#ttbw

Tensions were high outside Cassian and Nesta’s room at the House of Wind. Emerie, Azriel, and Rhysand had been sitting in the hall over a day as Madja and a team of her best healers worked on their friend’s mangled wings. Nesta refused to leave his side. Madja allowed her to stay in the room only as long as Nesta agreed to follow all instructions and stay out of the way, which she had. There was no time to fill anyone in on his status. While the camp lords had not intended to kill Cassian, the combination of the paralytic, faebane, and the shock to his system from trauma and blood loss had caused his body to shut down quickly. 

Rhysand had never seen Madja call for so many extra healers. Typically she brought along an apprentice or two to train. On particularly bad occasions, like after the King of Hybern had shredded Cassian’s wings and Azriel had been stabbed by Jurian, he and Morrigan had lent a hand. Madja called for six additional highly trained hands, and specifically refused the help of any apprentices or the Inner Circle. Such a thing was unheard of. 

As they waited, Emerie leaned against the wall, arms folded and one leg kicked back. Rhysand had slid down the wall several hours ago. Now his legs were bent up to his chest, elbows rested on his knees, and his head hung heavy in his hands. Azriel stood rigid by the window, unable to break his stare from Cassian’s door. Emerie watched him flex his hands and knew what ran through his mind. She knew what he must be reliving after what Cassian had endured because she was reliving it too. Their scars ran deep.

Loss, damage, physical, mental, and emotional pain that no amount of training could prepare anyone to live through. This was trauma in its purest form, and Cassian was not the only one injured. Emerie shut her eyes tight as she tried to push away the memories that had threatened to consume her from the moment Nesta had recognized the agony in Cassian’s wings through their bond the night before. The images and phantom pains that Emerie still fought back daily had only gotten stronger after what she’d witnessed in that tent.   

Hours later the door to Cassian’s room opened and Madja, exhausted and flecked in more blood than anyone was comfortable acknowledging, entered the hallway. Rhysand was instantly on his feet. Azriel remained still, but Emerie took a step off the wall, arms still crossed and wings held in tightly to stave off the pains. Rhysand quickly approached the healer, expectation written across the wrought lines of his face.

Madja stared down at the floor. This healer, a female whose skills went beyond all others, one of the only people in all of Prythian who could order the High Lord around, could not meet his eyes. Rhysand’s eyes bore down on her. Emerie tried to give him the benefit of the doubt, tried to remember that he was in pain, but she did not like the way he looked upon his master healer. 

With a deep breath, Madja raised her head and squared her shoulders to address Rhysand. Her face was schooled in a practiced calm as she began to speak with a steady voice. “We have stopped the blood loss, and managed to prevent amputation. His organs were shutting down and we almost lost him, but I am now sure that physically he will survive this.” 

“His wings,” Rhysand cut in, voice hoarse from lack of use and water. As he continued to speak his tone was harsh as he asked the question Emerie already knew the answer to. “Will he fly again?”

“No,” Madja said, voice firm and sure though it sounded like she did not want to be. “His wings were too damaged and there was noth-”

“You have to do something. He can’t not fly,” Rhysand said, voice rushed and angry as he took one step toward the healer. “He has to fly, Madja. You have to do something. His wings have been bad before, and you’ve always fixed him.” 

Emerie watched as some small part of the healer permanently broke, and she stepped forward to try and prevent the crack from growing further. “Thank you, Madja, for saving his life. We are so thankful. Is there anything that you need us to do?” 

Madja looked gratefully at Emerie for a brief moment before she responded. “No, thank you dear. Nesta has all the instructions and we will visit again soon. He needs rest before we work again.” 

Emerie smiled warmly at the female as she kindly nodded her response. Madja ushered the healers, all in various states of dishevelment, out of Nesta and Cassian’s room before they left the House of Wind together as one with Morrigan as their guide. Em watched them leave as she used her body to create a barrier between the healers and the High Lord. Azriel still had not moved from where he stood, eyes locked on the door that was once again shut. When they had gone and she was certain they were out of ear shot, Emerie turned angrily upon the males behind her. 

“Are you proud of yourself,” Emerie spat at the High Lord, who was still fuming mad about the now undeniable fact that his friend would no longer be able to fly. 

“I’ve done nothing wrong,” Rhysand retorted as anger rolled off of him in dark waves. 

Emerie cocked an eyebrow at the High Lord, her hands on her hips. “Oh yeah? Nothing wrong? You do know that your words have an effect on people, correct? You had no right to guilt her like that.” 

“I did no such thing. I simply asked-”

“No,” Emerie said back. She wanted to shout, but she knew that Cassian and Nesta did not need to hear this right now. To try and preserve their peace, Emerie worked to keep her voice low, yet strong. “By bringing up the past times she was successful, you just confirmed to Madja that you believe this was likely her biggest failure to date. And it’s not. There’s no way to recover from the wounds he received. He’s lucky to be alive right now.” 

