Author's Note:
Greetings to all and a Happy New Year! Hope you lovelies are starting off 2019 on a wonderful note.
Here's the epilogue. Enjoy. Review. And please don't skip over the A/N at the bottom. Much love!
Disclaimer: Cassandra Clare owns the original TMI series and characters. Any familiar quotes that you recognise from the TMI books should, of course, be attributed to the ingenuity of Cassie. However, the plot lines and other character developments etc. in this story belongs to me, xxmadworldredemptionxx. Please do not copy, reproduce, translate, or repost these stories elsewhere without my permission.
EPILOGUE: REDEMPTION
"Clary! Clary, are you in here?" A soft, gentle voice called.
Clary curled up further against the floor, her arms holding her knees to her chest tightly as if she were trying to fold herself into a tiny ball. Her muscles groaned in protest when she moved, sore from the amount of time she'd spent in that uncomfortable position, but she ignored the ache anyway as she continued to rock herself back and forth, traitorous tears continuously streaming down her cheeks. The skirting of the bedsheets lifted, and soon, Clary found herself staring into the concerned eyes of the older boy.
"There you are," he said, his tone awash with relief.
Instead of returning his smile, she turned away from him and rasped, "Go away."
The boy sighed before lowering himself to the floor in front of the princess. He had spent almost an entire hour scouring the palace high and low for her, worried that in her grief, she had run off someplace dangerous and hurt herself. But as it appeared, she had only barricaded herself away inside her chambers, albeit underneath the bed where she had remained out of sight—until now. The boy mentally chastised himself for not thinking to check there first.
Slowly, he reached out to stroke her hair, his touch wary and hesitant, as if he were approaching a wild animal. "What are you doing down here, sweetie?" He asked.
She didn't respond to him, her body still shaking with hiccups.
"Clare, come on, we should—" The boy flinched when the young girl did the same, her face contorting in anger when she realized that he was trying to make her leave her hiding place.
He swiftly retracted his hands and looked contrite. "I'm sorry."
"Leave me alone," she whispered hoarsely, her reddened green eyes glossy with tears.
The boy hesitated for a moment, before schooling his features into a fiercely determined expression. "No," he said firmly. "You don't get to decide for me what it is I choose to do, and you most certainly don't get to decide for me when I'll leave you alone."
Clary glared at him angrily. "GO AWAY!" She shouted as she shoved at the boy's chest, trying to put as much distance as she could between them. "I don't want you here. I don't need you here. I don't want your comfort, and most of all, I don't want you to tell me that it's going to be okay. It's not okay. And it will never be. So just stop trying to feed me lies and empty promises. Just stop," she said bitingly, causing hurt to flash in his eyes.
"Don't do this to me, Clare. Please," the boy pleaded. "Don't push me away."
"Why shouldn't I?" She snapped. "You're not them," her voice cracked, "Don't you understand? I don't want anyone else but them. But you can't give me what I want, can you?"
Despite the piercing hurt he felt at her words, he pulled the girl into his arms, ignoring her loud shouts and squirms of protest.
"I love you," he said, his throat weighed down by a heavy lump. "You're all I have left. Please don't push me away. Don't leave me too, Clary. Please…"
At that, Clary finally gave up fighting and buried her face into the boy's chest, her own regret overpowering her. How could I have been so selfish? She thought, rebuking herself. She wasn't the only one grieving. He was, too.
"I love you, Jonathan. I love you. I'm sorry. Please. Promise you won't leave me next. I can't lose you too," Clary sobbed into her brother's chest as he held her tighter to him.
"I love you too, baby sis. I promise I won't leave you. Ever. I'll always be there for you," he said as he threaded his fingers through her hair.
She looked up at him, hope shining in her eyes. "You promise?"
"I promise."
August 3, 509
Jace leaned against the oak tree as he watched his wife through worried eyes. She stood before her brother's grave, a bouquet of white roses tucked neatly in her arms. At first, her expression was completely stoic, betraying no emotion. Then, her façade broke, her trembling lips giving way to a broken sob. She pressed her palm against her mouth, muffling the sound.
Jace clenched his fist and fought against every desire to go to Clary and to hold her in his arms until her emotional storm passed. To this day, nothing rattled his heart more than the sight of his wife in agony. So attuned was he to the woman he'd chosen as his life partner that he felt her pain as if it were his own. Oftentimes he wished that he could do more—could have done more to secure her happiness. But now of all times, he knew that it was best if he kept his distance, if only to allow Clary the chance to grieve her brother in peace.
Nearly eight months had passed since Jonathan's death, of which Clary had mostly spent within the safe perimeters of the palace grounds as she sought to heal herself and adapt to her new duties as queen. After witnessing her breakdown at her brother's funeral and her rapid descent into depression for days after that felt both long and entirely too bleak, Jace found himself a prisoner of self-loathing, guilt and helplessness. For a time, he'd felt certain that he, too, would be engulfed by madness. And then, seemingly out of nowhere, they were rewarded with a tiny spark, news that would soon change their lives again, and for the better.
Clary began to emerge from her gloom, as did Jace, and together they discovered the resolve to recover from their traumatic ordeal. Yet, his wife had never truly accepted that her brother was gone. Conversations, even incidental mentions of Jonathan, would drain the color from her face quicker than anything Jace had ever seen, that they avoided the topic of her brother altogether. For eight months since Jonathan's burial, Clary hadn't even attempted to visit his grave…until now. She had risen particularly early that morning, looking the most occupied Jace had ever seen her in months. Then, when she'd finally spoken, he had been stunned into silence.
"I want to see my brother," she'd said with a determined expression.
Jace could only stare at her with wide disbelieving eyes. He'd thought about denying her request, but quickly dismissed it when he noticed the clarity in her eyes. This was the Clary he'd first met in the market, the girl whose fire had captivated him like no other woman had.
So wordlessly, he'd put on his shoes—and helped her into her own pair—before taking her hand in his and leading them to the cemetery where the deceased royalty of Idris were buried. Fortunately, it was within walking distance from the palace, located on a sloping stretch of land aptly named The Garden of Revered Souls. Alone, Jace had been there several times to visit Jon's as well as his own mother's grave. After the young king's funeral, he had finally mustered his courage and gone into Valentine's secret room, where he found everything Clary had told him about: the Herondale family treasure, his father's weapons…and the most devastating sight no son ever wanted to see: his mother's head preserved in a glass jar.
