Author's Note: Welcome new readers! Please enjoy this story, and please review as well. Please? I'm doing my best to write something worthy of your time, can you at least let me know if it's worthy? Thank you. Please enjoy!

Chapter 5: Purpose

At sunrise the next morning, Stephen dressed in his white mourning clothes and walked to the necropolis outside the city, where he met with a chaplain who would perform the funeral. Stephen had attended many funerals before, both in the necropolis and down in the Silent City. Death was no stranger Shadowhunters. Even premature births such as this weren't a secret. The midwife said there was no way to explain why it happened, just sometimes, it did.

The day before was a blur after Stephen came back from the Herondale manor. Someone showed up with food Stephen refused to eat. Amatis didn't have the energy to get out of bed, so Stephen cleaned around her and spent half the time laying in bed with her, crying. Luke was there, always, though he stayed downstairs and was there for anything Stephen and Amatis needed.

Now, the baby lay in a blanket on a stone alter that was meant for someone much bigger than a newborn baby. He was still wrapped in a blue blanket, which one of the first baby things Amatis ever brought. Amatis was far too sick to come to the funeral, so Stephen was left to face the affair on his own. He didn't expect his parents to show up and didn't want them to.

"Shall we begin?" The chaplain asked.

"Please," Stephen replied. The chaplain opened a book and cleared his throat just as a tall man walked into the graveyard, late as usual. "Wait." He stepped away from the altar and met Luke halfway across the graveyard. Luke was dressed in his white mourning clothes as well and carried a bouquet of white roses. His skin was marked with red runes for mourning. Stephen's eyes filled with hot, painful tears, because the baby was hardly a person at all, just a baby born far too soon, but Luke was treating its death with utmost importance. "I don't deserve you," Stephen said. Luke wrapped his arms around Stephen, pulling him close for a hug.

"You deserve me," Luke said. "How are you? How's Amatis?" Stephen shook his head. "It will get better, eventually." Stephen rolled his eyes. Heartbreak such as this didn't go away overnight.

Luke put an arm around Stephen's shoulders and walked with him back to the altar. He laid a rose beside the baby, then placed the rest of the bouquet on the steps of the mausoleum. For a moment, Luke lay a hand on the blanket and bowed his head, then looked back up.

The chaplain cleared his throat and looked up at the sky. The sky started overcast and foggy, but the sun burned off the wet chill to the air as summer gave them one more warm day.

"Are you ready?" Luke asked. Stephen looked down at the tiny blue bundle and shook his head. He felt the way he had when Amatis told him she was pregnant, that she was carrying his child. The thought was foreign at first. Stephen planned for the baby to live. This was not in his plans.

"No, no, I'm not ready," Stephen said. "Tell me this isn't happening."

"It is," Luke said.

"I can't. Just… do it. I'll be over here," Stephen said. He pulled away from Luke and started for the front gates of the cemetery, stopping short when he saw a black carriage stop in front of the gates. A man dressed in white climbed out, followed by a woman in a long white dress. They walked into the cemetery, hand in hand, looking regal, somehow. Stephen looked at his father, who would not meet his eyes, then at his mother. "You didn't have to come. You shouldn't be here."

"How could we not attend our grandson's funeral?" Imogen asked. "Come, Stephen." She put a hand out and Stephen took it. They walked back over to Luke and the chaplain. The chaplain cleared his throat and opened a book.

"We are gathered here today to lay to rest baby boy Herondale…"

"Isaiah," Stephen said. "It means, "God is my salvation." The chaplain nodded and Imogen made a quiet gasp.

"We are gathered here today to lay to rest Isaiah, who left this earth far too soon," the chaplain said. "When things such as this happen, we must ask ourselves, why? But asking why is to question the will of the Angel, and that we must not do. We must have faith that Raziel has a plan for each and every one of us, from the smallest baby to the oldest adult. Each of us has a purpose."

The funeral proceeded from there. Before Stephen knew it, he was sobbing painfully on his knees as the bundle burned. When it was all said and done, the chaplain scooped the ashes into an impossibly small urn and gave them to another man, who carried them into the Herondale mausoleum with the family following. There, more prayers were offered before the urn was sealed into a recess in the wall. Then, it was over.

