The Silentbrother’s carriage had always made Tessa feel anxious. The way it drove through objects and over landforms like a ghost, and though she knew that they would pass through the closed gates of the institute, it never ceased to unsettle her.
Today was different though. She was anxious, but for another reason entirely.
She was done up in a simple olive dress that unbuttoned down the front—though it had to be, Tessa mused. Little James seemed to eat more than his father did. Her hair was braided simply and held at the back of her neck by a silver hair pin. She saw no need to dress up for the Silent City, even if Jem was there. He hardly cared for her physical appearance.
Across from Tessa sat her husband, his face obscured by dark curls as his head was bent looking at a small swaddled up bundle in his arms. Will had been that way the entire ride—looking up briefly at Tessa when James would open his eyes or coo the way babies did. Three times already had Will jerked up to exclaim, “Tess. Tessa, look. Look at him. Watch.”
She had smiled and shared his joy, though her mind was elsewhere.
She ran over every possible thought that he might have about her and Will’s small son. Happiness for one she was sure. It was Jem, he would always be happy for anything that brought happiness to Will or herself. Though she wondered, that in his secret heart of hearts if perhaps there would be some sadness, or worse, betrayal. She worried what he would think of her baby’s name, James. If he would look at it and think they had named him that as a memoir. That he was only a memory to them, and that they had forgotten he lived still.
Jem had not seen James yet, though he had been to the Institute on account of Will’s broken arm—that for one reason or another couldn’t have been healed with an iratze—when Tessa was eight months with James. Jem had known of the child before of course. It was he who had told her of him when she visited him on Blackfriars Bridge as they did every year.
They had sat against the balustrade of the bridge, hands laced. Tessa knew that he did not feel the physical contact. Not like she did at any rate, but he knew that she could feel it.
They had talked of everything—of her and Will, all the new children that just kept showing up—Cecily and Gabriel’s, Charlotte and Henry’s, Sophie and Gideon’s. She told him all the stories she had stored in her mind over the last year. The ones that she had turned to tell him only to realize that he was not there. That he was far beneath the stones and graves in the Silent City. They had sat almost the whole hour before his voice came in her mind, suddenly different from the tone he had used before. She didn’t imagine that most Silentbrothers really had a tone, and perhaps that was true for the rest, but she could always tell even the slightest change in Jem’s.
Tessa, he had said. And then he had said it. It had been blunt, and she had sat still, her hand going stiff in his, her mind racing. Elation was the first thing she felt. Then worry, and then fear. Was Jem hurt by it? Did he resent the blessing he had given her and Will?
Of course, Jem was there to comfort her and quell the thoughts.
I do not think ill of you, he had said. Neither do I think ill of Will. If there are two people who deserve happiness any more than you both, I could not name them. Will and I were one—we still are at one in our hearts, despite the physical distance, and you share both our hearts as well. To hate my own heart—to not feel joy when my heart does, he paused. Tessa, when you or Will rejoice, I rejoice. When you feel pain, I feel pain. Will once told me that I was his compass, and now it is his turn, and yours, to be my compass. We shared our hearts when we were young, and yours still beats and breaths and burns. And in that way, so does mine. Our hearts beat together, Tessa.
James cooed again and Will let out a laugh and his face broke out into an even larger grin. “Tess. Tess, look.”
She did. Little Jamie had both eyes open, and though they were unfocused as newborns were, he was staring up at Will, two pink chubby arms reaching out. Will laughed as James grabbed at one of his wayward curls, gripping and pulling his father’s head down.
It wasn’t hard for him to grab. Will hadn’t cut his hair and had hardly shaved in the last months of her pregnancy and the days following the delivery. He had been so worried and anxious and excited—more so than even herself.
“He’s got a good grip,” Will said, still laughing. Tessa moved over to the side he was seated on and leaned over his shoulder to peer down at their son. What they had created together.
“Hello Jamie,” she said rubbing back his dark wisps, the same color as his father’s, from his face. She would have held him, but she could not bear to take him away from Will. Ever since he had arrived Will had hardly set him down or given anyone else a turn, except for Tessa of course, though she had let him keep James for the most part, which usually included any time he wasn’t eating or sleeping, and even then he liked to hold him as he slept.
James pulled at his father’s curls again, this time harder so that Will’s head was further down and he could reach up and get another handful of black hair.
“Now why didn’t I think of that,” Tessa said, still petting at her son. “James, I might have to steal your idea. It seems to keep him in line doesn’t it.” And it had. The whole time James was having his fun gripping and pulling, Will had sat still, smiling down through his winces.
The carriage lurched to a halt, James fists losing from Will’s hair and a cry tearing from his throat. It appeared he had not liked the sudden stop anymore that Tessa did, though, like his father, he was quite inclined to share his opinion on the subject.
