Letting years of growing up within the walls of the castle, Clary gave into the pure instinct that let her pass through the hallways unnoticed as she searched for her parents. That was all she cared about, finding her mother and father and making sure that they were okay. Then, and only then, would she allow herself to mentally process what was going on around her: Sebastian's cryptic words, the apparent Viking invasion and perhaps the worst- that insufferable Viking boy. If she were completely honest with herself, it was becoming harder and harder for her to sweep him under the proverbial rug of her mind as she raced through the halls, searching, constantly searching for anyone she knew, anyone she could trust.
Forcing all feelings accept the dull pounding of her legs against the hard ground, Clary picked up her speed and kept her focus forwards, so much so that she didn't hear her name being called behind her. What happened next really wasn't her fault, directly. It was just pure instinct taking over once more.
Clary felt a hand wrap around her forearm yanking her back on her feet, but years of training in battle moves had her twisting into the pull, allowing her to switch her footing so that she was facing her attacker. Her hands immediately grabbed onto the offending grasp on her arm and used it to send her assailant to the floor.
An arrow nocked against her bow, poised in front of her and ready to aim, Clary stuttered when she heard the all too familiar grunt as the solid body connected with the ground.
"Simon?" she whispered, her own relief like choir music to her ears. She dropped her bow to the ground, the arrow rattling along the floor, as she fell to her knees beside her best friend. "Oh my god," she said, wrapping her arms around the young man's familiar upper torso before he could so much as sit up properly, "Thank God you're okay."
"Oh ya, perfectly okay," he grunted, the feel of her petite hands squeezing his already sore ribs forcing him to grit his teeth against the pain. He felt her loosen his hold, hearing the pain in his voice and his was appreciative, especially when green eyes clashed with his and he could see the very obvious tears of joy in her eyes. He felt leap in his chest at the outward sign that she was so happy sign to see him, he was just as happy to see her, but he didn't know how to express this into so many words, so he did what he always did and covered his emotions with humor.
"But if you asked me where my dignity went," he pondered theatrically, searching around for his fictitious self-respect, "I'd say I was forced to part with it after I was crudely thrown to the floor."
"Oh, Simon," Clary giggled, wiping the unshed tears from her eyes, "What would I do without you?"
"Probably find some other poor boy to beat up," he muttered, starting to stand now that he'd finally found breathing coming to him normally instead of shallow gasps for air.
Clary rolled her eyes as she wiped the imaginary dirt from his armor, straightening a few things here and there before she turned her eyes back to his, the look of relief at seeing him slowly transforming into a combination of worry and foreboding.
"Have you seen my parents?" she barely whispered, and he could hear the desperation in her voice, her eyes pleading with her to give her the answer, the reassurances that he couldn't give her and it broke his heart.
"I haven't seen the King," he said slowly, watching the worry escalate behind her emerald eyes, "but I've seen the Queen."
Clary's eyes lit with relief, but quickly dimmed at the worried expression on Simon's face. He couldn't lie to Clary. For one, she was his best friend and he would never lie to her and second, she'd be able to see right through him.
"Where is she?" Clary asked, an urgency in her voice. When Simon didn't answer right away, her hands flew to his shoulders, shaking them, "Where is my mother, Simon?"
"I think I'm in love," Jace chuckled as he stood facing the direction in which the young, red head made her escape. He admired her courage in the face of imminent danger and her ability to think on her feet. He had been caught off guard by her brazen act of dropping a chandelier on them, but he was no less impressed.
"You should have let me shoot her," he heard Alec grip as he pulled himself off the ground. Alec and Izzy had fast reflections, but not fast enough and subsequently ended up sprawled on the ground behind him inches from where the now shattered chandelier sat, diminished, on the ground.
Jace turned to his friends, a small smile on his face, "Now where would be the fun in that, Alexander?" He didn't miss the low muttering under Alec's breath, but turned, instead, towards the younger Lightwood as her voice spoke over her older brother's words.
"I like her," she said, coming to stand beside Jace, her own smile grazing her lips, looking in the same direction he had been not two minutes ago, "She's brave and very beautiful; she'd make a badass Viking."
Jace hummed in agreement, turning his eyes in the same direction as Izzy's, a small idea forming in his head. He looked back at the young girl beside him, finding her eyes already trained on him, a knowing gleam staring back at him.
"It's too bad she's already fled from our grasp," he mused, a smirk sliding across his features, "What do you suppose we do about that, Iz?"
"I always did like a good chase," she replied, her eyes zeroing in on the other woman's escape route, "I say we keep her."
