Jace stood nervously in the weapons room, leaning against the table perched on high legs that was used for sharpening knifes. Clary had spoken to Jocelyn, who had spoken to Tessa Gray, and had arranged a meeting via short notes. Very short notes, which gave nothing away, he might add.

Miss Gray,

I was wondering if I might meet with you at your earliest convenience. Clary has given me the ring you so kindly offered, and I had some questions – as well as a desire to thank you personally. It is my understanding that it belonged to someone special to you.

Regards,

Jace Herondale

Mr. Herondale,

It would be my pleasure to meet with you, and to answer any questions you might have. You will forgive me for not introducing myself at Mrs. Garroway's wedding; I did not wish to overwhelm you. Would you amenable to meeting this Wednesday at noon? You may choose a place of your liking, if you wish.

I look forward to meeting you at last.

Sincerely,

Theresa Gray

Jace had asked to meet at the Institute – he wasn't sure where else would be an appropriate venue to meet one's great, great, great, great grandmother. Somehow, a Starbucks in Soho didn't seem to fit the bill. Although that had been Simon's suggestion. Which was likely the reason Jace had disliked it so thoroughly.

He looked up at the grandfather clock on the opposite end of the room. It was five minutes till noon. He chewed the inside of his cheek – a bad habit of his. With an effort, he kept his face stoic, his gaze calm as the air before a storm.

Clary poked her head in the door massive door before entering. She was getting quieter, even without the soundless runes. Her tread was soft as a cat's now. Soft as a Shadowhunter's. "Izzy and Simon left with Alec to go to the Silent City to talk about Simon's ascension." She said quietly, entering the room. "They got the okay from the Clave – they'll examine his mental status and memory loss."

She came to a stop just in front of him, and took his hand. Jace nodded. "That's good. I don't know how they'll remove such a powerful block but…" he sighed, knowing that she was trying to distract him from his nerves, and knowing that it was useless. He'd had three days to prepare for this meeting, and had thought he'd be sick every second of it. Maryse had been on pins and needles as well – worrying restlessly about how this would effect him. But, stoic as ever, she never said a word. It was only years of living under the same roof that held him in acute awareness of her moods.

His own behavior probably hadn't helped much. He'd been fidgety and restless – always asking Alec and Izzy to train with him, though he knew they had better things to do. It just seemed so much simpler to calm his thoughts when he focused more on throwing sharp objects than on his actual emotions.

Jace straightened, as annoyed with himself as ever. "Come on," he said, taking Clary's hand in his delicately. "They'll be here soon."

Together they left the room, heading down through the empty halls. Jace counted his breaths, a Shadowhunting tactic for calming that he hadn't used since he was ten. There were so many questions he wanted to ask. First and foremost – how? An expletive in his head that he saw with many exclamations and question marks.

Some questions though… well, some might seem impertinent. He wondered if Tessa Gray would be offended. Maybe she would slap him. But he had to ask. Her husband's parabatai? If that was the same James Carstairs.

And had she known his father? His mother? Why didn't James keep the ring, or give it to his own son? And… What was she? And did he have any of it? And how – how did, what did, William Herondale do to James Carstairs to make him so loyal and yet…

The doorbell chimed throughout the Institute. All of Jace's nerves seemed to seize up inside of him, and for a second, he thought he might be sick. But Clary's hand in his squeezed softly, recalling him to earth. He looked to her, and smiled reassuringly. He would not fall apart. Nephilim did not fall apart. Jace Herondale did not fall apart.

Jace Herondale. Oh by the Angel…

Hastening, he moved down the hallway. He knew ringing the doorbell was a gesture – an unnecessary action in order to show him that she respected his privacy and comfort. After all, Shadowhunters needn't ask permission to enter the Institute.

They reached the entrance, slowing down and smoothing their appearances minutely. With a breath, and a comforting light kiss on the cheek from Clary, Jace opened the door.

