#devlon calls her a witch

[theladyofbloodshed]

Did Cassian really think taking Nesta to Illyria to train for the FIRST TIME when she's in leathers that make her uncomfortable and doesn't actually want to train was a good idea?

OR did he hope that she'd feel guilty enough about making HIM look like a fool that she'd join in?

Either way, he can't read a room

[qwimblenorrisstan]

Just This Once | Cassian x Witch!Reader

Summary: After a witch has been discovered in Windhaven, Cassian has been sent to bring the creature back, and ‘domesticate’ her, according to Rhys. It proves a difficult task, but he soon discovers that you aren’t as ‘strong and independent’ as you seem.

Word Count: ~4.6k

Warnings: Mentions of death, blades, fighting, basically kidnapping, past trauma, light angst, but happy endings with snuggles.

A/N: got carried away with this bc it was originally just the fighting scene and I decided to flesh it out some…lmk if you want a part two, hope you enjoy <3

Requests are open!

When Cassian had heard the news of disappearances in the Illyrian Steppes, he expected the usual, the ancient beasts that lurked in the woods getting a bit too bold or hungry. It didn’t happen often, but when powerful Illyrian males were gone without a trace, taken during the night with only the barest signs of a struggle…what the hell else could it be?

Or at least, that’s what he’d thought until he’d been summoned to Windhaven by Devlon, who seemed a bit too eager for him to arrive. That was the first sign that something was wrong. He and Devlon shared a very mutual hatred for each other, mixed with only a teaspoon of respect.

Everything began making more sense as he strode into the camp, or more accurately his entire theory on the beasts shattered to pieces as soon as he entered the center of the camp and saw you in the center.

“Your blood will pay for this,”

You hissed, iron nails on full display as you were held down by multiple males, most of which had deep claw marks on their skin, only clotting because of their immortal blood. As soon as his gaze locked with yours, he heard the snapping clang sound as your metal teeth slammed down, and bared at him.

He’d heard rumors, sure, old folktales and rumors of creatures like you, but in all his centuries of blood, gore, and horror, he had never actually come into contact with a witch, let alone one from the Ironteeth Clans. As much as he would love to believe he hadn’t seen a thing, that you were just some other random creature he could kill and be done with it, those nails, dripping with Illyrian blood, and your teeth, caked with it….

Mother above, he needed to tell Rhys about this. A witch, let alone an Ironteeth witch, in Illyria, killing men and devouring them under the cover of night. But for now, he needed to deal with this, a temporary solution…

*********************************************************

You were pissed, but not surprised.

The males in this village were quite stupid, but even the dumbest of creatures would eventually notice that they were being picked off one by one. The worst part? They had played you like a fool, setting up one lonesome male as bait, and luring you in before trapping her.

You thrashed and hissed, clawing at the males who were stupid enough to loosen their grip on your wrists, and as soon as their skin was punctured they shoved you to the ground again. One of them finally had the wisdom to push you onto your stomach, their knee pushing down on your back to keep you down.

From your limited sight, you could see one particularly large male talking to who looked like the overseer of this camp, Devlon, the other males here had called him. They seemed to be in heated debate, before with a huff, the overseer reluctantly seemed to agree with something. He barked out orders to some of them, and the next thing you knew, they had restrained and grabbed you, dragging your writhing body somewhere, and then you were thrown into a pitch-black room, a door slamming behind you and twisting with what sounded like a locking mechanism.

You were immediately on your feet, feeling around for any sign of an escape route, your eyes easily adjusting to the darkness. It was a small cell of sorts, made of stone and sturdy, no matter how you pounded and banged against the walls, they showed no sign of relenting.

And so you were trapped, at the mercy of your prey.

*********************************************************

“You’re telling me that there’s a witch in Windhaven that’s been eating the males?”

Rhys’ doubtful and exasperated tone didn’t surprise him. He knew his brother only had the best intentions, and being High Lord wasn’t exactly an easy job.

“Yes, I’m telling you, I saw her nails and - gods, she had iron teeth, Rhys! They put her in a cell to hold her for now, but what the hell are we supposed to do?”

Cassian said, his voice frenzied and just as confused as Devlon had seemed. What were they even supposed to do to a witch? The Illyrians would want it killed as a retribution for the males they lost, but then they could have an entire coven of angry, pissed-off witches looking for blood. Gods, this was a mess.

“Bring her here.”

Rhys then said, his tone cautiously neutral. He had his scheming face on, a plan already forming in that clever head of his.

“What?”

“Bring her here. We can put her on a watch, and keep her under our control. Then we’d have a bargaining chip if any other witches show up.”

“This is a bloodthirsty witch, Rhys, not a pawn in your political games. She might hurt someone, or-“

“Then domesticate her. I’ve no doubt you’re the person for it.”

He said with an infuriatingly dismissive wave of his hand, his eyes going back to the paperwork on his desk. Sometimes he wondered if Rhys was genius or stupid, and this was a very large gamble. With a huff, Cassian relented.

“Fine. Where are we going to keep her?”

He asked, an annoyed frown already forming on his face.

“The House.”

“You’re putting a witch in the House of Wind?”

“Yes. Get going, you have a witch to transport.”

He stared in disbelief for a moment as Rhys, shaking his head and muttering under his breath stormed out of the office, shutting the door behind him, bordering on slamming it. Outside, he was met with Azriel leaning against the wall by the door, clearly waiting his turn to go inside, and also eavesdropping.

“Seriously, Az, can you believe this? Give me some backup here-“

Azriel shook his head simply, going to walk into the office. He looked over Cassian once, then spoke.

“Good luck.”

He said, not even a hint of pity in his voice. The bastard. It was Cassian against the world today, apparently.

His mind already running to thoughts of how this witch would probably gut him in his sleep, if not while he was awake just to enjoy making him suffer, he walked outside and took off for Windhaven.

*********************************************************

The world went from dark stone floors to dusty dirt ground before you could even realize it. They were dragging you again. At least they had the sense to tie you up, even if you could easily shred through them with your iron nails though you kept them retracted.

This time, you were dragged towards the male who’d been talking with Devlon. The males seemed to hate him, it was obvious in their scents, but they held a certain begrudging respect and even a hint of fear of him.

His eyes were a warm hazel, and he had a rugged handsome look about him, just enough stubble to not be too much, his hair shoulder length and dark, tied back. He had quite the muscular build as well, a few scars, and he reeked of annoyance as you were nearly thrown at him.

He grabbed you by the ties around your wrists, inspecting them and knowing that it wouldn’t stop a creature like you, born of darkness and inhuman strength.

“You are coming with me, and you are going to behave.”

His rough voice thundered out. The other males watched, some eager to see a fight break out between you and him. You laughed, a raspy, amused laugh.

“I will behave how I see fit.”

You replied your voice nearly a hiss. You were parched, your throat dry as a desert. Witches didn’t bow to the likes of anyone or anything, and she would not bow to this male. A Blackbeak bowed to no one, a statement carved into her very soul.

“Unless you want me to rip those pretty iron parts out, I’d suggest behaving well.”

He said, looking wholly unamused and unthreatened by you. A threat to a witch’s iron teeth and nails was something that couldn’t go unpunished. But now wasn’t the time, and she knew that despite the snarl that ripped through her throat.

The male forced her to walk beside him, and without warning, his wings flapped powerfully and he took off, cutting through the sky while adjusting her to be loosely held in his arms. An intimidation tactic, most likely, his loose grip a threat that he would drop her if she put up any fight.

It worked.

*********************************************************

Cassian wasn’t sure what he’d expected from the witch once in the air, but she was putting up less fight than he’d expected.

The wind howled past his ears, creating that tunnel-like feel he was all too used to. His wings pounded against the wind, carrying the both of you to Night Court, where he was supposed to willingly let a witch live with him and Azriel. He still hated that, and he probably would forever.

You seemed oddly mesmerized by the wind, as if it also sang to your blood, urging you to go higher and higher like it always did with him, carrying him away in a flurry of instincts.

Well, at least you hadn’t tried to attack him. Yet.

Only minutes later, he was landing at the front of the House of Wind. He could see the surprise in your golden eyes, sharp and cunning, at the sheer height of the House. It wasn’t shocking, as it was up a 10,000-step staircase.

He jutted his chin in the direction of the House, walking inside.

“The House is sentient, it’ll give you everything you need, and nothing more.”

You seemed amused by that, huffing out a humorless laugh.

“A self-serving house, perfect for your soft-hearted race.”

Your voice said, raspy and mocking, an irritating smirk on your face, despite him having the upper hand. He growled at the insult, his wings flaring in irritation.

“Watch it, or I’ll show you just how soft-hearted we can be.”

He snapped, immediately regretting it as your smirk widened. You wanted a reaction, you were feeding off of them and he was supplying you with them.

“I’d love to see what an overgrown bat can do on the battlefield. Flap aggressively at the enemy? Terrifying, truly.”

You retorted, at which he turned to you and snarled again.

“You and I are going to have some problems, I can already tell. If you’re so eager to get your ass handed to you, then you can wake up bright and early, and we can work this out the traditional way.”

He snarled, and you looked utterly ecstatic at the possibility of fighting him that he regretted that offer too. He wasn’t too good with being threatening, especially when you seemed to love the concept of fighting, which was standard for a witch, he decided.

“Gladly. See you in the morning, bastard.”

You drawled, one handful of iron nails suddenly sliding out and scraping lightly over his leathers as you walked past him. The comment made him stiffen. How had you known he was a bastard? You could’ve overheard it in the camps, but still…

*********************************************************

The House thrummed with an ancient power, a sentient one according to the big Illyrian brute.

Witches operated by many beliefs and rules, but one of the biggest beliefs was that males were useful for two things only, rutting and food. Which was why you didn’t care much for him, and certainly didn’t respect him whatsoever no matter who he was or why.

The House led her down one of the many hallways. You could smell someone else here, someone who reeked of shadows and darkness, but stayed hidden, only watching quietly. The shadows seemed to move unnaturally here. You snarled at them, feeling idiotic for growling at nothing, but your iron teeth came clamping down over the normal ones in an instant.

The feeling of being watched remained, despite that, so you only left those hallways and hurried to the room that the House provided her.

It was spacious and comfortable, with a bathroom attached. The floor was a recognizable wood pattern, the bed having the same silky sheets and burgundy blanket as the one you’d laid in so many years ago before everything had fallen apart and fractured into pieces. The room held pieces of your past that the House shouldn’t even be able to know about.

It creeped you out to no end, and as you’d expected, the bathroom was the same. Recognizable. Spot on to the home you’d once shared with that male so many years ago, that had been the beginning of the end for your happy life.

You searched the room for any weapons, only finding one old knife under her pillow, the knife you had been forced to leave behind.

And so you curled up in the bed, and closing your eyes, willing your body and mind to relax despite the suspicions and questions that haunted you, you fell asleep.

*********************************************************

Cassian was starting to regret challenging you the other day.

You had shown up for breakfast, looking pissy about having to wear the Illyrian leathers, the only clothes in the room’s closet, instead of normal witch attire. The material squeezed you just right in all the best places, especially your thighs….it was distracting him more than he liked to admit, his self-control was waning and you weren’t even one day into training with him.

“What is this shit?”

You asked in a harsh tone at the breakfast he’d asked the House to provide you. It was a healthy, balanced meal, he ate the same dish, but larger to accommodate for his size.

“Breakfast.”

He replied simply, still chewing a mouthful of his food. She scoffed, and after a minute of pure silence from her, another plate popped onto the table, as well as a glass. A plate of meats and a glass of finely aged blood. He shot you a glare, before sighing and taking another bite of his food as you began digging into yours.

You were insufferable, he knew that for sure.

At least you are your breakfast quickly, that was a mercy, letting him drag you out onto the training fields quicker.

“Follow my le-“

He said before you cut him off.

“No. I don’t want your flimsy training.”

You practically hissed at him. He was getting fed up with you, both annoyed and attracted at the same time until he couldn’t tell which was which.

And so, he took his shirt off and began his stretches, slowly working his muscles up and back to life in a rhythmic manner. You seemed to do the same, however you had your routine of stretches that seemed like second nature to you, until your body was worked up and sweating, just like his.

When you were both finished, he turned to face you, sword in hand as the light gleamed off of his muscular body. He gave a lazy smirk, confident and sure of himself and his abilities.

“Ready, princess?”

He asked, knowing full well how angry the nickname would make you.

Your iron nails shot out, sharpened to a lethal point, as your iron teeth clamped down. You gave a wild, wolffish grin to him, the kind that made his knees go weak, before charging straight at him.

He knew from the moment the combat started that he’d underestimated you. You were a force of nature, iron gleaming, a glittering whirlwind of death as you immediately advanced, already circling him, going to strike.

He was on his feet, prepared for anything as his blade remained steady in his hands, his body automatically taking a defensive stance. He blocked, iron meeting iron with a metallic clang as you moved again, faster than you should’ve been able to move, your blow harder than it should’ve been able to be.

This dance of death continued, speeding up and gaining traction until you were both blurs of skin and iron meeting against each other. A third person remained, one that both of you were too engrossed in the sparring to notice.

The shadowsinger.

He watched as you got frighteningly close to Cassian’s jugular, only to be met with a blow to the ribs, bloodthirsty as you were, it barely seemed to affect you as you were on your feet and attacking again. You were overloading Cassian almost, your speed unmatched, and only his pure skill in combat kept him equal with you.

It was a beautifully frightening thing to watch, but after what was nearly forty-five minutes, you somehow managed to find a lapse in Cassian’s defense and struck him in the stomach, knocking the wind out of him as he was then shoved and pinned against the ground, sharp iron held steadily against his skin.

“I win.”

You said with a nearly feral grin, clearly very happy that you’d won, and only stroking your ego further because of it. Cassian grumbled something, pushing you off of him and getting up, dusting himself off. You both would have bruises in the morning if not a few healing cuts.

“Where did you learn to fight like that?”

He demanded an answer. In all his centuries, he’d never seen a fighting style like that. Free and wild but kept just enough under strict control that it was devastating to anyone unlucky enough to face it.

“My coven taught me, Blackbeaks all learn to fight, but that was before..”

You said, the first part glimmering with pride, but trailing off, before you shook your head and dismissed it. He noticed but was quickly distracted by another of your comments.

“See? I am better than you.”

She said with a cocky iron grin, finally letting her metallic nails and teeth slide back up and out of sight as she let her ponytail down. The blatant insult made his wings twitch, but before he could snap and say something, Azriel entered the ring.

“I wasn’t aware witches had their own fighting style.”

His quiet but firm and steady voice spoke out. It seemed like he’d just stumbled upon them, ready for his morning training, despite him having been watching for nearly an hour. You gave a sharp grin and a nod, though a bit of curiosity lingered behind your gaze. He was the one she’d noticed watching her last night.

“Would you mind sparring with me?”

*********************************************************

You’d gotten your ass beat by Azriel.

Cassian had been shouting and encouraging him from leaning against some of the railings, watching as Azriel managed to somehow both outmaneuver and outspeed you, a witch.

It was humiliating, but he never once made fun of you (though Cassian seemed the opposite). A Blackbeak wasn’t supposed to lose, losing wasn’t an option for a witch. But maybe…maybe it was fine, just this once, just to learn from this mysterious figure who’d been watching her.

Cassian and Azriel then took a turn at each other, and Azriel (unsurprisingly) won, at which he went back inside and off to his office to get paperwork and whatnot done, or whatever poor excuse he’d had to leave you and Cassian alone after seeing the tension between you two.

“Az really handed your ass to you, huh?”

He asked with a smirk, walking inside the House as it provided another meal for the both of you. You rolled your eyes and spoke.

“What even is he? He doesn’t smell normal, or look it for that matter.”

You then asked, drawing attention away from your embarrassing ass beating as you dug in.

“A shadowsinger, he controls the shadows ‘n shit, uses them as his little spies. He’s quiet, but we love ‘im.”

He said with a shrug, before catching onto her changing the subject and grinning with his mouth full.

“No, no, I still want to talk about how bad you were beat out there. You’re a witch, isn’t your job to…y’know, kill males and eat them or whatever?”

That struck a nerve, he realized a bit too late, as you snarled at him.

“Shut it. The only thing you males are good for is rutting and feeding, anyway.”

His eyebrows rose in both amusement and surprise. Was that what witches believed?

“Easy, princess, what’s got you so mad? Other than the obvious.”

You angrily chewed and swallowed a bite of meat, sighing before replying in a snappy tone.

“Blackbeaks aren’t supposed to lose. You win or you die, that’s how it’s always been, and I just…”

“You can’t win everything, you know?”

“But I should. I have to. That’s what I’ve always done, and I don’t see why I’m not doing it anymore now.”

“Who says?”

“The Matrons, the Covens…every single other witch to exist..?”

He sighed, putting his fork down with a clatter and looking you dead in your golden eyes.

“Are you sure they’re right? Because it sounds to me like you’ve just been blindly following without thinking at all.”

Your nostrils flared. He knew it had been a risky thing to say. You stood up, fist slamming into the table.

“How dare you question the Matrons? You have no right-“

“Do I, or is that just what you’ve been told to believe?”

That made you shut up for a moment.

It made you shut up, and most importantly, it made you think for the first time in a good while. You had always been told that you were a witch, a Blackbeak, heartless, soulless, and hated by everyone and thing in this wretched world. Things had always been so clear, and you’d been happy to obey, because who wouldn’t?

Things were easy when you just had to follow. When you didn’t have to make your own decisions or pick and choose, when you were told everything from the start, and that was that. It was easy when you were already shaped into what they had wanted from the beginning, so you didn’t have to go through the ache of growing into your own person.

Being told what to do, how to do it, when to do it, and everything except why was so dangerously easy.

And you’d been a fool, blindly following this entire time.

Cassian watched you just silently stand there, looking conflicted, before you slowly sat back down, studying him with a scrutinizing gaze.

