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flowerflamestars · 4 years

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Nesta Under the Mountain part 3: acomaf, the later half

So while some extremely painful flirting is happening, so is plot. Azriel periodically disappears to try to infiltrate the Queens palace. Morrigan splits her time between Velaris and trying to keep Keir remotely in line. Amren and Lucien teach Nesta how to use magic, Cassian readies the legions for war.

So Nesta, unlike Feyre, has multiple sources for her most important questions: What the hell is Hybern doing? Trying to build an empire of old. Reaching for glory that isn’t there, because Prythian is wealthy.

Why Amarantha? Why was she so powerful?

It’s Rhysand who answers her, one day when they’re alone. He’s drinking on the roof- Nesta is inclined to make a comment about lordly behavior but doesn’t because she knows, she knows, from the look in his eyes, that he’s going to answer for real.

Amarantha liked to talk in bed. And Rhysand had, eventually, put the pieces together: Amarantha was the invading force alone, because Amarantha needed to earn Hyberns favor.

What did Hybern have? A kingdom crippled without its slaves. A King who’d ruled so long the world forgot his name. No heir, no other ruler. No son, only daughters.

Amarantha sought to earn her place in succession- with her father’s stolen magical secrets and a taste for vengeance.

Nesta accepts this, and has a drink.

There’s an interim of weeks, while Amren relearns a dead language and Azriel tries his last, worst plans. Nesta is so ready to tear out of her skin- Morrigan succeeds in getting Nesta to go out with her.

Morrigan pulls her over cobblestones to Ritas, and Nesta absolutely doesn’t tell her Lucien had found the place on his first city walkabout and been toasting their bitter victories there every one since.

Cassian, as he tends to wherever Nesta is, appears. They haven’t spoken since she came back with the book. Lucien trickles in with glitter in his hair, Azriel silent, offensively handsome drawing the light by his side.

And Morrigan watches. Cassian will spend the night quietly pressing fresh drinks into Nesta’s hand and glaring like absolute murder at any stranger who tries to get near. She sees how Cassian, her friend for five centuries, is contextualizing this: service, gladly rendered.

Understands he will make it small in his head and it means the opposite- the very opposite- that Nesta is letting him do either of those things for her. That she trusts him, to be near at all.

Morrigan and Nesta have a very different talk afterward than her and Feyre would have. Mor thinks it might be a good idea to make it really clear she herself doesn’t ever want Cassian, in case, that too, is standing in the way.

(Nesta also just...so clearly doesn’t have a single negative thought about Lucien doing...whatever Lucien does. They’ll get insouciant and mean and discuss the attractiveness of anyone. Nesta, unlike Feyre, reacts to queerness without even blinking)

So Mor and Nesta might not enjoy each other, exactly, but they respect one another. When Rhysand poses his insane Nesta you were mortal, let’s meet the Queens on mortal land plan, Morrigan, more than anyone, is the one who listens when Nesta explains that the Queens hate faeries.

Hate magic. Hate, even, it seems, the mortals that live along the wall for existing in proximity to Prythian.

It’s like letting go of a dream- for the chance of something real. Five centuries have passed, and that’s not much for Mor, but it’s everything, to mortals. Their bright lives are so quick, so valuable in an eyeblink- and that’s why Nesta’s here at all.

A mortal heart.

Azriel and Nesta team up- she scoffs that infiltration has fails, laughs outright at the idea she should be a diplomat, and proposes something else. They veritable army of spies, why are none of them mortal? Hundreds of humans work in Court of Queens. Voiceless, unrecognized. None of the magical protections would stop them.

So instead of Keir, or the Veritas, or her sisters- we bring back the lady mercenary. We bring in a whole bunch of lady mercenaries. A new network of information, passed from overlooked woman to overlooked woman, carried in shadows, all the way back to the Court of Night.

There’s no meeting. Because Hybern is already there.

And Nesta thinks its the most insane thing she’s ever heard- they want to live forever?

Morrigan tries to comfort her, Lucien tries to stop Morrigan, because he knows- Nesta doesn’t regret. And she tells them all that, looking over the war map, each grim face and strange shred of sympathy.