Stephen sat down on the bench facing Isaiah's niche. He pulled his knees to his chest and stared at the blank piece of marble that would mark his son's resting place. Sometime soon, the marble would be engraved with the baby's name. It wouldn't say "aged 78 years" the way William Francis Herondale Junior's did, or "aged 34 years" the way Calvin James Herondale's plaque said, because Isaiah Phineas Herondale didn't get to live even a day. Isaiah's plaque would only read the day of his birth and death.

"Stephen?" Imogen asked. She touched Stephen on the arm. He pulled away, quickly, partially because he was startled and partially because he didn't want his mother's touch. "How about we have some breakfast?" Stephen shook his head.

"Coffee?" Luke asked.

"I want to be alone," Stephen said. Imogen gave Marcus a look. Marcus was hovering near the back of the mausoleum, over near the resting place of his father, Jonathan. They were all in there, Stephen realized. Imogen, and Marcus, and Stephen, and even Luke, though he wasn't a Herondale, as well as all of the dead relatives slid conveniently into slots into the wall, all labeled with words and fake flowers and runes. There were entirely too many Herondales in one place, sooner or later the dead would come back to life to fight with the living. The thought made Stephen want to laugh. He cried instead.

"We'll be in town at that café you like," Luke said.

"The one Amatis and I went on our first date to?" Stephen asked.

"That one," Luke said. He touched Stephen on the shoulder, squeezing it as an afterthought, then followed Imogen out. Stephen's stomach ached with hunger, but he could not move from the mausoleum. He wondered what he might do when left completely alone, and was curious to find out.

"We'll catch up," Marcus said. Stephen looked over at his father, who now blocked the only exit from the tomb. The last place Stephen wanted to be was sitting in a cramped mausoleum with his father. Imogen nodded and walked off with Luke. Marcus cleared his throat and sat on the bench beside Stephen.

"You must think I'm weak, crying like this over a child," Stephen said. "There must have been something wrong with my son. Perhaps, I'm to blame."

"You aren't to blame," Marcus said. He rested a hand on Stephen's knee. "These things happen."

"They just happen?" Stephen asked. "There's no karma to it? No rhyme or reason? It just happens?"

"Yes. It just happens," Marcus replied. Stephen nodded, not entirely believing his father. There had to be a reason for this. Amatis was healthy. The baby was healthy. Now… "Your mother and I lost a child, between you and Abigail. Sometimes there's nothing to be done but to try again. So try again."

"We can't," Stephen said. "Isaiah is the only child I'll ever see. So I'll blame myself all I want."

They went to the café, where Stephen ate in silence. Luke left midway through the meal to take food to Amatis, leaving Stephen with his parents. Marcus and Imogen headed for home right after the meal, claiming that they would come back after a few days to visit with Amatis and Stephen. When they were finally gone, Stephen returned to the mausoleum and found the front step nearly covered with flowers. He walked inside to see a candle burning beside the baby's niche. Stephen fell onto the bench and looked up at it.

"We sent flowers," A voice said. Stephen looked up to see Valentine standing at the door to the mausoleum. "Luke told me what happened. I'm sorry to hear."

"Sometimes these things happen," Stephen said, monotone. "It's wrong of us to ask why, to question the will of Raziel." Valentine walked in and sat beside Stephen.

"There's a reason for everything," Valentine said. He slipped his hand into Stephen's, twining their fingers together. Stephen might have pulled his hand away, if not for the fact that now, he was craving comforting touch on an almost primal level. "Luke told me what happened, how the baby came so fast, Amatis's body couldn't handle it. Perhaps, Amatis just isn't strong enough to bear your children."

That ugly thought had entered Stephen's mind over breakfast, but he pushed it away. Nephilim babies were born every day. There was nothing extraordinary about his son, not this early on, anyway. Strong Shadowhunters were trained into greatness, not born already remarkable.

"That's not true," Stephen said. "Amatis is stronger than me."

"Of course she is," Valentine said.

"No, she is. She's the one who gave birth. I was just the one that sat by and cried inconsolably. I'm the one sitting in a mausoleum wiping my nose with my mother's handkerchief, because I don't know how I can go home, and how I can face my wife," Stephen said.

"This can either break you, or make you stronger, that's up to you," Valentine said. "If you want this experience to make you stronger, you've got to let it. I know it hurts right now. I know you're asking yourself, why did this happen? There's a purpose for everything."

