Hi everbody! This is a oneshot (super long, I know, but still a one-shot) that I've been working on for a while now... based on the AU prompt: Gods and Goddesses

And can I just say...what the heck is the adjective of Idris? Idrisian? Idridian? I vaguely remember reading it in a book but I can't find the moment anymore...so I just picked Idrian...I think it has the nicest ring to it.

Hope you enjoy it!

Ever

It wasn't every day that the Idrian God of War and Combat fell in love with a mortal girl.

The mortals of Idris sacrificed livestock to the gods on the first day of every month. And once at the end of each year, the gods would come down among mortals, take their seats upon the thrones in their various temples, and listen to the pleas of the mundane. That day there was always a huge celebration called the Festival of the Gods, it took place early in spring and served as the marking of a new year.

The true home of the gods lay in the sky, above the soaring glass towers of Idris's largest city, Alicante. Here resided all the Idrian gods in stone temples that sat solid upon clouds. There was a luscious garden that grew all fruits, training grounds for combat, pavilions for the arts and crafts, a utopia above the heads of mortals.

The other divinities spent their days consumed by their domains and tasks: The goddess of weaving and other crafts rarely poked her head out of her work. Some enjoyed mingling in disguise with humans: Magnus for instance liked to tease mortals more than he should.

But of all the immortals, Jace was the most disinterested in human affairs. They bored him, humans, because they were such fickle little things. His father, Valentine, had called them "soap bubbles" and used to amuse himself with popping them.

Jace preferred to spend his days training or occasionally he would travel down from the realm of the gods to a clearing in the woods. It was peaceful there, in the warmth of sunlight; a single river ran through the edge of the clearing, its water cold and clean. He liked to sleep in the shade of a large boulder by the riverside and often came there to clear his head.

That was how Alec found him the day of the Festival.

He was trying to fall asleep when Alec rode down from the sky on his winds. They had been raised as brothers together and although they did not share the same immortal blood, Jace considered no one else closer to family than Alec. "Jace!" said Alec, dismounting from the air with a gust of wind that tickled Jace's hair. "You're supposed to be at the Festival, Mother sent me to fetch you."

"Did she?" asked Jace, unperturbed.

Alec looked annoyed. "Let's go," he said.

"I'm not interested—" said Jace with a sigh, "—in the petty woes of mortals."

A gust of wind whipped him from the ground and lifted him none to gently to his feet. Jace snarled, "What was that for?" he snapped.

"It's your duty as an Idrian god," said Alec. "Mother and Father are waiting. Now let's go."

"I'll go later," promised Jace. "Give me five minutes and I'll catch up to you."

Alec's look clearly said "I don't believe you" but he relented and didn't push his foster brother further. Instead he summoned the winds around him and rode off in the direction of Alicante.

Jace sat back down on the ground, his back to the boulder and rubbed the bridge of his nose. He was about to call for his ride (a black pegasus that flew with the swiftness of lightning) when the sound of splashing reached his ears.

Curious, he peeked around the curved edge of the boulder and drew back in surprise. A mortal girl had waded into the river. She was wearing a thin white dress that was see through when wet and hugged the curves of her body emphasizing the shape of her hips and chest. She was young, barely into adulthood, and her flowing hair was the color of Isabelle's fire. Behind her came a group of mortal men, the kind of trashy, worthless, mortals that annoyed Jace. They were dressed in wool clothing, their hands thick with dirt, grinning and laughing to each other at the girl. One of the men was taunting her.

Sudden anger surged up within Jace and he felt the fury of war burn within his veins.

The tallest of the men said something, cooed at the girl, and made to grab her arm. She backed away from him farther into the river and spat in his direction. This infuriated the men and they were no longer laughing. As one, they prowled towards the defenseless girl, as lions surround a helpless gazelle.

"I wouldn't touch her if I were you," said Jace, sauntering out from behind the boulder with the stride and arrogance of a predatory cat.

The tallest of the men paused at the sight of him. "That's none of your business, now is it?" He said. The other men in the circle laughed. "Now do yourself a favor, pretty boy, and get lost before you do something you'll regret."

"That's funny," replied Jace coldly, "I was just about to say the same of you."

The smirks faded from the mortals' faces. "Who do you think you are?" The tallest, and obvious leader, of the crew demanded.

"You really don't want to know," replied Jace.

This enraged the men further. "Oh yeah?" Their leader said. "You'll regret that." And without another word they were charging him.

These men were amateurs, Jace thought, as he fluidly dodged and avoided their blows. Amateurs who thought they could defeat the god of war? He swept the first man's feet out from under him, kicked the second in the ribs knocking him backwards into the river, and using the third as a platform propelled himself forwards in an inhuman leap until he had landed in the river between the girl and the last of the men. Jace cocked his head and beckoned with his hand. "Is that all you've got?" He asked, his eyes glowed golden with the force of his power.

The men had lost confidence and were looking on fearfully. Their leader, backed away, spitting. "You got lucky this time," he said. And then they turned tail and fled back the way they'd come.

Jace rolled his shoulders, his body still full of adrenaline from the fight, and turned back towards the red haired girl with a grin. "Your welcome," he said, cockily. "I expect your eternal grati—"

He was interrupted by a sharp slap, the force of which caused him to rock back on his heels in surprise. She'd slapped him, he thought stunned.

"If you expect me to fall to my knees, you've got another thing coming." She retorted. Her entire being was soaked, but her eyes burned with fire, and even wet and almost naked, Jace thought she looked like a goddess. "I'm not giving you any of this."

Jace looked confused. "What?" He asked, forgetting for a moment that the infuriating red head before him was a mortal. Belatedly he realized she'd thought he wanted to have sex with her. "I…" For the first time in his life, Jace was speechless. "I didn't…I wouldn't…that's not what I meant!"

"Oh," said the girl. Her cheeks bloomed with color. "I'm sorry…I thought…"

Jace rubbed his cheek ruefully. It didn't hurt anymore, but his pride stung.

The girl looked sheepish. "I could have handled it myself," she said, "but thanks, I guess." She was looking at Jace strangely.

"Handled it yourself?" He muttered, disbelievingly.

"I'm supposed to be taking a bath," she said. There was that strange look again on her face. "So if you don't mind…"

"Oh," said Jace, He was suddenly acutely aware of the fact that her clothes were thin. She looked like she wanted to hit him again, so Jace quickly looked away.

He heard vaguely the sound of splashes as she dunked herself in the river. The next moment she'd finished and was prancing up the slope, ringing her hair out. "I've got to go," she said, "I'm supposed to be at the Festival." She was looking at him with that strangely familiar expression again.

Jace nodded, five minutes had long since passed by now and Alec would be furious with him if he didn't get moving, too. Without another word, the girl vanished over the tops of the hills and Jace was left alone with the sound of the river. He'd suddenly realized what that strange look had been, Jace thought, as he made his way towards Alicante, its glass towers gleaming in the distance. It was the same look Isabelle sometimes wore towards him, a half exasperated half this-is-ridiculous-look. For some reason that didn't irk him as much as it should.

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The temple devoted to Jace was a large marble structure built in the shape of a pentagon. There were three main chambers: the opening atrium with its enormous skylight where his throne sat carved from stone and decorated with rubies and other precious gems, the second foyer where a sacrificial altar sat, surrounded by a circle of torches (in times of war, the people of Idris would sacrifice animals to him in the hopes of victory, for this reason the altar steps remained stained with the dark remnants of blood. They had tried sacrificing people before, but Jace had had Robert send earthquakes and tremors until they'd stopped. Human sacrifice was something his father desired; the idea of human blood being spilt in his name was sickening) and the third chamber where the memorials of fallen soldiers were kept, their names inscribed into obsidian slabs.

Being worshipped as the god of war was a depressing idea that Jace didn't like. But he'd had little choice in the matter. War among humans he despised, but it was because of the human wars with demons that he kept his position as war god at all. Out of the borders of Idris, monsters ran wild in the woods. Creatures of darkness from lands beyond the dominion of Idrian gods. These dark invaders liked to ravage the lands and had been a constant problem in Idris. Jace didn't want to abandon the people in their war against these creatures, because this cause at least he found just, and for that sole reason he had not given up his position as god of war.

Nevertheless, (he would never admit this to anyone) he was jealous of his siblings' temples.

Alec's temple, as the god of winds, was open. There were no walls, only pillars, which held up the central roof. Carved into the roof was a giant skylight through which Alec liked to pass and inscribed along the edges of this circular opening was his motto.

Isabelle's temple, although it did not contain the natural openness and freedom of Alec's, had its own appeal and beauty. Hers was a circular temple, lined with an abundance of torches that were always lit. There was a huge fireplace in the back of the atrium, whose fires were tended 24-7 by maidens, and carved into the stone above the mantel were the words: Ignis Probat Aurum, Fire Tests Gold. In the darkness of night, her temple alone shown as a beacon of light in the shadows.

And finally, innocent little Max. His temple was the smallest of all the gods, but it had a certain friendliness and charm to it that no other possessed. Max was the god of childhood and innocence, so his temple was always filled with toys and games. He was the patron of little children and his vulnerable nature made it so that even mortals felt the need to nurture him.

The first of the mortals had already arrived when Jace took his seat on the throne. Mostly they were sons who were training to be warriors and were praying for guidance, occasionally someone asked for great glory in battle, sometimes the families of soldiers would come begging that he protect their loved ones. Jace listened to all their pleas half-heartedly. His mind kept wandering to the image of the fiery girl he'd met that morning in the river, her hair whipping in the wind like a warrior goddess.

By the time the mortals had finished their pleas, darkness had fallen over Alicante and the glimmering glass towers reflecting the moonlight seemed to shine with otherworldly beauty. This was the time when the gods mixed secretly among humans, took on their human forms, and joined in the festivities. Normally, Jace would find little interest in taking part, but his mind couldn't shake the image of the fiery girl from his mind and so he shed his formal battle gear for something more natural (although still black) and melted his way into the crowds.

Lanterns hung strung across strings on either side of the narrow streets, which were filled with bustling people dressed in a variety of colors. One color stood out in his vision: the fiery red hair he would recognize anywhere.

