line of vision, and landed directly on a pale-faced Azriel, and a confused Elain.

With clear confidence, and a wicked grin, Ianthe said into the mic, “I’m looking for the father of my child. Have you seen him?”

Silence filled the gym just as Mor said, “Oh, fuck.”

Mor had driven Cassian to the dance, so once he had left, he was walking.

He’d texted Nesta the moment he left the gym, and now that he was under the night sky stars of Velaris, he felt unstoppable.

He was going to find her, and grab her face, and kiss her mouth, and tell her endless beautiful words until morning came.

He was falling in love with her, and the thought was equally terrifying and wonderful.

But she found him first.

A car slowed down on the road beside him, and a window rolled down.

Nesta smiled from behind the wheel.

He loved it when she smiled. She didn’t do it enough.

“Need a ride?” she asked.

He grinned. “That’d be great.”

[sarah-bae-maas]

A Court of Hearts and Darkness Chapter Twenty Nine

It’s been over a century since the epic and bloody war against Hybern, but a new, unprecedented horror lies in wait to threaten everything the Inner Circle holds dear.

At a mere 17, it seems that the only one who can save them is the Heir to the Night Court, Feyre and Rhysand’s daughter Eleana, but as a creature so vile promises to kill everyone she loves, she must combat the urge to succumb to the darkness herself. The key to success lies hidden within her mate, the bastard born Kaden, who is as oblivious to the bond as her Court is oblivious to the war on the horizon.

With the help of her cousin and warrior Felix, the son of the famed Nesta and Cassian, they will try to save everything they hold dear, hopefully before the darkness takes them all.

(This fic was written pre-acowar, so please bear in mind there are some small differences but it can still hopefully be enjoyed!)

Link on Ao3 Masterlist

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***

-Chapter 29-

Kaden landed in the House of Wind, Azriel rushing to his side as he did.

Kaden brushed past him, still covered in the blood of the creatures and walked to the war room where everyone had been summoned to.

After Eleana’s disappearance, the attacks just stopped. As she winnowed away, so did every beast from the Autumn Court. From all accounts, it was at the same time that the other courts were released from their hell as well. They waited an hour to see if they’d return from their hiding spot, but they didn’t. In the meantime, Kaden helped move the dead so they could be found and identified by their families.

Kaden picked the tips of his nails off as he frantically walked through the house, just wanting the blood of those things off him and the traces of the bodies he handled well away.

“Kaden,” Azriel called as he followed him.

Kaden ignored him. His head too full to listen to anyone right now – the image of Felix, body contorted and bloody, split open – the image of Eleana, with eyes that were inhuman and impossible. He could barely breath, let alone tumble out enough words for his uncle to understand how he was feeling.

He burst into the war room, the elders already gathered. Thea was in her crib in the corner, Quathryn next to her on a mat with toys laid around her. She looked up at his entrance, and her eyes widened in fear at his appearance. Quathryn was not the only one looking at him, Eleana’s family all turned their gazes on him.

Morrigan took one look at his face and marched over to him, shaking him at the shoulders. “Stop twitching.”

Had he been?

“Everything will be fine. We’ll get her back.”

He shook his head at her, the people around him turning into a blurry haze.

“Kaden.” High Lady Feyre. “I need you to focus. We need to know what happened after she expelled everyone. What did she say? How did she possibly take Eleana from us?”

He heard a faint buzzing in his head. He put his hand to his temple, squeezing his eyes shut. Was it buzzing, or was it Eleana’s voice? Or Felix’s? He didn’t know.

“You have to tell us everything. It is imperative to helping her.”

Eleana’s hands on his body – but not her accent, not her gentleness.

“Was there any hint from your conversation on how we might separate it from Eleana?”

He didn’t know he didn’t know he did know he didn’t know he didn’t-

He opened his eyes and he was on the floor. Azriel and Cassian were hovering above him and Mor was supporting his head. He could see others flittering around, someone calling for a healer. He tried to protest, but no words left his mouth. His eyelids dropped, the crushing weight of them stopping him from keeping his eyes open for long.

His life came in flashes.

Mor above him crying.

High Lord Rhysand and Azriel lifting him and carrying him away.

A bed that felt like knives in his back and wings.

A healer above him, touching and prodding but not looking at his face. “It looks to me like he had an anxiety attack, and I’m not surprised at all. The poor boy must feel like he’s lost everything,” the fae woman said.

“He may as well have,” High Lady Feyre whispered. “His mother, his family, Felix and now Eleana.” Her voice cracked. “I should have made sure he was okay before I interrogated him like that.”

“Feyre, it’s okay-”

“No it damn well isn’t Rhys. What has our grief turned us into, if we’re more concerned about information than the wellbeing of one of our children?”

“He’s a solider, we couldn’t have predicted this-”

“When I used to return from the Night Court,” her voice turned strained, like the words were claws in her throat, “I was used instead of cared for, and it made me sick. I just did that to him.”

Kaden slowly lifted himself onto his elbows, effectively stopping any further conversations. They all crowded around his bed, Mor lovingly, but forcefully, pushing him back down.

“Take it easy, honey,” Mor ushered.

“I’m fine,” Kaden croaked, rising again. He rubbed at his eyes, glad to see everything was clear again. “I have to – go – Eleana – I have to get up.” He swung his legs over the edge of the bed as he stuttered.

“You’re not going anywhere.” Azriel sat next to him and put his arm around his shoulder.

“Yes, I am. It said that I could go to her if I wanted. I have to find Eleana, to find a way to break her bargain-”

“Bargain?” Rhys interrupted. “What are you talking about.”

Kaden stood, shoving his way past them all. He walked down the hall, heading for the window so he could fly out. The thing in Eleana seemed oddly fascinated with him – he was sure that if he walked into the mountains he probably wouldn’t die. And if he did, hopefully he would have enough time to first save his love.

The thing that stopped him was a small, quiet voice. The only voice that could have.

“Kaden!” Quathryn called. She trotted out of the library with a toy bear in her hand and a blanket around her shoulders. She must have been trying to nap. Nesta was behind her, mirroring every one of her daughter’s steps.

“Hello, Little One.” He padded over to her and knelt down in front of her.

“You dirty.” She wrinkled her nose and poked his cheek.

“You’re right there.”

He heard a click from behind him, and the grime covering him was gone. Quathryn widened her eyes in fascination, and poked at his cheek again.

“Kaden?”

“Yes?”

“Lis?”

Kaden wondered if there was ever going to be a day where she stopped asking him where her brother was – having become so accustomed to seeing Kaden at his side. With dread, Kaden knew that one day the question of where is Felix, would turn to why didn’t you save him, or just her outright blaming him for his death.

