Soli Deo gloria
DISCLAIMER: I do NOT own The Infernal Devices. In answer to tessacarstairsherondale, Sophie is a Shadowhunter-in-training. :)
It was a very late night that night when Gideon finally wished good night to the last relative, who headed off to bed full of feeling pride, as he had won many an argument against Gideon, who could have easily debated him into speechlessness, but had withheld his tongue in order to keep peace alive. Gideon didn't mind, though, but he felt rather drained of energy as he sighed, settling back against his soft chair near the roaring fire. The clock overhead called out, telling him that it was midnight and that it was advisable to go to sleep soon. But he didn't feel like moving quite yet.
It had been a long day. He hadn't known who several of the relatives had been, seeing as his father used to go visiting people on trips by himself while he stayed with Gabriel and Tatiana at home. But he had talked, because he knew they were there because of him. He wasn't even sure if any of them cared about Sophie, who was warm and witty and smart and kind. It annoyed him greatly, sent a great wave of anger through him, because they hadn't cared. They just wanted to judge and take in the place, watching through their heavily-lidded eyes as they drank their wine and listened to Benedict's oldest son.
It wasn't until he saw her in the shadows did he sit up immediately and say, "Sophie. It's late, why aren't you in bed?"
"I wasn't able to sleep," Sophie said, and she took a seat on one of the dark crimson upholstered couches in front of the fire. The flames played against her face, her long scar showing hard against the shadows and playing of light. "There has been too much going on. I was just in to see Charlotte. She's not feeling well at all, Gideon. I mean, she doesn't let on, but it's quite obvious, and she tries to brush it off like her health isn't important, but it is." She sighed and looked away into the crackling flames, a worried look on her face, one that made Gideon feel pain at seeing her in pain.
"How are - are you feeling all right, Sophie?" Gideon said, sitting up in his seat, leaning forward and looking concerned. She looked paler than usual, the weight of having no sleep laying heavily on her.
Sophie said, "I believe I am fine, though I have something that I have been pondering since this evening." She looked to him and said, "Though, I am not sure how you will take to listening to me."
"Whatever it is, please tell me, Sophie," Gideon said. For he wanted to hear what she had to say, as silly or stupid as she thought it sounded to herself.
Sophie took in a deep sigh and met his eyes. "I know, Gideon, that you have equal claim and more than equal opinion and input into the date of the wedding. You were the one to have chosen it, but now, I feel that, if you wouldn't mind, we could move it ahead, until Charlotte is well enough to attend."
She looked away from him, afraid that she had asked too much. She hadn't seen the fullest extent of how Gideon controlled his temper, and she'd rather not learn it now. Still, the matter had seemed to be pressing her as she sat by Charlotte's bedstead, holding her hand, worrying about her. She couldn't have the happiest day of her life when Charlotte, the dearest person she knew, was laying in bed, feeling horribly sick, yet uncomplaining.
So Sophie was surprised and looked up when she heard Gideon say, "Of course. That sounds like a good plan, Sophie. It wouldn't be the same with the Consul not in attendance." He took a deep breath. "I know that Charlotte means a lot to you, and I want to make you happy. It's your wedding day, and if you want Charlotte there, then it's understandable to wait until she is better for the wedding to commence."
"Really, Gideon? Are you sure?" Sophie said. She knew that this was his day too, an important one, according to his relatives.
He nodded, though, looking placid.
"But—what about your relatives? Do you think it is too much to have them wait until next Saturday, at least?" Sophie said.
"They're getting free room and board, with all the wine they can drink. They have no say in my opinion of what should happen." Gideon got up and took the seat next to Sophie, his curly sandy hair looking shiny in the light of the fire. He looked older than he had earlier; it was no doubt the strain of having all these people about was having a toil on him, but he bore the weight of everything with the ability of someone twice his age.
He took one of Sophie's rough, red hands in his, enclosing it in his large, tan bear-paw hand. "It's our day, Sophie, and we can decide what to do. We want the Consul at the wedding; therefore, she shall. We just have to wait. And everyone else will just have to bear with what our choice is." His voice hardened at the end, like he was also telling himself and was becoming more convinced that his decision was the right one.
Sophie was smiling now, looking pleased. "All right. Then we must tell Charlotte and Henry as soon as possible."