Hurrying through the crowds he caught up to her at the center of town where an elaborate mermaid fountain decorated the plaza. Belatedly Jace realized that he didn't know what he should say to her, he didn't even know her name.

"Hey," he said, catching her by the shoulder to spin her around. She was dressed in white again, in what looked like a summer dress, the skirt of which hung loosely around her knees. "I never got your name," he said.

She looked at him suspiciously. "Why do you want to know?" She asked. In the half-light of the lanterns, her hair looked alive.

"I saved your life," said Jace. "You don't think I at least deserve to know your name?"

The girl shrugged as if she couldn't see the harm in giving away such knowledge. "Clary," she said, "Clary Fray."

"Well, its nice to meet you, Clary." Jace said, offering his hand the way he'd seen mortals greet each other before.

She ignored him and continued on her way down the streets. Jace, annoyed, made to follow. "Don't you want to know my name?" He asked.

"Not particularly," she replied.

"Really?" He asked. "Because girls who meet me normally ask for that," he said, "After they swoon at the sight of me, of course."

"Of course," said Clary dryly. She seemed to be looking for someone in the crowd.

"Do you have any idea who I am?" he asked, frustrated.

"I have an idea," she replied.

Impulsively, Jace plowed onwards. "I'm Jace," he said, imagining Maryse's expression should she find out he was revealing himself so bluntly to a mortal. "I'm the god of war and combat."

"Yes, I know."

"Exactly, so I think you should show me a little more—wait what?"

"I said, I know," repeated Clary.

For the second time that day, Jace found himself at a loss for words. "You…know?" He repeated.

Clary nodded, looking at him as if she thought he were a little slow. "My father was a soldier in the Demon Wars," she said. "I used to pray at your temple and I've seen the statues of you in there."

"Oh," Jace said. "Was?" He asked.

Her face darkened. "He died," she said.

"I'm sorry." Jace wondered if that was why she didn't seem particularly impressed by him. Was she angry with him the way other mortals often were, because she thought he'd let her father die?

"It was a long time ago," Clary said simply. "I don't blame you, if that's what you're thinking."

"Why not?" Jace asked, his voice soft.

Clary looked past him at the dark sky, the stars were invisible, blotted out by the light of the city lanterns. "I don't see any point in it," she said. "Putting blame on the gods won't bring my father back." She was beautiful and no one else in the entire world had ever been this beautiful, Jace thought.

"Why did you hit me?" He asked, "If you knew who I was?"

"Are you going to punish me?" Clary asked, she didn't seem particularly afraid.

"No," Jace said automatically. "I'm curious," he admitted. "Most mortals are afraid of us, most mortals cower before us."

"Well, I'm not most mortals," replied Clary. She tucked a loose strand of her hair behind one ear. "I thought you were there to spy on me," she admitted. "I thought you were going to take advantage of me like those men wanted to."

The very idea of those men taking advantage of this girl made the blood in Jace's veins boil with fury. "I wasn't," he said. "I go to that clearing to think, it clears my head, calms me."

A cat streaked out of the crowd and stopped purring at Clary's feet. "Church!" She exclaimed and bent down to lift the furry mass into her arms. "This is Church," she explained, holding the cat out for Jace to see.

He had never been a fan of animals. Tentatively, Jace reached out a hand to stroke the cat's head. Church reacted with a shriek and a hiss and lunged at him with claws outstretched. Jace recoiled.

"No! Bad Church!" Clary scolded, pulling the cat back. "I'm sorry," she said. "I guess he's not a fan of strangers."

Jace watched the way she tenderly stroked the cat's belly, murmuring to it in whispered words until it calmed down in her arms. A strand of her red hair had fallen loose again and dangled across her face. Jace was struck by the tenderness in her eyes and an unfamiliar emotion stirred in his heart.

Above them the first of the fireworks exploded into the sky. "Oh," Clary said, surprised, her mouth a tiny "O". Church took this moment to vanish into the crowd.

"They're beautiful," Clary said, her face turned towards the sky, the fireworks were reflected in the shiny depths of her eyes.

"Yeah," said Jace, except his eyes were focused not on the heavens but on the girl beside him. "Beautiful."

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"Jace is in love!" Isabelle shrieked, prancing around the floor of Jace's room with the savage delight of a child that had found its next game.

"I'm not," denied Jace vehemently. The last thing he needed was Isabelle interfering in his affairs. Besides being the goddess of fire she was also the goddess of lust and passion and she had an annoying tendency to try and matchmake her older brothers.

The last time Isabelle had been interested in Jace's love life, he'd woken up next to a river nymph, completely naked, with vague memories of having committed horribly embarrassing acts.

"Really?" It was Alec, having just walked into the room. His boyfriend, Magnus, trailed in behind him. Magnus was wearing another of his ridiculous outfits. This one involved what looked like tights and a flowing purple robe adorned with enough glitter to blind someone should the light catch in just the right way. Magnus got away with wearing these ridiculous outfits because he was the god of magic and mysticism (and Jace swore the god of glitter as well) and the magical arts had to have a certain exotic feel to it, apparently. "I find that hard to believe," said Alec.

It was true. Maryse and Robert had tried to pair Jace up with some of the other goddesses since his entrance into what mortals called adolescence. They were concerned because he'd never showed any interest in the opposite sex at all. He slept with plenty of girls, but he never particularly cared for them. This matchmaking had ended up with him on a date with Aline, the goddess of mischief and pranks. They'd tried a kiss or two, but it didn't end too well. Later Aline had started dating Helen, goddess of nature and nymphs, and Jace had tried not to feel too offended.

"So, who is this stunning girl—" asked Magnus, "—who could win the heart of Jace?"

"Her name is Clary," Jace said, "and I don't love her. She annoys me, to be honest, and I don't get her at all."

"A mortal girl?" asked Isabelle, utterly shocked.

Alec, too, seemed surprised for his eyebrows had climbed into his hairline.

"Well, mortals are fascinating," chimed in Magnus, examining his painted fingernails. "They've got this funny habit of believing whatever you tell them and I find their ignorance and propensity for change endearing—in a cute puppy dog kind of way. Not that they could ever compare to you, sweet pea," Magnus added.

Alec made a face, wrinkling his nose. "Sweet pea?"

"I was trying it out," said Magnus, "no?"

"Definitely no." Alec agreed.

"I don't love her," reiterated Jace, although no one seemed to believe him. Not even Max who had poked his head in half-way through the conversation and who still thought girls had cooties.

"I've got to meet this girl!" exclaimed Isabelle, her expression of glee similar to the expression he'd seen on mortals when they celebrated their birthdays.

Jace winced. He could imagine just how well that would turn out. "Oh no," he said. "You're going to make a mess of—" A mess of what exactly? "Just stay away from her!" He said.

Isabelle had a nasty twinkle in her eye. "Whatever you say," she said unconvincingly and pranced out again.

Jace only groaned and buried his face in his pillows.

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It was twilight when the knock at the door came. Clary, who had just finished clearing the table and was currently helping her mother with the dishes, put her messy hair up into a hurried ponytail and ran to open the door.

Standing on her doorstep was a god.

It was Jace, his golden blonde hair perfectly kept. He was wearing commoner's clothes, nothing like the battle gear he was normally depicted in, but he still managed to look infuriatingly handsome. His skin radiated with a certain glow that surely only came from divinity and the shirt clung to his body, emphasizing the muscles in his biceps and abs.

He was so beautifully handsome that Clary drew in a breath.

When she'd first met him in the clearing by the river, she'd been struck then by the perfectness of his posture, the clearly confident and almost arrogant way he held himself, the golden color of his hair that gleamed in the sunlight. From that first moment, she'd suspected he wasn't quite human. What mortal could look so…so much like that?

She'd slapped him anyway.

And now here he stood, on her doorstep as normally as if he were the boy next door. He grinned cockily like he could hear her thoughts and his golden eyes lit up when he saw her. "Hey," he said, much too casually.

"What are you doing here?" she hissed.

"There's something I wanted to show you." He said and he looked slightly hurt as if her sharp words had wounded him. No one had the right to look that good, Clary thought.

She cast a quick look back into the house, but her mother was still in the kitchen, out of sight. "What if someone sees you?" She whispered.

Jace grinned. "Worried about your reputation?" he quipped.

"I thought gods were supposed to—I don't know—not be so obviously gods when they walked among mortals."

Jace shrugged.

"I mean—am I supposed to…tell someone?"

"Nah," he said. "It can be our secret." And Clary fought the shiver of delight that ran up her spine at his words. Our secret. His voice was deep, she thought, and sexy. "But come on, or you're going to miss it."

"Miss what?" She asked, accusingly.

"You'll like it," he promised. "Trust me."

And he looked so much like an angel or something that she really did want to trust him.

"Mom!" Clary called, her back to the house. She was looking at Jace. "I want to go out for a walk…is that okay?"

Her mother's voice floated to her from the kitchen. "Alright, but don't stay out too late."

"I won't," Clary said, shutting the door behind her.

Immediately, he took off in the direction of the mountains and Clary ran to follow. "Where are we going?" She asked.

"You'll see," was the only reply. For a god he was strangely infuriating.

By the time they reached the edge of Alicante, true darkness had fallen. Clary suddenly regretted not taking the initiative to grab a jacket. Jace noticed her shivering in the light material of her dress, took off his jacket and offered it to her. She accepted gratefully. It was made of leather and was warm when she slid her arms into it from his heat. The sleeves were too long and she had to roll them up to even begin to see her hands. It made her feel small wrapped in the fabric. When she thought Jace wasn't looking, Clary hugged herself and took in the scent of his jacket. It smelled like Jace, she thought, like metal and blood on the surface, but if she pushed deeper there was the smell of a flowers and the hint of a foreign spice. It smelled pleasant and comforting.

Beneath his jacket, Jace was wearing a simple dark t-shirt that looked black in the moonlight. His bare arms were exposed and Clary could make out dark tattoos that curled all over his arms and disappeared under the sleeve of his shirt. Some of the fresh marks were black and others had faded to a silvery-white, which gleamed in the moonlight.

