A/N: I'm so sorry for the wait! In retrospect, I should have waited on chapter 2 so that you'd have something new to read in the interim, but I was so freaking excited for this story, I just couldn't resist...
Honestly, you guys are the best. I'm truly surprised how popular this fic is already; I think it's actually surpassed the previously uploaded version, with 35 followers and 15 favorites in just 2 chapters. (Of course, a big part of it is probably the fact that I'm rewriting this now, so hopefully my writing has improved.)
It took me a while to fine-tune exactly what does and doesn't happen in this chapter - I already know exactly how this story ends, and in fact I have each chapter roughly planned out - and to find a proper quote.
Partly to make up for the wait, I've made this chapter extra long. I actually enjoyed writing it so much that, while I don't dare promise anything, I think the chapters will be getting longer (2,000-5,000 words) from here on out.
Multiple quotes, because I couldn't find one solid description of Jace that said what I wanted to convey. Also because Jace is too glorious to sum up in a single sentence.
Yeah, in case you haven't already guessed, Jace is finally in this chapter.
I think I'll leave you with that. Enjoy :)
[Jace] still reminded her of a lion, with his wide-spaced, light-colored eyes, and that tawny gold hair.
-City of Bones
He was a study in contrasts, something to be painted in shades of black, white, and gray, with splashes of gold here and there like his eyes, for an accent color—
-City of Glass
Their eyes were so close together, she could see the pattern of gold and darker gold in his irises, like a mosaic opal.
-City of Lost Souls
A year later
The day finally came when Clary could consistently hit the painted target, if not the inside ring.
Closing his sketchbook on a meticulously sketched rune, Jonathan looked up as she began retrieving the knives for another round of practice. "Want to go test those newfound skills?"
"Where?"
He shrugged, having spoken on the impulse of the moment (exactly as he had been taught not to do, but by this point he didn't really care about that anymore). "Outside. Somewhere."
"Yeah!" A wide grin spread across her face, revealing the dimples that he'd gradually become accustomed to seeing.
Smiling himself, Jonathan reached for one of the smaller weapons belts.
"What are you aiming at?"
"Whatever I can hit" was the careless reply.
"But what if you hit a person?"
He scoffed. "Most people don't hang out in Brocelind Forest for any reason. It's highly unlikely that anyone else is in the forest today, let alone in this area."
Looking thoughtful, Clary nodded, pretending that she followed his logic perfectly. "If you say so."
"And," Jonathan couldn't resist adding, "even if there was a person, I wouldn't hit them. Not by accident—I'm too good for that." Now, if I was trying, on the other hand—
This argument was one his sister had no trouble understanding. "Def'nitely."
Jonathan turned away to hide a grin. She'd picked up that word from him recently, and she trotted it out every chance she got; it was rather cute. (A word he never thought he'd use.)
"This tree should do."
"For knife-throwing practice?"
"Yeah, and archery." Jonathan hooked an arrow onto his bow with a grimace. "By the angel Raziel, I hate these things."
"Why?"
They're too subtle. I prefer knives, how they draw blood, how they do plenty of damage even if you miss. Instead of saying any of this, he shrugged. "I just do."
"Trade you," she offered, pulling a throwing knife from her weapons belt. "C'mon, I wanna try archery!"
Though he was, by his father's orders, supposed to be perfecting his archery skills, Jonathan grinned and handed his sister the bow and quiver.
Hours passed before either of the Morgenstern siblings looked up and realized the sun was setting.
"We should—" Clary frowned, noticing that her brother was scanning the surrounding trees. Her voice dropped to a whisper. "Jonathan? What is it?"
"Not sure," he murmured. Was that a flash of something blond? It was too golden and too low to the ground to be their father—Valentine was tall, with pale blond hair that he'd passed on to his son—so there was that, at least.
But unknowns were dangerous too.
"Is someone there?" Clary called.
Though Jonathan rather wanted to throw something at her for being so recklessly stupid, he settled for adjusting his grip on a knife, readying himself to throw it at whoever was out there.
"Who're you?"
A gleam of silver streaked past Clary, aimed in the direction of the voice. It landed harmlessly in the underbrush.
"Jonathan! You said you wouldn't hit a person!"
"Maybe it wasn't a person." His mind mulled over the possibilities: Demon. Vampire. Werewolf. Faerie. Warlock. "Just because it talks doesn't make it a person, Clary. You, show yourself!"
