A/N: This Nessian one-shot wouldn’t leave me alone and effectively blocked my progress on any of my other WIPs, so I gave in and followed the inspiration.
This is set in canon, during the war but prior to the final battle with Hybern. It’s full of Nessian longing/ pining, so enjoy
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Her bones ached.
The night’s cool air added to the discomfort, another meager annoyance that had the potential to break them all.
The cries of battle had been fierce and electrifying. Too quickly they had given way to cries of pain; anguish both physical and emotional. Nesta wondered how many Illyrian soldiers had lost family during the day’s fight; biological or found. She hadn’t allowed herself much time to dwell on it. Injuries were plentiful in various degrees of severity, and she was running ragged already trying to keep up.
A/N: This Nessian one-shot wouldn’t leave me alone and effectively blocked my progress on any of my other WIPs, so I gave in and followed the inspiration.
This is set in canon, during the war but prior to the final battle with Hybern. It’s full of Nessian longing/ pining, so enjoy
——————————————————————————
Her bones ached.
The night’s cool air added to the discomfort, another meager annoyance that had the potential to break them all.
The cries of battle had been fierce and electrifying. Too quickly they had given way to cries of pain; anguish both physical and emotional. Nesta wondered how many Illyrian soldiers had lost family during the day’s fight; biological or found. She hadn’t allowed herself much time to dwell on it. Injuries were plentiful in various degrees of severity, and she was running ragged already trying to keep up.
A/N: This Nessian one-shot wouldn’t leave me alone and effectively blocked my progress on any of my other WIPs, so I gave in and followed the inspiration.
This is set in canon, during the war but prior to the final battle with Hybern. It’s full of Nessian longing/ pining, so enjoy
——————————————————————————
Her bones ached.
The night’s cool air added to the discomfort, another meager annoyance that had the potential to break them all.
The cries of battle had been fierce and electrifying. Too quickly they had given way to cries of pain; anguish both physical and emotional. Nesta wondered how many Illyrian soldiers had lost family during the day’s fight; biological or found. She hadn’t allowed herself much time to dwell on it. Injuries were plentiful in various degrees of severity, and she was running ragged already trying to keep up.
A/N: This Nessian one-shot wouldn’t leave me alone and effectively blocked my progress on any of my other WIPs, so I gave in and followed the inspiration.
This is set in canon, during the war but prior to the final battle with Hybern. It’s full of Nessian longing/ pining, so enjoy
——————————————————————————
Her bones ached.
The night’s cool air added to the discomfort, another meager annoyance that had the potential to break them all.
The cries of battle had been fierce and electrifying. Too quickly they had given way to cries of pain; anguish both physical and emotional. Nesta wondered how many Illyrian soldiers had lost family during the day’s fight; biological or found. She hadn’t allowed herself much time to dwell on it. Injuries were plentiful in various degrees of severity, and she was running ragged already trying to keep up.
The evening passed in a blur of experiences, some arbitrary and innocuous, yet seemingly loaded all the same. Each bucket of water she hauled into a tent held a value she’d never known before it meant a wound could be properly cleaned. The sound of linen ripping into strips was rhythmic and comforting because it meant enough resources remained to treat the wounded. The crunch of earth beneath her feet was a reminder of purpose.
She was alive, albeit exhausted. Being uninjured and fully able-bodied, she found the motivation to keep moving. She had to keep moving.
And she had. She’d walked until blisters rubbed beneath her shoes, and her clothes were torn in various places. Dirt was smudged over her hands, the exposed skin of her arms. Pieces of her hair had long since fallen from her coronet, but she couldn’t be bothered to care. The wind had kept it out of her face well enough.
A certain trance had fallen over Nesta over the course of the day, and the sun had descended behind the rolling mountains before she finally relented and decided to rest. The healers within the camp had badgered her on it throughout the day, and none had been overly impressed with her stubbornness. They’d been grateful, of course, but they couldn’t afford another convalescent.
