Chapter Eight

A/N: Thank you very much to for reviewing the last chapter.

Jocelyn sat on the window seat of her bedroom, looking out onto the lawn below, where Jonathan was training with his father. It was the sort of scene she had imagined all those years ago, when she had stroked her hands idly over her bump and dreamed of the child it would grow to be. But this scene held none of the affection she had imagined. Valentine seemed more like a military general than a father.

"Get up!" the man barked, as Jonathan knelt and clutched his ribs, his teeth gritted in pain. It was an easily recognisable sight for his mother- she had suffered cracked bones a thousand times over during her time as a Shadowhunter- and one that made her wince as he picked up his blade and took his battle stance once more.

Their next bout was much quicker, Jonathan crying out in pain with each pitiful swing he managed. He was brought to the ground within a couple of minutes, Valentine's face red and irate. Jocelyn could not stand to watch any longer.

By the time she reached the lawn, Valentine's sword was raised above Jonathan, who still had not stood. Jocelyn lunged forward instinctively, tackling the man and disarming him in a matter of moments. It was an easier task than she thought- surprise had been on her side- and the redhead knelt down beside her son.

"Valentine, what are you thinking?" she asked, gritting her teeth to remain calm. "He's injured, he can't train like this! He needs rest."

"And how is he going to become this great warrior if he bursts into tears at every cut and graze?" The man's voice was bitter as he towered over his son, who was dry-eyed as he struggled to breathe through the agony he was enduring. "Do you think the greatest of Shadowhunters were so weak? Were we so weak?"

"Even the greatest of Shadowhunters were half human." Jocelyn bit back, gently laying her hand on her son's arm, trying to discourage him from standing and continuing his fight. "You could do with remembering that once in a while. Jonathan will not train another minute today; when he's well enough for combat, I'll train with him myself."

Valentine did not argue, retreating to the house with a heavy step and a glint of rage in his eye. Once the two were left alone, they were silent, neither knowing how to speak after such an event.

"You didn't have to do that." Jonathan eventually broke the silence. There was no emotion in his voice, no hint of his true meaning. "I could've carried on fighting."

"You can barely stand." Jocelyn replied. She gestured to the dark vest clinging a little too tightly to his torso. "Can I have a look at that?"

Jonathan nodded his head reluctantly, peeling the shirt over his head. The first thing she saw was blood, a damp red stain across his skin. His crippling injury was clearly the latest in a long line. Once she cleaned away the blood with a handkerchief, she had hoped to see pale skin. Instead she saw a mottled pattern of bruises, some red, some purple, some brown. The largest was just above his abdomen, a deep maroon with a sickeningly raised bump in the centre.

"One of your ribs is broken." Jocelyn assessed, applying the slightest of pressure to the area. Jonathan winced in pain, his hands flying up to cover hers. Immediately, she stopped her pressure, but did not draw her hands away. "I'm not going to hurt you, Jonathan. I just want to help."

"I don't need help." Jonathan answered. "I'm fine. I just need some rest for a couple of hours."

His mother knew that the injury would take far longer than a couple of hours to heal, but she made no comment, recognising a battle she could not win.

"Would you at least let me put an iratze on it?" Jocelyn asked, hoping the gesture would be small enough for her son to accept it. An injury like a broken rib would typically need more than the basic healing rune- a mendelin rune or even a warlock's intervention- but Jonathan would not accept such measures. At least this way she might be able to help.

The boy ran his hand through his dark hair, cropped short so as not to get in the way of his training. He looked as if the lives of a million people rested in his hands. Eventually, he nodded.

Jocelyn drew the rune quickly and efficiently, years of battle training flooding to her fingertips as if the skills had never left her. It did not do much good- as she had known it would not- but it offered enough relief for the boy to unclench his jaw.

Jonathan looked up at her, unsure how to respond to her kindness. It was worrying for his mother, that he thought a basic healing rune to be kindness, when it was nothing more than common decency. Something told her he had not received even that from Valentine often.

Eventually, it was Jocelyn who broke the silence, unable to stand it any longer. She stood from where she had crouched beside her son, brushing the dirt off her hands. "If you change your mind and decide you do need some help with that, I won't be far. Just come and find me if you want to. It's not like I've got anywhere to be."

She had expected Jonathan to act as if she had offered him a flight to the moon. It was the same expression he had worn each time she tried to reach out to him, like he was frightened of becoming too reliant on her affection, and it broke her heart every time.

But if there was one thing she had learned about Jonathan, it was to expect the unexpected. As she walked away, something pulled at her heart, telling her to turn.

Then she heard it.

The sound was musical, like a symphony, however brief it was. For most parents, they experienced it for the first time when their baby was only young, just another in the string of first moments that surged through the early days of a child's life. She remembered this moment with an infant Clary, and even that was nothing compared to the joy that surged in her heart.

It was incredible the emotions that could be provoked by just a simple laugh.

A/N: So Jonathan's getting closer to Jocelyn, that was the first thing I wanted to do. Now let's see how she and Valentine get on next time they meet! Please review!