For minutes he had stared into her lifeless golden eyes, wishing that he wasn't seeing her from a jar the way Valentine had left her…wishing that she were still alive. But reality eventually won out and forced him into acceptance. It was pointless to wish for things that he knew would never come true. The best he could do for his mother was to give her the closure she had long deserved. So Jace did another brave thing that day: he'd taken his mother's head, carefully wrapped it in a linen shroud, then brought it to the royal cemetery to be buried. He'd even enlisted the help of Brother Zachariah to conduct a small, private ceremony for his mother, where they said a few prayers for her in hopes that her soul may be laid to rest once and for all.
And Jace truly believed that she was finally at peace—so was he, relatively speaking.
In the time that had passed since the demise of Valentine Morgenstern and Sebastian Verlac, Jace had risen as the ruler of not just one, but two realms: Idris and Alicante.
It was a heavy responsibility to shoulder; for a man who had spent eight years of his life as a slave and gladiator, the change was an understatedly massive one. After all, how could one simply undo the aftermath of his experiences as a slave?
A few days after he was conferred the title of King, Jace had, in a state of doubt and apprehension of failure, considered abdicating the throne and holding an election for one more worthier to take his place. He had been raised as a prince, trained to one day bear the title of king for the first ten years of his life, but that life had ended abruptly with Valentine's attack. The defining years of his youth and early adulthood had been rife with pain, indignity, violence, grief, and anger—so much anger. Jace had believed that throughout his slavery, he had retained enough of his personhood and clung onto enough of his early teachings to not turn into a complete brute, incapable of grace and moral ethics expected of those who claimed membership to a society. But he had also lost so much of innocence and self-worth; had been tainted and soiled by his experiences.
Clary had always remarked how strong he was, and how proud she was of him, but a part of him could never truly accept her compliments with grace. At times, the sight of his wife, particularly when she was smiling at him with unconditional love and trust, made his insides churn and shudder with guilt. Jace felt woefully inadequate, even though being king meant that he could now provide for Clary whereas his previous status as gladiator gave him no such capability. Ultimately, pride was the least of his worries; failure was.
How could an ex-gladiator with minimal training in the affairs of the throne be expected to lead and reconcile two nations under a single rule? The existing strong alliance between Idris and Alicante aside, the kingdoms had been steadily deteriorating under the influence of two individually corrupt tyrants. To reverse the effects of the contaminated seeds planted by his predecessors, within as minimal a time as possible, was, Jace loathed to admit, difficult. Besides, there was more to do in the duties of running a kingdom; politics itself, which was the furthest from Jace's own forte, was extensive in its breadth, from public policies and administration, to taxation, trade, military and others. Between navigating the throne and the arena, Jace found the latter to be closer to his element.
But no, to give up would mean to nullify Jon's sacrifice—and his own parents, for that matter. Failure was not an option. It was only through quiet moments of prayer and meditation, and by remembering the sacrifices of loved ones lost and still alive, as well as acknowledging his own triumphs and strengths that Jace remained on the path that was bestowed to him. He might have never wanted to be king, much like how he had never wanted to be an orphan, or a slave, or a gladiator; but destiny had dictated otherwise and so it was his duty to make the best out of it. His life thus far was, after all, already a shining example of the adage that you can't always get what you want. There would always be new trials to face, and it would be up to him to decide whether he would rise up to the occasion or fall.
And Jace, though many times in his life had been plagued with fear and doubt, and sometimes still heard the haunting voices of the ghosts of his past, refused to fall. He was, at heart, a warrior who loved deeply. Perhaps, to attribute love as a single motivation was an oversimplified way of looking at things, but he wouldn't be lying if he said that it was love that nurtured him and nourished him day after day. The love of his wife, and remembering how his parents had loved him, kept him grounded in his duty, even when confronted by a steep learning curve and his own mental and emotional challenges.
Yes, he still felt inadequate, ashamed, guilty and even a tad bit embarrassed of himself when he looked at Clary, who in recent months had proven to be a political prowess like her late brother Jonathan, but he was nevertheless grateful because he knew her belief in him was real, as was that of his Royal Advisor Patrick Penhallow and reformed council. He could only hope that he would one day believe in himself as much as they did, too.
"Jon…" Clary's voice broke Jace out of his musings.
He watched, his heart breaking for his wife, as she sank down to her knees, her sobs growing even louder as her fingers shakily reached out to touch the engraved words on her brother's gravestone:
Jonathan Christopher Morgenstern
19 April 485 – 30 December 508
Revered King & Hero of Idris
Beloved Son & Brother
Unable to take it anymore as Clary began to crush the gravestone to her chest, Jace trudged forward towards her before falling on his knees behind her. He pulled his wife onto his lap, rocking her back and forth as she cried, her face now buried into his chest.
"Shh, it's okay. Just let it all out, sweetheart," he murmured sweet nothings into her ear.
They continued to embrace each other for a considerably long time, the minutes stretching far and wide until they felt like hours, until a small movement brought them back to the present. Clary pulled back from Jace slightly, her lips curved into a small smile, as she took his large hand in hers and guided it to rest on the rounded protrusion of her stomach.
Jace beamed down at her before planting a sweet kiss on her lips. At that exact moment, he felt another flutter—a kick—from beneath his fingertips.
His smile widened. There it was. The one thing that held them together despite everything. The one thing that made their lives seem worthwhile despite their painful losses. Their baby.
Just two weeks after Jon's passing, Clary had fallen into a steady wave of nausea that caused her to frequently throw up, especially in the mornings. Jace had been worried that her sickness had been triggered by the grief of her brother's death, but after a thorough examination with Magnus, they discovered that she was, in fact, with child.
Now, she was only a few days away from her due date, and both Clary and Jace couldn't be more excited to welcome their child into their lives. During the last couple of weeks, they had busied themselves with all the necessary preparations, which mostly included fixing up the baby's room. Clary had even knitted a couple pair of mittens for their child, and Jace had to admit, they were one of the most adorable things he'd ever laid eyes on.
It was strange, how such a small being, that had yet to even enter their lives, could be so powerful and evoke so much love from them. In spite of everything, their baby had been a great blessing, giving them light in their hour of darkness.
"Should we go home now?" Clary asked softly as she broke away from their kiss.
Jace was rubbing smooth circles onto the loose, pale-pink silk gown covering her swollen belly, a soft smile playing on his lips when he felt their little one move.
