Clary rubbed at her raw wrists as she moved through the Great Hall, keeping to the periphery of the large, open space, committed to keeping within the shadows, unnoticed. She was not to leave the hall until Jace came to collect her, like some sort of forgotten baggage or neglected animal. It was both extremely aggravating and humiliating. True, as a princess, her time was heavily laden with responsibilities and expectations, but she had always been free to move about freely within her own home.

But she wasn't home… not anymore.

She winced as her soothing fingers rubbed against a particularly sensitive spot along her wrist, her eyes peering down at the angry marks forming a red wring around her wrist.

Just another reminder of how her life had suddenly taken a different turn down a darker and scarier path than she ever thought it would.

She had to side step a rather obnoxious pair of men who stumbled in front of her in search of an empty table, shouting at each other harrowing tales of battle even though they had their long arms wrapped around each other's shoulders in comradery. She muttered something under her breath that went unnoticed under their yelling as they meandered towards a table to their right. She found herself almost smiling as they nearly fell over one another as they tried to sit without disconnecting from one another, but then she remembered that these were the very people who had invaded her world, her home, and had recklessly and mercilessly attacked the people of Northumbria.

She looked around the room, tables filled with men and women all smiling and laughing with one another, similarly wrapped in comfortable embraces like the two men and she suddenly became acutely aware that these people weren't so different from her or the people back home.

It was common practice for the men in her father's army to celebrate their victories with a tall chalice of ale each of them taking turns in reliving the memories of battle, each story becoming more embellished with the increasing amount of ale that was consumed by the storyteller.

She, herself, had often stole a way out of her bed in the middle of the night to sneak off to the kitchens where she would hide behind the doors and listen to the ruckus on the other side as her father and his most trusted men shared a large pitcher of wine and the best tales of battle. Clary supposed that it was important for anyone who had survived the battle to find some sort of release for the adrenaline and tension that would undoubtedly buildup during the battle. War was thick with loss and uncertainty and so it only felt right that soldiers should find their selves in each other on the night of victory.

However, in this instance, it wasn't her father bonding with his men over their time in battle. This time, she was watching as her enemy celebrated the near devastating loss in battle. It was surreal and possibly a little too much for handle at the moment.

The Great Hall was built like a huge rectangle, lines of tables running north to south until they stopped just before a large dais where the King and the Queen sat watching their people celebrate their victory. There must have been fifty people in the hall, and by the ruckus sounds she heard, a least a couple dozen more just outside the door. It would seem that the whole village was celebrating tonight.

Clary allowed her eyes to roam over the guests sitting at the tables, realizing that there were a decent number of females in attendance. It was strange to see women in such a way, being accepted and even wanted in the conversations of battle between the men. They laughed and told their own stories of battle, their arms thrashing in their air as though they were wielding invisible swords.

These women didn't wear tight fitting bodices that forced their breasts higher on their chest nor were their faces painted with colors that accentuated their features. No, these women wore battle gear, the leather belts around their waists lined with sharp looking objects and their hair pulled back from their face in rows of beautifully crafted braids.

These women were breathtaking.

Clary felt the tips of her fingertips flex, aching to feel the thin thread of her bow slip through her fingers. Without her bow, she felt defenseless and vulnerable. She found herself looking around the room, calculating how many of these battle-trained warriors she could take down before her own inevitable demise. But the thought was caught short by the small voice in the back of her mind reminding her that she wasn't a killer, not by a long shot.

The weight of her thoughts was crushing, her breaths coming out in slow heaves as she collected herself. She would do almost anything to secure her freedom, but never would she take the life of another- that wasn't who she was.

Needing to get out of this foreign headspace, Clary again began to walk around the large space hoping her clear her head when she came across a rather boisterous crowd around a table along her path.

She stopped to watch in slight amusement as they cheered and laughed, clinking their clay cups together before downing the liquid contents in one go. They slammed their cups down on the table as if they had rehearsed the whole thing before and began to get up from the table, their conversation having picked up as if uninterrupted. They spoke of a man named Odin and how their actions on the battlefield would gain his blessings. Clary wondered who this man was and if he was so important, why he wasn't in attendance here tonight.