“He’s still gone, but he loves you very, very much. He told me to tell you.”

She nodded, like Kaden had said the most sensible thing in the world.

Cassian joined Kaden at his side and opened his arms for Quathryn to stumble into. Over her head, Cassian looked at Kaden. “I know, more than anyone, how hard everything is right now,” he said quietly. “You running off to find Eleana won’t help anyone, and it won’t bring my son back. But telling us what you know could save lives.” He kissed Quathryn’s curls, rubbing her back in soothing motions. “We need to know what happened in the Autumn Court – not just to help Eleana, who we will bring back, but also to stop any more death. To make sure Prythian is safe for our families.”

Kaden held back tears. “Quathryn is safe here.”

“Nowhere is safe anymore.”

“It is in the Night Court.” Kaden fiddled with his fingers as he recounted for them what the thing in Eleana had told him. From what Kaden could tell, Eleana had willingly given over her body in an effort to save the Night Court, and furthermore her family, from any pain or destruction.  

High Lady Feyre had her brows furrowed the whole time, her hand over her mouth. “That doesn’t sound right.”

“What do you mean?” Nesta asked.

“It’s not enough. I know my daughter, and she would have fought first. If Eleana did indeed make this bargain, and for all we know we’re being lied to, there has to be something else, more that she was promised.”

“And one thing is for sure,” High Lord Rhysand continued, “is that no one outside of this room will know the truth. Lucien may suspect, and him and Elain can know, but this is to never be mentioned again. We will not tell the other Courts and let them believe Eleana is there against her will.”

“There’s something else we must consider.” Azriel was shrouded in his shadows, a rippling bleakness Kaden had never seen from him. He was standing back, listening to Kaden thoughtfully and with the eye only a shadowsinger could. “If Eleana made a bargain with this, what does it consider itself? A queen? Then there may be no way to free her.”

They all stiffened at his words.

“There must be a way…” Feyre trailed. “Rhys?”

“I…” The High Lord went pale, his hands quivering. A weight pressed into the room, a feeling Kaden was all too familiar with. It was the same as when Eleana’s emotions became too much, and her magic swelled.

For a moment it was suffocating – the magic and the memories – but the weight disappeared, the High Lord far more accustomed to keeping himself in order. “As far as I know, there is no way. I made sure of it when – when I made my bargain with you. But Amren is returning in the coming hours, and she will know for sure.”

“We’re meeting with the High Lords tomorrow if they still agree to come. What can we say to them?” Cassian asked as he rose from the ground, Quathryn still in his arms.

“We need to act as though they know about Laya,” Nesta said. The others gave her strange looks, but she continued. “We can’t assume that the only place this ‘queen’ went was the Autumn Court. We know for a fact she hit all the other Courts, and it’s unlikely she decided to show herself off only to us. We also need to lie about why we weren’t attacked. I suggest we say it’s because they just massacred us at the Bloodrite.”

“What do we tell them about Eleana?” Kaden asked the older woman.

“We tell them she was taken by force. They can’t, under any circumstance, know that she may have done this willingly. If they do, I fear they will kill her. Or, if we find a way to save her, they will never forgive her, and the Night Court will once again have cursed leadership.”

Kaden felt grave as the significance of Eleana’s decision hit him. He once told Eleana that he felt older than his twenty years, and now he also felt heavy. The weight of the decisions that needed to be made, of his role here, of his dread and misery, all made him feel like he was slowly sinking and morphing into the mountain under him.

“And what do we do now?” Kaden was not defeated, not yet, but he sure as hell was beaten down.

“You need to sleep my golden child.” Mor reached a hand down to help him stand, keeping a hold of him even when he was on his feet, as if at any moment he might go tumbling down. With resignation, he admitted to himself that that was very much a possibility.

He looked at her, silently asking with his eyes how he could possibly sleep in a moment such as this. Mor, sighing deeply, led him away with a pointed glance at Nesta who then followed. He lay where he did not long before, Mor comforting and calming him the way he always imagined a mother would. As he went to thank her, Nesta reached out and ran her thumb down his cheek. And with that, darkness overwhelmed him, and he finally slept.

____

 “Tarquin sent another note. Their causalities have risen; four villages outside the city were attacked too quickly to warn Adriata.” Azriel placed the parchment in front of Cassian, his burnt hands looking like moving lava in the wavering candle light.

Cassian rubbed his hands over his face in a useless effort to wake himself up. He envied the deep sleep Kaden had been subjected to at the lovely and deadly hands of his wife, a power that she rarely used but came in handy. Even Thea was quiet this afternoon, but he guessed she did not have the same worries they all did. And he was glad of it – the only solace he could find in the past few days was that his girls were not in pain. But he and Nesta… he wished he could take it from his wife, so that at least one of them could be functional for their daughters. Although, he did not know how he could possible bear more pain than he already did. For the first time in a long time, he felt all seven hundred years of his life, but none of the happy memories. No, Cassian felt like he had been damned. It would be unbearable if not for his daughters and mate. He might not wish to continue this life at all if not for them. Might give himself to the Other Side just to see his precious son again.

Cassian voiced something to Azriel he had yet to say aloud. “I don’t know if I can do this.”

“Do what?” his brother queried, leafing through more and more letters they were receiving.

Cassian pinched the top of his nose, the words unable to leave him. He slumped at his desk, his head bowed. Azriel, noting his silence, came behind him and put a hand on his shoulder.

“Speak, Cassian.”

“I can’t lead the armies. Not like this.”

“Elaborate.”

“I can’t think. I’m barely managing to hold together my family, let alone thousands of soldiers. I miss him so damn much.” His voice broke at the mention of his son, his beautiful Felix. “To think that I can’t just fly to the camp to see him. That I’ll never hear his voice again, or taste his cooking, or see him taking such wonderful care of Quathryn and Thea.”

“You should speak to Rhys. You’re right, you’re in no state to help anybody.” His words were harsh but said with a gentleness that Cass knew was just his brother giving him the hard truth when he needed it.

“I can’t even give him his proper funeral rights.”

Cassian needed to stop talking. He was very quickly spiralling to a place he did not want to go – somewhere he might not be able to come back from. But there was one other thing on his mind, something that caused him a crushing amount of guilt, to the point where he had been physically sick. He considered confessing to Azriel, but if said aloud then he truly was a repulsive person.

Every time he saw Rhys hide behind Feyre, the two curling into each other, he couldn’t help but think at least your child is still alive.

How utterly horrendous of a thought about a child he loved so dearly. And Cauldron, what kind of person was he if he could be so self-centred when his brother was in immeasurable pain.

