Ave Atque Vale
For my brother.
And for the little boy who died, Max Lightwood.
This is for you.
Ten year-old Jonathan Christopher Wayland got off the boat that had just docked. New York. He had never been to the US before. It was nothing like Idris. It was big. And noisy. Father hated noise. He shook his head and climbed onto the black pavement. The roadway was filled with people greeting loved ones. "Jonathan?"
He turned to see a young woman with black hair and piercing blue eyes walking towards him. "Are you Jonathan Christopher Wayland?" she asked. Jonathan nodded. Without a word, she took his bag. "I'm Maryse Lightwood. You can call me Maryse. My husband, Robert, is at the Institute with our children."
She raised her hand, and a yellow car stopped in front of them. Jonathan slid in behind Maryse. "Thank you for accepting me," Jonathan said, politely.
"Michael was a good friend of ours. He was a wonderful man." Jonathan blinked back tears. "What are your children like?" he asked, changing the subject.
Maryse smiled. "I have three. Alexander, the oldest, is eleven years of age. He is generally shy around other boys, but you two will get along. Isabelle is nine. Our youngest, Max, is two. You'll fit right into the family." Jonathan smiled weakly and looked out the window. The city was packed. The people were shoving each other while walking, cars were stuck in jams. It was nothing like what he was used to, but he already felt at home.
About half an hour later, they pulled up at a church. Jonathan got out and marveled at the design. Gargoyles perched out from the windows, and the black stone made him shiver. He was sure that it was glamoured. He learned about glamours with his father. Father...
He shook his thoughts free of Michael Wayland and walked through the door, with Maryse walking after him. They stopped at the gold gate of an elevator. Maryse opened it and they traveled up into darkness. The door opened to a marble floor. A man, about 5'10" with black hair and blue eyes walked towards them. "Hello, Jonathan," he said. "I'm Robert Lightwood."
A boy about Jonathan's age peeked out from behind Robert's legs. He had his father's black hair and blue eyes. "Hi," Jonathan said in a small voice. "You're Alexander?"
"I prefer Alec," the boy replied. They just stared at each other, until an obnoxious voice yelled, "Alec! Why did you steal my crayons?"
A small girl waltzed in. She had straight black hair and charcoal eyes. She stopped in front of the group. "Uh, Mom? Dad? Who's this?"
"Isabelle," Maryse scolded. "This is Jonathan. Your new brother." Isabelle froze. "What?" She asked, outraged. "I have two brothers already. He isn't even a Lightwood."
That made Jonathan furious. "Do you think I'm happy about this?" he said. "I just watched my father die right in front of my eyes."
Isabelle shut up afterwards, and stomped to her room. "Sorry—" Maryse started. But Jonathan cut her off. "It's okay. Can I see Max?"
He knew that he was just saying that to be polite. "Sure. Max!"
A small boy toddled over. Jonathan thought he was cute. Round face, warm brown eyes, and the trademark dark brown hair. Jonathan knelt. "Hey, Max." The little boy nodded. "Max," Maryse said. "This is Jonathan."
Max looked at his mother curiously. "Jowawan?" he said.
"Jonathan is too hard to pronounce." Maryse said. "What about Jon?" Jonathan shook his head. It sounded too ordinary. "Then what about... Jace?"
"That's good," Jonathan said, softly. Maryse smiled and knelt. "This is Jace," she said to her youngest child. "Jace!" he crowed.
Jonathan laughed. From that point onwards, he was Jace Wayland. Never Jonathan Christopher.
Thirteen year old Jace Wayland went to the kitchen after training with Alec. They had sparred, and he had won. Again. Jace took off his shirt and started to eat his leftover pork from the previous night. They had been getting takeout since Maryse and Robert had gone to Idris. Isabelle couldn't cook for her life.
"Jace, put your shirt on. No one wants to see that." Isabelle walked in with Alec and Max trailing behind her. "Come on," he said, playfully to his sister. "Who wouldn't want to see all this?"
