Disclaimer- I only own the plot
So, here it is. It's a tad bit different than the original one. It's longer, more detailed and it doesn't paint Valentine in as harsh of a light like I wanted. Anyway, hope y'all like. If not, drop me a review or a PM and tell me what you think I could be doing better. All reviews and constructive criticism is welcomed. I will try to have the next redo chapter up next week but I make no promises because I'm unsure if I can keep them. Anyway, here it is. Don't be afraid drop a review, a fav, a follow, or a PM.
In. Out. In. Out. One eye open, one closed. Relax. Squeeze the trigger. A pop. The recoil. A grin. She rested her finger against the trigger with a sense of familiarity. It was the best thing in her world at that moment, the only thing that matter as she looked through her scope and found her next target. Another squeeze. Clary suppressed a giddy laugh. God she loved this, her dark little hobby that would get her shunned if anyone knew. The reason why, guns went against Shadowhunter culture. They were dirty, filthy, terrible things that only the lowest of the low touched and a Morgenstern was not the lowest. She was supposed to be up at the top where Morgensterns were to be rightfully.
Clary shook her head to push away any thoughts about her family and what she was doing. This was hers and they weren't allowed to be here, even in her thoughts. Clary pulled the trigger two more times before she realized just how cold it was. It was winter after all and the snow was everywhere and while Clary had dressed warmly the cold compacted snow beneath her body had sucked out all the warmth from her. Grudgingly, she began to clean it knowing it was getting late and it was colder than she had anticipated. She would normally clean in while up in her room but it was risky and even after four years of not only handling a gun and owning one, she didn't want to push her luck. It always ran out eventually.
As she cleaned out the barrel of her trusty rifle, she thought back to when she first picked up a gun. The way it had felt and the way she had felt while holding it. It was an intoxicating feeling. The events leading up to that glorious moment however left much to be desired.
Clary was thirteen, a typically, rebellious teenager who liked to push her luck just a little too much. Clary was never fond of the constant training and reading her father required of her. That was Jonathan's, her brother, things and she was perfectly content to let him have that. He was their father's favorite in some ways and Clary was content to leave it at that. So was Jon, at least some of the time. Clary was supposed to be training, today it was throwing varying knifes at moving targets. Clary didn't show. Needless to say, Valentine was not a happy man and he was sick of Clary's antics.
So he marched up to her room ordering Jon to continue with training. Valentine found his daughter sitting in the window seat drawing in one of her sketchbooks. That was the final straw for Valentine. Many would characterize Valentine Morgenstern as a cold, cruel, sly, cunning, handsome, powerful, and strict man. He had high expectations of not only himself but his children. They were expected to be the best shadowhunters Alicante had ever seen, most defiantly better that the Lightwood children and Herondale's brat.
"Clarissa, just what do you think you are doing?" He asked through his teeth, the door having opened silently behind him. Clary froze before looking up at him. She had a stubborn glint in her eye, one that one various occasions rivaled those of both her parents. Stubbornness ran in the family.
"Drawing." She replied, turning her attention back to her work. Valentine acted. He surged forward and ripped it out of her hands, tossing the useless book aside.
"I am disappointed in you Clarissa. You have so much potential and strength and yet you sit here and waste in on frilly drawings. You can do more than this ridiculous pastime!" Valentine practically roared. He wanted what was best for his daughter and this, this drawing nonsense was not it. True her mother drew and painted but she did it at appropriate times and in the appropriate places.
"Get up and go downstairs for your training." Valentine ordered. Clary glared up at him. She was sick of him pushing her around, to be what he wanted her to be. A warrior. Clary didn't want to be a warrior. Not in the slightest.
"No." She said, standing up to face him. It didn't work, he was much taller than she was. Clary's face flushed in anger, her face going all the same shade of red her hair was. Valentine snapped. By this time Jon and Jocelyn were standing in the doorway watching the two, apprehension visible on both of their faces. Valentine reached out and slapped Clary across her cheek, sending the small girl a few steps back and onto the floor. Jocelyn gasped but Jon held back his mother, he didn't want her to get hit either. Valentine was not exactly forgiving in his anger.
Clary stared up at her father, one hand on her cheek. Her eyes hardened and her jaw set as she pulled herself back up. Jon sent her a warning look but she refused to acknowledge it. She stared up at her father.
"No." She repeated and Valentine stared at her, shocked and a tad bit appreciative. He always knew his daughter was strong, she just needed the right push. The push that would send her into the direction he wanted her to be in. The one she needed to be in. So, he was impressed with her strength even if it was in defiance of him. But that didn't stop the white fury that ran through him. He spotted his daughters coveted pencils on the ground and did what he believed needed to be done. He stepped on them, hard, the snaps of several pencils echoing in the room.
