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When everything is over, there is silence.
It's the kind of silence of a crowded room, where even the smallest noise is too loud, too suspicious, where everyone is strung as tense as a guitar string. The injured breathe and breathe until they can breathe no more; some sleep, some die, but this is how it's always been.
It's the kind of silence of a graveyard, where the old, knitted bones of the Clave decay slowly, soundlessly, and from them, new grass grows emerald green and springy. There's no denying it has been fed by Valentine, for although he is dead, the scariest thing about him was that, as usual, his blasphemy had the scary ring of truth in it. It's not the world he wanted, though; it's the kind of world where Shadowhunters bear the blood of the Downworlders, not on their blades, but inside their skin. The werewolves call Lucian Graymark their brother, the vampires tolerate Jace Wayland better than anybody else does.
All is quiet. To walk in Idris is to walk on eggshells, or on glass.
Too much pressure, too much noise, and the whole, fragile peace could shatter.
...
The children of Valentine survive. A boy and a girl. A brother and a sister.
What people don't understand is that they, perhaps, are the strongest of all. When they speak to them, they unconsciously lower their voices; Jace, Clary, they say tentatively, like their names are a whispered secret, like perhaps they should pretend that they don't know what blood runs in their veins -- for something that is spilled almost as frequently as water, blood sure is an important thing in the Shadowhunting world.
Jace. Clary. Jonathan. Clarissa. Wayland, Fray, Morgenstern. Just names. Just words.
Just two people. The world's full of them, you know.
...
They arrive in Idris on a Saturday.
Clary visits Hodge to talk to him about her runes; she has simplified many of them, she explains, so that hopefully, with time, the latest generation of Shadowhunters can learn them. He nods, looking hungrily at the sheets she gives him, but he cannot look her in the eyes. This is no secret, though; Hodge Starkweather can hardly meet anyone's eyes -- his love of knowledge conflicts heavily with his fear of truth and honesty. He has no mirrors in his house, and he walks past glass windows at a near run.
The sad thing is, people like him are not rare. There are many who believe -- and some, not without good cause -- that it would have been very convenient for everyone if they'd gone and perished.
Jace stands audience with the Seelie Queen, who is in Idris to discuss the Accords. They wouldn't have let him go if she hadn't asked for him personally; he is a horrible ambassador, for all that he's the only one they will trust with the vampires. This is because Simon's blood is in Jace, and Jace's blood is in Simon, and the vampires know better than to do anything that will cross either.
The Seelie Queen greets him with a smile, and he bows low and tells her she is getting more beautiful by the day.
Isn't is strange, how we do not even noticed how much we missed the sunlight until we've seen it again? she replies with a voice as light as rosewater. It is the same with peace. But speaking of beauty, my Shadowhunter friend, I saw your sister earlier, and she was practically glowing. Is she in good health?
Peace agrees with her as well, my Lady, Jace replied, purposely misunderstanding her meaning.
There is no secret there, either: Clary comes to stand at Jace's side, bowing to the Seelie Queen, and he pulls her to him and kisses her mouth, and nobody thinks of it at all.
I love you, she tells him, and the Seelie Queen hears her, as do her bodyguards and the Shadowhunters standing silent observers, but they are brother and sister: they are expected to love each other, and there is nothing strange about this declaration.
In a post-Valentine world, they have nothing to fear.
...
In a post-Valentine world, a vampire can be friends with a werewolf and a Shadowhunter can date a warlock (and they do, and Robert Lightwood faints dead away.)
In a post-Valentine world, demons still slither through the veil between worlds to hunt humans, Downworlders still piss each other off, and Shadowhunters treat everything with faintly-concealed disdain, because one man can't change centuries of tradition, no matter how insane his mind, or silver his tongue.
In a post-Valentine world, Jace and Clary live as quietly as they can, and everyone's curious, but no one minds.
When the frost creeps up the ends of the trees in Central Park, Clary delivers a baby girl. There's no wedding ring on her finger, and she keeps her lips sealed, but gossip creates its own stories. It's not hard to imagine her falling in love with a Shadowhunter soldier she stood by, or a Downworlder she spoke out for in the aftermath, or even a mundane who thought she was funny and liked the way her toes curled when she drew. (Of course, that kind of fraternizing is still frowned upon in most circles, but these are Valentine's children: if they weren't scandalous, they'd be a little boring.)
Her brother stays by her bedside when even her mother and Luke had gone home, and he strokes the downy head of his sister's child. When the infant kicks out reflexively, he jerks his hand back, looking worried.
You're not going to hurt her, Jace, Clary admonishes him, remembering half-forgotten conversations about falcons.
Are you sure we're doing the right thing? he asks; Jace, who is never uncertain about anything, whose one fatal weakness has always been the way his sister's eyes burned when she looked at him. I mean, we don't exactly have the best parenting models...
It's a little late for you to get cold feet, Jace Wayland, she snaps, angry because she knows he's partially right, and the world will never let them forget. And we're Shadowhunters. We'll never be the perfect parents. But the point is to try. Oh -- she gasps softly, because the child has opened its eyes.
They burn the same faint gold of sunlight.
...
A chapter in the Angel's book is closed, and with it goes Valentine and the old ways of the Clave.
The new chapter begins with his children. A boy and a girl. A sister and a brother.
It'll be sickening to everyone who loves us, Clary had said once, pulling away from Jace's hands and his eyes.
Everyone who loved you already knew, Simon told her, because the best-kept secrets are the ones that nobody tries to hide.
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fin