"Only if you're ready to," he replied, not wanting to rush her unless she had achieved everything she had set out to do at her brother's grave.
Clary glanced at the marble gravestone once more, then ran her fingers over the engraving. She paused, lingering as she came upon the one word that meant the most to her: 'brother'.
Forever and ever my brother, she thought. Hail and farewell.
"Atque in pepetuum frater ave atque vale," Clary whispered before setting the bouquet of roses down against his grave. "I love you, Jon. No matter how much time passes, I'll always love you. You'll always be my big brother."
Jace couldn't help but smile at his wife. He knew that losing Jon had been one of the hardest losses Clary had ever faced in her sixteen years, but he admired her strength and courage to move on with her life, even if it wouldn't be the same without her brother by her side.
"And I love you, Jace. Always," Clary said as she turned towards him.
He gently stroked her cheek before leaning in and capturing her lips with his. Clary smiled into the kiss while tugging him closer to her, as closely as they could possibly manage with her round stomach in between them.
"Always, Clary," Jace murmured against her lips before helping his wife to her feet.
Jace inhaled the air deeply as he stood at the balcony of the chambers he shared with his wife. Dressed in a loose, if slightly plain tunic, his posture was relaxed, even if his mind didn't quite mirror his bearing. Soon, he would be convening with his council members to vote on the matter of military conscription. Though Alicante and Idris combined had a sizeable army, there were still concerns about whether they would be enough. Over the course of his rule, Valentine had possessed the habit of employing the services of mercenaries, which Jace and several of his councilmen felt was a hardly reliable long-term solution if it ever came to war. Some mercenaries were capable of pledging loyalty and honor, others were only loyal to money.
Nevertheless, if approved, then the military conscription act would be the next biggest mandate to pass since Jace's kingship, the first having been the immediate eradication of the gladiator games and the repurposing of the gladiatorial arenas as military training centers for the royal troops, which held no shortage of rehabilitated gladiators as well. Thus far, few occurrences since his ascension as king had touched Jace as much as the oath of allegiance his former gladiator comrades swore to him upon their emancipation from slavery; the majority of whom, including Alec, choosing to enlist in the army so as to put their combat skills to good use and to protect the kingdom that had redeemed them and its citizens.
But he digressed. The ban on the gladiator games had been largely talked about for weeks after it was ordained, though majority of public sentiment had been positive. After the final confrontation at Dumont, many began to view the games as rotten and destructive, Jonathan's death having served as a sobering reminder to all who had once felt otherwise.
Jace smiled wryly at the thought. One with a conscience could never truly refer to the death of a loved one as a blessing, but indeed, from a certain point of view, there was a silver lining behind that very cloud. As short as his rule had been, Jonathan's death was deeply felt, especially by those whose lives had been touched by the compassion of the then-prince of Idris. At times, Jace wondered how differently the people would have responded to the ban on the gladiator games had Jon not perished in the arena. Would they have willingly relinquished their greatest form of entertainment or viewed the gladiators as anything more than mere slaves? Would they have willingly welcomed the now-redeemed slaves as their equals, brothers who only sought to have the same right to freedom as they did?
Sighing, Jace turned away from the balcony and reentered the bedroom. To his amusement, he found his wife dressed in her nightclothes and brushing her hair by her vanity. Enamored by her beauty and the calming effect she had on him, he kept his gaze locked on her.
"Why do you keep staring at me?" Clary looked down at herself self-consciously as she moved away from the vanity.
Jace grinned at her. "Is it a crime to stare at my beautiful wife?"
The young queen scoffed but her blush gave away the fact that she was secretly pleased by her husband's compliment. "It is," she lied.
"Tsk tsk, Clary," he teased her before pushing himself off of the doorway he had been standing in. He sat down on the edge of the vanity his wife had previously occupied, continuing to watch her as she pulled back the covers from their bed and fluffed up the pillows. "It's still mid-day. Isn't it a little too early for you to be getting ready for bed?"
"It's never too early to get ready for bed when you're as far along as I am with a child," she told him as she settled down on their bed. She raised her feet up so that they were resting on the mattress, then laid her head down on her pillow. Her relieved sigh was short-lived as she found herself struggling to see her husband's face over the huge bump that was her belly.
"I can't see you," she groaned.
Jace let out a chuckle before walking over and sitting down on the small space by her side. His hand came to rest on her stomach. "Better?"
"Hmm," she hummed sleepily as she absentmindedly rubbed circles against her belly. "I can't wait for our baby to arrive. I miss being able to see my feet."
"Well, as much as I share your excitement about meeting our baby, I can't say I won't miss seeing you like this. You're absolutely the most gorgeous pregnant woman I've ever seen," he told her.
"Such a sweet-talker."
"It's the truth," he defended. His golden eyes softened when he noticed her eyes drooping. He would have been content to leave her to rest, but he still needed to know one other thing. "How are you feeling, sweetheart?"
Clary sighed, her mouth moving while her eyes remained closed. "I'm really tired. Honestly, I think it won't be long before the little one gets here. He's been keeping me up all night, and I've been having contractions more frequently these last couple of days." She paused for several long seconds, and Jace wondered for a while if she had fallen asleep.
Then she spoke, "I know that's not what you were asking me, but you should probably know—the baby's the reason why I wanted to go visit Jon today. The constant reminder that we'll be welcoming another life soon has dredged up so many thoughts about the past and made me realize how much I've missed my brother. As much as I'm thankful for his sacrifice, I really wish that things with my father had ended a little differently. I wish that Jon hadn't interfered so he could still be here with us. I miss him so much."
Jace wiped at the tear that had fallen from her cheek, then began to gently stroke her hair. Their hands that were on her stomach gripped each other tightly until their fingers were intertwined. "The ones who love you will never truly leave you, Clary. As long as we honor their memory, they stay with us in our hearts," he said softly.
"I know." Her face scrunched up a little just then and she let out an unintentional whimper.
"What's wrong, sweetheart?"
Clary opened her eyes slightly and looked up at him. As green eyes bored into his golden ones, he could see it, festering beneath the depths of those gorgeous orbs: pain. He glanced down at her belly, worried for a second that it had to do with the baby, but whatever pain it was that she was feeling, he realized that it wasn't physical. It was something much deeper…something emotional.