Nesta says, I know I’m a monster and I’m glad of it. I will never belong to just one Court, never go home. I cannot, because that life was taken from me and I am glad, because it will take a monster to protect the humans from other monsters.

And Rhysand says, oh so very quietly: You can belong.

But it’s lost, completely, in two things- the way Lucien has stepped around Azriel to let Nesta, not lean- Nesta, sober, leans on absolutely no one- but to be there, close, in her orbit, and Cassian standing up.

It’s the Queens Meeting promise, dark chocolate version. Cassian wipes away that one tear on her perfect face. Says to her and her alone like no one else is there, that he’d done monstrous things his entire life in the name of what was right. But he’d become something worse, unleash a whole ocean of blood, to protect the innocents who needed it. Die a monster, in defense of those mortals with her.

And Nesta just looks at him. Like she can see all the way through to his aching soul, and nods.

One commander to another. Absolute, perfect, understanding.

So what happens, if the mcguffin of the book cannot work?

Nesta says, like Cassian isn’t still staring at her, like she isn’t leaning into Lucien’s bodyheat like a refuge- the book is to control the Cauldron, but why can’t we just go after the Cauldron?

Steal it? Break it? Use it ourselves.

No ones answers particularly satisfy her- they can winnow. They can move unseen. There’s more power in this room than whole kingdoms possess, why the hell can’t they just break in, touch the Cauldron, and winnow away?

Cassian says it’s suicide. The castle is a deathtrap. Guards, wards, magic.

And, Rhysand adds, the Cauldron might not play along. It’s too powerful, too old to just treat like an object. The Cauldron itself could resist.

They’re all piling out of the townhouse, after the unsuccessful meeting, when Lucien goes white. Freezes.

And Nesta knows.

Knows that despite every precaution, the words that have never, ever escaped her lips in Prythian. Despite Tamlin dead- someone, somehow, found out that Prythian’s vengeance has two vulnerable, mortal sisters.

Nesta is grabbing onto Lucien to winnow away before anyone can ask what is wrong. Because something is wrong, so, so wrong- at the last second, Cassian snatches her hand, and ends up dragged along.

The Archeron estate is on fire.

There’s no time to ask- no time to talk. Cassian starts killing Hybernian soldiers left and right, no one here that can actually stop him.

Nesta runs straight into the fire, Lucien on her heels, keeping the flames away. Not that he needs to- Nesta is shimmering with power, every Court’s strength right on the surface, teeming to be used. She kills six men before she finds Elain, kicking and screaming in a soldiers arms.

That soldier loses his head- that man, Lucien turns to ash.

It’s Cassian who finds Feyre, hidden in the kitchen, standing on top of table having just dumped a small ocean on lye on her attackers. Despite making short work of the burnt, pissed off faeries, she’s still throwing shit at him when Nesta, screaming her name, is finally close enough to be heard.

Nesta almost stabs Cassian in the back getting to Feyre. Fey jumps off the table, straight at her sister- there’s no pause for thought, no flinch at her faery face and bloody hands, just an armload full of her taller baby sister, an easy weight to carry now.

When they make it out of the collapsing house, Azriel and Rhys are waiting.

It’s Rhys who says, in that tone of voice that makes Nesta want to beat him to death, the voice that insists, I understand, who says, you have a family?

Nesta doesn’t answer. Nesta doesn’t say a goddamn word to anyone at all except for Feyre and Elain as they take them back to Velaris. As she settles them in the roaring warmth of one of the palatial sitting rooms, wraps them in blankets. Conveys, solely with a head jerk and a glare, that Cassian should make himself useful and provide hot beverages.

Nesta doesn’t say anything until the burns are healed by Lucien, her sisters understand where they are, and what has happened.

It’s Feyre who snaps first and bodily pulls Nesta down on the couch between them. Elain who leans hard, shoulder to shoulder, and wipes the blood off Nesta’s face.

They love each other- they still love her, don’t blame her, and that is what makes Nesta’s choice.

She introduces them to Lucien, her friend. To the others without explanation, the odd bedfellows of war Nesta really is starting to like despite herself. Except Rhys. Rhys can fall in the damned ocean.

It’s a long, long evening, and they all get settled eventually- Feyre, in particular, with a shy smile and an extra mug of Cassian’s hot chocolate.