There was one thing that Cassian had avoided more than any other during his recovery. Rhysand had pushed it off as long as he possibly could, but there could be no further circumvention. The Camp Lords had to be held accountable for their actions, and Cassian would have to face them, and by extension, himself.  Illyria had its own judicial system to try and convict crimes, and since Cassian’s assault was committed by and against Illyrians on their home soil, they had to return to Windhaven for the trial. Rhysand, as High Lord of all fae within the Night Court had attempted to find a way around it, but eventually Nesta and Emerie had stopped him.  “You do realize that this is exactly why Illyria distrusts you right? You’re trying to circumvent a process that’s been in place for thousands of years because it helps your family. Whether the trial happens in Velaris or Windhaven, Cassian will still have to testify, and he will still have to face those lords. You can’t protect him from this,” Emerie explained in a private meeting with Rhysand. Her voice softened in recognition of what their friend would be subject to, but continued nonetheless. “But you can help him by working with Illyria on this instead of against them.”  They’d had several of these get-togethers since Emerie’s talk with him outside Cassian’s room. The pair spent time discussing how his court’s lack of action had caused as much damage as incorrect action would have. Rhysand had listened, and while not much had changed in such a short time, Emerie was hopeful.  The day of the trial, Cassian had requested that Morrigan be the one to winnow him, Nesta, and Emerie to Illyria. She had been more than happy to oblige, but his brothers were left feeling helpless and hurt. Ever since the confrontation in front of Cassian’s door, Rhysand received nothing but a cold shoulder from Nesta. Azriel was another story, though no one knew the tale. Emerie had been most forgiving, and tried to encourage Rhys and Azriel to keep the faith. Rhysand hoped that what had happened between him and the Valkyrie had set some things straight not just between them, but between Velaris and Illyria.  Nesta saw Cassian’s body stiffen immediately once they landed in Windhaven. It was early spring, but the snow still lay thick on the ground. The sharp, cold air cleared her lungs and Nesta reveled in the crisp scent of pine, of home. Despite the impending worry of what was to come, Nesta felt a pang of longing for all Illyria had become to her. It hit Nesta then just how strong the bond had become between her and her chosen home.  And as much as Nesta was glad to be back on Illyrian soil, she watched carefully, ready to be there for Cassian the moment he asked. Cassian’s home had been stolen from him. As he took his first steps, solid from their balancing practice, part of him cowered. An untrained eye might not have noticed, but Nesta could read every flex of every muscle in her mate’s body. He was not okay.  In front of them stood a permanent tent fixture, the material and appearance so much like those celebration tents from the Day of Breaking. Nesta took a deep breath as she remembered the last time she’d walked up to a tent like this, the violence and bloodshed she found within. Today she approached again, ready for a different kind of battle. And she knew that if the tent affected her this much, it must pale in comparison to Cassian’s experience. Nesta approached his side to grasp his hand. Her mate wore a determined look on his face as he slowly began to walk forward, but she felt the slight tremble in his fingers.

Carmilla rubs her sleepy eyes, fumbling for the automatic door button. Exhaustion weighs in her bones, loosening her grasp on her motor skills and prying away all sense of dignity she manages to have retained, showing up to the hospital at one in the morning in full steampunk regalia. 

The due date wasn’t for another two weeks, and yet, there she was for the arrival of Tara and May’s first child, so obviously the kid had gotten bored. It checked out, given who her parents were.

“I’m here to see the arrival of my sister’s baby,” she tells the reception, the relation part being a convenient half-truth. “Sorry I’m late, I was at work.”

The receptionist’s eyes rake over her, and Carmilla vaguely recalls that most people’s work attire doesn’t include a patched waistcoat and an artfully (fake) bloodstained button down. 

“I’m in a band,” Carmilla explains, hoping dearly that the single sentence is enough to explain it. 

“And who,” the receptionist asks, “is your sister?”

“Ah,” Carmilla says. “Tara Elizabeth Moon.”

The receptionist types away at her computer for a moment before sighing. “Room 207, second floor and to your left. I’ll print you a guest pass, Ms…?”

“Carmilla.” 

She’s handed her guest pass, printed off a sticker maker easily. Carmilla quite likes technology, because it’s sped up this process considerably.

She limps to the elevator, hitting the button for the second floor with a clumsy palm and letting herself lean against the metal wall. She feels half-ready to fall asleep right there, despite the anticipation coursing adrenaline through her veins. 

Hospital elevators are, thankfully, quick little bastards, and she doesn’t have the time to drift off before she’s heading down the hallway. It’s late enough at night - or perhaps early enough in the morning, depending on how one looks at it - that nobody is there to see her nearly trip over her own feet, at least. 

