A 2 short mind blurbs on some canon things for my boys and a longer, semi-important section on Blake

While he was roaming the unclaimed territory, Ethos hardly came across trouble. That wasn't to say he wasn't prepared for it, though, since he kept his senses alert and his hand close to his sword. It was not against Seelie rules to roam in the unclaimed lands, and he did not think the Unseelie or the Hunt were all too strict about such things, but the rogue faerie groups were always a danger to anyone that strayed, so it was discouraged by default. Still, he had grown comfortable to venture through the buffer that remained between the factions, able to pick up on tracks if the Unseelie or Hunt had passed through recently.

Only a few times he had crossed a group of Unseelie members, but they had not attacked, their bows drawn as they passed him although he stayed put, his hand against his horse to calm it. He had remembered a well-dressed woman, once, riding on a dark steed. She had looked amusedly at his hesitance, her eyes narrowing in on him keenly, but she let him be to go chart the lands. Sometimes, he felt slightly grateful that he had not been bothered extensively by others. They would not dare kill him with no legal reason. He was not in their territory, nor had he provoked any attack.

The unaffiliated were different. They attacked without reason, once in a while taking down a stray Seelie or Unseelie that wandered too far from their border lines. It was rare, but not entirely unheard of.

Once, despite Ethos' calm demeanor and attempts for civility, he had been forced to fight a duo of rogues. They had sported dull swords and unpracticed techniques, rivaling him only in numbers. His training had served him well, for the Queen would have never let an untrained faerie represent the Seelie, especially one that was lowly in status.

He had whistled for his horse to flee, for he was sure it would return to him later. One of the faeries moved to slash at him, but they were slow and predictable, making them easy to dodge. The Queen had once spoken of rooting out the rogue faeries to get rid of them, for they had threatened the purity of the land. He thought she had mainly said so in jest, but it seemed too much of a mundane gesture to joke about.

There was no way to go easy on the faeries he was fighting, swiping with his sword at the faerie closest to them. It caught on the side of their leg and they reeled back, their sword falling from their grasp as they pressed their hands against their thigh to stop the blood. The injury was not life threatening, unless it was left untreated, so Ethos tried to not feel sorry for him. He did, a little, and berated himself for it. They were the ones that initiated the conflict, but even that reasoning did not stop his guilt.

Although a little uneasy, the other faerie continued to fight, their attention now divided between Ethos and their wounded companion. The fight was over, and Ethos thought that perhaps he was the only one that understood that. It only took a few more parries of his sword to get the faerie off-balance and send him to the ground.

Sword poised at his throat, Ethos stared him down. He hesitated.

"...Go," he ordered, drawing back and flicking his sword in the direction of the forest.

Both faeries stayed put, the one under Ethos's sword seemingly frozen.

"I cannot spare you again. You shouldn't linger." This time, he said it with more urgency, stepping back to signal he meant his words.

The faeries glanced between each other before the one scrambled up from off the ground, darting to his companion to serve as their crutch. Sighing, Ethos wiped his sword on the grass. It was necessary at times to fight to kill, but these two were harmless, and he hoped they had learned their lesson. Next time, another might not be so forgiving - so merciful. Did that mean he was soft? He sighed and considered it for a long while. He would rather have the weight of excessive mercy on his shoulders, than water the Faerie grounds with blood it did not thirst for.

"Happy birthday, princess."

Aspen blinked, sitting cross-legged on the hotel bed as he stared at the package in Nyx's hand. It was not colourfully wrapped, only sealed in brown parchment that hid the contents of whatever was inside. Nyx was on the edge of the bed, his coat unbuttoned to reveal a crisp white shirt underneath, still untouched even through his hours going through the Towns. He set it in Aspen's lap, his expression pleased and eager, as if excited to win his affections once again. Fifteen was young, but old enough that Aspen had started to have deviating opinions. He couldn't let that happen.