You swallowed, trying to find your voice to at least just say something, to ask one of the millions of questions in your mind.

“You..weren’t told what to believe? How to think and act and feel?”

You asked, the hint of vulnerability in your demeanor making his heart ache. His expression almost softened.

“No, not like you were. I do things because I want to do them, or need to, not because that’s what I think I’m supposed to do.”

He explained, his brusque voice now calmer than ever when speaking to you. Explaining self-autonomy to you, a powerful being who could easily control their body in battle, but not their mind, always told what to do and how and when was strange, to say the least.

“How?”

You then asked, your voice cracking slightly, confusion tainting its usually stern tone. How could someone just do things for the sake of doing them, or because they wanted to? Did they not have rules here for these Fae? Was control and respect for those more powerful, not a thing here?

“Just…try doing the first thing that comes to your mind. What do you want to do right now?”

He asked, at which you swallowed, wracking your brain. What did you want to do? Cry. Sit here and cry like a baby until you can’t cry anymore, spill out every one of your secrets and feelings and thoughts to this male who had bothered to look past your exterior. And so you did.

*********************************************************

Cassian was very surprised when you just started bawling at the dinner table out of nowhere, but a smaller, wiser, and more instinctual part of him had known.

He immediately abandoned his seat, moving to your side before hesitating and wondering what he was doing. This was a witch. A dangerous, bloodthirsty female could be faking this just to get him close or lower his guard.

But most importantly, this was a female who was upset, vulnerable, crying, and needing any form of comfort, and if he wasn’t that comfort then who would be?

“Hey, what’s wrong?”

He asked, gently lifting you into his arms, carrying you over to the couch where he sat down, you in his lap, and began shushing and reassuring you, one hand running soothingly against your back, his head on top of yours. You started babbling a story so quickly that he could barely catch the majority of it.

“My coven, they left me there, because I had a human lover, and he’d killed a witch before. They found him and they..they,”

You hiccuped and sobbed, crying against his chest, almost weeping. He felt more than just a pang of anger that your coven would abandon you in the Illyrian Steppes alone, all because you’d taken a human lover who had a history with witches. He could only imagine what they’d done to the poor man. He tried to ignore the pang of jealousy he felt at the thought of you with another man.

“It’s alright, let it out.”

He murmured in a soothing tone, hoping it was helping. At this point, he was so far gone that he would do anything to make you stop crying, and stop hurting. And maybe his advice of doing whatever first came to your twisted mind hadn’t been the greatest, because as soon as you stopped crying, sniffling, and trembling in his arms, you gently cupped his cheek, and as if the world was moving in slow motion, kissed him.

Fireworks went off through his entire body, all his nerves responding immediately, and he understood now why he’d been so worried and comforting for you, why he’d cared for you.

Mate.

The bond between them chanted, and based on the way your eyes widened and you began crying anew, he assumed you felt it too. He couldn’t pull away from the kiss, not now, and not anytime in the foreseeable future.

His body seemed to move on autopilot as he carried your trembling form down the halls to his bedroom, still relatively empty despite the many years of living in it.

His head told him this was too early, that you didn’t know what you were doing and only were reacting to the first male you had an attraction to, or any other reason it could spew. And he knew it was right. You needed time to sort this out, to figure yourself out, but he could be there to help piece you back together until you were whole and yourself, no one else’s to indoctrinate or enslave or command any longer.

He didn’t try to push his luck, not as he closed his door behind him, laid you down onto his bed, and stripped down to his boxers before laying down with you, holding you.

His wings wrapped around your body as he whispered sweet nothings, reassurances, and comforting words. His arms came to hold you in their strong embrace, the blanket warm and covering the both of you, the darkness of the room enveloping you. Behind that fierce, free witch with the sharpest of iron teeth and claws, was a traumatized female afraid to lose anyone else, too afraid to decide what path she wanted for herself without her past haunting her.

His forehead pressed against yours, his body almost like a furnace it was so warm, keeping your shaking one almost too warm. A reminder of the male you'd once held dear, but you wouldn't lose Cassian. Not like you'd already lost so many before. Your mate.

Just this once, you would savor this.

Or maybe, just maybe, just this eternity with your mate.

[elrielbaby]

I find chapter 51 interesting for a number of reasons, high amongst them is that there’s a ton of foreshadowing for Nesta:

“What is that” Devlon asked

…

“Is she a witch.”

I opened my mouth, but Nesta said flatly, “Yes”

And I watched as nine full-grown, weathered Illyrian warlords flinched.

“She may act like one sometimes,” Cassian clarified, “but no — “she is High Fae”

“She is no more High Fae than we are,” Devlon countered

… Nesta… she was a freshly forged sword, waiting to draw blood.

Now, why do I find this interesting for Nesta? Rhys, I think perhaps in ACOFAS, calls Nesta Illyrian. Devlon, says she is no more high Fae than we are. To me that all points towards her role as a Valkyrie, partaking in the blood rite, becoming a warrior & her mate being Cassian who is heavily involved with the Illyrians. The freshly forged sword should speak for itself, she wields a sword as a warrior & also forges her own.

So that brings me onto this… what is said about Elain?

Elain was just blinking, wide eyed at the camp

Devlon just grunted at her

She was a rose bloom in a mud field filled with galloping horses.

If Elain was a blooming flower in this army camp…

These are the obvious quotes but these ones really make me think

‘Mor & I remained on either side of Nesta… We kept Elain half-hidden behind the wall of our bodies’

‘Nesta stared them all down. Elain kept her focus on the dry, rocky ground’

Now again I may be absolutely bonkers crazy but I think we’ll look back at this after Elain’s book & realise that this was clear foreshadowing for her being a spy. Particularly those last two quotes (I’m still unsure on those first four but I’m sure they mean something - I think the juxtaposition of a rose in a mud field is super interesting)

Where else have we seen the phrase half-hidden? When Nesta placed the Rose carving next a figurine of the mother in ACOSF half-hidden in the shadows

Nesta stared them all down (as, perhaps, a general would?) and Elain kept her gaze on the dry rocky ground - she’s trying to make herself unnoticeable- trying not to garner attention.

I’ve mentioned this before but at the end of this chapter we have them going to Graysens estate, which Feyre refers to as a fortress & a prison then we get this line —

‘And the would-be mistress of this prison…’

Now if that isn’t clear foreshadowing I don’t know what is!

[nikethestatue]

Elain Throws a Punch

Summary: Elain throws a punch.

“Oh, the witches are here,” Devlon muttered under his breath.

It was a blustery, windy, ugly Illyrian day, the mountains offering little protection from the gale-force wind, and the late-autumn colours all gray and muddy, as above so is below. Dark slate clouds above, black mountains all around them, and thick mud below their feet.

That’s the mud that both Nesta and Elain were trying to walk through right now, their rubber boots getting stuck in the muck. Morrigan had winnowed them all here, dumped them in the middle of the camp, saluted and disappeared at once, leaving the four of them to face the grimacing and snarling Illyrians.

The four of them—Nesta, Azriel, Cassian and Elain—were here on behest of Rhysand, to put their case forward before the leaders of every Illyrain camp, to allow access to Ramiel. Whatever was beneath Ramiel needed to be investigated, and yet, Rhys couldn’t just let them go there. No, no. Every snarly Illyrian had to be involved in the process!

Nesta was grumbling and cussing under her breath all morning, as they were getting ready and Elain was squeezing her generous curves into some leathers. Nesta’s were too small on her. Gwyn’s too tight and too long. By the time Mor arrived with hers, Elain was in a foul mood, sweaty and tired from pulling on too-tight trousers, trying to squeeze her breasts into cumbersome jackets, and deciding whether she should lay off the sweet buns for a bit.

She fit into Mor’s leathers, though the trousers were too long, but she rolled and tucked them into the rubber boots, which Cassian tossed at them, telling them not to think about ‘fashion’ but to be ‘practical’. At that, Mor made a face. Azriel, meanwhile, watched Elain strut in tight leather, his gaze that of a hungry wolf.

“Calm down, brother,” Cassian smirked like an asshole, squeezing the shadowsinger’s shoulder.

“Fuck off.”

“Naw, now. Don’t get testy.”

“Why are you talking?” Azriel snarled under his breath.

Cassian made a locking motion at the corner of his laughing mouth and ‘tossed away the key’ over his shoulder.

“Ain’t nobody talking,” he shrugged innocently.

Elain kept fidgeting with her straps, twisting and turning, and Azriel came over and gently patted her shoulder.

“You look good in leathers,” he offered her a tight smile.

She glanced at him and snorted, “I look like a pig with a saddle!”

He chuckled and asked, “Ready?”

“As ready as I will be,” she took his large, warm hands in hers and he pulled her close. She knew that there were risks involved with winnowing and that it was very necessary for him to hold her like that. Close to his chest.

Now, here they were, in front of twelve Camp Commanders of Illyria.

Being called ‘witches’.

Nesta simply jutted out her chin and strode forth, as if they weren’t there and as if she didn’t hear what they whispered. They always called her a ‘witch’. She wished that she was. Frankly, Elain was more of a witch, well with all the herbs and the potions that she’s been learning to make. The potions were mostly for healing, but Nesta knew that some were for male sexual prowess, and others were to increase or decrease fertility or sexual urges. It amused Nesta that Elain was the one people went to for their sexual questions and needs. Elain never spoke of it, citing ‘confidentiality’.

They were ushered into a vast hall, built of sturdy timber and heated by a fireplace big enough to hold a wagon and a pair of oxen.

And then the negotiations began. Problem was…out of the four of them, at least three were not very good negotiators.

Nesta just sat in stony silence, glowering at everyone, her eyes turning progressively more silver and therefore freaking everyone out.

Azriel was just as talkative, and definitely gave off unfriendly vibes, his massive arms folded over his chest, a look of angry disdain marring his features.

“We can just murder them all,” he proposed at one point, whispering to Elain, though Cassian heard it too.

Cassian was an impatient negotiator. He was probably the most reasonable, perhaps the most understanding, but he didn’t want to suffer Illyrian fools and their superstitions.

“Nothing will happen!” he kept arguing.

The older Commanders were yelling and saying that ‘Illyria will fall if Ramiel is breached!’

Maybe it should, Azriel muttered, earning a shove from Elain.

“I agree with Az,” Nesta offered.

Elain stood up and said, “Gentlemales! Dear sirs!”

And was promptly ignored.

“Fucking ‘dear sirs’!” Azriel tossed, shaking his head, his siphons glowing a dangerous shade of cobalt.

Elain put her hand on his forearm and squeezed lightly, imploring,

“We don’t need a mass murder here,”

“Don’t we?” Nesta piped in unhelpfully.

“Nesta!”

“Nesta what?” her sister hissed. “They aren’t listening to reason! They certainly aren’t listening to you!”

“It’s alright,” Elain argued peaceably, trying to remain calm, though anger was bubbling beneath her skin.

“Perhaps we should resume the negotiations tomorrow,” she proposed.

The Commanders got up from their chairs and benches and filed out of the hall, muttering and cursing between each other.

Elain and the rest of her group followed them and in a last ditch effort to build rapport, Elain inquired politely,

“Shall we join you for the evening meal?”

Commander Iron Tooth—because he had an iron tooth—turned to her and sneered,

“As if we would break bread with you lot! We are pure bread, well-born Illyrians, who hail from Enalius himself! If you think that we would drink mead and eat meat with two low born bastards, you have lost your mind, witch!”

Elain stopped in her tracks, her cheeks aflame, sweat trickling down her back.

“Pardon me?”

“Pardon is given,” Iron Tooth smiled a wide smile. “Those two,” he nodded towards Cassian and Azriel, “are nothing but two of Rhysand’s puppets. I should’ve known they’d be crawling back here—Cassian especially. When Rhysand came back from Under the Mountain, I shoulda known that Cassian would be given all the powers over Illyria, knowing that he thinks that the sun shines outa Rhysand’s ass!”

No one knew how it happened.

No one saw.

But Elain Archeron, the gentle flower grower, fisted her hand and threw a vicious punch at Iron Tooth’s mouth.

His iron tooth, his pride and joy, flew right out of his jaw and landed with a clunk on the floor.

“Petal!” Cassian cried out with pride, his eyes alight with happiness.

Nesta smirked a satisfied smile.

“Aww, fuck!” Elain cursed, shaking her hand.

Azriel stepped forward and ordered, “Back it up’ seeing how the other commanders lurched towards the wailing Iron Tooth, who was holding his mouth, groaning and grunting dramatically, as blood poured on the floor.

“You’d think I broke his nose,” Elain shrugged innocently.

“Who taught you to throw a punch?” Nesta wondered.

Elain smiled and said,

“Your mate taught me.”

And Cassian grinned.

[unhealthyfanobsession]

would u ever write a canon divergence piece of acosf where cassian actually hears (bc he didn’t and still doesn’t know) what mor says to nesta when she comes to pick them up from the training camp and gets pissed and confronts her and nesta maybe sort of kind of overhearrrrssss, or anything along these lines???? THANK U QUEEN WE STAN U WE LUV U

First of all this is so nice!! Thank you so much for the kind words. And I love this request! It actually fills in some gaps for me re why Mor suddenly helped Nesta with dancing instead of hating her. Hope you enjoy.

“You know that’s not fucking helpful, Mor.” Cassian crossed his arms over his chest and stared down his friend the second Nesta retreated into the House of Wind. Not quite ready to pick Mor up into his arms and fly to the River House while he was so pissed.

“What’s not helpful?” She probably didn’t even realize he’d been listening to their conversation while he finished his exercises.

Cassian rolled his eyes. “It’s one thing when you spew that shit about Nesta to me, which I already asked you to stop doing. But to actually say it to her? Are you trying to turn her against us forever?”

Mor scoffed, “I think that ship has sailed, Cass.”

“Bullshit.” The siphons on the top of Cassian’s hands flashed along with his anger. Bright enough that the light reflected off the carved glass doors.

“Oh I’m the one who is bullshit?” Mor moved to lean over the balcony, voice more exhausted than angry. “I think this whole plan is bullshit. You and Rhys and Feyre are bullshit for being stupid enough to get your hopes up that she can be fixed.”

“She isn’t broken,” Cassian growled.

“You are the best of us all,” Mor sighed, “if you actually believe that.”

“It doesn’t matter what you believe.” Cassian let his wings unfurl. “It just matters that you keep your mouth shut. Making her think everyone is waiting for her to fail will just make a self fulfilling prophecy.”

“I hate seeing you like this,” Mor sighed, lifting her hand to brush Cassian’s shoulder. He wretched his shoulder back.

“I’m fine.”

“You haven’t been fine since that-” Mor cut herself off, cursing under her breath, “since she walked into our lives,” Mor scoffed.

“What the fuck is wrong with you?” Cassian was dangerously close to snapping the tiny thread that held his temper back

“No one else will say it. So I am going to. You need to get a grip.”

“I told you I didn’t want to talk about this with you.” Cassian physically took a step back from his friend. “I’ve told you that so many times now but you just keep pushing! Stay out of it!”

“I’m pushing because you normally talk to me about everything!” Mor cried, “You’re the one who changed, Cassian, not me. You’re the one who stopped talking to me. I can see you hurting and it HURTS me! It fucking hurts, Cass, to watch you so miserable, especially when you won’t even talk to me.”

“You don’t get to cry.” Cassian’s voice was low, a tone he wasn’t sure if he had ever used with Mor. But as her brown eyes started to fill with tears, he felt that thread snap. “You know why I don’t talk to you about this Mor. You know and you have no interest in changing your opinion. You… I want to get her back,” Cassian’s voice cracked at the top. “That is why I’m here. That means everything to me, and you know that! And you’re trying to make me give up because you didn’t like her even before the war. I want her BACK! I have never wanted to change her. I like Nesta’s bite. I like her strength and her unyielding personality. I like that she stares Devlon in the face and calls herself a witch because he’s a idiot. I like who she was. I want that woman back. That strong, brilliant, proud, stubborn as hell woman. Someone nice would bore me in two seconds and you KNOW that! And I don’t talk to you because you already know all of this and you think that you know better than me. You think you’re protecting me and it’s fucking insulting Mor! I’m not a child. And I am not yours to protect.”

“Cass,” Mor whispered, quiet and horrified. “Cass don’t say that. How can you… how can you say that? Of course we are each other’s. You’re like a brother to me. I…”

“I can’t belong to both of you as long as you carry on like this.” Cassian lowered his voice, wrenching a hand through wind-knotted hair. “And I can’t help belonging to her,” he whispered. “But you know that, too.”

“You can help it.” Mor stared directly at him.

“Maybe,” Cassian nodded once. “But I don’t want to. I know who Nesta is. I know what is inside of her. I can see it and feel it and I… if it takes a century to bring her back to that woman she was before the war, then I’ll live in this house for a century. A millennium. I’m not giving up. And if you keep trying to tell me to give up. If you keep antagonizing her, then you’re going to lose a lot more than me confiding in you.”

“And she’s worth it?” Mor crossed her arms over her chest. “She’s worth all of this? Worth fighting with your best friend? Worth-”

“Yes.” Cassian’s answer left no room for response. For questions. It was his heart, bloody and gripped in his hands, and for once, it was not being offered to any member of the Inner Circle.

It was just out in the open. Waiting to be claimed by someone who might never want it.

“I think I should go to the River House alone tonight.” Mor looked out over Velaris. Cassian just nodded, flying her above the wards. She winnowed away and Cassian landed back on the balcony.

He took a deep, hard breath in. Unfurled his wings and let the air ripple through them. Some of the tendons still got sore from the healing if he didn’t stretch them enough. Lately, he’d been tucking them in too often. Trying not to frighten Nesta.

“I always forget how big they are,” a voice rasped behind him. Cassian’s wings stretched out even further, his body responding to her on instinct. As if it was trying to impress her.

