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Published:
2025-04-27
Completed:
2025-10-18
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2,980
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3/3
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My mother's Son

Summary:

Inspired from TheLadyofBloodshed's post on Tumblr: When nessian have a kid and the IC are talking shit about nesta, is the kid gonna stand up for their mom or will they follow the father and sit there quietly 🤔

In this case, Nesta's teenage son stands up for his mother.

Notes:

(See the end of the work for notes.)

Chapter 1

Chapter Text

“Bastard—you’re wanted back in the ring,” Devlon’s deep voice shouted across Windhaven.

Owain flashed his four siphons and turned to glare at Devlon, who startled a bit when he met Owain’s blue-gray eyes, same as his mother’s.

“Sorry,” Devlon said quietly. “Forgot who you were for a second.”

“His bastard father—the Lord of Bloodshed! should fly down here and knock some brains back into your head,” Nyx spoke up for him, but Owain just shook his head and headed back in the ring.

Some little lordling’s son wanted to challenge him—again. Owain at 17 knew he was the spitting image of the night court’s general, with the addition of more magic and cunning from his cauldron-made high fae mother than he knew what to do with.

He was bigger than nearly all the other trainees, and stronger than even Nyx at 20. More powerful too, but he wasn’t eager to prove that. Unlike his father, he always knew he was loved and had a place in the world—his mother loved him more than anything and he only left her to train after years-long pressure from his Dad and Uncles.

Owain sighed and side-stepped a lazy, obvious punch from his opponent.

“My baby sister fights better than that and she’s five,” Owain quipped, enjoying the anger that lit up on his opponent’s face. It made him even sloppier, and Owain knocked him flat on the arse with a single upper-cut to the jaw. He tied his wavy, dark hair up afterwards, not even bothering to do so for the fight. As if that little brat could even get close enough to him to grab it.

“Anyone else want to try me today?” Owain asked, gesturing around the ring. His magic, the Illyrian killing power and the dark-flecks of silver flames and night-kissed power he kept deep inside of him swirled around anxiously. The four siphons weren’t enough, he’d need more soon.

Nyx flew over to him and sighed. “Well, you showed him, little cousin.”

“It was almost too easy. Do you want a go? It might even be a challenge, Nyxie,” Owain asked, cocking an eyebrow.

“Nah, you can’t rough me up today, I said I’d go home for dinner and some drinks, it’s Mor’s birthday,” Nyx explained, looking a little sheepish but the corners of his mouth turned up, his cousin was in a jolly enough mood.

Owain nodded. “Have a nice time.”

“It’ll be boring,” Nyx whined. “Will you come?”

“Was I invited?”

Nyx shrugged. “I don’t think I was even invited, Mum just missed me and asked me to pop by. You know they still think we’re younglings.”

Owain laughed, he did know. “Is Emerie coming?”

Nyx winced. “I don’t think so, I think they’re in the off-again phase.”

Owain nodded, and Nyx came over and shoved him lightly on the shoulder.

“Please come! It’ll be so boring without you. Maybe we'll go to Rita's afterwards?”

Owain gave in, he could use a night away from Windhaven anyway. “Sure, but only if you let me winnow us, my magic’s feeling a bit prickly today.”

Nyx nodded, and they both went off to the cabin to freshen up.

The pair of them, bathed and dressed up in fresh leathers, and arrived at the River House just in time for dinner. Owain followed behind Nyx into the mansion, and hugged his Auntie Feyre and Uncle Rhys.

“I think you get bigger every time I see you,” Feyre said, ruffling his hair and smiling up at him.

“I’ll be bigger than Dad soon,” Owain joked, spotting his Dad sitting with Uncle Az in the corner of the room.

Dad laughed and tipped his drink at him, smiling so broadly in his direction.

“Is Mum not here?” Owain asked, searching around the room for the familiar golden brown hair and coronet braid of his mother.

Dad shook his head. “She’s at home with Millie, she’s not feeling well.”

