#nissandra

Time passes. Beyond the little room where she coalesces, the world spins in a million directions. For Nissa, the other planes will have to wait. Her spark is in no shape yet to carry her home to Zendikar. So she only rests, and heals.

She does not keep the arms Phyrexia gave her. Does not trust the sickly gleam of their copper, sees in their harsh lines only the atrocities she caused at Norn’s command. Chandra takes no small pleasure in reducing them to molten slag.

 Nissa knows a sick plant must be pruned, its dead branches removed, if it is to thrive. She cannot be free of all the metal which Elesh Norn sank into her, but these limbs at least - she can trim.

At first she is helpless, and Chandra is her everything - more, that is, than she already was. Dressing her, feeding her, scrubbing her clean and changing the bandages around her stumps. Several times a day Chandra sighs, or sniffs back a tear. Starts to say - if only. I wish I could have saved more.

You saved everything, answers Nissa, her voice soft. Everything which matters.

The two of them settle into a routine. During the day healers fuss over Nissa, leeching any remaining trace of the oil from her flesh, seeing that the cavities and lacerations left behind by Meliria’s intervention remain free of blight; that skin and muscle heal and bond together without forming abscess or too much scarring. There are exercises she must do, stretching her limbs and forcing herself to take shaky steps for as long as her energy holds out - slightly longer each session, slightly further each morning.

At night, Chandra feeds her dinner bite by bite, and then they talk, or they sit, until all too soon Nissa’s weariness weighs down her eyes and they crawl together into bed. Since that first moment when they were reunited, they have done no more than kiss while Nissa recovers, but each kiss writes a new chapter in her memory from which she draws strength during the long and wearisome days.

Nissa focuses on what she can control and what senses remain. She studies the twinkling freckles on Chandra’s cheeks and the way her hair refuses to lie flat, when it isn’t bursting into flame. With her long ears, untouched by the oil’s depredations, she listens to Chandra’s soft breathing in the dark, or the tears which run down her cheeks when she thinks Nissa is asleep. Smells her scent, when the fire mage lies beside her. And feels - oh, even without fingers, how she feels her. 

Nissa feels the beat of Chandra’s heart against her chest when they lie skin to skin; she feels her love’s fingers tracing gentle lines along the tattoos on her back, shoulders, face. And of course those lips. Chandra kisses her chin and cheeks and even, growing mischievous, her ears. Nissa returns each kiss, and each press of her lips is a caress she wishes she could give. More will wait for later.

Then, a message comes for Chandra, from another plane.

I won’t be long, Chandra says. Back before you know it.

She is gone only day. She returns not alone. Saheeli, and Huatli too, are with Chandra when she bursts back through the door into Nissa’s chambers. Fresh from Kaladesh, their arms filled with treasures from another world. Saheeli brings the greatest of all. Chandra practically vibrates with anticipation, with - hope. She kneels by the bed as Saheeli opens the long box she carries. 

Pia’s work is unmistakable, and Saheeli’s own efforts too. Two splendid, glittering arms of lattice and filigree. Fingers and wrists and elbows to reach and grasp and hold. Independence. Possibility. A fresh start. 

It will take time. Long weeks of practice and exercise, strengthening muscles and teaching them new tricks. Nissa will not spend a single one alone. Chandra Nalaar, her love, her all, will stand by Nissa’s side (Nissa Revane, her strength, her cause) through every step.

Hand in hand.