“What do you want, Nesta?” Cassian wished his voice was harsher, wished he sounded angry instead of broken. He didn’t have it in him to fight with her again. This wasn’t the kind of fighting with Nesta that he liked.

“I-“ she took a step forward. Cassian turned to face her. Caught immediately in her blue-grey stare like he always was.

She’d heard. That was what her expression said. She wasn’t glaring. She wasn’t angry. She had up a thick wall of icy indifference that he could always see through. Flecks of sky blue bursting through the storm cloud grey wall she was determined to hide behind. It was in those tiny, shifting, spots of blue that he could see she had heard.

She heard and she didn’t know how to handle it.

But she didn’t run away. And she wasn’t yelling at him. And she wasn’t denying anything he said. So that was something. It was more than he had hoped for, if he was being honest.

Cassian knew the mission he signed up for. The entirely new kind of opponent he was facing.

But there was hope.

Hope that one day Nesta would see they were a team. That it wasn’t him against her. It was both of them against her demons. Her trauma. If only that was an enemy that Cassian could battle in an open field.

[nesquik-arccheron]

Nessian Week Prompt: Alternate Universe (Rivalry?)

This started out with the Rivalry prompt in mind, but I'm not sure what happend along the way and I didn't think it fit the prompt any longer so we have this!

Stripper Nesta 🤷🏼‍♀️

Cassian slammed down the glass of his fourth beer that night onto the table, wiping his mouth of the liquid before waving down one of the strippers working the floor, signalling his need for a refill.

The men around the table he occupied cheered and hollered as the brunette woman on stage crawled towards them, sticking her perky tits out to accept the dollar bills his teammates tucked into her cleavage. She accepted the money with enthusiasm before turning on her knees and slinking back to the pole, the men applauding and throwing more of the crumpled paper money at the stage as she shook her ass for them.

Usually, Cassian would be whistling and gawking right along with his fellow football players, watching as the women's bodies danced along with the seductive melodies, but today, today he couldn't. He deserved this after the week he had, but he couldn't get the small, steely-eyed demon to banish herself from his thoughts.

Nesta Archeron, the bane of his existence. On paper, she may be the perfect woman, with long legs, a pretty face, and smarter than anyone had the right to be. On the inside, she was something that crawled out of the pit of hell that could only be banished by some sort of advanced witchcraft.

She was a know-it-all, a perfectionist to the extreme, bossy with a bitter tongue, but fuck if she wasn't hot while she was listing all the ways he was useless.

Which brought him to this moment and why he couldn't even enjoy a gorgeous women flash her tits in his face. He stuffed a few dollars into her g-string and gave her a smile that normally had girls fawning and leaned back into his chair, the smile not having its desired effect as it fell flat, the usual spark not reaching his eyes.

The past week he had spent more hours working on the research paper for their joint ethics class than he had this entire semester. Spending that much time with the sea witch put him in a horribly bitter mood, and he was hoping that a night out with his teammates would fix the nasty attitude he'd been sporting for weeks. He and Nesta had been at each other's throats from the very first day. He had spilt her coffee on her lap and she made an idiot of him in front of the entire class as she proved his weak argument wrong with humiliating ease.

She thought he was a dumb jock and he thought she was a haughty know-it-all.

Since then it was an all-out war. Always on the opposite side in a debate, even when they didn't necessarily agree with their chosen side, just looking for a way to make a fool out of the other. Always out to prove each other wrong, ready to point out the most basic flaw in their argument, regardless if it was relevant or not. And multiple tasteless jokes about how dumb Cassian was, reducing him to a caveman who could only throw a ball, and how Nesta must be an inexperienced virgin who couldn't get her head out of a book.

The two's immense dislike for each other was not an unknown fact.

So it was a surprise when they were paired three weeks ago to complete a research project together. It had gone as well as anyone would expect, with rumours that campus security got called to break up a fight in the library one night. Which wasn't entirely true.

They had finally completed their project two days ago and now we're free of each other's presence. But it turns out that little witch held him by the balls, had him fuming like a toddler over her nasty little attitude, so much so that days later he found himself pouting at a fucking strip club.

"Come on man, what's your problem, we're at a strip club," Balthazar shouted a little too loudly as he practically fell into the seat beside him, a fresh beer in his hand and a little too drunk, just like the rest of the team. They wouldn't remember anything in the morning but coach Devlon would be ready with a reprimand and laps until they vomited.

"I know, shitty week," he told him.

"Exactly why you should be enjoying this!" The male yelled over the music before it died off into nothing, signalling for a change in strippers.

"You're right," Cassian agreed, grabbing the fresh beer in front of him and clinked glasses with his friend. He would enjoy this. Hot women and beer, what more could he ask for right now.

The lights dimmed as the stage was set for the next young lady and Cassian found himself captivated by her the moment she stepped on stage, the rest of the room falling away into the shadow of the club.

The golden-haired brunette was angled in such a way that he could not see her face from his vantage point, which was farther to the back of the long-running stage, but it did give full view of was her body. It was perfection and every hair on his body rose to attention as she began to sway her hips to the music.

She was dressed in a traditional sexy schoolgirl outfit, and he surveyed her from her knee-high white socks to her tiny grey skirt that did nothing to hid her tight perky ass in that lacy thong, up to those very generous breasts that spilled over the bearly there blouse, so sheer that it was obvious she wasn't wearing a bra.

She didn't attempt any pole tricks like the one before her, but he was mesmerized by her dancing. Her arms raising above her head and slinking down her chest, her stomach and spreading herself for the group of men -and some very attractive women she gave some special attention to- huddling in front of her, eager for a look at the beautiful girl.

If only she'd turn around.

He debated walking over and joining the fawning men, but he preferred to stay put, enjoying the ability to appreciate her sensual dancing almost like a private show from his corner. He could feel his cock twitch for the first time that night as she tugged in her pigtail braids, her tits bouncing with the movement.

Cassian reached down to adjust himself and stopped dead in his tracts, his hand squeezing his junk in shock as the heart-stoppingly gorgeous woman turned to face him as she bared her backside to the awaiting audience. He felt his erection almost deflate in disbelief when he finally got a full, unobstructed view of her face. Almost.

It was Nesta fucking Archeron dancing on stage before him. Nesta, who had made the class he had taken for an easy A a living hell, who he believed got off on tearing down his self-esteem, who wore turtle necks and knee-length skirts.

The same Nesta Archeron who was currently rubbing her tits together and flashing her barely covered pussy into his teammate's faces. His cock stirred and he squeezed it roughly, 'Traitor.'

He chose to stay hidden in his dark corner until the end of her set, if he was going to be a creep, he would do it where no one could watch his shame. His cock ached with the images that flooded his vision and without any way to satisfy himself in a room full of people, he was ready to burst from the tightness of his pants. He had refused to touch himself to the image of her in a show of defiance.

By the time he finished off his beer her set finished, and he found himself alone at a table for several minutes before she appeared again in his line of vision, eyes trailing her long legs as she worked the room, taking orders and flirting with the patrons. He felt a ping of annoyance as she allowed their fingers to linger a moment longer than necessary while sliding a few bills into her cleavage.

Cassian stood up, adjusting himself in his pants before trailing after her a predictor stalking its prey. By the end of the evening, he would come to realize he was the prey.

"I don't think mommy and daddy Archeron would like to know what their little valedictorian gets up to when no one is watching" he teased, enjoying the way she turned to him at the sound of his voice so close to her ear.

If he hadn't known her better he would have missed the surprise that flashed across her face at the sight of him, crossing her arms over her chest. The movement normally used to signal annoyance or to intimidate only caused her to press her barely covered tits upward and into his eyeliner. He could help but look down.

"Pervert."

"Now, now Sweetheart, no need for name-calling, that won't get you any tips," he taunted, making a show of looking her up and down slowly in a desperate attempt to steer the conversation away from his inability to not stare at her breasts. Did he mention how amazing they were?

"What do you want, Nassari," Nesta huffed out in annoyance, "I have a job to do."

"I only wanted a moment of your time."

"You couldn't afford a moment of my time," she seethed, and he relished in the way her face reddened (in anger or embarrassment he didn't know) when he pulled out a nice, crisp 100 dollar bill, waving it between his fingers tauntingly. Okay, she was pissed. But God, was she beautiful when she was.

Nesta plucked the bill from his hand and folded it neatly into her shirt, "You got 10 minutes, come," she turned leading him towards a set of doors he assumed were reserved for lap dances.

"Whatever you say," he mocked, and she rolled her eyes at the innuendo.

Cassian didn't look around as they entered the room and she pushed him down onto a plush red love seat. He was helpless as he watched her, but his body didn't seem to mind being at her mercy, bending at the waist to press play on the little machine and then set something that almost reminded him of an egg timer.

"10 minutes remember, I'm in the clock," she reminded him when he gave her a questioning look.

The retort died in his throat as she began to stalk towards him, his eyes watching the sway of her hips, his hands twitching as they begged to touch, to place them on her body and bring her closer.

"You know you don't have to do this right?" He told her, eyes never making it to her face.

"You paid for a dance, so you're getting a dance," she clarified and continued her catwalk towards him, so elegantly he swore she was floating. She leaned down and placed a finger under his chin to force eye contact, "Besides, there are cameras in here, to keep the strippers safe, but to also make sure we do our job, so saddle up big boy, I'm about to take you for a ride."

Cassian swore this was some sort of witchcraft she was performing with the way she hypnotized him her body. The rock of her hips and the press of her pert ass as she sat on his lap like he was her own personal piece of furniture electrified his nerves, and it took everything in him to not cum from the sight.

His cock was hard and he knew she could feel it through his tight pants, and he didn't need to see the look on her face to know she was pleased by his body's reaction to her.

"You don't need to do this, I was only teasing," he breathed out as she continued to touch any exposed skin with soft, gentle caresses. The smell of her was more intoxicating than the alcohol he consumed. Cassian felt all the air leave his lungs when she straddled his lap. It may have started with him teasing her, but she was the one making the rules now.

"But so am I," giving him a sickeningly sweet smile and ground herself against him, feeling the outline of his bulge against her most sensitive parts, "Doesn't seem like you mind much."

Cassian swallowed, grabbing her hips and pushing her down in a similar motion. Nesta gasped at the sensation and peered down at him, placing her fingers in his hair, "You know, usually you're not allowed to touch the strippers."

"Doesn't look like you mind much."

Nesta gave a faux look of contemplation and shrugged, "For you, I could possibly make an exception." She'd never admit the jolt she felt up her spine as he repeated the previous motion.

A low feeling of satisfaction hummed in him at her breathy response and knew that he was having some sort of effect on her as well. He could see her pretty pink nipples poking through the thin material of her top, begging to be played with.

Noticing his attention back on her breasts, Nesta pressed her hands to his pectorals, trying to ignore the arousing feeling of hard muscle beneath her, and lifted herself, allowing him to run his hands over the swell of her ass for...support, as she brought her aching tits to his face.

She tried to ignore the voice in the back of her head screaming at her for what she was doing, but she was far too heated to care.

Cassian squeezed her ass, moaning at the way his hands dug into the soft muscle and gave her a light tap, causing her body to surge forward and her breasts bounce. Fuck, he was so hard. Would it be in bad taste to cum in a strip club? It felt dirty and classless, but his every muscle was aching and his skin was set aflame as hers made contact with the sliver of exposed skin at his chest.

Nesta looked down into his eyes and the intensity of his arousal made her nervous. Not because she was scared he would hurt her, but because this was fucking Cassian Nassari, moronic jock and man whore who fucked anything that moved. She hated him, and he was making her wet. She hated him even more now.

A hand on the back of her neck caught her attention in what she assumed was Cassian bringing her down for a kiss, but that wasn't part of the deal, "Ah, ah, you cant kiss the strippers either," she bit playfully, putting a small soft finger to his lips which were inches from hers.

"Can't you make an exception, for me?" Placing a soft kiss on her finger.

She almost gave in, almost removed the barrier from between their mouths when the ding from the timer broke through the tension, "Sorry...times up."

The lack of warmth from her body caused him to groan as she untangled herself from him, patting down invisible wrinkles from the small piece of fabric that was to be a skirt and tossed her braids behind her, flashing him a little smirk before turning around and sashaying towards the door, seemingly unaffected by their previous activities, "See you in class, Nassari,'" she hummed, adding a quick little wink before she vanished from view.

Holy shit. He just got a lap dance from Nesta Archeron. The resident 4.0 teacher's pet just hopped on his lap and rode him until his cock was pulsing without even taking any clothing off. Who knew under the turtle necks and prissy attitude was a little minx. He would shout it to the heavens if anyone would actually believe him. How no one else had seen her before now was beyond him.

"Sir," came a soft voice from the doorway, where a tall blonde female stood, "What are you doing in here?"

Shit. He probably wasn't meant to loiter, "Sorry," he apologized, finally taking in his surroundings. He paused, looking suspiciously from the coat rack to the array of slinky dresses and shoes that littered the floor. He had been in a VIP room before but this...he looked over to the young women curiously, "Are there cameras in here?"

The blonde, gawking at the audacity of his question, threw the red pulps she was wearing at him. Cassian swerved, barely dodging it, "Sir, this is the women's change room!"

@nessianweek

[that-golden-lyre]

Well hello there again humans! It’s time for me to be annoying once again!

I love witch related shit ok?! Yes, I grew up with Harry Potter. Yes, I wanted to be a witch when I was little. Yes, October vibes are the best to me. Yes, I realize I’m a grown woman. And I REFUSE to apologize for it! Witch Nesta has plagued me ever since Devlon called her one. I LOVED IT! I truly thought that’s what we were gonna get! And this fic DELIVERS!!!! We get himbo Cassian (the best Cassian in my opinion). We get to see him be his wonderful accepting self but also how soft he is with Nesta and her feelings. I also just absolutely ADORE the idea of Nesta being a powerful with prancing through the woods a la nude on Samhain. It does things for me ok? The pacing of this was so light hearted and sweet and honestly just put the BIGGEST smile on my face while reading it. It made me laugh, it made me giggle, it was a fun ride! I absolutely LOVED this, and if you’re still in a spooky mood (and even if you’re not), you should 1000% give it a read! Thanks to @moodymelanist for sharing! 💙

[likeiwishiknew]

Azriel x Gwyn - The Misunderstanding

Read on Shadow Songs on AO3

Azriel stood off on the sidelines watching as Gwyn practiced with Balthazar. 

He felt a swell of pride when he saw Gwyn utilize one of the moves he’d shown her to dodge Balthazar’s attack. He smiled. She executed it perfectly. 

Azriel was quietly cheering her on when he felt a familiar brush against the walls of his mind. He let his guard down enough to let Rhys’ in. 

We might have discovered something about the book.

Based on Rhys’ tone of voice, it did not sound like good news. Azriel took a glance over at Gywn, seeing as she was still wrapped up in her fight he decided against interrupting her. 

In the blink of an eye, he winnowed back to their cabin, not wanting any distractions. He did not bother to take a seat. 

What is it? He aimed the thought at his High Lord. 

We can’t say this with absolute certainty but Amren and I are in agreement in terms of our suspicions. Rhys returned. 

That did not sound good. 

What are you thinking?

It’s a spellbook of sorts.

Several ideas crossed his mind at once, none of which agreed with him. 

As in witches?

Not necessarily. But we won’t know for certain until we see it. Are you sure there’s no way for you to call it back?

He himself had not tried at all. 

I’m not sure. Gwyn only attempted to do so once. 

Perhaps they could try again once they were safely returned to the house of wind.

How much longer will you be away?

Only two days remain in the week we agreed upon with Devlon.

Rhys seemed to consider this. How much progress has been made?

More than I’d expected. He returned, the truth of it surprising him. Even without seeing him, Azriel could imagine Rhys raising his brows.

That’s a more positive answer than I expected from you. You’ve always insisted they were beyond saving.

It was true, and he was not beyond admitting it. 

And I’m still not entirely sure I’m wrong. He shot back. 

He could sense Rhys’ smirking, But...

But I will acknowledge there might be at least a few decent males among the lot.

Progress brother.

He wanted to scoff at the notion. But Rhys’ was right. It wasn’t much progress, but it was still progress nonetheless. 

When you return to the House of Wind I want you or Gwyneth to try calling the book again. It came to you both once before. It stands to reason that it might show itself again, under the right circumstances. 

Azriel wasn’t so sure about that, but he wouldn’t argue. Something had been odd about that book. And Azriel was more than curious about what it might contain. 

I will see you at our next dinner Rhys determined. With that, his brother’s voice faded from his mind. 

Barely a moment later, he heard the front door open. At first, Azriel expected to see Gwyn. Until he recalled she shouldn’t be done with training yet. 

Azriel took in the female who now stood in the open doorway, not recognizing her at all. His defenses immediately shot up. 

No one was permitted to come and go from the place freely aside from Gwyn and himself. He’d made that perfectly clear to Devlon, who ensured him he’d pass the information on to the others. Yet here this female stood. 

“What are you doing here?” he questioned. 

“I followed you,” she said unabashedly.

Well at least she was straightforward, “And what do you want?”

The female approached him. Her movements smooth and confident. She got far too close, and his shadows protested her nearness. She laid a hand on his chest.

“You,” she answered. 

He narrowed his eyes at her. Azriel wondered if she’d been sent as some sort of distraction or manipulation tactic. Azriel knew he was overstaying his welcome. Though, to Devlon, any time spent in his company was too long. And the feeling was mutual. 

The female ran her hand down the length of his chest, pressing close. 

Regardless, whatever the purpose of sending this female to him, it wouldn’t work. He wasn’t so easily seduced. 

Before he had the chance to push her away, he detected a familiar presence. Looking back toward the open doorway, he found Gwyn standing there. 

Her eyes widened at the sight of him and the mystery female. 

“Gwyn,” he pleaded, already seeing the misunderstanding in her eyes. 

She started to back out the door, “I’m sorry. I’ll go.” 