So no, that was not something he needed to share with Azriel.

“When it’s safer we’ll recover his body.”

Cassian wanted to say more, but a familiar tugging pulled on his gut. He groaned in frustration, muttering his annoyance under his breath.

“What?” Azriel raised a brow.

“There’s someone triggering the wards at the house. I can’t be fucked dealing with whoever it is right now. I just want to sleep and throw every one of these correspondents into a fire.” He pushed all the letters in front of him away and got up from his chair. He may not want to deal with the person at his home, but he was still the General. As much as he wanted to abandon his duties and hide, he could not.

“Go to your girls, Cassian. I’ll go deal with whoever is at your house.”

He looked at Azriel gratefully. He hugged his brother, walking with him until he left through a trapdoor to fly into the city.  

____

 There was a lot of work to do – research and evaluations and strategies to be made – and Feyre was glad for the chance to breath. She was waiting on the docks in silence, Rhys beside her, not touching, the only sound the lapping of the waves as they hit the pier. The sand from the beach pricked against her skin in the wind, little tiny knives making even smaller cuts – a strangely relaxing feeling. They had left the others at the House of Wind, which had been a good choice. Nesta refused to leave her daughters, and Feyre thought it a miracle she was able to convince Cassian to go to the Autumn Court with her that morning. As for Mor, she was now keeping a watchful eye on Eleana’s young mate. It was nice, really, that she had taken the child in as she had. Both Mor and Az truly did act as though they were his parents, and in another life they could have been. Feyre wondered if Azriel regretted not taking Kaden when he was younger, and knowing the Illyrian bastard quite well, he surely did.

“I can see her.” Her mate’s voice was flat and tired, so she linked their hands, trying to give him the strength he would need to get through this time.

She looked out to the sea in the direction he was, and felt relief enter her body as she saw the ship in the distance, one she hadn’t seen for nearly two years.

Amren had not been planning on coming back so soon, but desperate times called for desperate measures. And if after this war Amren wanted to sail away with Varian again, Feyre would not blame her.

Feyre waved to the fast-oncoming ship, all the way until it docked.

She only stopped when a short woman with long black hair stepped off the boat, nothing on her except her clothes and various knives at her sides.

“Amren,” Feyre breathed. She quickly approached her old friend, squeezing her in a hug. Amren wasn’t usually the type to hug, but there were always exceptions to the rules.

“You smell like blood – but not fae. What is that? It’s disgusting.”

Of course that would be the first thing Amren said.

“And where’s Eleana?” Amren pulled back from their hug, walking to Rhys to greet him as well. “I expected her to be here considering she was the one who figured this all out.”

Rhys dropped the arms he had been holding out and stared blankly away. Feyre went to his side, and pressed her forehead into his shoulder, her breaths shuddering.

“Where is she?” Amren said slowly.

“She’s gone,” was Rhys’ strained response.

“Is she dead?”

“Not yet.”

“Then stop moping, we have work to do.”

_____

 Kaden was abruptly awoken by the loud slamming of a door. The window to his right showed the setting of the sun, meaning he’d gotten at least a few hours sleep. He rubbed the sleep from his eyes and rose, stretching his back, shoulders and wings before heading towards all the noise.

He entered the war room, to see the walls had been stripped of the evidence that Felix and Eleana had given the Inner Circle to convince them of the creatures. He noticed four satchels filled with files and wondered where they could be possibly taking them.

He was going to ask Morrigan, but before he could turn an ominous voice spoke to him.

“So, you’re the boy everyone has been fussing over. Personally, I’m underwhelmed.”

He gulped and turned to face the female voice.  

The fae in front of him was short, very short, with steel grey eyes and hair neatly braided to her waist. Her face was hard, all angles and bones, and her prettiness did not distract from the look on her face. She smelt like salt water and timber, and stood like she was the one who towered over him.

“You must be Eleana and Felix’s Aunt Amren. I’m Kaden, it’s nice to meet you.”

She looked him up and down. “Tell me, Kaden, do you love my niece?”

He was surprised by her question, but he answered quickly and honestly. “Yes.”

“See, there’s something here that I find peculiar.” She circled around him like she was a lioness and he a wounded deer. “You meet my niece, and the next week Felix is attacked by an ‘Impeath.’ Quite soon after that, Eleana is taken by a ‘Colloden,’ a creature neither Rhys nor Azriel could find, but somehow you had no trouble locating and killing. This Colloden, despite endless searches is nowhere to be seen, but then just happens upon you and Eleana when you’re alone at camp and the rest of her family are in Velaris. Then, there’s the Bloodrite, where thousands of Illyrians died, especially in the area you were in, but you’re fine, and Felix is dead. Despite being the strongest Illyrian in an age, certainly more powerful than his father, he’s just gone and you just so happened to be the only one to see it. You were also the only one that creature spoke to about Eleana. All I’ve heard is how strong and promising you are, but all I see is a meek little boy who was raised by a monster.” She stopped less than a foot away from his back, and hissed into his ear, “Eleana was never as erratic as she was until she met you. So tell me, do you love my niece, or are you the one who caused her downfall?”

Kaden took a step forward and did not give her preposterous theory the time of day by looking back at her.

“With all due respect, Amren, I have never heard anything so ridiculous in my life.”

“So if I approached my High Lord and Lady with this you wouldn’t be fazed.”

“Do as you please.” He started to leave but her words speared him into place.

“I’ll be watching you. Every move. Every breath. Every word. I’ve lived longer than your mind can comprehend.”

“I look forward to getting to know you then. But, as I’m sure you can understand, I have other priorities first.”

“Kaden, you’re awake! And Amren, what are you doing here?” Cassian burst into the room, Thea strapped to his chest, and weapons coating his legs. He picked up the bags with the files, spinning to face the two.

“Are you ready to go?” She deflected his question with another, and Kaden was thoroughly confused.

“Where are you going?”

“It’s the High Lords,” Cassian spoke. “They don’t want to wait until tomorrow, so we’re leaving now to go to our other house near the Court of Nightmares. The meeting is in an hour.”

“An hour? Shit.” Kaden took two bags from Cassian and followed him. “What do you want me to do?”

“You’ll have to ask Rhys or Feyre.”

Cassian led them to the library, where Nesta was picking books from the shelves and shoving them into a bag. From the titles, Kaden was able to gather that they were all various copies of the fairy tale books the creatures were from. Quathryn was at her side, copying her every movement, but her books just thudded onto the floor.

Rhys and Feyre were hurriedly talking to Mor. From the sounds of it, she would remain in the city proper. As every day passed, more and more faeries were arriving hoping it would be safer than their villages. Word of the attack at the Bloodrite had spread quickly, and now that the other Courts had been so openly and devastatingly attacked people were thronging to Velaris.

