Nesta

The village pyres seemed larger and more domineering this year. She had found herself following the crowds who were shuffling in small stalls from the outer town for the celebration. It was the one time in the year when this village resembled something of a community.

She had quickly found the Mandray family, her sister's family, huddled around a table laden with large sheets of dirty paper. Plans no doubt for the festival though she wondered why they had written them down this year. Perhaps Tomas' little brain couldn't comprehend his father's orders anymore, or maybe that old Grandfather of theirs had finally lost his mind.

Though it was of little importance to her considering the one 'Mandray' she had come to see was nowhere to be found.

"Where is he?" She demanded, not bothering to hide her anger as she glared at Mr Mandray. "Isabella asked me to collect Oliver."

The man sneered at her. She snarled back.

"Why would that be any concern of mine." His head tilted, anger being reigned in for something more subdued, more frightening.

She straightened her spine. "He is your grandson."

"Is he?" He mulls over his words and icy fear draws goosebumps along Nesta's skin. Tomas Mandray's father continues to watch her. There was not a single emotion behind those soulless eyes. If his son was abusive and his father a creep then Nesta was sure what kind of monstrosity this male before her was. "I rather thought he was more suited to warmer climates."

Nesta gave him a saccharine smile that felt more like a baring of teeth.

"Yes, you would know plenty about the warmer climates. I heard you had a taste for southern girls." The darkness that clouded his eyes had her swallowing back her words. Resolve failing as the male did nothing but stare at her.

Mr Mandray remained so still, so silent she thought he could have been dead. He just stood there, leant back against the table as the workers milled around them while they remained frozen in time.

"Now where did you hear a thing like that, hmm?" He whispers, the words so soft that she flinches. His mouth curls up to one side before sinking back down into that flat expression. "Folk round here no not to speak of such things. It's impolite... not– proper." His gaze drags across her skin and Nesta feels her stomach turn heavy and queasy. "You would know all about being a refined young lady wouldn't you, Nesta Archeron."

Her name felt like a death threat on his lips and this time his mouth curled into a savage smile that she stepped back. He pushed off the table, the sharp movement causing her to flinch.

"Your mother certainly knew the virtues of being such a genteel and delicate creature." His head cocked to the side. "Perhaps you've taken after her in more ways than one."

He lifts a hand to her face and she curls to the side, eyes clenching shut as she trembles in fear. A soft laugh prickles along her skin. She jerks back but the hand twirling a piece of fallen hair from her bun holds her in place.

Nesta can feel him twirl the strands of hair around his fingers. He's so close to her that she can feel the heat of his fingers branding her cheek. She quivers, waiting for him to let her go.

But he doesn't.

The male leans closer, hot breath brushing against her neck and chest as he leans down to her ear. Her bladder turns heavy with fear but Mr Mandray holds steady against her neck. As if he were to kiss her there, no more than a sensual lover or a stalking beast threatening to rip her throat out.

"The boy is following his Father." The words are bitter and cruel and Nesta flinches again, bile rising in her throat. He pulls back and cool air fills the space between them. Nesta releases a shuddering breath, opening her eyes to the cold light of winter.

Mr Mandray stared at her, face blank, leant against the table as if nothing had happened. Yet he scans her from head to toe.

"Maybe my son married the wrong twin." He murmurs, voices low as he watches her through hooded eyes.

Nesta whirls around, stalking away from the man as fast as she can. A sob bubbles in her throat but she presses a hand to her mouth, hastily stumbling through the ramshackle village till she reaches the outskirts. Her vision blurs but she manages to hunch against a broken house before vomiting all over her shoes.

Acid burns her throat but she heaves again, choking on the vomit as her eyes burn. Tears dripped down her cheeks but Nesta furiously scrubbed at her face. Spitting out the last bit of bile she did her best to ignore the awful taste, scrubbing her tongue against her sleeve as she did her best to clean herself up.

Gods, what would her mother have said?

She would have beaten her with that bamboo cane for such insolence. Not to mention her hasty exit and humiliating reaction. It was disgusting and shame began to curl in her gut.