"For me?" Aspen said dumbly, picking up the package and turning it over in his hands. It wasn't heavy, but it had some weight to it, nothing rattling around in its case.

"You can open it."

That was all the encouragement he needed, tearing through the paper to reveal a plain box. He struggled to find the open edge, but did after a moment, pulling it open and tugging out a long bundle of fabric. Something hard was apparent under it, and he let the fabric unfurl to reveal a pretty iron dagger. The hilt was obviously silver, but the blade burned to the touch. Aspen marveled at it, wondering what he might have done to warrant such a gift.

"For me?" Widening his eyes, Aspen turned the dagger over to look at it, wanting to study the designs. "This must have been...expensive."

"Nothing I wouldn't do for one of my favourites." As if it was out of pure generosity, Nyx simply waited, his chin raised.

"...Thank you." Raising his eyes and setting the dagger aside on the nightstand, Aspen licked his lips nervously. "I'll take care of it."

"I expect you will," Nyx replied and reached towards him with an open hand.

Aspen flinched, his eyes closing as if he half expected Nyx to grab at him roughly, tugging him over, but all he felt was a hand on his hair. Ruffling it lightly. Fingers running through the strands affectionately. Nothing more. The pressure ceased and the bed creaked quietly as Nyx stood up. Opening his eyes, Aspen watched Nyx, not yet realizing that his fingers were knotted tightly in the covers.

"Get some sleep, kid," Nyx said, heading to the door with the key in hand. "You have a long day tomorrow."

Blake had spent the good half-hour after midnight staring up at the ceiling.

Stars did not glitter overhead, nor did he hear the rustle of trees, water running, or footsteps through the underground tunnels in the Unseelie. There was no one shaking him from his place in a medical cave to wake him up, and no scent of oncoming frost. Instead, there was the midnight chirp of birds where the window was cracked, letting in frigid city air and the faint sounds of cars honking in the streets. Faerie armour didn't weigh heavily down on him. Instead, he wore mundane clothes, his coat thrown over the back of a chair. It would take some getting used to.

His gaze shifted sideways to watch Lily, her eyes closed and her hair threatening to fall over her face as she slept. He reached forward, slowly, to brush it from her face. She had done that to him once, when he had first mustered up the courage to sleep in front of her, and he had nearly broken her wrist in Unseelie instinct. She had been exceedingly snappish with him for a few days after, not letting him so much as touch her as if to withhold the only familiar thing housed in the Institute for him. Later, she had forgiven him, and she allowed him back in her bed. He had no prior experience with women in the Unseelie, so he could not have said if he found her actions strange.

That night, she did not stir, her chest rising and falling undisturbed with every breath. Black runes were visible across her neck and her chest through the light, thin fabric of her shirt. No doubt did people gossip behind his back even though he had only been a resident a week over a month - a former Unseelie and a Shadowhunter. They seemed especially conservative. The thought was preposterous to them, and they did not regard him kindly, most of them knowing the nature of their relationship through him slipping into her room each night, or Lily's casual flirtatious speech.

Once, another Shadowhunter boy a year or two older than Lily had nearly tried to kill him. The Shadowhunter had seen them kissing in the training room, and Blake's hands had been on her, tentative but plainly. Lily had encouraged it, despite Blake's voiced concerns that someone would come in. Unseelies valued privacy, and he did not understand her sometimes blatant shows of what he assumed should be kept out of the public eye. The boy had stormed in to grab him by the collar, swinging at him with a fist and narrowly missing only because Blake reeled out of the way a second quicker than the boy had lashed out. They had ended up getting into a vicious scuffle, only broken up when Lily moved to stop it. A bruise from the force of an elbow coloured Blake's cheek for the next few days, a cut from his wing bleeding. The boy, who he later learned was her brother, escaped with a chipped tooth that split his lip, dribbling blood down his chin as he left the room.

He could have sworn Lily looked amused.