“Where’s your summer prince, Amren?”

“He’s at Tarquin’s side, where he should be if there is going to be a war. Where’s Azriel?”

“He went to check out some wards that went off. Nothing threatening, just people getting too close.”  

High Lady Feyre, High Lord Rhysand and Morrigan looked over at the sound of their voices. Mor smiled thinly and bid goodbye to Feyre and Rhys, who promptly left the library. She neared Kaden and linked their arms. She inspected him, and he gave her the warmest smile he could muster. Deciding it wasn’t good enough, he just wrapped his arms around her in a hug.

“Oh, honey.” Her hugs were the most nurturing thing Kaden had ever encountered, and he hadn’t quite realised how much he’d needed that until now. “Amren,” she said over his head, “this is Azriel and I’s… newest addition to the family.” She let him go. “I would give you both a proper introduction, but we don’t have time. You need to join Feyre and Rhys now. Cassian and Nesta will be there soon.”

Amren nodded and without another word departed. Nesta and Cassian soon left as well, leaving the girls in the capable hands of Mor, who took them to prepare for bed. Kaden would leave soon too, he was just waiting on Azriel.

It did not take him long to arrive, and when he did his shadows were dancing around him furiously, the look on his face even stormier. He brought with him a faint scent of iron and magic, a curious concoction Kaden had never encountered.

Azriel weaved through the high shelves before stopping just before he rammed into Kaden.

“Listen to me carefully,” he growled under his breath.

It made Kaden’s hair immediately stand on end, and his heart beat faster.

“You and I aren’t going to the meeting – I need you for something else. No one can know what we’re doing. Not Cassian, or Feyre, not even Mor. Stay completely silent until I tell you to speak. We’re going to a place where the inhabitants would try to kill you in a second. Nod if you understand.”

Kaden nodded, eyes wide.

“Follow me.”

They left the House of Wind, flying quickly away. They were going the opposite direction to where the High Lady and Lord had, but Kaden kept quiet. Even as they flew over the city and started flying over the water. For maybe a half hour, Kaden stayed in Azriel’s presence, only ever looking down to observe how his dark shadow glided over the water, making it seem like they were being followed by a sea monster. As they flew, the sun set, and his shadow monster disappeared. Kaden’s fear and adrenaline spiked with every beat of his wing, and by the time he spied a small island in the distance he was ready to face whatever for Azriel had brought him to confront.

They landed on the green island. It had rolling hills for as far as the eyes could see, the view only being interrupted twice by two stone buildings. Each only the size of a single room, one was much taller than him and the other waist height.  They entered the shorter of the two, Kaden bending down then nearly tripping on the huge steps that took them down, down, down until the candles lining the walls were the only source of light. Also lining the walls were thick, iron bars that made up one-person cells.

This was a prison.

Kaden had no theories on why Azriel had brought him here, but that was of no concern. He trusted Azriel completely, and whatever he was doing here would surely soon be revealed.

They stopped only when the stairs did, at the bottom most cell. It was bigger than most, and from looking at the various apparatuses on the walls, it was clear this was the interrogation portion of the prison.

It reminded Kaden of his childhood room.

Kaden could see a figure in the corner, standing face forwards but too in the dark to make out his features. Kaden waited for Azriel to say something, but the man beside him was making no noise at all – it didn’t even sound like he was breathing.

The figure shuffled, his stance – straight back, crossed arms, legs shoulder width apart – told Kaden of the power and confidence this man had. His face was still in the dark, but Kaden could make out the garish scars that ran down the man’s body – scars nearly as horrific as his own.  

His voice was gruff from disuse, yet the sound as silky as the satin between a lady’s thighs. “I thought it would be much longer until I saw you again.”

He stepped forward, and Kaden slammed himself back in terror.  

[mariamuses]

What I’ve Been Looking For

This is for @highladyfxyre who loves Mor above everything else. Also @queen-archeron who’s on temporary leave, so when she comes there’s a cute surprise waiting for her. Is anyone else out there Mor trash? Yeah, me too.

Happy Tuesday everybody! I just nailed a test and got inspired, but don’t expect it to happen too often. I mean the nailing tests part, obviously

Read it on AO3!

Summary: Mor needs a break from her perfect family so she takes a walk through Velaris, only for an opportunity for radical change in her life to arise.

Mor was walking through the Rainbow, just having come out for a walk after a family lunch. It was always nice seeing everyone, the kids, their friends having finally found happiness. And after everything that had happened in the war, she couldn’t be more glad for it.

The thing was, she didn’t feel like she was getting any of that ‘magic’ for herself.

Sure, she wasn’t dead, but everyone had gotten a happy ending. Nesta and Cassian, Feyre and Rhys, Elain and Az... 

Mor deserved it too. Or at least, so she thought.

She had gotten out of there because it was too much. It happened sometimes and when it did, she knew she had to take a walk and think some things through.

That’s exactly what she was doing when a shrilling scream pulled her out of her reverie. It was high pitched and seemed to be a child’s.

She turned her head frantically, searching for the origin of it. Finally she located it coming from a little building on the side of the road. She headed straight for the door and burst into what seemed to be the only room of that house. In it she saw a healer, marked by her grey uniform, taking care of a woman who was lying on a matress on the floor. Beside that woman there was a little girl, with deep brown hair and shining amber eyes, barely four years of age. The girl was shaking the woman on the makeshift bed, and tears were streaming down her precious, big round eyes.

Now that Mor was closer, she could make out what the kid was saying.

“MOMMY! MOMMY WAKE UP! MOMMY, PLEASE, WAKE UP!”

Inmediately, Mor went to her side, pried her from what seemed to be her mother and after a lot of fighting, picked her up, enveloping the girl in her arms and soothing her with a gentle voice.

“Shhhhhhh, sweetie. Shhhhh. We need to let the healer do her job okay? Shhhhh. She’s doing what she can to bring your mommy back yeah?”

Even through those words, the baby didn’t stop crying so Mor started swaying a bit and looked around the room.

Now that the kid was with her, and not in any danger, she allowed herself to watch her surroundings.

The rooom was indeed the only one in the house, and it had spaces. There was a tiny kitchen with only a burner on it and a sink. No food on it either. Next to it was a bathroom that consisted of a toilet and a sink, which made her wonder how they washed themselves. The question was answered a glance later, when she found the couch with a homemade, thin, weathered blanket and beside it a bucket.

