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wildlyglittering · 2 years ago

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A Love for all Seasons Part 2 (Spring)

So I am totally slack at continuing this series 😂

If anyone is remotely still interested here is Part 2 of ‘A Love for all Seasons’ which has now moved onto Spring.

I’ll be honest... since reading ACOSF my love for Nessian has dimmed somewhat which means so has my enthusiasm for writing this. It’s likely I won’t continue the series beyond this chapter.

I do have one final Nessian/ Neris piece that I am aiming to get out this year as a way to give myself some Nessian closure and say a final goodbye. For now - enjoy this one! 😉

***

The change from winter to spring brought new happenings to Velaris; pink blossoms on trees, turquoise waters on the Sidra, and the arrival of mating season which meant... well, it meant horny everything.

Nesta wasn’t immune to the hormones and pheromones and whatever else was being secreted into the air. Living in the city all her life meant she was prepared for what spring would bring, but she had been unprepared for spring when a hot-blooded Illyrian was involved.

That morning she woke to a dusky pink sunrise and with a bleary half-open eye, groaned at the number on her nightstand clock. She stretched and rolled, misjudging her distance from the other occupant in her bed.

“Ow.”

“Sorry,” she murmured, her voice still husky from sleep and snuggled closer, patting Cassian’s forehead as her face inched near his. “Still, elbow in the face is twenty points.”

“Hmm. Not sure I like this game and your bed is far too small.”

“Try hanging upside down from the beams like I suggested.”

Cassian’s eyes, centimetres from hers, flew open, bright and alert. Nesta swore he thought sleep was for the weak. “You are a wicked woman,” he said, glancing towards Nesta’s bare shoulder, “but there are other ways we can save on space.”

He rolled on top of her, ignoring her laugh and dragged the sheets with him, wings splayed above them both blocking out all hint of early sunlight.

Honestly, if he kept this up Nesta was going to need the hose.

After Cassian watched Nesta perform The Nutcracker at Solmas, there had been a few false starts. In part due to Nesta’s hectic winter dance schedule and in part due to what Nesta felt was a humiliation strong enough to die from.

Finally, after bouquets were delivered to her dressing room in such volume she would have been able to open her own floristry, she agreed to have coffee with him. Only the once, she’d said.

Coffee turned into lunch and then into dinner. Then, when he walked her home, she’d asked him inside. The next morning they ate their breakfast naked, tearing through toast and jam like starving animals before returning to bed.

Nesta remembered opening her curtains when they were done, the chill sinking through the glass as the frost displayed across the pane with a message. Naughty Girl.

She refused to be judged by frozen water and when Cassian came out of her bathroom, he’d raised an eyebrow on discovering Nesta pressing her middle fingers against her window.

That had been five months ago. Five months.

Snow and ice melted into puddles and now falling petals collected on the ledge outside her bedroom window spelling their own words. Today’s being; Niiiiice.

Yes, spring was hornier.

Oh, but it was nice. The time her and Cassian spent together somehow gave Nesta both peace and excitement, even if it was just them sitting on her sofa with her legs slung over his. Even now, after they’d relinquished themselves to spring’s influence once more, she lay on his sweaty chest, content to listen to the beat of his heart.

“You can’t be comfortable,” she said noting Cassian’s wings angled in unnatural directions to stop them squashing against the wall, but he only shrugged and said he’d manage.

Nesta’s small apartment was fine when it was only herself – small became cosy. When an Illyrian was present - small become cramped. When other, more unwelcome thoughts intruded – small became claustrophobic.

She’d tried reasoning with the apartment, tried flexing a little of her magic muscles to encourage it to increase space but it refused to budge, likely remembering when Nesta made good on her threat to hammer nails into walls.

Nesta had suggested that her and Cassian go elsewhere but last time Cassian booked them a hotel in the city centre. The room was lovely and most importantly, spacious, but that hadn’t been what Nesta meant.

Five months of sleeping together and she’d yet to visit his apartment.

The options she’d considered was that Cassian was either a serial killer hoarding his trophies, that he had a secret family no one was aware about, or that he was ashamed of whatever it was he was doing with Nesta and didn’t want her presence in his home.

She hoped he was a serial killer.

Cassian’s fingers stroked through her hair, tracing down her neck to her collarbone and Nesta knew they’d have to get up soon otherwise they’d never leave the bed. Even the graphically illustrated pamphlet she’d picked up from the Fae and Human Relations Clinic entitled, ‘Illyrian Sex and You,’ hadn’t provided the full picture.

“Oh honey,” a high fae woman next to her had said with a chuckle at Nesta’s blush, “you’ve got no idea.”

Cassian’s voice broke her out of her trip down memory lane. “What are you going to do with a full Saturday off?”

She shifted, trying to escape the fingertips drifting to the tops of her breasts and focused on the unsexy tasks before her. “Visiting Elain,” she replied, “if I don’t turn up to praise her garden in prime spring than she refuses to talk to me for months.”

One of the unwelcome changes of winter to spring was the shift in management at the Velaris City Ballet Company. Although Eris, the last fae director was an absolute, unmitigated prick, he was a prick Nesta was used to dealing with. Though he didn’t hold humans in high regard, at least he respected Nesta’s talent as a dancer.

The new director, Tamlin, had donned a sneer when he read Nesta’s name from the call sheet before making Gwyn cry, resulting in an argument between Nesta and him. After, he invited Nesta to his office and informed her that she didn’t have many more nails in the coffin of her departure to be hammered down.

Now, Nesta barely had any performance time. She wasn’t even ensemble; she was second ensemble. The once prima ballerina was about to become the prima cleaner.

The lies she spun to Cassian about her days didn’t include that. Instead, she deflected. “What will you do?”

“The usual.”