"What are those marks?" She asked. She had seen them on the bodies of warriors marching off to battle before and vaguely understood it was some ritual to respect the war god.

"These?" Jace asked, "I was born with these marks." He said. "They're written in the language of the gods and they aid me in battle."

Clary peered curiously at the marks, which twisted as he moved like living creatures. "How do they aid you?" she asked.

"This one," he gestured to a rune that resembled a bow, "gives me angelic power. This one speed, that one strength, enhanced balance, night vision, agility…"

"I've seen the warriors wear similar marks on their way to battle," mused Clary.

Jace had a strange look on his face. "Yes," he said simply, "they do that."

They reached the edge of the forests where to Clary's amazement stood a magnificent black steed. His coat was the color of midnight and he was equipped with a war saddle. Huge, majestic, wings soared out of his back and lay folded neatly on either side of the saddle. Jace whistled when they approached and the pegasus (for Clary now realized it was a pegasus) snorted and trotted forwards at his call. Jace rubbed the horse's snout fondly and gestured for Clary to mount upon its back.

She hesitated.

"It's faster if we ride him," explained Jace. Slowly, Clary let Jace help her onto the steed and he climbed in behind her, his arms wrapped around her body, holding her securely in place and his hands grabbed the reins.

The horse turned beneath them and unfurled its wings. The sheer size of its wingspan was amazing. Jace dug his heels into the steed's side and the war Pegasus began to trot, gaining speed as he went, until he was sprinting, the landscape blurring around them. With a sudden jolt, its powerful wings beat the air and suddenly they were soaring.

Clary, who had shut her eyes, opened them and gasped in astonishment. Below them the world lay unfurled like one of her paintings. Tiny twinkling lights from the city flickered dimly to their right, but the wide expanse of land beneath them was in shadow. The horse banked to the left, away from the glimmering lights of Alicante and made a beeline for the mountains, setting down shortly on the highest ledge of one of these mountains.

Jace helped her dismount and held her while she steadied herself on the uneven ground. When Clary turned away from the rock face she saw a sea of stars strewn across the sky. The stars had never glimmered so brightly and so beautifully before, but here away from the brightness of the city, she could see them in their true glory.

"The stars shine brightest over Idris," said Jace. He directed her view towards a particularly bright cluster of stars. "Those are the lights of heavenly Idris," he said, "The realm of the gods. The land that you live on takes its name from that place."

Clary smiled and tried to imagine a city floating in the clouds. "I bet it's beautiful there," she murmured.

"Come on, what I wanted to show you is just over that ridge."

Clary began to climb when without warning her feet slid and she stumbled. A warm hand gripped her wrist and steadied her. When she looked up, Clary saw that she was now nose to nose with Jace, so close she could feel his breath on her face. The stars were reflected in his golden eyes. Her breathing had sped up, her heart began to race, and an uncontrollable flush filled her cheeks. For a moment, they simply stared at each other, each seeing the heavens in each other's eyes before Jace turned away.

It was almost midnight by the time they'd made it over the last part of the ridge. Before her was a darkened meadow and in the distance Clary could just make out the shadowy silhouette of trees. "What am I supposed to be looking at?" She asked.

"Be patient," he replied, his voice right next to her ear. She could almost imagine the feel of his lips against her skin. He had wrapped his arms around her and his body pressed up against hers, warm and distractingly masculine.

And then the meadow came alive.

One by one, flowers began to bloom in the semidarkness, their petals glowing softly in the moonlight until the entire meadow was a sea of silvery blue. It was one of the most beautiful things Clary had ever seen.

She turned to look at Jace, her awe clear on her face, and was met instead by the warm pressure of his lips on hers, smothering her slight gasp of surprise. His hands had come up to press against the small of her back, propelling her closer. Obediently, Clary's fingers went to his hair and explored the silkiness of his golden locks. The kiss became more insistent and Clary found she was kissing Jace back. Her lips had parted and she was leaning in closer as if she wanted to melt into him.

Clary was the one who pulled away first, her cheeks flushed, breathless. A thousand things flashed through her mind but Clary found she couldn't put a single one of them into words. Instead she cocked her head towards the blossoms. "Do they bloom every night?" She asked.

"Only at midnight," he replied and Clary was pleased to find that he sounded equally as breathless.

Already, the flowers were beginning to wilt in waves as if a giant hand had swept over the meadow. "Maia, the goddess of the moon, planted them," said Jace.

A sudden chill crept up Clary's spine as she watched the last remaining silvery lights blink out of existence. She wondered, rather abruptly, if this was what it felt like to be a god looking down on mortals. If a mortal life was like this flower, opening, blossoming, and dying in the time it took to blink an eye. The happiness had drained out of her.

"What's wrong?" asked Jace, his thumb was tracing soothing patterns on her back while his other hand gently parted her hair to one side and draped it over her shoulder.

"I don't know you," she said. "We just met yesterday."

Jace paused, his head was tucked into the crook between her neck and shoulder, his lips brushing gently against her skin. There was amusement in his voice when he said, "a mortal telling a god that things are going too fast—who would have thought."

Clary stiffened and whirled on him, her eyes searching his for the truth. "Am I just a new toy for you?" she demanded. "Something to play around with for a few years and then one day you'll just pick up and disappear." Like my father, She wanted to say.

Jace looked shocked. "No!" He protested, his hands came up to cup her face, gently. "I…I've never felt this way about anyone before."

And Clary wanted to scream because she believed him.

"I'm one of the newer gods," said Jace. "My siblings and I, we still feel the passing of time, unlike some of the others who have lived for hundreds of years."

Clary's green eyes found Jace's gold ones and she saw the hint of something earnest and indescribable in his gaze. Slowly, as a sunflower moves with the sun, she stood up on her tiptoes and curved her body around his, reaching upwards until they were kissing again, deeply, gently, lovingly. And Clary had never felt anything more indescribably right in her life.

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"You wanted to know more about me so I'll tell you," said Jace. The two of them were seated side by side in the clearing where they'd first met. It was mid-afternoon of the next day and the sun had just passed its apex in the sky. "I'm the god of war and combat," began Jace, "but also of arrogance, perfection, handsomeness, and—"

Clary laughed. "Not all of that's true!" She said. They were holding hands and Clary's thumb was absentmindedly rubbing circles in Jace's skin.

Jace grinned, "Maybe not officially, but you've got to admit…" he gestured vaguely at himself with one hand.

Clary shook her head, a smile on her face. "I know some things…" she said, "They teach us myths and legends at school. They're just stories though."

There was a solemn look on Jace's face. "But all the stories are true," he intoned.

"Your father was Valentine," said Clary thoughtfully, "The god of death and destruction." Jace flinched slightly at the name. "He tried to take control of heavenly Idris and you fought against him, helped the other gods to cast him out of this land."

"I did," said Jace and his eyes were focused beyond the clearing on something only he could see.

"He's not dead, is he?"

"No," said Jace. "He is a god and as long as his realm remains strong, he cannot be killed."

"Does it bother you—" she whispered, "—that your father is still alive, still out there somewhere?"

Jace's gaze swept the horizon. "Some believe that the demons who ravage our lands are my father's minions. That that's why they want to raze Idris to the ground, because my father wants revenge on us for driving him out."

"You fight the demons, though," said Clary.

"Yes," admitted Jace. "It is my sole mission. Because I won't let my father have his way with this land."

"Who was your mother?" asked Clary.

Jace frowned, "My father never said I had a mother," he confessed. "He told me I had been born from his thoughts and actions." Clary nodded, it wasn't too unusual to hear of gods springing into being in such ways. Legend said that the god of secrets and lies, Zachariah, had been born from the deceit of humans. "I suppose it wasn't hard to believe that the plots of the god of destruction would bring forth war," said Jace bitterly.

Clary squeezed his hand comfortingly. "Why do you do that?" She asked, "Hate on yourself so much."

Jace wouldn't meet her eyes so she had to touch his shoulder to make him look at her. "It wasn't something I wanted," he confessed. "To rule over war and combat—to be feared and despised by mortals and immortals alike. It was something my father made me."

Clary knocked her shoulder gently against his. "My father was a bastard," she said. And this seemed to shock Jace temporarily out of his self-disgust. "He abandoned my mother and I, ran off to war because he wanted glory and because he couldn't take the pressure of raising a child."

"I'm sorry," said Jace honestly. "I didn't mean—"

"Please," Clary's eyes were surprisingly bright, "I know that you think war brings suffering, that somehow your nature brings misery and you blame yourself for all of this, but I think your cause is noble." And within her eyes, Jace could see the burning fire that he'd first fallen in love with. "You are not your father. You've proven that. People don't understand you and so they blame you for their misfortunes, but I don't believe that any of this is your fault."

They were about to kiss when a gust of wind tore through the clearing, whipping Clary's hair every which way. After the gale had died down, Clary saw a human figure jogging towards them from the edge of the clearing.

He was young, just a little older than Jace, with dark brown hair and eyes the bright blue of a summer sky. Jace looked annoyed. "That's Alec," he explained, "My brother."

Alec looked out of breath when he reached them, his dark hair windblown, a characteristic that seemed incredibly charming. He grinned sheepishly at Clary as if he was embarrassed for having interrupted them, but was all seriousness when he addressed Jace. "The Clave sent me," he said. "They're requesting your presence in Idris."

Jace paled.

"What's going on?" Clary asked.

"I have to go," said Jace, pulling his hand free from hers. "I'll be back when I can." And without another word, he jumped onto one of Alec's winds and was whisked away into the air.

.

.

.

The Clave was the name for the council of the eldest major gods, who made all the important decisions about Idris and the mortal kingdoms. They rarely met arbitrarily as it was difficult for many of them to agree on anything, so when the Clave requested your presence before them, it was seldom good news.

Jace sat in one of the chairs outside the Gard, the name of the hall where the Clave met to deliberate, while Alec paced up and down the floors anxiously.

"Stop that," commanded Jace, irritated, "You'll wear a rut into the floors."

Alec glared at him, but obediently stopped pacing in favor of tapping his foot instead.