"My father," she finally croaked. Other than the brief flash of surprise at her confession, Jace's expression gave nothing away. "I know that a lot of what my father had done in his life was wrong. He'd killed so many innocent people and manipulated a great number of others for his own selfish means. He deserved the justice that was coming to him…but now all I can think about is how much of a mistake it was to have partaken in his execution." She let out a choked sob. "Yes, he had hurt me more than he had ever shown me that he loved me, but he was my father. How could I have done that? How could I have killed him?"
Jace stared at her. Truthfully, he didn't know what to say. Since the last gladiator games, they hadn't spoken about her father either. Not about how she had taken up her brother's sword and killed him alongside Jace. Valentine was a sore subject for the both of them and Jace had thought it was best not to bring him up at all. Clearly he had underestimated how much that day had eaten away at Clary—not just her brother's death, but how she had been responsible for her father's as well. And to realize only now how stupidly imperceptive he had been to let his wife's guilt run unnoticed, he felt like punching himself in the face.
"Clary," he struggled with his words, "Why didn't you talk to me about this sooner?" He realized too late that it wasn't the type of assurance that Clary was looking for from him, but in that moment, it was all he could manage to say.
He thought back to the past couple of months, trying to dissect each memory for clues of Clary feeling guilt over her father's death, but none came to mind. All this time, he'd thought that the occasional flashes of pain in Clary's eyes were because she had been remembering her brother's death. He had genuinely thought that Valentine was best left in the past, and so he never asked her how she felt about killing the man who had fathered her and raised her.
"You already know that I killed my father—"
"But I didn't realize how much it has haunted you since," Jace said.
"That's because it hasn't," Clary answered in a surprisingly steady voice. "You know how my brain deals with trauma, Jace. It tends to bury them. My father hasn't even surfaced in my thoughts until just now. Visiting Jon's grave had given me closure with my brother, but it's triggered these other feelings about my father. I don't know what to make of them…" Her expression hardened, as did her eyes, clouded with an emotion Jace was well-attuned to: self-hatred. "All I know is that in my moment of grief, I succumbed to the darkness and did the one thing I abhorred the most: I took a life that wasn't even mine to take and felt no remorse over it. And that makes me a monster of the worst kind."
"Clary, no!" Jace shook his head vehemently. "That's not—that's not true, sweetheart. You aren't a monster. You aren't."
"Aren't I?" She challenged him.
Jace's mouth opened and closed several times as he tried to find the words to placate her, but before he could, Clary cut him off.
"To murder is a sin," she said in a slow and agonized tone. "And I committed one of the biggest sins of all by killing my own flesh and blood—my own father! Even if he had been a horrible man, how could I have done such malicious thing? How could I have looked him in the eye and still followed through with killing him?" By the end of her rant, she had her eyes closed shut and her lips pursed tightly as if she was trying to tamp down the urge to start crying.
Jace watched her, silent.
Clary's voice lowered to a whisper. "H-how… How can I be forgiven for that?"
Finally stirring to life, the young king reached his hand out to cup her cheek, using the pad of his thumb to stroke her bottom lip soothingly. "Clary…" She tried to turn away from him, but he held onto her firmly. "Clary, listen to me. I know I am not in the best position to be preaching about morality, but I do know this."
As the image of his smiling late mother entered his mind, his golden eyes turned glossy. "My mother…" He cleared his throat to get rid of the thick lump of emotion forming in his gorge. "When I was little, my mother used to say that there is infinite beauty to be found in life, even in the face of our darkest trials," he said as he gentled wiped away her tears. "It's a little ironic, I suppose, but I believe her—not because she's my mother, and I blindly take her word for it," he chuckled, "but because I have lived through my own share of dark days and realize now the truth in her words.
"King, slave, noble, commoner, son, daughter…we are all tested, and in many different ways. For some of us, our battles may turn out to be harder than others, but the point isn't always to win, or to make the correct decisions from the start. It's to learn. To err is human nature; it doesn't mean absolute failure. The beauty in living, in choosing light over our own darkness, is the constant hope for redemption. We are never beyond forgiveness or second chances, as long as we have faith and continue to make the most good that we can, for the remainder of our time. And for that, don't despair, my love. Do as Jon and your mother would have wanted of you: stay strong and live well."
Jace paused, smiling wistfully. "I've done things that I'm not proud of, but I think—no, I believe, that one way or another, I have, or would, make up for it in time. I'll spend the rest of my life atoning for my mistakes if I have to." He leaned forward, cupping his wife's cheeks. "It's difficult, I understand that…but in order to live, we must also learn to forgive ourselves."
"And what about my father's forgiveness?" She finally looked up at him. "I don't have that."
"You know, I never managed to ask my parents for their forgiveness as well."
"That's different, Jace. You were actually a good son to your parents. And you never killed them." Her expression conveyed her resignation. "But I did. I decapitated my own father."
"Fine, so you did," Jace finally agreed, causing Clary to flinch. "But one way or another, Valentine was going to be executed anyway. His crimes would have seen him to that fate. You can't change the past, only move forward from it. I can't absolve you of your guilt, Clary, and maybe you will always carry some form of regret for Valentine's death, but I'm begging you; please don't let it consume you. One misdeed…one horrible decision…does not make you a bad person. You are not a monster. I believe that."
"How could you?" She muttered.
"Would a monster be capable of feeling shame or regret?" He questioned her instead. Clary's answer was complete silence. "Look at it this way, Clary," he said in a gentler tone. "Despite everything, we've been blessed with so much…the throne, our baby… That seems to me like a second chance to make the rest of our lives right, not a punishment for the condemned."
When Clary finally reopened her eyes, her gaze was less despairing and more thoughtful. "I suppose…you're right," she said with a small, tentative smile. "We can never fully understand everything but…"
"We must never lose faith," Jace finished. "I'm living proof of a man who has made many mistakes—you know that. I have killed more men in the past two years than I ever wished to do in this lifetime. I know it's not the same thing as what you've gone through—"
"But you're the only person right now whose words matter to me," she said. "Thank you, Jace." The statement was full of unspoken meaning: Thank you for knowing what to say. Thank you for not giving up on me. Thank you for loving me and being with me.
The couple was silent for a long while as the weight of their most recent discussion sank in. Clary's eyes were closed once again but instead of a grimace, she looked more at peace with herself. Jace still worried for her, but he knew that despite everything, his wife was strong. Young and riddled with so many battle scars of her own, but she was so strong. And like him, she only needed reassuring from time to time.
"Are you feeling better now?" He asked her softly as he stroked her hair. "No more morbid or depressing thoughts?"