Clary allowed her attention to stay with the men and women as they walked away from the table and noticed that they were headed towards the same entrance she had come through earlier that day. Her breath caught in her throat noting that this seemed to be the only way in or out of the large space and this might be her only opportunity to escape unnoticed.

Keeping to the shadows for concealment, Clary maneuvered on quiet steps until she was able to effortlessly blend in with the group of men and women around her heading for the massive, oak doors. The group was too drunk on the ale and too loud in speaking with one another to notice the female prisoner crashing their party as they made their way away from the main party.

Clary held her breath, fearing that even the sound of her breath would give her away and ignored the burning sensation in her lungs and the erratic pulse of her heart as she neared the doorway. This was it- just a few more steps...

The cool air of the night could be felt against her heated skin, the fear and anxiety within her setting her blood on fire. The coolness was welcome and she nearly choked out a sigh of relief when she moved to take her first step into freedom.

Fate was a cruel and bitter enemy as a strong hand clamped down onto her shoulder, roughly pulling her back into the large and looming cage of the Great Hall. Unable to stop the startled yelp from falling out of her mouth, Clary stumbled back and clasped a protective hand over her injured shoulders. Angry tears burned in the back of her eyes, but she held them back, swallowing against the pain that made her want to whimper and saunter off to lick her wounds. But she righted herself and looked into the face of the person who tore her back at the last possible moment before she was free.

Two men stood in front of her, blocking her way to freedom and stared down at her their height and girth adding to their menacing presence.

Clary swallowed down her need to cry out for them to let her pass and dug her feet into the ground beneath her, refusing to let herself cower back into the shadows. The first one, to her left, was huge compared to the second, his long hair half braided up, allowing his dark eyes to peer unobstructed at her. The appeared unmoving and endless, making her stomach churn as she looked back at him, defiantly. The other was thinner in stature, but no less imposing. His hair was red, not as bright as her's, but red nonetheless, and tied up into a knot on the top of his head. His eyes were blue and while they didn't seem as empty as his counterpart, they were still laser focused on her, primed to detect any movement that she might make. Clary briefly wondered if he would see the very thought of movement behind her eyes before she could even move a muscle.

"You are ordered to remain here until the Prince can escort you," the darker one said through his thick beard, his beetle-like eyes still focused on her.

Clary scoffed, folding her arms over her chest dramatically, "And what if I told you I don't like be ordered to do anything and rarely do as I'm told?"

"Then I would tell you that what happened next would only make your stay harder on yourself, girl," a familiar voice said to her right.

Clary's head spun to the side and immediately recognized the tall brute as Bjorn, the one who had brought her into this place earlier. She eyed him curiously and noticed that his eyes were slightly dilated and his breath smelled strongly of ale, but altogether, he still looked like his formidable self.

"Bjorn, perhaps you can be of help," Clary greeted with a fake smile, "I'm currently try to muscle my way past these fine gentlemen who are preventing me from completing my plan to escape."

Bjorn let out a small snort before finishing his ale and through the cup in his hand over his shoulder.

"Our orders are final," he said shortly, but with a look of understanding in his eyes, "You will remain here until the prince is ready to leave."

"Oh for the love of God," Clary muttered as she brought her hands down from her chest in defeat. She felt her aggravation curl her hands into fist and she gave the three overgrown tree trunks a scathing look before adding, "Just because I am willing to retreat, temporarily, doesn't mean that this in any way a defeat."

The dark man remained like stone, but the red-haired man lifted an eyebrow as Bjorn regarded her with slight amusement on his face as well.

"Ugh, fine!" she scowled, throwing her hands on her hips in frustration, "But just because I'm willing to retreat, temporarily, doesn't mean there won't be another attempt later."

When neither of the three gave her a response, Clary gave one final huff and turned on her heel. She marched towards an abandoned table and poured some light brown liquid from a large jug into one of the empty pints on the table. At the moment she didn't care whose it had been or what exactly she was drinking, she just needed to keep her hands busy for a second, any type of movement that would keep her from having a meltdown.

Plopping down on one of the abandoned benches, Clary took a large swig of the murky contents before she could think twice about what she was doing. She instantly regretted the action when she felt the bitter liquid hit her tongue, but forced the liquid down her throat, stifling a gag with her hand pressed against her mouth.