"I like the sound of that," he grinned, devishly, before jogging up the steps from which the young girl fled, "Quickly! She's getting away!"
Alec stood there, annoyed, as he watched the two pains in ass disappear from view. He crossed his arms over his chest, his jaw working overtime.
"I'm not coming after you," he yelled, knowing that it was useless. Once Izzy or Jace got something in their heads, it was a lost cause to sway them either way and put them together? Even the gods wouldn't be able to change their minds.
"Oh for the love of Odin," Alec muttered, bringing his bow and a single arrow in front of him, jogging up the stairs, knowing that there was no way he was going to let Izzy or Jace anywhere without him backing him up. He knew that one of these days it would be the end of him, but dammit if he wasn't going to protect them with his life, even if it was to protect them from themselves.
As soon as the words tumbled from Simon's mouth, Clary bolted towards the last place he'd said that he had seen her mother, accompanied by Mercian guards of all things. Why was her mother being escorted by strangers, dangerous strangers, no doubt, in her own home? Where was her mother's protective detail? All of these unanswered questions left a sour taste and her stomach, but right now she couldn't think about any of that. She needed to see her mother with her own eyes, what came after that she would deal with at the moment.
Feeling Simon not too far behind her, Clary picked up her pace desperate to have her mother's arms wrapped around her as she told her that everything was going to be fine and that she was all right.
Barreling around the next corner, her mind somewhere else, Clary didn't see the massive brick wall until she smacked right into it. Sending her spiraling backwards, she was sure she was going to land on her ass amongst the debris of the chaos around her, but two beefy hands wrapped around her shoulders preventing her from falling to the floor.
"What do we have here?" a deep, male voice slithered, his hot breath coasting over her face, making her stomach heave. She looked up at her captor and immediately saw that he was a northmen. She tried to take a step back from her prison, but the already hurtful grasp around her arms became even tighter making her hiss in pain.
"Not so fast, kitten," the man drawled, bringing her flush against his large chest, "The party is just getting started."
"Let go of me," Clary demanded, ignoring his request for her to stay still as she wiggled in his grasp, "Now!"
"Feisty, aren't we, little one," he purred, "I like it."
She heard the grin in his voice and she physically recoiled, something so deep, so primal screaming at her to run.
"What you got there, Ivar?" a second male voice was heard, turner her captor's attention, Ivar she supposed, behind him before he looked back at her with a salacious grin on his face.
"It seems I've found my entertainment for the evening, Ragnar," he mused before his lips coming dangerously close to the shell of her ear, so that his next words were only for her, "I'm going to enjoy tonight, kitten, and so will you, for a time."
Clary felt all the blood drain from her face as his words came crashing down on her like the violent waves of the sea. Her legs nearly buckled as she heard the soft laughter in her ear as he slowly pulled away, his big beefy face once again coming into her voice, his toothy grin not inches from her face. She could feel the acid bile in her stomach growing and was sure that she would be forcibly retching at this moment if she had eaten anything in the last several hours.
The second Viking, Ragnar, he had been called, came up behind Ivar looking at Clary over his friend's shoulder and made a noise of appreciation from the back of his throat.
"I hope you intend on sharing, brother," he spoke, not taking his eyes off of the petrified, redhead still clasped in his friends embrace.
"Perhaps," Ivar mused, "If there is anything left to be shared, that is." Clary didn't miss the suddenly hardening length pressing into her stomach and immediately felt the burning of tears behind her eyes. She wanted to yell, to scream, but the tears were clogging her throat, rendering her useless, voiceless. And she knew in that moment, that she had never been so scared, so helpless and it terrified her.
"I'd let the lady go if I were you," a familiar voice said and Clary physically stiffened. Simon.
Ivar's roaming eyes slid from her heaving chest to the young man who had materialized from where the young maiden had just moments ago. He took in the young man's stature, sizing up his would-be foe and came to a conclusion. The boy was just that, a boy. Young and inexperienced.
Ivar slowly turned the young woman in his arm so that she faced the young intruder, feeling her stiffness in his arms as she reconized the young lad. Yes, he could use this to his advantage.
He felt it the instant her youthful behind connected with his cock, making a low growl slip from his chest. It had been a while since he'd had a bitch this young or fair skinned. Her skin felt so smooth, so soft underneath his fingertips, he couldn't help but knead it beneath his fingers. He didn't miss the way she tried to recoil from his touch; he basked in it.
Soon, kitten, he thought, soon you will crave nothing but my touch.
Turning his attention back to the young bastard who dared to ruin his fun, his eyes fell on the slightly shaking, but determined stance of the young male before him.