Clary let out a breathless laugh. "Yes and no," she answered in accordance to his two questions. "It's passing—slowly, but passing." Her eyes opened a little. Jace could see how much their conversation about her brother and father had drained the energy out of her, but he could see that she wasn't lying. As tired as she was, she looked lighter, her shoulders eased from the rigid frame of tension that had seized her before. "I don't think I'll ever stop regretting what I did to my father…but I promise I won't let it consume me."
Jace nodded. "And if you ever feel that it's too much, don't keep it to yourself. Talk to me. Talk to our friends. Talk to anybody. I don't ever want you to feel that you're alone in this. Okay?"
"Okay," Clary conceded as she laced their fingers together. "I know it sounds crazy, but even after everything that's happened, I forgive my father," she confessed.
Jace, having not expected that, was absolutely floored. Even after all this time, he still hadn't found it within himself to forgive Valentine yet. But Clary, who had endured years of her father's punishments and had her mother and brother taken away from her by the very same man, no less, could. It only solidified his belief of how good Clary's heart was—and how blessed he was to have married a woman as compassionate as her.
"I won't dispute that. It's your right to forgive whomever you wish." Jace looked down and bit his lip then, somewhat shamefaced. "I'm sorry, Clary, but I think it'll take me even longer to get over what your father did to my parents," he told her. "I can forgive him for what he did to me, but with them…" He shook his head. "I'm sorry, Clary."
"You have nothing to apologize to me for," Clary assured him. "But Jace, would you at least try?" Her voice was soft and imploring, her touch on his hand even more so. "My father may not deserve it…but you…I think you need it."
Jace's mouth fell agape as he stared at his wife, stunned but completely unsure of how to respond to her declaration. The images of his mother's dying moments flashed before his mind's eye, and Jace's eyes watered. Unwilling to let the tears fall, he hastily shut them, then pinched the bridge of his nose.
"I know," was his shaky response. "I know I do." Ironic. You're a hypocrite, Jace, he scolded himself. Was it not only moments ago that his wife had needed the reassurance and not him? How was it that even after so many years, he was still the one who struggled with the concept of letting go, while his wife, bless her heart, had mastered it within a short period of time?
"I love you," she said, almost randomly, but also decidedly necessary to pull him out of his inner conflict. "I won't push you if you're not ready. But sweetheart… All I'm saying is to forgive, if only to give yourself the closure that you need."
Jace entwined his fingers with Clary's. "Words of a wise queen, indeed." He gave her an affectionate smile. "You're right, sweetheart. I know you are. Thank you."
Clary smiled back at him. "It's something Jon would have said."
"I'm sure," he said with the hint of a grin.
One day, he would find it in himself to forgive Valentine. One day, he would look back on his enemy's life and feel sympathy for him, if anything else, instead of rage and hate. One day—soon, he promised. If he was to be a better husband for Clary and a good father to his child, then he needed to start listening to his own advice. Yes, forgiving oneself was important, but so was forgiving the people who had hurt him and his family, as difficult as it might be. After all, what good was it to harbor animosity for a dead man?
"Now, I have something else I want to ask you," Clary interrupted his thoughts.
Jace bent down, pressing his lips chastely to her forehead. Clary gripped the back of his neck and closed her eyes again, reveling in the feeling of his lips grazing her skin.
"Then ask away, love," he whispered serenely.
"I know that men don't usually stay in the same room as their wives during childbirth, but will you be willing to make it an exception for me?" It was a complete change from the heavy topic they had been conversing about earlier, but a welcome change nonetheless.
Jace pulled back slightly, a mischievous twinkle in his eye. "I must say, I'm slightly offended that you would lump me into the same category as those other men. As if leaving your side while you give birth to our baby has ever crossed my mind…"
As tired as she was, Clary rolled her eyes at him. "A simple yes would have sufficed," she mumbled. "I didn't want to assume or leave things to the last minute."
"It would take an act of God for me to leave your side," he promised, and meant it. From the moment he discovered about Clary's pregnancy, he had sworn to himself that he would be there for her through every milestone, including the childbirth. He had already spoken to enough midwives to know that the birthing experience would be excruciating for the mother. He wished that he could be the one to bear the pain on Clary's behalf…but he'd, again, accepted that it was another thing that he couldn't control. The most he could do was to support Clary through the pain and pray that she would be able to deliver their child safely.
"I have to go meet with the council soon," Jace said after a while. "Would you be okay on your own? I promise it won't take too long."
There was no response from his wife.
"Clary?" He looked down at her, only to discover that her eyes were closed and her breathing had grown even. Still, he asked, quieter and softer than before, "Sweetheart, are you asleep?" while tapping her gently on the nose.
Clary stirred a little and opened her mouth, presumably to answer him, but instead, the only sounds that came from her were her gentle snores. Jace smiled as he tucked the blankets around his wife's petite form and gently kissed her forehead. He was glad that their unplanned conversation had taken place, even if it had ended up wearing her out. He could see how it had lifted the almost invisible weight off of Clary, the serene expression she now wore on her face a wondrous sight that made Jace pause and admire. He wished that he could join her—
Later, he decided as he stood up from the bed. For now, another duty was calling him.
Much later that night, as Clary was sleeping, her back pressed up against Jace's warm chest as usual and his large hand splayed protectively over her belly, she was rudely awakened by a sharp pain in her stomach. Recognizing it to be similar to the contractions she had been experiencing for the past week, she slowly rolled over onto her back and practiced the deep breathing techniques Magnus had taught her, hoping that the pain would recede and eventually go away. But instead, it only intensified, spreading to her lower back and persisting a few minutes longer than what she perceived to be normal for practice contractions.
Could it be—
Clary's face contorted into a heavy grimace as a gasp unintentionally escaped her. She pressed her right fist against her stomach and began rubbing tentative circles onto her belly. Shh, little one. Please, not now, she thought when she felt the baby inside of her beginning to squirm.
Shakily, she tried to sit up next, leaning on her elbows for support… That was when her stomach clenched again, assaulting her with pain like never before. She groaned as she threw her head backwards, her eyes and teeth clenched shut while her hands gripped the bedsheets. When the particularly long contraction finally passed, she was breathing harshly—and undeniably wide awake.
"Jace," Clary whimpered as she nudged her husband's sleeping form.
She cupped the base of her round stomach, trying hard to hold back her tears when she felt a rivulet of warm water trickling down between her legs. Her eyes widened again, this time with fear as her suspicions were confirmed. The baby is coming!