She set the cup back on the table and pushed it away, feeling her stomach churn as the unfamiliar liquid sloshed around inside of her. She tried to distract herself by listening to the table next to her which was a light with a catchy tune while the patrons beat their fists against the table to the timing of the song.

The men and women looked happy, their smiles and laughter with one another not unlike those she had seen among her father and his men not too long ago. It was strange to see these people act in such a way that was familiar to her and yet for them to be strangers, enemies, of her's as they were the ones who came to her home, uninvited, and raided mercilessly, perhaps killing hundreds of her own people.

These people did not fear death, no they rejoiced in it. They believed that there was honor in dying on the battlefield and that was something that Clary could not grasp and perhaps never would.

These people were a mystery to her, a scary, yet intriguing bunch. Clary didn't know if she had the need or even the want to figure them out, but she knew that if she ever wished to be free of these people, it might be wise to learn all she could about them. No telling what that information might be worth when she makes her escape.

Perhaps if she did escape, she could use the knowledge to prevent such an attack from these people again. If she had to be here, she would make use of her time, and when it was time to return to her people, she could protect them.

If she ever returned...

In her quiet observations, Clary's eyes found a head of curly, blonde hair. Jace, they called him, the one who had brought her here against her will, whose very voice would incite the very Devil on her tongue. There he was now, telling a grandiose story about his victory, no doubt about how he had stolen her away like some brute, rejoicing in his ability to ascertain such a prize.

It was humiliating…infuriating even.

He didn't seem to care about the consequences of his actions on her person, all he cared about was that it garnered that much more respect from his people.

He celebrated all night with pint after pint of the stale, sloshing liquid that ran down the sides of his mouth on occasion. She barely noticed the tiny droplets running down the long chords of muscle of his neck and she certainly didn't notice the way his eyes lit up when he spoke of battle.

She would never notice such things, especially not in an enemy and that is what he was. Her enemy. One that she would be stuck with for the foreseeable future.

Clary didn't know how long she had sat there, stiff on the wooden bunch, when Jace had finally stumbled her way, muttering something under his breath about getting this over with. She didn't know what he was talking about, but it wasn't like she was looking forward to being alone with him in any capacity. His eyes were glazed over and he smelled like the stale brown liquid that he had been drowning himself with earlier.

He demanded that they walk in silence and Clary quietly agreed, not wanting to sour either of their moods any further. Truth is, she didn't think she had what it took to go toe to toe with him at the moment. A verbal battle with him seemed rather draining at the moment and so she just nodded her head in agreement and allowed him to lead her out of the Great Hall. She looked around for the men who had stopped her from making her escape earlier, but they weren't there and she was allowed to walk out into the cool, crisp air without any harassment. She didn't know if they had already left the party or if they had seen that she was being escorted by the prince. The latter made her grind her teeth.

Not a word was said between the two of them, the only noise was the sound of their boots hitting the ground dirt beneath them save a few cheers and hollers at Jace as they walked by small huts filled with people still partying. Jace would wave back and offer his own cheers, but Clary could tell from the slump of his shoulders that he too was rather tired. Many of the people just ignored her, but a few of them offered her a glance, most of which read in distaste or slight interest, but she didn't pay them much attention. She just wanted away from it all. Being forced to witness the joy of the very battle that cost her so much was just a little too overwhelming for her at the moment.

As they put some distance between themselves and the Great Hall, the number of small huts began to dwindle and the amount of space between them began to grow. Clary surmised that they were leaving the epicenter of the village and heading towards the outskirts of its limits. She thought it strange that Jace would take her beyond the many eyes and ears that could watch and listen for her escape. Perhaps he thought he was enough to hold her prisoner, but what Jace didn't realize was that while she obeyed his command to be quiet and somewhat cooperative at the moment, the silence allowed her to focus on other things- such as the layout of her surroundings and possible escape routes complete with places to hide all of which were being catalogued in her head at this moment.

Up ahead of where they were walking, she could see a line of trees, the depths a dark abyss that looked almost menacing as even the moon's light didn't offer a slight peak amongst the trees. She wondered what lied beyond the trees and if she could find refuge among them if the opportunity arose.

