Chapter Text
“Shadowhunters know that our duties to our families supersedes our personal desires.” — Lydia Branwell (Shadowhunters TV)
“Duty is sacrifice. It eclipses all things; even blood.” — Cregan Stark (House of the Dragon)
The gold, green-eyed dragon knocker in front of him seems to glare menacingly at him as he waits for the ironwood door to open. He’s tempted to knock again as a few seconds pass and his impatience grows, but that would only result in annoying Jacaerys.
Thankfully, he only needs to wait a second longer before the door swings open to reveal the ethereally beautiful warlock whose haunted Cregan’s mind and body more recently these past few months—his desire for Jace ravaging his heart day and night. Those dazzling hazel eyes that shine playfully, goading him to smile back despite his reservations. Those enchantingly plump lips that demand to be kissed swollen.
As usual, the warlock took no precaution in glamouring the long orange dragon horns that protrude from his head, nor the green scales speckled around the bases of the horns. His outfit reminds Cregan of the Mundane portrayals of pirates that Sara loves to fawn over; with a loosely buttoned shirt under a black trench coat that has buckles on the sleeves and chains cascading down his left side. The luscious long curls that frame Jace’s face only add to the look.
“Cregan,” Jace smiles warmingly sweet, gaining his attention away from his exploring gaze and thawing at Cregan’s cold resolve. “To what do I owe the pleasure of your company?”
“We need to talk,” Cregan says with a cold voice that has Jace slightly flinching, causing his mood to sour further. He wants nothing more than for this to be an easy-fix problem.
“Well, come in then,” Jace says carefully, stepping behind his door to allow Cregan to walk in before shutting it behind him.
Cregan remains silent until they reach Jace’s warmly lit lounge room. The dragonidae warlock’s shoulder brushes against Cregan’s leather covered bicep as he walks toward his mini-bar table to pour himself a glass of Arbor Crest brand wine into a dragonglass flute that glows like fire as Jace holds it.
“Care for a drink?” Jace asks, offering Cregan the flute of wine, to which he declines.
“I didn’t come here to drink,” Cregan says stiffly, noticing how Jace’s demeanor changes to mirror his own.
“What’s wrong?” He asks with concern, setting down his flute before approaching him. As he reaches forward for Cregan, the Nightwatcher takes a large step back from him. Hurt fills Jace’s eyes as he lowers his hands.
Cregan takes a deep breath in, steeling himself for the difficult conversation they are about to have.
“I’m getting married in a few months.”
He watches Jace's brow furrows, his hazel eyes widening in shock and jaw dropping slightly. The stunned warlock humorously chokes, “W-what?”
“My parents informed me of my engagement this morning,” Cregan explains shortly with remorse tingeing his voice, wanting to say more but there is not much he could say without letting his freshly built wall around his heart melt.
It’s Jace’s turn to step back, or rather stumble as if he had taken a physical hit, as his beautiful face twists with confusion and pain—maybe heartbreak, and he says, “I don’t understand.”
“I have a duty to my family, to my people. This is about tradition. Duty. Sacrifice.”
Jace scoffs incredulously, and a tear runs down his cheek. “You Nightwatchers and your notions of duty and sacrifice. What of the duty to yourself? To your heart?”
“Love is the death of duty,” Cregan counters automatically, earning another scoff from the warlock.
The room is silent for what feels like an hour before Jace rounds Cregan and forces him to look into his broken hazel eyes.
“Tell me you want this. Whoever she is, tell me you’d sacrifice what we have for her,” He demands, but not in a desperate way like a scorned lover from the dramas. He might as well be . His voice is calm, searching—reassuring. As if he’s asking Cregan to confide in him this one truth.
“I—,” The words are stuck in Cregan’s throat. He loves Arra, truly, but not in the way he feels for Jace. Arra is his childhood best friend, his partner-in-crime, his best girl. But he didn’t feel the desire that burned a deep hole in his chest any time he thought about Jace and the moments they shared. Every flirt, every wink, every smile the warlock sent his way stokes the fire that sits warmly in his belly. It is a stark contrast to the cool storm that flurries when he and Arra do anything remotely romantic—and the thought of their marriage? His stomach uncomfortably churns at the thought of the coming ceremony.
Jace’s hazel eyes reflect his apparent understanding of how conflicted Cregan is, as he had stumbled over the words for several seconds. He surrenders from the interrogation with defeat clear in his eyes and slips past Cregan once more.
“Nightwatchers live a pitiful life, having to sacrifice all you are and all you want for what tradition demands you to be,” Jace laments, taking up the abandoned glass of wine and sipping it gently. “If that is how you wish to live, I will not stop you.”
‘ That’s it ?’ He wants to choose Jace, more than anything—but, his duty is to his family, first and foremost. He thought perhaps Jace would feel the same considering the warlock had flirted with him for the past months, but he did not. How could he give up on Cregan so easily ?
His thoughts cloud his judgment and anger blooms…or maybe it is resentment. “Even if I did want you.” And gods, he did . His heart aches at the thought of ruining the blossoming relationship he has been building with the sweet and patient warlock.
‘ He doesn’t care ,’ He reminds himself, hardening his resolve—putting back those cold barriers around his heart.
“You want me to give up my life for you?” He shakes his head, not caring for the heartbreak that flashes in Jace’s eyes nor any protest he may try to offer.
“I’m not like you. I don’t have the freedom to flaunt about and flirt with anyone, to play with people’s hearts.” He feels his own heart twinge guiltily as tears shimmer in Jace’s eyes and his plump lips pout in upset over Cregan’s words. He forces himself to lower his gaze and fixate on the three-headed dragon pendant that he’s never seen the warlock without.
“I have to do what’s best for me. Unlike you, I could lose my family, my career… everything !” He stresses.
Jace gives him no further argument, favoring his glass of wine to their conversation. The wine could not hide the tears that run down his cheek nor his anxious movements in his hands as he twists a silver scaled ring on his right ring finger. Cregan huffs with defeat and turns around to walk out of the room, out of the house, likely to never return.
Before he leaves the lounge room, he hears Jace speak one last time, “You have a choice to make, Stark. For love or for duty.”
“I will not ask again.”
There’s a quiet electric snap in the air as Cregan turns around again, ready to tell the warlock he wouldn’t have to, and realizes Jace had left him alone, the last remnant of his presence being the dissolving emerald and fiery orange wisps of his magic. The sudden deprivation of the warlock’s presence sends a heavy iron weight through his chest, plummeting to his stomach. The pain of that emptiness hurts him in a way he never thought possible—he clenches a hand to his chest and stiffly walks away from the love he could have had.