‘The usual’ for Cassian was free flying off the mountain Ramiel with Azriel and Rhys, followed by brunch with Mor and then training which seemed like a combination of throwing punches and getting hit by swords. Or avoiding getting hit by swords. Sometimes when she met him afterwards, Nesta couldn’t tell what the actual aim of the training had been.

Nesta stretched again, her back arching and cracking and the sheets fell from her chest. “Oh no,” she said to Cassian, noting the gleam in his eyes at her bared breasts. She shimmied under the covers to get to the end and crawled out, standing at the foot. “I have things to do.”

“So do I,” he said, eyes skimming from breasts to thighs and back again.

She grinned, shaking her head and scooping up his shirt to cover herself. In truth she couldn’t blame the spring air, he’d been like this all through winter.

The fucking fae were always fucking. Or tried to be.

Nesta pulled her hair into a braid as Cassian sat up to rest against the wall, wings now stretched as wide as possible in the gap, the talons brushing the plaster. “Hey,” he said, his voice breezy. “I have an idea. Before you visit Elain, why don’t you come with me for some of them?”

“Some of what?”

“My Saturday activities. Might be fun.”

“I’m not launching myself from anything thank you and I don’t feel like getting whacked with a sword.”

“You could come with me to brunch with Mor.”

Nesta paused, her fingers tangling in her hair, the braid pattern now destroyed.

Cassian had said it in a way like it wasn’t a massive deal to say to one of his long-standing friends, ‘oh by the way, you know Rhys is seeing Feyre who we all love. Well, I’m sleeping with her sister. No, not that one. The one no one likes.’

She looked over at Cassian, his skin holding a hint of crimson, his eyes staring down at his sheet covered knees. There was a lurch in her stomach. If he couldn’t make eye contact with Nesta during an invitation to brunch, how would he be throughout the actual event? Nesta imagined sitting opposite the blonde, glamourous Morrigan, a plate of maple-soaked pancakes between them, while Cassian pretended death glares weren’t being shot Nesta’s way.

Though her first inclination was to tell Cassian she would rather spend her time bathing in the Kelpie pool this was his first attempt at something different, something more public.

“I could look at the timings,” Nesta said, re-braiding her hair. “Are you sure Mor wouldn’t mind? Won’t it be weird if I just turned up with you?”

Cassian’s eyebrows lifted. “You’ll come? Ah she’ll be cool with it. She’s used to me rocking up with....”

Nesta arched an eyebrow of her own. “One-night stands? Girlfriends?”

“I was going to say, ‘lovely ladies of which I’ve spent lots of pleasant time with.”

“Uh-huh.”

“I can say we bumped into each other by the door.”

Nesta blinked but kept her face impassive. Cassian had shrugged at his statement, a hand casually gesturing into the air. Casual, casual. All so casual.

Almost half a year. Dinner dates, brunch dates, lunch dates – every meal date possible they’d done it and invented some of their own. He’d attended her performances while she still had dances to perform and he was over at her apartment so much that the front door of the building now opened to let him in.

She hadn’t been to his home and they hadn’t told anyone that they were – what? Dating? Seeing each other? Sleeping together? Nesta had used the word girlfriend in relation to women who had rocked up to his brunch with Mor but that’s not what she was. Even if she was, would any of his friends, her sister’s friends, be impressed?

The only one would be pleased would be Emerie but Nesta wasn’t ready to give her the satisfaction of knowing her stunt with The Nutcracker choreography had worked.

Nesta cleared her throat. “Thinking about it, I can’t.” She kept her voice as light as she could. “I’m taking the slow route to Elain’s and if I’m late to view the peonies open, she’ll kill me.”

There was no change to Cassian’s expression, he simply nodded and relaxed his shoulders. “Sure,” he replied, and Nesta wondered if he wanted that to be the answer all along.

“I’m going to grab a shower,” she said, turning away. Usually, she would extend the invite to him but not even the pollen in the air could fight its way through the heaviness of her chest. “Feel free to stay, have some coffee.”

“No, it’s best I go. I’ll be getting the third degree from Az and Rhys about being late.”

The bed creaked behind her as he rose, his heavy tread padding its way across the floorboards. A warm kiss landed on her shoulder, “I’ll see myself out, you go grab your shower.”

Nesta turned to face him, nodding with such enthusiasm she must have resembled a bobbing goblin. She kissed him goodbye, nothing more than a brief touch of her lips on his, before dashing into her bathroom.

The shower she took was long and hot, the steam curling into condensation everywhere in the small space. “Am I unlovable?” she asked the apartment walls.

When she stepped out from under the spray of water, there was a reply in the mist on the mirror.

No, it said, you’re not.

***

Elain lived an hour from the heart of Velaris and wasn’t too difficult to get to if you knew the best method of travel. Winnow Express didn’t operate outside the city parameters and if Illyrian Air had been operational, it still wouldn't be an option Nesta would have gone with.

Peregryn Air was renowned for speed and customer service but the prices highlighted on the app were out of Nesta’s shrinking budget. In the end, she settled on Pegasus’ non-flying option which meant she travelled by horse and carriage – much to Elain’s delight when Nesta arrived.

“Look at you!” Elain had squealed. “Very classic!”

The sisters sat under the shade of an oak tree, serenaded by the hum of bees while long stemmed flowers bobbed their heads in the breeze.

“How is Velaris?” Elain asked, adjusting her wide brimmed straw hat.

“Oh, you know this time of year – perilous.”

“Have you seen a lot of Feyre?”

Nesta shook her head and took a sip of her drink. Pink and fruity and delicious with a strange but not unpleasant tingle that Nesta couldn’t put her finger on.

“I saw her in March for lunch but then the snow melted and now she’s shacked up with her boyfriend.”

“Ah yes, spring madness.”

“I just hope they’re cleaning down the counters.”

They both shuddered.

“How about you?” Elain poked an ice cube in her glass with her straw. “Are you seeing anyone?”