Nesta rubbed at her tired eyes, pausing before the canvas of her tent to press her fingers into her temples. Her eyes squeezed shut against the tension and ache she felt, and she loosed a heavy breath to ease what she could. Her arm moved the canvas flap aside clumsily, and she dragged her too tired body over the threshold.
She startled, and her steps came to an abrupt halt. It had happened so quickly that the tent flap brushed against her back when it eased closed, causing her to flinch once more. Seconds passed before anything began to make any sense.
Cassian stood over an expansive round table with a large piece of parchment held in place by weights at each corner. Some of his siphons, she realized, upon further examination. She watched as he studied the map, extending his arm to push several small pawns across a strip of land.
The fact that he hadn’t whirled on her, a weapon to her throat before she could blink, meant he knew no threat was present. Whether he knew it was Nesta in his tent remained a mystery.
“I—”she stuttered, unsure what to say. She blinked, damning the blush that rose to her cheeks. “Wrong tent.”
Cassian rested his fingers against the table top, his keen eyes continuing their path over the map. His wings twitched, relaxed. Nesta was fascinated by them. Studying their details, imagining the stories of every scar, was a welcome distraction from the compulsion she’d felt toward her destination.
“You’re welcome to visit anytime, Sweetheart,” he replied, mirth laced through the words. “Consider it an open invitation.”
The temper he stoked so artfully rose to the surface, even in spite of her exhaustion. Cassian didn’t deign to look in her direction, but she rolled her eyes at his comment anyway.
Nesta scoffed. “How gracious,” she deadpanned.
Why she hadn’t made any moves to leave was lost on her. Cassian had won the upper hand in antagonizing her, by insinuating she’d purposely shown up in search of his company. Nesta wondered why he needed such validations considering the high opinion he clearly held of himself.
Cassian made another adjustment to his formations. “If not for my stellar company, why’d you come in?”
The barb was loaded at the tip of her tongue, ready to cut into his arrogance and insufferable teasing— how each step had been a mistake, how her exhaustion had made her desperate enough to overlook details of the various tents. It dissolved when Cassian turned to address her fully, his features crumpling when he realized her state.
“Nesta,” he murmured, taking several slow steps in her direction. ”Are you alright? What happened?”
Whatever he’d been working on was forgotten. He scanned the space around them, gesturing to a small seating area near the table. When Nesta didn’t make any moves to take him up on the offer, his brow pulled together in a frown. She had no doubt that the same expression had compelled many others to comply with his every whim before, but unfortunately for Cassian, Nesta wasn’t much like them.
She held up a slender hand. “Don’t starting fussing. I’m fine.”
His wings rustled, pulled in tight. He crossed his arms and balanced his stance, settling into a form Nesta was all too familiar with from their many verbal spars.
“I asked you a question.”
“I answered it.”
Cassian’s eyes slid closed while he took a long, deep breath. The underlying sentiment was shared entirely, Nesta thought.
“The second part— what happened to you?”
His expression shifted with the question. It was something foreign, yet Nesta felt her body relax at seeing it. Even their sparring was comforting in its own way and gave her some semblance of solid ground, but she wouldn’t dare reveal such a thing. She squeezed her eyes shut against the burning and fluttered them open again.
“Nothing happened. I helped the healers today. I’m tired.”
Her spine bowed marginally at the admission, and as if that tiny change in her posture pained him, Cassian closed the distance.
“I should have known,” he said, his voice like warm rain. A smirk tugged at the corner of his mouth. “You’d have to be exhausted to end up here.”
His throat bobbed, and Nesta fought the urge to touch the skin below his jaw and trail her fingers over it. Blissful heat radiated off his body, warming her skin against the night’s chill, and she steadied her body against the urge to sag against him. Cassian fixed his gaze over her shoulder, ran a callused hand through his black hair.
“Thank you. I know they appreciated the help.”
Nesta nodded, her voice temporarily lost in favor of taking his intoxicating scent into her lungs.