“Do they need anything? Can I help?” Owain asked, overcome with concern. Mille was in the midst of her first real Illyrian growth spurt, her wings had doubled in size recently, and she was constantly trying to fly too high and too fast in response.

“Don’t worry, they’ll be fine,” Dad said, and poured him a beer.

“Let's be honest, it’s more of a party anyways without her anyway,” Mor said lightly after a too-long sip of her red wine.

“By her, you mean my mother?” Owain asked, fighting to keep his voice level, not wanting to explode at his Aunt.

Mor just rolled her eyes, and took another sip of wine. The dismissal made him that much angrier. He snuck a look at his Dad, who didn’t seem bothered at all and that made something inside him twist and ache uncomfortably. His mother loved them all so much, and here Dad was, just sitting idly and letting an insult to his mate roll off him like it was nothing.

Uncle Rhys caught his eyes and raised his eyebrows like he read the tail-end of his thoughts. Fine. He wasn’t ashamed of loving his Mother. She was the best of all of them.

“Things between Nesta and Mor are complicated,” Rhys said, in his condescending High Lord tone.

“Half this room would be dead without her, and its dishonorable to make snide remarks about her behind her back,” Owain said, raising his voice just enough to be heard of the laughter of the party.

“You’re right, and I’m grateful every day for what she did for me and Nyxie,” Auntie Feyre stepped in, tousling her son’s hair. That cut the tension and Owain grinned as his cousin tried to smooth his hair back down to something stylish.

But still, he felt something he never did before that day, ashamed of his hero father. Cassian was his mother’s mate, and was nearly 600 years old. Why did it take his teenage son to step in to speak up for her?

Owain stayed at the party for an hour or so, and slipped out the back door through the kitchen when he had the chance. He made a detour to the House of Wind, panicking a little when his mom didn’t immediately greet him. He found her after a minute in Millie’s room, rubbing salve into her growing wings.

“Owain!!” Millie shouted excitedly, and ran over and hugged him.

“Hi there you, little one,” he said, kissing the top of her head.

“Hello sweetheart,” his mom said to him next, her deep voice full of warmth, love radiating from every pore when she looked at him.

She opened her arms and he went to her, holding her tight.

“I love you,” Owain said.

“I love you more,” his mother said, pulling back to look at his face and examine him for injuries, as if the trainers at Windhaven could hurt him a fraction as much as the rulers of the Night Court could. “Is everything alright?”

“No,” Owain replied. “But it’s better now that I’m home with you.”

Chapter 2

Notes:

Short chapter of Owain yelling at his Dad. Giving the people what they want.

(See the end of the chapter for more notes.)

Chapter Text

Owain sat on the roof at the House of Wind, gazing up at the stars twinkling in the night sky, and Ramiel in the distance until he heard the familiar flapping of his father’s wings. The noise use to make him feel safe. Tonight, it just made his blood rush with anger. Owain declined to acknowledge his presence as Dad sat down next to him, instead of just getting up and punching him in the jaw. He never really fought with his Dad before, not like this, and his gut twisted so uncomfortably.

“The silent treatment, huh? I can work with that,” Dad joked, and Owain huffed out a sigh, his red siphons glowing in the dark.

“Don’t flash those things at me kid, its poor form as an Illyrian warrior to start a fight you can’t win,” Dad said softly, no real annoyance in his voice.

“Can’t win yet, but one day I will,” Owain replied, turning to look at his father’s face at the challenge in his words, but Dad just smiled.

“Yeah, probably, kid.”

The easy-going nature of his father just made Owain want to punch him even more tonight, but he was his mother’s son too. Owain used his words instead.

“I used to look up to you so much, the whole greatest warrior in Prythian, Enalius reborn, my Dad, the hero of legends, defender of humans and the Night Court,” Owain said, disdain dripping from his lips like poison. “But you won’t even defend your mate from your friends.”

Dad’s face fell, as if he were struck. “Mor barely said anything tonight.”