"Jace," she tried again in a choked voice, patting his shoulder more urgently this time. "Honey, please, wake up."
"Hmm?" He replied sleepily, his hand absentmindedly rubbing circles onto her stomach as he curled up to her. Then, he shifted slightly so that his head was now lying by her stomach, and nuzzled his face into her side.
In spite of herself, Clary felt irked that Jace, who was usually a light sleeper, chose tonight of all nights to be passed out like a log. A rational part of her understood that the events of today would have fatigued him as well, but she really needed him to be conscious—now!
"Jace…"
As the third contraction began, Clary felt his lips press a soft kiss to her belly as he murmured sweet nothings to their baby. As endearing as his gesture was, she was holding back every bit of anger that was threatening to boil over—until he had the audacity to snore.
"JACE HERONDALE!" Clary viciously screamed.
Jace was instantly jolted into a sitting position, his golden hair sticking up in several different directions. Even then, he stared uncomprehendingly at his wife, his golden eyes still clouded with sleep and his eyebrows pinched together in confusion.
"What's wrong, sweetheart?" He asked, his sleepy voice innocent and astonishingly oblivious like a young boy's. "Are you hungry? Are you craving something?"
Had Clary not been feeling as if she were being ripped apart from the inside out, she would have probably smoothened out the wrinkles in between his eyebrows and kissed his pouty lips. But she was hardly feeling kind or patient at the moment.
"For heaven's sake!" She hissed as she shot her husband a murderous glare. If the economy of words had not been crucial as she struggled to merely breathe through the pain, Clary believed that she would have cursed her husband out for his slowness, as uncharacteristic as it would have been for her. "The baby's coming!"
A few moments passed in silence, save for Clary's heavier than usual breathing. Then Jace finally woke up, his golden eyes wide with panic. Within seconds, he was kneeling on the bed, his arms braced out wide as if he were intending to catch the baby.
"B-baby? Baby! Clary? What do I do?" He whisper-shouted at her.
Clary let out another groan before slumping deeper against the pillows. She could hardly believe her luck. She had thought that with all the conversations they'd had about childbirth, Jace would have been prepared when the time finally came. But no, here was her husband, famous ex-gladiator and current king of Idris and Alicante, asking her, the woman who was in severe pain, what he was supposed to do. Could she do it herself—heave her laboring body off the bed and walk over to Magnus's room so that he could help her deliver their baby?
The pain made the decision for her.
Reaching for one of the smaller pillows on the bed, Clary clobbered Jace on the head with it repeatedly. Yes, this ought to knock some sense into him! "GO. GET. MAGNUS. NOW!" She punctuated each word with a furious hit to the head with the pillow.
Despite the vestiges of sleep quickly clearing from his mind, Jace didn't even bother to shield himself from her blows. His only relief was that she was hitting him with a pillow and not something truly damaging, like the solid brass candelabra on the bedside table—which was within her fingers' reach! Realizing the potential danger he was in, Jace frantically scrambled out of the bed and threw the door open in record time, thankful that they had asked the good doctor to temporarily move into the palace with them a week ago.
"MAGNUS!"
Clary fell back against the pillows tiredly, her aching grip on Jace's hand still intact, her chest heaving with heavy pants as the searing pressure in her abdomen slowly faded away. She knew that it was only temporary, that the pain would slowly build up again and flare with such an intense heat that she would have to push. They had been at it for nearly two hours now, but her instincts told her that they were getting close.
Beside her, Jace smiled encouragingly at his wife. Reaching for the cool washcloth, he dabbed it gently against her sweaty forehead, then kissed her temple.
Despite her exhaustion, Clary smiled back at him, albeit a weak smile, turning her head slightly to connect their lips as she rested. Jace's hand slipped beneath her cream silk nightgown as they kissed, rubbing smooth, tender circles against the taut skin of her swollen belly. It was a much needed respite from the efforts of the young queen's labor. Both parents-to-be were tired, having been awoken from their slumber before the sunrise, but they were excited and anxious over their baby's arrival as well.
"He's crowning," Magnus interrupted them as he checked the little one's position. The doctor himself was in a disarray of sorts, having spared no time to look dapper and glittery for the delivery of the Herondale child. "It won't be long now, Clary. You're almost there."
"Hear that, sweetheart? You're almost there," Jace repeated in a breathlessly excited tone.
Clary could only manage to respond with a weak nod. Even if she couldn't muster the expression for it, she was happy to see her husband the way he was right now. Whatever reservations either of them might have had about their impending parenthood, Clary apprehensive that her youth would be a hindrance to her ability to become a good mother, it was smothered and dull in comparison to the moment.
As always, a part of her wished that her mother and brother could have shared in the joys that they were feeling, the almost untameable delirium at the thought of holding their newest family member in their arms, but she willed herself to let go of such wishful thinking. Jace was here. Magnus was here. Even Isabelle and her old nurse Dorothea were here. Her mother and Jon would have been proud of their little family, even if they weren't present in their lives anymore.
When Clary felt the next contraction slowly work its way up her abdomen, she propped herself upright, as far as she could go with Jace's hand supporting the back of her head and the other one clutched tightly in hers. Clary didn't need for Magnus to cue her. She pushed with all her might, for as long and as hard as she could, grunting when the pain intensified, like a wound being stabbed over and over again. Her knees shook furiously with the exertion as her nails dug into the skin of Jace's hand, and Clary—her conscience that was buried deep within—felt sorry for the pain that she was causing him. But she was also grateful, so utterly grateful that he didn't pull away. Instead, he bent down and touched his forehead to her temple, urging her on with sweet words of encouragement: My strong wife. I love you. You can do it, Clary.
"You're doing well, Clary. Almost there," Magnus placated her.
Clary squeezed her eyes shut, clinging onto Jace's hand tighter as she bore down, a low groan escaping her. Tears streamed down her cheeks, but she clung on, refusing to retreat from the battle. Almost there, she chanted in her head. Almost there.
Then finally, a sweet, little cry pierced through the early pre-dawn air, alerting them to the arrival of their newborn.
Victorious from her labor, Clary collapsed against the pillows with a tired but relieved smile on her face. "We did it," she said through her recovering pants.
Jace grinned down at her and touched his lips to hers. If Clary had any doubts that the reason Jace chose her was because of her beauty, then those doubts were erased for good. She knew that she hardly resembled attractive, much less alluring, in her postpartum state, yet, his actions towards her conveyed nothing but total adoration. She loved him completely.
