Art is Love Made Public
Clary, always the curious one, stood at the opposite side as the others in front of Annemette and Mabuz’s likenesses. She traded off touching each of their sides, letting bittersweet remembrance and fond amusement roll down her in waves.
The blond haired man shrouded in shadows caught her attention as something in the tapestry glimmered.
She reached out to touch it, a silent gasp being ripped from her mouth, shaped like an O as she fell back and onto the floor, from the overpowering immense pain resulting from that single touch.
As her body hit the floor, a puddle of blood circled her like a fallen angel’s dwindling halo.
Everyone froze then rushed to her side, except for Alec who strolled after the others. He seemed to glide across the floor.
Simon thought he might’ve cheerfully whistled as he walked if this were a movie instead of some twisted version of Alice’s adventure into the Looking Glass.
He shooed the others away from Clary and leaned down next to her. He took her hand and grimaced. The blood around Clary seeped back into her body like time was on rewind but then blood began to soak through the back of Alec’s shirt.
Clary sat up, unharmed, gasping for air like she had been without it for a 100 years.
Alec smiled kindly down at her and offered his hand.
She accepted and leaned against him as she rose, her head resting on the arm she claimed in a death grip.
“He was your friend and he tried to kill you...”
She looked up at him with tears in her eyes. “Why…?”
“Because he went mad with grief and rage,” He shrugged, “And we couldn’t save him no matter how hard we tried.”
“We?”
Alec looked up at the tapestry with an unreadable expression on his face.
“He was- is Annemette’s twin. They were adopted after their entire family, apart for the two of them, were slaughtered by demons. Both of their parents had been exiled from the shadowhunter community and stripped of their rules. They had no way to defend themselves from an attack but their mother hid them in a closet and then died leading the demons from them. They were six weeks old. They barely survived the day and a half it took for them to be found.”
He brushed the tapestry depicting Annemette and Mabuz with the tips of his fingers, under her half.
“They were adopted by their father’s childhood best friend, and once parabatai, Abner. The twins were renamed and introduced as his and his wife’s own. They told people that they had wanted more children but his wife did not want to go through pregnancy again, as they already had 5 boys. So instead they ‘used a surrogate from another institute’ but waited until they came home to announce them.
“They grew up believing this lie. Only to later find out that they were adopted and that The Circle had sent the demons that had killed their parents, though to this day they have no idea why. As well as finding out that The Clave had heard word of the attack before it happened and did not notify Abner until too late.”
“That's horrible! I can’t believe that The Clave was allowed to get away with that!”
Alec shrugged, “It is what it is and how it’s always been.”
Clary glared, shoulders tense. “How could you say that? You especially?”
Alec seemed amused, “Whatever do you mean?”
Clary sputtered, “You stood up to The Clave at your wedding! You-”
“-took my life, my happiness into my own hands. Kissing Magnus wasn’t a power play, I kissed him because I wanted to, because it made me happy. I wasn’t trying to change our world, every ripple caused by our kiss was unforeseen, unplanned.”
“But you can not deny that you did change things.”
“I’m not denying it and I hope things continue to change but that wasn’t my intention. I alone can not take on The Clave.”
“I’m not saying you should!”
“And whom among the Nephilim would stand with me?”
“We would!”
Alec smiled down at her, fondly amused, “Only until your next crusade.”
Clary spluttered and Alec raised one hand.
“I seek not to offend, I think you misunderstand me. Art is fundamentally change. Art in itself is rebellion, but it is also a silent victory. Often, without being visibly defiant, it makes people think, causes people to react but it does not expect for the world to change in a single day. It instead inspires, breathes life into those who drowning, letting them know they are not alone, that one day, when enough people can understand the message behind every stroke of the brush, every curve of the sculpture, every stitch in the tapestry, then things will get better.
“And it’s clever, hiding its meaning, it’s secret message from those who would seek to oppose, to take it away so that only those who truly look for it can actually see it.
“Not enough people see it yet, Clary, for it to make a difference. You are so passionate, you want for change to happen now but that isn’t always possible without tearing down and destroying everything first. And that can cause more harm than good. You are not the type to patiently nurture change. However, that is often how art works, my dear. You, instead, feel you must go and make it. I admire that about you. All I ask is you respect that how I make a difference is not the same way you would do it and you support me and others who will carefully repair the damaged parts of our society rather than rip them out by the roots, damaging the sprouting seeds around them.
