West of Words (Alec Lightwood)

🗝 Chapter Three 🗝

Varian smiled, something that he does when he isn't sure what to say, he starts to walk back to his work room the others following him and waiting for whatever he has to say. He takes a mortar and pestle from the shelf, setting it delicately on the table and accepting the snake scales his baba  passes over.

"Like I said, my name is Varian, and I am a Warlock." Varian lets his father take over grinding the scales as he wanders around the room grabbing various ingredients as needed. He could see the small smile on his baba's  face at what he said. "And, I am also a Shadowhunter."

It was spoken so flippantly, so over the shoulder, like it was a normal thing to be. Like if the mundane were to simply state 'I am a mundane' to a Vampire or demon. Varian could feel the simple acceptance that they had taken, before the pair of them instantly second guessed themselves.

"What?" It was in union, and would have been funny if a shout from the Werewolf hadn't suddenly started shouting in pain.

The samnoya bark wasn't holding as much as Varian would have liked, and as he practically sprinted into the room he started to concentrate on the healing that he would need to do. A faint emerald green started to come from his hands, and as he fell to his knees beside the man he glanced over his shoulder.

"The faster that is finished baba, the better the results." They both knew it was useless without the other ingredients, but the meaning was still there.

Varian held his hands above the man, one above his heart, and the other hovering over the worst of the injury. A silence passed over the room as Varian's eyes fell shut and he concentrated solely on the man in front of him.

The green left his hands in a soothing way, spreading in a blanket like way across the injuries, the second the green touched the mans body Varian tensed up. His shoulders set firm and toes curling as he let this gift leave him without so much as a fight.

He let the gift run wild, pressing into every part of the man's body that was hurting and doing whatever it could to ease it. The shouting of pain was few and far between, but his face still contorted into pain if Varian let up even slightly.

Varian couldn't concentrate on the conversation around him, but he could feel the emotions without wanting to. His baba  was concerned, as he usually is when Varian is doing something like this. Clarissa concern isn't focused on Varian, but rather the Werewolf that he was trying to heal, and worry for the boys that had left the room. He couldn't sense the third member of the party, she must have stepped outside or something.

A dull ache started to form at the base of his spine, and Varian tried his best to ignore it.

Time went on, and he began to wish more than anything that the Werewolf held on just a little longer, that he could have withstood the pain for just a little longer. But he knows there was nothing the man could do.

And as Varian held his hands above the man, flashes of his life and who he was passed through Varian's mind, but not in the way that it would happen to most. Not like when his baba  looked through peoples minds and could see images, full and fantastic ones. Varian could only see colors.

The bright red of someones hair, the dark color of the Werewolf's skin. The fierceness of a Circle rune on evils necks, the man right along side them. The attack that changed the man into who he was today.

It was harsh and overpowering, and Varian could feel himself start to dwindle.

His energy starting to deplete, and suddenly there was someone beside him. Kneeling on the ground and offering his hand. It was his baba  and Varian shook his head, turning back to the man currently getting blood on his couch. Every time Varian was able to use his gifts to put a wound back together it would tear once again, the process would repeat, and he wasn't sure how long this would last.

"Take my hand Birdie." His baba's  voice was soft, and Varian could feel himself start to shake. He wanted to, more than anything.

"You-" his voice was raspy, so much of his energy was going into this Werewolf, but he forced himself to speak. "You'll need to make the poultice, and you can't do that with me-"

Varian felt himself start to choke on some object that wasn't there, he stopped talking instead turning back to his hands and forcing himself to hold his hands steady. The green that was bright and emerald just a half hour ago when he had started all of this, was duller now. An olive green rather than emerald, and Varian knew how much of a tole this was taking on him, but he ignored it, willing himself to continue.

A loud bang sounded, and Varian flinched, temporarily loosing his hold on the pain the Werewolf was in. His baba  disappeared from his side, and Varian felt empty.

It was minutes before anything happened in his line of sight again. A dark-haired boy appeared alongside his baba, helping to open the Werewolf's mouth and dropping the poultice in. Varian's hands were shaking harder now, and he tried to breath in, the air catching in his throat.

The wounds would heal now, but Varian could barely breathe. The toll that attempting to heal the Werewolf was great, and he felt himself sink lower into the ground, his hands faltering above the body.

"Take my hand Varian." His baba's  tone of voice and use of his name told Varian that this wasn't up for debate, and yet Varian still shook his head. If he drained his baba  Varian would feel awful for days about it.

The vague question of 'what does he need?'  was asked, and suddenly the dark haired Shadowhunter was beside him in a closer way. His hand was palm up, and ever so close to touching Varian's. 

"Take what you need." His voice was like honey, and when Varian looked over at him, struggling to keep his eyes open, he barely hesitated before interlocking their fingers.

And then there was a surge of energy in Varian, but more than that, a surge of emotions that were not his own. Varian forced himself to concentrate, the green pouring from his hands was closer to emerald, and if he had the energy Varian would smile.

The wounds began to pulse, a dark sludge leaving them as Varian worked. His baba  collected it all with an easy wave of his hand, and then the Werewolf relaxed.

The sudden lack of tension affected Varian, his hands fell to the floor, the left still intertwined with the Shadowhunters. Varian's eyes drooped shut, his whole body collapsing to the floor, or what would have been the floor if the dark-haired man next to him hadn't acted as fast as he did. He pulled Varian to his chest, holding his torso in an awkward way.

The last image that Varian saw was of the boy with the blue eyes and Shadowhunter runes.