Carefully, he shifted his way out of the covers, not wanting to wake her as he sought to stand. The floor creaked a little when he applied pressure, but it was muffled by the heavy rug. A breath of air escaped his lips. He was unused to the structure of those that lived in the mundane world, their days and nights dictated by times and measures of light. The Faerie had been too unpredictable to follow such a schedule, and the Unseelie was dark more often than not. The schedule of the Institute left him restless, unable to sleep at regular intervals, and the night usually provided him with a quiet place to think.

That night, he migrated over to her desk, looking over her things. Her stele was left on the edge, so he scooted it back over so it was safe from falling off. She often kept her desk rather neat, free of clutter save for a few useful items and a small stack of papers.

He didn't think she would mind if he looked.

He was a certified Institute resident, signed up as seeking asylum in exchange for warning them about Unseelies targeting the place. That was as much as he would tell the Head, sworn to secrecy and deep-rooted loyalty he did not know still existed. Curious, he reached for the papers, flipping through them and easily deciphering the English, as it was something he had been taught growing up. It was a privilege of purity.

They were nothing interesting at first, mostly about suggested changes to the Accords and dates for meetings, so he nearly simply straightened them and set them back down. Except a familiar name stood out on the paper - his own. What did she have to say about him?

It was less about him and more about what he had told her, detailed accounts of Unseelie life scrawled across the pages. Boundaries. Patrol times. Hierarchies. Past battles and their strategies. Current political attitudes. Those were supposed to be private things, only shared between the two of them when he found his upbringing too difficult to keep to himself, trusting that he might share this piece of himself for only her. She had promised, kissed his lips murmuring so, and encouraged him to speak. Her touch had been kind when he spoke to her of such things, which was strange and different, and he had thought she acted in a way out of empathy.

He had rambled to her about what his role was, about how daily life functioned, and the Unseelie King. The words had been whispered, thinking they might have elicited some softness in her, but no, she was only listening intently to inscribe them on paper. Who knew how many she had already sent out? Letter after letter, page after page, details about the court unfolded, nearly word for word of how he had described things. Desk covered in papers he had spread out, he found his thoughts suddenly sour with hatred.

It had been entirely his fault. He had no doubt about that, but had he so stupidly mistaken his affections? Lily had not been easy to trust, but as controlling and sly and eccentric and dangerously enticing as she was, she had not once betrayed him in such a way. To think she might have only consorted with him for such, treating him as some strategy to help the Institute-

The sharp edge of a dagger pressed into his back. Blake froze, sensing Lily standing between his wings, her hair ticking the nerves in them. The sharp point of the dagger ceased and she curled her arms around him as best as she could, her breath rustling his hair. The blade gleamed in her hand.

He knew how this would work, and he would accept her dance.

"Can't sleep?" She murmured, although her voice was not low from tiredness, but from something else entirely that he didn't want to place. "I thought I had tired you out."

Despite himself, his face warmed, and his grasp on the remaining papers loosened so they fell on the desk. "Not entirely, no."

"Maybe we should work on that." Her lips brushed his neck, her hand fiddling with the dagger, the edge catching the light. "Is that what you want?"

"No." He swallowed, waiting for a long, long moment, and then he shook his head. "Not entirely."

"So repetitive. I thought you were more exciting than that, Blake." She was slow, patient, and calculated, much like a snake when it was narrowing in on its prey, but he was unsure if he had already been bitten. "Too bad the others don't know you like I do, coming in here only to take advantage of a poor girl just trying to get through her studies. I wonder if they know how filthy you are. How desperate you sound when I have you pinned down."

"I'm not-..." He stopped himself. No, she was just teasing per usual, although the humour was lost on him.

She laughed, and a puff of warm air curled down his collar. "I'm playing, Blake. You know I like it. I'm not good at playing nice."

"I know." He'd have to be patient too. It was a little difficult, with danger surrounding him, but he reached back into his Unseelie training. If it was opportunity he was looking for, this was not it.