Before Nesta could stop herself, the words fell from her mouth. “I’m sleeping with Cassian.”

There was a shriek from Elain and the hat flew off as she leant forward over the small garden table, the ribbons of her floral dress close to sinking into the pitcher. “Noooo! When did that start?”

“Soon after Solmas.”

“Five months! Are you just sleeping with each other or is other stuff going on?”

“We've been on dates. And he stays over so much it's like he's living with me.” Nesta frowned. Where was all this coming from? Although Elain wasn’t in contact with Feyre’s inner circle, it didn’t mean that Nesta planned on spilling her guts.

“Oh my goodness,” Elain said with a giggle. “I’m not surprised, you two always had a thing for each other.”

“We did?”

“How’s the sex?”

“Best sex of my life, in fact this morning he-”

Nesta jerked back in her chair, forcing her lips to press together. Elain was leaning so far over the table now it seemed she was seconds away from clamouring over it and onto Nesta’s lap. Nesta looked at the glass in her hand, the delightful blush pink liquid almost gone showing a golden residue collecting at the bottle. She stuck her nose in for a sniff.

Yes, there it was along with the cherry and hibiscus.

“Elain – did you put Amorveritas berries in this?”

Her sister had the decency to go a little red. “Maybe.”

“Elain! That’s a gross betrayal of trust!”

Elain’s freckled nose crinkled as she sat back in her chair, adjusting her hat which had seemed to grow an extra inch to hide more of her face. “Oh, you’ll forgive me. How else am I supposed to know what’s going on in your life?”

“You could ask.”

“I always ask,” Elain said with a huff. “You say ‘its fine’ and move on. But the last time you said it was fine – and I believed you – I got that phone call from Feyre to say you’d been arrested.”

“That was sorted out. And Feyre didn’t need to get involved either.”

“Hmm.”

They sat, the heavy shade of the tree covering them greater than before. Nesta glanced up, it wasn’t her imagination that the oak was leaning over them both, trying to listen into every word. “Do you mind?” Nesta snapped.

Elain winced and waved a hand at a low hanging branch. “Sorry, it has a will of its own. Loves gossip and my life doesn't give it enough.”

Nesta placed her drink down on the table. “I thought you weren’t going to get involved in magic? I thought that was the whole point of moving away from Velaris?”

Elain sighed and looked away into her garden, fingers twisting themselves in her dress. “I wasn’t. The problem is that little seedling we have. It’s hard for it not to take root. I wasn’t bothered in the city but now I’m here and I feel like I’m in my right place and I guess it grew.”

She looked to Nesta and Nesta nodded for Elain to continue.

“I have a non-magic herb and flower garden and a magic one. But Nesta, the prices I can charge for the magic produce is ridiculous! People will pay anything! You see all these acres of land? I own them. I’m about to put a down payment for my own Pegasus delivery service.”

Nesta smiled at her sister. “That’s wonderful. I’m really pleased for you.” But something wriggled inside her. Not a writhing serpent of jealousy, more a wriggling worm of discontent. Feyre was living her best life, her art indulged at Rhys’ expense, and so was Elain with her cottage and booming business. Nesta was happy they were happy, she just wished she wasn’t so unhappy.

“I’m looking for another job,” Nesta blurted out as Elain’s eyes went wide. The confession nothing to do with the berries and more the weight Nesta felt when she woke each morning.

“Why? You adore the ballet.”

“If you thought Eris was bad, he has nothing on the new director. Give me another week and I’ll be begging to clean the stage just to stay relevant.”

“Oh, Nesta.”

“It’s fine,” Nesta said, waving her hand as though she wave away the tightening of her throat. “I’m thinking about tutoring children in dance. If I can’t be the prima ballerina any more than maybe I can teach the next one.”

“That’s a beautiful way of looking at it.”

“Yeah, I guess.”

They both went quiet and when Nesta looked over, she saw Elain’s doe brown eyes grow watery.

“No please don’t cry,” Nesta said, “I’ll bounce back, I always do.”

“Does Cassian support this?”

There was a beat of silence as Nesta reached for her glass, just needing something to hold. Nesta had no plans to finish her drink and start telling Elain everything. Before she knew it, she’d be confessing about the time she and Feyre gave Elain’s ‘Garden Witch Barbie’ a haircut and makeover.

Some things, like that Barbie, had to remain buried.

“Cassian doesn’t know.”

“Why not?”

“Because we’re sleeping together. We’re not in a committed relationship. Besides, I don’t think he’d be interested.”

Elain leant forward to rest her elbows on the table and place her head in her hands, peering at Nesta. “Are either of you seeing anyone else?”

Nesta paused. Well, she wasn’t and she didn’t think Cassian was. No, she knew he wasn’t. He’d taken a call from Rhys while she’d been cooking dinner one evening and overheard him rebuffing Rhys’ attempts at a set-up.

“I’m not. I don’t think he is.”

“And this is Cassian we’re talking about. Pretty sure a queue as long as the Rainbow Bridge exists lining up for him, and it’s not to hold his hand.”

“I’m going to ignore you now.”

Elain tilted her head, eyes not leaving Nesta. She was unnervingly like Feyre when she had something in her sights. The Archeron family gift being a sliver of magic and a shit-ton of stubborn wilfulness. “Why don’t you think he’d be interested?”

Nesta shrugged her shoulder and looked around the garden for something, anything, that would remove her out of this conversation. Aside from placid rows of flowers and a nervous looking cherry tree nothing was coming to hand.

“He’s not seeing anyone else but it’s not like he wants anyone knowing he’s seeing me either. We only go out to places no one we know goes to, I haven’t even seen his apartment let alone spent a night there and this morning he suggested we pretend to bump into each other so I could join him and Mor for brunch.”

Elain straightened in her chair. “He invited you to brunch with Mor?”

“Not really.”