"It's far too late to do that sort of errand, though," Gideon reminded her, glancing at the grandfather clock above the mantel of the fireplace, showing the old hands to be at twelve and one. "I suggest we get more sleep before we do that sort of thing."
"That's probably wise," Sophie said with a sigh. She wanted Charlotte to know as soon as possible, but as usual, Gideon was sensible. Well, not always as usual. Either she was sensible or he was. Never at the same time were they both sensible.
Their offer, while surprisingly nice and from the heart, was rejected by Charlotte that following early morning.
"But, Charlotte," Sophie could only say, watching in horror as irtaze after irtaze was applied to the fragile skin of her friend's arm. Charlotte's arms, legs, neck, and collarbone were all covered in iratzes, which were fading away at an alarming rate. Time had to pass before Brother Michael could apply another one, and Sophie had told the news to her when he had stepped back to allow her to regain a bit of strength.
"Sophie," Charlotte said, her voice sounding weak, "I will not have the most important day of your life put on hold for me. Guests are already here and there's been too much planning and organizing just to have me throw a wrench in the works."
Henry, who was sitting right beside Charlotte in one of the many chairs in their bedroom, his face full of drawn lines and paleness like that of the moon, tried to say, "Charlotte, Sophie has agreed with this and it might be a good idea—"
"I—won't—have it," Charlotte said, and she bit her tongue when the pain of the searing iratzes burned at her skin.
Henry sighed unhappily and looked at how Charlotte was holding in the pain, and he looked across the room to the corner where the Silent Brother was standing, his head bowed and his countenance obligingly bent.
"Brother, excuse me, but how are these runes supposed to help Charlotte? They're not doing much, I'm afraid, for she's been here these two or so days and nothing has been able to help her."
Brother Michael was silent for a moment, but then his head tipped up slightly, a tuft of hair rising from the hood. He practically floated over, as silent as a ghost and as graceful as a ballerina. He came to a stop at the left of Charlotte, and one of his pale hands, which was spotted with grey freckles, took up her wrist, which pulsed with a blue vein, and he applied his thick thumb against it.
There was silence for a moment, the Silent Brother living up to his name and Henry and Sophie not daring to breath until the Silent Brother placed her wrist back against the pillow once more.
I have waited long enough. This is not visible or physical improvement in your state, Consul. An operational surgery in order, I fear.
"A surgery? Now?" Henry said, his eyes popping with a strange mix of fear and determination to put his wife out of her misery.
Yes. The baby has done nothing to improve its state, and it is doing nothing but putting needless pressure against his mother's bones. There is a chance of a painful ending for either if we do not immediately birth the baby.
"There is no argument that can take a surgery out of the equation, is there?" Henry said, his voice sounding slightly indignant as his left hand squeezed Charlotte's right. She had closed her eyes and evidently had fallen asleep from exhaustion at having the runes applied to her, which were now fading away at a steady pace.
No, there is not. I need not your permission, Mr. Branwell, to do what is right and to save both mother and child, but I feel like it would mean more to not have you against our cause.
Henry sighed and Sophie looked fearful, like she didn't know what to say to change his mind about anything, for she and Henry were on the same page more often than not when it came to Charlotte. While the surgery sounded dangerous, Charlotte was often stronger than she appeared, and she would pull through. A mundane would have a lesser chance of surviving, but Charlotte was used to have strange things being done to her body that mundanes would have died from.
And both wished desperately that Aunt Callida was here, but she was off getting an earned rest and hot meal and a change of clothes.
Henry finally said, after a long moment, "Call the other Brothers in. I give them my permission."
Brother Michael bowed his head, like he was nodding an acknowledgement of a deal made to Henry, and then glided, the folds of his robes flapping silently around him like they were in a soundless wind, and the door echoed when he closed it back against its hard frame.
Sophie turned quickly to Henry, her eyes big against her pale face and scar. "What should I do?" she immediately volunteered, knowing that Henry needed all the help he could get. "Hot water? Rags? Can I fetch ya a cup of tea?" for she knew that he needed to stay calm, and sometimes (more often than not) Henry would get terribly flustered. Tea was calming.