Everyone goes their separate ways, and Lucien, quietly, slips off to find Nesta in the dark.

He knows what she’s going to say. Hybern came for her family- Hybern almost killed her sisters. Nesta doesn’t give a fuck about the book, about Rhysand’s alliances, or hangup on the mortal queens- Nesta wants Hybern to pay.

Lucien sometimes looks at his life now- free, safe as he choses, the dark eyed smile of man who fears no part of him- and thinks it’s all because of Nesta Archeron’s heart. Nesta, who believed in loyalty enough to buy his safety. Nesta, who had every reason to hate Spring and still been the only person to look close enough and see, that Lucien was just as trapped.

No one in his life had ever given him that, so easily. No one had cared.

Nesta didn’t even think about it- he was in her corner and she was in his, friends. Best friends, only friends they had. Lucien would have still chosen her, every time.

Choses her now- Nesta says, I’m going tonight. I’m going alone. I’m not waiting any longer.

And Lucien squeezes her hand, and tells her, not alone.

They winnow to the castle like bone across the sea.

Lucien might not know why he can break wards, why foul enchantment can’t touch him, but he knows how to use it. How to fight and kill, and does just that. Lucien stands guard, Lucien gets Nesta to the Cauldron.

No Book, no plan, just this- Nesta’s will do what is right.

Two hands on the Cauldron- and Rhysand was right. It won’t move. It won’t be winnowed away, it pulls her in and speaks.

The story of the Cauldron is the story of a woman.

Power, power, power- endless potential, utilized to create. A thousand children, a million voices. But then her children grew- into their own power, their own politics and ways. They forgot her voice, that forget she’d made them- and they trapped her. Broke her. Imprisoned her.

Forgot she was not a cauldron- she was their Mother.

But the Mother was also once the Maiden, the Mother always becomes the Crone.

The Crones watches, as the dark night comes, and all life eventually ends.

She’d been imprisoned all over again.

Nesta Archeron, drowning in power, communicates by sheer force of screaming, raging will.

I was imprisoned, I stolen, I was remade against my will-

I was broken, and all I asked was that my family be safe- all I wanted- I am the child of every Court you made, I am the daughter of your power and i WILL NOT- I will not allow your sons to kill what is ours-

The Cauldron, seething, stills, if only for a moment.

Nesta thinks she’s won. Nesta realizes, too late, that she can smell blood. Lucien, stabbed and scrabbling, Nesta being dragged away from the Cauldron- the King had waited for her.

And how he crooned with joy- Nesta Archeron, the destroyer. Nesta Archeron, Prythian’s vengeance. Nesta Archeron you will be mine, you, you, you, finally, a worthy woman-

It’s a desperate, stupid ploy. Nesta can’t escape, Nesta can’t save Lucien, knows it from the blood dripping off his lips as he mouthes, a goodbye: love you, Archeron.

Nesta jumps into the Cauldron.

What comes out is not what went in- young as a fawn, old as the seas- Nesta doesn’t have to steal eternity. She’s already eternal, she’s already powerful in her rage-

But the Cauldron, who’d slept so long. Broken in peices, cold, welcomes her fire like the fierce magic of her first children, and gives her a gift.

Nesta’s no maiden or mother, but the Cauldron is happy to let the Crone out.

Death comes out of those waters, and mists the King of Hybern.

Scoops up her beloved companion, the fire that lights the way, and leaves the castle of the king unraveling behind her.

Nesta brings the Cauldron home.

The bloody bundle of Lucien is pulled from her arms on the floor of Rhysand’s townhouse, the Cauldron quiet behind them. It’s to Cassian who is frankly patting her down, searching for injuries, that Nesta says:

She wasn’t the only sister, and then passes out.

