Nesta had nightmares of being submerged in the cauldron. It had only been in recent weeks that she had been able to take a proper bath and submerge herself completely in water. She had forced that upon herself, tired of having to use buckets of water to wash herself and take a ridiculous amount of time and effort in doing so. She had been able to take baths once more, but the nightmares remained. Every night, Nesta woke, sweating and crying with the feeling of water in her lungs. She woke up to the pain of her entire being ripped apart and recreated again. She woke up with black veins beneath her eyes and inky black smoke beneath the skin of her hands, the fangs in her mouth feeling longer and sharper and an emptiness inside her that scared her more than anything. Most nights, she was afraid to go to sleep, but exhaustion always won over her stubborn will and Nesta found herself routinely subjected to her worst memories and fears.

She had opened her window that night, slipped out onto the roof that overlooked the street and stared out at the stars that blinked in the darkness above her. She wore nothing but a nightgown, pulling her knees to her chest and wrapping her arms around them, her gaze sweeping over the wondrous lights that illuminated the City of Starlight. She had spent the entire day in her room, again, locked away, laying on her bed trying to go to sleep even when her body didn't want to. She had spent the whole day wondering what Feyre would say to her husband, if they would let her go to the war camps, if they realized that this would possibly be the only way to pull her out of... whatever funk she was in.

A cool wind blew off the Sidra, twisting through her loose curls and biting at the skin of her arms and face. She shivered lightly, but refused to go inside for warmer clothes. It felt good on her skin, the wind. It made her feel real, alive, there. She breathed deeply and turned her gaze towards the ocean, to where the Quarters were illuminated in yellows and reds and greens and blues. There was no doubt that the Morrigan and the Illyrians were out tonight, she could hear the drunken cries and laughter of the midnight patrons like the clear ring of bells.

She didn't flinch when he appeared beside her, forearms rested on his knees, a flask in his hand. He offered it to her silently, and she took it without much hesitation. The liquid burned down her throat, but she took a healthy swig and handed it back to her High Lord. They sat in silence for a few solid moments, staring out over the city that had quickly become her home, the autumn wind coming off the Sidra running invisible fingers through their hair. He didn't ask her questions, he didn't demand answers. Instead, he sipped off the flask and offered it to her every now and then, waiting for her to speak if she needed to, remaining silent if she didn't.

It was how Nesta and Rhysand had formed a loose sibling-like bond with one another. They hadnt told anyone about it, she was pretty sure not even Feyre had realized that her sister and her husband were on friendly terms with one another. However, when Nesta and Elain had arrived in the Night Court, newly turned into High Fae, traumatized and terrified, the "monsterous" High Lord had simply placed them on a couch in the House of Wind, given them blankets, set them in front of a fire...

And left them.

He let them settle in, let them come to terms with what had just happened to them. He had let them grieve on their own, given them written directions of where their rooms were as to avoid bothering them further. He had let the shadows come to them gently and explain the dealings of the Night Court. He had politely invited them to dinner every night, and never complained when they declined.

When Nesta had finally arrived at dinner one night, to a table that had sat the High Lord, the blonde haired Morrigan, the silver eyed blood-drinker and the shadow singer, she had sat herself down and demanded where her sister was. It was in that moment that Nesta had seen the flash of pain, desperation and fear on his face that she had realized what he felt for her sister was real. He loved her. And he would do anything to have her back.

At the same time, he would do anything for her and Elain as well, because they were the only family that the love of his life had left.

And he did. He got anything that Nesta and Elain asked for and had it delivered to their rooms. He made sure they had anything they needed and more in order to transition as cleanly and painlessly into this new life as possible.

He never once asked how they were doing. He never asked if they wanted to talk, if they needed a shoulder to cry on. He answered any questions she had about the Court, about the land, about the life, about her sister. He reassured her that Feyre was checking in, that everything was okay. He kept her in as much of the loop as she wished to be in.

And that had earned her respect and her admiration. And soon after, it had earned her siblingly love.

They sat out on the roof for hours, the flask refilling itself when it ran low, passing it between one another as they watched the stars twinkle above them. When she had shivered from the breeze, Rhysand had created a barrier around them, keeping it comfortable enough she didnt freeze down to her bones. It was well into the night when Nesta could feel her eyes begin to grow heavy. She found herself leaning against his shoulder and sighed, taking a sip of the flask.

"I dont want to go to sleep," she whispered. Rhys glanced down at where her head lay on his shoulder, a small frown on his face. She was utterly exhausted, that must was clear. For weeks, she had dark circles under her eyes. She had been losing weight. And she was holding everything in. He reached over, gently pulling the silver flask from her limp fingers and capped it. "I dont want to go to sleep."