It wasn't long there after that Clary found herself staring down a smaller dirt plath. This particular one branched off of the main road they had been traveling on and disappeared on the other side of a well-crafted, wooden fence.

Clary let her eyes travel further up the dirt path and realized it wasn't a path at all, but a walkway that ended at the front door of a rather modest dwelling. Even in the dark it was a bit foreboding, standing at least two stories high, but with the moon's white light it looked almost welcoming.

Jace cleared his breath, which pulled Clary out of her thoughts. She turned to him and he gestured for her to walk down the path towards this small hut. Once they were past the opening of the fence, Clary could see that on each side of the path, the ground was covered with some sort of vegetation, but the low light prevented her from finding what it was. She briefly wondered if whoever lived her farmed their own land and for what purposes.

Closer to the door, there was a pile of wood on either side, each piece like a mirror of the other, not a splinter out of place. Whoever had cut the wood had a steady hand and a knack for keeping things orderly. She was almost curious to see who lived here as maybe that wouldn't be so bad a company as who she had met so far. Honestly, she could use a friend right about now.

Without knocking, Jace opened the door and let himself in. Clary was a bit startled at his lack of decorum, but figured that he and the person that lived here were closer than she might have originally assumed and that maybe this was normal behavior between the two of them.

Hopefully, not too normal, she thought. She briefly wondered if Jace had brought her to another woman's house, keen on making a night of it while she huddled in a corner elsewhere. If that's how he thought this night was going to go, he had another thing coming.

"Unless you plan on sleeping outside, princess," Jace uttered as he walked further in to the home, "I suggest you step inside and make sure to close the door behind you."

Clary thought for a brief second about his words, wondering if sleeping outside was better than listening to God knows what would go on in this place if Jace had a secret rendezvous she didn't know about, but Clary would be kidding herself if she didn't admit that staying the night outside didn't slightly terrify her. Even back home she had never slept outside, alone and in the dark. She had always returned to the safety and the warmth of her bed.

And so, with her mind made up, she straightened her shoulders and took the first step in crossing the threshold of the house. She closed the door like he had asked and immediately regretted the decision. The small space was instantly doused of any light, save the few streams of moonlight though the curtains, but otherwise, she couldn't see anything around her.

Her heart began to quicken as she back herself against the door, the innate reflex to not allow anything behind her buried deep within her mind. Her other senses grew exponentially in compensation for the loss of her sight. She heard someone moving, hopefully just Jace. She concentrated on the steps, hoping to pick up where they were and ready if they came too closely to where she stood.

She heard Jace mutter to himself as her moved around the hut, clearly familiar enough with his surroundings to know where to step. She felt her heart slow a pace when she realized it was just them as anyone else would have made themselves known had they been present.

There were sparks of light as she heard the rustling and cracking of hard things being smacked together. Before she could ask out loud what he was doing, Clary shielded her eyes as a tiny fire was lit in the center of the room, illuminating Jace's crouched position next to the pit dug into the floor.

"I may be seeing two of you at the moment, Princess, but I can still make a fire," Jace grinned as he looked back at the fire, "We may still survive the night."

Clary crossed her arms and cocked an eyebrow, "I suppose you'll be wanting a thank you then?"

"From you? Hardly," he laughed, "I know you'd sooner gauge my eyes out with your own hands than thank me."

"I'm glad we are on the same page then," she said.

A silence followed, which allowed Clary to look at her surroundings now that the fire had grown enough to reach the walls. There was so much to look at, it was almost overwhelming. There were weapons of all sorts on the walls, shelves covered with pots and dishes, jars full of mysterious things and interspersed, Clary noticed an odd arrangement of small, wooden figured that looked like they had been carved with great care.

"It isn't much," Jace said on a sigh, making Clary turn her head to look back at him, "But it's home."

"You live here?" Clary asked, astonished, looking around the home once more. It was certainly cleaner and more organized than she thought him capable of observing his impulsiveness and general lack of manners and so this house couldn't possibly be his.

"Of course," Jace said, a little astounded himself that she was confused as to whose house they were in, "I don't make it a practice to just let myself into other people's homes." Clary watched as a smirk began to cross his face. "Of course there was this one time…"

"Stop," Clary interrupted, holding her hand up, "If this is going to be another tale of victory or devious conduct, I assure you I have heard plenty enough tonight."