“Come sit. I have tea. Have a cup, and you can be on your way if you want.”
“No need,” Nesta rasped, her throat tightening when his hazel eyes found hers. “I won’t keep you.”
Cassian huffed a sardonic laugh and reached out to wrap her hand in his. The touch sent a rush of sensation up her arm and through her chest; something she was all too willing to ignore. Without a word, he tugged gently and led her to the pile of pillows and furs nearby.
His scarred eyebrow lifted in challenge. “Sit,” he ordered.
The fight left Nesta entirely. The soft furs brushed the delicate skin at her ankles, and the promise of warmth was all it took to lower herself against several pillows. She arranged them to prop herself in a seated position, and by the time she got situated, Cassian was holding out a cup of steaming tea.
“I interrupted your work.”
He shrugged, unbothered. “I could use a break,” he admitted, pouring his own cup of tea.
“If you need to get back to it, I won’t bother you. There’s no need to entertain me.”
Cassian’s mouth ticked up in a small smile. He turned toward her and traveled the short distance to where Nesta was seated. He lay down on his side atop the palette of furs, allowing Nesta as much space as possible. He adjusted his weight to prop on an elbow, his other arm draped over his waist.
“Maybe it’s me that needs to be entertained.”
Nesta bit her cheek against the smile that threatened to emerge. She wouldn’t give him the satisfaction.
“Certainly, there’s someone in this camp better equipped to do so.”
Cassian’s chuckle raked over her spine, sending gooseflesh over her body. “You’re closest.”
With a wink, he lifted his mug to his mouth, a smile still evident in the crinkle around his eyes. Nesta wanted to return the smile and throttle him in equal measure.
“It terrifies me to think of what would entertain you,” she quipped, taking a sip of her own tea to mask her amusement. It was harder to accomplish with Cassian’s responding laugh.
“I can imagine,” he answered, before trailing off in favor of the calming quiet around them.
Nesta closed her eyes, allowing herself the indulgence of such vulnerability in the middle of a war zone. She guessed she was safer doing so in the General Commander’s tent than anywhere else. The issue came when the quiet allowed too many of the day’s thoughts to wreak havoc on her mind. Before things could spiral, she heaved a breath, feeling an eerie and unexpected sort of calm tugging at the space between her ribs. She was thankful for the blessing to avoid such a display in Cassian’s tent.
His voice, raspy from the day’s battle, permeated her thoughts. “What are you thinking about?”
She shook her head, blinking to orient herself back to the present. A part of her felt compelled to withhold the truth, but she couldn’t muster the energy.
“Today. So many people injured and in pain. It makes me feel ridiculous for daring to feel tired after a day of caring for them. It’s negligible by comparison.”
“I disagree,” Cassian replied, adamant. “What you did today was just as necessary as fighting to protect our people. Don’t underestimate it.”
Nesta nodded, running her index finger around the lip of her mug. She decided to bite her tongue rather than point out that they weren’t “their people” at all. Cassian was quiet for a moment until his eyes flitted to her face, a softness in his expression that she wanted to hold onto forever. It made him look younger somehow, like the deeply etched weariness of loss and pain disappeared entirely.
“I found myself wondering,” he began, pausing to find his words. “At times, while the fighting was happening, I wondered where you were. Hoped you were safe.”
Her throat constricted. They had lived habitually at each others’ throats when they bothered with one another in the first place. Cassian’s confession was equal parts confusing and frustratingly relatable. The brute managed to occupy far too many of her thoughts. It wasn’t for lack of Nesta trying to prevent it.
“I did, too,” she murmured, surprising herself with the truth. She cleared her throat, forced a surety she didn’t feel. “Every time someone was carried into the tent, I wondered if it would be you.”
Cassian nodded, considered her words. He allowed her a small mercy and chose not to dwell on them. They finished their tea in quiet contemplation, and Cassian got up to put their mugs away. Before he returned to his previous spot, he stopped near a large iron pot and lifted the lid. Nesta watched curiously as he grabbed a rolled towel and carried it over to her.