"What are you so worried about, anyways?" Jace asked calmly, successfully keeping his own worry out of this voice.

Alec shot Jace a look, taking in his seemingly calm posture. "Do you have any idea what this is about?" He asked, as if he suspected that Jace had broken some ancient divine law.

"How am I supposed to know? Did you speak to Maryse?"

"I haven't seen her all day," said Alec. "I just thought that maybe she was busy with the Rising or something."

Maryse, Alec and Isabelle's mother and Jace's foster mother, was the goddess of the sun and so preformed two ceremonies every day: the Rising and the Setting. She had a fiery personality, aggressive, and in this way Isabelle took after her mother.

At that moment, the door to the main hall opened and Imogen stepped out. As the goddess of Law and Order, she often proceeded over Clave meetings. Jace felt a sudden dislike for her rise up in his blood, perhaps it was the natural rebellion associated with battle that ran through his veins or her pinched face and total adherence to order, but Jace had never had a particularly strong love for the Law.

"Jace, god of war and combat," said Imogen. "You may enter now."

Jace gave Alec a shrug as if to reassure him that everything was fine and followed Imogen into the recesses of the main hall. It was an enormous chamber with a domed roof, which was adorned with paintings of the divine. Lined along the walls of the hall in a semicircle were chairs for each of the members of the Clave.

There were many faces that he recognized. There was his foster father, Robert, God of the Earth, strong and unyielding. Maryse sat next to him, radiant as the light of the sun. Next to her sat Will, God of the Sea, his eyes the deep blue of Oceans. Magnus had a seat off to the side and was waggling his fingers at Jace. Leave it to Magnus to be the only splash of color in the room.

There was a single chair on the floor of the Gard, which was where Jace sat, perched on the edge of the seat, warily. Now that he was here, a feeling of foreboding had crept up on him. He could sense the sheer power concentrated in this room, sizzling against his skin.

Imogen took her designated seat on the council and the meeting began. "Jace," said Imogen, "It has come to our attention that you have been spending an unprecedented amount of time with a mortal."

Jace almost wanted to laugh. "This is about, Clary?" He asked, disbelievingly.

There was no lightness in Imogen's eyes. "Divine Law states that we cannot become involved intimately with the life of a mortal." Her lips were pressed into a hard line. "It is forbidden."

"Since when?" snapped Jace.

"Since your father sinned."

Jace flinched. It was pathetic how any mention of his father brought out this reaction in him. "There have been tons of gods who had affairs with mortals!" argued Jace, "their children are the heroes that walk the earth."

Maryse's eyes were softer, full of pity for her foster son. "You are still a young god, so your misdirection can be forgiven." She said, "Although it has happened sparsely over the millennia that a god will fall in love with a mortal, these relationships always end in tragedy. Have you thought nothing of the future, Jace?" she asked. "Her life will fade in thirty years, forty years, and then what will you do?"

"She is a distraction," said Imogen. "We cannot allow you to be consumed by what you feel for this mortal and neglect your duties."

"My duties?" snarled Jace. He could feel the burning call of battle rushing through his veins and Jace bit his lip until it bled.

"We have called you here to defend yourself, Jace, son of Death, before the Clave passes its decision…"

.

.

.

Ever since Jace had turned up unannounced on her doorstep, it seemed to have opened the gateway for other gods and goddesses to visit her as well, for when Clary opened her front door to run a quick errand into town for her mother, she found a dazzling teenage girl on her doorstep.

She had long dark hair, tied up in a high ponytail at the back of her head and equally dark eyes with just a hint of fire in their shadowy depths. Her lips were seductively red, her cheeks just the right combination of rosy and pale. She was the most beautiful girl Clary had ever seen, and she seemed to know it for there was a confident smile on her face vaguely reminiscent of Jace.

"Clary Fray?" She asked and her voice was the voice of a temptress.

"Yes," said Clary hesitantly.

The dark haired girl beamed. "I'm Isabelle," she said, "Jace's sister."

.

.

.

Clary rather regretted allowing Isabelle to follow her into town for the goddess attracted lots of unwanted attention. Maybe it was because of her rather revealing red dress or the fact that she seemed to exude tantalizing vibes or even because of her glowing beauty, which hinted at immortal origins, either way every human being in town with even the smallest hint of a Y chromosome was pining after her like a lost puppy.

Isabelle, herself, seemed oblivious to the attention she was garnering, seeming instead to be fascinated by the fruits on sale in the market. As they walked, Clary saw her lift an apple from one of the vendor's stalls and bite into it.

"That's stealing," said Clary, pointedly.

"Oh, don't be a party pooper," scolded Isabelle, winking at the salesman, who seemed to be so amazed that she had graced him with her presence, he didn't even notice she hadn't paid him for the apple (or maybe her attention was payment enough). "You sound like Alec."

Clary sighed. What was it with immortals who felt they could do whatever they wanted in her life? "What did you say you wanted again?" She asked.

"I didn't," said Isabelle. She was wearing long black-heeled boots that seemed to give off sparks with every step she took and Clary was suddenly struck by the thought that Isabelle might spontaneously catch on fire. "I wanted to see the girl that Jace was in love with," she said, her eyes moved critically up and down Clary's body, making Clary feel horribly self-conscious. Isabelle frowned, "A little disappointing actually," she said and Clary's cheeks flushed with anger.

Isabelle turned abruptly and continued walking down the street, unperturbed.

"Look, Isabelle—" began Clary.

"Call me Izzy," she interrupted. "Everyone does."

Clary plowed on before she could stop and think about how weird it was that a goddess had just asked her to call her Izzy. "—I don't know why you think Jace is in love with me. We just met, we're just getting to know each other."

Isabelle snorted, something rather out of place with her image, and said, "Please, you haven't known Jace as long as I have, the boy is practically besotted with you."

"Really." Clary said, it came out more of a statement than a question.

"Oh yes, he's slept with tons of girls before, but I've never seen him care so much about one."

Any warmth Clary had begun to feel towards the goddess vanished abruptly. "We haven't slept together," said Clary sharply.

Isabelle raised one eyebrow. "Really," she said, her voice a tad higher than normal.

"Really," said Clary dryly. This seemed to baffle Isabelle for a moment before she plowed on as normal. "Well you haven't seen what I've seen," she said. "Jace was always…a little odd. After what happened with his father, we were worried that maybe he couldn't open his heart and love anything anymore. My mother used to be concerned that he'd end up alone for eternity." Isabelle's ponytail swung back and forth as she talked. "She tried to match him up with every goddess under the sky and he turned down every last one of them, drove them all a little crazy actually."

"Crazy, huh?" said Clary weakly.

"Oh yes," continued Isabelle, oblivious to the wide array of emotions flashing across Clary's face. "Some men have this look that says 'I want to have sex with you' but Jace looks at you like you've already had sex, it was great and now you're just friends. Drives girls crazy with lust." Isabelle's smile showed off her sharp incisors. "But of all the girls he's ever met, you are the only one who turns his head."

Isabelle had finished her apple and as Clary watched, the gnawed core burst spontaneously into flames and was quickly consumed. A few fluttery pieces of ash were carried away by the wind. Clary quickly looked around, expecting cries of fear and amazement, but no one seemed to have noticed Isabelle's trick. "Not many gods approve of relationships with mortals," continued Isabelle. "What would you do, if one of them tried to stop you from seeing Jace?"

Clary's hand tightened on the basket in her arms and she looked Isabelle defiantly in the eyes. "Is that a challenge?" she asked, more bravely than she felt. Clary half expected to burst into flames like Isabelle's apple, but the goddess only laughed.

Draping an arm around Clary, Isabelle drew her closer, still laughing. "I like you," she said. "I can see what made Jace fall for you. You've got guts." She began to hum tunelessly under her breath as the two of them continued down the street. "I really do hope you two work out," she said.

.

.

.

The Clave was still deliberating when Jace abandoned waiting and flew down to meet Clary. Darkness had fallen in the lands below and it was currently pouring rain.

She seemed surprised to see him on her doorstep. Although the rain had soaked him and made his hair cling wet to his head, Jace still looked amazingly good. In fact, he looked like a soldier that had just come from battle.

Clary stepped aside to let him in. "My mother's asleep upstairs," she whispered, "don't wake her."

Jace nodded wordlessly and wrung out most of the water from his clothes before taking a seat on the couch in Clary's living room.

"Where did you run off to so quickly?" asked Clary, taking a seat next to him.

He made a face. "The council of gods wanted to see me," he said. "They wanted to talk about you actually."

Clary looked alarmed. Not many gods approve of relationships with mortals, Isabelle had said. She was suddenly acutely aware of the barrier between her and Jace. He was sitting right next to her on the couch, close enough to touch if she wanted to and yet he might as well have been miles away. "Should I be worried?" she asked.

"Those guys could argue for years and never reach a consensus," said Jace. "You don't have to worry too much about the verdict right now."

"I met your sister, today," Clary said.

This seemed to get Jace's attention for he sat bolt upright in his seat. "She didn't say anything weird to you did she?" He demanded, suddenly concerned. "I told her to stay away from you, but Isabelle does what she likes."

"I've noticed," said Clary.

Jace looked horrified.

"Don't worry," she reassured him. "I think I passed her test." This seemed to relieve Jace, who grinned and leaned in to kiss her. "But you never told me that you'd slept with a lot of girls," said Clary wryly.

"Ah," Jace seemed at a loss for words, "What can I say?" He asked. "They just can't seem to stay away." And then sobering he said, "You're not like any of those other girls."

"No?"

"You're more beautiful, braver, smarter…"

"But I'm mortal," said Clary, "And you're a god."

"Does it bother you?" He asked, and his golden eyes glowed softly in the darkness.

Instead of answering, Clary took his hand and led him up the stairs to her room. It was a messy room, littered with art supplies. Scattered across the walls and floors were paintings. Some of them completed, others half finished. Jace took all this in and sat on the edge of her bed. One of the paintings he recognized was of the Alicante skyline, the sun reflecting off the beautiful glass towers. Another depicted a doe and her child, grazing on dandelions. There was another of a young rabbit poking its nose tentatively from its den and yet another of the garden behind Clary's house in the early beginnings of spring. Snow still clung to the ground but already small green buds were bursting through the cold whiteness.