They were silent for a little while. Stephen was exhausted. He wanted to leave, wanted to go home and crawl into bed with Amatis, and spend the day mourning their loss. He wanted to get on his horse and ride far from here, and perhaps, never come back. He wanted his grief to rise up like a wave and drown him.

"How about a drink?" Valentine asked. Stephen had his head on Valentine's shoulder as they watched the candle flicker and cast light onto the marble walls around them.

"I shouldn't drink," Stephen said.

"You can't begrudge yourself one. You lost a child yesterday. You need to grieve," Valentine said. "Come along, Stephen."

"I guess one wouldn't hurt," Stephen said.

He stood up and walked with Valentine into town, where they stopped at the first pub, and each ordered drinks. Stephen finished his drink quickly, so Valentine slid his drink over to Stephen and ordered another one.

"So are you going to try again?" Valentine asked. Stephen had his elbows on the bar. Two drinks weren't enough to get him drunk, though he hadn't eaten much. Valentine ordered food to pick at, but Stephen wasn't hungry.

"Try again?" Stephen asked. "We can't try again! She can't have anymore. Isaiah was it. Our only child. My only son." Stephen lifted his drink and had a sip, shocked to see that it was full of sweet liquid.

"Maybe there was something wrong with him," Valentine said. "Maybe Amatis rejected him because the baby was sick."

"I don't want to talk about this," Stephen mumbled. He looked down at the floor to see it spin. "My father lost a child the same way."

"A boy?" Valentine asked. Stephen shrugged. "I bet it was a boy. That's why your father treats you the way he does. You're his prized possession."

"I'm his embarrassment," Stephen mumbled. "All my sisters went off to be successful. But I don't want that life. I don't want his life. This is what I want. Is that so wrong to want… this?"

"You want a bar fly existence?" Valentine asked. His mouth curved up into the smile he always wore, whenever his own thoughts amused him.

"I want… a life I don't have to answer for. A life I can enjoy," Stephen said. "I want a life of purpose."

"Is that why you joined the Circle?" Valentine asked.

"I want to make a difference," Stephen said. "You're the only person who wants to change things. Be the change you wish to see, right? That's what Ghandi said. You want to see change, and so do I."

"I wouldn't use a great man's words to explain my methods," Valentine said with a laugh. "Ghandi taught peace and nonviolence, but peace doesn't get us anywhere sometimes. Was Rome conquered with peace? Were the Huns defeated with peace? No. I want to change the world, yes, but I want to change it on my own terms. My methods are not peaceful, but they will be effective."

"You have a plan to change things, which is more than anyone else has," Stephen said.

"I'll drink to that," Valentine said with a wink.

Hours later, Stephen and Valentine moved to a booth at the back of the pub. Stephen sat beside Valentine as they talked about the most random things. They had bypassed what was appropriate long before, and through Stephen's alcohol addled mind, he saw all that Jocelyn saw in Valentine. He was so strong, and charismatic. Stephen couldn't help but wonder what it might be like to be with Valentine, and to feel so protected. He understood why Hodge looked at Valentine the way he did, like Valentine was his whole world. Stephen felt all sorts of things for Valentine, but he could not deny he was slowly falling in love with him, not in a romantic way, but in the desire to follow Valentine to the ends of the earth.

"Stephen, what the fuck are you doing?" A voice said. Stephen turned to find Luke standing beside their booth. He was dressed in black hunting gear, rather than white mourning clothes. Some time must have passed, though Stephen was unsure of how much. "I've been looking all over for you. Amatis is worried sick."

"No, darling, you're worried sick," Stephen said. "Come sit with us. Come sit. Come." Stephen giggled. Luke turned his eyes to Valentine.

"What did you do to him?" Luke demanded.

"We had some drinks. Some conversation," Valentine said.

"Jealous?" Stephen asked. Luke shook his head and rolled his eyes. He crossed his arms across his chest. "Oh, so jealous!"

"Stephen, you're fucked up and I'm taking you home," Luke said.

"So is Valentine," Stephen said. He laid his head on Valentine's shoulder. "Valentine and me, we're both fucked up. Come have a drink, Lucian. We want you to drink with us." Valentine tensed beside Stephen.