“Madja warmed these earlier. They’ve been soaked in water and a blend of healing oils. They’re good for soreness.”
Rather than hand it over, he lowered himself onto a knee in front of Nesta. He unrolled it from its original shape and worked it until he had it twisted the way he wanted. His features were schooled in concentration as he lifted it over Nesta’s head and rested it around the back of her neck.
She nearly moaned at the warmth of it, at the gentle brush of his fingers against her skin. Her eyelids fluttered closed, and she swore she heard Cassian’s breath hitch each time he freed a rogue piece of her hair from beneath the towel’s weight. Too soon, he was pulling his hands away and settling into his original position across from her.
“Why do you fight?”
The question surprised him if his rapid blinking was any indication. He bit the inside of his cheek and traced an idle path over the furs in front of him.
“It’s what I know. It’s how I serve my court.”
Nesta wasn’t satisfied with his answer. She indulged in a quick glance over his form, how the loose ties of his tunic allowed a glimpse at his tattooed chest. He seemed so humble, so ordinary in that tent with her. As ordinary as a towering Fae male, strong as if he was carved from stone, could be, anyway. The image didn’t align with the Cassian she’d seen far more often. General Commander of the Night Court’s Armies. Member of the High Lord’s inner circle. War legend.
She got the impression he didn’t readily acknowledge his status or how important his survival would be to the Night Court.
“It seems it would make more sense to ensure you’re protected. If something happened to you, who would lead in your stead?”
“Rhysand,” he answered quickly, casually. “He’s made aware of all plans and strategies, and in the event he couldn’t, Azriel could do it.”
Nesta swallowed, trying and failing to mute the sound of his steady heartbeat. It felt too big for the space and fought to derail her focus, but it soothed her all the same.
“I don’t think that’s true. You realize you’re not so readily replaced, surely.”
Cassian’s gaze met hers for a split second and dropped to the space between them. “Careful, Sweetheart. That was almost a compliment.”
He huffed a laugh, and Nesta joined him for a brief moment. Easing onto his stomach, he rested his cheek atop his forearms and allowed his wings the barest stretch.
“There’s no point in arguing over it,” he continued. “For all we know, Hybern could use the Cauldron to obliterate the world tomorrow. It wouldn’t matter if I stood on the front line or in Velaris.”
The concept made Nesta’s stomach lurch. He’d said it in jest, she knew, but the mere possibility had her power threatening to rise to the surface. She closed her eyes and forced it under. What she’d stolen that day wasn’t inclined to go quietly; a prize she’d won and a curse altogether. Cassian studied her, and the action forced her back to the present.
“And to think, you would have spent your last hours with someone who stumbled uninvited into your tent and proceeded to drink your tea and use your things.”
His responding chuckle felt like he’d dragged the pads of his fingers over the knots of Nesta’s spine. He eased his eyes closed while he recovered and blinked them open lazily.
“We’re unlikely company, but we’ve done alright, I think.”
Nesta crossed her arms, feeling strangely exposed by his words. The walls she’d spent so much time carefully crafting had eroded without her notice, but they would slide back into place readily. They always did.
“What would you do— assuming you knew the Cauldron was going to dissolve everything— if you got to choose?”
She needed the deflection, to shift Cassian’s focus elsewhere. He’d be the first to point out how she began to withdraw, and she’d rather he didn’t. He thought a while on his answer; long enough for Nesta’s attention to get lost tracing patterns over his wings. They rested within reach, and her fingers twitched to physically trace those patterns against the thin membrane. As if he’d felt her intent, they retracted toward the center of his back.
“I’d fly. I would take my time appreciating Velaris and the Night Court, travel up to Illyria to visit all my favorite spots. It can be cold and brutal, but it’s beautiful if you know where to look.”