"You did it," Jace said with a smile. "You did all the hard work. I'm so proud of you, Clary."
"As am I," Magnus said, looking unapologetic about his intrusion into their bubble. He was alternating between grinning at them and looking over at Isabelle and Dorothea, who were cooing at the whimpering bundle in the latter's arms. "Congratulations," he said.
Clary and Jace looked over at the pair, their gazes lingering on the wriggling bundle with identical expressions of longing on their faces.
"It's a boy," Isabelle finally announced.
The young couple smiled again at the news. "A boy," Jace repeated happily.
"Pardon me, m'dear," Clary's old nurse Dorothea said as she approached them after handing off the baby to Isabelle. "While Isabelle tends to your baby, we should get you cleaned up as well," she said with a kind smile on her face.
"That would be a great idea. I'll leave you to your privacy then," Magnus remarked from the foot of the bed. "If you need me, I'll just be down the hall. Madame Dorothea," he addressed the nurse, "I'll be brewing a special tea for Clary. Do make sure you serve it to her once she's changed and comfortable."
"Of course, Doctor."
To Clary, Magnus said, "Now, my dearest Biscuit, you may find the taste of this tea somewhat appalling, but it will be good for your recovery. I expect you to drink it to the very last drop."
Clary wrinkled her nose.
Beside her, Jace chuckled. "I'll see to it that she does. Thank you, Magnus."
Magnus smiled then turned to leave the room.
"Would you like to wait outside, Your Majesty? It might take a while," Dorothea said as she regarded the young king.
Jace looked at Clary, and for a moment, seemed to be debating something. "You should go see our baby first. I think Isabelle took him to his nursery to get him cleaned up."
Jace's eyes lit up at the mention of their baby, but it was conflicted by his hesitance to leave his wife. "But I think I should be with y-… A-Are you sure?"
"I'm in good hands, Jace," she said, nodding to the old nurse. "Madame Dorothea here has been looking after me since I was a little girl. Don't worry about me, I'll be fine."
He pressed a long kiss into her hair. "I love you. We'll see you soon," he whispered, then he, too, left the room.
By the time Clary was finally clean again and the stained bedsheets had been stripped and replaced with a fresh set of linens, she found herself anxiously sipping her bitter-tasting tea while Madame Dorothea went ahead to fetch Jace from their son's nursery. Although it had only been a few minutes, it felt like an eternity to Clary.
Absently, she touched her stomach and was momentarily assaulted by feelings of melancholy by the emptiness left there. For nine whole months, she had carried her son within her, had felt him grow and move, and respond to her voice and touch. The bond she had created with him was like no other; as intense and powerful as the love she shared with Jace, but completely different as well. Her baby was a part of her, and to have him suddenly removed, felt oddly chilling. Would she ever grow used to having her body to herself again?
Certainly, it was a strange thought to have for one as young as she was, but she couldn't help it. Yes, being pregnant had been no easy task; to endure the physical aches and pains as her body expanded to support a growing life, to give birth to said life, was something that no other human could understand unless they had gone through the experience themselves. But the presence of that other life had been a great comfort to her all the same. For the first time ever, Clary was never, tangibly speaking, alone. She had her tiny 'helper', this wonderful little miracle to share in her every emotion, to keep her grounded when her sorrows threatened to overtake her. Now, he wasn't there—and Clary could already feel herself missing him. Was this how she would always feel when she was separated from him, this uncomprehending ache of loss and detachment? Her son was barely an hour old, and already she was fearful of when he would grow old enough to be independent of her, when he would no longer need her.
Just as she set the cup down on her bedside table, disturbed by the sudden thoughts that had distracted her from the celebratory mood of the moment, she heard her husband's throat clear, and looked up to see him cradling a bundle of white blankets in his arms. Her breath caught in her throat as she realized who he was holding. Their son.
In an instant, the solemn fog was replaced by the light feelings of love, relief and excitement. Days where she would worry about their child growing up were still far away. He was still a baby, and she, his mother, would do everything she could to provide for him now, to ensure that he grew up good and virtuous, to be even better than she and Jace were.
"Look who's finally here to see you," Jace cooed in the most gentle voice she'd ever heard him use. He carefully made his over their bed, then with even greater care than she had ever seen him handle anything before, he transferred their baby into her waiting arms.
"Our little prince," Jace announced softly.
I love you, Clary thought to him, happy beyond words that he was her husband and the father to their child. Jace, in spite of his flaws, was a promise of happier days. A man who had always treasured the concept of family would no doubt be wonderful father, far surpassing her own. Their son was very lucky—and it made Clary very, very happy.
As she turned her gaze to the bundle, eyes meeting the tiny cherubic face for the first time, Clary found herself entranced by her precious little boy. With full lips, long golden eyelashes, and wisps of wavy blond hair that looped into tiny curls at his nape, he was almost identical to his father, though it was obvious to see that his button nose and pale ivory skin were all hers. Her heart instantly melted with love for her child, but even more so when he chose that exact moment to open his eyes, revealing a pair of emerald green orbs flecked with gold.
"Our most precious gift," she breathed out.
Jace, having settled into her side, wrapped his arm around Clary, forming a protective cradle around their little family. "He sure is," he agreed.
"Hello, my sweet boy. We're your mommy and daddy," she cooed. The newborn made a soft whimpering noise, which prompted Clary to shower his head with a splatter of soft kisses. "My beautiful baby. Yes, you are. Are you hungry, my sweetheart?"
Without waiting for a reply, Clary pulled down the sleeve of her nightgown, then carefully guided her baby's head towards her breast. It took a while for him to latch on, but when he finally did, she felt a wave of triumph at being able to feed her son. Was this how her own mother felt when she'd fed her and Jonathan? She couldn't help but wonder as she tenderly pressed her lips to her son's cheek. Instantly, she was rewarded by a feeling of indescribable warmth, her heart filling with so much love that she felt as if she could burst.
Her eyes met Jace's, and she smiled at him when he noticed his adoring gaze. "What are we going to name him, Jace?" She asked him after a while had passed.
Jace turned towards their son then before gently cupping the young boy's cheek. His thumb stroked his baby-soft skin, back and forth, back and forth, while he thought over his wife's question. Finally—
"Before you say anything, allow me to reiterate, husband mine, that we are not naming him Jace Junior or Jace II," Clary warned.