He shook his head, “No, Gwyn.” 

But before he could say anything else Gwyn turned away and took off. 

“Gwyn! he called after her. 

But she did not stop. 

He stepped away from the female, moving to chase after Gwyn. But the female in question did not take the hint, instead, she stepped into his path, her hand outstretched. 

“Why are you chasing after her?” 

Azriel shoved her hand away. His temper rising. 

“You touch me again without my consent and you’ll lose that hand.” 

The female shrunk back at the severity in his voice. 

Wasting no more time, he hurried out the door to pursue Gywn. 

Checking every which way, he did not spot her. However, his shadows urged him in the direction of the forest. And as they rarely failed him, Azriel heeded their call. 

It made sense that she wouldn’t wish to remain in camp, not wanting any of the males here to see her distraught. He did not want that either. 

Azriel caught her scent and followed it into the wood. 

It wasn’t long after that he caught sight of her. 

Her hair a streak of bright color against her earth-toned surroundings. 

Picking up the pace, Azriel grabbed her by the elbow and swung her around to face him.

He took in her face, as she swiped at her eyes. Everything in him wanted to reach out, to wipe the teardrops from her face. But he saw something in her eyes. Something that told him she might not welcome his touch right now. 

And so he released her arm and took a half step back, his throat growing thick. 

“Why are you upset?” he asked. 

The answer should be obvious. But that was the thing with them, things that should be obvious were often difficult to discern. They walked a narrow path. A fine line between friendship and something else. 

Lie. She was not the sort to be upset over nothing. 

“Gwyn. Please tell me,” he pleaded. 

No matter the nature of their relationship, he never wanted to make her uncomfortable or hurt her in any way. She had to know that. 

She shook her head, “It’s not important.” 

She was wrong. Anything that upset her was something important. 

Her next words cut him off from saying so. 

“Why did you waste your time chasing after me?” she asked, appearing genuine in her question, “You could’ve spent it with that pretty female.” 

Her words almost left him speechless. Almost. 

“Nowhere near as beautiful as you,” he spoke without thinking. 

She eyed him in disbelief, “You don’t have to lie Azriel.” 

He wasn’t. 

Azriel stared at her straight in the eye, “When have I ever lied to you?” 

Her brow furrowed as she seemed to consider. There had been misunderstandings between them in the past, but not once had he ever intentionally lied to her. 

“If there’s any female in this camp that won’t leave my mind it’s you.” 

She bit a lower lip, “I don’t understand what you’re saying.” 

I’m saying that the one I like...The one I want is you. 

Azriel wished he could it out loud but he found himself unable to speak the words. Because he was too much of a coward. Too afraid of the possibility of rejection. 

And so, he played it safe. 

“I’m too worried about keeping you safe to think about anything else,” he offered up instead. 

“Oh...” she replied, lowering her eyes, clearly disappointed. 

Damn it. Azriel’s eyes briefly closed in frustration. He wasn’t doing this right. 

With his finger he nudged her a chin-up, so she’d meet his eyes. Even if he wasn’t yet ready to make his feelings clear, he wanted to at least ease her mind. 

“Nothing was happening between us. She came onto me and I was about to push her away. But I got too wrapped up in trying to figure out what her game was.” 

And who might have sent her, he thought to himself. Azriel would concede he often overthought things, and sometimes it could distract him from what was right in front of him. 

“You didn’t know her?” Gwyn questioned. 

He shook his head. 

“I’ve never seen her before in my life.” he insisted, his thumb stroking her jaw, “You believe me don’t you?” 

She appeared to contemplate this for a second, then nodded. 

Unconsciously he found himself lightly cupping her cheek, holding her bright teal gaze, “Gwyn promise me that you’ll not run away from me again.” 

He wasn’t sure he’d be able to keep his cool again if she did. It had taken everything in him not to unfold his wings and launch after her earlier. 

But he hadn’t wanted to scare her. 

“Okay,” she said. 

He needed to hear her say the words, “Promise me,” he repeated more firmly. 

She held his eyes, firm resolution behind them, “I promise.” 

- - - 

Gwyn had thought things were changing between her and Azriel. That their time here together might have him more willing to open up to her. But his walls were still, for the most part, firmly in place. The armor he wore around his heart as present as ever. She wasn’t sure what she could do to change that. If she could do anything at all. 

He’d gone off to speak to Devlon once more. Their time at the camp was coming to an end soon. 

They hadn’t made the process she’d hoped. But at least they’d managed to turn a few males to their side, at least Emerie would be far less alone when Gwyn returned to the House of Wind. 

This past week she’d seen her friend take on a new air of confidence with the males that surrounded her. Emerie had always been tough. But now the rest of the camp was starting to see that as well. That it was not a front. Her sister was strong, a fighter through and through. 

Obviously, centuries-old traditions and prejudice weren’t going to be undone in a week, a month, or even a year. It would take time. 

She understood that and so did Emerie. But at least her time here had proven to them both that there was hope, which was more than Emerie had before. 

To Gwyn, that alone had made her time here worth it. 

A knock on the cabin door pulled her from such thoughts. 

She wondered who it might be. Azriel wouldn’t have knocked, and Emerie should be at her shop. 

Getting up from her seat, Gwyn went to answer the door. When she pulled it open she was surprised to find the female she’d seen with Azriel standing there. 

“Hello,” the female greeted. 

“Hi,” she returned. Gwyn wasn’t sure how to address her since Azriel had said he hadn’t bothered to get her name. 

The female must’ve read her mind, “My name is Katia,” she offered. 

All Gwyn could think to do was offer her name in return, “Gwyn,” she replied with no embellishment. 

Katia nodded, “I know. I’ve heard about you.” 

Gywn wasn’t sure what to say to that, so she remained silent. 

“I came to explain myself.” 

Awkwardness filled the air. 

"You don’t have to do that,” Gwyn insisted. 

“I know, but I want to.” 

She eyed the female thoughtfully and detected no deception. 

“Alright,” she responded, opening the door to let her in. Gwyn gestured to the small table in the kitchen, where they both took a seat. 

“First off, I want to start by saying that I didn’t know you and the spymaster had anything going on. I thought he was simply your protector during your time here. Had I known, I never would have done what I did.” 

The female clearly had the wrong impression. 

“We don’t have anything going on between us,” she corrected. 

Yet as she said it she felt unsure. Azriel hadn’t said anything to the contrary, but she did feel as though his behavior went beyond that was a concerned friend. 

The female eyed her in a way that had Gwyn rather certain that the other female did not believe her, “You’re wrong,” she stated, “He wouldn’t have gone chasing after you if you didn’t mean something to him if your opinion didn’t matter.” 

Gwyn found herself agreeing. 

“I did what I did for protection,” the other female said with a sharp exhale, as though the admission cost her. 

It wasn’t at all what she was expecting to hear. 

“Protection?” she repeated in question. 

She female nodded, “Females are afforded little in Illyria. If we’re lucky we fall in love with a male who treats us well and who our families find agreeable. But sadly that is rarer than it should be. Oftentimes, the best we can hope for is a civil marriage. We bear children - preferably sons. And we’re given some peace and security.” 

It was the very same sort of existence that Gwyn knew Emerie sought to avoid. 

Katia continued, “I don’t want to marry. But I have little doubt that soon I will be forced to. My father has no sons. Soon he will be looking to tie himself to a strong family through an advantageous match.” 

The very notion had her feeling sad for the other female. 

“I thought, perhaps, if I became the lover of a powerful male I wouldn’t be forced into such an arrangement. I’d be protected to an extent without the burden of marriage.”

Gwyn took a deep breath, understanding welling up inside her, “And you chose Azriel.”

“The General already has a mate,” Katia returned frankly. 

She spoke of Cassian. Again, it wasn’t the answer she’d been expecting. But clearly, Katia had no issue speaking her truth. 

“It had to be someone strong enough to stand up to my father, to not bow to the pressures of the leadership at this camp. I also made certain it to pick a male I knew would never use or abuse a lover, and as far as I know the spymaster never has.”

The reminder that Azriel had numerous precious lovers left her feeling...unhappy. But she knew she was being unfair. 

He’d been alive for centuries. She couldn’t very well think he’d have been alone all that time. Nor would she have wanted him to be. He deserved to be happy, to have someone by his side to share his load. Happiness and affection, that was what she wanted for the male who had come to mean so much to her. She would not be selfish with him. 

“He wasn’t interested though,” Katia assured, “I came onto him and he didn’t show a shred of interest. If anything he seemed suspicious. Perhaps he somehow deduced my intentions.” 

It wouldn’t surprise Gwyn if he had. Azriel made it his business to know things, to read others. And though she shouldn’t feel reassured at the fact that Azriel had not shown even a hint of interest, she was. 

“Thank you for telling me.”

The female nodded, “Tell the spymaster I am sorry as well.”

“He should be back shortly,” Gwyn responded, “You could tell him yourself.” 

Katia shook her head, “I don’t think he’ll want to see me.”

Gwyn could not argue with her. Azriel did not much like the company of strangers. 

However, there was a more concerning matter at hand here, one that Katia did not seem keen on addressing. But Gwyn would not shy away from it. 

“If you ever feel unsafe on your own. You should go to see Emerie,” Gwyn urged, “She’d never turn you away.”

Katia shook her head, “She’s enough trouble as is. I don’t want to put another female in harm’s way.” 

Gwyn considered this. She did not agree, but she could see where Katia was coming from. 

“Then go to Balthazar.”

The female raised her brows.

“You can trust him,” Gwyn insisted. 

At first, Katia looked hesitant. But after a moment the female nodded. 

“Thank you for being so understanding.”

Gwyn nodded, “Of course.” 

She couldn’t fault Katia. Because like Emerie, the female likely felt she had nowhere else to go. And thus, she was willing to use any means to protect herself in the world she lived in. 

Fear could make one do desperate things.

Katia got up to leave. Gwyn watched as she went. Her heart ached thinking of all the females in Illyria who endured countless hardships as living amongst their own. 

As Katia reached the doorway, Gwyn found herself speaking up, “If you ever wish to take your power back, to learn to fight, you’re welcome to join us.” 

Katia cast a look over her shoulder. 

“To become a Valkyrie,” Gwyn continued, meeting the female’s eyes, “The world needs more women who are willing to fight.” 

Katia stared at her long and hard before answering, a small smile on her face, “Thank you. I’ll think about it.”

- - -

Not long after Katia’s departure, Azriel returned. 

Gwyn looked up from the book she’d been reading to find his expression grim. 

She immediately the thing, setting it off the side, and met him in the doorway, “What’s wrong?”

His eyes were a mix of anger and concern. 

“It’s Balthazar’s niece.”

Instinct had her growing tense at his tone. 

“What is wrong with Amelia?” she questioned. 

“A boy tried to drown her.” 

And just like that Gwyn found herself springing up from her seat moving past him, running straight out the door. She sensed Azriel at her back. But she did not stop, did not slow. He could keep up with her, of that she had no doubt.

Gwyn moved through the camp like a female possessed.

She had to find Amelia. The training grounds were empty as she ran past, and while the camp was not silent it was all too quiet. The sort of quiet that foretold bad things. 

At that precise moment, she caught sight of Balthazar. He stood protectively around his sister and niece, speaking to them in hushed tones. 

Gwyn wanted to go to ask him exactly what happened, but seeing as he was clearly busy comforting his family she decided against it. Instead, her eyes caught on two other familiar males. Tobias and Zander were there, standing off to the side.

She rushed over to them. 

“Can you tell me what happened?” 

It was Zander who answered.

“I heard the boy’s parents say that apparently he and some other boys were playing a game and that one of them dared him to...”

Zander did not finish his statement, but Gwyn could fill in the blanks. That did not sound like any sort of game to her. At least not one they should be allowing children to engage in. 

“What is being done?”

Zander tensed, anger coming off him, “Nothing.”

“What?”

“Devlon is deeming it an accident,” Tobias finished for him. 

Unbelievable. She hurried over to where Devlon stood, speaking with a few others. Emerie was among them. 

“What is this I hear that you’re not even going to reprimand the boy responsible for this?” she all but shouted. 

Devlon’s gaze swung to her. His eyes narrowing at her tone. 

But she was beyond worrying about offending the male. Her very presence seemed to offend him.

“The child was rescued before the situation could escalate, and she is fine. No harm done.”

Emerie raised her voice, “No harm done!? A child was nearly drowned and yet you won’t even discipline the one responsible simply because of whose son he is.”

The male turned his gaze from Gwyn to Emerie.

“He made a mistake.”

“Almost drowning someone is not a mistake,” Gwyn pointed out. 

That remark earned her a sharp glare.

“You are not one of us. You have no grasp of how things are done here,” he replied, voice low, “So I suggest you keep your opinions to yourself.”

Any hold she had on her temper snapped at his dismissiveness. 

“You are the worst Illyria has to offer,” she responded, “The living embodiment of everything wrong with this society. You turn your back on those you deem beneath you. You teach males from a young age that there are no consequences for their actions against their female counterparts. Lead them to believe that a female’s place is simply beneath them. As though it wasn’t a female who bore them, bore you, who endured great pain just to see them into this world.” 

Against her better judgment, she took a step closer to the angry male, eyes locked with his.

“But sooner or later the females here will wake up. And they might realize they’re better off without the lot of you,” she spat. As she did, she felt a sudden heat wash over her. Something sparked inside her chest, as though fire ran through her veins. 

“Gwyn. Gwyn!” Azriel called, his voice sounding oddly distant. 

He grabbed hold of her wrists and turned her toward him, breaking her from her reverie of thoughts. 

“What is it?” she replied back, a bit peevishly. And immediately felt bad for it, Azriel had done nothing to earn her ire. 

“Your hands,” he remarked. 

Her brow furrowed in confusion. 

But when she glanced down she realized her hands were lit aflame. 

Oh heavens. 

She redirected her focus, taking deep calming breaths, she tried to put out the small fires. It took several moments, but they slowly diminished until they faded entirely. 

Gwyn could feel everyone’s eyes on her. Glancing over her shoulder, even Emerie had a look of shock upon her face. She’d told Emerie about the water, about how she’d been able to manipulate it.

Though not the part where she and Azriel had sung together. That was a memory she would keep to herself, tucked away in her heart. 

Devlon stared at her in suspicion, “Who are you?” he questioned.

She wished she knew. Gwyn swung her gaze back to Azriel and took in his worried expression. 

“Azriel...”

“I hate to say it,” he said, sounding sincere in that, “But I think we need to call someone.”

She could tell he wasn’t the least bit happy with the idea. 

“Who?” she wondered aloud. 

He grimaced, “Vanserra.”

~~~

Note: I felt like we needed a bit more angst to push things forward for these two. At the same time, I didn’t want a female character who existed solely to cause problems between our main leads, so I went a different route with Katia. 

Anyways, as always, I hope you all enjoy this chapter and leave me any feedback you might have =) 

~~~

@azrielsshadowsdanceforgwyn @bittermuire @ofstarsanddreams @corrdolium @toolazymyguy @inkdrinkershadowsinger @itswrongsong @dealingdifferentdevils @rhysmoira

@brucexselina @inejjg @rhysmoira @gwynnight @fairytamy @bluegold08 @amandapearls @highqueentaey @lioness-says @chosenfamily-valkyriequeens​ @princessofmerchants-reads @cantkeepmyeyesoffofyou-x

@my-fan-side @spookylightkidranch @velaaaris @keramzinskies @itswrongsong @mirubyjane

@lovelywordsandwine @ladygwynriel @parisakamali @mirubyai

[bookstantrash]

A/N: This is an idea that has been living inside my mind for a really long time and I finally gathered courage to write it. But I’m a bit of a perfectionist, so every time I read and edited it I always found more and more faults in what I had written, so I said “To hell with this, I’m gonna post it before I delete the whole thing”

This ended up being way longer than what I had imagined and I have no idea how I feel about it. So buckle up folks, because this is going to be a ride.

In which she makes a friend

After almost three months living in Illyria, Nesta could not recall a single conversation that had lasted for more than three minutes or that had been longer than two sentences. Not that she cared much in holding meaningless conversations about the weather and whatnot with the few Illyrians bold enough to talk to her. Because few were those that tried to talk to her, those that were not scared of her, whose voices did not whisper Other or Witch whenever she bothered to leave the house she now lived in.

So when Nesta sat on the lonely stone bench in front the house – the weather had given a break and gone from “insufferable bone cold” to ��tolerable chilly” – to try and calm the raging fire in her veins, a sign that her power was trying to break free, a sign that she was close to breaking and destroying everything around her, she was very much surprised to find an Illyrian child walking towards her.

It was not unusual to have a few Illyrians knocking on the door sometimes, given that she now lived with him due to her sister’s order long ago in Velaris. But since her babysitter had gone to Cauldron knows where, to do Cauldron knows what a week ago, no one had come knocking on the door asking for that overgrown bat. Adding the fact that his house was a little secluded from the rest, Nesta could not imagine why that child was coming over.

“Good...good evening” the Illyrian greeted, stopping in front of her.

“He’s not here” Nesta said, eyeing the child in front of her. The boy – Nesta supposed it was a boy, not older than thirteen, with its short cut curly brown hair, bandaged hands, muddied clothes and scar free wings being the only clue she had – shifted nervously on his feet.

“I...I’m not looking for the General” the boy said “I heard there was a Witch living here. I take you are her”

For the second time of that day Nesta found herself surprised. The boy in front of her had called her a Witch in her face, something most did not.

“I wanted to ask for a spell” the boy’s voice had lost a bit of it’s previous nervousness, and he had squared his shoulders, wings slightly flaring “I don’t have much, but I’m ready to give anything in return”

‘You can’t possible have anything to give me’ Nesta thought, glancing at his ripped and dirty clothes.