Nesta considered his answer. She hadn’t expected Cassian, of all people, to spend his final hours on his own.
“I thought you would say ‘with your family’ or something. It’s hard to imagine that you wouldn’t ride it out with them.”
His defined shoulders tensed in an approximation of a shrug. “Of course I’d stop by,” he teased. “But, I don’t want anyone to feel obligated to me. They all have others they would want to see and spend their time with— mates, family. I wouldn’t want to be yet another person they worried about.”
It was the genuine self-sacrifice that chipped away at Nesta’s defenses. His response had been so earnest that she knew he meant every word, and it inspired a sadness on his behalf and her own circumstances. She had no aversions to solitude, but she didn’t think she would need to excuse anyone of any obligation to her. She’d be alone by choice, first and foremost, but if she decided on the reciprocal, would anyone be there anyway?
“What about you?” he murmured. “How would you spend your time?”
Nesta took a moment to think. If the Cauldron obliterated their existence effective the following day, how would she truly spend her time? A weighted veil descended over her mood. She had barely settled into her immortality, so entertaining yet another endless death felt heavier than she cared to entertain.
“I don’t know,” she nearly whispered. Cassian’s brow pulled together in concentration, and he moved to sit up in front of her, as if hanging on her every word. “I’ve spent all these months trying to make peace with this version of my life. That hasn’t left much time to entertain my last days.”
He hummed, and the low tone of his voice floated over her skin like a phantom touch. A barrage of possibilities assaulted her— the roughness of his calluses, the taste of his skin, the fascinating texture of his wings beneath her fingers. Nesta shook her head to re-focus.
“I think I would spend it somewhere quiet with my favorite books. I’d surround myself in nothing but warm linens and keep a kettle of hot tea nearby. I would leave this world comfortable, I think.”
The words poured from her, and it wasn’t until she finished that she realized how true they were. Her human existence had included its fair share of pain, not to mention Hybern’s kidnapping and the bone-deep chill of the Cauldron. She wouldn’t go out that way again. She refused.
Cassian blinked, and Nesta wished she knew why his gaze felt so loaded. He recognized something in her, something in her pain and her past. Learning of his pain felt unbearable somehow, but she wanted so badly to understand. That conversation could wait for another time.
“No family for you either?”
He had found her sore spot efficiently, flawlessly. She shook her head to buy herself some time.
“I guess the more appropriate answer would be that I’d be mated to some Fae male by then, and we would spend it together.”
Cassian’s eyes snapped shut, but he opened them just as quickly. His expression seemed neutral enough, but something unidentifiable was off about it. Nesta studied him in the time between their words, trying to decipher what left her feeling hollow as he looked at her.
“I don’t know how it all works, but I doubt that’s in the Cauldron’s plans for me. I’d be satisfied enough with having a say in my death this time around.”
Pain flashed across Cassian’s handsome face, both at her words and something deeper. It was already gone by the time he spoke.
“I hear you. If it’s any consolation, it took over 500 years for me to believe that I have a mate, so I think it’s fair that you don’t quite have your mind around it.”
His words were acid dripping within her ribcage, but she forced the pain down with the same vigor she did her unwelcome powers. She would no sooner touch what the discomfort meant.
“You have a mate?”
She watched his hand lift to the back of his neck and traced the movement in his forearm when he squeezed his tense muscles. “No, not that I’m aware. I just meant I assumed I wouldn’t have one for a long time.”
The acidic burn was relentless.
“What changed your mind?”
Nesta held her breath while she waited for his response. She wasn’t sure why she’d asked at all, but she had the sense that his next words belonged to something much bigger than either of them.
Finally, he shrugged. “Maybe I started to want it more than I did in the past, or maybe it’s just a hunch. I wonder what it’s like, you know— what it feels like when it snaps into place.”
She swallowed against the sand in her throat, trying once more to avoid choking on her reply. “I wouldn’t have a clue to even speculate.”