Tessa Gray stood in the bright, mid-day light; soft pale face and brown hair, dressed in a modest blue dress with a white collar. She looked familiar… not intimately, but as if he'd seen the face around the city, maybe sometimes on the same bus schedule… If anything, he could under no circumstances imagine her being his great, great, great, great grandmother.

Behind her was James Carstairs, smiling genially, dressed casually in a white shirt. He looked healthier than the last time Jace had seen him. Healthier and… happier. Much happier. Like a school boy about to leap out of his shoes with joy.

"Miss Gray," Jace ventured, not sure how formal he should be, if at all, "Mr. Carstairs, thank you for coming."

Tessa smiled, and her grey eyes crinkled at the corners. There was a look in her face that he didn't understand; a blind happiness. Her grey eyes were alight, sparkling, animated. "Please, call me Tessa," she said, and her voice was thick, and sweet. It made the hairs on Jace's neck prickle.

"And I Jem," the former Silent Brother added.

"Tessa and Jem," Jace nodded. "And you know Clary," he said, gesturing to Clary beside him. They exchanged polite hellos, and Jace offered to lead them inside.

"I thought we could go to the sitting room," said Jace, motioning them inside a large open room with plush couches and a large piano.

Tessa and Jem sat in one of the mauve colored couches, their hands linked, opposite Jace and Clary on their own mauve love-seat, and a small silence followed. "Ah.." Jace started, searching for words. After a moment, he slowly held up is hand to them, the back of his hand facing them. "This ring," he began. "I wanted to thank you. To have something of the Herondale family, makes me one of them… it means a lot. Thank you."

He hoped they would understand, hoped that they would not expect from him more than he could give. He didn't want to let Tessa down – Tessa who had apparently –potentially – been alive for so many generations of Herondales to accomplish so much…

"I believe you are more of an Herondale than you realize," she answered quietly. "You do not need any kind of justification. Though, I am glad you like the ring." She offered him a small smile.

Jace paused, thinking. Where to begin?

"You told Clary that it belonged to James Herondale."

Tessa nodded.

"He was your son?"

Again she nodded, this time more slowly. Jace sucked in a breath. There it was. She really was the same Theresa Herondale that had been described in the family records. Beside him, Clary put a hand on his knee. They exchanged a look. Whoah.

Out of the corner of his eye, Jace noticed Jem's peculiar expression; his eyes on Tessa, carefully assessing her and measuring her reaction.

Eager for more information, he started again. "Could I ask… I mean, would you tell me…"

"I will answer any questions you have, no matter the subject," she assured him, to his great surprise. No matter the subject? Maybe being blunt was the best way to go. No use beating around the proverbial family bush?

"Then… how are you… you know… uh, sorry - "

Casually asks his ancient-but-not-so-ancient-looking-long-lost-relative what sort of creature they are. As smooth as one could be.

Tessa laughs, a short, happy sound. "A reasonable question. I am a warlock and a Shadowhunter, it is true. My mother was an unmarked Shadowhunter, raised by mundanes, and my father an Eidelon demon. Without the Marks, I was born."

"And you're immortal?"

"Yes,"

"But your son…" he started tentatively, sure that this was a subject that would be painful or uncomfortable to talk about.

"James and Lucie, my children, were mortal," she said, her voice far away. "As was their father." Her voice, though measured, ached with sadness. He could see it in her eyes as she said the words… it was the same look he'd had on his own face when he'd thought his father had died. Immeasurable loss. The loss of something impossible to hold again.

And Jace felt some sadness for her. To watch your children and grandchildren die… but he had more questions.

"William Herondale," he nodded, and cleared his throat, which had become thick. "And…" he turned to Jem now, "Your parabatai. That's why you care for the Herondales so much?"

Jace almost regretted asking. The look on Jem's face… There was an ancient sadness in his eyes when he spoke his next words. And because Jace had a parabatai of his own, he understood it – yet could not imagine it.