He shook his head and met her eyes, eyes that understood and were the same as his. "Just get her aunt Callida. And Tessa, and then come back and stay here. I don't think I can stay here alone with just the Silent Brothers working on her."
"Do you think they'll take her to the infirmary?" Sophie said.
"I suppose so," Henry said. "Or maybe not. It'd be horrid to move her around now." His hold on her hand tightened, but only slightly, in the way that was comforting to her even in her sleep.
Tessa was just finishing Grievous Intentions, a book she was finding to have a gruesome, blood-soaked ending, one that made her slam the book against the covers of her bed and look at with distaste, when there was a knock on her door, and barely was she able to ask, "Who is it?" when Sophie came flying in, turning about at the door and slamming it behind her as she gasped and looked to Tessa.
Tessa was on her feet in a second. "Sophie, what is wrong?" Then a horrid thought filled her head. "Oh no. Charlotte?"
Sophie nodded, her head bobbing about, and she said, "You must hurry. Henry wants us there for the surgery. This means we're going to met Baby Branwell."
Tessa instantly picked up her skirts and hurried to the door as Sophie threw it open and hurried out. "Now? Sophie, explain! What have the Silent Brothers said? What is happening?" Tessa could feel her hair flying behind her as the pins fell out onto the carpet running through the hall, her skirts shaking about her as she ran past Sophie, who had stopped at Cecily's room's doorway. Tessa stopped at the corner, nearly running into a wall, and turned about to hear Sophie say, "Cecily, tell the boys what is happening. Send them to the library, ready to summon if something should happen."
"'Happen'?" Cecily said, standing up immediately as Tessa came running about to Sophie, her face bright from running. Cecily's countenance looked perturbed as she cocked her head, her hair tossed over one side of her head. "What exactly is happening?"
"Charlotte is going into surgery. Baby Branwell should be here soon enough," Tessa said, gasping for breath.
Cecily glanced back into her room, seeing that the grandfather clock said that it was barely seven in the morning. She gulped and looked nervously back at Sophie and Tessa, who were both looking far older and more reserved about this than she was.
This was going to be a long day.
"What do you want me to do, exactly?"
Will had never looked so pale.
He usually had a light pallor, that was true, and when he blushed, the pink burned bright against his skin. But now it looked alarming, like Jem's skin used to look, and he tried to bring the color back as he paced back and forth along the carpet of the parlor, which had a steady fire going.
Gideon and Gabriel were settled in sofa chairs, looking like they had just been dumped there by some large hand. Both of their hair was ruffled, their clothes were hastily put on, and their expressions yawning.
Cecily was standing at the door, pacing back and forth as well, looking the most awake of the entire lot. It was just the four of them, the guest relatives still in their rooms, breakfast moved to eight, and the four were waiting for Tessa or Sophie to come running in with some news. But there had been none, and so the four were left to simmer and wonder in the parlor.
Cecily sighed and quickly strode toward the windows, which she hastily started to unhook.
"Will," she said over her shoulder, "stop pacing. You'll burn a hole in the carpet. Charlotte will have your head."
"You were just doing the same, little sister," Will said, and he ignored her words and only increased his speed. His footsteps thumped against the floor, probably being the only thing that kept the Lightwood brothers awake. They had only been in their rooms getting ready for the day when Cecily had knocked on the door and called for them to come to the parlor for urgent news. They had come along; Gabriel worried over Cecily, Gideon over Sophie, and Will came along because Cecily looked far too frantic than he liked her to be. And so she had explained to them the circumstances and they had fallen into positions like they had planned it.
The curtains to the windows were pushed back. Sunlight flooded through into the room, casting rectangles of buttery yellow across the red carpet, filling the air with the lightness of seeing the floating dust. Cecily moved forward and began wrestling them open until cool London air started to float in, filling the hot room with a cold chill.
She stepped back and breathed in the now familiar smell. "Will?" she said over her shoulder, "what time is it?"
"Eight," he said, and then the sound of his pace quickened, seeing as he had stopped just briefly to see clearly the clock over the mantel chiming the hours.
Cecily frowned.
It had only been an hour. No news. No progress they had heard of. No Tessa or Sophie. No Baby Branwell.
This was going to be a while.
BABY BRANWELL. *Runs around frantically* Thanks for reading! Please review!