Clary reacted in a way none of them expected. She slapped Valentine back with such force he was forced to take a step back to stay upright. The color drained out of Clary at that moment. No one had ever hit him back and the shock was clear on each of their faces. So Clary did the only thing she could think of. She ran past him and through her mother and brother and out of the house. The rest of the family watched the young redhead run through the snow and out of sight.
Valentine reached up and tenderly touched his cheek, wincing at the sting it had made. After seeing what had just occurred no one would believe that Valentine cared for his daughter but he did. He cared deeply for his children and there was nothing more he wanted than for them to succeed. They just needed to be pushed and to be molded.
"Jonathan, please tell me when your dear sister returns." Valentine said softly. Jon, being the every obedient son that was required of him, nodded. The white haired man turned to look at his family, meeting the eyes of his wife. He approached her slowly, afraid she would bolt at any moment. He looked at her so softly, something that was not used to normally describe the intimidating man.
"I'll apologize when she returns." He told her quietly before leaving his wife and son in Clary's room to think about everything that had just happened.
Clary ran and ran and ran. Maybe her training was good for something after all. She shook her head and continued running. She stopped when it hurt to breathe and realized that she was at Lake Lyn, the lake that the Angel Raziel rose from. Clary collapsed on the thick ice, tears running down her face, gasping for breath. She hated herself for running and hated herself more for hitting her father. The repercussions she would receive when she got home would be unimaginable and she didn't want to deal with that. Through her tears, Clary caught sight of something black laying in the snow. She couldn't help but be curious and she crawled over to it through the snow. She had yet to curb her curiosity, but what child at thirteen had?
It was long, black, and sleek. Not to mention unfamiliar. It didn't look like anything she had seen before. It wasn't a blade nor a whip. Clary ran through the inventory of weapons she had a home and none seemed to match up to the one that lay in the snow in front of her. She reached out to touch it. Clary held back a flinch at the cold metal and ran her hand over whatever this weapon was, completely engrossed. She knew it was powerful, it just looked that way. On impulse she picked it up, slightly surprised at its weight.
A crunch in the snow sounded behind Clary and she did the one thing she was taught to do. She reacted. Spinning around sharply, Clary was still holding the weapon. She had it nestled against her shoulder, holding it with two hands to support the weight. She was surprised at just how perfect it felt in her grasp. It wasn't like any of the blade her father and brother and even her mother hand thrust into her hands. This, this was different. It was perfect. Absolutely perfect. The weight. The feel. The power. It felt like an extension of her own body and it would do her bidding.
Clary held the oddly perfect weapon close, leaning in slightly to see through the sight that was provided, zeroed in on the man's face.
"Jocelyn?" The man asked and Clary stiffened at her mother's name.
"How do you know my mother's name?" Clary demanded, her feet shuffling a bit until they supported her better with the additional weight.
"Clary?" The man asked, his face wrinkling up in thought.
"How do you know my mother?" Clary demanded against, finger hoovering over the trigger. The man caught the action and his already raised hands lifted higher.
"Don't shoot. I was a friend of your mother's while we were in school. My name is Luke." Clary frowned as she tried to remember where she had heard the name.
"You're supposed to be dead." Clary stated in a cold voice beginning to question just who this man really was.
"I bet your father told you that." He spat out and Clary couldn't help but cock her head slightly.
"He did." The man who claimed to be Luke gave a rueful smile.
"That's because I should be. I'm a downworlder." Clary couldn't help the involuntary scrunch of her face but she quickly smoothed it out. This man seemed to fit the description of Luke her mother gave when Clary and Jon had been curious and questioned about their mother's childhood friend. That didn't stop her from aiming whatever it was she had in her hands at him. The man gave her an odd look, as though he was studying her and Clary raised an eyebrow.
"Have you ever held a gun before?" He asked suddenly and Clary couldn't help the almost afraid glance at the weapon in her hands. A gun? This sleek and almost beautiful in her hands was one of those dirty and untouchable guns? Clary couldn't believe it.
"No." Clary said as though the answer was obvious. She was a shadowhunter, where in the world would she get a chance to hold a gun?
"Would you be as kind to give mine back to me?" He asked and Clary looked from the gun to him.
"You shouldn't leave it laying around." Clary said, slowly lowering the gun. "You won't use it on me?" She asked and saw an amused yet impressed expression cross Luke's face.
"I could never hurt one of Jocelyn's children." He replied honestly. Holding back a sigh, Clary regretfully handed the gun back, feeling empty when it left her hands. Luke saw the look and frowned.
"Would you like to shoot it?" He asked. He knew he was pressing his luck. Not only could he likely die from doing this to a child of Valentine's and being that he was a downworlder the likelihood of surviving anything if this got out was so much slimmer but she looked so sad and so much like her mother that Luke found himself like putty in her hands and he didn't even know her middle name. Plus, who knows what could happen to her if this got out. No shadowhunters had touched guns in so many years they were mainly stories to tell children at night to keep them in line.