“Tonight! Tonight,” Owain mocked. “Sure, she was just a little rude about mom at her party, but her tone implied she’d have a lot more to say if I wasn’t in the room. But you were in the room, Dad! You’ve always been in the room! And you don’t speak up for her.”

“I love your mother, and I’d die for her,” Dad insisted.

“Sure, I believe that,” Owain said, and he did. “But you won’t make your friends uncomfortable to defend her over drinks. If the mother gives me a mate, I won’t let anyone even look at her wrong in my presence.”

Cassian grabbed his hair and sighed. “That’s admirable, Owie,” he said, using his nickname from childhood, but he wasn’t a kid, not anymore. “But you don’t know how things were when your mother first came here.”

“Oh? When she was newly fae, traumatized and just a few years older than Nyx is now?” Owain scoffed. “The camp lords refer to him as a youngling half the time anyway, you know they barely respect anyone under 50. Explain to me what she did that was so bad, because from what I’ve heard from Auntie Feyre and Auntie Em, she killed the King of Hybern and saved Nyx’s life, started the Valkyries, and somehow decided to give you a chance.”

Cassian’s wings flared behind him in annoyance, but he took a deep breath before replying. “Your mother wasn’t always easy. But along with becoming Rhys’s brother and making something of myself, she’s the best thing that ever happened to me.”

“See, that’s the problem,” Owain said. “She should be the best thing, not tied with Uncle Rhys and you crawling out of the dirt in Illyria to palaces in Velaris.”

Cassian stood up, as if struck, and then started to pace, his brow furrowed, deep in thought. Owain stood up as well, to his feet in the span of a second.

“She is,” he insisted, after a moment had passed. “And she gave me you, and your sister, and I never knew I could love anything as much as the family Nesta gave me. I do love you three so much, please know that.”

Owain nodded, but ducked away when Dad went into hug him.

“I’m sorry kid,” Dad said quietly, and he could tell he meant it.

“I know,” Owain replied. “But I don’t need your apology. I need you to be better.”

Dad opened his mouth, but shut it again, and just nodded.

Maybe, this time, Dad would try harder. If not well, Mom had him.

Notes:

Did I let Cassian off too easy? Maybe. But Owain still loves his Dad.

Chapter 3

Notes:

As requested, Cassian and Nesta talk it out.

Chapter Text

Cassian stomped back to his and Nesta’s room, only slowing his footsteps when he remembered Millie might still be in there. And she was, asleep in Nesta’s lap, the smell of tea tree oil on her wings overwhelming.

Cassian was snatched from his own mother when he was younger then Millie, there was no one to fuss over his too-large wings and rub herbal remedies into his joints. He wished there was, maybe he’d be different if there was.

“Is Owain alright?” Nesta asked after a moment, her voice just louder than a whisper.

Cassian frowned. “Is Millie sleeping here in bed with us tonight or should I take our little princess to her room?”

Nesta blinked at him. “You can tuck her in her own bed, there’s more room for her to stretch out in there if she needs to in the morning.”

He nodded, and gently scooped up his precious little daughter, still so tiny in his arms.

“You’re so gentle with her,” Nesta murmured.

“I should have been gentle with you,” Cassian replied, cradling Millie close to his chest.

“Tuck her in, and then we can have whatever conversation is clearly about to burst out of you like a shook up champagne bottle,” Nesta replied, clearly exhausted.

He nodded, and so gently, so carefully took their daughter to her room, arranged her to sleep on her stomach as to not bother her growing wings, and arranged her blankets on top of her to keep her warm, kissing her precious forehead before he left her room.

Nesta was sitting on the bed now with her back against the headboard, and her arms hugging her legs. “What’s happening with Owain then? I can tell he’s been crying too, I can smell it on you.”

Cassian sat down next to her on bed. He wanted to hold her close, to spoon her, to tell her what a bastard he was without having to see it play out on her face. He didn’t move.