#this is so fun!#I am frankly overwhelmed by all the lovely things yall have said??#Nesta SHOULD be a protagnist

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adriata-archive · 6 years

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standing on my own two feet

in honor of it being February aka the month of Cassian who is (along with the rest of the inner circle, let’s be honest) my sweet summer child. y’all can thank @helloetherealsunshine for this

also much thanks to @swishandflickwit for being a general ray of sunshine and source of encouragement

Summary: Cassian’s used to making people laugh when trying to comfort them, but what can he do when his mate refuses to smile? ft. (what I hope is) eloquent Cass Genre: comfort/angst?? Rating: T Word count: 1.8k

Cassian woke before Nesta did, her muffled whimpers and twitching limbs alerting him to her distress mere seconds after he had felt a pull on their bond, a pull he knew to mean that something was inexplicably wrong. He knew better than to reach out to Nesta physically - had learned not to the hard, way, actually, and still had the bruises to prove it - and instead tugged on the mating bond. He did it gently, the first time, and the second, but when his mate remained unresponsive next to him, he yanked.

Nesta sat up with a gasp, her hands flying to her mouth as she tried to choke back her sobs. It pained Cassian to see her like this, hurt him in a way that no amount of battle wounds ever could, but he would be patient. For Nesta, he would be patient.

“I - she - I couldn’t save her.” Nesta’s words came out in pants, her breathing labored as she tried to hold back her tears. He had tried, time and time again, to convince her that it was okay to cry, okay to let go, but his mate was of the stubborn sort.

“Save who? Elain?” Cassian asked, his voice gentle as he dared to place a hand on Nesta’s back. When she didn’t recoil at his touch, he started to rub slow, small circles up and down her spine, comforting her in one of the few ways he knew how - one that he had learned from Rhys’ mother.

Nesta shook her head and choked out a single word: “Feyre.”

It had been Feyre who told him what Nesta had done. How, when Tamlin had taken her and cast a glamour over her family’s minds, it had been Nesta who had resisted, Nesta who had mounted a horse and raced after them into a forest. Nesta who had dared approached the Wall in order to get her younger sister back.

Nesta who, weaponless, had risked her life to save her family.

“Feyre is safe. Elain is safe. You are safe.” Cassian repeated this over and over again, the mantra that would draw Nesta out of her nightmare and back into the present, that would hopefully make her realize that she was in their house overlooking the Rainbow, and not in whatever hell her subconscious had plunged her in.

Overlooking the Rainbow, for Feyre, Cassian realized as he watched his mate. To remind her of what she fought for.

A reminder to be strong.

His mate was a warrior, whether she knew it or not. (Cassian would bet that she did.)

It had been a few years since Nesta had (finally) accepted the mating bond, but rarely did she accept being comforted. It was when she did that Cassian truly worried. He was the sort to rely on humor to make his friends laugh, or to act as a punching bag if they needed to knock their demons down with fists. He wasn’t like Mor, or Feyre, like Rhys or even Azriel.

What kind of male didn’t know how to comfort his own mate?

Cassian knew what people thought when they saw him with Nesta, knew the automatic response of the males during meetings, where they would address him instead of her, their eyes flitting over his mate dismissively. They saw a former human girl with the Commander of the Night Court armies, and thought that Cassian was the one who held all of the authority - but oh, how wrong they were. In time, they would learn not to underestimate Nesta, and Cassian, along with the rest of the Inner Circle, would watch with amusement until that day came.

For now, though, he just wanted to be able to do something to make the nightmares stop. Never had he felt so useless.

As Nesta continued to cry and Cassian slowly drew her to him, he shut his eyes tight and tried to channel his friends. He thought of how he, along with everyone else, always insisted that Nesta was strong. They praised how infallible she was, how she had an iron will and a fierce determination, and how those things were the source of her strength. But then he thought of what Rhys had finally admitted to them after he had returned from Under the Mountain: once the battle was over, it was okay to not be strong.

Now if only he could find the words to convey this to Nesta.

But, as was common in their relationship, Nesta surprised him by speaking first.

“You once asked me how I could let Feyre wander into the forest to provide for our family. How could I sit idly by when my malnourished, illiterate sister tried to prevent all of us from dying? Why didn’t I feel the same need to protect her that I did with Elain?”

Cassian tried to protest - he hadn’t known her then, hadn’t know the lengths to which Nesta had gone trying to get Feyre back, but his mate continued speaking.

“She was always the strong one,” Nesta said, her voice quiet but steady as she stared into the darkness of their bedroom. “Feyre, I mean. She still is. I don’t know why everyone keeps insisting that it’s me. This comes naturally to her. She’s a good person, Cassian. Valiant. Kind. Courageous. She took care of us when we weren’t her responsibility. She deserves much better than a sister like me. She deserves an apology.”

