CHAPTER THIRTY-NINE
ALICE ROSEWELL

*:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ✧

     Adrian learned of Malachi Dieudonne's death the next day.

Everyone old enough to hunt was ordered to patrol the entirety of Idris, scouring for bodies. Many families still had members missing. Some of them had probably been devoured by demons during the first attack, some had simply disappeared. Many had fled, and many were still in hiding, unaware that the fighting had officially come to an end. Adrian didn't blame them. He, Isabelle, Alec, and Jace were all told to search one particular street. Any survivors were immediately sent to the Accords Hall, where a makeshift infirmary was set up that morning. If they recognized the dead, they had to write down the name and send for their families, if they had any. If they couldn't recognize the dead, they had to call for a Silent Brother or Iron Sister.

Luckily, they found more survivors than they did dead bodies. Perhaps that was why they felt it was alright to take Adrian away from it. Everyone had lost someone in the war, or at least almost lost someone, so Adrian wasn't given the day off, wasn't given time to grieve. All they did was tell him that Malachi was found in the Accords Hall with a shard of broken glass in his neck. They thought he fell while fighting someone, but Adrian didn't care how he might have died. He cared more about the fact that he didn't feel grief when he heard the news. He didn't feel sad, and he didn't feel empty. He didn't feel numb or horrified.

Instead, what he felt was an overwhelming sense of relief, like he could finally breathe without fearing that he was somehow breathing wrong.

He wasn't originally going to attend Malachi's funeral. He knew it'd be one of the services with the most attendants, simply because Malachi was the former Consul. He didn't want to deal with the stares or the complete strangers coming up to him to offer their condolences. He didn't want to deal with their pity, because they didn't know what kind of father he was behind closed doors, what kind of man. They just knew that a boy had lost his father. They didn't know the boy was relieved to be free of him, that Malachi had left behind more damage and bruises than he had affection, and Adrian didn't think he'd be able to keep his mouth shut if someone started talking about how tragic Malachi's death was.

His death wasn't tragic. It was a blessing in disguise.

In the end, it was his guilt for feeling relieved over someone's death that made him go last minute. He threw on the first white shirt and pants he saw. He had wanted to go alone, since it was easier to stay hidden that way, but Alec had caught him getting ready. He had taken one look at Adrian's all-white outfit and had started getting ready as well. Adrian had tried to convince him he didn't have to go, but Alec simply said he wasn't going to let Adrian go alone before he had pulled on a white sweater.

Now there they were, at Malachi Dieudonne's funeral, surrounded by people who were giving them both pitying and judgmental looks. By then, everyone in Idris had heard of Adrian kissing Alexander Lightwood in the Accords Hall. Adrian could tell some of them found Alec's attendance to the late Consul's funeral disrespectful, but he couldn't bring himself to care. He didn't have to fear Malachi anymore. What everyone else thought meant absolutely nothing to him. That was what he tried to convince himself, at least. It was easier to pretend.

Once the service was over and Malachi's body was burning, Adrian stayed a tad longer with a frown on his face. Around him, others were getting ready to leave. Alec was one of them, but he stopped when he noticed Adrian's expression. He paused, hand sliding up his arm to settle on his shoulder. He gave Adrian a reassuring squeeze. It helped Adrian center himself, helped him focus. He met Alec's questioning gaze and let out a soft sigh.

"I feel like I should be more upset than I am," he whispered. He was suddenly very aware of all the judgmental stares, and that made him very aware of how close Alec was, how his hand was still on his shoulder. He cleared his throat and tried not to think about how he wasn't feeling so confident or careless anymore. "I mean, I should be sad, right? I should be grieving." Alec frowned at him, opening his mouth to probably say something about how awful Malachi was, but then he seemed to think better of it. He pressed his lips together and thought over his response very carefully, gaze shifting to the grass under their feet.

"Everyone grieves differently," Alec eventually decided on. It was simple, and such a cliché answer that Adrian couldn't help but snort. It was louder than he intended it to be, and it earned him startled and shocked looks from those in earshot. He cleared his throat and ducked his head, sliding closer to Alec even though he could still feel the stares.

"But I'm not grieving," Adrian pointed out, making sure to keep his voice a whisper this time. It wouldn't do him any good if people heard him say that. "I'm not even..." His voice trailed off. He heaved an exasperated sigh and pulled away slightly, running a hand through his hair and disrupting the way it was styled.