"Perhaps another day then," Jace responded, smiling like a fool, "It's not like we won't have plenty of time together."

Clary scoffed, "I hardly believe we will become so well acquainted that we would willingly share stories instead of remaining out of each other's way."

Jace looked at her for a moment before responding.

"Consider yourself lucky, Clary," he grinned, using her name for perhaps the first time that evening, "Many women would bend over backwards to be in your position. Of course I prefer that they bend over…"

"Don't you finish that sentence, you pig," Clary spat as she watched Jace howl in laughter, his drunkenness making him unsteady on his feet as he swayed from foot to foot.

Clary through her hands on her hips, "You're such a guy!"

Jace took a couple of steps towards her as he chuckled, "I've been told that is one of my best qualities."

Clary felt herself pressing her back against the door once more as he advanced on her slowly.

"You're so full of yourself," she spat as she tried to hid the flicker of fear that began to burn as he drew nearer.

"On the contrary, the ladies tell me I am quite charming and one hell of a lover," Jace grinned, towering over her as she had to raise her head to look at him. His right hand resting on the plank of wood just on the other side of her face. She could feel his breath wash over her face and it smelled of the ale from earlier.

"Don't forget arrogant, rude, and a general lack of personal space," Clary added, not noticing that her hand shot out to stop his advance before he crushed her to the door. She knew that the alcohol was affecting his thinking and general awareness of space, and truth be told, she didn't know whether she loved or hated him being so close.

Jace peered down amusingly at the small hand that pressed into his abdomen, the small, delicate appearance just a mirage for how much strength lies beneath. It was an odd dichotomy it presented in the woman that stood only a breath away. He could feel his body wanting to press into her's, but he swallowed that ridiculous notion down.

He needed her to push him away, to do something that would force him to take a couple of steps back because apparently, he was incapable of doing it himself. Damn that fine tasting ale. Damn it all.

He just needed to goad her a little farther. In truth, he was interested to know how far he could push her. He wanted to see that passion in her eyes, see the way, up close, the way her eyes would alight like emeralds on fire.

Jace pulled his lips into what he knew was a crooked, devilish smile, "You forgot devilishly handsome," he teased leaning into her palm that stood held firm on his chest.

"Ugh," Clary scoffed, "You're impossible."

"Impossibly charming? Ya, I know," Jace added nonchalantly. He just couldn't help himself.

Seeing red, Clary's hand left his chest with purpose and didn't think twice before she punch him square in the shoulder.

A moment of silence passed between them where they just stared at one another. Jace with a look of amusement and a barely contained smile threatening to stretch his face and Clary holding on to the last fleeting feelings of her anger, trying to remain stoic when all she wanted to do was disappear while holding her throbbing hand. Seriously, what was this guy made of? Stone?

Jace couldn't hold it in any longer. His grin took hold of his face and he started to laugh, his eyes squinting in laughter, not caring that it was inciting even more hostility towards the young woman seething with rage.

"Why," Clary bit out, "Are you laughing?"

"Because you hit like a girl," he goaded, tipping his head back as his laughter continued, "Truly, you couldn't knock a fly off its course."

Clary looked away, her mind swirling with embarrassment and couldn't make herself look up into his laughing eyes. She knew how much advantage he had over her in any capacity, but it still hurt to be laughed at.

"Straighten your wrist," Jace said from above her, making her eyes swing up to meet his. Her brow creased in confusion as she continued to look up at him. She felt his strong hand close around her wrist and brought it back as if she were going to hit him again.

"When you're throwing a punch," he stated again, "Keep your wrist straight. It will not only protect your hand from injury, but it will also make it a more effective punch."

Clary held her hand in it's position even after he let go. He seemed to notice, finally, that they were standing really close together and he took a step back.

"Now," he said, his eyes looking at her with a bit of mischiefness, "Hit me again."

Clary only gave him a second's hesitation before she did what he asked, delighting in the way he grunted as her fist connected with his shoulder. He hand stung from the violent punch, but admittedly, not as much as the first time and she felt some of the tension and anger from earlier leave her body.

"Again," he said, "And this time, twist into the punch with your like so." He mirrored what he wanted her to do and she watched as his hips swung towards her on the same side that he delivered a fake punch to her own shoulder. Without missing a beat, his large hands grasped her small hips and showed her how to move her hips.