Each of these paintings said something that could not be put into words, they were captured emotions, moments frozen in time. Pictures not of a doe, a rabbit and new grass, but of a mother's love, innocence, and valiant human struggle.

There was another canvas standing upright on the easel, its surface still relatively fresh with wet paint. Jace realized with a start that he recognized that scene. It was the meadow that he had shown Clary at midnight. Three lone flowers stood out in sharp relief, each in a different stage of life: Birth, Blossom, Death, and there were two figures embracing in the moonlight, twined intimately together. Jace realized, with a sudden rush of sorrow, what emotion Clary had been trying to capture with that single scene.

"Clary," he whispered and suddenly they were kissing again, and he was hugging her, desperately. Her fingers found the hem of his shirt and he helped her lift it over his head. They were both on the bed now, rolling, so tangled with each other that Jace could no longer tell where he ended and where Clary began.

And all the while the message of those blooming flowers hovered in his mind. Her life will fade in thirty years, forty years, and then what will you do?

"Clary," he whispered, he could feel his own heart beating rapidly within his chest. "I could make you immortal," he said, the words spilling out before he could think them through. "I could make you a goddess, if you wanted."

They paused, he was lying on top of her, supporting his weight with his elbows so as not to crush her and her luminous green eyes were searching his face. "I love you," said Jace. "I've never loved anything more than I love you." He could hear her soft intake of breath at his confession and for a moment he was terrified she would shoot him down. His father's warning rose to the surface of his mind: To Love is to destroy and to be loved is to be the one destroyed. Jace felt that he had just handed her the one chip in his armor and he was afraid that she would take a dagger and plunge it into his heart.

When he looked at Clary, however, she was smiling. "I love you, too," she said. "Sometimes I wonder why the heck I would, but I don't want to lose you."

"It won't be easy," warned Jace, his lips right by her ear. Carefully he breathed in the scent of her. She smelled like strawberries, he decided.

"It will be worth it," she said. "Can it really be done?"

"There is one among the gods, who used to be mortal," said Jace. "Her name is Jocelyn and she is the goddess of motherhood and childbirth. Luke, the god of wilderness and of the hunt, fell in love with her and made her immortal so that she could be his bride."

"Luke of the Wolves?" She asked, remembering one of the epithets that she had read of in class.

"He is the patron of wolves," said Jace. "And they are sacred to him, for that reason no mortal hunter ever slays a wolf for fear of rousing his ire."

"Jocelyn would know—" asked Clary, she shifted until they were lying side by side on the bed, their noses touching, their foreheads barely an inch apart, "—how to make a mortal into a goddess?"

"I can ask her," said Jace, "but she travels among mortals in the spring, so she might not return to Idris for quite some time." Clary had put her hands between his face and hers so Jace reached out gently and brought them down clasped in his hands.

"I don't mind," said Clary breathlessly. "I can wait for a long time."

.

.

.

As it turned out, Clary needn't have worried about the Clave's decision at all. Jace wasn't allowed to sit in on Clave sessions because he was still underage, but Magnus kept him well informed of the events, and as far as he knew the Clave had made so little progress they'd sooner reach their destination going backwards than at the current rate.

Magnus would come out of Clave sessions wearing multicolored robes that resembled the robes mortal judges wore when sitting in court. He even had a ridiculous looking cap that had a tassel attached to the top. The tassel changed colors with his moods and hanging on the end was different keychain for each day of the week. He informed Jace quite cheerfully that he was stalling for time. In fact the Clave was currently debating (on his suggestion) whether mortal animals were allowed in Idris or if that, too, was a blatant violation of the Law.

Aldertree, the god of domesticated animals, had thrown a fit at this suggestion while Raphael, the god of the night, who had always despised Aldertree's pesky cats was taking this chance to be rid of them once and for all. This had spiraled into an enormous argument with neither side willing to back down.

Magnus forecasted that this debate would continue for quite a few weeks yet and he had a variety of other topics lined up for discussion should this dispute be settled. Aline, who loved to raise mischief at any time, promised she would play whatever variety of practical jokes it took to convince Aldertree that Imogen was out for his seat of power. Already some of the other gods were leaving Idris to escape from the mess that the Clave sessions had become and whenever a particularly good piece of mayhem occurred to prolong the debate even further, Magnus would emerge from the Gard, his tassle a brilliant gold, wink at Jace, and then turn to Alec as if he expected to be rewarded handsomely for his troubles.

Meanwhile, Jace spent increasingly more time with Clary doing nothing in particular. She wanted to learn how to fight, so Jace had taken up the task of teaching her basic combat and some days they would meet in the clearing to practice. Although women warriors were not forbidden, such a thing was severely frowned upon. This fact did not seem to discourage Clary however, and that was one of the things Jace loved about her.

Other days, they would find a shaded place to sit under the leaves of a sturdy oak tree and talk.

"Tell me about your family," Clary said one day near the middle of spring. The trees above their heads had just begun to blossom and the air smelled of the overpowering scent of flowers and pollen.

"You've already met my family," said Jace wryly.

"Isabelle and Alec, briefly, but I want to know more about the others."

Jace frowned, his forehead tended to wrinkle when he was thinking, Clary noticed.

"Our father, Robert, is the God of the Earth; our mother, Maryse, of the sun. Isabelle takes after her, I suppose," mused Jace. "They're both very…hot tempered, although Maryse has learned to control it more over the years." A gentle breeze ruffled Jace's golden locks. "Robert is…sturdy, stubborn, and unmoving as a rock. But he's also very reliable."

"Alec doesn't take after his father?" asked Clary for she found it hard to believe that the boy she'd met before had any of those characteristics.

Jace laughed. "No, Alec is more carefree, I suppose that's what part of what Magnus finds so enchanting about him."

"Magnus? The God of Magic?" She'd heard of his name briefly before although it normally came associated with occults and ritual ceremonies.

"They're dating," said Jace, raising his eyes to hers in order to judge her reaction. "It's a recent thing," he added. "I doubt they include that in the religious textbooks." He said with a shrug. "Robert and Maryse seemed to take it better than I'd expected, at any rate."

"What's Magnus like?"

"Magnus is…eccentric," continued Jace, "but he loves Alec and treats him well, and that's all that really matters." Jace leaned in closer, until his face was right next to hers, "but forget about them," he said, "What's this I hear about you paying visits to a certain god's temple?"

Clary blushed. Whenever Jace was in Idris doing god-business and she had the time, Clary had taken to visiting his temple and bringing sacrifices. It felt rather ridiculous now that she thought about it; why go pray to a god she could see almost every day if she wanted to? A sudden embarrassing thought hit her, "You can't hear my prayers can you?" She asked, horrified.

"Of course I can," said Jace, amused. "Normally, they annoy me, but I find your little voice in my head to be very amusing." She tried to kick him but her foot hit only empty space. Jace had rolled to his feet and was standing a little ways off grinning. Sometimes he moved so fast, Clary could barely see a blur to mark his movements. "I'm flattered though," continued Jace, "that you think so highly of me."

The corner of Clary's lips twitched. "Did you know there's a rather enormous statue of you in the main entranceway?" she asked. "It looks rather impressive actually, you've got wings and a sword and a rather fearful expression on your face."

"There is something like that, isn't there?" mused Jace. "If it hadn't turned out so accurately, I would have been a bit annoyed with the mortal who sculpted it, actually."

"Oh?"

"It's a frighteningly accurate depiction of me in battle," explained Jace, and some of the lightness had fled from his tone. "Mortals shouldn't be able to see me in battle, he must have had a brush with death, or something."

"And why does that annoy you?"

"I don't like it," said Jace, "when people see me."

Clary stood up and closed the distance between them. "But I see you," she whispered.

His eyes when they met hers were full of an unspeakable emotion and the slightest hint of vulnerability. Clary wondered if she was looking at the one chip in Jace's armor. "Yes," he said. "And it doesn't bother me as much as it should."

.

.

.

"So, who's the boy?"

"What?" Slightly startled, Clary looked up from the basket in her hands. She'd gone into town to buy some new art supplies and had apparently ran into Maureen, one of her only friends from school.

Maureen looked put out. "Come on, don't play dumb. Who's the boy?"

"Why do you think there's a boy?" Clary asked.

"I'm not stupid," Maureen snorted. "You're suddenly all sparkly and glowy, you're spending more and more time on your own, and you've got that aura of bliss to you that can only mean you're in love." She winked at Clary. "So, do tell!" When Clary only stared with her mouth open, Maureen continued. "I've seen you hanging around the war temple more often lately," she mused. "Don't tell me! He's a soldier?!" Her eyes were alight with mischief that reminded Clary oddly of Isabelle, involuntarily she shuddered. "I'm right, aren't I?" Maureen crowed.

"I…There's…"

"Who is he?" asked Maureen. "Someone I know? One of the warrior's sons?"

"He's not—"

"Have you been going to pray for his safety?" cooed Maureen, her eyes sparkling. "That's so sweet, Clary!"

"I haven't…praying isn't exactly—"

"Can I meet him?"

"What? No!"

"Why not?" Maureen seemed hurt.

"It's…complicated," said Clary, unable to remember how the conversation had gotten to this point.

"A secret relationship, then?" Maureen asked, and without waiting for an answer plowed straight on. "I think that's so romantic. Starcrossed lovers like Pyramus and Thisbe!"

Clary tried to smile and failed.

"Tell me his name, please?" Maureen begged. "I won't tell a soul, I swear."

Clary hesitated, "Why do you want to know?" She asked warily.

"I want to pray for you two, at the war temple."

Clary choked. She could just imagine Jace's expression should he overhear Maureen's prayer. "No!" She protested, a bit too quickly. "I mean…the war god's not really interested in love."

"That's true," said Maureen. "I guess I'll pray for you at the Love temple instead." She winked at Clary and skipped off down the road. Clary buried her face in her hands with a groan and sincerely hoped that whoever the goddess of love was, she didn't heed Maureen's request.

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.