She pushes open the door, heavy as always because hospital doors always seem to be weighted by fucking mountains, and for a moment the adrenaline and endorphins overcome her exhaustion in a tidal wave because Tara smiles at her, looking so deeply wrung out but happy, and a tiny bundle squirms weakly in her arms.

Carmilla limps over to get a look at the baby, and her eyes meet tiny, curious grey-blue ones, a shock of platinum blonde hair that peeks out from the blanket she’s swaddled in. 

“Her name’s Aurora,” Tara says. “My parents are coming, eventually, but she was early and you… you’re our first friend here, and that’s important.” 

She glances at her wife, and up to Carmilla, who barely notices the look. She’s enthralled by this child, Aurora, who’s so fragile it’s killing her but still, she can look up with the infinite wonder of a tiny little person who needs to know the world she’s only been on for a scant number of minutes and seconds. 

“Which is why,” Tara continues, “we’ve gone over it, and… we’d like you to be her godmother.”

Aurora gurgles, and Carmilla pokes a finger out to stroke the baby’s smooth forehead, enthralled. She registers what her friend had said, sure, but that means absolutely nothing in the face of this little creature who’s breathing and has a heartbeat and-

Carmilla’s higher mental functions briefly return, and she looks up to her friends in awe. “Wait, you want- I-”

“We want you to be her godmother, because we trust that you’ll take care of her like you did for us, when we first arrived, when we were the only lesbian couple in the art alliance and you greeted us with kindness, despite clearly having your own issues to deal with.”

“I don’t… I don’t know what to say…” Carmilla mumbles. “I just…”

“How about thank you?” May suggests. “Would you like to hold her?”

Carmilla nods, crumpling into a chair as the exhaustion returns in a sudden wave. “I… yes. Thank you.”

May settles Aurora into her arms, and Carmilla’s chest feels hot in a good way, for once.

“Hello, my little moon,” Carmilla murmurs. 

There is a world in which she never met this child, and that suddenly strikes her. That this baby, who is not hers but she is able to share in the first hours of, could have been a stranger. 

She tightens her grip. She isn’t ready for her own child, not yet, her brain is still screaming at her that she needs to destroy herself for this tiny thing and she couldn’t live like that for her own little one, but it’s enough for now to hold Aurora.

Nyx shrieked joyfully in his uncle’s grasp as Cassian banked to the right. The wind caught both their wings, Nyx’s still so small and delicate as they flew. Cassian held his nephew tightly around the waist as he tried to get the mischievous four year old to get used to the feeling of the air as it rushed past the diaphanous structures still developing within his wings. 

As they leveled out, Nyx’s wings went limp and he clapped his hands together, “Uncle Cassie again, again!” Cassian chuckled softly to himself as he looked out over the waters next to the River House where he held his flying lessons with Nyx. 

“Okay little pyxie, but you’ve gotta hold your wings out for me! Big and strong, like we talked about.” Cassian could feel as Nyx held his breath and braced his wings out from his tiny body. Nyx’s wings were still so small they barely went past the breadth of Cassian’s shoulders. “Look I’m doing it!!” Nyx shouted back at him. As he peered over his little shoulder the young male’s violet eyes shined with excitement at his achievement. Cassian could barely hold back his own tears as pride rushed through his body. He choked back his emotion as he spoke encouragingly to his nephew.

“You’re doing it big guy!” Cassian made sure they were close enough to the shore that the rest of the family could see Nyx’s achievement before he prepared to bank again. “Alright Nyx, think you can hold them steady for this turn?” 

“I’m a big boy! I can do it.” The determination in Nyx’s voice sent another burst of emotion through Cassian as prepared to bank. “Okay, on the count of three buddy. One… two… three!” 

Cassian softly curved above the shore and Nyx’s wings stayed stretched wide through the entire turn. Nesta, Azriel, Rhysand, and Feyre all cheered from the shore as the pair flew by. Once they were out of the turn Cassian landed, he turned his nephew in his arms to face him.

“I did it! I did it!” Nyx shouted and raised his still plump little fists in the air in celebration. 

Cassian held him in one arm as he also fist pumped the air in celebration and laughed along with his nephew. “You did such a good job Nyx!” 

When Nyx had calmed slightly, Cassian knelt and placed the little male on the ground to stand before him. Nyx looked intently into his uncle’s eyes as Cassian placed one hand on his shoulder. “Now, remember what we talked about. Your wings are still growing. They’re not as strong as mine or your dad’s or Uncle Az’s yet.” 

Nyx looked at his uncle intently as he spoke, but chimed in “or mommy’s right? She has wings too! But not all the time, like daddy. She can put them away. But I can’t.” 

