So this is basically a cut scene from the first Chenry Fanfic Clockwork & Paperwork. Hope you enjoy reading!
Her golden shimmering whip lashed through the target with so much force it vibrated on the wall. Charlotte Fairchild reeled back her whip and struck at the target with even more ferocity than she anticipated. She hated when men underestimated her. Even the women of the Clave would doubt her capableness. It was truly maddening. As she struck at it again, the whip slithering like a snake through the air, she thought of how much she would love to see those stereotypical men watch her now, where sweat beaded down her forehead, and the target bore a vicious slash through the middle.
'That would prove my capableness and strength,' she thought.
She had known her goal since she was two years old. 'Run the Institute, and make me proud.' Her father told her. She didn't know if that was possible, but she tried extremely hard to prove herself nevertheless.
As she was thinking, still staring at the target as if it was a poisonous demon, she didn't hear anyone come in until:
'You show true skill with that.' He gestured toward the whip, smiling. Charlotte relaxed, and straightened up, her father leaning on the wooden post of the threshold.
'I learn from the best.' She replied, only making half eye contact.
He chuckled, 'There's no need to flatter me.' He said, walking towards her.
'Charlotte.' He said now, more seriously. 'I wish to speak to you about something rather important.'
Charlotte looked, disbelievingly at her father. She couldn't imagine what he wanted to tell her.
'Henry has asked for your hand in marriage.' He said, quite factually.
Charlotte's heart skipped a beat. She couldn't explain the shock that traveled through her body in that second, or her heart increasing its rate. She looked at her father in disbelief, as if he were making a joke. She tried to compose herself as much as she could, although she couldn't help her whip falling to the ground at her feet, in glittering coils.
'He has my full support and blessing.' He continued, 'I suspect he will propose at some time.' Charlotte heard the words, but she was so shocked she couldn't find the meaning of them.
'He will make a good partner to run the Institute with, I am sure of it. And you need a husband, Charlotte. You can't run the Institute on your own.'
He said it as though she needed someone there to help her, run the Institute with and rid her of loneliness, but she knew the double meaning. She physically couldn't run the Institute without a husband, the Clave would forbid it.
'He's a lovely chap, and is sure to make you happy. He's very generous, to unite both our families again. I assure you, all debts have been forgiven.'
Her heart faltered. Debt? Uniting families? She felt somewhat betrayed of her feelings for Henry. She wanted to inquire further, but knew there was not much point. She had already figured out what it meant.
'Why are you telling me this? It's rather like you've ruined it.'
'I just wanted to prepare you for it. So it doesn't come unexpected.'
'That's the whole point of a proposal! It's supposed to come unexpected.'
She knew she had said more than she should have, but felt no regret for it. She could feel her cheeks burn a little brighter.
'Charlotte.' He said, in his serious tone once again, 'It is, of course your decision. I cannot enforce or influence the choice you make. And I think you would be very unfortunate to turn down Henry's offer. And even if you decide differently, I'll still be proud of you no matter what. Think about it for a while. I would love to see you both betrothed.'
The word betrothed stuck in her throat, and she swallowed, still not making full eye contact. He patted her on the arm and smiled wanly, then turned to leave. The training room seemed so much more empty and deserted than it had previously. Her thoughts buzzed round her head like angry bees. She looked at the target, with the deep slash across the middle, and she had never felt more isolated.
It was the day of the Christmas party, and although she rather disliked the whole convention, it was a way of keeping herself busy, from thinking too much. She walked round the mass of people, feeling smaller than she usually did, to see Will arguing with Gabriel Lightwood next to the tables laden with food. Even though Gabriel was a year older than him, Will seemed more strong and authoritative, and Charlotte admired his courage. She remembered her reaction when Will turned up at the Institute very unexpectedly. He had run away from his parents, and Charlotte sympathised him, even though most of the time he didn't want any disturbance or help. He seemed to be always in a foul mood, and she was always confused by it. She turned back round, and returned to the throng of people that clustered the room. She got to the other side, and brushed off her dress, thinking more and more of the idea of marriage.
And suddenly, out of nowhere, Henry walked up to her, a smile upon his face.
'Charlotte.' He said. It was very peculiar how even saying her name seemed to make her head spin.
'I was wondering whether I could talk to you alone.' He looked nervous, as though he was worried she'd reject him. She smiled in return. 'Of course Henry.'
They left, and she could feel Henry's hand brush hers, as if he wanted to take her hand but was too embarrassed to do so. She followed him to a spare bedroom, undisturbed and effortlessly clean. A moment of silence followed, where Henry's cheeks grew pinker.
'Charlotte.' He said again, and she felt a shiver go down her spine.
'I was wondering if...I mean-' he stuttered, looking more embarrassed by the minute.
He finally sank to one knee, and looked up at her, his eyes shining brightly. He reminded her of a puppy, warm hazel eyes and bristling red hair. His freckles seemed as clear as the window behind him, and everything about him stood out emphatically.
'Charlotte Fairchild...would you do me the honour...of...marrying me?' He produced a token from his waistcoat pocket. In his case, it was his family ring. She stared at the crest of gushing waves that was carved into the metal. A large 'B' stood out from the centre, recognising it as Branwell. He looked up at her, a bracing look upon his face, as though he expected her to decline.