"Yes, Will Herondale was my parabatai; Until I became a Silent Brother." He said, his voice as evenly composed as Tessa's had been. "But there are bonds stronger than the rituals of the Brothers, and so much stronger than the passing of time. I have always looked after Will's family as if they were my own. They were, in a way." He paused, and almost as an afterthought added, "James used to call me Uncle Brother Zachariah," he said. Tessa took in a heady breath, but smiled at the memory.

Jace felt awkward as he motioned to the pair of them. "And… you both…"

"That is a long story," Tessa said. But as she did, she took Jem's hand in hers, and between them Jace saw a familiar look that he often affiliated with himself and Clary. "But… perhaps if you hear it, you will understand what I mean when I say you are more Herondale than you might imagine. Would you like to hear it?"

Without hesitation, Jace nodded vehemently. Her words were enough to elicit his response, if not for his curiosity that he felt rivaled even Clary's.

Jace listened intently as Tessa divulged her personal history; A horrifying tale of changelings, unmarked Shadowhunters, and demons. It was hard to imagine a time when tensions between Downworlders and Shadowhunters had been so high, when they had so deeply despised one another. He had friends in Downworld now. Simon – when he had been a vampire – Maia and Luke, and Magnus. Albeit, if you'd told Jace two years ago that his girlfriend's father would be a werewolf and his parabatai would be all but engaged to the High Warlock of Brooklyn, he probably would have laughed in your face.

The tale continued to new heights; A curse that set a young boy to turn away from his family and all he loved; A drug that gave an orphan only a few years to live. And a bond between them stronger and thicker than either blood or water – and their love for the same girl, her heart splitting in two for love of them both.

It was almost unimaginable, that the trio's love for each other could be all so equal and all so pure. It seemed unnatural – You can't love two people at once, Jace wanted to think. And if you could, surely you must love one more than the other. With all he'd experience with Clary - it seemed impossible.

But to look at Tessa as she spoke and to think these things with any sort of conviction was impossible. You could see in in her face, the truth of the matter. And even on Jem's, his absolute distraught over the loss of his parabatai, and his absolute love and joy for the woman beside him.

While every part of Jace wanted to reject the idea, there was no way of doing so without knowing he was wrong. Especially when Jem entered his own memories into the story – remembering how Will had said goodbye to him at the Institute in London when he'd first started the transformation into becoming a silent brother… how any time the Silent Brothers were called upon, Will would rush straight to Jem – and though so much kept them apart, the truth of it was that it never could.

"Will died when he was seventy-six years old. Jem and I were both with him when he passed," Tessa's voice shook, the soft tenor of it wavering as she steadied herself, trying not to cry. "I left after that. I couldn't stay to watch James and Lucie…" she swallowed, and took a deep breath to keep her composure. "I've always watched over my family – helped and guided, distantly, when I could – but I've been alone since Will. Until Jem returned." She took Jem's hand and smiled at him, their eyes meeting.

"And we have you to thank for that," Jem said, looking to Jace. "You and your heavenly fire that scourged the yin fen from my veins, allowing me to live without the magic of the Brotherhood and to return to Tessa."

It was high praise that he knew he didn't deserve; if it had been any other Silent Brother, they surely would have died. But it wasn't, a small, unfamiliar voice said softly in the back of his mind. There is a reason it was Brother Zachariah… a reason it was Jem, and only Jem who would…

"But I didn't actually do anything," Jace mumbled, his face heating. He cursed himself internally.

"Perhaps not on purpose, no…" Jem agreed his tone musing and his dark eyes thoughtful. He seemed to consider Jace for a moment.

"You are very much like Will, oddly. It is… comforting, and warming, to see it. That in some part he lives on." And suddenly he sat forward, eyes intense. "It may not have been intentional, but thank you, Jace Herondale, for allowing me to return to Tessa, for the opportunity to be returned with my parabatai in the next world, whatever it may be. Great river or turning wheel. I could never, never thank you enough for such a gift."

