NESTA & CASSIAN

You Have My Dreams. You Have My Heart.

Nesta woke with a start. Her heart was hammering against her ribcage and bile was rising in her throat. She panted, her trembling fingers clawed at her surrounding. Nails scratching against hardness and softness at the same time.

Cassian. Cassian. Cassian. Cassian.

That name, her only prayer.

She was frantic and when the panic hit her like a goddamned brick wall tears pooled in her eyes. She began whimpering of her own accord. The low whimpers got caught in her dry throat, there was a hollow space in her chest. Perhaps by crying she would be able to fill up the empty space.

The door was thrown open, fire painted the otherwise dark room in candle light. Feyre hurried over to Nesta giant bed with two quick strides. She made sure to gently put the candle on the dresser before coming to a halt before the bed she shared with her two sisters.

"Nesta." Feyre said softly, sounding confused. "Are you..." she trailed off for a few seconds, her eyes darted between where Nesta sat and to Elain sleeping soundly and undisturbed beside Nesta. 

"Are you alright?" Feyre asked at last.

Nesta pursed her lips tight together, sucking on them as tears still poured down her already damp cheeks. Nesta took a deep breath, closed her eyes and pulled herself together as much as she could.

Nesta let out a hateful scoff.

"I am fine." she sneered at her youngest sister. "Go back to nursing father, why don't you."

Feyre's back stiffened as she averted her eyes. They clung to the dresser they all shared. Each of the three sisters own a drawer. When they had extra money one summer Elain, the sweet innocence that she was, bought Feyre some paint and of course the only talented sister painted designs all over the dresser.

Flowers for Elain. Because Elain loved gardening.

Stars for Feyre. Because she was a dreamer herself and sometimes she liked to look up at the stars and wish.

And fire for Nesta. Probably because she was always raging, because she was always consumed by it. That is the only reason her sister painted flames for her.

"Right." Feyre muttered and turned her back to her sister. Her bony shoulders were crouched as she made to walk back to the additional room where their father slept. 

Nesta only was spared a minute to let out a relieved breath before her sister turned back to face her again. Feyre's frown was like looking at death yourself.

"Who is Cassian?" she asked, carefully.

Nesta tensed. That name, it sounded so familiar...

She then shrugged.

"I do not know anybody named Cassian."

Feyre nodded then turned back around and left.

Nesta didn't fall asleep after that.

***

Today was a fucking bad day.

Cassian trained and sparred and exhausted himself but the feeling of uselessness kept nudging him. Like an insistent hand pushing him towards his awaiting death.

Today, fifty years ago, his brother offered himself up to the bitch - queen so that his inner circle and Velaris could stay safe. All of them tried, have tried for the past fifty years, to break the goddamn curse that witch had inflicted upon Prythian. They all tried to find a loophole but there was none to be found.

Fifty years. His brother had been gone for fifty years and he had done nothing -

"You just melted your sword, Cassian." Azriel observed from the side of the training room. Cassian fluttered a breath as he looked at what he's done.

"We have countless of swords."

"This is not about the sword, Cas, and you know it." Morrigan said, appearing next to where Azriel stood. Standing not as close as both of them yearned. Cassian wanted to rant at them about it at the moment, tell them to get over themselves and just be with each other and be happy. 

That there is enough torture in the inner circle. That there still is hope.

But Cassian didn't want to lie to them. There was no hope. None.

If they couldn't find anything in the last fifty years the would be broken now.

And Rhysand would be forever Amarantha's slave. Cassian wanted to vomit right on the training room's floor. He would have given himself to the bitch to save Rhys. Just because his brother had saved him from freezing to death in his miserable bastard tent all those centuries ago.

"Why don't you go rest, Cas." Mor suggested, sounding very tired herself.

If this was any other day. If it didn't hurt them all so much he would have argued with her. He would have distracted them both by verbally sparring. But not today...

***

Cassian's bed was big enough to accomodate his enormous wings but he couldn't get into one single position in the last three hours. He tossed and turned but nothing happened.

He turned on his stomach and spread out his wings. Closed his eyes shut tight in hope of falling asleep.

Warmth filled his thoughts, a fire weakly burning. A woman rested her hands in front of it, trying to warm them up.

With those images in his head Cassian finally managed to fall asleep.

***

Nesta was warming her hands by the fireplace while at the same time doing an excellent job of ignoring her useless father.

Cassian. Cassian. Cassian.

The name still rang through her, as it had the whole night before. And the night before that. And the night before that one.

A strange familiar sense filled her otherwise empty soul as she turned the word over and over in her mind. When she sometimes mouthed it while she was chopping wood. A sense that made her feel at ease, like she was home.

Nesta didn't even look up from the flames as Feyre entered their horrible excuse of a cottage after a day of hunting.