“Yes, he did! And we’re talking blonde bombshell Mor? Ex-girlfriend Mor? Best friend forever Mor?”

Nesta narrowed her eyes. “Is there any other?”

Fae were notorious for many things; parent issues, extensive criminal records, long lifespans and ridiculously high sex drives. Sooner or later, most fae found their way into each other’s beds, or bathrooms, or balconies, or underwater sex centres if Nesta believed Gwyn’s stories.

Cassian and Mor had both lived a long life, so long that Cassian didn't remember birthdays. But he did remember meeting Mor and finding her, in his words, ‘painfully attractive.’ Mor thought the same of him and they indulged in their mutual attraction until the spark burnt out before it became a fire.

Aside from Azriel, Mor was a rare factor in Cassian’s life that would remain until the end of eternity. Not even Rhys held that honour. Nesta had only met Mor a handful of times through their connection via Rhys and Feyre. Those occasions hadn’t been unpleasant, had even verged on cordial, but Nesta wasn’t known for natural warmth and Mor hadn’t extended conversation beyond polite pleasantries.

“I think you should talk to Cassian,” Elain said, “because I think you’re wrong. I think he would be interested to know what’s going on in your life and I think you want to tell him. You’re pissy over this whole Mor brunch thing which means you like him.”

“Well of course I like him.”

“No, you like him, like him. As in ‘you want him to be your boyfriend’ levels of like.”

Nesta snorted, a noise she hadn’t made in years. Feyre brought out the bratty teenager in her and Elain brought out the bratty child. “We’re grown women talking about liking boys. Soon we’re going to be doodling initials over hearts.”

“There have been studies on the success of doodle magic.”

Nesta sighed and rubbed her forehead, their talk kickstarting a headache. Soon she’d be begging to talk about anything else, even if it was Elain’s pruning routine.

“Nesta,” Elain said, quieter this time. “Please talk to Cassian. Five months is a long time – no don’t interrupt – I know five months is nothing for fae or Illyrians but I remember Feyre saying once that Cassian doesn’t do relationships.”

“Exactly.”

“No, I mean he doesn’t do anything that lasts over a month. In Cassian time, you’re married.”

“Elain-”

“Just promise me you’ll talk to him.”

***

Nesta had to begrudgingly accept that she’d softened over the years.

A promise had been extracted from her by Elain and a basket had been thrust into her hands. According to Elain the sex apples were all the seasonal rage. Nesta eyed up the shining red fruit and was beginning to understand how Elain was now able to afford the construction of her own set of Pegasus stables.

She trudged up the stairs of her building, ignoring the breathy moans from behind her neighbours’ doors on each floor. The sooner spring was over, the better.

Nesta heard Cassian before she saw him, a loud baritone passing as singing vibrating through the walls. Her apartment was now letting him waltz right in and that irritated her. This was her home; he had his own. Probably.

The door opened for her and she murmured a half-hearted thanks to the building which caused it to slam behind her. Cassian was in her small kitchenette, wings tucked in, hair tied up, wearing an armless undershirt revealing his swirling Illyrian tattoos.

He looked up, a broad grin on his face. “Hey, how was your day?”

“Fine,” she said, placing the basket onto the sideboard and looked around. Cassian’s jacket and shirt were thrown over her bed, his overnight bag back in the same corner he’d left it.

“Tea?”

“No thanks.”

“I thought we'd go out for dinner tonight, Autumn Court has just opened a new restaurant, The Forest House. I could fly there in less than an hour. The website says to expect lots of smoked meats and craft ales.”

Cassian boiled his water, a mug with a teabag waiting on the side from his unique blend of tea which now lived in her cupboard. The kettle whistled and a surge of irritation bubbled beneath her skin. The water never boiled that quick for her.

“Why are you here?”

Cassian’s smile slid from his face. “What do you mean? I always stay over on Saturday nights, it’s our thing.”

“Is it? Or is it just convenient for you so you don’t have to leave after fucking? Because that’s what we do, that’s ‘our thing’ – we eat and fuck.”

Cassian’s mouth dropped open but only for a second. “What did you just say?” His voice was soft but disarmingly so. The kind of soft the mermaids used before they sank their sharpened nails into your calf.

“You heard.” Nesta shifted where she stood, wondering where this was coming from, wondering if Elain had snuck something else into her glass.

For the briefest of moment’s Cassian’s face changed into something unrecognisable. Suddenly he was wearing a different face, one Nesta had never seen directed at her but was likely a familiar sight to those he hunted down as a bounty hunter. Black consumed all of his eyes, his wings flexing, talons scrapping against the brickwork. A muscle twitched in his jaw as he clenched his teeth, while a shadow passed over his features.

His eyes scanned her face, his nostrils flaring. This version of Cassian, albeit restrained, was still dark and dangerous and Nesta’s pulse hammered in her throat with a reason far from anything considered arousal.

Then, the moment drifted away. Cassian let the moment drift away as though it were a cloud in the spring breeze.

“How’s Elain?” he asked, injecting a lightness to his tone.

“She’s fine,” Nesta said with a frown.

“And what happened to put you in this mood? What did she say?”

An indignant snarl left Nesta’s mouth. Best Cassian know all of her she decided. He’d heard Feyre’s stories of how difficult Nesta could be. “She didn’t say anything. And how dare you! I’m not in any mood, this is my home, I want to sit on my couch, watch ‘Suriel on Saturday’ and do fuck all.”

“Then we’ll do that.”

A shriek left Nesta’s mouth and she pushed the base of her palms against her eyes until she saw lights. She took a deep breath in, trying to remember the exercises she’d been taught from her court ordered ‘Temper Your Temper’ class.

When her breathing calmed, she pulled her hands away. Cassian still standing in the same place, eyes fixed on her.

“Don’t look at me like that.”

“Like what?”