“I’m no Witch” Nesta said, getting up and turning her back at the kid, making for the house’s door “Go back to your parents”

~•~

The next day, when Nesta was coming back from a walk in the woods – there was something about the ancient trees and the wilderness that helped her control her inner turmoil — she was baffled to see yesterday’s boy waiting for her.

“I’m sorry for yesterday” the boy blurted out before she could send him away “I didn’t want to offend you. I’m Kaelin”

Nesta’s only answer was a blink.

“I...I only said you were a Witch because that’s what the others said you were” Kaelin’s ears turned pink, no doubt embarrassed to admit listening to gossip.

“I don’t blame you” she said, and Kaelin’s eyes lit in surprise.

No. Nesta did not blame the boy for thinking her a Witch. Because long ago, before the war, before the empt void inside her was as big as the ocean, before she heard her father’s neck crack, she had declared to that annoying camp lord Devlon that she indeed was a Witch. But now, even though her powers were as loud as a beast’s roar in her ears, she did not want to touch them. Could not touch them.

And nothing, not even the hopeful look in Kaelin’s light brown eyes, would make her touch the wild beast that lived within her. She would not give the boy false hope. She would not fail another child. Not again. Not ever.

“If you have problems maybe you’d better tell your parents about it, instead of reaching for witchcraft”

After all, even thirteen year old Illyrians must have foolish mistakes that they would rather not tell their parents about.

“I don’t have parents. At least not anymore” Kaelin’s hard and sorrowful voice was enough to make Nesta resist prying further into his problem.

“I see” was the only thing she said, and she once again turned her back at him, entering that lonely and sad cabin, even though she was feeling rather inclined to talk, a feeling she had not felt for the longest time.

~•~

Kaelin appeared on Nesta’s door three days later, with a black eye, bruised cheek and a split lip that didn’t stop him from smiling and giving her something wrapped in brown paper.

“I thought about it and I realised that my apology was lacking” he started talking non stop, not giving Nesta a chance to say anything except gape at him and the gift on her hands “Father always said to treat everyone nicely, unless they were rude to you. He said it was what mother believed in”

Nesta could only nod and unwrap the paper to discover a pair of gloves.

“Did you steal them?” She asked, connecting the dots between the gloves she held — surely way out of the kid’s status of affordable — and his beaten face.

“No!” Kaelin replied, a bitterness in his voice “I know I’m just a lowly orphan but I’d never take something from another one in such an unhonoured way”

Nesta just grossed her arms, waiting for his explanation.

“One of the boys from the high families arrived at training with new boots” he gave a sly smile “I fought him for them”

“You did what?” Nesta’s voice rose and she was holding herself back from shaking the boy until he was back into his right mind.

“Fighting between Illyrians is not prohibited. But it’s best if you don’t get caught” Kaelin replied, a mischievous glint in his eyes.

Nesta felt her temper rising.

“You. Come with me” she grabbed Kaelin’s arm and took him inside before he could protest.

She made him sit on sofa in the living room while she went searching for the medic supplies she was sure Cassian had. Once she found it, she went back to Kaelin and started treating his cuts, mumbling the entire time about how stupid and reckless boys were.

“This is nice” he said, wincing slight when Nesta touched his bruised cheek.

“What is nice?”

“Having someone take care of you” he answered “I... I didn’t know my mom. She died shortly after I was born. Father said she was quite fragile”

Nesta trying to not let show how his words affected her. She remembered another woman, dying in a lonely bed just a few years after her youngest child had been born.

“He died in the last war. Against Hybern” he practically spat the late king’s name, hate filling every syllable.

Nesta finished treating him and started organising the materials, to keep herself busy and have an excuse to buy time to know what to answer him. She had never been good at consoling others. And she didn’t know why, but she was afraid her bluntness would end up hurting Kaelin.

“He was a hero” he said firmly, his eyes shining with defiance “He may have been just a mere foot soldier but he was at the front line, keeping Hybern’s forces back”

“I’m sure he was” Nesta replied, trying not to think about who may have said otherwise to him, hurting a child who had nothing “But would he like to see his son picking meaningless fights?”

“It was to get you a gift” Kaelin looked down and poked at the sofa “I’m sure he’d have understood. Besides, I have to fight and stand out if I want to have a shot at the Rite”

“You mean the Blood Rite? I thought everyone participated” Nesta had gathered little information about the Illyrians for the time she had been living in Illyria. There were no libraries, no bookstores, and the books Cassian had about the Illyrian culture and history were scarce and outdated.

“The very one. You are not obligated to become a warrior, but that’s the path most of male Illyrians take. Not that we have many options to begin with” Kaelin’s voice had became serious “Most of the males from the richer families are bound to participate, but the rest.... we end up being mere foot soldiers. Expendable. So no point in making us take part in it.”

At his words, Nesta could not help but think about Cassian. He too was an orphan but had risen to be Rhysand’s Commander and had seven siphons. From what she had heard and seen at the war, that was rather unusual.

“It’s worse for females” Kaelin added quietly.

She knew that. Saw how females were treated on the rare times she got out of the cabin. A scarce number trained. And she did not know a lot about training, but was sure it was not near enough to make them part of the Illyrian army. Or even defend themselves were the worst to happen.

Nesta opened her mouth to say Cauldron knows what — she had to say something, she could not let the boy leave with such dark thoughts — when a loud noise interrupted her.

It was a sound Nesta knew quite well from her time as a human living in a shabby cottage.

A sound she had become reacquainted with after being Made. After that day at the battle field.

The sound of hungriness. The sound of someone who was starving, and had been so for quite a while.

And it was coming from Kaelin.

The Illyrian boy beside her blushed a deep scarlet, trying — and failing — to come up with an excuse. But Nesta knew better. She knew the signs of starvation. Saw them in herself. Had seen it in her younger sisters, when they were not older than Kaelin.

Thin wrists. Sunken eyes. Cheekbones way too sharp. Up close Nesta could properly examine Kaelin and notice that the boy was all bones and little muscle, his skinny built not a consequence of slow metabolism to gain weight, but rather the fact that he did not have enough sustenance to make it possible.

“I have way too much food stocked here. I was supposed to be living with an adult warrior that can eat for five people “ Nesta began, cutting Kaelin’s blabbering “It would be a crime to let it all get wasted”

Leaving him no window to reply, she took hold of his arm, hauling him towards the kitchen and making him to sit down while she gathered whatever food she came across. And she had enough fire in her eyes — she may or may not have lost a little bit of control of her powers due to her racing emotions — that Kaelin did not dare say a word, but just sit quietly and eat what was put in front of him.

~•~

Nesta’s routine had suffered a slight change after that evening. For the past month and a half, Kaelin had been having a meal with her after his training. Every day.

She had made sure to make it clear that she was expecting a visit from him after his activities were over.

He did not dare argue with her.

Today, however, was an unusual day.

Kaelin was late.

Almost two hours late.

Nesta had come to know Illyrian boy better, and one thing she learned about him was that he detested to be late. For him, his promises and commitment were everything, reminding her of another Illyrian she knew – which had not come back in two months. Not that she missed or was worried about him.

She tried and failed to convince herself that Kaelin may have been held back by training. But she did not know why she felt a strange feeling. Her powers were restless, more so than usual.

The air and the trees around her seemed different.

She felt it deeply in her bones.

As if the Cauldron itself — hidden far far away in a island that did not exist in any map ever written — dreaded whatever future thread the Mother was knitting.

As if something had been woken.

As if the winds of change had gone from a light breeze to a tornado, ready to wreak havoc in Illyria.

Nesta could not hold herself back any longer. She needed to know what was happening. To know if that strange song that spoke of a power strong and ancient was connected to Kaelin tardiness.

So into the woods she went.

She walked and walked, until the song in her ears got louder and a new sound appeared, a sound she would not be able to hear were it not for her fae ears.

The sound of someone whimpering.

Quickening her steps, Nesta followed the cries of pain until the wall of trees around her gave way to a small clearing.

And there, lying curled up in a ball, was Kaelin.

“KAELIN!”

Nesta ran towards him, falling on her knees beside his body.

“What happened? Did somebody hurt you?” she smelled blood, and feared the Illyrian whose boots he had “won” had gone after him for payback.

Her mind was racing, her thoughts overlapping themselves. She recalled another winged body, laying on the ground. She recalled another child, crying in pain due to its empty stomach, who had not seen food for weeks.

She would not fail anyone ever again. That had been her promise to herself.

“Kaelin...” Nesta slowly touched his arm, trying to soothe him “Talk to me. Tell me where it hurts”

Kaelin whimpered, slowly uncurling his body and tucking his wings. He clutched his abdomen, and Nesta dared to try and touch her power.

She would touch that dangerous beast if that meant she could help the young boy in front of her.

And so she tentatively reached inside herself for that source, trying to recall if any training she’d had with Amren may assist her in the current situation.

She scanned Kaelin’s body, and that’s when she noticed the small drops of blood beneath him. But her powers had not detected any wounds. No, he was not hurt.

However, she finally found the origin of the bleeding. And Nesta momentarily lost her breath.

Because she knew the reason why Kaelin was in pain.

“You are not a boy” she breathed.

Kaelin was a girl.

A girl who had had her first period.

A girl who was passing as a boy. Training like one.

And when Kaelin finally meet Nesta’s eyes, brown eyes shining with tears, she cursed the Mother for whatever future thread she had knitted.

•

Tags: @sayosdreams @thewayshedreamed @sjm-things @perseusannabeth

[vidalinav]

All My Girls Like to Fight

Inspired by the song “All my girls like to fight” by Hope Tala

Summary: Devlon trains Nesta. Devlon’s POV

Disclaimer: I personally am on the fence about Nesta training because she’s more magically powerful (probably) than anyone else. However, I will not lie and say it does not intrigue me, because I tend to like anything involving Nesta Archeron. And, I think it would be cool to have her fight (and inevitable) and the sexual tension with Cassian would be through the roof if they ever trained together, which is just chef’s kiss* I just don’t like that Nesta learning to fight feels like she’s giving up more of her values, which doesn’t sit well with me, since she’s had to change so much already and not by choice. But the thought of Devlon being the one to train her satisfied all of the check boxes in my head because I could then work out subtly his own views about female’s fighting. That was very interesting and the fic practically wrote itself. 

Anyways.... here it is! 

General Masterlist, AO3, Fanfic

~

Devlon awoke to the sound of cutting air. It whirred and disappeared. Whooshed and was no more. He clamped his pillow to his ears, half-awake and in the middle of dreaming—some nonsensical dream that he knew he would not remember in the morning.

But the sound erupted again, this time a heavy clash, and his eyes burst open once more stinging.

He was going to murder the person who was at the training quarters this hour—never mind that it was his fault he lived so near. Every warrior, novice or no, knew that hours were reserved for early mornings until the sun completely set. Most males would be at home or a tavern somewhere. Those unlucky enough to be on watch, would be roaming above the forests scouting all that scuttled in the darkness.

But no one should be in the training fields.

Devlon slipped on his boots, not bothering to change, as he ripped the door open and met the ink and wind. He didn’t bother grabbing a weapon, sure as daylight that he’d scare the living wits out of the Illyrian with his presence alone. Probably a new trainee. Young, not knowing the rules. He was going to learn the rules today and he was going to learn them well…

But he did not find a young male, a boy. Not a trainee or a full-blown warrior.

On the dirt, where the mud still lingered from yesterday’s rain, was a girl…. A female. Her brassy hair shining in moonlight. Devlon stepped away at the sight of her.  

This… female.

This witch.

Only a true witch could conjure that bright of a moon or so Devlon thought as she held up the steel. It was much too big for her, probably too heavy by the way her arms shook lifting the sword. But she swung at the leather target in front of her, wobbling on her feet.

The witch barely made a dent in the arm, and as she swung again, Devlon had to clamp his mouth shut from yelling that she was holding the sword wrong in her palms. If she kept that up, she’d surely break her wrist, if not multiple body parts from where it would either slip from her grasps and land on her toes, or from where it would fly from her hands and hit someone else.

He was the only other being on this training field, so Devlon took several steps back.

The mistake he noticed was something he didn’t bother correcting the few girls he’d trained that morning. Their first lesson in swords and shields. And, if he did not do it then, Devlon would not deign to do so now.

That girl was the problem of the general. Though, Devlon wanted to scoff at the audacity of the commander criticizing his training of the females, when his own could not hold a sword.

In fact, Devlon wanted to go get the commander himself, present her before him as another way he was inadequate—stick it to him and that high lord of theirs. This is who you entrust to win wars.  

Instead, Devlon watched as she tried again, switching the blade to her other hand and waving her wrist as if it ached. He swallowed his tongue.

Oh no, he would not get involved in high court affairs.

~

The vexatious female had not stopped her pestering sword fight until early morning, and Devlon had punished the trainees for it. By the time the day had ended, the males were grumbling, wound tight and weary, and he could have sworn a few boys had thrown up behind the saunas.

Devlon had enjoyed their displeasure for he too was displeased. Annoyed. Irritated. Ready to pummel the commander in his next fight for bringing that blasted female to his camp.

Long past the evening was over, he was ready to forget it all, to sleep in his warm hut of a house, simple in its function. Ready for the night to overtake him and for the headache he’d had all day to stop pounding in his skull.

Devlon closed his eyes willing sleep to take him…  

The sound of clashing metal started again.

His body moved without a second thought.

He stormed out of his house, his eyes adjusting to the array of purples and blues alight from trembling stars. Devlon could see her head peak out from the ring, where the practice dummies had been scattered in each corner. Like the night before, he wanted to yell, scream, rage, drag her back to that commander who thought too much of himself.

But like the night before, the image of her, her vile grandeur, made his temper cease.

As he neared, Devlon noted that she wasn’t even on the mats at all. She was sitting on the ground, tapping the sword against a rock. Clack, Clack, Clack. Over and over. Screeching metal that had him gritting his teeth.

Her legs were spread wide in what he thought was far from ladylike, her white nightgown peeking through the fur.

What odd training leathers she had.

He watched as the young witch tipped her head back, her nose held high but not in that pompous way he’d seen before. Devlon followed her gaze all the way to the stars. The midnight beast blinking back its thousand eyes.

There was a story in a Illyria about the night. When he was younger he was half-afraid it would swallow him whole. All of his friends, his family, tumbling to the back of its throat. It was the only thing he’d ever truly been afraid of. Not the wars, the creatures of the forest, the cruelty of the fae, but of this inconsequential thing that stared down as if it were waiting for them. Waiting for them both here in these training fields.

Devlon shook away the ominous thought, turning back to the female who sighed audibly. She hiked up her skirt as she kicked up her boots, and he shifted his head quickly, shying away from the indecent exposure.

She picked up her sword, swinging it round and round, turning to one of the practice dummies. It was large and heavy, three times her size, with various pegs sticking out its trunk. She merely gave it a glare and hiked up the weapon.

What the witch did not know was that it was designed to move. If it was hit, one the arms would swing forward. Hit again, and another on the opposite side would move. It was to teach one to defend rather than to swing blindly.

Swing blindly, she did.

Her wrist was still angled at odd ends, but she managed to cut the leather on the figure’s side. Not a killing blow but perhaps enough to wound an enemy if they had not already maimed her from her lack of skill.

Except the sword got lodged in the wood at the same time one of the pegs moved towards her. The little witch couldn’t maintain her footing, and so the peg smacked her side.

She yelped and Devlon clasped his hand to his nose, shaking his head. Thinking of all the ways, she would hurt herself tonight.

He’d never get sleep...

So, Devlon cut his losses and went back to his hut, willing himself to forget all he’d seen.

~

There were bags under her eyes. The heavy grey, dark and shadowed. It reminded him that she was still just a human girl underneath it all. Devlon half-wondered what she might have been doing if she’d not been thrown into this strange new world where war was what they ate, what they breathed, what they awoke at dawn to pursue.

It was true that he liked to call the witch spoiled behind the commander’s back—in his head; when he grumbled under his breath. That spoiled princess kept in the general’s cabin, unseen, unheard of, but trapezing through the camp as if she belonged here—as if she was one of them. That beautiful, solemn witch who lived in the woods, who ate the dreams of the elders and the smiles of the young.

But she was not a witch. Not Illyrian, certainly. Perhaps, not fae. No longer human. Could not be called lesser fae though, because there was nothing lesser about the female who had ripped Hybern’s head from his body.

She did not show the same strength she had in those few days of the war. Devlon had seen her walking with those buckets and bandages, watching his comrades fall one by one as if she commanded their deaths, plucked their souls from their bodies. How terrifying it must have been for her? This young girl, who had not lived even half of their youngest citizen.

He trained warriors for a near millennium who came back with lost limbs, lost friends, lost sanities, but what did she lose? What did she even have to lose? This little witch who had experienced nothing.

“Your wrist—” He spoke at last, his words rough to his own ears. She stared up at him, eyes widening then down at the sword in her hand. “You’ll break it if you keep bending it like that.”

He watched as she stubbornly gripped the handle tighter, turning her back to him and swinging at the practice dummy again. It swung from the momentum and the girl—female—witch—stepped back unable to keep her footing.

Dead, he thought. If she were in a battle she’d be dead.

“And your stance needs work,” He added sardonically. She huffed in reply. But Devlon was not finished. She had kept him up with her pestering noise for six days. He was tired.

“Why do you want to train?” he demanded because he truly needed to know. Why the late nights and the early mornings? Why punch when she didn’t know how? Why use a sword she could barely hold upright? He was tired of not knowing why she walked through the training fields as if it were a war zone and she was wading through the bodies.

Why fight at all?

She could be sheltered, taken care of, happily ensconced in an estate somewhere, with the general himself even if that last day in the war was any indication.

But the witch did not answer his question. Instead, she adjusted her grip, widening her stance, and holding the sword as if she was holding some sporting bat he’d seen the children play with.

“Incorrect,” he voiced allowed, circling her form.

She huffed but moved her left foot forward and her right slightly back, though he gave her no directions to do so.

“Incorrect!”

