In the realm of Will's dreams, it seemed to him as if no other existence was possible. His eyes remaining shut, he sensed himself falling, elegantly and inaudibly as a solitary snowflake tumbling upon a mantle of snow, into his own body; rolled into a suspended moment in which all was well. Will clung frantically, like a child, to the sinuous vestiges of his dream. Silver was the only word that tied them to anything.
His eyelids opened without his permission, and he was instantly alarmed — by the resigned sound of a newborn's forlorn, monotonous cry that tweaked something painfully sensitive in his chest. He hastily threw back the thin sheets and rolled out from the four-poster bed, mercifully leaving the peaceful figure of his young wife utterly undisturbed.
Tessa was inclined towards the French windows, the thin sheets lapped low between her arm and hip. Will had left the windows slightly ajar earlier in the evening, allowing a silent, fresh night air to flow in from the balcony, undulating the thin veils of white lace hanging from the window. It blew absent strays of her loose hair, where the dark tresses were fanned across the pillow, away from her nightdress.
Will decided against modesty — leaving his shirt where he had discarded it hours earlier onto the back of the easy chair in which Tessa had rocked the baby to sleep. He left the room shirtless, a glad smile teasing away the lethargy of sleep, and ventured into the cool, dark corridors of the Herondale manor. As his bare feet touched the wooden floorboards, and then the soft carpet of the rugs that stretched the length of the hall, he turned over what little he remembered of his dream.
It had ceased to be shock to him, now. Before, it had been horrific — awaking in torment, as if he had been maimed, watching himself eviscerated by the raw horror of the fact that Jem, his parabatai, was dead. Will felt pinioned with the destructive weight of guilt. Was it right that he had inured himself to his parabatai's death? So soon? Was grief entwined with time; depth of feeling, attachment? Was time the merest indicator humans possessed of measuring love?
Will knew, of course, that Jem wouldn't wish him to think these things. But what Jem would have wished him to feel did not alleviate the burden of his despair.
As Will approached the nursery, he deserted his dying dreams and memories. He pushed open the door, whereupon the sound of the baby's low cries became more audible.
The moon had sheathed the large room in a gloomy, opalescent shine that half covered the cot, which was positioned near the window. The toy-littered nursery was empty apart from the undrawn curtains and a rocking chair.
Will loomed over his son, though James didn't seem to register his father's presence – his eyes were squinted shut in a howling moan. As soon as Will's fingers touched his narrow, heavy body to lift him into the air, and prop him against his own shoulder, the baby's cries subdued. At first, Will thought he would never accept how a human could be so unbelievably small, but Will observed him growing every day.
With one hand gently securing his small, tender head, Will stroked his index finger along the little waves of jet black hair, inhaling the lovely scent of him. "Shhh…shhh….shhh…" Will murmured repetitively, like the lapping of an ocean. In response, James squirmed, nuzzling his face into the crook of Will's neck, his tiny fingers searching through, and gripping a portion of his father's equally black hair. His warm breaths tickled Will's skin as his cries turned to calm whimpers. Will continued to hush him, swaying slightly, as he watched the stars flicker and the moon gleam over the undisturbed Idrisian sea of dark green landscape that reminded Will so much of when he was boy — before he had become a Shadowhunter — in and among the hilly, mountainous Welsh countryside.
With the cessation of James's cries, Will shifted the baby slowly into the cradle of his arms. He was surprised to find the baby's eyes were wide open, the long black, curling lashes touching his eyelids. The wondrous marine blue – almost an identical shadow of his father's eyes – with his narrow, plump lips asunder made him appear at once inquisitive and fascinated; an expression Will immediately identified with his mother.
Will felt his mouth stretch into a smile. The baby reached out his left arm, the moon highlighting the star-shaped mark on his wrist, almost a scar, that branded him as a descendent of Nephilim who had contacted angels; the divine. It was what would set him apart from his fellow Shadowhunters as he grew. Will offered his hand to James, and he latched his strong hand onto Will's little finger eagerly.
Will pressed his lips to the velvet, delicate skin of his forehead. For a moment, Will closed his eyes, invoking his memory as he felt a keen-edged burst of love, almost stinging in its all-encompassing intensity. The baby gurgled. Will chuckled and left the nursery, James still in his arms. As he entered his and Tessa's bedroom, he hoped the baby would not judge this as appropriate to let out loud noises that would wake his slumberous mother.
Edging the windows open, Will slipped out onto the balcony, though the balmy summer air was not cold to his bare skin. Quietly, Will heard himself begin to hum a tune as he alternately behled at the vastness of the manor's grounds, and James, who was on the verge of sleep in his arms. After a while, Will realised what it was he was humming: one of Jem's compositions – one he'd frequently played on the violin when he couldn't sleep. Before Tessa had arrived at the Institute, Will had sometimes joined him in his midnight serenades; sometimes he had known his parabatai had desired to be alone. Either way, Will had listened. In the recesses of his mind, Will wondered if Jem could see this scene, here and now, but the image of Jem it conjured was too painful.
"I remember that," said a voice from behind him. Will whirled and saw Tessa, leaning against the window, her expression tilted adoringly towards the small child in Will's arms. With a melancholy sigh, she said, "I miss it."
Will hardly knew how to respond. He faltered for a moment, desperate for how to console her – something he had not yet found a resolution to. "You shouldn't be awake, my love. You need sleep," Will whispered softly.
Tessa smiled, looked to the floor, and then back at James, now asleep. "He needs it more than I do. I have an eternity to sleep." Even though Will doubted it was intentional, he felt the same excruciating pain, wrung from the depths of his soul. Will never let her know of it, but it always happened anytime she alluded to the immortality that was a constant source of despondency to her, and to him. Will never knew whether he felt more agonised at the idea that he and Tessa would only be united briefly in this life before they would be severed for eternity; or the loneliness that she would surely endure as a result of it, with or without his presence. He felt as if he were perishing beneath a fire of helplessness. But he knew there was nothing in his power to cool those flames.
"Come here," Will told her. As she came, Will grasped her hand, pulling her to him, careful of James lying between them. He kissed her lips, and touched his forehead to hers. He said, "I will always be with you always, Tessa. 'Doubt thou the stars are fire, doubt that the sun doth move, Doubt truth to be a liar, But never doubt I love.'"