“Like you think I’m losing it, like I’m something to be pitied.”

“I’m not-” he began and paused, scrubbing one large hand over his face. “I don’t understand where this is coming from.”

Any energy Nesta had vanished, and she turned to the section of her apartment which acted as her living area and walked over to the couch, sinking into the oversized cushions and pulling her knees underneath her. She stared at a blank spot on the wall ahead.

“I’m going to quit the ballet.”

A soft ‘what’ came from the kitchen followed by the heaviness of Cassian’s tread before the couch dipped under his weight. Nesta swayed towards the middle, their knees brushing.

“Why?”

Nesta cleared her throat. “I’m not being utilised and won’t be for as long as Tamlin is in residence and he’s not going anywhere fast. The longer I stay, the more I doubt my ability so I need to get out while I still believe I’m good. I am you know – good.”

There was a chuckle next to her and she turned to look at Cassian, a broad grin stretched across his face, any hint of his earlier anger gone. “You are,” he said, “I have your Nutcracker performance etched in my memory. Might get a tattoo of it. Before we started dating, I masturbated to it more than was healthy.”

Nesta coughed on air and chose to ignore his latter comment. “We’re dating?”

Cassian frowned, turning towards her. “What else are we doing?”

“Sleeping together.”

“Yeah, but the other stuff – the hanging out, the going out – that’s not dating to you?”

Nesta pinched the skin between her eyebrows in her fingers, a tension headache beginning to rise.

In the basket of fruits Elain had gifted her, there was a nectarine designed to soothe any ailments but her mouth was dry and her throat was tight. If she tried to swallow a bite, she was concerned she’d choke and turn into some tragic modern fairy tale.

The last thing Nesta needed right now was a series of dwarves rocking up to cart her off in a glass coffin to be gawked at by perverts. They had a habit of turning up every time there was a fruit related choking incident.

She sighed, releasing the skin between her fingertips. “Yes, but also – no. When I’ve dated other people, I’ve felt like I’m in their life. I don’t always end up meeting their friends but at the least I’ve been to their homes you know? I haven’t been invited back to yours once.”

“Ah,” Cassian said, “so there’s a reason I haven’t invited you back to me place.” A deep crimson bloomed on his cheeks. “I don’t actually have a place to invite you back to.”

Nesta blinked at him, the words taking longer to meet her brain than she would have thought.

“I’m not homeless,” Cassian said. “I have a house, a very nice house, lots of bookshelves – you’d love it. It’s in Illyria. I didn’t want to put roots down in Velaris so I fly the distance to the city each time I come or I stay with Rhys and Feyre. I figured if I invited you back to theirs, it would be weird.”

Nesta opened her mouth to speak only to close it again. Words were taking longer to exit her brain too.

“I am looking to rent a place,” Cassian continued. “It’s been on my mind more and more but I didn’t want to get ahead of myself and do that if there wasn’t a reason to. We hadn’t discussed where this was going and you seemed to be quite casual so...”

Cassian trailed off, gazing at the same empty spot on the wall opposite that had enraptured Nesta earlier.

“You fly from Illyria to Velaris. Daily?”

“Now, I do. Yeah.”

“And you think I’m casual about this? About us?”

Cassian inhaled and turned to face her again. “Yeah, you’ve never mentioned wanting to do anything more – announce to friends or see my place so I figured you either didn’t care or didn’t mind me being here all the time. You never told Emerie that we got together after Solmas so I thought you didn’t want people to know. I thought you were embarrassed.”

“Huh.”

Nesta processed his words. She hadn’t told Emerie, even when pressed, that her stunt with the Illyrian choreography had worked. It was nothing to do embarrassment over Cassian but more that Nesta’s pride couldn’t handle how Emerie had read the situation from a distance.

“I’ve told Elain. She seems to think you’re into me.”

“She’s right. I am into you. In a massive way.”

“I’m kind of into you too. In a massive way.”

Cassian’s following laugh was more nervous air being released from his lungs than mirth.

Nesta reached out to grab the material of his undershirt. “If you’re so into me, why did you invite me to brunch with you and Mor and suggest we go through an insulting charade?”

Cassian winced, reaching out to clasp her hand with his own, his large fingers entwining through her thin ones. His wings flexed and unflexed behind him.

“I’ve spoken about you so much to Mor. If she hasn’t worked out that we’re seeing each other, she’s worked out I’m into you. I thought if we could have brunch she’d see how awesome you were but I didn’t want to pressure you so thought I’d suggest something more.... casual.”

“I was agreeing until you started bringing up ex-girlfriends and making stupid suggestions!”

Cassian began to say something and then stopped before replying. “Well, I panicked.”

They sat back on the couch, Nesta’s hand now removed from Cassian’s top but her hand still cradled in his. The floorboards above them creaked in a rhythm as spring claimed the upstairs neighbours.

“What’s it like staying at Rhys?” Nesta asked.

Cassian shuddered. “Awful. One time I had to hose them.”

Nesta laughed and Cassian looked at her, eyes twinkling. Then, the twinkle dimmed a little. “I’m sorry about the ballet,” he said, his voice gentle, “I know you loved it.”

Nesta shrugged, feigning nonchalance but she knew Cassian could tell she was faking from the way he squeezed her hand. “Some things are meant to come to an end.”

“Not all things I hope,” he said, flexing his thumb to caress her skin.

Nesta squeezed back. “No, not all things.”

What would be her plan now? Options whirred through her mind. Find a new job, quit her current one, call Emerie for a drink where Nesta could confess that Emerie’s plan had worked and listen to her gloat on her genius for a couple of hours. Have brunch with Mor. Tell Feyre.

“What are you thinking?” Cassian asked her.

“I’m thinking we need to step up our game. I need to find a new role and you need to get an apartment that doesn’t cause you to hit your head on beams.”

“It’s fine – the beams move for me.”

