𝙳𝚊𝚛𝚔 𝙿𝚊𝚛𝚊𝚍𝚒𝚜𝚎(𝙰𝙲𝙾𝚃𝙰𝚁)

𝖈𝖍𝖆𝖕𝖙𝖊𝖗 𝖙𝖍𝖎𝖗𝖙𝖞-𝖘𝖊𝖛𝖊𝖓

My role was the same as it was last time we fought for Summer. I was brought warriors that had wounds not serious enough for healers, but not tame enough for them to deal with.

I stitched up open cuts, treated burns, and set bones for hours. As tiring as it was, it felt nice to help people.

Nesta, Feyre, and Eve were helping me when Rhys and Cassian approached, still in their armor, Azriel nowhere to be found.

Rhys took a seat on the log Feyre was perched atop of, armor thudding, and silently pressed a kiss to her temple.

His helmet clunked on the ground at our feet. Feyre silently handed him a pitcher of water, and made to grab a glass when Rhys just lifted the pewter container and drank right from it.

"Diana's name is not on the list of civilian casualties," Cassian informed Eve.

The tension Eve had about her all day disappeared, and she let out a sob of relief. Morrigan wrapped an arm around her. Eve had been worried sick about her daughter all day.

"Where's my husband?" Eve demanded.

"He's leading team after team of scouts to find the rest of Hybern's host, to try to discover their next movement," Cassian answered, wincing as he put pressure on his right arm to shift his weight on the log.

"Cassian, you're hurt," I snapped, going to his side.

"Its fine," Cassian grumbled, his voice tired.

I reached for his arm—his shield arm. Cassian seemed to hesitate, but offered it to me, tapping the Siphon atop his palm. The armor slid back a fraction over his forearm, revealing—

"You know better than to walk around with an injury," Rhys said a bit tensely.

"I was busy," Cassian said. "And it'll be fixed by morning."

I pursed my lips, gently probing his golden-brown skin, and he hissed through his teeth.

"Yeah, you sound fine," I rolled my eyes. "Stubborn Illyrian males."

I reached for the basket of bandages Feyre had been preparing, then for the pitcher at my feet. I washed his wrist, his hand. I wrapped bandages around his wrist.

"Thanks," he said hoarsely.

"What would we ever do without you," Rhys sighed at me. I smiled, pressing a kiss to his forehead.

"You're hurt?" Mor asked Cassian as she came by.

"Nothing for you to cry over, dont worry," Cassian joked.

I helped with the wounded long into the night, Mor, Feyre, Eve, and Nesta working alongside me. A long day for all of us.

✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:*:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ✧

Nesta and I shared a tent again, and this time she didn't seem so upset about it. She got into the bed without complaining, as did I.

"How did you know Cassian was wounded?" Nesta asked me, both of us laying on our sides, facing each other.

"I've known him since he was nine years old," I replied. "He's my little brother. I can read him like a book."

"Where did you learn to tend to the wounded like that?" she asked me, her blue-grey eyes looking truly curious.

"During the first war," I replied.

"Is that where you and Azriel got the scars on your hands?" she wondered.

My brows raised in surprise, not sure why she cared. I didn't like to talk about my scars. What if she thought I was oversharing?

"No," I answered.

"What happened, then?" she asked.

"Do you remember the male that I killed?" I asked her.

"Yes," she responded, nodding slowly.

"He was Azriel's half brother," I confessed to her. "On his father's side. Az and I have different fathers. When I was thirteen, I upset him. To punish me, he and his other brother set Azriel and I's hands on fire."

She stared at me with an expression I couldn't read. She blinked a few times, then took one of my hands in hers. She studied the scars, tracing them with her fingers.

"He really did deserve what you did to him, then," she said through gritted teeth as her grip tightened on my hand.

"My hands still bear the scars of his cruelty," I explained. "But I consider the marks to be part of myself. They are a reminder of what I survived and the cost of fighting for my freedom."

I hadn't started feeling that way until very recently. I used to just see the pain I'd caused my brother when I looked at them.

"Azriel's still ashamed of his, though," I went on. "And I do still feel guilty that he suffered that because of me."

"It was because of his brothers, not you," she said, finally letting go of my hand.

As she pulled her hand away, I saw a long scar across the length of her palm, ending by her thumb.

"Where'd that scar come from?" I asked her, taking her delicate, pale hand in mine. She refused to meet my eyes.

"My grandmother used to whip my hands," she confessed to me, her cheeks a bit red.

My heart ached for her. I raised her palm to my lips and pressed a kiss to the scar. Her head whipped up, and she stared at me as though I had ripped her hand clean off.

"You didn't deserve that, Nessie," I murmured. She pulled her hand away from me.

"I'm going to sleep," she announced, turning around in the bed.

✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:*:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ✧