Jace hardly knew what to say.

A part of him, the stubborn part – and some part, that had loved Valentine, his father – wanted to rebuke the insinuation that he was like anyone, even the Herondales, that he was anything but himself.

Apparently he'd made all the difference in these two people's lives – two people who had known and loved his family, and in some way seemed to know parts of him, too, and to love him. Who told him he was like others in his family, to tell him definitively that he wasn't just Valentine's creation – wrought of metal and iron in his image.

To know that he wasn't just some thing that had come from no one and had nothing that tied him to the earth, or to the Shadowhunters… It was somewhat comforting. Unnerving and comforting, simultaneously.

He began to chew his inner cheek again.

"I… I'm glad that I did something that brought you both happiness." He managed to say. "Your husband sounds like someone I would have admired."

Tessa's mouth turned up at the corners, crinkling her eyes in genuine happiness. "He was wonderful. And I am glad to share his story with you, that he might not be forgotten."

Nodding, Jace tried to keep his head straight. He had so many questions, but his mind was still reeling from Tessa's tale. "Uhm," he paused, deciding where to begin. "You said you watched over your family – or just the children or…" he trailed off, hoping she'd understood the implied question.

"I watched over all the generations. I couldn't stay and watch my children or grandchildren pass on, but I did want to know that they were safe, and happy. And they were – until… well until the beginnings of the Circle."

Until Valentine. Until Stephen joined the Circle, breaking his family's heart, until he left Amatis, until he died and Marcus and Celine Herondale followed not far behind.

"Did you know him?" Jace asked in a whisper. "Stephen?"

Tessa's face was still, a hint of sadness in her eyes. She folded her hands neatly in her lap. "I did." She said, "He was a good man, Jace. He may have made some rather dreadful decisions, but in the end, he learned from his mistakes. And he was not cruel or thoughtless… he was misguided…"

It was hard for Jace not to snort. "Dreadful decisions." He wanted to retort that Stephen was corruptible and disloyal.

"It sounds like you knew him well," said Clary quietly.

Tessa nodded. "I was one of the few he confided in when he began to see Valentine's true nature."

At that, Jace looked up. "What?"

"There was a raid one day – Valentine had been torturing a group of werewolves, some children… And a number of Shadowhunters had come to stop them. Valentine killed them, other Shadowhunters. And Stephen knew it was wrong; that everything they had done was wrong." She shook her head sadly. "Magnus Bane was there that day, and something he said to Stephen… well, Stephen appeared on my doorstep that night. He was shaken, terribly so. He'd seen Valentine that day, really seen him. And it terrified him – terrified him over what he'd done."

"Then why didn't he leave?" Jace asked, frustrated. If his father hadn't been so weak as to succumb to Valentine, Jace might not have grown up an orphan. It was a resentment he hadn't quite realized he'd held for his biological father until he'd decided to face the feelings head on.

"He knew Valentine wouldn't let him leave. He knew Valentine would kill him. He began to suspect that that was what had happened to Lucian Greymark. And Celine was pregnant; he didn't want to abandon her, or their son." She looked at Jace, and the tinge of sadness had come full bloom in her eyes. "He was forming a plan to get out – to stop Valentine - but he was killed before he could."

This was new information to Jace. He sat in stunned silence, absorbing. He had known that Stephen had begun to doubt Valentine, but hadn't known that his doubt had grown into so much more. And he hadn't realized that there had been limits to what Stephen would do for Valentine.

He thought of Jocelyn, who had loved Valentine. She had seen his dark nature, that he had been a zealot, and what he had done to their son. He thought of Luke, who didn't leave the Circle until he'd been bitten, when Jocelyn had spoken of her fears to him. And he thought of Robert and Maryse. They hadn't left – hadn't wanted to leave, as far as he knew. And yet, for Stephen Herondale's involvement, Jace had held a bitter resentment. Why did he hold this man, who should have been his father, to a higher standard than anyone else?