"I know," He whispered, shifting so he could slip his arm beneath her knees and around her back, picking her up as carefully as possible and turning to her bedroom window. He stepped into the room, walking across to the large bed and gently placed her beneath the blankets that had been thrown off when she had gotten up earlier. Her eyes had fluttered closed, but her brow was wrinkled with an emotion he couldnt quiet place.

This Nesta was so different than the one everyone was used to seeing. While they had spent hours out on the roof, she hadnt said a single word about what had been bothering her all these weeks- months, really. That was fine with him, he didnt expect her to open up to him. But she had shown a small bit of vulnerability just then, had let him see past a single layer of her defenses. Rhysand wasnt sure how to take it.

A small hand brushed his arm and he glanced over his shoulder to find his gorgeous wife looking down at her sister full of concern. She was biting her lip, her brow furrowed. He knew what she was thinking without even touching the bond they shared. Standing up, he wrapped an arm around her and gently guided her away, shutting the door to Nesta's bedroom as quietly as possible. The couple walked back down the hallway to their own room, where Feyre climbed onto their large bed and crossed her legs.

"She wants to go to the war camps, Rhys." He nodded his head. She had brought it up to him earlier that day when she had gone to talk to Nesta herself. He brushed a hand through his hair and leaned back against the door, crossing his arms over his broad chest. He had to admit that, especially during the weeks that Feyre had been away in the Spring Court, he had grown to have a distant appreciation and respect for the eldest Archeron sister. He knew just how strong willed, stubborn and mean the female could be, but seeing her degenerating the way she had been recently was starting to eat away at him as much as it was Feyre. "I dont know what to do."

"We let her go." He stated simply. Feyre frowned and tilted her head slightly.

"Let her go?" He nodded, pushing off the door and walking across the empty space to the bed, dropping onto the mattress beside her.

"Yes. I think it is exactly what Nesta needs." Feyre stared down at her husband in confusion. How could sending Nesta to the war camps be what was best for her? Reading her expression, Rhys continued. "She said that she is sick of sitting around and doing nothing. She wants to be able to protect herself and protect those she cares about."

"Why wont she just train with Cassian?" He shook his head.

"I dont know what is going on between them, but either way, Cassian wouldnt push her the way the War Lords would."

"What about Azriel?" He shook his head again. Feyre sighed and dropped her head, letting her hair fall like a curtain on either side of her face. Rhys sighed and sat up, brushing her hair back behind a slightly pointed ear and tilted her chin up with a finger. He smiled down at her gently, leaning in and giving her a soft kiss before pulling back.

"Believe me, if there is anyone that can survive the war camps, it is Nesta." Feyre gave a half smile and shook her head.

"Nesta isnt the one I am worried about."

"Good morning, Nesta." Nesta groaned and rolled over, pulling her pillow over her pounding head. There was someone in her room, someone who was making far too much noise and- did they just rip off her blankets? She tilted her head beneath her arm enough to reveal her mouth and hissed with bared fangs, curling her legs up to her chest to conserve body heat. Sister, it was her sister.

Of course it was, Nesta wasnt sure anyone else would dare to come into her room at - bloody hell what time was it - and rip off her blankets. Deciding she didnt care, she curled her toes and shifted the pillow over her ears again to muffle as much sound as she possibly could while Feyre flounced about her room slamming her armoire doors, splashing water and sounding like a herd of elephants.

Then, Nesta remembered that she and Rhysand had been out on the roof for a solid number of hours drinking from the self-filling flask, which was why her skull currently felt like someone was repeatedly smashing into her brain with an iron hammer. She groaned and flipped onto her stomach, trying to alleviate the pressure in her head, somehow, to no avail. This is why I never drink.

"Get up, Nesta." Feyre ordered, yanking on a bare foot. Nesta kicked blindly, hoping she would make contact with her sisters nose, but only met air.

"Get out of my room, Feyre." She snapped from beneath the pillow, her words slightly muffled. She wouldnt have been surprised if Feyre had rolled her eyes (which is exactly what she did).

"Get up. We have things to do." Feyre snapped right back, walking into her sisters bathing chambers. "Your bath is going to get cold."

"What things?" She groaned, angrily, forcing herself to sit up, only to hiss at the light coming from her open window and fall back onto the bed with the pillow over her face. Feyre sighed and walked back out of the bathroom, throwing a towel onto her sisters body.

"Im not about to let you walk into the camps completely blind. We're going out in the woods. Im teaching you some basics." Nesta tilted the pillow just enough to reveal one dark blue eye and blinked at her sister who stood in her bedroom doorway. "Now get up. I dont have all day." With that, Feyre slammed the door shut, leaving her sister to her own devices.