Vomiting. That's what she had been reduced to. No more than a foolish little girl fearful of her first ball. Her mother had raised her better than this.

Nesta straightened her spine, though kept one hand against the broken wall in an attempt to steady herself.

"You alright dear?" Nesta's head jerked up at the sound of the man's voice. She had taken an involuntary step back but the elderly man didn't seem to mind. "I thought I heard someone back here."

A squatter if his dirty clothes and unwashed face was anything to go by. She wanted to turn her nose up at him, to sneer as her mother would have done. But the smile lines around his eyes and his concerned demeanour threatened to shatter her thinly veiled illusion of elegant control.

"I'm quite alright, thank you." Her words were mercifully smooth and calm but her hands remained trembling. Nesta softly clasped her hands together, tucking her arms into her side. The man missed nothing for his eyes scanned her figure, taking in the tremors and rigid posture.

"My name is George. I'm staying in the old cottage." He gestured to the small broken stone cottage that could barely be described as a stone wall. "Forgive me for being presumptuous my lady, but your twin– Miss Isabella – has taken great care of me." A mirthless chuckle. "This leg of mine– well she's been helping me out." A wan smile that Nesta made no attempt to return. "She's a good healer."

His smile drops when he realises that Nesta is no longer reacting to his words.

George sighs, "Let me help you out lass." he hobbles closer, "I owe your sister a lot and have done very little to pay her back."

"That's unnecessary–"

"I insist." A charming smile that has Nesta's weak resolve crumbling even as she straightens her spine. "Ah, the Archeron stance."

She blinks in confusion. George chuckles.

"It's the same posture your sister takes when she's facing a battle."There's something admiring, humorous in his tone. Enough so that Nesta finds herself chuckling. "Ah, a similar laugh too. Though certainly different."

"You know my sister well?" Nesta asks, stepping away from the wall. "I feel that she has mentioned you though I confess that I didn't pay much attention to her rambles about patients."

Nesta decides she quite likes his warm smile, the knowing look in his eyes that on any one else would drive her mad. It's almost fatherly.

"There's not much to tell, Miss Nesta."

"Please don't be humble." She murmurs, the words barely registering as they tumble from her mouth. "I don't have the energy for decipher polite niceties right now."

"Fair enough. I made plenty of mistakes in my youth, things I am certainly not proud of. Now I suffer the consequences and do my best to make amends."

"I thought I said I had no energy."

"And I said I would help you, not spill my life story."

She snorts in a manner most unlady like and the old man grins.

"And you are a lot less guarded than I expected."

Nesta stiffens, shame curling in her gut for some seemingly unknown reason.

"Though it is nice to see, it makes me worry, stone-faced lady."

"Is that how Isabella describes me?"

"Oh no," He chuckles, looking away into the distance with a twitching smile. "She describes you as a 'pompous courtier hell bent on defending her family with claws and teeth' alternatively she has described you as a 'hell-cat so savage that she can't tell the difference between friend or foe'"

Nesta's stomach turns. "How delightful."

"Your sister speaks her mind but she also talks of how much she loves and admires you."

"Does she?" Nesta murmurs bitterly.

"Eh, she spends most of her time worrying after that boy of hers."

Nesta doesn't blame her for that,

"Speaking of, I've been sent to collect little Ollie." Nesta states in an attempt to regain her composure as they enter the main section of the village. "Have you seen him around?"

Mr– that man said he was with Tomas but Nesta has resolved to take his words with a grain of salt.

"I assume the boy is with his father." Nesta almost smiled at the disdain lacing George's voice. "I'll walk you to the pyres."

He flinches and Nesta could see the words bringing back memories.

"Not a fan of fires." It wasn't a question that needed an answer but they both glanced at each other from the corner of their eyes.

"I've been good with fires for a while... Pyres on the other hand..." He trails off and Nesta nods in understanding.

"Witch trials." She murmurs and he sighs. "They were dark times, everyone lived in fear."

"You would have barely been a toddler."

"I still remember my mother's fear... she feared the fires as well."

They'd reached the main square by now. Though that was a generous description in Nesta's eyes. She continued walking in a daze, watching the workers bustling around the three large pyres. Memories of her mother rose to the surface. Stories of punishing flames and crimes that were punishable by death.