Isabelle rolled her eyes and left the kitchen. Alec shook his head. "Jace,come on. Put it on. You're setting a bad example for Max."
The five year old looked at his brother through his new glasses. Jace sighed and slipped the sweaty shirt on. Alec nodded in approval and walked out. Max sat next to Jace. Jace reached into his pocket and pulled out a little figurine. It was a Shadowhunter, the only toy he had from his childhood years. Michael wouldn't let him have any other, so it was pretty special to him. "What's that?" Max asked.
Jace smiled at him. "It's a Shadowhunter toy. The only one my father let me have." Max held his hand out. "May I see it?" he said.
Jace handed him the toy. He was marveled by it. The little seraph blade in the hand was a nice touch. Max started to hand it back to Jace when Jace stopped him. "Keep it, Max," he said. "It'll protect you."
Max got up and hugged Jace. "Thanks, Jace."
"Sure." Jace replied.
Fifteen. Jace was walking around New York with a seven year old Max, who idolized him. They walked into a comic shop. Jace had no interest in the stuff, but the little boy begged him. He was flirting with the cashier, when Max came up behind him with a girl about his age. "Jace, this is Sydney. My friend." he said. "Sydney, this is my big brother, Jace."
Jace grimaced. He didn't like it when Max labeled himself as his little brother. He wasn't a Lightwood, and it reminded him of the lesson his father taught him: to love is to destroy.
But he couldn't help but love Max. He was so...lovable. He was trying to distance himself from Max, but couldn't. He was confused and distraught, trying to figure out if "to love is to destroy" is really worth all the pain.
Seventeen and almost adult, Jace Morgenstern walked into the Institute with Clary Fray. His...sister. He couldn't stand the idea. He loved her, even though he was not allowed to love. Michael Wayland had died before Jace's birth. His real father was the infamous Valentine Morgenstern. In the sitting room, one nine year old Max Lightwood was sleeping peacefully. Jace was aware of Clary talking, but all he could think of was Max. He plucked off the oversized glasses and set them down. He brushed the brown hair off his forehead and hid a smile. This boy really could sleep anywhere.
He realized at that moment, that he loved Max in the way he should love Clary. He wanted Clary. So much that it hurt him. He had to stay strong. But he did start to rethink the whole "to love is to destroy" thing. Valentine was cynical. He was maddened by the grief of losing his wife. Maybe to love wasn't to destroy after all.
A few months later, Jace stood over Max's body. It was cold and unmoving. Not the anxious boy that followed him everywhere. Isabelle was wailing, saying that it was her fault, Alec was holding Max's hand and crying hysterically, Robert laid a hand on Jace's back, and for this first time, Maryse was sobbing.
Maybe Valentine was right. To love was to destroy. He had loved the little boy. And he had died. Jace finally knelt next to a weeping Isabelle. Her hand was curled around something. He opened her hand slowly. Inside was the toy solder. He kept it. After all these years, he kept the solder, believing that it would protect him. The Shadowhunter toy failed his duty.
At the funeral the next day, Jace wore mourning white. Robert and Maryse were holding each other. Alec was comforting Isabelle. Jace stood alone, comforted only by his own memories.
Max had always talked about being the best Shadowhunter, like Jace, and Jace had always agreed halfheartedly. But now he saw it. He would have been a great Shadowhunter. A hero with a heart. He remembered how Max had always introduced himself to everyone as Jace's little brother. He had never believed it. Maybe he should have. Maybe it would have saved him. The tombstone read,"Maxwell Lightwood. A younger brother, a son, and a part of the cause."
Jace kissed two fingers, held them out to the tombstone, and said, "Ave Atque Vale, little brother."
Well, that's the story. I hope you like it. It really came from the heart. I never really liked one-shots until I wrote one. I see why they are cool. I wrote this for my brother and Max. I love you, big brother. And Max, I'm so sorry.