Carefully, she took a look on the sobbing child in her arms and examined her more closely. Just as she had noticed around the house, the girl wasn’t well kept either. She looked malnourished, the collarbone protruding from her very old and big shirt; as well as greasy and undone, messy hair, dirty nails and hollowed out eyes.

Mor started wondering what type of person could let a child live like this, and how could everyone have missed this.

Again, she was pulled out of her head when the healer stepped away from the mum, looking at her and shaking her head while she took the blanket and threw it on top of the now dead woman.

Then, she approached her, curtsying to the Morrigan.

“My lady” she bowed.

“Don’t. Just Mor, please. What’s your name? What happened?” 

“I’m Iris. Neighbours heard the little girl screaming and called for me. When I came the woman was barely concious and I got to work but it was too late. I’m not even sure what killed her.”

At those words the little kid started crying even louder, but this time, Mor set her down, put her hands on the very thin arms and stared at her.

“Sweetie, what happened to your mommy?” she asked softly.

“MOOOOOMMYYYYYY!”

“Baby, we know, but we need you to tell us everything. Okay, we’ll start easy. What’s your name?”

“A.. A-Annie” cried the girl.

“Okay, Annie. Where are you from? Have you lived here all your life?”

“N-no. We moved he-here a few days ago... from the Hewn City”

At that Mor’s eyes widened, but quickly recovered her composure and turned to reasure the kid.

“That’s good. It’s nicer here, isn’t it.”

Looking into her eyes Annie nodded.

“Ok, now. I know it hurts, but can you tell me what happened to your mum?”

“She ate something bad. We didn’t have food when we scaped and we’d found this abandoned building so we moved in. But yesterday was the day that everyone from the Court of Nightmares could visit and mommy was scared that if they saw us they’ll force us to go back so we hid here all day. But we got so hungry, mummy stole fruit from the bad guys. We didn’t eat it until this morning, when she had a bite and then started coughing and spitting and then she fell to the floor and...” she got out through her sobbing. At the end though, she resumed it.

Mor promptly picked her up again, hugged her hard and started rocking her.

The healer took a look around the room and found the discarded, bitten fruit.

It was general knowledge that everything coming from the court visiting was spoiled or poisoned, but the mom probably had gotten desperate, hadn’t know and had tried a bite before her daughter, only for it to kill her.

When the healer finished inspecting the apple, she looked up and spoke.

“It is indeed poisoned. Ash wood dust, inyected into the core, making it look like a perfect piece.” 

Silence was the only thing that followed.

Mor headed for the door, and only when she was out did she dare ask.

“What are we going to do with the kid?”

Iris critically glanced at the creature in Mor’s arms and concluded.

“I would like to do a check-up on her, because she’s probably going to need vitamins and some pills to pull her out of her malnutrition state, not just a healthy diet. Besides that... I don’t really know. No orphans have ever appeared in Velaris, so there’s no set path for this. I suppose that we’ll have to take it out to the High Lord.”

“Don’t. Can I adopt her?” she looked down to the little girl, who had stopped crying somewhere in the middle of their conversation and was now fast asleep, the events of the day having worn her down. “Look, I know that your going to say that it’s not your decision to make. But I’m healthy, I have the means to take care of her and I actually want to. Isn’t that worth something?”

The healer looked dubiously at her, then slowly nodded.

“It is worth something, but the High Lord is the one who has to agree on this.”

“I know, I know. And I’ll tell him. I guess, what I’m asking is, don’t tell him that this girl needs a family. Tell him that I want this girl to be my family.”

“Okay. But if the High Lord is the problem, I have a better idea” said Iris, smirking.

After that, they had gone to Mor’s bedroom, Annie still fast asleep, and with no other impediments, they got to work.

Iris completed the examination without waking her once, and told Mor exactly what to buy for the girl.

Right then, Feyre was called in. When the situation was explained, she agreed to sign whatever papers were necessary to make Mor’s new dream family happen; and even took a turn holding Annie.

Not too long afterwards, the kid woke up and was explained and informed of everything that was going to happen, if she wanted. After a little more crying, she sobered up and spoke.

“So, you want to be my new mummy?”

“Yeah, I do. With all my heart. And I’m going to take such good care of you: I’m going to buy you dresses, do your hair, introduce you to some friends and family, and most important, I’m going to love you as if you were my own.” got out Mor, silver lining her eyes.

“But I want my old mummy”

“And she will always be your mum. But she’s gone now and you get to have two mommies, maybe even three one day” she said, giving a side look to the healer who had made it all possible, and who she was starting to look with different eyes.

The kid looked down into her lap, then quickly up.

“Okay. But you have to promise me something.”

“What is it?”

“You can’t die too.”

“I promise I’ll do anything in my power not to.”

That seemed to be enough because she then proceeded to jum into her arms and buried her head into her new mum’s neck. Then, started speaking again.

“Morrigan? Can I-?

“Hey, hey, none of that. If I’m going to be your mum then you at least have to call me Mor. I know that you won’t like to call me mum for a while and that’s okay. But, only my enemies call me Morrigan.” interrupted Mor, shaking the girl a little.

“Okay. Mor?”

“Yeah sweetie?”

“Can I meet your family? I wanna get all the meetings over today.”

At that, everyone in the room bursted out laughing.

That same night, lying in bed with her new daughter in her arms, fast asleep, Mor thought how the day had developed. Her running out at lunch, meeting Annie, meeting Iris, who had given her her address so they could go out sometime, and obviously, check on Annie periodically; the baby agreeing to her, her meeting all the family, Rhys crying because she had finally found the happy ending she deserved...

But most of all, the rightness of it all. 

There, lying in her bed, with Annie’s breathing breaking the silence, she felt complete, as if a piece of her that was missing had been brought back.

And she was happy.

[maevelin]

In your explanation/ rant thing about nessian, you mentioned nesta and cassian showing suicidal tendencies and symptoms of depression. What did you mean by that/ what’s the evidence? (Sorry if this seems a little rude, I agree with everything you said, I’m just curious)

Well everyone interprets the material they read differently. But the way I saw it Cassian in ACoWaR was reckless and was diving into the battlefield with a death wish up to the point where he said to Rhysand that this would be his way to repay Rhysand’s mother for everything she had done for him. And what could be read as heroic in truth was extremely dangerous and a clouded judgment. Cassian is not just a foot soldier or able to heed his personal needs in times of war. He has certain responsibilities. He is a leader.

He is the General Commander of the Night Court’s armies and one of the most powerful Illyrians. In times of war, he needs to keep his cool and make the right decisions from an ice cold perspective and be strategic. To literally wage war. Sentiment alone is not what got him to the position he is in today and the moment he would fall in the battlefield because of a misguided notion of self-sacrifice and because his mental state was not balanced disarray would follow and the armies of the Night Court would get a major hit that could potentially even cost them the war. But Cassian could not see that. He could not even follow Rhysand’s orders to the extent he should have had and he was taking unnecessary risks and put even others in danger.