Clary could have sworn she let out a gasp, but neither one of them seemed to care to point that out. Clary allowed him to show her a couple of times, not taking her eyes away from his. It wasn't until he abruptly stopped and stepped away from her that she let out a breath she didn't know she had been holding.

"Now you try," he offered, widening his stance and tensing his shoulders, ready to receive her worst.

She felt a little silly, but the prospect of not doing it at this moment felt as if she would be missing out on something and she didn't want to ruin the moment.

She took her swing, doing her best to mimic his motions and nearly let out a laugh when he stumbled backwards, dramatically as he caressed his injured arm. She allowed a smile to form on her lips and dipped her head down to hid the bloom of heat spreading across her cheeks. How was it that this man could bring out so many emotions in her in just a short amount of time?

The heavy silence that had developed once more was too much, so Clary decided to do what it was that she normally did in awkward situations. Humor was always the answer in these situations.

"Do I still hit like a girl?" she asked, allowing her eyebrow to raise enough to let Jace know that there was a warning behind her look.

But Jace didn't have that silly look about him anymore, instead he was looking at her like he hadn't before. As if he was trying to see something that he could just barely make out but not know what it was he was looking at. At his intense stare, Clary moved subconsciously from one foot to another. She was about to ask the question again, but Jace finally responded.

"No," he said, with a slight twitch at the corners of his mouth, "You hit like a shield maiden."

Shieldmaiden. Clary had never heard that word before and was curious to know its meaning. Hopefully it was a compliment. Clary was about to ask Jace what a shieldmaiden was, but it would seem that he had moved on.

"Foreplay aside, princess," Jace said as he moved away from her, Clary briefly thankful from the reprieve of his staring, "But I think its time we get to bed. I am going to have one nasty hangover in the morning."

Clary balked, ignoring the innuendo of foreplay, "I'm not sleeping with you."

"Of course not," Jace said too quickly for Clary's liking. Did he find her that disgusting that he wouldn't share a bed with her? Did she want him to want to share a bed with her? Ugh, she needed to sleep. Alone.

"You'll take the bed and I'll sleep on the floor," he offered, pulling one of the blankets off of the bed. It was a modest bed and Clary was secretly thankful that he wasn't going to make her sleep on the cold hard floor.

"That awfully generous of you," she murmured as she made her way to the bed.

"Of course," Jace responded, "What sort of captor slash babysitter would I be if I allowed my ward to sleep like some common prisoner?"

Clary rolled her eyes and got beneath the covers of the bed, not daring to remove a single item of clothing in present company. It's not that she thought Jace would try to take advantage of her, if he was the type, she would have thought he would have tried by now, but the very thought of making herself any more vulnerable to him was out of the question. Besides, when she made her escape later, and she would, she could not waste valuable time dressing herself. No, she just needed enough time to make her way soundlessly out of the door and abscond into the night.

"Still, thank you," Clary said, missing the way Jace's eyebrows rose at her thanks. But then he quickly masked his face with indifference and a slight smirk.

"Don't tell anyone," Jace mused as he laid his blanket along the floor boards to make his own bed, "I have a reputation to protect."

Clary rolled her eyes once more and turned her back to Jace, needing a moment for herself. She watched the wall in front of her as the light began to bleed from the wooden planks as Jace tampered with the fire, bringing the small hut into a warm haze of light yet allowing the heat to still warm them against the cold night.

Clary closed her eyes, but every time she allowed her mind to drift, she kept feeling the ghostly prints of large hands against her hips and she would startle herself awake. She knew that she couldn't allow herself to fall too far into her own dreams, but it would seem that no amount of sleep would keep the odd feelings and sensations away.

Her body was tired, she could feel it in the way her shoulders ached and how heavy her limbs felt as she nestled further into the feather mattress. She would need every ounce of rest she could get before she made her move tonight- her life depended on it.

Perhaps her and Jace had put aside their differences for a brief moment, something that she was still confused about, but she wouldn't let it cloud her judgment or her need to get away from this place. Her first priority was getting out of here, finding Simon and somehow freeing her people from their captors.

The night was coming to a close, but her job had only just begun.