And suddenly he knew it was because Clary and Alec and Isabelle all still had their parents, and he didn't. Stephen was dead. He was dead and had never been there to tell Jace of his mistakes, to explain why he'd done the things he'd done. And Jace had grown up without his father, without a mother.

"I didn't know he'd wanted to leave," Jace whispered, his eyes fixed and unseeing on a spot on the coffee table.

"You never knew him, Jace, and that is a sadness. He wanted to know you so badly; wanted to be there for you, his son. He wanted to watch you grow into a man. He loved you before you far before you were born."

"I may attest to that," Jem said. "I was the Silent Brother called to examine Celine when she was pregnant – as I had done for all the Herondale children since James and Lucie." He smiled at something. A memory, Jace thought. "Stephen was beside himself, so concerned about the baby. I believe the only adequate word to describe his state would be 'frazzled.'" He chuckled. "When he heard he would have a son, he almost began to weep – and then left the manor house immediately. It is my understanding that he came back with a colossal assortment of toys weapons, and had a horse breeder contacted, saying he would require the finest stallion alive."

Jace felt robbed. Somehow. Robbed of the life where love and gifts were given freely. But a thought nagged him at the back of his mind.

"But he didn't love my mother," he said, hearing the bitterness in his own voice. "He loved Amatis – but he left her and married my mother because Valentine told him to." Beside him, he felt Clary tense.

"It is true that I don't believe Stephen ever loved anyone the way he loved Amatis," Tessa conceded slowly. "She was certainly the love of his life… she was the only other person he spoke to of his doubts in Valentine. I know they continued to talk after he married Celine. But that does not mean he did not care for your mother. He loved her, cared for her, worried about her and wanted to take care of her. Although… I cannot speak for him."

"Then I'll never know," Jace said, throwing up his hands and standing up. He could feel three pairs of eyes on him as he walked to the window. "He's gone. And so is she." He stared down at the traffic below, feeling the weight in his chest threaten to crush him.

And for what reason? He'd never had any illusions about ever understanding Stephen completely – his letters had given him some piece of his father, but there would never be the sort of understanding he'd had with Valentine. Or the hero worship that came with having a father. And as for his mother… He'd never given much thought to her. Even as a child – Valentine had never mentioned his wife, or Jace ever having had a mother. But he had at least thought that his father would have loved his mother… or was he just the product of something Valentine had manipulated into being.

He heard her approach, but made no move to stop her. She placed her hand on his shoulder, and his eyes moved to her face. She was only a few inches shorter than him, and her grey eyes, though sharp and clear, grazed his face gently.

"I know that you have faced and overcome much in your life," Tessa's voice was gentle, gentle as her hand still on his shoulder. It was warm, and careful, and even with his chest a heavy weight, he felt himself release the tension in his arms and back. "And in spite of it," she continued, "You have become such a brace, strong, and kind man. A good man. You have lost so much…" she looked at him, her eyes brimmed slightly with tears, though she did not let them fall. "I would like to give you something, Jace – something that is yours, should you wish to take it."

Jace stood absolutely still, and his gold eyes stared back into her grey ones.

"You have never known your father, despite how he loved you – how he wanted you. And if to speak to him were something you would want, I would give it to you."

"What?" his voice came out in a whisper, his heart pounding against his rib cage.

"My power allows me to become anyone – living or dead – in both physical appearance and mind. If you so wished it, I would Change, become Stephen Herondale, so that you may meet him, and find the answers that no one else can give you. To try to find peace and to know where you come from."

It was a moment before Jace could unstick his throat. Voice shaking, he said, "You would do that? And… it would be really him?"

She nodded.

"But…" he didn't even know how to begin to understand.

"I have experienced the Change before – and when those who have died cling to words unspoken, they are eager to speak." She looked at him steadily, and Jace realized she was holding his hands in her own. "It would truly be Stephen Herondale. The choice is yours, Jace."