Disclaimer: I do not own The Mortal Instrument series. Everything recognisable belongs to Cassandra Clare.
i've had this story in mind for a long time. so i hope you like it.
He could see the long dark red curls of his wife waving back and forth in the distance. He couldn't see her face, but it was not difficult to imagine the stern expression she developed in her otherwise peaceful face.
A strong glow of bravado shone in the golden blade in her hands.
She swung the swords around and in a matter of seconds everything he had planned so precisely broke down, shattered in a thousand pieces.
The Great Hall erupted in screams and he knew he would have to fight.
He couldn't take his eyes off the beautiful woman now standing on one side of the large wooden doors of the Great Hall. Her eyes fixed on him. Her green orbs burned with her betrayal. He had trusted her, given her everything she ever wanted. He had loved her.
He could feel the abhor rise inside him. Drawing his light silver sword, he balanced it carefully in his hand. His black eyes glowing with rage as he swung his body gracefully around, the next moment he could feel the hard metal collide with the falling body of a young werewolf.
The werewolf's eyes met his as he let out a painful scream, sounding more like the infamous howl of his species.
Jerking the sword aback he allowed the blade to strike the backs of two half-defeated blond fairies.
There was a loud shout from Samuel Blackwell a faithful follower. He turned his head to see a large wolf with grey fur ready to tear into him from the side.
Intrepid he shielded his body by swiftly pulling out a dagger from his inner pocket. The oncoming wolf let out a pained cry and fell to the cold floor, blood rushing out of the wound. The dark red blood slowly turned the wolf's fur lurid.
Someone had started a large fire in the end of the hall, trapping both Shadowhunters and Downworlders together. He could feel the smoke surrounding him, stepping over dead bodies of people he knew so well.
A sting of hurt fell over him when he spotted the remains of his friend Michael Wayland. He shook his head and kept walking. 'Ave atque vale, soon we will bring the end of the Downworlders.' he thought to himself as he glanced back at his dead friend.
He saw the carcass of the werewolves around him. He saw both Downworlders and Shadowhunters falling around him. And then he saw her.
Again her eyes revealed the disloyalty she had shown him. She was fighting a fellow Circle member and hate began to rise inside him. For a short time he wondered if he could do it, 'could he take her down.'
'No.' the answer came to him before he could even lift his bloody sword. He couldn't.
But she would feel the same amount of betrayal as she had demonstrated towards him. She was going to wish she had never acted against him.
At the same moment he fled from the scene. He left the pandemonium of the fight behind him. The anger inside him acted for him, and before he knew it he was back in the Fairchild manor.
Walking inside the living room of the large house he saw a woman standing before a crib.
She turned around and sent him a tired smile. "Valentine, back already? Did the signing go swiftly?" Adele asked him in a tired, old voice.
He smiled back at her. The charming, warm smile fell naturally over his lips as he replied, "Yes, dear Adele. Everything went smoothly." He could detect the bitterness in his voice as he spoke and added with a carefree tone, "If you don't mind I wanted to check up on Clarissa."
The woman stepped aside as he walked toward the crib. He leaned over and lifted the sleeping form of his daughter into his arms.
Subsequent of this move he heard a gasp and knew he had succeeded.
The old woman fell to the floor and warranted herself one last glance toward the man leaving the building with the young girl still fast asleep in his arms. Then she drew her last breath.
He found the large black stallion waiting for him in their stable. As he swung himself up in the saddle he pulled out the silver stele from his pocket. He drew three softly curved lines and one circle surrounding them all before he watched the wooden walls of his home ignite in flames.
Clarissa clutched to her father's black leather gear as he rode away from the burning Glass City of Idris. Her breathe indicating she was still sleeping as he galloped into the raven black night.
Exhausted and wounded Jocelyn let the strong hands of her best friend Lucian Graymark help her away from the pale sunken bodies around them. They all looked so young, about her age.
She saw people with their head hanging low; everyone was extremely tired and shaken by the happenings that had occurred earlier.
The fight had died out.
She walked towards the large doors, they had gathered the wounded, both Shadowhunters and Downworlders outside. There was too much blood in the Great Hall to heal and care for the people who needed instant medical care there.
Images from the previous hours floated her mind. She had been extremely nervous when telling the Downworlders about Valentine's plan. Everything could go wrong.
Everything had in one way or another passed wrong the minute Valentine had created his circle.
This was beyond wrong, this was inhumane, brutal and hellish. What had they agreed to back when they looked at her husband in plain awe?
A throbbing pain in her arm brought her back from the memories. Luke was by her side instantly.
"Jocelyn, you're hurt. I told you to draw an iratze." He said and threw her a long silver stele and she followed his instruction. He tried to flash a brave smile, but it turned out more like a grim sigh.
After placing the rune upon her skin she felt the stinging sensation and then a warm, healing calm carried through her body.
She sighed deeply. They had won. The remaining Circle members that had stayed with Valentine to fight the Clave and the Downworlders in Alicante ran off. Valentine had disappeared as well. If he had died and burned in the flames or fled from the scene she didn't know.
She looked up and saw Maryse; the woman was a few years older than herself, but still a good friend. She and her husband Robert had stayed with Jocelyn and Luke when they understood what would happen today.
She saw the unsteady, but firm looks the other woman sent her. She could sense something was wrong.
Maryse talked slowly and her voice shook as she spoke to Luke, his face whitened more and more until he looked like a white sheet.
He eyed Jocelyn, who still sat silently trying to understand what they talked about.
Luke started walking toward her; he took deep breaths as he tried to calm his voice enough to tell his best friend the horrid news.
Everything went quite face after that.
She couldn't hear everything he said, her tears streamed down her face and the hot, salty water left a stinging pain in the open cuts that had only began to heal.
She couldn't grasp what news Luke had told him. She had tried to keep calm on their way back to Fairchild manor, but the ache of knowing what would meet her, and the horrible truth that followed her every step, kept her from sanity.
She could see the blank eyes of Luke as well; he hadn't known Clarissa that good due to Valentine's callous behaviour towards Downworlders. But he loved Jocelyn, and seeing her heartbroken made him feel the same way.
Standing outside the debris of her house she willed herself not to cry. If she started now, she knew she wouldn't have the power to stop.
She couldn't take her eyes off the black burnt house, she was told earlier that the fire had erupted fast and killed everyone inside. That was her mother and daughter.
Feeling the tears press against her eyeballs she turned to Luke.
"I need to see Jonathan." She whispered.
So that's the chapter. And just as you know, it's set 15 years before the actual storyline of this story.
I also wanted to remind everyone of the fact that there might be things that are not cannon in this story, like i might make new runes.
The xxxx means that it's a change in scene.
Hope you liked the beginning of the story, and if you leave me a review telling me if you want another chapter, that would be great.