"Let me guess," he mused, an air of boredom in his voice, "You've come to free the helpless, fair lady from the clutches of the evil monster?"
The young man unsheathed his sword and even Ivar had to give him props to the steadiness of his hand.
"Clary is never helpless," he said, grasping the hilt of his sword with two hands, "But I'd die before I'd let you harm her in any way."
"Simon," the young woman squeaked between his hands, the warning and pleading evident in her voice. She cared about the young man enough to plead with him not to take his chances with the big brute behind her. How delicious.
Ivar steadied the young man before him and briefly thought that maybe he'd underestimated the young boy. He was momentarily brought out of his thoughts when he heard Ragnar from behind him.
"Let me get rid of the little runt, Ivar," he said, the grin all but confirmed in his voice alone, "I'll take care of him, while you get our girl warmed up."
Ivar chuckled, his hands running lazily up and down the young woman's arms. Clary, he remembered the boy saying her name. He inwardly rolled his eyes, what a very girly name.
"Patience, brother," Ivar counseled, looking back at the young male in front of him. Simon, he corrected himself. That is what Clary had called him.
"I think I'll let the young lad fight for the fair maiden," he mused, "After all, I'll need a little something to wet my whistle for what will come afterwards."
Clary gasped as she was roughly handed from one set of beefy hands to another as Ivar advanced on Simon.
"Simon, run!" she yelled, twisting in Ragnar's grip. Damn, she thought, what did they feed these men in the north?
"Quiet, you!" Ragnar sneered, caging her against his expansive chest with one hand as the other clamped across her mouth. She struggled against his hold, but it was no use. She stilled when her peripheral saw Ivar reaching for the axe in his built, heading directly for Simon.
"No, no, no!" she cried into the filthy hand covering her mouth, she could feel the tears openly falling from her eyes, not caring how weak it made her look. This couldn't possibly be happening. Not Simon, Lord please, not Simon!
As Simon took his first step, Clary turned her head away, unable to watch the blow that undoubtedly end her brave, stupidly brave, best friend's life. However, the rough hand over her mouth grip her jaw and forced her eyes to connect with the seen before her.
"Nice try, kitten, but that's not how it works," Ragnar breathed against her ear, Ivar's disgusting nickname making her sour stomach return ten fold, "You're going to watch as my friend cut's down your brave rescuer like the dog he is." Clary felt there barest tip of a wet tongue slowly slide up the shell of her ear, "And then we will see what's between those unblemished, Christian legs."
Clary renewed her struggle to release herself from the Vikings embrace, his maniacal laughter at her effort spurring her own. She was about to stamp down on his large foot, but the sound of Simon's cry of pain had her frozen in her spot, her eyes immediately seeking her best friend.
Clary's own cry stuck in her throat as she watched Simon fall to his knees, a giant gash across his chest. His armor had obviously been cut away as Ivar teased him with death blows, keeping him alive as he danced around the young man's own ineffective swings.
Clary watched with horrified eyes as Simon blood poured out of the massive abrasion along his chest at an alarming speed, his name coming to her lips is a rasped whisper. She followed the blade of Ivar's sword as it slid beneath Simon's chin, lifting the smaller man's chin upwards so he could look into his eyes.
"I'm not going to kill you yet," he snarled, the edge of the blade cutting into Simon's neck, but you'd never know if it stung or not since Simon's eyes had already closed, "I want you to watch as my friend and I sink ourselves between the legs of your pretty friend here. Doesn't that sound like fun?"
Ivar released Simon from the blade's grip and she watched as his body slid to the floor. From this distance she couldn't tell if he was breathing or not and it terrified her to no end. She picked up her struggling once more, not caring if it was useless or not, she had to do something. She had to get to Simon.
She was forced to look into Ivar's devouring eyes when his bulk obstructed her view of Simon's prone body on the floor. Her eyes lingered on the way his tongue swiped his lower lip as he took in her struggling form. He got off on her pain, her struggling, her helpless, the bastard.
"Now," he said, coming to a hault immediately in front of her, his hand coming to caress the hair on the side of her head as if he was touching a lover, "Where were we?"
Clary was about to scream, feeling it deep down to her toes, the feel of worry for her mother and father, her kingdom, the hopelessness at seeing her friend fall lifeless to the ground and the very real fear she felt for herself in that moment, but it all came to a sudden stop when a voice rang straight through her.