Her mother lived in fear. She raised her daughters with that fear. Though it was her anger that did the talking.

Lost in thought it takes her moment to realise that George is no longer by her side. She turns, expecting to see him a step behind but he was frozen a few paces back. His gaze was glued to the pyres, his hands softly trembling.

Nesta opened her mouth to say what she didn't know but he glanced at her then. It was the look in his eyes that had her pausing, hesitating. There was nothing in his eyes. Just a desolate sadness and inconsolable grief.

He turned back to the pyres and Nesta walked away.

Oliver was playing further away, thankfully on the outskirts of the area cleared for the pyres. She wasn't sure if she could handle seeing hi, so close to those awful structures.

Nesta knew that Elain wouldn't understand. She was moulded by mother's fears. Every sin their mother described, every punishment and rule she took to heart. It's why she struggled to come to terms with so many things. With Feyre's blossoming love, with Isabella's dislike of her own husband, with Nesta– well, just with Nesta's personality.

Feyre wouldn't remember the witch trials. They would have been a bugaboo story to scare her at night. Isabella would understand. She was second born so the fear wasn't as ingrained but she understood at least.

She doubted Isabella would be pleased to see her son left unattended at an event like this. Isabella was by no means a helicopter parent but Nesta knew that with the boy's heritage his mother liked to keep him hidden away.

It was to keep her son safe and it was the right decision but Nesta could see the way it wore the little boy down.

Even now he sat on his own when in the distance Nesta could see a group of the village children playing together. Ollie finally noticed her when she was a few metres away. His forced smile had her heart breaking for him.

"Is there a reason you're playing in the dirt?" She drawled, settling down onto a large boulder close by him. "I spent good coin on that cloak you're wearing."

Indeed, the velvety blue cloak was covered in dry mud. The boy helplessly tugged at the material wincing at the dark stains.

"Sorry?"

"Are you?" She arched a brow, feeling her lips twitch at the sight of the boy peering up at her with forced innocence. "Because that sounded like a question."

"Sorry."

"Much better." She nods, pursing her lips to hide her pleased smile. "Well? Why are you over here on your own?"

He huffed, pouting his lips. A smile tugged at Nesta's face if only for the similarities in the boy's expression and his mother's. He was the spitting image of her, if a little more tan and cheeky.

Though Nesta likes to think he got the attitude from her.

"Why don't I look like the other kids, Aunt Nes?" He murmurs, refusing to meet her gaze.

Nesta's smile drops. "Did someone say–"

"It was just something one of the kids said... when we were playing." He shrugged, voice dropping to a mumble.

"Kids are silly, they rarely know what they're talking about." She huffs, bitterness clawing at her throat. "And don't mumble Ollie. If you have something to say, own it. Speak with confidence."

"Yes, Aunty." His voice is louder and Nesta's shoulders slump. It wasn't fair of her to take her fear out on him.

She sighs, "That was unfair of me Oliver." He blinks up at her in surprise. It's rare for her to apologise. "I was worried and took that out on you. I apologise."

"It's okay." He says sweetly and she narrows his gaze at him. He straightens up, remembering her lessons. "Thank you for apologising. It wasn't okay for you to say that but I won't hold it against you."

The words were clearly recited from memory and Nesta smiled at him, pleased. He grins, hastily rising to his feet before crushing her with a hug. She wraps him up in her arms, relishing in his small weight against her body.

"Why do you have me say that?" His voice is so muffled against her side that she almost misses his words.

"Oh, erm." Nesta finds herself stumbling. Oliver pulls back enough to peer up at her in question. "It's never okay for someone to hurt or upset you Oliver." She begins. "When you say 'that's okay' it implies that you do not mind them hurting you. If someone upsets you, you are allowed to be hurt– even if they apologise."

He frowns. "So I can't say 'it's okay' when someone apologies."

Nesta lifts him onto her lap and he snuggles up against her. "You can say whatever you want Oliver but I think it would be best for you to say 'thank you'. You're not saying what they did was right but you are saying that you appreciate their apology."