“Of course, they do,” Nesta said with a glance upwards at her ceiling. If brick and mortar could shrug, it would have. “Then I was thinking we could have dinner with our collection of weirdos, tell them we’re in a committed relationship and sit back as they argue over it while we eat dessert.”

The broadest grin she’d ever seen appeared on Cassian’s face, “Yeah?”

“Only if you’re up for it?”

“Oh,” he said, a growl to his voice as he leant forward, “I’m always up for it.”

Nesta rolled her eyes - honestly, spring.

“Wait,” she said, placing her hand on Cassian’s bare chest – how in the Mother had he removed his top so fast? She looked over his shoulder to the basket of fruit on the sideboard, the juicy red sex apples shining. “First, I’m going to bake us a very nice fruit.”

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partfae · 3 months ago

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Sauron, Galadriel, & Tolkien's Theology of Repentance - Part One

Summary: Character meta analysis on Sauron (and Galadriel, through the lens of Sauron). Based on both Silmarillion & RoP canon. 3.5k words. Discussion of Catholic theology involved. Blanket TW for discussion of violence, manipulation, etc., because Sauron. Spoilers for S1 & S2 and the Silmarillion, of course. The tragedy of Sauron is that he gets offered so many legitimate chances at redemption and forgiveness, and he denies them every single time. But we know he wants absolution, because that’s what he sees Galadriel as: his chance to bind himself back to the light, to be Mairon again, to heal the pain that he caused and that was caused to him under Morgoth. But because he has such a warped view of himself and his actions, he dismisses genuine extensions of compassion, forgiveness, and care as simultaneously beneath him and too good for him. And yet, he still pursues redemption, but through none of the channels offered to him.

In The Rings of Power, he’s given the explicit instruction to change for the good in the village after he’s reborn. He’s given the chance leave his past behind and work meaningfully in Númenor. He’s given the chance to redeem himself by Galadriel's offer of friendship (or love, depending on your interpretation). In the Silmarillion, he's even given the chance by Eönwë himself, and comes close to leaving Morgoth behind completely!

Let's look at this passage from Of the Rings of Power and the Third Age (emphasis mine):

When Thangorodrim was broken and Morgoth overthrown, Sauron put on his fair hue again and did obeisance to Eönwë the herald of Manwë, and abjured all his evil deeds. And some hold that this was not at first falsely done, but that Sauron in truth repented, if only out of fear, being dismayed by the fall of Morgoth and the great wrath of the Lords of the West. But it was not in the power of Eönwë to pardon those of his own order, and he commanded Sauron to return to Aman and there receive the judgement of Manwë. Then Sauron was ashamed, and he was unwilling to return in humiliation to receive from the Valar a sentence, it might be, of long servitude in proof of his good faith; for under Morgoth his power had been great. Therefore when Eönwë departed he hid himself in Middle-earth; and he fell back into evil, for the bonds that Morgoth had laid upon him were very strong.

This passage is clear that Eönwë is willing to pardon Sauron--he simply did not posses the power to do so. But when Sauron was told he must appeal directly Manwë, he gave up entirely and skulked back to Middle-earth. There are a few ways to read this:

1. He was not wholly repentant

Sauron simply wanted the protection of a new master in the absence of Melkor. i.e., he was rather fickle and simply wanted to be on whatever the "winning" side was. This is supported by the text literally saying that at least some of his obeisance was completely false, and that he only made a point of feeling bad about anything once his master had been chucked into the Void and his armies and strongholds were being destroyed (Thangorodrim). In this reading, perhaps Eönwë saw Sauron's treachery and referred him to Manwë knowing that it would be a test of his true intent. However, while a valid interpretation, I believe this to be the less holistic of the two.

2. He was truly repentant

Sauron did truly feel badly and "abjured all his evil deeds," but he was unwilling/unable to humble himself after being so fundamentally broken by Melkor and developing an insatiable power lust (hey, he isn't defined in the narrative by lust and pride for nothing).

Earlier in this same chapter, Tolkien wrote that Sauron could "...deceive all but the most wary." This is in the specific context of his physical shapeshifting. But, I would argue that this can also be tied to his lies. Tolkien has a specific ethic of beauty, where physical perfection is equated with moral goodness. Sauron completely inverts what is otherwise a hard and fast rule within Tolkien's writings by being the character most frequently described as "fair"--seven times to Lúthien's six, and she was the most beautiful woman to have ever lived!

(Side note: I have another post on Tolkien & beauty in the works where I'll get more into this idea)

Why does this matter? Even though this interaction with Eönwë takes place in the First Age, Sauron could at this point be in the demonic form Mirdania describes in the forge. And, I am inclined to believe that Eönwë, as the head Maiar and herald of Manwë, would be a pretty wary guy, and thus able to sense any of Sauron's trickery. I read this to mean that Eönwë looked at Sauron and saw his potential to be Mairon again, either in absence of his evil form or in spite of it.

Because Sauron is incredibly beautiful. And even if it is a disguise of the true, depreciated form of his spiritual essence, he presented himself to Eönwë at his most beautiful. He wanted, even in his act of repentance, to make himself more favorable in Eönwë's eyes. To show up as Mairon (who was likely close friends with Eönwë before everything went down, since they are considered to be two of the most powerful Maia and would have worked closely together).

But I don't think this was all manipulation on Sauron's end. I agree with the scholars mentioned in the text who believed that Sauron was truly repentant--which is why Eönwë even bothered referring him to Manwë instead of kicking him into the Void with Melkor.

And this is the tragedy: Sauron is told exactly how to repent, and believes fundamentally that it is an impossible path for him. And yet, he still longs so intrinsically for it! He was, under Aulë, a Maia of precision, perfection, and order. Under Morgoth, he feels disordered, dis-regulated. He needs to correct the fundamental imbalance within him, so why does he flee Eönwë?

