Aaah so cute
I Take Care of Papa Too
A/N: What? It's almost Sunday noon where I am? Sorry, I can't hear you over the fluff I wrote for Day 7 of @cassianappreciationweek
Enjoy!
In hindsight, Cassian knew that he would be facing tough days ahead of him the minute Alea sneezed in his face mere moments after Nesta left for her diplomatic mission in the human lands. Within a few hours, Cassian was blessed with the full package of a cranky, coughing, sneezing and feverish toddler.
The House was a godsend, giving him periodic reminders of mealtimes and to monitor her temperature. By the second night, Alea's fever had broken and he could collapse with exhaustion and relief.
Cassian had faced down armies and feared Fae generals but the courage it takes to force feed his daughter medication? That was something even the infamous Illyrian commander was afraid of.
"Papa?" A sweet voice pulled him out of his self-rewarded nap, continuing at his noncommittal hum, "Alea wants to go fly!"
Cassian groaned slightly, blinking his eyes open, "Now?"
"Fly!" She repeated in a tone which accorded no arguments.
He pushed through the heaviness settling in his bones and scooped his daughter up, looking into a matching pair of hazel eyes.
Trying his luck, he asked, "Can papa take a nap first?"
Flecks of green and gold danced in the young fae's mischievous eyes, her little wings tucking in as she answered resolutely, "No. Let's go fly now!"
Heaving a loud mock sigh, Cassian carried the both of them to the balcony and activated the shield with a tap on his siphon, "Get ready"
The wide toothy smile on Alea's face was all he needed as he launched them up in the air, his daughter tucked firmly in his arms. Relishing every excited yelp and giggle from the toddler, Cassian tuned out the discomfort in his joints and the pounding in his head as they soared over Velaris.
Cassian's heart ached at the thought that one day, Alea's own wings would grow strong enough and she would no longer need her papa to carry her to fly over the city. Tugging her in closer and tighter, he flew higher and faster, knowing just how much his daughter loved those.
It was hence a surprise when his daughter piped up, her eyes suddenly bright and wide, "Home."
He paused in mid-air and turned a concerned gaze on her, "You want to go home?"
The young fae's lips trembled as she said shakily, "Want to go home."
Cassian frowned, worry brewing in his belly as he launched them on a direct path back to the House of Wind. Did he go too fast? Was it too soon after she had barely recovered? Should he call for Madja?
His feet had barely touched the floor before Alea jumped off his arms, running as fast as her little legs could towards the kitchen. The Illyrian followed closely, the unease in him building with every step.
He watched as the toddler snatched up a cup, spell-proofed against shattering, and filled it with water. She thrusted the full cup at him, the water splashing slightly onto the floor.
"Drink," she commanded.
Cassian's fingers closed around the glass and lifted it to his mouth, taking a small sip. His eyes never once left his daughter.
"Papa, drink!" She ordered, her mouth set in a grim line highly reminiscent of her mother.
Once the glass had been drained, chubby hands wrapped around his hand and pulled him towards his room. She stood at the foot of his bed, jutting out her chin as she leveled the same authoritative stare at her father. It would have been effective if it wasn't so darn cute.
"Sleep!"
Cassian felt the edges of his mouth quirk up as he let his daughter usher him into bed and pull a blanket over him.
"Comfy?" She patted the covers around him, asking a question often asked to her.
"Very," he soothed, "but aren't you going to join me?"
"Papa is warm! Papa needs to sleep!" She declared.
Cassian's chest warmed and melted, "Papa is ok, sweet pea. Why don't you join me? Alea is sick too."
"No," her lips puckered into a pout, mini fingers continuing to smoothen the covers, "Alea takes care of papa too."
Hoisting his heavy arms over the blanket, Cassian pulled his protesting daughter into bed with him, murmuring softly into soft golden brown curls, "Papa gets better with hugs."
"Really?" The small skeptical voice asked.
"Yes," he insisted sleepily, the pull of the soft mattress impossible to resist.
***
The scent of his favourite stew wafted over, rousing him awake. He smiled at the golden thread thrumming contently in his chest. Sure enough, his beautiful mate in all her stern braided glory sat next to him, her fingers thumbing through a page of her book.
"Alea?"
"Asleep in her room," she replied, not taking her eyes off the book.
"You came back early," he remarked.
Nesta snapped her book shut, settling it at the bedside table. She turned her silvery blue eyes on him, "My babies are sick. How could I stay away for too long?"
"Alea said she will take care of me," he said, unable to turn off the slightly smug tone in his voice.
"Of course," his mate replied matter-of-factly as a smile played on her lips and she carded slender fingers through his curls, "that's what we do in this household."
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