"He's sober," Luke said. Stephen sat up and looked at the many empty cups littering the table before him. Valentine had no empty cups in front of him, in fact, there was only a half full glass of water next to his hand. "What the hell is going on?"

"You and I have patrol tonight. I can't drink. I just brought Stephen here. We got to talking," Valentine said. "He only had a few, Luke."

"Only a few?" Luke asked. "This looks like more than a few. He's trashed, and he's underage."

"You can't begrudge the boy a drink on this of all days," Valentine said. Luke stared at Valentine with a look Stephen never saw before. Luke's eyes narrowed as his right fist clenched. "Temper, Lucian." Luke reached down, grabbed Stephen by the arm and jerked him out of the booth. Stephen fell against him.

"This is a family matter," Luke snapped. "You had no right doing this to him! His wife is home, sick, and you made her worry about where her husband has been. What Stephen needs is his family now, not you filling his body with drinks and his head with your mindless brainwashing. He lost a son yesterday, Valentine. You have no idea what he wants!"

It had been so easy to forget everything while drinking. This was why Stephen didn't drink, because he forgot his troubles only to find them hiding in the last place he thought to look.

"Get him home and meet me at midnight in Angel Square," Valentine said easily, "Those werewolves aren't going to kill themselves."

Luke cursed loudly. Stephens's stomach flipped as his head spun. He pushed Luke away and staggered out the back entrance of the pub, into an alley between buildings. He slammed into a wall and started retching, one hand clinging to the wall to keep him up right as he vomited everything he ate and drank. He felt one of Luke's hands on his waist. The other hand was tangled in his hair, holding it back. Never before had he drank this much. Never before had he ever felt so sick and heartbroken.

When that was over, Stephen fell onto the ground and cried until Luke drug him home. Amatis was awake when Luke carried Stephen through the front door, though Stephen didn't greet her. He only crawled up the steps, pitifully, and fell face down onto the bathroom floor beside the toilet. The last person he saw was Luke leaning over him, saying something, perhaps, goodbye.

"Stay safe," Stephen whispered, and passed out cold.

The next thing Stephen heard was Amatis screaming the way she had as she gave birth to their son. Her cry was agonized; so much so, Stephen leapt to his feet and staggered down the steps. Amatis was standing at the front door, one hand covering her mouth as she sobbed, hysterical. This was the moment all Nephilim wives dreaded, but Stephen was alive. No one would have to tell Amatis of his death, because Stephen was still alive. Outside, the sun was just coming up, framing the silhouette of a large man dressed in black battle dress.

"I'm so sorry," Valentine said. "He just…"

Stephen screamed at the same time he pulled his fist back and slammed it into the center of Valentine's face. Valentine staggered backwards down the front steps of the canal house and Stephen followed. Amatis was half fainted against the front door, crying wretchedly. Stephen pulled Valentine down into the street.

"What did you do to him?" Stephen cried.

"I didn't do anything!" Valentine exclaimed. His nose was bleeding hard, covering the half dried blood on his shirt with new, fresh blood. "It was a werewolf, Stephen. Luke and I went to talk to a few of them, is all. It got out of hand. I got away, but Luke was bitten, badly… he's…."

"What did you DO?" Stephen screamed. "This is your fault, Valentine. You're to blame."

"I didn't do anything to him!" Valentine yelled. "It was an accident. A stupid, senseless, accident. I swear, Stephen, by the Angel, I didn't do anything to him!"

"You fucking liar!" Stephen cried. "You got me drunk. You got me out of the way! You… What did you do to him!" Valentine grabbed Stephen's hands as he fell onto the ground before Stephen. He was sobbing as though his heart had broken.

"Look," Valentine said. "Look, Stephen." He pulled back the cuff of his shirt to show that the parabatai rune that bound him to Luke was now faded to a scar and rendered inactive. "I lost him, Stephen. I lost Luke."

Author's Note: Thanks for reading! Please review!

A note on the teaser: I had a hard time picking out this teaser because a few things happen in the next chapter and pretty much every line would explain what's happening. So this is all I can give you, for now:

"You joined the Circle because you wanted to be a part of something, right? This is something. You and I- we could go down in history together. Years from now, people could remember us for this. I can't do it alone, Stephen. I need your help. Help me lead the Circle to glory."