.

It was near the end of spring when Clary first met her. She'd been wandering through the meadows of the woods, waiting for Jace. The flowers had already bloomed to their full and when strong gusts of wind blew by, it would send petals flying off into the air, raining down around her until Clary felt she was standing in a magic whirlwind of blossoms.

A woman's figure was walking across the meadow of wildflowers towards her. She was wearing a soft gold dress similar to those worn in weddings, had long red hair tied up in a braid down her back, and a soft glow about her that reminded Clary of the glow around other immortals. She looked an awfully lot like—

"Mom?" Clary asked, surprised.

The woman smiled gently. "No, dear," she said. "I'm not your mother. My name is Jocelyn, the goddess of motherhood and childbirth, although I've been told that mortals often see who reminds them most of maternity when I approach them."

She really did look like her mother, Clary thought.

"Jace came to me and asked me for help," said Jocelyn, her smile reminded Clary of warm blankets and an image sprang into her mind of her mother leaning down over her, smiling like she had never been happier in her entire life. Jocelyn looked past Clary at the falling blossoms. "What has he told you about my past?" She asked.

"Just that you used to be mortal and that you might know how to become a goddess."

"What has he told you about my mortal past?"

Clary frowned. "Nothing, I'm guessing he felt it wasn't his business to share."

Jocelyn smiled sadly. "He's more considerate than I gave him credit for…or possibly more selfish."

Clary bristled slightly. "Jace isn't selfish…he's—"

"I meant no insult, dear," said Jocelyn. "Let me tell you, then, my story: When I was a young girl, I had everything I could ever ask for. My parents were well-known merchants so we had a big house and all the money I ever needed. I was young then, pretty, naïve, the boys of the village would line up outside my door to court me. And I loved their attention because I was shallow. One of my favorite suitors was a boy named Valentine. He was handsome and intelligent and strong with white-gold hair that gleamed in the sunlight and I loved him because he flattered me with pretty words. My friends didn't approve of him, because he had no name and no family. He seemed to have turned up out of nowhere in Idris one day. But I wrote their concerns off as jealousy. Because he was perfect and what else could I possibly want?

"One night, he came to me and asked to consummate our love. I foolishly agreed. Later when I found out I was with child, I'd never felt happier. I'd always wanted to be a mother and this just meant that I would marry Valentine and we would raise the child together, but I never saw Valentine again after that night.

"He had lied to me, about everything, and I discovered this when I gave birth to the child, a boy, with his father's white gold hair and eyes as black as death. How could it have been surprising considering who his father was? That was when I learned that Valentine was the god of destruction and that I had given birth to a monster—a creature that was half mortal and half immortal, a demon who was everything his father wanted."

"But Valentine is—"

"Jace's father, yes."

"Jace isn't a monster! He's—"

"I'm not speaking of Jace, Clary," said Jocelyn patiently. "The boy was named Jonathan and I gave him the last name that Valentine had told me was his: Morgenstern. But I could not love the child and I was horrified by what I had done.

"One night, when Jonathan was barely a year old, Valentine returned to me. He told me of his plans. He said that he wanted to create a new world order, the old gods of Idris were weak and corrupt; he would create a better world. He said that he still loved me and that he would like me to be his queen. But I could not love a man such as he, I turned him down and he was greatly angered. He took Jonathan from me and flew away into the sky. I would not hear of him for many years."

"But Jace said that you and Luke—"

Jocelyn's eyes seemed to take on a lighter color. "Ah, yes, Luke…I met him shortly after Valentine's betrayal while I was wandering the wilderness trying to decide if I should end my own life. I really was considering it—" said Jocelyn, upon seeing Clary's shocked face, "—I felt I had committed an unspeakable crime. But Luke saved my life. He was the exact opposite of Valentine: kind, genuine, honest. I fell in love with him when I thought I could love no more. He made me immortal and I chose to be the goddess of motherhood because I never wanted any other mother to suffer what I had.

"You wanted to know how to become immortal—the process is deceivingly simple. You need a patron among the immortals who will take you up to heavenly Idris and after you choose your domain, you must drink from the nectar of the gods. But beware, Clary, of choosing wrong. If you do not choose the right domain, the ambrosia will burn you up from the inside and you will die. That is the price mortals pay for immortality."

Clary swallowed the lump in her throat. "How do I know what to choose?" She whispered.

"It must be something that is intricately connected to your nature, something you believe in passionately, a cause you would give your being for," said Jocelyn. "Clary, do you love him?"

"What?" The question caught her by surprise.

"Jace," said Jocelyn, patiently. "Do you love him? Enough to make this choice? Once you take the chance, there is no going back."

She thought of Jace, his cocky smile, the golden light in his eyes, his scarred hands, the gentle way he held her. "Yes," she said confidently. "I love him enough to give up the world."

"And your mother? Your friends? Once you are a goddess you will not be able to see them, you might have to fake your death. You would have to hurt them."

This idea gave Clary a pang of heartache.

"You would really be giving up the world, your world."

She met Jocelyn's gaze unyieldingly and something in her eyes seemed to surprise the goddess. "You would have been like my daughter had I been able to have a daughter." Jocelyn said, her eyes full of infinite sadness, indescribable sadness.

"You can't have children?" asked Clary, "but other goddesses are able to, Maryse—"

"I made a vow never to have another child after Jonathan," explained Jocelyn. "I keep that vow."

"But you and Luke, you could be happy—"

Jocelyn lifted one of her hands and gently cupped Clary's face with it. "I made the choice and I don't regret it." Her hand drew away leaving Clary with the vague scent of baby powder and a hint of cinquefoil. "I wish you and Jace the best, Clary." And then the goddess turned and disappeared across the meadow.

.

.

.

Maureen decided that if working at her family's weapons shop didn't work out in the near future, she could always find work as a spy or detective of some sort. After all, she was following Clary just fine and no one had noticed yet.

It was entirely Clary's fault that Maureen had had to resort to such low tricks. If the other girl had simply confessed all the details about her secret lover (name especially) then Maureen wouldn't have had to ask every boy between the ages of 15 and 25 who wandered into the weapons store about Clary and read their reaction (this had not garnered any results as of yet). She most certainly wouldn't have had to follow Clary to her secret meeting place in order to discover the identity of said lover. But alas, things did not always work out the way they should.

So this was how Maureen found herself creeping along the road out of Alicante, following Clary's bobbing red head in the distance. Clary quickly reached the edge of town and with a quick glance around to see if she'd been followed (she had, but Clary didn't seem to know that) plunged into the depths of the forest.

Maureen sent a quick prayer up to whatever gods would hear her and followed. Branches cut at her clothing and skin, leaving red scratches. Maureen had already lost sight of Clary and for one terrifying moment, she thought that she was horribly lost. Without warning the trees ahead parted and she found herself standing at the edge of a meadow.

Quickly, Maureen ducked behind the trunk of a nearby tree and just in time, because ahead of her, sitting under a small oak tree was Clary and her mystery lover.

He was hot, very hot, and if he were not currently kissing Clary, Maureen would have made a pass at him. From this distance, she could see that he had fair hair and was dressed in black. He certainly had the build of a warrior, lean and muscular. The two of them were whispering together, although Maureen could not hear what was being said. Throwing her caution to the wind, she crept closer, using the trees as cover…

.

.

.

"I met Jocelyn," said Clary, "she told me how she became a goddess."

Jace's face lit up. "Well?"

"I have to choose a domain," quoted Clary, "and drink from the nectar of the gods. But if I choose incorrectly, the ambrosia will burn me up from the inside."

This last part seemed to alarm Jace, but Clary banished his concern with a wave of her hand and a kiss. "I have to choose something I'm passionate about, something that's in my nature."

"And what would that be?" Without even meaning to, they'd leaned in closer until their noses were brushing.

"I was thinking I could be the goddess of deep love," whispered Clary, breathlessly.

"We already have a goddess of love," said Jace. "And although Camille isn't very loving for a love goddess, its probably superfluous, not to mention slightly suicidal to attract her ire."

"Hmmm, how about goddess of painting?"

Again, Jace shot this down, "Amatis, goddess of arts and crafts, she's slightly easier to get along with than Camille but she's probably not willing to give up painting."

Slightly frustrated, Clary pursed her lips. "We've still got time," soothed Jace. "There must be something else you can choose."

"Jace," began Clary, for another problem had wormed itself into her mind. "I want to ask a favor of you."

Jace paused, his lips had been gliding tantalizingly across Clary's exposed shoulder and up her neck. "Anything."

"I want my mother to meet you."

Jace stiffened and drew back rapidly. "Clary, I don't think that's a good idea."

"Why not?" she asked, petulantly.

"I…mortals shouldn't—"

"Jocelyn said once I become a goddess, I won't be able to see anyone from my mortal life anymore. She said we'd have to fake my death."

"We wouldn't. Not if you didn't want to—"

"My mother thinks the reason I keep running off on my own is because I've gotten involved in some occult," interrupted Clary. "She's worried about me and I…I want her to know the truth and to approve."

"Would she really…approve?" asked Jace.

"If we explained to her, if she were made to understand." Jace looked torn. "Please," begged Clary.

Reluctantly he caved with a huge sigh. "Alright," he said, "If that will make you happy."

Clary smiled and Jace leaned in to kiss her when he suddenly stiffened again. "We've got company," he said and cocked his head to one side. He seemed to be listening to something only he could hear and there was an amused expression on his face.

In the blink of an eye, he had vanished and Clary spun around until she found him again. He was emerging from the woods dragging a figure that was writhing and shrieking in surprise. As she watched, Jace dumped his catch unceremoniously at her feet.

It was Maureen, her hair a tangled mess, looking indignant and slightly sheepish.

"Maureen!" exclaimed Clary. "Were you spying on us?"

Maureen looked embarrassed. "You wouldn't tell me who your mystery boy was," she said, shooting Jace a shy glance. "So, who is he? I don't recognize him from the village and I must know every warrior in Idris."

Clary looked nervously at Jace. "He's…not exactly from Idris."