“Hey now,” Will said pulling him up to hold him close and rock him. It was such a funny sight, Tessa thought. Will had only grown broader since they had married, his arms now larger and more muscular than ever, and James looked so tiny in them. Though there was something else, less funny about it. The muscular arms around their son spoke a silent vow to keep him safe, to guard him against anything that might try to hurt him, and to comfort him should he need it.
The door to the carriage opened and a Silentbrother stood, hood drawn back. Welcome to the City of Bones, Herondale family. He held a stiff arm out towards the entrance.
Tessa held her breath. Will handed James over to her, carefully so that his head did not bob, and then exited the carriage. When he was down he helped her out, more help than was required by propriety, but Will had been nervous about her after the birth anyway, as it had not been an easy one, and she held their child in her arms.
The Brother led them into the Silent City and through the stone halls. Tessa was used to them by now though, and they no longer made her feel nervous or frightened. They shouldn’t have. She had been here enough times, very few times that weren’t in reason with Will and his antics to see his parabatai, and though she never minded seeing him and was glad at any chance, she sometimes wished she did not have to discuss her husband’s broken green toe with Brother Enoch, who took it in an uncomfortably serious manner.
I suspect, said Brother Enoch in front of them now, having been the one to lead them in, that you wish for Brother Zachariah to perform the ceremony.
“I will have no one else,” Will sounded absolute.
Brother Enoch did not respond, only continued to lead them down a series of winding hallways to a far door in one corridor.
Sister Magdalen and Brother Zachariah await you, was all he said.
Tessa and Will stopped outside the door. Will did not look at her, only straight ahead at the stone door. Tessa could see the excitement—it was the same look on his face every time he got to see Jem—but she could also see the worry in his posture and his blue eyes and she wondered if perhaps he had the same fears she did.
Holding James tighter to her bosom, she walked forward to the door. Will, seeming to come out of his daze, opened the door for her and allowed her to enter before doing the same and then closing it behind him.
The room was dimly lit by witchlight, as everything in the Silent City was, giving it an eerie glow and a cast shadows in every corner. In the middle of the room was a stone table, where she assumed she was to set her son. It looked very hard and unwelcoming to a newborn.
“Brother Zachariah,” said Will, even though he detested calling Jem that, there was an Iron Sister in the room and he did not want to get him in any trouble. “Sister Magdalen. We are here for the protection ritual for our son.”
“We are aware what you are here for, William and Theresa Herondale,” Sister Magdalen said. There was nothing harsh in her tone, neither was there anything welcoming, as was the case with the Brothers and Sisters of the Nephilim. It made Tessa see just how set apart Jem really was from them all. “Place the child on the stone slab and we shall begin.”
Jem had stood in the background, though when Tessa walked forward with the child he did the same, stopping at the table and pulling his hood back to expose his young face and closed eyes. The marks of the Brotherhood stood out stark on his cheekbones.
Tessa wrapped her sons blanket around him tighter as she went to place him on the table, though Will held up a hand to halt her and took his jacket off to place it on the table in a bundle so that it made a cradle of sort.
Smiling at the gesture, she pulled her son from her chest and laid him down on his father’s jacket. Jem stayed on one side of the table while Sister Magdalen moved to the other.
Then Jem spoke for the first time since they had entered the room.
And what is his name, he asked.
Tessa went still and looked to Will.
It was a moment before he spoke.
“His name is James,” he said. “James Herondale.”
The room seemed to go quieter than it already was. Even the howling dead seemed to still.
Little James cooed, breaking the void, and outstretched his tiny arms upward towards Jem, something his did often to Will and Tessa, but hardly to anyone else.
Jem stood stonily above him, his closed eyes staring down at James unseeingly. Though Tessa did not doubt that he saw. He saw more than anyone else, she believed. He had always seen her, he had seen Will, and the Brotherhood could not change that.
Then he turned, slowly, away from the table. Tessa was about to go forward but then he took his scarred hands and covered his equally scarred face, his shoulders turning in, and though he made no sound, Tessa knew he was weeping.
James continued to coo and make soft noises in the background.
This is my interpretation of the picture by Cassandra Jean. I’m not stealing her art, just using it as inspiration and I thought I’d post it with the story. We all know who drew it anyway. All characters are Cassandra Clare. Hope you guys liked it :)
art source: Cassandra Jean
Edit: I’m trying to get my followers up, so if you follow me, I’ll write a scene for you of your choice. I mean obviously there’s a limit on how much I can write, but for the first followers, let’s say 20 (if I ever get that many). Just write in the comments on here what you want me to write. Anything after 20 I’ll sift through and see if I love them.
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