West of Words (Alec Lightwood)

🗝 Chapter Four 🗝

It took Varian an hour to wake up and the dark haired Shadowhunter with the blue eyes was gone, much to his disappointment.

His head was throbbing, and his eyes were tired. He pulled himself into a seated position, not surprised to find his baba  pacing across the doorway to his room, the light blue of his magic threading through the air as he anxiously waited.

"Baba." Varian spoke, his voice soft but still able to catch his attention. His baba  turned, smiling brightly as he approached his son on the bed.

"How are you feeling?" It was spoken with a flourish, but Varian could see his father was concerned more than anything else. Varian ignored the question, pushing himself to the side of the bed and starting to stand. His baba  tried to stop him, to tell him that he could rest longer, but Varian ignored it.

He struggled to stand, and once his baba  realized that Varian's stubbornness would prevail he helped him to stand. Varian shivered involuntarily, the effects of being drained showing itself in his low body temperature. His baba  snapped his fingers, a blanket making his way around Varian's shoulders. Varian smiled in thanks, moving to the door with uneasy steps, his baba  there every step of the way to make sure he doesn't fall.

Varian made his way to the Werewolf, sensing his presence in a magically produced room across the apartment. He could feel the emotions coming from the other side of the door, anger, resentment, worry, but above all concern. Varian knocked before entering.

Clarissa was sitting on the edge of the bed, smiling at the Werewolf who was sitting up, the look of laughter in his eyes.

"How are you feeling-" Varian wanted to ask the man by name, but realized that he did not in fact know it. Varian flushed, feeling embarassed but the man didn't mind. He smiled at the boy before offering his name.

"Luke Garroway."

The name was familiar, and Varian spoke again. "Lucian Graymark."

The Werewolf's smile faltered, "I haven't been called that in a long time."

"Sorry." Varian stepped towards the edge of the bed, motioning to the bandages across his chest in a way of asking permission to touch the man. Luke nodded, and Varian began to unwrap the bandages. "Are you in pain?"

"No."

Varian could see the lie, black and grey and apparent on his skin. He pressed a hand onto Luke's head, ignoring the sound of protest that the Werewolf made, as he unraveled the bunch of nerves in his head that was telling him he was in pain. Luke visibly relaxed, a soft sigh leaving his mouth.

"That should help." Varian took three steps back, avoiding the look that Luke was giving him as he smiled at Clarissa. "Tell me if he starts to hurt again." Varian did not trust that the Werewolf would tell him if he was in pain. Varian started to turn towards the door, pulling the blanket around his shoulders a bit more as he went.

"You look familiar. Have we met?" Luke's voice was different than the first time he had spoken, more relaxed then in pain.

Varian looked sad, at the memory of their first meeting. "Once, when I was a kid." He turned to face the man, forcing a smile onto his face as he did. "The name's Varian."

"Varian." A light gray appeared around the man, confusion. He was trying to place the name, but Varian had already left by the time he did. He stepped back into the living room, noticing someone bent over his no-longer bright white couch, scrubbing at it viciously.

"You know I have magic for that." Varian sat in one of his armchairs, tucking his leg under him as he did.

The man turned, startled for less than a second, before relaxing. "I didn't really think about it." He set the cloth into a bowl, before setting the bowl on the coffee table.

It was the mundane, Simon, he looked wary. Like all of this was a mystery to him. It probably was.

"How long have you known?" Varian picked at the edge's of his blanket as he waited for the mundane to respond.

"Known?" He looked confused, before recognition passed over his face. "Oh, about the whole Shadow-world-thingy? Uh," he chuckled anxiously, "like three months. It's, a lot to take in."

Varian smiles, "It can be." He wiggles his fingers, the bloodstain disappearing from the couch and a mug of tea appearing in his hands. "Tea? Cocoa? Coffee?" He offers the mundane.

"Uh, cocoa, please." Simon yelps when a mug appears in his hands, but is excited by the idea of having magically produced cocoa. "Thanks." He takes a seat on the couch, perching himself on the edge of it as silence falls on the room. Simon's eyes glance around the room in awe.

"You can ask questions." Varian smiles as the mundane suddenly looks very excited as he takes a sip of his cocoa.

"Are you really a Warlock? Can you do anything? Did you like pull this from another dimension? Or make it really quick?" Simon looks like he's in his zone as he continues to ask about anything and everything. "Did you know Winston Churchill? Is Magnus really your dad?"

"Okay, so, slow down." Varian chuckles, taking a sip of his tea while forming his reply. "Yes, within reason. The cocoa is from my cafe, I am not that old, and yes, he is."

"How come he didn't mention you last time we met him?" Simon asked, and I shrugged as a response.

"I didn't know you had all met before." In reality, he was more annoyed than he was letting on.

His baba  tells him everything, and after apparently meeting Clarissa at least one time before there wasn't a reason to tell him this. It was an annoyance that he could over look, but an annoyance nonetheless.

The door to the room that Luke was in banged against the wall as it opened. A fuming Clarissa stormed out, and she seemed to not notice Varian as she went straight for Simon with a frustrated sigh.

"I have a brother my mother never told me about!" She sounded angry, and Simon stood to his feet, setting his mug on the coffee table stepping towards Clarissa.

"I'm sorry Clary."

Clary, Varian made a mental note of the fact that she preferred that nickname.

"I mean, not telling me about the Shadow World is one thing, but not telling me about my own brother." Clary sighed aggressively. "That's even worse."

Varian felt awful about the fact that Jocelyn had lied for her for so long, as he personally hated lying, but didn't feel ready to tell her the truth. "And what would you say if you knew who it was?"

"Nothing, he died when I was a toddler." Clary didn't sound remorseful about the fact that her brother was dead, and Varian sighed, pulling himself from the armchair.

"I'll make myself scarce in my own living room then." Varian started towards his workroom, but paused when Clary spoke again.

"Uh, Varian. Thank you, for Luke."

Varian smiled over his shoulder. "You're welcome, Clarissa Fairchild." He ignored the confusion that filled the room as he left it.