This confused the other girl, "But then where—" Just then the clouds passed overhead and a ray of sunshine shone down into the meadow, illuminating Jace's features, his angelic hair and golden skin, which seemed to gleam with a divine light. Maureen gasped and her wide eyes turned to Clary.

It was inevitable now, Clary thought. "This is Jace…the god of war."

Maureen's face paled with terror and to Clary's amazement she immediately prostrated herself at Jace's feet. "Forgive me, my Lord," she said, her voice trembling. "I meant no disrespect."

Astonished, Clary turned to Jace, whose face had become a cold mask of indifference. His eyes were harsher, gone was the hint of softness that she had known, the melted gold. "Leave," he ordered, his tone imperious. Without another word, Maureen scrambled to her feet and clutching her skirts around her bolted hastily for the trees.

Clary sat, stunned, watching her friend's terrified back disappear into the woodlands. There were several seconds of silence before she rounded on Jace. "What was that?" she demanded.

Jace's tone was still harsh. "It's what mortals do in the presence of gods, Clary. I thought you understood that."

Clary stood up abruptly so that their faces were more level, even though he still towered over her. "You didn't have to react like that! You could have explained…made her understand—"

He didn't reply, only regarded her with the same emotionless mask that infuriated her so much.

"But no, of course you couldn't be bothered!" Clary snapped, her voice venomous and dripping sarcasm. "You probably love it when they fall to their knees before your greatness, worship you, as they well should!"

Jace reeled backwards as if her words had wounded him. "You think I like this?" He asked, his voice oddly subdued. "You think I like that they cower in my presence?"

"Why not?" She shouted.

"I hate it," he said, with so much conviction that Clary started. She could see an ineffable emotion roiling in his eyes. And suddenly she was reminded of the strange look he'd worn on his face when she'd told him about the rituals soldiers preformed to mimic him in battle, the annoyance he'd felt when he told her about the statue built in his honor, the hesitancy in his eyes when she'd asked him to meet her mother. "You're going to say I'm weird for disliking mortal worship, aren't you? What kind of god doesn't want to be worshipped?"

But she understood a little bit the reason. He might as well have screamed at her, what kind of god deserves it? Or more specifically, what have I done to deserve it?

"Do you know why I fell in love with you, Clary?" Jace asked.

"No," said Clary softly.

"I fell in love with you because you had the most guts I'd ever seen in a mortal—in anyone—in my entire life. You knew I was a god and you didn't care. You treated me like an equal, stood your ground. You yell at me when I make mistakes, you see me for who I really am—flaws included—and you love me for them anyways. For once in my life, Clary, I met someone who wasn't afraid of me."

"Not everyone is like that," she said. "Not everyone is afraid of you."

"Aren't they?" Jace retorted bitterly. "Death's son, that's what they call me, when the other gods look at me they see my father and when mortals look at me, they see war and bloodshed and violence."

Clary closed the distance between them and grabbed onto his arm. "I don't see that," she protested, "I love you." Jace's eyes were still regarding her with the same self-loathing and suddenly Clary wanted to find the words that would soothe his self-disgust. She wanted so much to be able to tell him how much he meant to her, to tell him what she saw when she looked at him: not death or destruction, but a scarred boy who was gentle with the things he loved.

"I wish you could see yourself the way I see you," Clary mused, her fingers tracing the black and white lines of runes (fresh and faded) on Jace's hand. She looked him in the eyes, trying to put all of her emotions in a single, loaded, gaze.

"I keep waiting for you to leave me," said Jace, "For you to see that you could do so much better. You could have a whole world, if you wanted."

"I don't want anything but you," Clary said. She stood up on her tip-toes, put her arms around his neck, and drew him towards her until they were kissing. His lips were soft and pliable against hers and her heart fluttered in her chest like the wings of a butterfly. Jace made a sound deep in his throat and his arms wrapped around her closing all distance between them until she could feel the heat and pressure of his muscles against her body.

Without any warning, Jace stiffened and disappointed, Clary felt him pull away. She was at least a little pleased though that his perfect appearance was ruffled. His hair was a mess from her fingers and his eyes were hungry and equally as disappointed.

"Something's happened," he said, tearing his gaze from hers and listening to something only he could hear. "Demons have crossed the boundaries of Idris."

"How can you tell?" Clary asked breathlessly.

"I have wards set up around the borders that alert me if a demon crosses them," Jace replied. He looked regretfully at Clary. "I have to go, the warriors will need me."

Clary, selfishly, wanted him to stay, but she knew in her heart she couldn't ask that of him. Suddenly she was reminded of being seven years old and watching her father ride off to battle. "You'll be alright, won't you?" She asked, "I mean…gods can't die, can they?"

Jace grinned. "Who do you think you're talking to?" He said confidently. "I'll be fine, back in no time, but," he whispered, his thumb brushing gently against her cheek. "You might want to look away."

"Why?" asked Clary, her attention focused on a single strand of golden hair that had fallen into Jace's eyes.

"Because I'm going to change into my godly form and the sheer awesomeness might just burn up your mortal body." If he had not said it with such a straight face, Clary would have laughed.

"Are you going to grow wings?" She asked curiously.

"Maybe," said Jace, one corner of his mouth twitched. "Close your eyes," he said. And Clary obeyed. There was a blinding flash of light that she could see even through her closed eyelids and then it was gone. When Clary opened her eyes, Jace had vanished.

.

.

.

Afterwards Clary ran back to the Alicante and found the city in disarray. The bells were ringing, signaling an oncoming demon attack and the soldiers were gathering in the square, dressed for battle, their blades at the ready. Family members stood off to the sides, waving away their loved ones with teary eyes and fervent hopes of victory. Reining in their horses in a triangular formation like geese, the soldiers thundered out of the city leaving dust in their wake.

Clary decided this might be the best chance to confront Maureen and convince her to understand Clary's relationship with Jace. She found Maureen sitting on the back step of her porch, huddled in a ball against the wind. She looked young and fragile sitting like that, like a baby bird.

"Maureen!" Clary called, sitting down next to the other girl. Maureen flinched at her presence and recoiled when Clary moved to touch her. "Maureen," Clary's voice was soft and pleading, "will you listen to me? I can explain—"

"I didn't mean anything!" Maureen said. "You'll tell him that, won't you? I didn't mean any harm!"

Clary looked alarmed. "He's not mad," she said. "He's really not as tough as he looks."

"He's a god, Clary." Maureen hissed, her eyes wide. "You can't just—"

"He's not infallible," said Clary, rolling her eyes. "He has his vulnerabilities, too." Maureen was looking at her in awe and Clary suddenly felt strangely uncomfortable. Was this what Jace felt like when he was worshipped?

"Is he…he's not…forcing you, is he?" Maureen asked, stuttering.

Clary looked horrified. "Oh no! It's not like that. He loves me." And she tried not to be hurt when Maureen didn't believe her. "Give him a shot," said Clary, "I promise you, he's just like every one else."

"If you overlook the whole 'immortal deity' thing," replied Maureen.

Clary managed a weak smile. "It's not as hard as you might think to ignore. He's a bit conceited but other than that he's alright."

"I'm worried about you, more than anything else," said Maureen, "but you look happy." She cocked her head quizzically to one side as she studied Clary. "Happier than I've ever seen you... I always thought you were meant for bigger things." Maureen said and her gaze went past Clary, past Alicante, to the clouds beyond.

And suddenly Clary felt guilty. They chatted and Clary excused herself to run home. She wanted to see Jace, she wanted him to hold her and tell her things were fine, tell her things that weren't true, things he didn't believe: that nothing would change if she were to become a goddess, that she wouldn't have to give up her world or see the people she used to laugh with fall to their knees at her feet, that she needn't feel guilty for having this chance.

She wouldn't see Jace for a long time.

.

.

.

The battle with the demons stretched on days, then weeks, and a grave atmosphere had descended upon the glass city. Family members who once stood vigil at the city's edge anxiously hoping to see the returning soldiers now wandered the streets as empty shells. Defeated, saddened, hope draining out of them.

The war temple was full of offerings and crowds of people flocked to pray. This in particular was painful to watch and Clary wondered if Jace could even hear their prayers. What if something had happened to Jace? Gods couldn't die, he'd said, but that did not mean they could not be hurt or wounded. Those long painful days of waiting reminded her too much of the weeks following her father's death. She'd been too young to understand the entirety of the situation, but she remembered her mother pacing anxiously throughout their house, twisting her hair and dress, and always looking out the window as if she could see her husband marching home.

After dark, when her mother was asleep, Clary snuck out of the house and went to visit Jace's temple. She did not bring offerings, there were already plenty, but she would sit at the foot of his statue, looking up at the stone carving of him, wings extended, and speak as if he were right next to her. She talked about the little things that had happened, about her childhood, her paintings. Sometimes she would study the statue's stone face, which really did resemble Jace remarkably well, and find the little things she would change. For one thing, the statue's face was too stern. If they wanted to capture Jace's image, they really should have carved him smirking.

And that was how Clary passed the remainder of spring.

.

.

.

.

One cold night well into the midst of summer, she brought with her to her nightly vigil a painting that had been her main project for quite some time. It was a painting of Jace in their meadow lying on his back in the grass, his hands tucked beneath his head. In the painting, his eyes were closed and he seemed to be asleep except for the smallest of smirks on his lips. The scene had been her honest attempt to capture Jace in his more natural glory. Everything in the temple was serious, so warlike, she had wanted at least one tribute to remind the people that despite everything, Jace was a boy.

Creeping on tiptoes, she made her way through the entranceway to the main atrium and skirting the oversized throne she laid her canvas propped up against Jace's angel statue.

"Fancy meeting you here," a voice called and Clary spun around, rather embarrassed at having been caught at such an hour.

It was Jace.

His hair gleamed in the dark moonlight and he looked exhausted. His clothes were torn and there was blood matted in his hair, but he was grinning at her and in that moment he was her father who had finally come home from war. He was every soldier who had ever given their lives for Idris and he was every soldier that had walked home alive. Outside, Clary could hear the beginnings of joyous weeping, the reunions of loved ones, the cries of relief.

"You brought them back," she said.