“Then why don’t you tell me what is correct?” She answered, harshly.

“Why don’t you ask?” He provoked.

But she lunged at him with the sword.

He quickly stepped out of her way and gave her a look, “Too easy.”

She tried again, and he stepped to the side. She hit the rope and it cut in half.

“You are not doing anything but tiring yourself.”

“Shut up!” She yelled, fury spitting out of her words.

Fine.

He remained silent as she ambled towards him, huffing along the way. Devlon crossed his arms, raising a brow and when she swung again, he grabbed the sword from her hands.

It was easy… because she was holding it wrong.

Devlon waited. The little witch glared, raising her head to meet him in the eyes.

Her face was red. Her hair, wild. Her eyes, gleaming. And, for a moment she reminded him of the night sky. The imminent danger of someone inconsequential…

Devlon held out the sword to her, the handle ready for her palm. She glanced at it, then back at him.

The female pursed her lips, looking as though she did not want to accept his gift, but Nesta grabbed the weapon firmly.

Why do you want to fight? He’d asked her.

“No one else can fight for me.”

~ “Join the ranks tomorrow,” Devlon commanded, crossing his arms, “At a decent hour, this time.”

“You can’t be serious,” Nesta exclaimed, dropping the sword on the ground. Devlon sniffed at that. That would be their next lesson it seemed, how to treat weapons with the respect they were due.

For now, he settled on tapping a foot. His patience dimming with the lack of sleep. A headache was already beginning to form as the little witch crossed her arms, lifting her shoulders in a way that had him thinking she must have had wings in another lifetime—in another form.  

In any case, she could not be more irritated than him and Devlon rose to the challenge, “In a real battle, you will not be fighting training dummies.”

Nesta scoffed, her eyes widening as she began to make big, dramatic gestures with her hands, “They’ve trained all their lives. They’ll pummel me.”

“Perhaps, but that is the risk you take in any fight,” He breathed; the words coated in sincerity. “The males won’t take it easy on you, surely. Might even try harder to win. After all, no one wants to be beaten by a mere wisp of a female, but no enemy in war will spare you or wait for you to be ready. Either they best you and you end up with a few bruises or you learn to hit first.”

She took a deep breath, her nostril flaring in that way he knew meant she wanted to yell and so Devlon went on.

“You have kept me up for three weeks. I have taught you basic forms, stances, how to punch, how to kick, how to use your body against someone larger. I cannot teach you anymore. You must fight.”

“Is that all it takes? A few punches and a kick and someone’s ready to rage war.”

“No,” He called, scenting the fear. “But if you don’t fight, you don’t learn. There are some things only experience can teach you.”

She opened her mouth to argue, but Devlon raised a hand.

“I won’t force you to go.” She clamped her mouth shut, her shoulders relaxing. “But know that if you don’t go, I’m not training you any longer. Our lessons stop here.”

Devlon watched as she gulped down her arguments, the silence tangible in the height of the witching hour.

Nesta looked past him, up to the stars.

If she saw her answers hidden in the cosmos, he wanted her to say it aloud, get this night over with and settled. But she closed her eyes, clenching her fists.  

When she opened them again, he saw the grey flash in the darkness.

A newborn star, he thought.

Bright and burning.

“Fine,” She huffed, picking up the sword.

~

When Nesta walked into the training quarters the morning after next, Devlon was almost surprised.

This time instead of nightgowns and fur coats or sweats she’d hastily thrown on, she wore training leathers. But even if she walked with arrogance of a queen, he could still see the apprehension in her gait. Perhaps, it had something to do with the commander and the shadowsinger who looked on, eyebrows crinkling.

He supposed he picked a wrong day for her to join legion training, because well… both of them were here. Usually, Devlon had advanced warning of these visits but it seemed that the commander hadn’t bothered telling him that the shadowsinger would be making his rounds, spying on their progress.

At their gazes, at all of their gazes including the males who started to whisper under their breaths, the witch lifted her chin. Tall and impressively indifferent.

Learn to examine them, he’d told her. The foot they favor. The side they use the most. The weapons they’re most skilled at. That is what you learn by being in the ring, by facing them head on.

Learn to use what you know—what you are.  

Nesta had no problem at finding weaknesses, he found, as she surveyed them all, but they had no problem leering, sneering, and jeering at her. The males closest to the general began to step aside, and the ones far enough away moved closer to see his reaction.

But Nesta didn’t bother looking at Cassian, instead she stepped towards him. Her arms crossing in that petulant way of hers.

“I’m here,” She huffed.

“I can see that,” he said, giving her a dry look.

His lack of directions seemed to annoy her, because she looked away, not succeeding to hide the roll of her eyes. Devlon could feel the headache already forming.

“We’ll start with drills,” He began, “Laps around the field, running through stances, and then hand-to-hand combat.”

The witch nodded her head, moving to join the males who straightened as she walked towards them.

She looked… small in comparison.

But small in the way that he imagined a venomous snake hid on the forest floor or a bushel of nightshade might disguise itself in grand bouquets. She was dangerous, he knew. They all knew, though they didn’t know exactly what chaos hid beneath her skin or how it might destroy them all had she been displeased with them.

The general sidled up to him, the shadowsinger ever close and present, and Devlon inwardly sighed. Both of them watching Nesta begin to run laps.

“When did she start this?” He asked, his tone outrageous and cynical.

“I don’t know what else to tell you, besides the fact that she lives in your house. If you don’t know when she started this, I’ll have to point out your lack of perception.”

“When did she start this?” The commander snarled. Devlon did not care for the tone.

“You. Tell. Me.” He offered slowly, tilting his head, waiting for the male to answer. “If you don’t know where she’s been, then how would I know? She was left to you wasn’t she?”

“Nesta can go wherever wants.”

“Then it seems we’re at a standstill, because you allowed her to roam freely but apparently were not clever enough to spy. Or is that why the shadowsinger is here?”

The hotheaded commander sneered as Azriel, the surprising voice of reason, laid a hand on his shoulder. “Just ask her, Cass?”

Cassian shrugged him off. “Why is she here, then?”

He thought that was obvious. “Because she made the choice to train.”

“She doesn’t know how to fight.”

Devlon grinned.

“Then maybe you should have trained her.”

The general’s face turned a special shade of red as his wings spread wide, but Devlon merely turned away. Watching as the little witch ran circles around the ring.

~

“I have to fight him?” She asked, pointing her index lightly to the male who grunted as he lifted a set of heavy weights.

“You don’t have to fight him,” Cassian interjected. “There’s no logical reason for this.”

Devlon tapped his foot. Even the shadowsinger looked as if he’d rather be somewhere else. “Experience is the best teacher.”

Nesta made a face, unconvinced.

“It will teach you your weaknesses.”

Her voice rose incredulously. “What weaknesses?” She asked.

Devlon raised a hand to his nose, the endless questions wearing down his patience. But he began with the truth anyways. “You favor your right side, but you’re left-handed, so you get off balance easily. You get tired too fast and end up winded before you hit anything vital. You clearly favor a sword, but all of the ones we have are too heavy for you to lift…”

The witch crossed her arms, a frown appearing on her face.

“But those things can be trained out of you… What cannot is the way you think too much before you swing. You second guess yourself before you punch. You’re too trapped in that head of yours and either you understand that you have to hit, or you understand that someone will beat you before you get the chance because you’re too busy thinking about the success of each outcome.”

Devlon watched as Nesta straightened her stance.

“I cannot teach you how to fight for yourself.”

He looked her dead in the eyes, knew and understood what she’d said that day, knew she remembered by the clench of her jaw. But, Nesta lifted a casual shoulder, noting Cassian and Azriel who watched the discourse with rapt attention.

“You’ve been watching me.”

“We should all know our enemies.” He pointed to the male, Aedon, a novice set to complete the Rite this year, who was used to being bullheaded and arrogant. “That male, right now, is your enemy.”

The little witch nodded in concession, and the commander scoffed, looking all too defeated for someone who’d barely argued for his cause. Perhaps, he knew he didn’t have one or at least one that Nesta would listen to.  

She sidled up to the platform as the male, noticing her stare made his way. A swaggering prick who Devlon knew wanted to intimidate her. They would all do that at one point or another, he warranted, he grasped as the rest of the males seemed to forget they were supposed to be training themselves. They crowded around the mats; the boundaries separated by ropes.  

Cassian and Azriel too, made their way to watch the fight unfold.

It seemed that many of the trainees were making bets, though they hushed quietly as he neared.

Nesta ignored the rest, only looking to the male who wrapped his hands in white gauze.

“You’re a small thing,” he noted, unhelpfully.

The little witch lifted a brow. “I’d say you’re a large thing, but I think it’s only your head.”

Aedon huffed a laugh, and though his eyes lit up with amusement, something else settled in. Something darker and foreboding.

It was a look Devlon had seen before. A look he’d seen on many of his warriors.  

“I’ll make sure not to hit your face,” the male mocked.

Nesta looked at him confused, but Aedon took that as an opportunity to lung, kicking his foot out until Nesta was lying on the ground. He heard the crack as her shoulders slammed into the platform and he hoped, in some deep part of him, past the part that said he didn’t care at all, that it was the wood that splintered and not her spine.

She gasped loudly as she placed a hand on her chest, but no one came to help her move. It would’ve been shameful to do so. This female who wanted to fight with the warriors.

She did this to herself he imagined them thinking. Because it was that thought that immediately entered his mind. She chose this.

Get up, Devlon wanted to shout. Get. Up!

The shadowsinger held the commander back, though what he could have done Devlon didn’t know. Pummel the male who hit her when she willingly entered the match?

After learning everything he knew about this witch, he doubted she’d appreciate the gesture.

“You want to play with the big boys?” Aedon spit, “You get hit.”

He tutted lowly. “Do you need a minute, princess, or are you used to being on your back?”

Devlon didn’t dare show his own rage, but he grasped the rope, his fists clenching around the thick string until he felt he might rip it off himself. The feeling surprised even him.

But Nesta twisted herself upright, turning to the male with bright, furious eyes.

Nesta lunged and when he punched, she ducked, grabbing his arm. She used her weight until he was sprawled on the floor, but he reached out to grab her leg and she fell to her knees. She tried to kick him off, but he was larger, heavier, and it didn’t take much to pull her backwards until she was on the floor with him on top of her. He punched once, his fists landing on her cheekbone.

Aedon walked off, grabbing a towel he’d hung on the rope. Nesta cradled her cheek, kissing the mat with her body. While he waited, Aedon began tapping his foot. Tap. Tap. Tap. Over and over until Devlon, himself, could hear the noise ringing in his ears.

Nesta turned to face him and no one else.

She sauntered up to him slowly, serpentine and vile. Her eyes getting darker, her mouth set in a thin line. And Aedon laughed. Lowly at first, but the sound began to rise in pitch until it sounded maniacal and deranged.

This time, Aedon sprung forward, but Nesta was quick on her feet, and she moved just enough to grab his arm and twist it behind him. In this position, the male bowed before them and Nesta kicked out her foot.

He fell to the ground, twisting quickly to face her, but Nesta didn’t let him move. She ambled on top of him, her legs on either side of his torso and she hit. And hit. And hit. Until his face was bleeding, and her fists were drenched in the male’s blood.

Still she hit and the awaiting Illyrians did nothing but watch the young warrior play with the big boys.

Cassian shrugged off the shadowsinger, bending through the ropes around the ring. Devlon watched as he hoisted Nesta off the male by the waist. Her face was red and ferocious, and she began to fight the commander as well. But he didn’t let her go. Not until she had stopped fighting, stopped kicking, stopped punching, and she took deep, gasping breaths.

She stared at the male on the ground, wiping her forehead with her arm, the blood smearing on her face like war paint and she must have finally noticed all of the males looking at her. Some in doubt of what they just witnessed, others in outrage that she had the guts. Devlon didn’t know what his expression looked like, though he tried to school it into plain indifference.

The little warrior looked to the commander once more, who braced himself, his wings expanding wide. Ready to take her punches or fly her off, Devlon wasn’t sure, but he wanted to see. A mere curiosity at what the general would do.

But Nesta slipped past him, past them all with her shoulders pushed back and her head raised high. She looked to him then, her gaze harsh.

“Are we done?”

Devlon turned his gaze back to the warrior who’d bragged about his skill and was defeated so easily. “For now.”

She left without a second glance and Devlon could only nod to the male dripping blood on his mats, “wipe your face.”

~

Devlon found the young female in the infirmary. A tent the size of a small room that many warriors chose not to even step in, in fear that they would look weak to their comrades. The general and the shadowsinger were already there.

Azriel turned to the corner, blending with the shadows as Devlon so often noticed. Distantly, he could see him crushing some herbs, though the action did not make him look inconspicuous. Rather, it seemed he was trying to give the other two privacy at the same time he was eavesdropping. Cassian ran amuck, grabbing bandages and band aids and tea, though Nesta looked perfectly fine to him, besides a wound on her face.

Devlon wanted to sigh at the two of them. Pups still, even if they were over five hundred and had ended more lives than the years they’d lived.

Cassian laid an icepack under Nesta’s eye, where her cheek was red and blistering. She’d have a bruise in the morning probably...

Even some wounds couldn’t heal fast enough for the fae.

But, Nesta angled away from him as she hissed, grabbing the pack from his hands. The commander frowned but let her take control, though he remained hunched, his wings drooping to the floor.

His gaze laid solely on hers and Devlon felt... uncomfortable—conscious that the moment was between the two of them and perhaps not for two Illyrian busybodies who’d stumbled on this place for the same reason. To see exactly what would befall the two when disaster seemed to always follow.

“I wanted to teach you how to fight,” He admitted, unsure of his words.

Nesta didn’t bother looking at him.

“It wasn’t your decision.”

“And Devlon is...”

“He’s an asshole,” she said. Devlon gave her a bland look, though she made no move to take notice of him standing in the middle of the tent like an outright buffoon. “But he’s honest... and he doesn’t treat me any different from anyone else.”

Cassian shook his head, his expression pained. “I didn’t mean to make you feel that you couldn’t... tell me that you were...wanted to train. I--” His eyebrows cinched in that way Devlon remembered he’d do when he was young. All too afraid of being exactly what they called him.

“It wasn’t about you,” the little warrior answered harshly. The commander straightened at her stare, poignant but not malicious.

Honest.

Brutally so.

And perhaps that was what the general needed to hear, after all. What they all needed to hear for they all knew what the little witch meant. That the ability to choose was perhaps more powerful than the opportunity itself. That she had chosen, invariably, to wander in the middle of the night, to pick up a sword, to keep swinging and hitting and punching, to fight whether she knew how or not.

Nesta had chosen this. No one else could have convinced her.

Nesta turned to him then and lifted the icepack from her cheek.

“He said he wouldn’t hit my face,” She grumbled.

Devlon blinked, surprised at her words. “Did that appease you somehow?”

The female angled her head, thinking it over.

“No...” She declared somberly, “Bruises that you can’t see are still bruises.”

At the tone, Devlon began to shuffle uncomfortably once more, though he stayed as the witch grimaced. Cassian moved to switch her icepack to one wrapped in cloth, the liquid dripping on to the leather.

But Devlon couldn’t help stepping forward. Didn’t know why he did.  

“You fought like an Illyrian today.”

Cassian and Azriel raised their heads. Devlon tried not to care too much, though he wanted to yell at them to run more drills as if they were still in his warband five hundred years before, fresh and almost too squeaky clean.

“Like a male,” he continued.

Nesta made a disgruntled face, displeased with his choice of words. “You just haven’t seen enough females fight.”

Devlon shrugged a shoulder. “I haven’t seen enough females want to fight. You are a rare exception.”

She lifted a brow and then grimaced at the gesture. She’d done that twice already, as if she kept forgetting that she was in pain. Devlon smiled in spite of himself.

But she pursed her lips anyway, looking to the tent that surrounded them, the purple fabric mimicking purple skies. He wondered if she could see straight through, feel the weight of the atmosphere like a bandage on a wound. Like that icepack on her face.

“Your world is too small if you believe that,” She spoke.

Devlon opened his mouth to refute, but Nesta held up her hand, silencing his argument.

“Are we training tomorrow?” She asked, though she must have known the answer.

“At the crack of dawn.”

Nesta began gesturing dramatically.  

“That’s so early,” She whined. Devlon scoffed in outrage.

But at the look, Nesta merely smiled. Small and perhaps just a tilt of her lips, but unafraid. A wild look in her eyes as if she enjoyed the teasing... the prospect of training... of being someone they didn’t expect.

Inconsequential to the naïve. Imminently powerful to the rest.

Perhaps this time, Devlon wouldn’t mind training the girls... Might even look forward to it.  

~

Tags: @ekaterinakostrova, @soitsgorgeous, @duskandstarlight, @pizzaneverdisappoints, @imwritingthesewords, @arin1030, @adelainejdevyn, @thebluemartini, @nahthanks, @laylaameer01

~

I wanted Nesta to make the choice to fight, and I definitely didn’t want it to be a decision on behalf of anyone else, because Nesta has had enough people take away her autonomy. But I also wanted the choice to fight to directly relate to her making a choice to fight for herself. And so at the end there, she may not be as skilled as everyone else realistically, she may not even know what fighting will cost her, but she’s angry and she’s tired and she’s going to fight and she’s going to fight to win.

Also, Devlon is a really cool character to me, but in this fic I wanted to make his lack of allowing women to fight be more complicated than just traditional sexism. So, I thought to make half of his treatment towards women because of his traditionalistic views that haven’t been challenged, and the other half, the contention, be because of having been told by Rhys, Azriel, and Cassian that he must train the females and the females must train or else. Rhys and Azriel and Cassian chose to do the blood right, these girls are being told they have to learn to fight. So I thought, here lies the great hypocrisy of being like we need to make this camp more equal, but the way we’re going to do that is by taking another decision away from the women. I just thought maybe Devlon would willingly help Nesta because she made the choice to want to train—might even admire and respect that about her and in turn this would be the spark to change. Nesta indirectly influencing the others. 