It comes back to Sauron's pride.

If he follows through with this path of reconciliation, there is no way he can hide or pretend his actions away. If he cannot trick his fellow Maiar, he certainly cannot trick the Valar. And he cannot stand the idea of submitting himself back under their rule, especially now that he has tasted power. This is a pride wound; it is why the idea of confessing to Manwë would be humiliating to him as opposed to just upsetting/uncomfortable.

Again, the pivotal moment: he is told how to make amends for crimes and determines that he cannot do it. So he returns to Middle-earth and stews in his own self-hated and self-pity for a few years. In that time, he consciously or subconsciously latches onto Eönwë's offer--forgiveness from penance. It is the way forward. And if he cannot earn penance at Manwë's hand, he will do it on his own.

The Prodigal Son

This is where we have to talk about the Catholic roots of Tolkien's work for a moment. The scene where Sauron approaches Eönwë mirrors the biblical parable of the prodigal son. In this story, a man abandons his family, spends all his money, and falls into ruin. But when he recognizes his failings and returns to his father to get help, he is welcomed back into the family without question--in other words, he is forgiven and restored to his former position.

17 But when he [the prodigal son] came to himself he said, “How many of my father’s hired hands have bread enough and to spare, but here I am dying of hunger! 18 I will get up and go to my father, and I will say to him, ‘Father, I have sinned against heaven and before you; 19 I am no longer worthy to be called your son; treat me like one of your hired hands.’” 20 So he set off and went to his father. But while he was still far off, his father saw him and was filled with compassion; he ran and put his arms around him and kissed him. - Luke 15:11-32, NRSV CE (emphasis mine)

The parallel is clear; Mairon, the repentant Maia, returns home with hopes of reconciliation. He is prescribed the same task that the prodigal son offered to his father: he must be bound in servitude to his father/creator in order to pay off his debts. This is a deliberate allusion from Tolkien. The story of the prodigal son models the path of reconciliation that Eönwë describes. Tolkien seems to be drawing a line in the sand with this: Sauron is unwilling to do the work required by the Valar for repentance, so he is unable to receive the grace of a warm welcome back into the fold of the Ainur. Since he did not humble himself, he has to be told to do it. And he does not want to! He wants to be loved, but he also wants his power--evidence, in a way, of how his character was fundamentally altered in his time with Morgoth.

His pride--and his fear--cut him off from the potential of grace. He does not know for certain that Manwë would subject him to servitude (though I would argue that it's textually evident that it is a custom), but this assumption leads him to flee, which allows him to slip back into his old ways.

He wants to be Mairon (admirable) again, not Sauron (abhorrent). He wants to be accepted and loved, but not punished. He wants the benefits of reconciliation without the work he would have to do to earn it or the shame he would feel as he did. It's pride, but it's also deep shame--the flip side of his extreme ego is an implicit self-hatred, one that we can see in the subtext of how he speaks about himself and about his time with Morgoth.

Even the language Tolkien uses is heavily shame-coded, especially in a Catholic context; Mairon did not go willingly, he was "seduced." He admits to Celebrimbor that he was "tortured by a god". It becomes exceedingly clear through both text and on-screen canon that Sauron was routinely broken and abused for centuries. This has fundamentally damaged his self-perception, which is ultimately what leads him to "[fall] back into evil"--whether due to pride or shame, he hides, perhaps because he consciously or subconsciously does not believe that he deserves forgiveness, no matter how much he craves it.

Naked in the Garden

His flight back to Middle-earth after meeting Eönwë is reminiscent of another biblical scene, where Adam and Eve, after committing the first sin, hide from God in shame and fear (emphasis mine):

7 Then the eyes of both were opened, and they knew that they were naked...9 But the Lord God called to the man, and said to him, “Where are you?” 10 He said, “I heard the sound of you in the garden, and I was afraid, because I was naked; and I hid myself.” -Genesis 7-10, NRSV CE

The image of nakedness is, here, one of vulnerability, and Tolkien establishes that Sauron fears that which he cannot control. He needs the Rings under his power. He needs his armies and his enemies under his watchful eye. He is petrified of letting his power slip away (possibly due to never wanting to feel powerless in the hands of a Vala, fallen or not, again).

The biblical allusion here hearkens back to the fear Tolkien describes Sauron as feeling regarding his return to the Ainur. In the religious system Tolkien has established, which is likely inspired by his own religious beliefs, Sauron has sinned, and must make penance. But he is afraid of God/Manwë, and does not want to "let go" of his sin. In other words, he is not truly repentant. This reflects the Catholic sacrament of confession, which requires self-reflection and resolve to never commit the sin again.

Instead of shame driving him to contrition, it drives him to isolation.

But he still wants forgiveness. So, in his years of hiding in Middle-earth, he decides to earn it himself. His own way.

Enter the Rings.

Sauron wants to perfect the wrong he wreaked so that he can both earn his way back into the Ainur and keep his power. But what he does not realize is that this does not work. Eönwë is clear that he must forsake his true temptation--absolute power--through penance by submission. Yet Sauron in his pride thinks he can have it all. Sauron is a very carefully controlled villain, and the only times he snaps or makes significant mistakes are when his inflated self-perception is challenged, revealing the self-loathing and/or self-pity underneath. The best example of this is when he kills Celebrimbor prematurely, and cries afterwards. Why? Because Celebrimbor was right about him, and he hates it. He hates knowing that he is nothing more than the Morgoth's shadow, because Morgoth was his master as much as he was his tormentor. As Sauron puts it, his relationship with Morgoth was often defined by pain as a test to see "whose will was the mightier":

This image carries more shame, both in its implicit sexual connotations and in the simple power dynamic of it. Sauron, even though misguided, is rallying against Morgoth. He wants to break what Morgoth has created and build something new, something better, something apart from his old master entirely. But Celebrimbor confronts him with reality: he has not created something new, and perfect, and special, as he so wanted to--he can only act in imitation, not in generation. And when he got close with the Rings, it cost him everything. It's almost like he wants the power of a Vala, and loathes that he cannot attain it.