His emotional world was raging. He was impulsive, unable to remain undetached and unemotional as his rank required and mind you Cassian has had centuries of experience when it comes to this. All his training, all his history, all his experience got sidelined. He was a mess and it almost got him killed.

We have seen Cassian been generally an extrovert but we have also seen more glimpses of him.  We have seen Cassian being quiet. We have seen him personally taking count of the dead in the battlefields and informing their families which of course takes a toll on someone’s soul. We have seen him having low self-esteem issues and considering himself a bastard and coming to terms with that title and all that it means (Rhysand was ready to object to that in ACoMaF and you could see the underlined pain and then you could see the pain when Nesta used that against in him in Wings and Embers ) and he also believes himself to be a charity case (which also culminated in ACoWaR when he talked to Rhysand). When in ACoMaF he was training Feyre you could read between the lines that he had been in her place. He has felt the guilt that comes with killing and with the life they lead. He understands. He feels it. All too well. He observes everyone and is there for everyone because he knows the pain all too well. The way he grew up. The way he led his life. The fact that he is considered a bastard in a lesser species (as everyone that is not High Fae is treated in general). The way many still treat him and frown upon him. All the centuries of battles and blood and survival. He is being called the Prince of Bastards and the Lord of Bloodshed. Those titles have gravity and are not earned -by a freaking deity nonetheless- just so easily or without personal cost that influences the mental state of a person. And Cassian understands death and walks in death and he does not want that for Nesta. Because he knows how traumatizing it can be and how it hurts and what does to a person.

In ACoWaR we have seen him reaching for Nesta because he could not stay away but when she reached for him his jerk reaction was to step back and raise a wall between them. In the same way, he has for centuries entered a dysfunctional sort of emotional triangle between Morrigan and Azriel that is masochistic and sadistic in its core. The boundaries and the lines are blurred and he is having unhealthy responses to any form of attachments.

After Nesta was turned to a High Fae Cassian kept going to her and taking her rejection with hurt and silently because as he said he understood how it was to have something happen to you against your will. He felt Nesta’s pain and respected her reactions despite not respecting her need for a distance and in the meanwhile, Cassian went something extremely traumatic. He had his wings shredded. He was unable to protect Azriel and Nesta. His recovery took time. He was helpless and injured. And acted as if nothing happened. He pushed his own trauma on the side and did not deal with it. As if it didn’t happen. He didn’t talk about it. He did not share his pain. No one spoke of it. A walk in the park really. Right? …Riiiight.

There are layers of loneliness there and of a distance, he creates between himself and the people that care for him. His self-worth is not a concept he believes in and his psychological state that influences his decisions, his actions, his behaviors and his relationships is affected by this.

On the other hand, you have Nesta. That she was ready at the end of it all to become the bait and to sacrifice her life in the war and Cassian followed her blindly. So others could live while they wouldn’t. In the long picture it was a sacrifice that would be worth it but in a personal perspective, you have two damaged people that hurt so much and are ready to put an end to it all so others could live. They do not negotiate with this. There is no one that can reason with them. And in the end, Nesta was ready to stay and die by Cassian’s side than living a life without him.

Nesta that felt less in comparison to all the heroes that surrounded her. That fought to find honor and got inspired by Cassian and Feyre. Nesta that cried because she was unable to save all the children that would be left behind and then despite her closed up personality rose and spoke to the High Lord meeting about those that were unable to help themselves.

Nesta is an introvert. She prefers to stay in her chair in a room filled with shadows and a warm fire and cuddle with a blanket and read books. Books are her escape. Generally speaking, the position of the emissary is not exactly suited for her skills. Nesta is not a diplomat. Her people skills are atrocious. Her words drip vitriol and she is not one for sweet talking or keeping her bitchy attitude under control. She is not a negotiator. In the end of ACoWaR she didn’t even want to attend the council that took place after the war. And yet here is she is. Taking steps forward despite everything that kept her tied back.

Nesta lived her mother’s death. Then her whole life changed and she was unable to fend for herself. She did nothing. She preferred for her family to starve so their father could take charge again but was it just for that? Here we have a woman that is ready to starve and to freeze to death so to force her father to act. A girl that despised her youngest sister for having the energy and the ability to survive, to help the family she couldn’t and the energy to simply wake up in the mornings and even forgive their father and even her. And she expressed all that with abuse and anger. Hurting not only her sister but herself in the process.

A woman that survived sexual assault and didn’t speak of it. That was ready to search for her missing sister beyond the wall knowing that chances were that she would not survive and when she couldn’t go through the wall and remained with her brainwashed family while she remembered everything and could not help her sister. A woman that wanted to travel and read and was unable to do so. A fierce woman that had no options left and her dreams were shuttered.

Yes, Nesta was the older sister but she was still a child when her mother died and their lives changed. Every person handles grief and change differently. Nesta according to Feyre feels everything so much and it hurts so much that she keeps ice and poison on the surface. But if you translate that then you have a person that is unable to communicate her emotions. She does not have social skills. She prefers isolation. She refuses to bond emotionally and uses aggression as a shield. A person that keeps others at a distance. That does not connect. That is afraid of life when she has to survive in harsh conditions and then instinctually shuts down. A woman that does not express her emotions..or she can’t. Attachments hurt her so she prefers to form none. She keeps to herself. She is emotionally blocked but her mind works overtime. She can barely handle her thoughts and her emotions without causing damage to others and herself. A woman that is afraid of her own feelings and sees the world for what it is and cannot get in sync with it.

A person that feels so much that it hurts and then is unable to function normally. When the King of Hybern threw her in the Cauldron she fought and changed but despised that change and then she saw that Elain was broken beyond comprehension and guilt followed. Guilt for her surviving the Cauldron while Elain broke. Self-loathing followed. And until Feyre returned to the Night Court Nesta rose her walls as high as they would go (which made Elain’s situation and her own far worse) and it was her choice to not reach out to anyone and her response to all this trauma was to stay between four walls and to not ask for help. Not for herself. Not for her sister. She did not trust anyone. She did not connect with anyone. She remained closed off and silent. She only reached out to Feyre because she was her sister and her family and that was a dysfunctional reaction also. It took heartbreaking event after event for Nesta to even reveal that she had a deep fear of bathtubs. Imagine the fear, the pain, the depression. Imagine having all choices taken away from you. To the point of being unable to function in your everyday life. To the point of using buckets to wash yourself. A girl that feels uncomfortable wearing pants and uncomfortable in her own skin in general. Imagine a girl that is also afraid of intimacy because she was sexually assaulted.

