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.”