And this is why he becomes so singularly obsessed with Galadriel.

She’s his foil. They both crave power and adoration, but in the end of things, she does not fold under his temptation. She turns down everything she has ever wanted for the greater good and for the sake of her own soul. Sauron looks at Galadriel and perceives that she would have succeeded at Eönwë's test because she is willing and able to humble herself. This maddens him to the point of both desiring her and desiring to break her.

She learns that she is easily tempted and becomes strong enough to handle it (through a lot of tough love from Elrond & co.). She has to learn how to do it, but she is able to.

She grows from someone who resisted and rejected authority to someone who is trusted as an authority because of her ability to wield it wisely (see: Gil-galad allowing her to answer for him in 2x08).

In other words, she earns the trust, love, and support of her community. Sauron has to force his to comply—it is an illusion of love.

His possessive obsession with her also stems from her fairness. She was the object of her uncle Fëanor's obsessive desire for creation as well. Her hair was the inspiration of the Silmarils (see: The History of Galadriel and Celeborn; The Shibboleth of Fëanor - source with page #s here), which Morgoth desired more than anything to possess.

Sauron, wanting to spite his master, wants one better--to own that which inspired the Silmarils, to own the image of fairness (and thus of moral good) completely. This is why he wants to bind himself to her. This is why he needs her. He sees Galadriel as his mechanism of repentance, and his last triumph over Morgoth. Winning her is his salvation as much as it is proving that his will is the mightier. It is his way of dominating Morgoth. This starts, I think, as a genuine effort at proving himself to the Valar, but quickly consumes him entirely. He is overcome with the desire for revenge, just as Galadriel was at the beginning of the First Age.

And he sees this in her. Sees their similarities. Sees that she, too, is angry and lonely and so afraid of losing her power. And he leverages that to befriend her. This is where it gets ambiguous and you can read RoP as either painting the image of Sauron being earnest but completely misguided in his proposal, or you can see it as him being entirely manipulative.

I think the truth of that scene probably falls somewhere in the middle; just like when he presents himself to Eönwë, he is sincere in his desire, but only knows how to present it in an inherently contriving way. He does want to bind her to him, so he tries to only reveal to her the good aspect of that desire (and also of his desire for power, which he allows her to see because he believes that it is good and also because she understands it), and not the ugly underside of his internal struggle against Morgoth, the Valar, and himself.

And I do think, in his own way, he cared about her. Galadriel consistently shows kindness and compassion to him. In S1, they grow to know each other's minds and souls, and she considers him a close friend. He finds comfort in this, that someone could see the blackness of his heart and care for him anyway. He thought, in his isolation, that he lost that chance when he fled back to Middle-earth. And here is the very picture of the light itself telling him that she supports him, that she sees the good in him, that she wants to help him set the world to rights! Of course he is infatuated by this. Of course he also wants to use it. He is Sauron.

But Galadriel succeeds where he fails, so he stops playing nice and tries to forcibly drag her down with him. First, by baiting her with the image of the man she cared deeply for:

Then, by reminding her of all she is losing by rejecting him:

And she is still strong enough to say no. And not just to say no, but to shut the door completely. To look in the face of everything she has desired for centuries and turn it down, understanding that it will ruin her. Yes, she hesitates. Yes, she still wants it (wants him). But she wins the day by holding fast to the light that Sauron wishes so badly to bind himself to.

Because she has lost everything--her brother, her husband, the station as commander, the trust of her high king and best friend--and earns it back only through her resistance of her greatest temptation. It is a struggle, it is painful, it nearly kills her--but she does it. She wins the test that Sauron could not even bear to face.

In their headlong, self-sacrificial tendencies, they are the same. Both view themselves as fundamentally stronger/better than their peers while also being deeply lonely due to their self-imposed isolation (Galadriel's laser-focused hunt for revenge, Sauron's exile in Middle-earth). But to Galadriel, the light is more important than her pride.

For Sauron, the light is his source of pride. He desires it more than anything, but condemns himself to never being able to touch it due to his rejection of Eönwë's offer. Paradoxically, he tries to grasp at it through Galadriel, the living silmaril, and succeeds only in darkening her. We learn from Gil-galad in 2x08 that his crown piercing her flesh in an act of brutal domination nearly strips her soul from her and pitches it into the unseen world. In this, Sauron is saying: If I cannot have you, I will force you to need me. I will break you into loving me.

He says this to Celebrimbor as well. He no longer knows how to love properly. He only knows how to inflict pain until this object of his obessive desire needs him--just like how his immortal spirit was broken into submission by Morgoth. And isn't this revealing of his own sense of self? He refuses to suffer the path of light, but willingly suffers the maddening path of darkness because it is a comfortable, familiar suffering. One, he tells Celebrimbor, he even grew to enjoy (2x08). As the path of the Rings drive him madder and madder, his desire for the light (Galadriel) and the return of his power (Celebrimbor) become further disordered and corrupted until they culminate in him destroying them--and his chance at earning/owning them--entirely.

And this is Sauron's ultimate point of no return (which we will hopefully see in S3 🤞). The razing of Eregion and slaying of Celebrimbor were acts of petty rage he committed when his pride was injured. This was the final nail in the coffin. Galadriel, in her rejection of him, ruins what he sees as his true chance for redemption.

Galadriel, now stepping into the role of Eönwë, re-opens the invitation: "Heal yourself!" (2x08). But in rage and shame and stubborn pride, he turns it down again. I believe this is where his desire to heal Middle-earth shifts fundamentally into desire to dominate Middle-earth. He always wanted to rule, but now he wants to own.