And when Feyre went into her mind the darkness she faced was so deep and so dark that she had to find a way to ground Nesta to reality in order to simply bring her back and not have her lock herself in that darkness.

And then when everything came to an end she had to face the death of her father. Of a father, she despised for years because she loved him and hated him for not being the father he should have been for her. Because Nesta lost her mother to death and then she lost the father that she knew because he changed. And then he died in front of her and she was unable to help him. He died in front of her and for her. He became the father she remembered and loved and could not get him back again. Imagine the guilt and the pain. More guilt because in comparison to her sisters she had not shown any forgiveness or gentleness to her father for years and has kept him at an arm’s length. And then when everyone celebrated their victory and took a breath of life she withdrew again and rose her walls.

So yeah. I would say that both Cassian and Nesta are suffering from PTSD and show depression symptoms. And suicidal tendencies too. Along with their homicidal anyway lol.

Or at least this is how I see it and the impression I got from these characters in the trilogy.

[feyreofthewildfire]

Wasteland - Nessian Fanfic

Hey lovelies!!

This is not an update to We’ll Go Together (woah), but a response to this post by @modernbookfae that got my wheels turning. Personally, when it comes to writing WGT I get most excited about writing from Nesta or Cassian’s point of view, so a Nessian centric story was not far behind that realization. 

Disclaimer: this fic got WAY out of hand. I'm a cat laser kind of writer, in which I don’t plot (at least not extensively) and instead word vomit all over a Google Doc. I somehow managed to shove one of my own OCs in here as well. I apologize for what you’re about to read.

Please enjoy anyway aha.

(Inspired by the song Wasteland by Against the Current) 

Candy coated lips You’re the sweetest kiss But a bad trip

Nesta burns.

Not with strength and fervor as she once had, but with passion and some sort of affection towards that damned overgrown bat. Her hands clench into fists as her chin threatens to fall, the parasitic and festering feelings that have been settling within her since she’d met the commander now the cause of her fall from grace.

Her heart is a fortress and he’s decided to lay siege—or she thought he had. Perhaps it had all been a game to him. He’d barreled through her defenses and instead of finding and cherishing her as she had desperately, fruitlessly hoped he would, he’d walked straight through the other side and left her there—heart wide open like a gaping wound, a ravaged wasteland of broken bits and pieces hidden behind walls erected even stronger than the ones before, giving the perfect illusion of constructed poise and grace.

It’s been two weeks and they have yet to speak. She’s retreated into the library, burying herself in books and characters that don’t exist, if only to rid herself of the reality she so feverishly despises, if only so that she doesn’t run into the blonde Third.

Nesta is almost ashamed of the way she avoids Morrigan—of the way she avoids everyone. But her dreams—no, her every waking moment, is haunted with the corpse of her father, with the sound of metal crunching through bone as she severs a sovereign’s neck, with the emptiness inside her where power once rumbled, with the sound of Cassian’s screams as Hybern destroys his wings.

It seems that every part of her is haunted.

Nesta knows that she is not needed in Velaris, not essential to the happenings. It’s only been a week since their return and she has yet to do anything. Elain no longer needs her, having found contentment in the garden she begins to grow behind the House. Feyre has become the queen of an empire, needing no one and nothing but her mate.

She supposes it could’ve been argued that Cassian needed her not so long ago, but she knows it’s not true anymore. He has his brothers and Mor.

So when Vassa asks her to leave with her to Scythia as Emissary after her curse had been broken, she leaves with the queen immediately, only remembering to send a letter to Rhysand at the last moment.

For the first time in a very long time, Nesta feels free.

She takes residence on the same ship as Vassa on the way back to the continent, though she’s given a wide berth when she deigns to go above deck during the day. She is not afraid to put her hair up, to show off the delicate points of her ears and the immortal beauty she’d been cursed with.  

When she truly feels alive is when the night comes.

Maybe it’s some remnant of her time spent in her youngest sister’s home or just the fact that it’s the only time she can speak to Vassa thanks to the queen’s busy schedule. The sound of waves over the sea calms her, the slight breeze caressing her face. Were it not for the scrutinizing stares, were it not for the mask she’s forced to wear, she’s certain she’d go above deck during the day.

Then they dock in Scythia and her fantasy, her adventure is over.

Nesta barely speaks within the walls of the Palais, all too aware of the wandering eyes and ears that poison every corridor and room of every castle she’s ever been. The joy she’d secretly found in the open sea is stifled in the dinners she’s forced to attend and small talk she’s forced to make.

Still, when she does change an opinion of an important advisor, she can’t help but feel important—she can’t help but feel needed. She is an emissary, after all. Her work is truly done in the homes of royalty, far away from the place she supposes she calls home now, if for no other reason than her sisters are there.

The only thing anchoring her back to that place is her sisters and the reports she sends to Rhysand. Letters come in every so often from all three, most commonly from Elain. The tales her sister weaves of the happenings in the House never fail to make Nesta smile, even if it’s only the smallest uptick of her lips. Elain is happy and cared for—more than what Nesta could’ve wished for not even two years ago.

Then she meets General Fionn.

He’s young, born of nobility and ancient traces of Autumn Court blood that gives him the smallest power over flame, carefully hidden away in fear of losing his position. His smiles are pretty and his words are smooth. It’s easy to banter with him, given the fact that he only laughs at her insults and poisonous words. It’s easy to find some sort of ally within him.

When she wakes up from a nightmare of Elain being tortured by Hybern, she asks him to train her.

If he’s surprised, he doesn’t show it, simply nodding and agreeing. They have to run it by Vassa and Rhysand first, but the Queen and High Lord seem oddly nonchalant about the message their training sessions will broadcast to the world.

In three weeks she’s worked up into swordplay, her movements graceful and violent—strong and swift, laced with the High Fae elegance that had seeped into her veins from the Cauldron. Her immortal strength gives her the ability to knock Fionn over with nothing more than a shove, and she has to remind herself to hold back so that she doesn’t kill him on accident. While it would be interesting, it would be a shame to lose a friend and create a diplomatic disaster.

They move from swords to every weapon imaginable in the next two weeks and, occasionally, when they’re alone, she helps him with what little Autumn Court lingers in his blood. She’s by no means a qualified teacher, but he becomes surprisingly proficient at wielding the small bit of fire in his veins under her guiding hand.

When she pushes him against the wall in the armory and kisses him, she tells herself it’s because she feels something for him.