"That's enough, Ivar," a cool, male voice commanded, making the hairs on Clary's neck stand on end. The voice immediately gave way to a face, one that she nearly forgot about in the moments that had followed their last encounter not fifteen minutes ago. She felt Ivar grip the back of her neck as he pulled her to him, effectively claiming her as his. From here, she could see the golden haired boy and his companions and was silently thanking the Lord that her plan to squish them beneath the chandelier hadn't worked out. Between the three of them and Ivar and his pal, Ragnar, she'd take those three any day. She was ripped out of her momentary relief when Ivar rough voice sounded over the top of her head.
"Piss off, Jace," Ivar growled, "Get your own whore; she's mine."
Her eyes flicked to the young boys, it seems the nights advanced had rendered her speechless and so she just stood there, her eyes observing, her mouth closed like the damsel in distress she had always hated in all the stories she had been told as a young girl.
She saw something flash in the young man's eyes, Jace he was called, but she couldn't quite put a name to it as he physically cooled his features and gazed back at Ivar, seemingly unaffected by the other man's warning.
"I'd hardly call her your's," he said, the edginess in his voice giving him a dangerous aura.
Clary felt Ivar's grip tighten against her neck and had to stifle the urge to howl and pain. Instead, she just tamped down the need to release any sort of outward motion, saving it for when it really mattered. Right now, the immediate attention was not on her and so it gave her time to think. Of what, she didn't know? A plan? An escape route?
Ivar's hand that wasn't currently holding her hostage swept out expansively to his left, "I fought and one the rights to her body, Jace. I could fuck her now or kill her, but either way, she is mine."
Clary watched as Jace's eyes looked in the direction Ivar was sweeping, ghosting over the prone form of her best friend. Seemingly unimpressed, his eyes found Ivar's once more.
"You call this a win, Ivar?" Jace scoffed, shaking his head a little, "Odin is not impressed. He couldn't be; you fought a boy! A useless, Christian boy!"
"Hey!" Clary spat before she could really think of the consequences, "That boy happens to be my best friend and has more courage and honor in his pinky finger than all of you combined."
As the room fell silent, the realization that she had pulled all the attention back to her, make her clamped her mouth shut with an audible snap.
"Some best friend if he can't even save you from Ivar, here," Jace smirked, his golden eyes finding her's for the first time since he had made his appearance. She remained silent, not trusting her voice at the moment not to get her further into trouble.
"I'm sick of all this talking," Ivar barked, "I don't give a rat's ass what you or the god's think. I'll take what I want and what I claim is mine."
Clary felt the immediate disconnect that moment it happened. The moment her mind seemed to snap, separating itself from her body, unrepentant rage fueling her movement, the fear for her best friend, the yearning for the physical touch of her mother and father's arms burning a fire in her that spurned her into action.
With all that she had, Clary fisted her right hand tightly and swung her body to the side, feeling the crunch of bone as her fist collided with Ivar's nose. The surprise overwhelmed the massive man, freeing her from his grasp, but she wasn't done, not by a long shot. She shoved the now sputtering giant in the chest, using her rage like a physical force, propelling her forward. She was elated when Ivar's huge balk fell backwards until he noisily fell to the floor. She was about to go after him when she felt iron bands around her, pulling her father away from her intended target, a familiar laugh in her ear. Ragnar.
"You did say you liked them feisty, Ivar," he sang, watching his friend sit up nursing a clearly broken nose.
Clary ignored Ragnar's steel grasp as she made to move towards the brute again, he was the single focus of her rage at the moment, nothing else couldn't penetrate her thoughts.
"You bitch," Ivar seethed, the crunch of his nose being forced back into place making her stomach turn, but she pushed that feeling down, letting the sweet feeling of pride at doing some damage wash over her.
"I may be a bitch," Clary countered, "But there is no way in hell I will ever belong to you." She had to forcibly restrain herself from sticking her tongue out at the Viking, wanting to keep her air of violence in tact, such childishness would ruin her whole façade.
She didn't have to try long as a deep laugh penetrated her ears, "I guess she told you, Ivar." Jace, that mother-
"Would you just shut up already, you egotistical bastard," she yelled, focusing her narrowed eyes on him, "Or do you just like the sound of your own god damn voice?"
"Damn, I like her a lot," the only other female in the room, said. Clary had almost forgot about her and the other dark haired male in the room, they hadn't said a word since they arrived, seemingly letting Jace do all the talking.
Clary eyed her now that she had captured her attention. The young girl was very beautiful maybe a year older than Clary herself, but she carried herself with the self-esteem of a woman double their age. Her smile was genuine enough as she gazed back at Clary with her own blue eyes. Perhaps in another life, she and Clary could have been friends.