"Yes." Clary told him so quickly that Luke just looked at her for a moment. She looked so much like her mother, the same stubborn glint in her eyes. But that thirst for something different, something new, something that could make her better, that was all Valentine. She may not know it but she was more like her father than he knew she would ever admit.
Luke handed the gun back to her and everything seemed to change again. Clary gave a small smile and held it back up. If Luke didn't know better he would assume that she had held and shot a gun before but he knew she hadn't. Her stance was almost perfect. She looked at ease with the gun in her arms. She looked powerful and that was a very hard thing for one who was thirteen and shorter than most children to accomplish.
"Now relax and aim for a tree. Good now when you're ready and take your time-" Luke was cut off by a sharp sound in the otherwise silent air. Luke looked over to Clary to find her not only still upright, he had expected the recoil to be too much for the small child, but she was smile and squeezed the trigger again. Luke scrambled for his spotting scope and quickly found the tree she was aiming at. He couldn't help the gasp that slipped through his lips. Every shot was a hit, right through the center of a tree.
He looked back at Clary to see her breathing heavily and smiling widely. She handed him the gun again and he looked confused.
"Nothing's coming out anymore." She told him simply and Luke chuckled.
"I think that's enough for today." He started fully expecting the pout that came. "We can do this again at a later date but I think you should go home. Your parents are probably getting worried." Luke stated as he took in the location of the sun in the sky and saw that it was starting to dip. Clary nodded.
"When though?" She asked.
"I'll find a way to tell you." Luke said and Clary nodded a frown on her face.
"I can't tell anyone about this can I?" She asked as Luke was putting away his gun.
"Not unless you want some severe consequences." Luke told her sternly and he thought she might chicken out there, say that she was done and she didn't want to come back and shoot again. He was wrong though, a child of Jocelyn and Valentine would never back down from something even if it could very likely end in something like exile or even death.
Clary nodded and rubbed at her eyes, surprised at the metallic smell on her hands. She looked at them for a moment before glancing at the gun Luke was snapping inside of a case. She knew he would have to wash her hands when she got home.
"Okay." She told him before shoving her hands in her pockets and coming back the way she came. She turned back for just a moment to look at him.
"Thank you." Luke didn't have a reply to that and just nodded and Clary continued on her way. She had found something. Something that wasn't drawing, something that was destructive and loud and powerful and it was all hers. All hers. Something she couldn't share, something that could get her in trouble but something that would make her stronger, maker her the warrior she was expected to be. Just not in the way anyone had in mind and that, the fact that she had found a way around her father's expectations, made her smile.
Clary walked back inside the house and saw that everyone was sitting at dinner, tension between everyone thick and almost pliable. Clary took off her jacket and shoes and sat at the dinner table beside her brother. Jon looked like he was going to say something, something smart assed but stopped at a stern look from their mother.
"I see you decided to come back." Valentine remarked as he passed the food around the table.
"I shouldn't have run away like a child." Clary told him, keeping her eyes downcast. Jon shot his sister a questioning look but Valentine raised his eyebrows in surprise.
"I agree." Clary bit her tongue to stop from making a retort. She was treading on thin ice and one wrong move could send her into chilling waters. Valentine looked hard at Clary and couldn't help but stare at the red mark that was slowly turning blue and purple on her cheek.
"I shouldn't have hit you." He said and Jon stared at Valentine this time. His father was never one to apologize for something he did. He didn't say sorry when he gave him or Clary bruises during training or accidentally cut them while trying to teach. But this was a different situation. Clary looked up sharply at Valentine, holding back a wince.
"Then we should put this behind us. You shouldn't have hit me. I shouldn't have been skipping training nor should I have run away. I would consider this resolved." Clary said and Jocelyn smiled. She passed a set of pencils across the table to her and Clary stared at them. She suddenly had no desire to draw or to paint. Sure she was good at it and it was something that had once been her release but it wasn't anymore. She she put on a fake smile and thanked her mother before pushing the pencils aside and continuing her dinner. The subtle move was not missed but Valentine and he couldn't help but smile.
Clary closed her eyes briefly as she pushed the memories away. She didn't want to relive the moment that her mother had handed her something she no longer wanted. Nor the moment her father had hit her. Or the moment she realized she could lie so easily to her parents and to her brother. She didn't want to relive that moment. The only thing that really mattered now was that she had her gun and she wasn't going to let it go. Luke had given her the first gun she had shot and it became her baby and she couldn't stand the thought of parting with it after she had been gifted the gun with the warning of never letting anyone see. No one could know. Clary understood that. She had take precautions to keep it hidden to make it seem like wasn't doing something that was wrong. She had created a mask and she wore it with such ease she never realized it. Maybe it was because of who she was or because of her determination to keep this as hers and to not give in to the pressures of her family.
Clary put her gun away in its case and began the trek home in the snow, a smile on her face. She patted the case once more and continued walking. She didn't notice that she left her soc hat on the ground in the snow and that she was a bright red beacon in a white landscape.