Their training sessions become more playful after that. Nesta has already learned how to use every weapon under the sun with decent proficiency, and they just spend hours sword fighting and sparring to pass the time.

She’s not sure when she begins to wear her hair down, or when her smiles become polite rather than serpentine, only that she’s convinced herself that she’s found home in a pair of human arms and distracting pet names.

When she pins him to the ground for the thousandth time, she doesn’t realize a smile’s bloomed on her face until Fionn’s eyes widen, a certain kind of reverence filling the blue orbs framed by thick lashes

So she kisses him again, unknowingly superimposing hazel over blue.

Then one of the other queens invades Scythia and he’s torn away to the western border.

He gifts her his favorite dagger and kisses her twice before leaving, bestowing upon her promises and promises of what they’ll do together once he gets back.

They send letters as fast as they can. Nesta has learned how to send letters through whatever magic allows such things to teleport long distances, though has to wait the three days it takes for his letters to get back to her through horseback. Scythia has the finest cavalry on the continent, and the messengers are well-trained and ride well, also giving them the fastest communications on the continent.

The gaping hole in her heart left by the commander across an ocean has begun to heal over, the wasteland behind the walls beginning to return to what it was once again. Every letter that arrives from Fionn and Elain gives her strength, gives her what she needs to rebuild herself and perhaps one day be able to look Cassian and Mor in the eye without wanting to hide away.

Perhaps she can find love outside of the small world she’s always found herself trapped within—her small world where love was nothing but a myth, a far-fetched tale told to the daughters that would be sold off like cattle one day.

Then the neighboring queen attacks the camp in the night and slaughters every soldier.

She doesn’t receive a condolence letter, she’s by no means his family or next of kin, but she thinks that perhaps receiving one would’ve helped with the grief, with the pain.

She doesn’t know if she was in love with Fionn or maybe just who he resembled, but the agony that ripples through her is enough to make her swear off soldiers, any man who walks into battle arms open and swords wielded, ready to greet Death as the old friend it is.

She shoves the training clothing to the back of her wardrobe and shoves the swords and daggers into a miscellaneous drawer, reverting back to braided updos and serpentine twists of her lips. It’s safer this way, she tells herself.

The walls around her heart reinforce once again.

Not a week later she’s convinced the last advisor to her side, gaining the support of the Queen’s entire court as she was sent to do. The next day Rhysand is standing in the courtyard, ready to winnow her back to the Night Court.

If he has something to say, she’s glad that he doesn’t say it. She’s wished all her farewells and her belongings have been packed up, ready to be sent back the moment she arrives in Velaris.

It’s only been three months, she knows this, and yet the place she’s supposed to call home is utterly unfamiliar.

Her heart has become a wasteland once again, torn to pieces by the man she’d chosen to give it to. Her words are more biting than before, her eyes more often narrowed then not. Every rise and fall of her chest reminds her of Fionn, of the merry laugh that always fell from his lips and the crisp apples he tasted of.

Then Cassian finds her.

He’d been off in Scythia helping with the incoming war, showing solidarity in the alliance formed between Prythian and a kingdom on the continent. He’d been her replacement after her job had been done, forcing neither of them to see the other.

She hadn’t even known he’d been arriving back, or she would’ve locked herself in her bedroom rather than sit in the exposed library.

“Hello, sweetheart.” The words drip with sarcasm, with an anger barely reined in. His place leaning against a bookshelf seems casual enough, though the crossing of his arms and clench of his jaw tells another story.

Her eyes flicker up towards him, finding that he looks exactly the same as she’d last seen him. His hair is pulled back and his Siphons gleam in the low light, a sword strapped to his back that makes her sick to her stomach.

“Commander.” Her voice is void of any emotion, the words monotone. Her hands clench around the book she’d been reading, the only sign of her distress.

He nods to the dagger strapped to her waist. “You know how to use that?”

She tenses, all the insults she wants to throw at him falling away. “It’s not mine.” She dismisses, standing from her place on the armchair and swiftly beginning to walk away, book clutched against her chest.

His eyes narrow, arm shooting out to block her path. The intricate sewing of the leathers nearly makes her sway where she stands. “Whose is it then?” He bites back, none of the careful, begrudged concern she’d come to expect in his eyes. There’s nothing but sheer will and fire in them.

She almost throws up at her own analogy.

“That is none of your concern.” Her voice raises for the first time. She will not fall apart in front of this good-for-nothing bastard. He had treated her as nothing, and she will do the same. She no longer owes him anything. She had been willing to die for him—willing to leave behind Elain. She’d laid her own body over his, looked Death in the eye and blinked.

He had made a proclamation about regrets, about having more time and yet when it had been given to him he hadn’t used it. He’d avoided her and fallen back into old habits as if the war hadn’t happened, as if she hadn’t been granted immortality and great power only to have the latter ripped away from her, as if he hadn’t had his wings shattered twice and expected death, gone running onto the battlefield arms wide open and a grin on his face.

“I heard some rumors about your time in Scythia,” He starts, unwilling to let her go, to leave her be. She doesn’t want to hear what he has to say. “I heard that you made friends with one of the generals there.”

Something inside her snaps.

“And why do you care?” The rise and fall of her chest quickens, “Why does it concern you? Why does my every move have to involve you, Cassian? I did my job. I followed every rule in the book and made a few of my own. Rhysand approved all my decisions. So why do you care?”

She’s not sure she’s ever said his name aloud, not without some insulting title following it. Her heel squeaks on the wooden flooring as she turns and struts away from him, careful to recollect the poise she’d lost in those moments.

A hand gently catches her wrist, the grip loose enough that she could rip herself away quite easily. But she doesn’t. She’s not sure why. A shaky breath falls from her lungs as she turns back to see Cassian once again, some sort of devastation laced in the strong planes of his face.

“I care about you, Nesta.” He answers her, an incredulity to his tone as if he can’t believe that she doesn’t already realize that little fact. “I care more about you than any of the shit that happens as a result of this war. I heard about what happened and I guess that was my shitty way of being concerned.”

She can only stare at him as if the answers to every question she’s ever asked lie in his features. There are so many things she wants to shout at him, so many things she wants to scream, and scream, and scream about. She wants to ask why he’d left her, why he’d avoided her and then sought her out once again like a child who’d had their forgotten toy taken away.

She’s so tired.

“I appreciate your concern, Commander.” The words are cold, formal, ones she’d spoken a million times in Scythia, usually followed by a contradicting retort.

But this is not a war room, and she does not owe the bastard anything. Not one single part of herself does she owe him.

When she walks away this time, he doesn’t stop her.

I Don’t Wanna Wake Up (Companion Fic)