"Come on," Alec decided, reaching for Adrian's hand. "Let's go home." Even Adrian was surprised when his hand jerked back, away from Alec's. He hadn't even made a decision to jerk away from his touch. It had been pure instinct. The look of hurt on Alec's face made him feel even worse than he felt before. He opened his mouth to give some form of explanation, but Alec was already shaking his head. His hurt expression was gone, and now he just looked annoyed, though not at Adrian. Just at the situation. At the now dead man that made Adrian so afraid in the first place.

They walked home in silence. Halfway there, Adrian reached for Alec's hand, to somehow make up for jerking away from him earlier. He didn't know if it made it better, but it felt nice, at least.

It wasn't until they were both locked away in their bedroom, after they both made sure that Jace wasn't there, that Alec spoke.

"Adrian," he said gently. "Have you had the chance to process...anything? Not just Malachi's death, but..." Alec trailed off, but Adrian didn't need him to finish what he was saying. He understood perfectly. Adrian barely had any time to rest the past few days, let alone find closure to everything that had happened. Demons had attacked the city, he'd seen innocents fall during the attack itself, he had almost died, Max had almost died, they had gone to war against Valentine—and on top of all of that, he had learned that his father wasn't actually his father. Then he'd had to attend his fake father's funeral, a funeral he hadn't really wanted to go to in the first place, but had felt too guilty for ignoring. It was a lot for anyone to deal with in a lifetime, much less in just a handful of days.

"Um, no," Adrian admitted, wincing when he realized how small his voice sounded. He distracted himself by pulling his jacket off and throwing it across the back of a chair. His fingers went to the cuff links next, the gold etched with red runes for mourning, but he found that his fingers were trembling too much to properly get them off. He was glad he had his back turned to Alec. It would have just worried him more. "No, not really."

He'd managed to keep his voice level and calm until the last word. His breath hitched suddenly, catching in his throat. His vision blurred in front of him, and it took him a moment to realize that his eyes were welling with tears. He quickly blinked them away and cleared his throat, hoping Alec hadn't noticed his voice crack on the last word. It was too good to hope for, because of course Alec had noticed. It was something Alec had been waiting for ever since Adrian got the news about Malachi, because there was only so much Adrian could deal with. Even if Adrian wasn't mourning, Alec knew the guilt over not mourning was there, knew that Adrian was empathetic by nature, and so much death would have a toll on him no matter how okay he claimed to be.

Which was why Alec was prepared for when Adrian suddenly whirled on his heel and dived into his arms, face pressing into his neck as sobs wracked his entire body. He hadn't cried so hard in a very long time, but it was okay, because Alec was there, and Adrian had always hated crying alone.

*:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ✧

The next day, Adrian found himself standing in front of Rosewell Bakery, shifting from foot to foot as he debated whether to step inside or not. Angel Square was packed with people, mainly for shops that were being patched up. Most of them had been destroyed, or at least had their windows smashed, during the attack. Rosewell Bakery was getting new windows put in, but Adrian could see that the bakery itself was open, though no one was allowed to eat inside. Each time the door was pushed open, Adrian caught the scent of fresh bread, of icing and cinnamon and hot chocolate. The smell comforted him, made a little of the anxiety in his stomach settle.

Adrian took a deep breath and pushed through the door.

The inside was more crowded than he thought it would be. Everyone wanted coffee or cake or fresh bread. Rosewell Bakery was where he had always gone to when he needed comfort food, so it wasn't surprising that was where everyone else went, too. He pressed himself against a wall and waited for a spot to clear, debating whether he should come back at another time. He didn't want to impose if they were so busy.

He was just about to turn and go when a worker pushed her way through the crowd and stopped in front of him, hands falling to her hips. Adrian blinked at the sight of her. It was Mary Rosewell. She was covered in flour, and her shoulders were slumped like she was exhausted, but her eyes were glittering and there was a warm smile on her face. Now that Adrian knew she was his grandmother, he finally realized why her brown eyes were so familiar. They were the same shade as his. He smiled at her, reaching up to scratch the back of his neck.

"I was wondering when I would see you again," Mary said. He opened his mouth to respond—to say he could come back later if she was too busy, or that he wanted to come sooner, or something—but she was already turning away from him, motioning over her shoulder for him to follow her. Nervously, he did. She led him through the crowd, behind the counter, and then further still, past the bustling kitchen. She opened a small door and ushered him into an even smaller room. It must have served as an office, though it was so cluttered that Adrian wondered how in the world she got anything done. Maybe she simply had her own type of organization.

"Do you want anything? Water? Tea?" Mary rambled as she cleared her desk of the papers and recipes strewn about. Before he could respond, Mary pulled a kettle out of nowhere and set it on a small stove hiding away in the corner. He didn't have the heart to tell her that he was too nervous to consume anything. He'd force the tea down if he had to, if it made her less anxious. If her restless energy was any indication, she was just as nervous as he was, even though she had years to prepare for that moment.