It took Nesta another five minutes to work herself out of bed, but she finally managed to stumble across her bedroom and into her bathing chamber and sit herself in her tub long enough to wash her hair and body and then get back out. She wrapped a towel around herself, rubbing her hair dry with another and feeling better than she had been ten minutes earlier. She walked back into her bedroom, about to turn to her armoire and pull out another useless dress, when she noticed a set of clothes sitting on the end of her bed that her sister must have placed there before leaving. With a frown, she picked it up. Her frown deepened.

Her sister had supplied her with Illyrian leathers. She wasnt sure if they were Feyre's or her own, either way it took another twenty minutes to figure out how to put them on. Nesta had never worn pants in her entire life, and having something wrapped around her legs felt...different. Not exactly wrong, but different. Comforting in a way, unsettling in another. The leathers were sturdy and warm, but flexible and light enough that she was able to move in a way she had never been able to before. She turned to her vanity, staring at herself in the mirror, her mouth parted in a small 'o'.

"Holy...cauldron." She whispered.

While Nesta had lost weight in the previous weeks, the leathers did nothing if not accentuate the feminine...assets. She had never realize that she actually was rather...shapely. She was covered from the neck down, however, her breasts were clearly visible in shape and size, the leathers stretching over them tautly. She had a narrow waist and hips that flared. She was definitely a woman.

Sitting on her bed, she slipped her feet into the knee high boots that were also left with the leathers and laced them up. They were sturdy, heavy and she had to pace around her room for a few minutes to get used to walking in them. Feyre knocked on her door five minutes later when Nesta had finally finished pulling her long hair into a high ponytail on her head, loose curls falling to frame her face. It was the best she was able to do, as a twisted coronet didnt exactly go with what she was wearing at the moment.

Feyre was dressed in her own leathers, a bow and quiver across her back, blades on her thighs. Her hair was plaited over her shoulder and she smirked as she took in her older sister. She handed Nesta a dagger and a sword as she stepped into the hall, the elder sister staring at the weapons and carefully taking them. "Here," Feyre muttered, showing her sister how to strap them to her body. "Does that feel okay?" Nesta frowned at the sword on her hip, and reading the reaction, Feyre quickly unbuckled the sword, stepped around her sister and strapped it down her spine in the same manner as the Illyrians, with their wings. "Better, now come on. It's going to be a long day." Nesta followed her sister silently, trampling down the front staircase to the foyer, only to freeze when she peaked through the doorway to the sitting area.

The three well-known Illyrians were sitting by the fire, leaning closely over the coffee table speaking about something neither Nesta nor Feyre really cared about at the moment. They had halted their conversation upon hearing the females coming down the stairs and turned their attention to where Feyre and Nesta currently stood in the foyer dressed like they were ready for battle. Rhys had looked his wife over appreciatively with a soft smirk, leaning back into his chair and crossing an ankle over his knee. He always did enjoy seeing his mate in fighting wear.

Azriel glanced at the two females, nodded once and turned his attention back to a piece of paper sitting on the table.

Cassian, however, was blatantly staring open mouthed at Nesta, starting at her head and working his way down to her booted feet and then back up again. Feyre chuckled beside her, resting a hand on her hip and glancing between the two Fae, waiting patiently. Nesta stared right back, watching the way his hazel eyes wandered over her body, taking in her slim legs, her wide hips, her hour-glass waist and womanly chest. His eyes only seemed to grow with each passing second. After a few more moments, feeling thoroughly naked, Nesta sighed and turned to her sister, waving a hand in the direction of the doorway.

"Lets go."

"GO WHERE?" Nesta blinked and turned her attention back to the overgrown bat who now stood in the center of the living area, wings spread wide and fists clenched at his side. Feyre smirked and leaned towards her sister.

"This is what we call possessive male territorialness. Its worst with Illyrians, unfortunately." Nesta scoffed and rolled her eyes, turning an icy glare on the Illyrian in question.

"None of your concern." She stated simply. She watched the anger begin to roil in his eyes and felt a familiar satisfaction begin to bubble inside of her. She wasnt sure why, but getting beneath his skin was one of her favorite activities. Cassian turned his angry gaze onto Feyre, who raised a brow in his direction.

"Where are you going?" He repeated through clenched teeth. Feyre smirked.

"If Nesta wanted you to know where we were going, she would have told you." Cassian flexed his fingers and curled them again, his wings fluttered slightly. Feyre turned towards her husband with a wide smile. "We'll be back by nightfall."

"Be careful." He told her with a smile and a nod. Nesta glanced once more at the shaking Illyrian standing in the living area, tilted her lips slightly into a smirk, and left the townhouse with her sister.