"Well, I barely know you lady," she said slowly, "and so just by association with him, I'm inclined not to like you either." She was answered with an amused lift of the other woman's eyebrow, but she remained silence. It was Jace who broke the silence. Typical.
"Well, I like you Red," he commented as if it was the most obvious thing in the world, "You're coming with us." He turned on his heel as if no one would argue with him and if that's what he truly thought, then he wouldn't like her for long.
"Excuse me," she said, trying to keep the dumbfoundedness from her voice, hanging on to the very real anger gripping her, "I'm wont be going anywhere with you, willingly."
The boy named Jace turned to her, a curious glance of her not-so-threatening form raking over her, "That can be arranged."
His eyes flicked to Ragnar who still had a hold of the little spit fire and turned on his heel once more.
Fury that this boy would turn away from her, yet again, and forgetting about the very large male gripping her, Clary made to run after him, no doubt to give him a piece of her mind if he thought-
She didn't get to finish that thought as a pressure was felt against a very sensitive spot on her neck. She briefly remembered a lesson in pressure points as her vision narrowed, a deafening blackness closing in on her until all she felt was oblivion.
"By the god's," Alec muttered, finally breaking his silence, "I didn't think she was every going to shut up." He watched as the young woman's body was bodily thrown over Ragnar's large shoulder as the giant walked their way.
"Are you sure bringing her with us is a good idea, Jace," he asked, coming to step beside Jace's form as he took in their surroundings, no doubt planning their escape. He had gotten what he came for he supposed; now it was time to go.
"It's probably a really bad idea," he agreed before fixing his eyes on Alec's, a knowing grin on his face, "But won't it just piss her off?"
Alec raked his hands tiredly over his face, the tiredness from the whole day's events finally sinking into his bones, "Jace—"
But he was unable to voice any reason in the younger male when Jace immediately walked around him. Turning to see what had caught his attention, Alec's eyes immediately fell on his sister's kneeled body next to the kid who had fought Ivar.
"Is he dead?" Alec heard Jace asked, his voice not masking his indifference, "Perhaps he wishes he was if he is not."
Ignoring Jace's barb, Izzy ran her hands through Simon's dark brown hair, her eyes searching for something that Alec couldn't exactly place. He had an uneasy feeling growing in his stomach. He knew that unnamed look in his sister's eyes.
"You couldn't even kill him, Ivar," Jace teased, looking around to the silent mass of rage just feet from them.
"I hadn't gotten to that part yet," he spat, "I wanted him to watch me fuck the bitch first." He looked over at Clary's still form and spit the blood that had pooled from his nose into his mouth in her direction.
Alec felt more than saw Jace's physical restraint next to him. He could sense the growing stillness in his friend, his brother and when Jace became still, he became dangerous. What was it about this girl that brought this out in him, he wondered.
"We're leaving," were the only reply that came from the younger male before he turned towards Izzy, expecting her to obey his insinuated command for her to leave the body.
Without looking up, Izzy's strong voice filtered through the air, "I'm bringing the boy with us." She immediately began to hoist the boy into her strong arms, ignoring the disapproving looks from her brothers.
"Absolutely not," Jace breathed.
"Izzy," Alec warned.
"He was willing to lay down his life for the girl," she argued, "and Odin has seen fit to spare his life. I wish to know more about him."
"I won't allow it," Jace growled, his eyes narrowing in the lifeless form in his adoptive sister's embrace.
"I choose him," her own growl in her voice, as she stared defiantly back at Jace. Damn her for their stubbornness, Alec thought.
Jace was quiet as he gazed into Izzy's eyes. For what seemed like an eternity they waited. Then, as if coming to a decision, Alec saw the brief relaxation of his adoptive brother shoulders.
"Fine," he muttered, "But he's your responsibility, Iz. If he dies, you'll burry his body alone." He motioned for Ivar to take Simon's body from Izzy's, which earned him a glare from his subordinate, but in the end, Ivar knew that Jace was the commanding officer and so he obeyed.
"He won't die," she responded, letting a very irate Ivar take the body from her awkward grasp.
Jace grunted as he turned to survey the rest of the area around him, his eyes once again connecting with the slumped form of his redhead over Ragnar's shoulder. Izzy was right, she was very beautiful, but she was never as beautiful as when he brilliant green eyes were trained on him, all her passion and fire aimed directly at him. He felt something shift in his chest, almost making the breath catch in his throat and the unwavering thought that he couldn't wait until she woke up again. If not only to see her face as she realized he had her right where he wanted her, but to have her fire burn him from within.