Jace met his wife's mocking glare with feigned disappointment. "But, oh, Clary…those were at the very top of my list!" He paused, then started to wriggle his eyebrows at her teasingly. "How about Little Jace? We could call him LJ for short."
"We are not naming our son after you," Clary replied without missing a beat. Though she was still glaring at him, her eyes conveyed nothing but amusement. "I have no inclination to inflate your ego anymore than it already has."
"In that case, why don't you name him?"
"Because he's our firstborn son. I think you should have the honor of naming him."
"That makes no sense at all."
"Jace…"
"Very well." Jace chuckled again before leaning down to plant a soft kiss on their son's head. When he pulled away, his callused fingers gently stroking the little boy's cheek, his face lit up with pride as he murmured, "Jonathan Christopher Herondale."
He turned his warm golden eyes to Clary, who was openly gaping at him, tears gathering in her eyes. "It's a strong name," he remarked softly. "A hero's name, don't you think?"
Her bottom lip quivered as she nodded happily. "It's perfect. JC," she said as she cradled the baby boy closer to her, snuggling back further into Jace's arms.
Jace willingly obliged as he pulled Clary's head to rest in the crook of his neck. He turned his head, planting another long, sweet kiss onto her temple. "JC… Sounds an awful lot like 'Jace', don't you think?" He smiled against Clary's hair as one of JC's chubby fists wrapped itself around his index finger. "So you see, dear Clarissa… I win, after all."
"You!" Clary nipped him playfully on his neck. "You better take that back, Jace Herondale."
"Never, ever, Clarissa Herondale," he retorted. Then, turning towards JC, the novelty that was their newborn son drawing his attention again, he remarked, "He's a hungry one, isn't he?"
"His father's appetite, no doubt," Clary quipped. "Speaking of which, you've put on weight, Jace. No surprises there, of course, what with the amount of honey cakes you've been eating lately. If it weren't for the fact that I was showing, people might've thought that you were the pregnant one instead of me."
Before Jace could think of a suitable comeback, JC finally unlatched from his mother and squawked his two cents. "See? Even our son agrees with me," Clary giggled as she moved the newborn over her shoulder and began patting his back to coax a burp out of him.
Jace rolled his eyes at her, though his lips helplessly twitched into an amused smirk. "Oh dear me, what is this plot that my own wife has created against me?" He couldn't resist adding to their light-hearted banter. "Don't listen to Mommy, Jace. She's just a short, little meanie. Pledge your loyalty to Daddy, and we'll eat all the yummy cakes we want from Taki's!"
"Not going to happen, Jace," Clary replied. "And his name is JC, not Jace."
Jace shrugged. "I'll change your mind on that someday, sweetheart. After all, I am the love of your life," he said as he rested his palm against her rosy cheek.
Clary immediately leaned into his touch with a soft smile on her face. "That you are," she agreed. "But that doesn't mean I'm giving in to your whims."
Jace smirked. "No harm in trying."
"Of course." In a softer voice, Clary told him, "I love you, Jace. So much."
"I love you too, Clary," Jace said as he pressed his mouth against hers in a tender, loving kiss. When they broke apart, he bent down and nuzzled his nose against JC's. The young boy looked up at his father, green eyes gleaming with innocent wonder and cooed. "You too, little one."
Within the next few minutes, with JC snuggled safely in between them, the young family succumbed to their exhaustion and fell asleep, blissfully content in each other's arms. For Jace and Clary, their journey as the star-crossed lovers, as gladiator and princess, were over, but their journey as king and queen, the hope of a rising new nation, and as partners and parents, had only begun. There would always be darker days to come, and new trials and tribulations to face, but for now, they chose to live for the present…and for the promise of redemption.
THE END
A/N: Yes, that's the official ending to Redemption, guys. How many of you loved Clace's baby and the fact that they named him after Jon?
Old readers, you would have most likely spotted quite a bit of changes made to this chapter. For one, I added a new scene in where Clary and Jace discussed the aftermath of her decision to partake in Valentine's execution. Now, the reason why I included that scene is because originally, we never got around to exploring how Clary felt about killing her father, which didn't sit well with me. Killing Valentine was a major, life-changing decision for Clary's character, so I felt that it was warranted to explore the emotional and psychological repercussions of that decision. No one kills without feeling 'something', unless that person is a psychopath. I also wanted to show that Clary, though riddled with typical human flaws, has some pretty great strengths where her principles are concerned. She is definitely something to admire because of her decision to forgive her father despite how horribly she was hurt by him in the past.
Also, I think there's nice twist from this scene. It started out with Jace trying to teach her a lesson about self-forgiveness, but ends with her teaching him about the strength in forgiving others. That's important I think, in reflecting how there's an equal amount of give and take in their relationship.
And also, as a writer, I didn't want to write a long, multi-chapter story that has no value whatsoever for readers to take away from. That said, to each his own. I respect each and every one of you and your respective thoughts and beliefs, and only hope for the same in kind. If at any point throughout this fic, I have offended anyone in any way, I'd like to take this time to apologize and hope that you will forgive me for my shortcomings.
This has been a wonderful journey. I'm happy to have returned and for the opportunity to rework on this fic, because truthfully, I feel that I have grown and learned so much now, as both a writer and as an individual, than when I first began over 4 years ago. For those you have been there with me since the very start, I thank you for your love, understanding and support. Hope all of you have enjoyed what I've put up. Pretty please, do review :)
Ahh, one more thing. Old readers, you may or may not recall this, but way back when, when I was on my old account, I told you guys that I was working on a sequel for Redemption and even posted a few snippets—back then, of course. So if anyone's wondering if that will still be pursued here, my honest answer is this. Although I still have the plot skeleton and old drafts of what I was working on, it's likely a 'no' or at most just a 'maybe'. I don't want to make promises I may not be able to keep, or start something I can't finish. Writing takes lots of time...and I never want to post anything that's shoddy or half-heartedly written...so we shall see.
BUT, for those who still want more Clace content from the Redemption-universe, then keep an eye out for the outtakes (deleted scenes).
Until next time,
Peace xoxo
P.S. This may sound strange, but any Russian readers out there? I need help with something that's written almost entirely in the Russian language, and I'm really kinda desperate. Google Translate doesn't really help. Pretty please, if you're Russian or if you understand the Russian language relatively well, then please PM me or leave me a review using your FF account (not as a guest review) so that I can follow up with you. I would be so very grateful! XX