The words 'betrothal' and 'debt' rang in her head, but she put them firmly out of her mind. She smiled at him, her hands closing round his.
'It would be a pleasure to marry you Henry.'
His face lit up, and he slid the Branwell ring on to her finger. He stood, and kissed her lightly on her forehead, his hand squeezing hers. He smiled, and they exited the room, where Charlotte noticed a spring in Henry's step as he walked. They entered the party, and she could see, out of the corner of her eye, Will running around, chasing both the Lightwood brothers. She then saw her father, his face breaking into a smile of delight, as he noticed their grasped hands and the Branwell ring on her finger. 'Everyone! My daughter is finally engaged!' He shouted.
Charlotte felt her cheeks burn ferociously as the guests stared at them. She had never been as embarrassed in front of a crowd of people before, although it was nothing to what Henry looked like. Both his cheeks looked the same colour as his hair, creating the illusion of his whole face being set on fire. The congratulations came, but Charlotte couldn't help but laugh at Henry's embarrassment.
Fiancé. It was such a peculiar word. Charlotte struggled to say it, and was most of the time embarrassed to say it, which was silly. She knew they were both engaged, but she didn't like announcing it to everybody, like her father had done. They were due to be married in late February, and as much as she was nervous, Henry was nervous more. Her father had already sent invitations out, and her gold dress had been fitted. They had both distanced themselves since the party, though she couldn't understand why. It was almost as if they were hiding from each other until the wedding. It seemed like every time she saw him she tried to hide away, every time they would meet she couldn't let go, and every time he left the room, it felt like she was fading, felt so much despair and loneliness. Even if Henry didn't love her as much as she loved him, she was sure he would care at least for her. And maybe, in time, he could grow to love her.
Her tears stained her cheeks and spilled onto her dress. Henry's arm was around her, holding her close to him as she cried hysterically. Her white dress was splattered with tears, as the ash and smoke rose into the air from the flames that surrounded it. The words 'Granville Fairchild' stood out, and Charlotte closed her eyes fiercely, clutching her whip that he had given to her for her sixteenth birthday. It was two months after the wedding, although that day of happiness seemed years ago from the distraught way she felt. Her tears spilt down Henry's white jacket, as she looked around at the array of white mourning clothes among each person. 'For death and mourning the colour's white.' She recited, remembering the old Shadowhunter poem he had sung to her when she was a child. All her memories came flooding back to her, and it felt like she was being suffocated from a tsunami of tears. She saw Will and Jem, side by side, in suits of white and identical looks of mourning upon their young faces. Will had known her father longer, and so she hoped he was grateful for everything he had done. Henry looked on, sullenly, at the burning remains. And as much as she wanted to respect it all, she had to look away.
Charlotte felt abandoned and helpless. She hadn't seen Henry much since she was appointed head of the Institute. He was too attached to the delights of the crypt below, where he spent his time fixing things. It was lonely without her father, and although Will and Jem occupied the Institute, it was rather much like they weren't there at all, for they spent a lot of time up in the training room, as she once did. She missed her father so much. It was like a hole had been blasted through her chest, but she couldn't feel the pain. Only the emotional trauma that kept her awake at night, and the desire to do nothing at all each day. However, the Institute was a big responsibility, so she had to appear strong. She was grateful to Consul Wayland, for her father's dying wish became true, and he granted her head of the London Institute and Enclave. Henry had only appeared at a meeting once, and she felt disappointed in his lack of enthusiasm. He had never helped her with the pile of paperwork she had been sent either, and she was shocked at how much work she had to do each week to fulfil the Clave's satisfaction. She was beginning to doubt him, beginning to doubt the way he never showed up and helped her, the way he didn't spend enough time with her. She was beginning to question his affection for her, if he did have any. She knew he didn't love her, but she wanted at least for him to care. It was almost like she had been cheated from love, like she was being betrayed by affection. And even though she wanted to dislike him, she couldn't help the love that pulsed through her heart. She couldn't help comparing him to an adorably sweet puppy. She couldn't bring herself to say anything bad about him. But the image still stood clear in her mind: Henry's back turned, walking away from her.
It was unbearable.
Charlotte's eyes opened. The room was dark, and it took a moment for her eyes to adjust. A tear escaped her eye and rolled down her cheek silently. She saw the two marriage and love Marks that were placed over her heart and arm. She remembered when Henry had drawn them Marks onto her at their wedding. They had never faded. She looked at the same two Marks upon Henry's skin, where she had drawn them onto him. She was overwhelmed by them. Henry awoke suddenly, sensing her stir.
'Lottie? What's the matter?' His eyes were bright with concern. She loved it when he called her Lottie. He gazed at her with such trust and adoration she felt it go through her soul. She stared at his freckle-less face, his puppy like features. He looked at her with such love, care, affection, it didn't bother to be thinking about the past. She squeezed his hands, like he had did to her five years before, and kissed him, his mouth soft and her hands upon his shoulders. She looked at her two Marks, and looked at his. They symbolised their love and unity, their care and hope. She withdrew, her hands steady on his.
'Bad dream.' She whispered.