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Nesta felt the pounding of the hammer she wielded like it was her own heart beat. It flowed through her body as she let out all of the frustrations she had been carrying around all day. She didn’t know how long she had been out here in the forge Eris gifted her, her arms were getting tired but it was nothing she couldn't push aside for now. No one had come looking for her, or perhaps Eris had sent them all away, making them wait until she was ready to emerge. With the wedding looming closer and closer every day now tensions had been at an all time high in the Autumn Court. Nesta was tired of playing the part of Eris’ demure fiancee, a pretty tool for his father to covet in his court, to be shown off like some conquer. Like Beron had had any involvement with her flight from the Night Court.
Taking a deep breath, she held the half-formed metal up to the faelight, inspecting what form it had taken on. It could be a beautiful broadsword if she could finish it. She never finishes her bladesmithing since the first time she embedded deep magic into her three blades, two of which still sit out of her reach, locked away in Rhysand’s vaults. She doubts he can truly keep her out if - when - she comes to claim them, but there is no need to show them her full hand as of now.
A light breeze blew through her forge as Eris slipped in, closing the door behind him. She hears Aurelia, her golden smokehound curled up under the single chair next to the fire, give a soft bark, not willing to give him a proper greeting and lose her coveted spot. Nesta doesn’t turn from her work, instead placing the sword back into the flames. She keeps her voice low as she speaks to him.
“No need to worry, I’ve been melting them after I finish. We don’t need any more magical weapons lying around.” One day, she is going to make a trove of her blades, she wants to learn how to make them all.
“Ah but that would have livened things up, people happening upon magical swords beyond their comprehension.” Eris gracefully folded himself in the one chair Nesta kept in her forge, mindful not to disturb Aurelia with anything more than a gentle pat. She didn’t know when she had started calling it his chair.
“What a watchdog she’s turned out to be. She’s gotten so spoiled in such a short amount of time.”
“Maybe she just knows how harmless you really are,” Nesta throws over her shoulder. “There’s no need to call attention to this. I’m just burning off some steam, we don’t need the Night Court poking their noses in our business.”
Eris was quiet for a moment and Nesta foolishly thought that he would drop it. Of course he wouldn't, he had let her trail her dark cloud of sour emotions around the palace all day, now he had come to talk her through it.
“Still no word from them then?” He didn’t have to specify who them meant. The Night Court, her ‘family’, was the only court that had not sent any sort of response to her upcoming nuptials when they were announced a few months ago. Not that she had expected anything of them. She had essentially fled under the cover of night into their enemy’s arms after all. And is now marrying said enemy. But she had hoped that Elain at least would have wanted to come. If Elain had wanted to come then perhaps she would have brought Feyre too and Nesta would have her sisters next to her as she marries a man of her own choosing.
But therein lies the problem at its root. Nesta was marrying a man of her own choosing and not the one that the Cauldron had chosen for her. And her lovesick mated sister would never understand that. The hypocrisy they had showed Nesta, furious when she wanted to break her bond, and yet they encouraged Elain to break hers at almost every turn.
“I miss them. And I’m mad that I miss them.” Nesta plunged the blade into water, letting the sound of hissing steam give her a moment to collect herself. “But we’ve all drawn our lines in the sand and I’m just going to have to respect their wrong opinions.”
She left the blade to cool on the bench and turned to fully face Eris. Something was wrong. He was holding himself stiffly in his chair, as if he didn’t want to put his full body’s weight on it. She hadn’t seen him since breakfast, when he had been whisked away into a meeting with his father and she had been sent to the dressmaker for the third time this week. She felt like she just swallowed her sword.
“What did he do,” her voice came out flat as she knelt in front of Eris, reaching for his shirt. He grabbed her hands, holding them in his own.
“It was nothing.” He brings her hands up to his mouth, pressing his lips against the back of her hand for a moment. “It did not concern you.”
“It always concerns me if it is you. We are equals in this.”
“I will shield you from him until my dying breath, Nesta. We just need to bid a little more of our time. Focus on planning the wedding of the century.”
“I am not going to sit around for another few centuries biding our time, Eris. I will not allow him to hurt you while you are mine.” She brushes her fingers against the dagger he wears - her dagger, taken from her and gifted back, now at home on Eris’s hip - and listens to it sing to her with its frigid hymn. She is sad and angry and lonely at how she can’t hear her other two Made blades’ song this far away. There is a presence of a sort in her chest, letting her know that they are safely locked away and not being used by anyone, but it’s not the same as if they were here with her. With her - with Eris’s - dagger of ice.
A family of sorts. How sad. Her own blood won’t accept or love her so she turns to steel.
She rises from the floor and places a kiss on his soft cheek before turning back to the forge. Her flames lick at her from the inside, begging to be set free. She lifts the searing blade, listening to it hum with notes of revenge and vengeance. The hammer comes down. Again. And again. Her fingers dance along the handle, imagining just what this sword can do in her husband’s hands. She pulls at the steel, shortening it from a broadsword into something that would suit her future husband’s stature more. Longer than his normal arming sword, but still short enough that he could equip a shield if needed.
Taking the blade out of the flames one last time, Nesta knew that she had just made the weapon destined to take Beron’s life. The silver flames - her silver flames - danced around the blade, taking her fury and hatred of the man and sinking deep into the steel, leaving behind a shining filigree of wild flames. She turns to her betrothed, eyes alight with the power of death, and smiles as she offers him her newborn blade.
Soon.