“Then you can give her one. You care, Nesta, more than people realize. You deserve to have people see that side of you.”

“It’s not that simple. Any apologies I would make now are pointless. The damage has been done. I can’t give her her childhood or her innocence back, so what good would apologizing do?”

Nesta took a deep, shuddering breath, and Cassian held his tongue.

“You all - you expect me to...I’m not strong like you. Like Feyre. And I have this fear, that if I give in, that if I’m not strong and brave and selfless and all of those other annoying qualities you all seem to have, that I won’t…” She trailed off, her words barely a whisper at the end.

It was a struggle for Cassian to finish her sentence. “That you won’t belong?”

Nesta’s almost imperceptible nod was enough to break Cassian’s heart.

“Nesta, look at me.” She did - slowly, hesitantly, but her gaze was unwavering. “I can’t speak for the others, but, more often than not, I am anything but strong. No, listen,” Cassian continued when Nesta tried to correct him, “I’m not. I draw my strength from the others. Without them...I don’t think I would be able to live with all of the terrible things I’ve done. The things I’ve had to do.

“Mor has this thing she says - she said it to Feyre, when she first came to Velaris, and I’m willing to bet that she’s tried to say the same thing to you. And knowing you, and how literal you are,” Cassian said, ignoring Nesta’s indignant scoff, “I can tell you right now that not letting the hard days win doesn’t mean what you think it does. It doesn’t mean not letting those days faze you, or walking away unscathed. Winning against the hard days is being knocked down so much that you feel like you can’t get up again, but you do it anyways, because you’re holding out hope for something better.”

Cassian let out a sigh, daring to brush Nesta’s hair away from her face and relishing in the small act of intimacy she wouldn’t have allowed in the early stages of their relationship. “You don’t have to be strong for us to love you. For me to love you. All of us break down, and we let everyone else build us back up again. None of us fight these battles alone. Let me, at least, do the same for you.”

Nesta made a disbelieving sound, doubt evident in her eyes, and said, “You can’t possibly expect to fight my battles for me.”

“We both know that I am well aware that you are perfectly capable of fighting your own battles,” Cassian retorted, rolling his eyes. “What I’m saying is, let me fight with you. You have your own strength, yes, but when it fails - because no one is perfect - I want to help. But you have to let me.”

She stifled her sob, tears rolling down her cheeks, but this time, Nesta reached for Cassian.

“Okay,” she whispered.

The nightmares came back the very next day. They were usually generous enough to provide Nesta some sort of reprieve before she had to suffer through another, but the Fates had never been kind to her. This time, she lived through something she had only ever heard about, and found herself surrounded by a crowd of strange fae as she was forced to watch her baby sister’s neck crack.

She was aware of how Rhysand, even while pretending to be a foe, had screamed Feyre’s name and lunged for the she-demon who killed her, but in her nightmare, it was Nesta who cried out and tried to get Feyre to hold on - only she didn’t have a bond for her sister to hold onto.

Nesta. Wake up, please. It’s a nightmare - just a nightmare.

She reached for the bond, for Cassian, and let him guide her back into consciousness, her cheeks wet with tears as she tried to gain her bearings. Nesta turned to look at her mate, patient and steadfast even in the face of her worst moments - which were, if she was being honest, the majority of her moments - and bade herself to trust him. Trust him with her secrets, her fears, her heart. Trust him the way she had forbidden herself to trust anyone for so long.

So she told him about her nightmare, and the one from the night before, and even the very first, when it had been Feyre who was dragged to the Cauldron, and who hadn’t been able to reemerge. It was a slow process, with Nesta stumbling over the words and her breaths, but eventually they settled back into silence, and even though Cassian said nothing, she could feel his love and reassurance singing through their bond. She let those feelings call to her, to soothe the aches of her weary soul and soften the edges she had carved to protect herself from the world. And she started to believe, for the first time since Feyre had vanished into Prythian, that she would be able to stand on her own two feet - so long as she had her mate beside her.

#acotar #nessian #acotar fan fiction #nessian fan fiction #my writing #trying something new??#does this count as angst lmao #just a short drabble to test the acotar waters #weareacotar #*writing

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