When she placed a steaming cup in front of him a few minutes later, he took it without hesitation. The warmth of the cup against his palms helped him focus.

"Thank you," he whispered before he brought it to his mouth and blew gently at the top. Mary nodded and made her own. In the following silence, Adrian took a sip of the tea just to give his mouth something to do, and was immensely surprised when he found that the way she had made the tea was perfect. Even better than he normally made it. He glanced at it in surprise, then looked at Mary. "How did you know how I like my tea?"

Mary blinked once, twice, then let out a soft, fond chuckle.

"I didn't," she said, taking a sip of her own. "I made it how Alice used to like it without thinking." As soon as Alice's name left Mary's mouth, the room grew solemn, and Adrian lowered his cup back into his lap. He pursed his lips as he thought over what to say. He had come to her for a reason. He might as well just get on with it.

"He never told me about her," Adrian admitted. He didn't have to clarify who he was referring to. "He never told me about anything. I didn't even know her name, or that I'm a Rosewell, or even that I was adopted. I had to find out from everyone else." Mary nodded. She seemed to expect that kind of response from him.

"That doesn't surprise me," she murmured, sounding thoughtful. "I never liked Malachi Dieudonne. Always got a bad feeling when he was around." Adrian frowned at that, glancing down at the tea in his lap. He wanted to ask why she had left Adrian with him if that was the case, but he didn't seem to have the courage to. He drummed his fingers along the side of the cup instead. Mary watched him for a moment. When it became clear he wasn't going to speak first, she let out a soft sigh. Her face softened. "He didn't treat you well, did he?"

Adrian glanced up to meet her gaze. He debated lying, but then he thought better of it. There was no point.

"No," he whispered. He didn't elaborate, didn't explain all the bruises he'd had to cover up over the years, didn't explain being neglected and shipped off to become another family's problem. He was just grateful it had been the Lightwoods. They'd never made him feel like a problem, no matter how much he argued with them at times.

"I would have taken you in, you know," Mary whispered, when the silence went from uncomfortable to tense. Adrian had given up on the tea. It was now placed on the desk. Steam wasn't coming up from it anymore. "I wanted to, but he was powerful, even back then. Had a lot of friends in the right places. Your mother thought he would look after you, so when she left, the Clave gave you to him. I couldn't do a bloody thing about it." Mary made a sound of disgust and shook her head.

"I don't blame you," he admitted. "I'm actually glad it happened. I would have never met the Lightwoods." I would have never met Alec, he added mentally. The thought alone made his chest ache. "Why did my mother—why did Alice think he would look after me?" He didn't know if he could refer to her as his mother, not yet. It was too soon, too fresh. Having a face and name to someone who had been dead merely a month ago was a lot to take in, a lot to get used to.

"They were childhood friends," Mary explained, heaving a long, tired sigh. "He loved her, and she believed him when he said he'd protect you. His love for her was probably his only redeeming quality, but then, he didn't do much to honor that. In fact, he spat on it. He didn't deserve her. She was so kind. So friendly. I can see that in you." Adrian felt blood rush to his cheeks. He quickly looked down. "She loved you. I hope you know that. It broke her heart when she learned that she wouldn't be allowed to take you with her."

"Why was she exiled?" Adrian whispered. "Why was she stripped of her Marks, I mean? No one seems to know."

"Your father," Mary responded with a shrug. Adrian felt his stomach fall through the floor. He had been so focused on Malachi not being his real father that he had forgotten about his biological one. "He was a mundane. A nice boy." Mary set her cup of tea down, mouth twisting. "I tried to hide them—I didn't want to lose my daughter over something so simple—but somehow the Clave found out. I always thought Malachi had something to do with it, but I had no proof. Or maybe Valentine. He never did like Alice."

"My dad was a mundane?" Adrian whispered. In a way, it was a relief. He liked mundanes, liked the mundane world. It made more sense than Malachi.

"Yes. His name was Adam, I believe. I only met him once, when she was sneaking out of the London Institute to meet him." Adrian filed away the fact that his family was from the London Institute for later.

"Wait, she was exiled and stripped of her Marks because she fell in love?" Adrian demanded. When Mary nodded, he sighed. "Why didn't my dad just become a Shadowhunter by using the—oh." Too late, he realized the flaw in his argument. Mary nodded.

"By the time the Clave got around to her trial, the Cup was long gone. Off with Jocelyn Fairchild. He would have become one, but since the Cup was gone, the only other option was exile." Adrian sat on that information for a moment, frowning, before he swallowed thickly and averted his gaze. He didn't want to ask his next question, but he had to, for his own sanity. For closure.