Cassian smiled at his nephew, the intuitive little bugger. “That’s right. Your mom and dad have different wings. But you and I can’t take our wings off and we can’t put them away. What does that mean Nyx?” 

Nyx looked seriously back at Cassian, eyebrows furrowed in concentration. “It means I have to be extra super careful not to hurt them. They’re my wings and no one else's and I only get one pair so I have to take care of them.” 

“Yes, exactly bud, great job. What else do you have to remember about your wings?” Cassian smiled encouragingly at Nyx to continue.

The little male responded with sincerity, eyes and nose still scrunched tight. “That no one else can touch them unless they ask and I say it’s okay, and I should only say it’s okay if I know them extra super well like you or Uncle Azzie.” 

Cassian nodded. “That’s right, little pyxie. You did a great job today, you know that?” 

A huge grin spread across Nyx’s entire face at his uncle’s compliment. He responded eagerly as he excitedly bounced on the balls of his feet. “Does that mean I get to fly all by my own next time?” 

Cassian chuckled as he responded. “Not so fast, big guy. Before our next lesson I want you to work on your wing flaps for me. We need to make sure your muscles are big and strong so they can support you without my help okay?” 

Nyx looked down at his feet, a defeated look on his face leaving his bottom lip slightly wobbly. Cassian used his free hand to tilt his nephew’s gaze back up to meet his. “Hey, don’t get upset. You’re doing so well! Only a few more lessons okay? And then you and I can fly over the river together but separate, I promise.” 

The young boy, so small and new to life, perked up a bit at that as he responded. “You’ll take me first right? Don’t tell my dad but your lessons are my favorite. I want to fly together but separate with you first.” 

Those damn emotions hit Cassian again at his nephew’s words and he swallowed back more tears. “I promise Nyx, the first time you’re ready to fly without one of us holding you, I’ll be the one to take you.” 

Nyx rushed forward and hugged his uncle, arms wrapped so tightly around Cassian’s neck he could barely breathe. But he’d never stop Nyx from embracing him like this, not in a million years. Once the tiny bat let go, he raced off to tell his mom and Auntie Ness all about how well he did in his flying lesson. Cassian stood and brushed off his knees as his brothers approached. 

“Well, that went well,” Rhysand said as he stood next to his Cassian with a proud smile on his face. 

“He’s doing so well, Rhys. I don’t know many younglings that can fly as strongly as he is at that age.” Cassian stared off after his nephew as he raced into Nesta’s arms. His mate scooped Nyx up into her grasp with ease and twirled him around as pride shone across her features. 

Rhysand watched where Cassian’s gaze fell and joined his soft reverie as Feyre hugged her arms around Nesta, which left Nyx sandwiched between the sisters and showered in love. Azriel, ever the serious brother, cut into the soft moment. 

“Cass, we wanted to talk to you about tomorrow.” Rhysand raised his eyebrows and looked over toward their brother, already masked in nervous shadows. “Way to really bury the lead Az,” before he looked toward Cassian, a look of sincerity on his face, “but he’s not wrong Cass.” 

Cassian crossed his arms over his chest as he looked between his brothers, who both wore concerned expressions. “Alright, you two look like scouts with horrible information who don’t want to spill the news. Well, spill.” 

Rhys straightened his posture while the shadows flurried more quickly around Azriel’s shoulders. It was the High Lord who spoke first. “I know you’ve been really looking forward to tomorrow and think it will make a big difference in your and Nesta’s plans in Illyria but-”

Azriel cut Rhys off stoney faced, “Cassian there have been serious death threats. Are you sure it’s really a good idea for you to let loose with these men when they’re the very same ones calling for your head on a spike?”

Cassian huffed out a breath and rolled his eyes. “You sound like Nesta. Look, Az, you have your mission in Autumn tomorrow, and Rhysand has Velaris to guard with Mor and Amren gone.” Cassian clapped a hand on each of his brother’s shoulders as he said with more confidence than he actually felt, “I’ve received more death threats than the three of us combined could count. Nothing’s gone wrong before, why would it now?” 

His brothers looked obviously unconvinced by Cassian’s attempt at bravado. “Look, Devlon will be there. He’s been on our side since day one of this rebuild. Nesta, Emerie, and their Valkyrie unit won’t be far either. I know you’re concerned.” Cassian ran a hand through long curls as he spoke, his true anxiety on full display. 

“I’m concerned too, but we are at a stalemate. My job is to fix Illyria, to make her something that all three of us can truly be proud of. A place we work with, not just order around when we need them.” Cassian met Azriel’s shadowed stare before he locked eyes with his High Lord’s piercing violet gaze as he said his last piece. “Let me do my job Rhys, let me help Illyria.”