A boy about their age revealed himself, stepping around a tree to confront them. "I am a person, just for the record."
The artist in Clary first noticed his golden hair—blond like her brother's, but it was a color that just seemed to have more life than Jonathan's white-blond locks. And he had amber eyes, a shade she'd never seen before (though, admittedly, it wasn't as though she'd encountered all that many people, let alone a variety of eye colors).
Jonathan watched his sister attentively, though he kept an eye on the strange boy. Their father would probably have wanted him to strike first, but he had a feeling that wasn't what Clary would do, and that she might actually be rather appalled if he did attack this boy. He was tempted, though—not just because of Valentine's teachings, but because of the way his sister was observing him.
She looked a bit older than her six years as she considered the stranger. Then she opened her mouth and sounded like herself again as she asked, "What's your name?"
The boy's gaze shifted to her brother. "Jonathan."
"Yes?"
A sarcastic smirk twisted his mouth. "No, that's my name. Jonathan."
Well, isn't that just— The Morgenstern heir exhaled to keep from throwing something as his sister chatted up the intruder.
But he couldn't help thinking, childish as the sentiment was, We were here first.
"Jonathan, did you hear that? Jonathan—Jonathan Morgenstern!"
"What?" he responded—stated, more than asked—flatly.
"He has the same middle name as you, too! Isn't that so cool?"
"Cool" isn't how I'd put it. Creepy, more like. Or suspicious. "Really? Jonathan Christopher? At least tell me his last name's not 'Morgenstern.'"
"No, it's not. It's We—Wray—"
"Wayland," supplied the other Jonathan, looking amused. (For some reason Jonathan felt an urge to hit him. Who did this boy think he was, stealing Jonathan's name and laughing at his sister?)
"Right." The name sounded vaguely familiar, but then Jonathan had been studying Nephilim genealogies recently, so really he could have said any Shadowhunter name and Jonathan would probably recognize it.
Clary glanced at the horizon line disappointedly. "We should go."
"Yeah." Her brother stood up, offering her a hand.
She took it and pulled herself up, brushing leaves off her skirt. "Bye, Other Jonathan. We'll see you soon, right?"
"Tomorrow, maybe," he said, looking pathetically hopeful (or so Jonathan Morgenstern thought). "Will you be here?"
"Def-i-nitely." Clary grinned, and hesitantly he smiled back.
"Come on, Clary." Still holding her hand, Clary's brother pulled her off, away from strange boys with suspiciously charming smiles and suspicious names.
"And he's seven years old, and he plays the piano, and—"
"By the Angel, Clary, you don't need to write his biography."
"Jonathan, you're not curious about him at all? Not even a little bit?"
"Not even a little bit."
"Are you jee—jay—what's the word?"
"I don't know what you're talking about." He clenched his jaw, knowing exactly what word she was searching for.
"Jee-louse," she finally pronounced triumphantly.
He had to smile, just a little. "It's 'jealous.'"
"Tomato, tomahto," she retorted, sticking out her tongue. She didn't actually know exactly what the saying meant, but she'd heard Jonathan use it when their parents corrected his pronunciation or word choice.
"Oh, grow up."
"I'd rather not," she imitated him.
"Oh, that's really mature."
"That's really mature."
"You're impossible."
"You're impossible."
He shook his head, and she copied him. At this point they were both laughing.
As they approached the manor, Jonathan grew serious again. "Clary, you do know we can't tell Father or Mother about him?"
"Why?"
He wasn't quite sure how to express his vague ideas about the golden boy—the other Jonathan—but instinct told him that their parents shouldn't know about this chance meeting. And Jonathan Morgenstern's instinct was very rarely wrong.
But in the end, it didn't matter whether they told.
Valentine and Jocelyn were waiting in the foyer when the siblings arrived. They wore matching stern expressions, and Jonathan braced himself for a "talking-to." (From their mother, this meant an actual talking-to. From their father, though, this meant a beating.)
"Where have you been?" Jocelyn asked quietly, in the way that Clary knew was an indicator of her disappointment.
"Out." Jonathan looked defiant, and Clary tried with limited success to mimic his self-assured stance.
"Where, exactly, have you been?"
"I told you, Father. Out." Jonathan dared a peek at his father, and froze when he saw the fresh rune on Valentine's right hand.