"Do you think they're still alive?" he whispered.

"Oh, sweetheart," Mary said gently. "Of course I do. They were stubborn ones, your parents." There was a lengthy pause. Adrian, emotionally exhausted, picked up his tea again and gulped it down. It was cold, but it gave him something to do, and he was grateful for it. Mary waited until the cup was back on the desk, empty, before she spoke again. "Do you have anymore questions, dear?"

"Yeah," Adrian said, attempting a smile. "Why do all our names start with the same letter?" Mary laughed at that, delighted, and something in Adrian's chest loosened.

"Alice liked that she and Adam both had short names that started with A. She wanted to keep the trend going. You were almost named Anna." Adrian laughed at that. It was small, but it was genuine. Mary eyed him for a moment. "I heard you're seeing that Alexander boy. He goes by Alec, yes? I suppose it's now a Rosewell tradition." Adrian started to smile at that, but it quickly disappeared.

"Do you think that she would—um—" Adrian stuttered and looked away, uncomfortable. He didn't know how to ask such a question, but he tried regardless. "Do you think either of them would care that—that I, um—"

"They would be proud of you," Mary said confidently, with no hesitation. The bundle of anxiety in Adrian's stomach disappeared. "The Rosewell family has always been very...open-minded. Do you know what our family words are?" Adrian shook his head. Mary smiled gently. "Timendi causa est nescire." Adrian blinked slowly.

"Ignorance is the cause of fear," he translated, a grin tugging at the corner of his lips. Mary smiled back, pleased. Adrian leaned forward in his seat suddenly, excitement building in his chest. "Can you tell me more?" Mary's smile turned into a grin. She held up a finger and started rummaging through her desk, looking for something. When she found it, she made a sound of excitement and tossed him something small. He caught it on instinct, letting is rest on his palm. It was a silver ring in the shape of a rose.

"It's the family ring," Mary explained as Adrian slipped it on his middle finger. "It's passed down through the eldest child. I wanted to give it to you years ago, but life got in the way." She settled back in her chair and smiled warmly at him. "Now, what else would you like to know, dear?"

*:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ✧

When he got home over two hours later, he found Isabelle in the back gardens, watching over Max as the youngest Lightwood read one of his comic books. He was sprawled across the grass, and aside from the bandage still wrapped around his head, nothing would have given away that he had been gravely injured days ago. Adrian crept up to Isabelle's side, making sure not to make any sudden sounds. Max flinched a lot lately. Max did a lot of things lately.

But the thing they were most concerned about was what he wasn't doing.

"He hasn't said a word since he woke up," Isabelle whispered as they watched him. "Brother Zachariah said he was fine. He said Max would be fine." Her voice cracked on the last word. Adrian wrapped an arm around her shoulders and brought her into his side.

"He almost died, Izzy," he reminded gently, though the words made him wince. "Everyone deals with trauma differently. We just have to give him time." Isabelle pursed her lips.

"Shadowhunters don't like things that are different," she whispered. Adrian didn't need to be reminded of that. He thought of Helen and Mark, with their pointed ears and fae blood, thought of Ty with his autism, thought of himself and Alec. He knew what their people were like. "I'm just afraid people will...I don't know."

"We'll protect him," Adrian decided, watching as Max flipped to another page and grinned happily.

"We'd be able to protect him better if we were stronger," Isabelle whispered, tilting her head to look up at him. "I still want to be parabatai, Dri. Do you?" Without a word, Adrian nodded. "Good. I'll talk to mom and Brother Zachariah about it. Maybe we can get it done and over with before we leave Idris. I know it takes months and months of preparation, but Brother Zachariah seems to have a soft spot for our family, and for parabatais in general. Who knows? Maybe we can get a wild party out of it."

"Good," Adrian said with a laugh. "God knows we need to have a party around here."

*:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ✧

AUTHOR'S NOTE: In regards to Max, I didn't want to kill him off (because I don't have the stomach for it) but I also still wanted what happened to him to have consequences, and this is it. The trauma from Sebastian's attack has caused him to develop elective mutism. Because of the culture he lives in, he unfortunately won't be getting any professional help (because Shadowhunters don't have psychologists, and if they took him to a mundane doctor, it'd be breaking the law and they could get their Marks stripped because this culture is full of assholes). I just don't want anyone to think I'm taking Max's condition lightly. I promise, I'm not, it's just the world he lives in, and I have to work with that/around it. xxx

On another note, here's Adrian's mom when she was his age. xxx

edited: 11.10.19