"Do you?" Again, her lips pressed against his neck, firmer this time, her teeth scraping his skin gently. The free hand that was around him worked to pull at his shirt, her fingers warm against his hip. "Come back to bed, Blake. We can do whatever you want, however you want. I won't be too mean."

Blake had to suck in air to not make a strangled sound, his eyes closed as he waited. "Oh?"

"Now you're interested, huh?" She made a sweet noise that sounded like a giggle and he found that such a childish sound was so unlike her. "You've always been so terrible with temptation, acting like you're so tough and giving in a second later. Thank the Angel I'm the only one that knows about that, right? Or else maybe you'd be taken advantage of by all the girls that want a little bit of faerie-"

She was talking too long, and something was off, his eyes opening in time to watch her pull the dagger back and then drive it towards his side. Instinct kicked in, and he tugged himself from her roughly, the dagger scraping a shallow cut in his side. His hand reached to grab out at her arm as he turned to face her, backhanding her roughly across the cheek. She had pulled back enough to evade his attempt on seizing the dagger, but she staggered noticeably, looking annoyed as he cheek reddened. He couldn't feel his side, adrenaline numbing it as he hissed at her in some sort of repressed faerie mechanism, his eyes narrowing.

Not wasting time on speech, she kicked out with her leg, aimed at his reaching hand. Time seemed to slow and he would have smiled if it had not been her that he was fighting. Close combat in small spaces. He felt right at home.

The impact of her ankle against his hand as he blocked ached, but he grabbed at her leg to tug her off her feet, making her lose her balance and slam into the ground. He had watched her fight enough in the training rooms to know what to expect, seeing that she tried to go for strength or slyness, but she had exhausted any surprise attacks and she had no viable strength runes to aid her against him. As she fell, she managed to escape his grasp, the dagger still set firmly in her hand. He looked around for a weapon - anything that might aid him - and he made a sound of frustration that she, a Shadowhunter, did not have anything lying around.

There was nothing he could do besides catch her by the hair, his fingers tight in the strands as he fell to his knees over her to pin her down. He knelt on her, the floorboards still uncomfortable against his knees despite the rug. She swung with the dagger to swipe at his arm, and he made a noise of pain, the blade leaving a short, but deep cut in his arm. It took a bit of struggling, but he fought to stabilize her arms, pressing them against the floor so she could not attack.

"Oh, now you're on top," she taunted, her cheek still red where he hit her. "What are you going to do, Blake? Kill me?

He froze. What was he going to do? He did not want to be a murderer with no faction to protect him, but he did not think she would let him leave. It was easy to look at things in manners of political and logical perspectives, but this was Lily.

"You used me." Those were the only words that escaped him, incredulousness and hurt and anger and a few other pained emotions he couldn't name seeping into his tone. She might have answered, but he could not be sure, blood pounding in his ears too hard for him to hear. A thin red line ran down from the cut on his arm and his side started to sting.

There was nothing else to do besides disarm her and stare a second longer, tracing her eyes and her nose and her lips for the last time. She was still not pliant beneath him, unable to move under his oppressive weight and the fact that he now had the dagger. When he withdrew his hands back from her wrists, she did not move, panting from the fight, though it had been short.

"You get up and I'll kill you," he threatened and he meant it, lifting himself up and swiftly slipping on his boots and grabbing his coat.

She didn't move, and that was perhaps most surprising to him. Instead, she just watched him with this smug, smug expression, refusing to look anything but satisfied. Blake swiped the letters from her desk, though he was sure that she already had all the information she wanted, crinkling them in his fist. There was no time to retrieve any of his other possessions, no sympathy to be gained if another Shadowhunter would have seen him. He did not think it would hit him until later. For now, his arm and side hurt and he wanted a bandage.

His coat dangling from his hand, he did not look back at the Institute as he left, losing yet another home in the span of a few months.