Morgenstern and Herondale

Hey everyone. Basically, the backstory of this fanfiction is Valentine and Jocelyn had stayed together and raised Jonathan and Clary. Valentine doesn't trust Jonathan to lead the Circle when he dies, so he arranges a marriage for fifteen year old Clary. Jace's parents, Stephen and Celine, are still alive and have raised Jace in Idris. They agree for Jace to marry Clary—but she has other ideas. All characters belong to Cassandra Clare.

"Come on Clary!" Jonathan taunted and mocked annoyingly, waving his crystallised white seraph blade like an extended arm and grinning a ridiculous arrogant smirk. God, I wanted to slap him. "So, little naïve innocent Clary doesn't want to strike her loving older brother?" He knew how to severely ignite the raging anger inside me. Tightening my rune-sketched hand around a spare shimmering blade, I swung angrily and red-faced towards Jonathan, my flashing angelic blade slicing thinly across his muscular arm, which produced a scarlet bloody welt to appear. His already midnight-black eyes darkened impossibly, narrowing in fury. Growling, Jonathan launched himself towards me swiftly, swiping his blade at my head. I narrowly ducked, missing the stinging dangerous kiss of the sharp weapon. Advancing, my older brother pounced viciously, stunning me and sending me sprawled across the old rickety floorboards uncomfortably. Quickly, I flipped myself onto my queasy stomach, snatching my angelic knife and pushing myself upwards. Landing perfectly on my aching sore feet, I spun and—smack! My face blossomed into a bleeding mess of pain as I collapsed backwards, stretched flat on my back and clutching my bruised—and potentially broken—face. Red fluid streaked down my pale scarred hands, splattering onto the floor and mingling in my scarlet curls. Ouch.

My nose felt crushed and my cheeks were raw and aching. Moaning, I attempted to block Jonathan's laughing and smirking. Idiot. "Oh Clary! If only I had a camera!" Jonathan chuckled, striding towards me loudly. I felt his calloused strong hands tighten around my clammy white arm and yank me violently. Stumbling, I continued to hold my broken face with one hand, whilst shoving him away with the other.

"Go away!" my bubbly voice commanded sternly. I manoeuvred my now bloodied hand so I could see, then I stumbled clumsily towards the old, splintered door, oblivious to Jonathan's never-ending cackling. Flinging open the wooden door, which also had many practice arrows buried deep inside, I stormed in frustration through the featureless, plain hallway. The library door ahead of me began opening; I quickly darted past it, hoping and praying that whoever it was would leave me alone to wallow in depression and defeat. Instead, I heard Valentine, my father, calling me. I sighed, spinning around and covering my nose, mouth and cheeks even more. More thick blood seeped through my scarred, pale fingers, trickling down my arm.

Valentine shook his head in disapproval and exasperation, raking his huge hands through his silvery-blond dishevelled hair—just like his son. "Come on." He ordered, spinning around and walking into the elegant library. I followed hesitantly, grumbling. The library was ridiculously huge; old vintage bookcases towered over you, completely packed with different coloured delicate books. But that wasn't what I was looking at—an arrogant, annoying familiar teenager was slumped in front of father's desk, grinning in amusement at me. Jace. My parents and his were good friends, so he was always round, eating our food, using our weapons, ruining our air by contaminating it with his breath. He was a blond, vain, over-sized idiot who didn't understand the meaning of personal space, the phrase 'go away' or manners. Overall, he was the most disturbing, self-obsessed human being (if you could even call him that) ever to exist.

Valentine pushed me forward, forcing me to sit beside Jace, who was busy smirking. Reluctantly, I sunk into the uncomfortable wooden chair, wincing as my face began throbbing again. Blood was soaking my tight, black top, staining my pale skin. Jace obviously noticed and scooted closer to me, too close for comfort.

"You know, picking fights with your brother often ends up like this." He grinned stupidly.

I scraped my chair further away, rolling my exhausted, jade eyes. "Jace. Kinda reminds me of personal space." I snorted. "Am I giving you a hint, blondie?"

Jace raised his eyebrows incredulously, folding his huge rune-swirled arms across his chest. "I don't know the meaning of personal space, Clary."

I shook my head in disbelief. Valentine suddenly reappeared, sitting opposite me and the constipated-looking moron, who refused to get rid of the smug smile plastered on his face. My stern father handed over his stele. Gratefully, I thanked him and attempted to sketch a healing rune on my arm, whilst clutching my bleeding nose. Jace began laughing and held out his hand for the stele.

"I don't need your help, idiot." I hissed, beginning to trace a rune.

This time, Valentine spoke up. "Clarissa," he scolded. "Jace is trying to help you."

"No, he is not trying to help." I growled, finally able to draw a black rune. There was a slight sting and then everything was fine. My nose stopped bleeding and I could feel my torn, bruised skin closing together. Sighing in relief, I dropped my dirty, blood-drenched hand. "See, I could do it by myself. I don't need a certain stupid, hormonal, pig-headed blond helping me. I am a perfectly capable young woman who doesn't need help." I felt better when I said that. Valentine always underestimated me.

Valentine frowned, eyebrows knitting together. "Clary, don't talk to Jace like that."

I just laughed in shock as I pushed the chair back and stormed from the library. Hopefully, I could find Jonathan soon and warn him of Jace's unfortunate arrival. God, I hated that arrogant blond boy. Sprinting down the corridor, I nearly bumped into my questioning mother, Jocelyn, and almost fell to my ever-nearing death on the steep stairs. At last, I discovered Jonathan, reading in solitude.