His father looked satisfied. "You've figured it out, I presume."
"You were tracking us." It wasn't a question.
"Yes, and for good reason. I saw exactly what happened, Jonathan."
"Yippee for you." (A response he'd learned from his sister. Juvenile, yes, but it got the point across beautifully.)
"In light of this, I will allow you to reconsider your answer to my question."
Jonathan pretended to think for about half a second. "Hmm—"
"We met a boy," Clary blurted.
"Clary!"
She clapped her hands to her mouth. "Sorry, Jonathan."
To their surprise and suspicion, their father smiled. "Did he tell you his name?"
Clary's eyes lit up. "Jonathan. Jonathan Christopher Wayland. It's so cool!"
"Yes, it is, isn't it?" Valentine knelt to meet her eyes, and she fidgeted but didn't shy away. "Tomorrow, do you think you could bring him here?"
"Really?" A smile spread across her face.
Valentine nodded, grim-faced now. "I need to speak with him."
Next day
"What does Father want to tell him?" Receiving no answer, Clary looked over at her silent companion. "Jonathan?"
Gaze still fixed determinedly ahead, he didn't respond.
"Are you ignoring me?"
He finally spoke when they reached the "Oh, sorry, were you talking to me? Because you called 'Jonathan,' so I wasn't sure if you meant him or me."
"He's not here," Clary pointed out, not unreasonably.
A new voice joined the conversation. "He is now—if you're talking about me."
"Hi, Jonathan!"
Less friendly, her brother cut right to the point. "Our father wants to speak with you."
"Your father?"
Valentine Morgenstern's son nodded grimly.
"Aren't you coming?" Clary asked, noticing her new friend's hesitation at their front door.
He hesitated, then nodded resolutely.
Face impassive, the older Jonathan led the way to their father's study. When they reached it, he knocked twice on the door and turned to his sister. "We should go."
"Why?"
"I believe Father will want—"
"—to speak with the three of you, together."
Hiding his surprise and resentment, Jonathan Morgenstern nodded. "As you wish, Father." The younger two followed him inside cautiously.
"So," Valentine began.
The younger boy finally looked up at him, and froze in surprise. "Father?"
He inclined his head. "Jonathan."
"What—what's going on?" the older Jonathan wanted to know.
Valentine sighed, thanking Raziel that he'd already planned ahead for this possibility. "Jonathan Christopher, Clarissa, this is Jonathan Wayland."
He gave them a short, heavily adapted version of the story: When his wife died in childbirth, Michael Wayland—one of Valentine's closest friends—decided to raise their son on his own. But his grief was so strong that it made him reckless in battle, and eventually a demon got the better of him. That left Jonathan an orphan, but luckily his father had provided for this and made Valentine swear to look after the boy—which he had done.
"You were never meant to think your name was Jonathan Christopher, though," Valentine concluded. "You must have found one of my records about my biological son."
The boys were silent, processing all this.
Shifting her weight impatiently from foot to foot, Clary looked from one to the other in hopes of an explanation. When none came, she turned to her—their—father. "What now?" She wanted to know.
"What do you mean, Clarissa?"
"Can he live with us?"
As if he were a stray mongrel, her brother thought resentfully.
"That is something I will discuss with your mother. In the meantime, why don't you three go. . . play."
They left the study quickly, grateful the ordeal was over.
Perhaps because she didn't understand exactly what was going on, Clary was the most enthusiastic about this turn of events. "I think my mommy will say yes, she's really nice," she chatted excitedly as they headed outside. "And then you can live with us!"
He managed a passably cheerful smile and nod.
"It'll be lots of fun!" she persisted.
"Yeah." But he couldn't shake his anxiety.
To his surprise, the other Jonathan offered him a tight nod—a tiny but definite show of solidarity.
A/N: With any luck, Chapter 4 won't take nearly so long. I'm already a couple hundred words in, in fact; hopefully I'll be able to start updating once a week, as I do with MPride. (Which shouldn't be too hard; that fic averages 2,000-3,000 words per chapter so CoD updates should be easy enough.)
Would you guys be interested if I posted teasers on Tumblr? Just so I can get a gauge on whether it's a worthwhile thing to do. (In case you're wondering, my Tumblr URL is SailorVegeta13, same as it is on this site.)
Till next time!
