West of Words (Alec Lightwood)

🗝 Chapter Thirteen 🗝

Varian couldn't stop thinking about the blue-eyed Shadowhunter.

There was something about him, something that kept Varian's attention and wouldn't let it go. Not that Varian minded, he was entranced by the Shadowhunter, and was relatively open in saying so.

Especially a few hours later after his baba  had come over and him, Simon, and Varian all had a few too many drinks. Varian was babbling, something he only did when he was drunk, and it wasn't an annoying type of babbling but more so a cute one. Where you can't help but blush at what they were saying and hope that everything turns out for the best.

Simon was getting his fill of Downworlder knowledge during this time, though he wasn't sure if he'd remember every piece of it in the morning (though something told him there was a Warlock cure for a hangover).

"I, I got a question." Simon took a moment to phrase his question. "You called Clary, Clarissa Fairchild, but you didn't know anyone else."

A look was shared between Varian and his baba, before Varian sighed and leaned forward in his armchair.

Varian despises lying, and the fact that this young Vampire had come to him in a time of need made Varian feel more inclined to tell the truth.

"I called her such, because I am a Fairchild as well." Varian glanced at his baba  instantly catching the tinge of navy blue in the air and the sadness that his baba  felt. "Or I was. I'm a Bane now, but my mother was Jocelyn, and my father was Valentine Morgenstern."

The drunken stuffiness that was in the room disappeared suddenly, and Simon looked more curious than anything else.

"Is that why you said you were a Shadowhunter and everyone was shocked?" Simon set his glass down on the table next to him, leaning forward with yellow curiosity radiating off of him.

"Ahum." Varian nodded, before delving into a drunken explanation. "Warlock's cannot have children, that is a well known fact around the Shadow World, many take it upon themselves to raise other young Warlocks or some even take in Mundane's or other Downworlders. My baba," Varian paused, "Magnus took me in when I was two years old. My mother Jocelyn did not want me, because I had displayed gifts that she couldn't write off as easily as Clary's."

Varian looked over at his baba, a sad smile on his face as he recounted the time his baba  first told him of his true parentage.

"But you've got the whole-" Simon wiggled his fingers in front of his face, waving his arms in dramatic circles. "Magic, thing."

It was a realistic example of how both Varian and his baba  performed magic, and the pair of them couldn't help but crack a smile.

"That would be my fault." Varian's baba  looked proud as he spoke, though Varian could see the tinged grey around him as he spoke. "I share my magic with Birdie, which lets him do," His baba  copied the movements that Simon had just done and the entire room delved into drunk giggles.

Varian took a deep breath, pressing his hand to his side as he stopped laughing.

"Clary doesn't know." The room was somber again, as Varian was reminded of the lie in place between Varian and Clary.

"No, she doesn't, and I'll tell her, soon. I just," Varian sighed, throwing his head back against the armchair, "I need to be okay with it first."

And suddenly Varian had an awful feeling in the pit of his stomach, like something was coming that he couldn't help but watch happen. Varian sat up, pushing himself to his feet and turning to the back door of his flat. He could feel his baba  and Simon looking at him but that quickly changed when his baba  offered the forever-under-aged Vampire another drink.

The cold night air felt wonderful when Varian stepped out onto the balcony. It seemed to ease the anxiety that the awful feeling had brought forward and he sighed, his breath turning to mist in the air.

Varian wrapped his arm around his chest, leaning his elbows against the handrail with a small relaxed sigh. He held his hand out, willing fire to appear in his hands and it complied.

The fire was pure white, and seemed to dance around his fingers as he held it there. He could see things in the fire, images of angels and demons in a never ending war with each other. It's movements fluid through his fingers before disappearing into his skin. The sigh that Varian let out was a shuddering one, and he wrapped his arms a bit tighter around himself though he didn't feel the cold.

And suddenly his hand shot out, reaching for something that had not yet appeared, the card was snatched out of the air by two fingers and Varian gazed at it out of curiosity.

There was only one other that had a card like the one he had given to the blue-eyed Shadowhunter those few days ago. It was a simple playing card, Varian had a few enchanted decks in his possession, these specifically borrowed the emotions of those who had sent them to relay a message to Varian.

Ragnor Fell had the last given card, though, Ragnor had a few of them.

Varian's eyes fell shut as he grasped the emotion around the card. Ragnor wanted him to come for a visit, and Varian wouldn't turn him down. The location of his current home appeared in Varian's mind, and he smiled happily. He hadn't seen Ragnor in such a long time, and from the playing card in his hand there was a form of urgency around the meeting that Ragnor wanted to have.

He'd go up tomorrow, or maybe the next day. The Institute had asked his baba  to come by and help with something, and Varian was going to join for no other reason than it gave him a chance to see Alec.

Varian turned, starting back inside and waving off his baba's  offer of another drink.

"I think I'm going to bed now." Varian muttered, nodding his head to his room. He wiggled his fingers without lifting his hands, and a rush of violet passed through to the kitchen, tiding up so that Varian wouldn't have to the next morning.

There was a soft glow in his room when he stepped in. Varian fell into bed without getting changed, a content smile on his face as he slowly dozed off.

Dreaming of fire-swords and heavenly battles.