“He’s upset with me for not speaking up on your behalf at Mor’s birthday party tonight,” Cassian said quickly.

Nesta’s eyebrows raised. “What did Mor have to say about me?”

“Nothing really, it was a throwaway comment, she was drunk and in a horrible mood as Emerie’s decided to split up with her again,” Cassian explained.

“But you didn’t tell her to stop, and Owain heard it all,” Nesta said, putting the truth of it to him plainly.

“No,” Cassian agreed. “I’m sorry, Nes.”

“How did Owain take it?” she said after a moment. “I can deal with Mor snipping at me because she’s in a mood, or even Rhys and Amren bringing up my past when I disagree with Feyre about something but our son worships the ground you walk on and is a rosy-eyed idealist so I bet he didn’t take it well.”

“No, Nes, he wanted to fight with me for your honour,” Cassian said. “I would have let him get some swings in too, he was right. I should have spoken up for you. I’m sorry.”

She nodded. “I don’t want you two swinging fists and throwing magic at each other…especially as we both know that Owie got something extra from me, something beyond your killing power.”

Cassian swallowed past the lump in his throat. He knew it. Az knew it, too. Rhys and Nyx and Feyre were blind to it, but Owain had all the heir markers for Night Court magic.

“I am sorry,” Cassian said eventually. “You don’t seem upset with me, though. Why is that, sweetheart?”

Nesta shook her head. “It’s fine.”

“It’s not fine,” Cassian prodded. “Please, tell me what you’re thinking, I still never know what’s going on in that gorgeous head of yours.”

“I love you Cass,” she said after a moment. “I do…and you gave me Owain and Millie and the training brought me to Em and Gwyn but I know exactly where I rank on your life’s priorities and I’m not upset that you wouldn’t rock the boat with your family to defend me. I expect that, at this point.”

Cassian’s stomach swooped like he had dived down too fast from a great height. “What do you mean?”

“Forget it,” Nesta bit out. “I accept your apology.”

“Of course you and our family is my priority,” Cassian said, and Nesta rolled her eyes.

“I’m tired, and don’t want to have this fight now, or possibly ever,” Nesta replied.

“Too bad, as we’re doing it now,” Cassian said, scooting closer to Nesta on the bed so he could drop a kiss to her upturned cheek. “Do you not know I love you?”

“You love me,” Nesta agreed. “And you are a wonderful father. But your 500-year-friendship with Rhys and Morrigan will always trump that. Maybe—not to the children. I hope not, if it…ever comes to that,” she whispered, and that fear was real. Owain’s destiny lay out in front of all of them like a beacon in the sky if you squinted hard enough.

“I will always pick Owain and Millie,” he said, a vow to them both. “But Nes—you’re my mate, you’re the goddamn love of my fucking life, do I not let you know that?”

“You tell me you love me with your words and your body enough,” Nesta said. “But you could have told Morrigan to shut up for once and then you wouldn’t have had to nearly get in a brawl with your teenage son.”

“I’ll be better,” Cassian promised. “I’ve just been this version of myself for so long in the Night Court, the general, that sometimes the other versions of me get shoved down.”

“It’s not a problem that Rhysand seems to have,” Nesta said plainly. “I’ve come to an accord with my brother-in-law, but he would set any of you on fire to keep Feyre warm and you won’t even get in an argument for my sake.”

And that—that was the crux of it. His mate was right. He had become too comfortable for too long.

“I’ll do better,” Cassian promised again, and he opened his arms and pulled Nesta into his chest. “You need to tell me things. I’m not as smart as you, mate.”

“You’re very smart, Cass,” she muttered against his chest. “Sometimes, you just don’t think of me.”

“I always think of you,” he protested, but it wasn’t always true. Owain was right. He had disrespected his mate over the years with his silence. He’d try to be better, to be louder. To be the kind of mate Nesta deserved, as it certainly wasn’t him now.

Notes:

I might do a part two here of Owain confronting Cassian later. Nesta does deserve better.