One day I will stop writing essay length analyses of my own writing lol but today is not the day. I’m going to work on my Eris fic now and get that posted soon!

Comment, Reblog, Like or all three if you liked and want to see more fics posted! If you don’t like... don’t tell me lol 

But also, Happy Reading and almost release day!!! It’s getting closer at least. Keep holding out! I know we’re all going a bit stir crazy... 

[theladyofbloodshed]

do u want to know what's really funny? the times where nesta uses bastard as a real insult to cassian occur in a bonus chapter

when beron calls Cassian a bastard of a lesser fae whore, nesta defends him by saying "that bastard may wind up being the only person standing in the way of Hybern’s forces and your people" (ACOWAR)

cassian is gripping Nesta's wrist, demanding she use her magic to get him off of her so she calls him an arrogant bastard and he replies that she's a haughty witch so they're evenly matched - again not really a true insult (ACOSF)

she loses count of her exercises because she's trying not to look at cassian's body so he tells her to start again and she calls him a bastard in her own head (ACOSF)

she also references him as a bastard in her head again a couple of pages later when he struts over, smugly, after he realises gwyn and emerie are teasing her about him and her not being able to concentrate when he's around (ACOSF)

Nesta references both Cassian and Azriel as bastards for changing the obstacle course every night in her head, again not out loud (ACOSF)

when cassian is crowding her space in her home asking her if she's a virgin or prefers girls, nesta replies - after trying to change the topic multiple times - that she's surrounded by bastards so won't sully herself - this was to insult him (Wings & Embers)

after cassian licks her neck, she asks if it's magic because she's in disbelief. he laughs, she says "if that's what a bastard-born Fae warrior can do, no wonder my sister has become so entangled with the High Lords" (Wings & Embers)

cassian is pestering nesta, asking why she is letting elain marry graysen and asks what nesta deserves, she replies "certainly more than a bastard-born nobody"

And for some context:

Bastard is used 36 times in ACOSF - 4 of those by Nesta about Cassian. It is used by Cassian about himself, Rhys, Amren, Az, Devlon, Eris.

Bastard is used 12 times in ACOFAS - 0 by Nesta. Cassian refers to Rhys as a bastard at least 3 times.

Bastard is used 16 times in ACOWAR - 1 by Nesta when she defends Cassian. It’s used often by Eris.

TLDR; Cassian needs therapy for his own issues. Leave Nesta alone.

[rhyswhitethorn]

Nesta Theory

Okay since we’re all going on about Nesta Archeron, just hear me out, fellow SJM cultists.

(1) Remember when Lord Devlon called her a witch? I’ll get back to that in a bit. (2) So like, we all know that the gates could be opened and the characters could cross worlds (eg: Aelin, our Fire Breathing Bitch Queen, being another star in Prythian that Rhysand, our sexy Illyrian bat, waved to) and (eg2: the Book of Breathings and The Walking Dead in Lunathion?? Hello?)

What if—JUST LISTEN TO ME—the Archeron’s mother is a witch? Not like Manon Blackbeak, no, but like in Elide’s case, with watered down witch blood? I mean, witches only give birth to daughters, and she has three, for God’s sake. And maybe it might be more prominent in Nesta than in her younger siblings, but I’d like to think that she is, part witch, and a full on boss ass bitch. The witches do bring on death to anyone who crosses them (I’m looking at you, Elain, stabbing the King of Hybern) (Okay Feyre, you did your part).

I do hope there’ll be some insight on their mother in ACoSF.

[princessofmerchants]

I think I just spotted a hint as to the immense strength and vastness of Nesta's power.

When Devlon first meets her he calls her a witch, and says "She is no more High Fae than we are."

Then when Nesta asks Mor what the difference between a witch and a faerie is, Mor says:

“Witches amass power beyond their natural reserve. ... They use spells and archaic tools to harness more power to them than the Cauldron allotted—and use it for whatever they desire, good or ill.”

I'm guessing Devlon asked if Nesta was a witch because he sensed how much power she had within her and the amount was so beyond what a regular High Fae possesses that his logical conclusion was that she was a witch amassing her power from external sources. 👀

I can't wait to see her push that power to its limits...

[gwynrielendgame]

Gwyn one shot

Idk I just write shit I think is chaotic

TW(possible): SA

Devlon was, once again, trying to invalidate the females who had won the blood rite. Gwyn didn't see why it was necessary for the three sisters to help train the other female Illyrians in their own camps. It would be much more beneficial for them to train at the house of wind training ring, away from all the male scrutiny. Gwyn, Emerie, and Nesta knew how much it bothered Devlon that they had done so well in the rite. He had made comments here and there invalidating them and went as far as embarrassing them in front of other war camp leaders, suggesting that they only won because the Illyrian males went easy on them. Cassian and Azriel could only do so much. It was really starting to piss Gwyn off. She knew Devlon was provoking them, but Gwyn no longer seemed to care. He would continue to do this until one of the girls proved him wrong.

"I mean if we are speaking honestly, you females only did so well because you had each other. Individual hand-to-hand combat is a completely different playing field." Some of the higher rank males laughed along with Devlon. Nesta rolled her eyes while Emerie could not have looked less interested if she tried.

"Fine. Who do you want me to fight?" Gwyn snapped at the pigheaded male. It caught everyone by surprise. While Devlon was trying to goad them, he didn't think they would call him out by proving him wrong. Cassian and Azriel sent Gwyn a wary look. They knew her and Emerie won the blood rite, but they haven't seen any of the females actually fight. They would continue to underestimate her too.

"I don't expect you to actually fight any of my males, darling." He sent her a toothy grin as if they were in on the same joke. "It wouldn't be fair."

"Pick your guy and I'll fight him." She insisted. She would shut him up once and for all. Devlon had never seen her fight either. She would show him exactly where he could shove his "darling."

"Gwyn." Emerie muttered. Clearly hoping for Gwyn to shut up. If anyone knew of the Illyrians ruthlessness, it was her. Devlon smirked before scanning the area. There were several men training on the opposite side of the ring. Gwyn, her two sisters, Cassian, and Azriel (for some reason) were currently standing on the females side along side Devlon. They were supposed to be giving helpful tips, but the arrogant male had been too busy undermining them to allow any teaching to occur. Devlon stopped his scanning and turned to Gwyn.

"Trev. Come here." Devlon called to the other side. Almost predictably, the largest man over there came strutting over to them. When Gwyn made eye contact, she immediately froze. He was in the same group as her in the blood rite. He also woke up early. He seemed more fascinated by the weapons on the playing field than her, so she took his distraction as her time to escape. Trev stopped a few feet away from them and looked towards Devlon.

"You're going to do hand-to-hand combat with the half-breed." He sneered out the last word as though it might hurt Gwyn. She rolled her eyes. He was going to have to do a lot better than that if he wanted to hurt her. To his credit, Trev looked apprehensive.

"No weapons?"

"No." Devlon almost looked gleeful as he said this, but it caused Trev's eyes to nervously glance over to Nesta's.

"Seems unfair. Does the witch promise to leave me alone if I hurt her friend?" All eyes seemed to turn to Nesta who was glaring as per usual.

"I don't make promises I can't keep." Her response was curt, but it had Gwyn elbowing her in the ribs. If this was how she had to prove herself, then so be it. It appeared she would need her sisters on board for it though. "Fine. No witchy shit." Nesta conceded after an intense stare down with Gwyn. Cassian spoke up next.

"This seems like a bad idea." Gwyn shot him a glare. She knows he doesn't mean to do it, but comments like that undermine her ability as much as Devlon's. She could handle herself against anyone. She would never allow a man to have the upper hand again.

"She can do it." Azriel's quiet confidence had her sliding her eyes to meet him. She could find only support behind them which strengthened her resolve. She stepped inside the ring and quickly ran through her stretches. Just as Trev stepped in, she began her mind-stilling.

"Go." It was a singular, quiet word spoken by Devlon, but Gwyn was off. She knew that Trev wouldn't make the first move with his apprehension. Gwyn shot her fist into Trev's neck which had him bending over in a coughing fit. Gwyn grabbed the back of his head and shoved it into her knee. He was sprawled on the floor for less than a second before he hopped back up.

"Bitch." He muttered as he spit blood from his mouth. Gwyn could now see the anger simmering in his eyes. This is where the real fight began. They traded a series of blows, and punches, and kicks. Gwyn got hit so hard in the temple she started seeing stars, but she refused to give up. Her stubbornness wouldn't allow her to lose this fight. Gwyn once again got the upper hand by kicking the back of his knee which had him falling once more. She jabbed her fingers into his eyes which had him screaming. He managed to shove her back while yelling profanities at her. She wasn't playing fair and she knew that. She was taking as many low blows as she could. Trev wouldn't be used to this kind of combat considering other males liked to play by certain rules. Gwyn didn't have that sort of luxury being at such a physical disadvantage.

"Fuck you." He shouted then a small smirk quirked his lips up. "You should hear what the other males have to say about you." They were both circling each other at this point. The exhaustion was setting in for both of them and they needed a second to breathe. Gwyn didn't think the other males would gossip like teenage busybodies, but apparently she would be proven wrong. He threw out a fist that she barely blocked. It still clipped her jaw though.

"Didn't realize the great Illyrian warriors were such gossips." She huffed out. Stupid males.

"Those Illyrian warriors talk about how much they wanted your friends that day. How they would have been willing to lose the whole thing for one night with either of them. Didn't hear quite the same thing about you." Gwyn suddenly knew where this was going and blood roared in her ears. She impulsively threw a punch into his ribs that he easily blocked and responded with a punch of his own to her ribs. She realized then that that was his plan. Piss her off enough that she becomes sloppy. She started her mind-still again, but he wouldn't stop talking.

"I'm curious what's under those leathers. I didn't get a good look that day." He paused for only a second to drag his eyes up and down her body. It was enough to make her skin crawl. "I hear it is quite the canvas of scars. One of my brothers said one look at you in that nightgown had him gagging." Gwyn's breathing became much more labored.

"Shut up." She spit at him. She sent a kick to his thigh, but he stepped away too quickly.

"Another one of my brothers said your skin was so mutilated, he'd rather fuck a suriel." Trev laughed at that. Gwyn didn't peg him for a vindictive male, but she supposed he didn't like being made a fool of so quickly within their fight. "It's hard to know for sure without seeing with my own eyes though. Why don't you show a little skin?"

"You know what I have noticed about men?" Gwyn started. Her rage had peaked and she was about to let it out. "They don't play by the rules. So why should I?" Gwyn dropped down to her knees and swung her legs out. Trev fell hard, too slow to notice what Gwyn was doing. She was sitting on his chest. His arms stuck under her legs. She had pulled a hidden dagger out and shoved it through his lips. She held his tongue between two fingers and pressed the dagger heavily to it. Trev's eyes widen and Gwyn could hear shouts from outside the ring.

"What was that, Trev? I couldn't quite hear you. What were you saying about my body?" Trev was squirming with all his might but he had exhausted most of his energy by now, and Gwyn's anger was insatiable. She felt as though she had increased strength even for a fae. He was muttering and mumbling, but none of it made since with his tongue in her tight grasp.

"Don't get shy now. Speak up." Gwyn felt as though her anger could shoot out of her like a ray of light. It was uncontrollable. The shouting outside of the ring continued but Gwyn was only focused on the male in front of her. It wasn't until she registered the fear in his eyes that her anger started to dim. She finally could hear what they were saying.

"Gwyn, stop." That was Nesta.

"Gwyn, he didn't mean it." Emerie.

"Let him go." Cassian.

"Are you fucking crazy, you dumb bitch?" And that one was definitely Devlon.

It was as if she was burned by fire. One second she was about to cut his tongue out of his mouth and the next she was throwing herself off him and scrambling away. It appeared Trev was on the same mind set because he also was scrambling away from her.

"Sorry." Gwyn could barely choke it out. She didn't know what overcame her. She just hoped it never happened again. Her breathing was heavy as she searched her family's faces for the judgement that should be there. Nesta and Emerie looked concerned, Cassian looked wary, and Azriel looked...supportive? He had that same look on his face as before. As though he understood the rage that was boiling over inside before she shoved it back down.

"Sorry." Gwyn tried again. Devlon was looking over Trev at this point who still looked spooked. Both of the females jumped out of whatever daze they were in and grabbed Gwyn.

"We need to go." Nesta whispered. "Before Devlon can dish out any punishments." The beautiful high fae female was hurrying them over to Azriel to winnow them away. Cassian was staying behind. Probably to do damage control if Gwyn had to guess.

It wasn't until the were back in the personal library of the house of wind did Gwyn break down. She was so startled by her own wrath that she didn't know how to cope. Gwyn had never been cruel before, but in that moment, she felt cruel. Azriel left the females to comfort their sister, but not before whispering so only Gwyn could hear.

"Good job."

[slutsofren]

like devlon spent the whole series calling nesta witch for her powers and looks what would he call a human who die and reborn as a fae with powers from all the high lords, hair unnaturaly half silver, carring themselves like a illyrian and holding the affects of the three most powerful illyrians in history not to mention their sharp af tongue

honestly ive been debating this because i really want to step away from the overwhelming misogyny that's already in the books bUUUUT i do kind of imagine that devlon would be an old school kind of bastard and be like "she seduced our greatest warriors?? they're pussy-whipped!!" and all three of them are like-

oh!! alternatively devlon calls reader a whore and she's like "put some respect on my name- im a slut! choke on my crown, you crochety old man" 🔪

[arinbelle]

A Court of Witches and Warriors

It came to my brain in the middle of the night that I didn’t add any trigger warnings to chapter 1 so I will be fixing that- I’m so sorry about that. I know most people probably haven’t read this story anyways but it won’t be happening again. Also, all characters and plot from ACOTAR belong to SJM.

Enjoy!

Masterlist link here

Warnings: Implied sexual assault, Alcoholism, Addiction

Tag List:

@bookstantrash

@greerlunna

@queenestarcheron

@moe8

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Chapter 2-Cassian

She looked so lost. So at odds with the female he had come to know after she had been turned High Fae. From the moment Cassian had met Nesta, even as a human woman, he had been enraptured. She was a mystery to say the least. He'd never seen so much anger and grace in each sharp movement she had made that day she'd kneed him in the balls. Never had he come across a female with such vicious words, simply to hide the bleeding heart underneath. She reminded him of Amren- vaguely-except Amren did not love and rage and hurt and suffer as Nesta did.

Where had she gone? Where was the woman who had stood her ground against the most powerful High Lords of Prythian, back ramrod straight, practically scolding them on their selfishness as a mother would to her mischievous toddlers? He hadn't seen that fire in her, the same one that beckoned him closer from that first day- not in months. Hell, not in a year almost.

She had been reduced to this shell and he couldn't stand it. He wanted to scream at the world. Scream for her because she never would. Scream at the Queens for starting this mess in the first place. Scream at the long dead King of Hybern who had slaughtered her father in front of her eyes- something no child should ever have to witness. Scream at the one he called brother for scaring her so much that last day in Velaris.

How dare you? How dare you push her further down? How could you Rhys?

Most of all though, Cassian wanted to scream at himself. Rage at all that he was because ultimately he had let her down the most. He hadn't stepped in when it was obvious her downward spiral into addiction was steadily increasing speed-had not thought to even approach her if only to save himself from the verbal lashing she always had ready for him. He hadn't stepped in when Rhys and Feyre had practically banished her to this place, with him of all people. And these three weeks that she had stayed here he didn't know what to do. How could he help? He had once been where she was suffering before, but he had also had Rhys and Azriel, as always, but also Mor and Amren. He had had a unit of support. Nesta had...no one. Of course she had him. Nesta would always have Cassian- even if she didn't want him, he would always be there for her should the need arise. But what he, one male, could do for the world of grief weighing down those too thin shoulders...he didn't know.

He led her to a training ring where Devlon and a few young females were getting ready for the day's lesson. She had followed behind him silently, occasionally sending out sharp glances to the sparring occurring on nearby rings, before focusing her gaze back down at the ground. She had to be freezing in that joke of a dress- even with the coat he had bought for her from Emerie's shop.

Tomorrow, he decided. Tomorrow he would have a proper seamstress come by and take her measurements for warmer clothing.

She hadn't worn this dress in a long time. He remembered the first time he saw her in it. He had been training at the House of Wind, while Feyre had been playing spy at the Spring Court. Nesta had come down in this same dress and Azriel had managed to hit Cassian fiercely on the head, effectively winning their duel. It had been worth it though. He'd seen revealing dresses before- Mor and Amren and perhaps the entirety of the female population in Velaris saw to that. And sure he enjoyed the view, just as long it wasn't tiny demonic creatures that complained too much or chipper blondes who had too much uncomfortable history between them and a certain Shadowsinger. But Nesta's dress had clung to her like a second skin, leaving very little to the imagination, even though it actually left everything to the imagination because she was covered from head to toe. Cassian had stared and stared until she asked if he had a concussion from the hit or if his stupid mouth had finally run out of words to use. He had told her his mouth could do much more than speak words, and that he would be more than glad to demonstrate for her. She had stormed off, whatever task she had come down for clearly forgotten. The image of her hips swaying as she left was also worth her anger.

He stopped abruptly, a few feet in front of the ring, as he tried to decide on where to put Nesta for this particular-

He jolted forward slightly from an unexpected push on his wings, while hearing a soft "Oof" from behind him.

Nesta had walked into him, clearly not paying attention to what was in front of her. He reached out a hand to steady her and she stepped out of his path with ease. No, she wouldn't appreciate comfort, and certainly not from him. He took her in slowly, and noticed a tension that hadn't been there before. Or perhaps it had and he had been preoccupied with the worry that she would refuse to come to practice at all- completely sidetracked with how easily she had agreed.