"Ap-ee-c-ate." He repeats and a soft smile blooms on her face. Nesta smooths down his hair and slowly corrects him.

"A-pre-she-ate"

"A-pre-ci-ate"

"Close enough." She grins as he pouts.

Oliver continues to whisper the word to himself while she looks out at the children playing around one of the pyres.

Is it her place to answer Oliver's question?

No, it's not. But she is the one he asked. And Nesta has never been one for lying or hiding the truth from children. She didn't believe in scaring and traumatising them but they could understand watered down versions of the world. Not to mention that it's an adult's place to teach and prepare them for adulthood.

"Ollie." She murmurs and he hums. "Why aren't you playing with the other kids?"

He shrugs, "I dunno."

She clears her throat and he sighs, "I don't know."

Nesta hums, "Do you not want to play with them?"

"I want to play, I just–" He cuts himself off so Nesta waits patiently. "I'll be leaving them soon won't I."

She doesn't correct his language this time, too busy focusing on his words.

"Ollie–"

"Mum is going to send me away."

"Who said that." She demands, trying to pull him away from her enough to look at his face. Oliver fights against her grip, snuggling into her so she leaves him be. "That is not true."

"But Grandma wants me to stay with Aunt Ripleigh." He sniffles and Nesta frowns. "I don't want to go away."

"Oh sweet boy." She murmurs, hugging him tightly. "No one is going to send you away."

"But mummy keeps leaving." Oliver cries. "And I don't want to leave mum and dad."

Nesta freezes. "What do you mean?"

"They don't want me here." His voice is barely understandable through his tears. "Grandma and Grandpa want me gone. And Great grandpa said that I would be taken away by the hunters."

She was going to kill that useless creep. "No one is going–"

"Don't lie!" He cries, tugging out of her grip to stare up at her with teary eyes. "I heard momma and Cas talking about it. He wants her to move in with him and leave dad."

Oh why did Isabella choose today of all days to leave.

"And Az and the lord brought me all these books and gifts." Nesta feels like she's missing the point of that statement but she feels physically ill at the sight of her crying nephew. "And dad's being all weird."

Nesta sighs, unable to say what she wants. In truth she's not sure what she would say, especially since it seems Oliver has picked up on more than they realised.

"Nes..." He whispers, voice so small that she tenses up with worry. "Is moma trying to find a new family?"

Her heart just shattered on the floor.

What was she supposed to say to that?

"Your mother is not going to leave you," Her voice is strict and firm as she tries to say what little truths she can offer. "I swear to you, Ollie, that the only thing your mother is trying to do is keep you safe. Safe and happy."

"And she's not happy here."

"Are you happy here?"

He shrugs.

"Mum and dad are here, and I've got you and Aunt Elain." The detached manner he says Elain's name with almost has her bristling. "And all my friends are here."

"I thought you weren't playing with the other kids."

"I want to though."

Nesta sighs, mulling over her next words. "If you could go somewhere else. A place where not only could both you and your mum could be happy and safe, but you could also go to school, your mum could get a job–"

"Why would it be just me and mum?" Why were children so smart? She really hated her nephew's intelligence at that moment. "What about dad? And you?"

"We could visit." Nesta hesitantly begins, hoping that it would be Isabella who visits and not her. "And maybe it would be good for you to get away from here."

"But why would we leave dad!" His voice rose, loud enough that Nesta shushed him.

"Well what about your Grandparents?" Oliver freezes, trembling in her arms and Nesta pauses, confused by his reaction. "They're not exactly nice to you and your mum."

Oliver remains silent. Nesta frowns, her face scrunching up as the boy avoids her gaze.

"Ollie?"

He sniffles. "I wouldn't have to see Grandma and Grandpa.. Or– or great grandpa?"

"Not if you didn't want to." She murmurs, glaring out at the pyres as if she could light the men in question on fire. A sick feeling claws at her throat. They hurt him. Like they had hurt her sister. "You wouldn't have to do anything you didn't want to."

A/N: Hi guys, I got a little caught up in the plot instead (we're finally going to get a move on with that) I plan to come back later and fill in a spicy chapter.