"Yes," he replied, "I did." Jace smiled tiredly and pitched forwards into her arms. He was heavy and Clary struggled to hold them both upright while Jace breathed in deeply as if he was trying to memorize the smell of her hair.

She wrapped her arms around him, holding him tightly, and whispered in his ear, "To me, Jace, you're a protector and a guardian for bringing back those soldiers. But…don't ever do that to me again."

She heard him mumble a reply, muffled by her clothing.

"Next time you ride out to battle, I want to come with you." She said. "And I'll be damned if I ever wait on the sidelines again."

And she could feel his laughter as it rumbled deep in his chest. "Alright," he murmured. "We've got a deal."

.

.

.

Their deadline had come.

Shortly after Jace's return from battle, the Clave reached their final decision. His adopted parents and his allies had advocated for him in the sessions and so it was decided that if Clary did not choose to become immortal, Jace was to be forbidden from seeing her. For Jace, now that the final judgment had come, both options seemed like death sentences. If Clary chose to undergo the risk to become immortal, there was every chance she would die. But neither could he survive if he was forced to live without her. But when he reported the impending deadline to Clary, she had not wavered and simply invited him over for dinner to meet her mother.

"I told her last night I found a boyfriend," she informed him and Jace felt a pleasant tingle creep up his spine at the word "boyfriend." "She's a little annoyed, but I suppose it's better than thinking your daughter was sacrificing rabbits to some sparkly magic god."

"Don't let Magnus hear you say that," replied Jace, "He'll be offended." Clary laughed. "You didn't tell her I was a god, did you?"

"Well…no," said Clary sheepishly. "I was just going to spring it on her at the last minute."

Jace snorted, "that won't be a disaster at all. 'Hello mother, you know how you thought I was performing pagan rituals in the woods? Well I've actually been making out with my ridiculously handsome boyfriend, oh and by the way, he's the war god. But if you could overlook that fact and just pass the salad that would be great.'"

"I don't know about the ridiculously handsome part," she replied.

And that was how Jace found himself on Clary's doorstep about to have the most awkward dinner conversation in his entire life.

Clary's mother, bless her, took the entire "immortal god thing" enormously well. She'd raised one eyebrow at her daughter after the introduction and Jace's "Nice to meet you ma'am." But other than the occasional awkward question had treated Jace like any other village boy. Most importantly, however, she'd given Clary her blessing. So Jace had spent the next few days helping out around the house, mostly in the yard, doing chores. But what had ultimately won over Clary's mother, Jace supposed, was something he had never done nor said. It was something in his eyes that she had read.

He was cutting wood in the backyard when she approached him, offering him a glass of water. Jace accepted it gratefully and downed the glass in one gulp before handing it back to her. She took it from him and studied his face with an intentness that reminded Jace of Clary. He suddenly felt like a strange specimen being observed.

"Do you love her?" She asked.

Jace gulped. "Yes," he said, suddenly worried that nothing he could say would do justice to what he felt. "I love your daughter and I would do anything for her."

She seemed to see something in his eyes and smiled. "Good, take care of her." And then she disappeared back into the house, her skirts swaying in the wind, looking very much like her daughter.

.

.

.

The day began like any other. Clary woke up and got dressed, picking out the dress that she knew Jace liked best and stood in the center of her room for a moment, committing the scene to memory. She looked longingly at her paintings lined up neatly against the wall, her art supplies, even the flowery bedspread that she'd had since she was eight. The light from the morning sun illuminated the dust motes over her carpet, all of her clothes hung in the closet quite possibly never to be worn again. Suddenly overwhelmed, she left quickly, turning her back on her bedroom, and ran down the stairs.

Her mother sat alone in the kitchen, eyes wet with unshed tears. Clary took one look at her, vulnerable, and ran into her arms. They stood, embracing, in the kitchen for a long time before her mother spoke, "I'll miss you."

Clary nodded wordlessly. "I'll visit," she promised, tearfully. "Every week, divine laws be damned."

She felt her mother's body shake with teary laughter. "Go, Clary," she said. "Be happy."

.

.

.

Jace was waiting for her outside feeding apples to his winged steed. He helped her mount the pegasus wordlessly and climbed up behind her, taking the reins in his hands. The pegasus lifted its wings and took off into the sky, circling her house for a few minutes to give her one last view of her childhood home before it disappeared from her sight.

The ride up to Idris was windy and it seemed to take forever for them to clear the clouds. But after some time, Jace's winged steed broke through the foggy mist; they were soaring above the clouds and up ahead, Clary could see the most amazing sight in her life.

A giant rock, floating in the sky.

There were gardens and forests and stone temples growing from the rock. A huge lake shimmered below, its clear surface as smooth and reflexive as glass. She could see their reflections in the water as they skimmed over the surface and they were so close that Clary thought she could reach out and trail her hands in the lake as they passed.

Jace's steed landed outside a massive domed temple. He hopped off, as light on his feet as ever, and reached up to help her down. When Clary's feet hit the solid ground below she half expected the entire land around her to shake and plummet, but looking around, it was impossible to tell that they were currently floating thousands of miles above earth. Jace held her wrist as daintily as if they were at a ball and he was asking for her hand in marriage. "Welcome to Idris," he said.

He led her through the foyer of the domed temple into one of the large halls with a ceiling covered with murals, the largest of which depicted an angel rising from a glass lake, a cup in one hand, a sword in another. They descended a flight of stairs that took them straight down into the center of the hall where a small group of people stood standing around a tiny altar. Clary was surprised to see many deities that she recognized. There was Isabelle, perched on a nearby bench, who winked as they approached. Alec, with his arms folded across his chest was looking her up and down critically, while another god (Magnus, Clary assumed, because he was showering glitter on the floor whenever he moved) grinned at her with amusement. Jocelyn sat a ways away, smiling comfortingly while Maryse stood behind the altar, her face stern. The crowd parted as they approached revealing a single cup on the red velvet tablecloth of the altar.

It was made of gold with glimmering red stones encircling the lip. "That," whispered Jace, "is the Mortal Cup." Clary could see a golden, viscous, liquid inside, which shimmered when she moved. "Inside is ambrosia," explained Jace, "the nectar of the gods. It contains a little bit of every god's divinity, their…essence so to speak."

"Are you prepared, Clary Fray, to drink from the Mortal Cup?" Maryse asked, her voice solemn.

Clary stepped forwards, her back straight. "I am." She looked the sun goddess right in the eyes.

Maryse nodded. "Then state your domain, Clary Fray, what gifts you will relinquish to mortals, what ideologies you will represent, what essence you will give to the divine nectar and drink of it, but if you do not make the right choice, the penalty is death. That is up to the Fates to decide."

Clary stepped forwards and lifted the cup delicately in her hands. It was heavier than it looked, she thought. Her heart beat rapidly in her chest and now that the moment had finally come, she was full of uncertainty.

"Clary," Jace's hand snaked out and grabbed hers, turning her to face him. There was pain and fear in his eyes, Jace who'd never been afraid of anything before. "I…if you're not ready, you don't have to do this. I don't want you risking your life for my sake."

Clary thought about all the times she had looked into Jace's eyes and seen an ineffable emotion within them, all the times she had wanted to tell him how much he meant to her and had been unable to find the words that would do their love justice. She thought about her mother sitting alone in their house missing her and about Maureen unable to believe in the connection between mortals and immortals. And she knew, what she could give. "I will be the goddess of that which cannot be spoken," she said. "Of the emotions we feel for others that words cannot do justice, of the ties we have that cannot be expressed. I will be the bridge between the gods and mortals, the patron of alliances and understanding because that alone can temper war. I will be the goddess of bonds." And she drank the nectar.

"Oh," Clary gasped for it felt like something was burning inside of her. The feeling spread all through her body and she could vaguely feel Jace's anxious grip on her arm. The burning passed and Clary realized with astonishment that her skin now had a faint glow to it like Jace's. She looked up to tell him so, but suddenly he was kissing her. It was passionate and sweet and full of promise. Something words could not do justice.

Isabelle coughed rather loudly and clicked her heels against the ground. "Don't be a hog!" She scolded. And when Jace pulled away, grinning, Isabelle squeezed in between them and hugged Clary. "Welcome to the family," she said.

.

.

.

Nightfall in the land of gods was one of the most beautiful things she'd ever seen. The moon was brighter and the sun hung longer in the sky, creating a beautiful blend of dark blue and scarlet. Clary and Jace sat together on the side of the lake, looking out across the vast, mirrored, surface, utterly content.

After the ritual with the Mortal Cup, Magnus had insisted on celebrating and he had thrown the most extravagant party Clary had ever seen. There had been tables full of every kind of food, music, fireworks (what the mortals would think, she didn't know), gods and goddesses she'd never met, and lots of very blonde nymphs. He might be eccentric, thought Clary, but Magnus knew how to throw parties.

Clary leaned into Jace and felt his arm wrap around her, pulling her closer. "I hear voices whispering in my head," she mused. Ever since she had drunk from the Mortal Cup, Clary had heard an incessant flow of whispering voices, so many blending together that she had to concentrate hard to bring them into focus.

"They're the prayers of mortals," said Jace, he sounded amused. "You can learn to tune it out if it bothers you."

"No," said Clary thoughtfully. "It's…comforting."

"So…the goddess of bonds, huh?" Jace mused, "Bridge between mortals and immortals…I suppose this means you'll be spending lots of time on earth and not nearly enough with me."

"I suppose it does. Are you jealous?"

Jace pretended to pout. "Maybe a little," he said, "but we have time."

"Yes," said Clary as she leaned in to kiss him. "We have forever and ever and ever."

The End.

Sorry about the clique ending line...but I wanted to include the title in there and I wasn't sure how else to add that in .

Where's Simon, you ask? Well...I would have loved to include Simon, but he seemed like he'd be Clary's best friend in place of Maureen...and I wouldn't have minded making him her best friend, except then when she becomes a goddess she would have left him behind! and making two mortals into gods was pushing it...so..my solution? don't write in simon, srry.

I'm in the process of writing another oneshot with the prompt of "spies" so if you liked this, please go look at my other oneshots once I finish them.