"I would not have chosen it but my life has become like a piece of art, let me chose how the brush strokes fall, okay?”
Clary, as passionate by the fire inside her heart that never really burned out, had started to shimmered silently as Alec had begun speaking but slowly cooled as he continued. By the end, she looked thoughtful, perhaps a bit sorrowful.
She hugged him before glancing back at the tapestry.
“What was his name?” She asked, kindly.
“Jolon-Busiris Diomed-Marlon St. Claire-Mirthsplitter. If you think I’m joking, I swear I’m not. Annemette and Mabuz had just as ridiculously bizarre and complicated names, the entire St. Claire-Mirthsplitter family does… His name may have played a part in his madness.”
His joke fell just a bit flat.
“You tried to change him.”
“We did, we wanted to leech the poison out of him but we did not realize in our haste that we were bleeding him dry.”
“I’m sorry.”
Alec sighed, “We were young. What did any of us know about the world?”
Many within the group made questioning sounds.
“Nevermind,” Alec replied, waving his hand in a dismissing motion.
“Why did you touch this tapestry?”
Clary shrugged, “I saw something shiny.”
Alec reached into the tapestry, hand merging with the woven threads for a moment, before pulling out a knife.
Clary looked at it, pale and sickened at the sight.
“He stabbed you with that.” It wasn’t a question.
Alec answered, softly, anyways. “Yes.”
“He broke, couldn’t distinguish between friend and foe. In his paranoia, he lead me away from the others and attacked, leaving me to die.”
Luke placed his hand on Alec’s shoulder.
“That’s why I got this door, we share the burden of being betrayed.”
“And loving the one who would not only leave you die but be the one to twist the knife in your back, yes.”
“I’m sorry. You should not have had to deal with that, especially not at your age.”
“You shouldn’t have either and you were not so much older than I.”
Luke tightened his grip for a moment, patted his shoulder twice and then stepped back.
Alec smiled then tossed the knife back into the tapestry where it glittered upon impact then faded back into the shadows.
“So do we get to know about the other guy?”
Simon spoke up, pointed at the tapestry adjacent to Jolon.
Alec looked at the still mysterious figure and lifted one shoulder.
“Yamanu Meszaros. Vampire. Mysterious. Fond of Annemette’s bloodline. Makes sure to watch over them. Hates Rita-”
“Who?”
“The Warlock who caused the death of Mabuz and the other Shadowhunters...”
“Oh...”
“Other than that, I don’t know much more. He gave Annemette the book her ancestor started and me a pair of knives I’ve never used.”
“Why not?” Raphael asked.
“... They are designed specifically kill Warlocks, a particular Warlock... Rita... I was given them for my own protection but I have not yet needed them.”
No one said anything for a long while.
Then Alec turned to the others, “There is still work to be done and lessons to learn.”
From paint splatters on the floor, unseen before this moment, rose doors that looked like three-dimensional oil paintings.
“Luke?”
“Clary.”
Clary brushed her hand down Alec’s arm, a silent apology that she didn’t quite know what for but felt she had to give before leaving.
Every door had unique features painted or carved into it. She walked up to the one with scratches and holes carved in and decided that for once she didn’t want to know.
She chose instead, the one closest to it, with vibrant flowers painted on.
She opened the door and walked through but not before waving goodbye. Alec waved back.
Simon hugged him quickly before running after her and Luke patted him on the back twice before following his favorite troublemakers.
Jocelyn, Raphael, Lydia, Maryse, and Robert all walked through without looking back.
Max, Izzy, and Jace all hugged Alec goodbye.
Magnus followed suit.
Before he crossed through, however, Alec called out.
He was standing sideways, his attention on the tapestry hidden behind the big white sheet.
“Annemette likes this quote from one of the mundane shows she's into… ‘Art is love made public’... When I hear that quote I think of you.”
Magnus took a deep shaky breath. “I love you too”.
He closed the door with the Craft rune on the handle as he went to join the others.
The doors melted into puddles before soaking in the floor, quickly fading to nothing.
Alec ripped the large white sheet off the wall and began to weave, picking up where he had left off before he had visitors.
Magnus stepped out onto a field filled with bright vibrant flowers.