Her words felt disingenuous, though that idea was absurd. They were as honest as she could manage, but they remained unpalatable. The combination of hers and Cassian’s thoughts on the matter intensified her discontent, and she brushed it off in favor stretching her legs in front of her.
“I suppose I’ve kept you long enough.”
She stood, soreness already roaring through her tired muscles. Cassian rose swiftly and held his hands out as if to brace her at the shoulders, but Nesta took a subtle step back. She couldn’t bear the contact; not if she intended to return to her tent with those walls still resolutely in place.
Cassian dropped his hands and nodded toward his abandoned map. “I should get back to it, anyway.”
“Alright. Thank you for the tea.”
She straightened her spine by sheer will. Turning for the tent’s opening, she focused to keep her pace productive without too much urgency. She eased it open and ducked her head in preparation to brave the cold air in search of her own tent. Cassian’s husky voice brought her to a halt and rooted her to the spot.
“Nesta?”
She paused, turning to him with the tent flap still within her grasp.
“Despite it all—“ he paused, fixing his eyes on the ground near his feet. His steps were silent as he traveled across the tent, stopping barely two feet away from her. Close enough to touch, to breathe in his distinct scent yet again. She’d know him by any of her senses, down to the nuanced sound of his twitching wings . “If the Cauldron were to level our world tomorrow, I’d be right here.”
Nesta swallowed, anything to buy her time to formulate a coherent response. The forgotten cloth around her neck has grown cold, sending a shiver down her spine. She slid it free and held it out, her breath hitching as his warm hand wrapped around the towel and her fingers. Without a second thought, she dropped the tent flap in favor of draping her free hand over the back of his palm.
Cassian’s throat bobbed, but the characteristic intensity of his focus remained on her face. His eyes scanned every plane, as intense as the chaotic beating of his heart.
“I like to think I’d find myself here, too.”
He gave a tight nod and pulled his hand slowly— so slowly— from between hers. At the break in connection, reality faded back into the fringes of Nesta’s attention. It poured over her like rain, leaving an unwelcome chill over her skin.
Cassian tossed the towel over his shoulder and turned back toward his work. With his back to her, those magnificent wings balanced behind him, he was every bit the warrior the legends made of his name.
Nesta allowed herself another second to take him in before turning to lift the canvas flap. She’d traveled a single step before his quiet voice stopped her once more.
“Goodnight, Nesta.”
She looked over her shoulder to find his attention fixed resolutely on his task, as if his parting words left him vulnerable in a way he wouldn’t allow her to see.
“Goodnight,” she murmured, stepping out into the frigid darkness.
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A/N: This Nessian one-shot wouldn’t leave me alone and effectively blocked my progress on any of my other WIPs, so I gave in and followed the inspiration.
This is set in canon, during the war but prior to the final battle with Hybern. It’s full of Nessian longing/ pining, so enjoy
——————————————————————————
Her bones ached.
The night’s cool air added to the discomfort, another meager annoyance that had the potential to break them all.
The cries of battle had been fierce and electrifying. Too quickly they had given way to cries of pain; anguish both physical and emotional. Nesta wondered how many Illyrian soldiers had lost family during the day’s fight; biological or found. She hadn’t allowed herself much time to dwell on it. Injuries were plentiful in various degrees of severity, and she was running ragged already trying to keep up.
Dani. DANI! What on earth has happened that I’ve forgotten how BEAUTIFULLY you write canon?!
This is so so gorgeous, so painfully sad and angsty and so… perfectly Nessian. The mate conversation? Amazing. The lingering touches? Divine. The mutual understanding that they’d be together in those last moments? Chefs fucking KISS.
I’d also like to shout out to your wing writing. Cassian’s movements were so spot on and it made me think of him in his true complete form rather than a modern au.
I LOVED IT. I bow down to you, Nessian queen.
(And also, thank you to our JP Saxe obsession and for it inspiring you to write this. I think this might by my favourite piece of yours ❤️❤️❤️)