"You can stand here and watch. I don't want you inside the ring if you're not training. You could get hurt."

She snorted at that, as if to mock the very essence of such an idea, moving slightly towards where he has pointed. A training ring, hurting Nesta Archeron, it was laughable. Far worse things had been thrown at her, and she had endured them all. This was certainly not the thing to break her. Break her further that is.

He debated standing with her for this training session and letting Devlon finish up, or take over and actually let the girls learn something useful for once. Devlon ignoring one of the girl's improper stance led to her falling painfully into her opponent, and that made Cassian's decision for him.

He jumped past the chalk-drawn boundary and bounded towards the center of the ring, wings flaring out further with each step. Devlon didn't even blink.

Prick.

He reached down a hand and the girl's eyes widened a fraction before grabbing it. He hauled her up and quickly examined her for injuries.

None. Good.

"Are you alright?" he asked in a softened voice. These girls were already uncomfortable with how far they were pushing Illyrian customs in coming to train. He didn't need to intimidate them further. Cauldron knew his height and wings, along with the reputation he kept up as the brutal Commander in these camps, would do nothing else but incite fear.

She looked down, in the way that most Illyrian females had been taught to do when in the presence of a male, and gave a slight nod indicating she was alright. They would have to work on that too. Learning to fight was one thing. If they weren't ready to look a male in the eyes, there was no telling how the girls would fare in an actual fight with one. He accepted it for now and moved to the side of the ring facing the girls. Devlon sneered as Cassian approached him, but he didn't let his irritation show. If he brought out the savage Commander right now, half the girls would probably never show up again.

"There's fewer girls today than there were yesterday. Why?" he growled at the grizzled war-lord.

Devlon made no move to answer, unflinching as he looked up at Cassian towering over him. Other males would have backed down a long time ago. He may be a piece of shit, but Cassian could grudgingly admit Devlon wasn't weak as far as Illyrians went. But Cassian wasn't the Commander of the Night Court armies for no reason. Most Illyrians believed he got it through his friendship with Rhys. The ones who had fought him, lost to him, knew better- but they insisted that it wasn't friendship but blind loyalty that Cassian showed the High Lord that earned him his position. Never mind that only him and Azriel held seven Siphons, the most Siphons, of every Illyrian alive today and in the past. No, for all the hard work and sheer determination on Cassian's part, it was much to easy to write off his abilities for nepotism.

The High Lord's dog.

Well he could definitely bite, Cassian thought viciously, before turning around in a sharp movement, his extended talons nearly clipping Devlon in the face.

He scanned the group of girls before him. The youngest had to be around 12 and the oldest maybe 30. Young. Very young for the Fae. Practically children in comparison to him. His eyes met with a female he had overseen training for in the past- as had Mor. She had shown lots of promise as a fighter and he desperately wanted her shit show of a father to relent and let her pratice fully with the males of her age. She could have the males in the dirt within a week or two of constant pratice.

"Cillarika," he called out to her.

"Yes Commander?"

"Where are the other girls? Yesterday when I was passing by, there were 10 of you. Today there's 7. Who's missing?"

She wouldn't ignore him like Devlon. And she wouldn't lie like the other females who were too afraid of the consequences of speaking out. It was impressive considering she was coming from one of the strictest households of all these girls. He supposed though, that made sense- shackle someone down enough, and you'll create even greater rebellion.

"Two of them were forbidden by their father from coming. Nyali and Vernes. They're the twins- the ones with the curly hair."

He nodded at her. He remembered. They were 8. One of his youngest recruits as far as females went. Mor had seen them picking a fight with some teenage males because they had called their older sister a degrading name. Cassian had roared with laughter when he saw how they had thrashed the boys who had towered over the little ones, and had insisted he needed to have them at training. Even Devlon was kinder to the younglings- perhaps it was the sweetness of their smiles or the fact that they said the funniest things to everyone they met. A shame that their father was holding them back. He'd deal with it tomorrow- personally pay the old male a visit.

"And the third?"

Cillarika shifted uncomfortably for a moment before answering. "Um...Delani. I...don't know where she is."

She looked upset by the answer she had given him, as if she were truly disturbed by the disappearance of the female. Perhaps they were friends. He'd heard the name being shouted out by Devlon on more than one occasion, when he was overseeing aerial techniques on the other side of the field. The tone and the bark that Devlon made one when he called her name had once been directed at Cassian when he had been in training himself- his bullshit antics sending Devlon foaming at the mouth. It had him thinking this Delani was giving Devlon a hell of a time. And he'd be damned if he stepped in to stop the fun.

"She's usually here first. It's not like her to miss practice. And she has no parents or husband to stop her from coming," Cillarika added. Some of the other girls nodded their assent.

That was strange then. Clearly he wasn't the only one to think so, because just then Nesta's voiced reached them.

"Where does she live, or stay during the day if she's not here?"

He didn't let his surprise show on his face but Nesta had barely spoken to him since she'd arrived here. Not that he had given her much opportunity to, but still...

Cillarika replied,"She lives in her parent's home. It's behind the forgery, along the lake. Small. Blue. You can't miss it. I can show you where-"

"No. Nesta and I will go look," he cut her off. He wanted the girls to have at least one good day of proper technique training. He felt a pang of nausea in his gut as his mind raced with everything that could have gone wrong for a committed recruit to not show up.

"Do you remember what Azriel and I taught you a few weeks? The way to escape a captor's hold."

She nodded confidently. Of course she did. She was a fast learner.

"Good. Can you oversee training today? Show the rest of them what you learned and after an hour and a half, you can all go."

He didn't even look at Devlon as she firmly told him she could take over. Didn't care at how much the dismissal would burn at the war-lord, at being effectively dismissed from a duty he performed half-assed anyways. One day, he wanted Cillarika to take on a bigger role anyways. If it started today with Devlon, he really didn't care. He started to head off of the ring and towards Nesta as Cillarika's lilting voice began a simple explanation on what kind of holds one can be put into.

She wasn't looking at him. She was looking straight at Devlon, who he had no doubt would be staring right back at her. Probably trying to intimidate her with his glare. Too bad, Cassian thought to himself, chuckling silently. Nesta didn't cave under the stares of anyone, especially not entitled males, trying to assert their dominance.

He had learned that the hard way, and his balls still ached sometimes at the memory of those steely ocean eyes and luscious lips distracting him while her knee came up to its target.

She only broke the staring contest when he reached her, turning around and walking by his side as they left the ring.

"You don't actually have to come," he told her. "I can drop you off at the house before I go look for the girl, and-"

"Did you not just tell that female that we were both going to look for...Delani?"

"Well...yes. But only because you questioned her. It just made sense to say, but I won't hold you to it."

"Unlike you, I tend to follow through on what I say I'll do." She cut a glare at him and he felt his hackles rising. She just had to go there didn't she? He tried to quell the rising anger at what she had provoked- at what she had insinuated. At least this was some kind of a response- at least she hadn't lost all of her bite. The few retorts he had gotten from her since she had come to stay with him had been halfhearted at best. He loved the way she used to fight back with him. He missed it. But he didn't know if this was the topic he would have chosen for their grand comeback. They had never talked about how he had failed her- not when she got turned Fae at Hybern and not when both of them almost got killed on that battlefield. When her father had gotten killed.

"You never said you would come to look for Delani. I did."

"Well let's hope for the sake of that girl that this time, your words have more merit." And with that stinging retort, she marched on forward, stumbling a little after they passed his house after she probably realized she didn't know the layout of the rest of the camp.

He smirked and considered calling her out on her mistake, but decided not to provoke her further just this second. He might tease her later. A small voice in his head chided him for being petty with a female who he was more than twenty times older. But Nesta inspired some kind of childish glee in him everytime she pushed his buttons. He'd never met someone more unnervingly infuriating and captivating until her. He was pretty sure he never would meet another female like Nesta Archeron ever again.

"Turn left at the barracks," he told her as he joined her side, slowing his gait to stay next to her. She may have been walking dizzyingly fast, but he had longer legs and actually ate full meals.

He'd have to do something about that too. She barely touched the food he left for her on the table beside her door. She never once ate outside of her room, and certainly not with him. He wasn't oblivious. He heard her throw up every day and night the first two weeks that her body fought the complete absence of alcohol. Well, almost complete absence of alcohol at least. He had told her there was no alcohol in his house from the first day and she wouldn't be drinking at all. She had glared and glared and then stomped off to her room. He hadn't meant none. He had meant no drinks the way she would have done in Velaris- enough to forget the night, the day, your name, and the world. No there would be none of that anymore. If she wanted to die from liquor, Cassian would be taking no part in that. His one advantage was that she had no choice. It was his house. His rules. She was at his mercy. He hated that. He wanted her to give up the addiction because she wanted to. He wanted her to do it for herself. But they didn't have that kind of time. The queens, the clans in the mountains, the unrest and uncertainty of a looming civil war- none of them left room or time for self reflection or a decision to heal. So he had to make that choice for her- just this once. Everything after would have to be her choice alone he decided. He didn’t like controlling her any more than she did.

It wrecked the system to do the withdrawal so starkly even with the alcohol he gave her with each meal at night. He also gave her a tall glass of water to help keep her hydrated. She probably took a few sips each night and every time he saw the barely touched food, he felt his heart crack further. He couldn't force it down her throat; he could not hold her down and feed her like a child. The only thing he could do was get rid of the dependence. He had learned it from Rhys and Az who had done it for him once. Start with a strong drink- just one. Then a few days later reduce it. Then again and again and again. Until you were left with no drink to give. 

Something Amren had taught him was to dilute the tapered drinks with water to trick the mind into believing they were drinking more than what had actually been given. He had no doubt Nesta hadn't fallen for it, but she dutifully drank her liquid courage each night until 2 days ago. That was when she was in the final days and was not to be given any alcohol at all. She had spent those two days completely sick in bed. He had gone to training early in the morning and by the time he was home, well past dinnertime, he saw the uneaten plate of food. He had left no liquor with the chicken and rice, just water and some apple juice. Beyond it, he saw her shivering in bed through her half open door. He had run in, felt her forehead and the spiked temperature. He quickly went to the kitchen for some ice and rags, only to return to a shut and locked door. He had shouted at the door, pleading with her to let him in. She had not. She threw up every hour and he could do nothing about it. He had installed these doors almost two centuries ago, made with a special wood from the Monteserre forest that could not easily break. He had had Rhys and Mor add enchantments to it so even magic, even the Illyrian killing power, his own power, could not forge through. He had it in case someone managed to get through the front door and the numerous wards and shields on the house- he and whoever else might be present would be safe in the rooms. It had been a safety measure and it ended up biting him in the ass.

The second day went much the same. She retched and shook through a fever he was very sure had not gone down since the previous day. He could hear it all through the door he had leaned and slept on through the night. Barely slept. When she woke, he did too. When she fitfully passed out in exhaustion so did he. And then she woke, and he did too. And then she slept, and he could too. When she opened the door, he nearly fell over and had to scramble to get up without looking foolish. She had rushed past him once he was out of her way into the bathroom in the middle of the hall, appearing half an hour later much cleaner and slightly healthier looking.

Now here she was, sure enough, struggling to keep up with him even with his adjusted pace. But she was doing it. All traces of the withdrawal sickened female gone for the time being. He didn't know how the evening would fare for her, as that had been the time when her body was often given alcohol. Even though she had gotten through the detoxification process and the past two days, it would not be easy.

"I think it's this one." Nesta pointed at a quaint blue house with little flower pots on the window sills. He knew this house if only for the male and his wife that had lived here once. The male, Marsin, had once flown in the legions before an injury in his wings. He had died in an attack by a neighboring camp and Cassian had heard his wife died of grief not much later. He didn't know who their daughter was, having only heard that she had been an adolescent when her parents died, but it made sense with the age and timeline that it was probably Delani.

"I think so too," he told her. They walked towards the front door and Cassian realized how quiet it was. It was nowhere near early morning anymore and it seemed strange that no one was nearby, especially considering how close they were to the forge and markets. Even the buzzing of insects and chirping of birds wasn't present.

"Something's wrong," Nesta said, voicing his own thoughts aloud. He nodded silently before moving to open the door. It wasn't locked. Already not a good sign.

The interior of the house looked normal enough and after a walk through by both him and Nesta, they both came to the decision that there was nothing to look into here.

"I'm going to check with the houses in the nearby area and then we can check the forge and shops. Maybe she went there for something," Cassian told her. He doubted anyone knew anything, and if they did, they likely wouldn't share. But he needed to find this girl.

"I'm going to check behind the house. There's a stream running there. Maybe she went to wash her clothes?"

Cassian jerked his head and moved towards the nearby house a couple yards away, as Nesta circled to the back of the house. He didn't tell her that there were laundresses in the camps, and so most of the people there, didn't have to wash their own clothing unless that was their job.

Cassian wasn't surprised by the vague useless answers he got from Delani's neighbors. No one wanted to talk to him about her. The females silently shook their heads in denial of any knowledge before their husbands came to the door and darkly told him they didn't bother with that female and neither should he.

He had just turned towards the path back to the forge when he heard her scream.

"CASSIAN!"

Nesta. His blood chilled and his heart began pounding. He was already running towards the shrill shriek that had come from near the stream.

"NESTA! NESTA!" he bellowed when he reached the bank of the water. Her scent...he paused sniffing the air. Cauldron boil him but in the mountain winds he wouldn't be able to scent her. Thankfully a warm body crashed into him from the side of the clearing and his arms instinctively wrapped around Nesta.

"Nes...sweetheart, look at me," he pulled back enough to cup her face and scan for injuries. His eyes went down the column of her throat which was bobbing as she gasped in sharp breaths. Was that...blood?

"Are you hurt?," he demanded, gripping the sides of her arms which had come to tightly grip the sides of his shirt.

"No," she half-sobbed, half-cried.

"Whose blood is it?"

"I think it's her Delani. Cassian it's...I was too afraid to touch her," she whispered to him, grief laced with every word.

What had she seen? He almost didn't want to follow her as she pulled him past the bushes along the stream, knowing that it had to be horrific from the devastation still clear on Nesta's face. He kept one hand on the pommel of his dagger, still sheathed for now, and the other tightly clasped in Nesta's icy cold one. She began to slow as they descended down a sloping path and he let go of her hand to wrap around her waist. If she fell in these rocks, she'd likely split her head open. To his shock, she allowed it.

"Just there," she pointed at a cluster of overgrown hedges.

He released her waist and told her, "Stay here."

"No!," she cried out.

"Nesta-"

"No." Resolute. Firm. She wouldn't yield. He didn't have time to argue with her. She knew that. He gave a sigh and jerked his head, indicating for her to follow behind him.

With each step that brought them closer to the bushes, Nesta's heartbeat pounded faster and harder, Cassian could feel it thrumming under his own skin. The crunch of leaves under their boots and the gurgling stream were the only sounds surrounding them in an otherwise eerily quiet forest clearing.

He saw the legs first- bent and bloody, mud under her bare soles. As he turned past the overgrowth he saw the girl.

Horror. He felt it too. From his own senses and Nesta's, barreling into him. Her eyes were closed and her breathing was only a wet rasp. The blood, Mother above, there was too much blood. She shouldn't even be alive with this much blood loss. He could smell the males on her but he stuffed down the rage at that and focused on the girl for now. They would pay. He would make sure of it. He took in her broken form, and tried to figure out the best way to get her up and out of here without causing more injuries. He understood now why Nesta had been afraid to touch her. It seemed that she was covered in injuries, from a gash on her abdomen to the snapped tendons of her wings.

"Delani?"

She whimpered a broken sound of pain and anguish and he almost started bawling right there with her.

"I'm Cassian...the commander. I'm here to help you. May I," he hesitated. He didn't know what had been done to her but he was a male. It may upset her further if he wasn't careful with how he approached. He started again, "May I carry you out? It will take too long to get others and Nesta isn't strong enough to hold you. I promise I only want to help."

Delani whispered,"Nesta?" The young female tested out the syllables of Nesta’s name on her tongue.

He heard the sharp intake of breath behind him before Nesta came to crouch down in front of Delani with him. She reached out tentatively at Delani, who saw with half-opened eyes and feebly reached her own hand out. Nesta grasped Delani's blood covered hand in her own and spoke," I am Nesta. I'm...," she looked at Cassian before saying, "I'm here with Cassian. Cassian can get you out of here and then we can get you to a healer. He won't hurt you. I promise." She whispered her oath fiercely to the injured female and Delani gripped Nesta's hand tighter.

"Alright. But...will you come with me?"

Nesta stroked her free hand across Delani's brow before telling her that of course she would. Cassian wasn't surprised. Most people didn't realize just how much Nesta cared for those who were innocent and hurting. How much she poured her kindness into them. But Cassian saw it all.

Nesta carefully supported Delani's head while Cassian cradled her to his chest and then rose up to his feet. She was shaking, and he cursed at himself for not covering her with his shirt first. Nesta seemed to have the same thought as she took off her coat and laid it softly onto the girl.

Delani let out another cry of pain and Cassian began walking faster, Nesta quick on his heels.

"We're almost there child. Almost there. Hold on a little longer," he reassured her. Or maybe he was reassuring himself because Delani's breathing had become erratic and much too slow to mean anything good. They finally broke out of the dense forest and Cassian knew the fastest way to the healers would be by flight. He turned to Nesta and before he could explain she told him,"Go. I'll meet you there."

She quickly murmured into Delani's ears that Cassian would have to fly her to a healer but that Nesta would be joining them very soon. She stepped back and he gave her one final nod before unfurling his wings and flying up into the clear midday skies.

As he cleared higher and higher into the air, the last look he caught on Nesta's face stayed imprinted into his mind. The vengeance. The cruelty. The sheer brutality. He may have told himself to go out and find the males who had hurt Delani, but Nesta had already made a death pact. And in that moment, Cassian knew that the males of Illyria were in for some long overdue changes.