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From the day she was born, Clary Herondale had been watching for any sign of artistic inclination in her daughter. She would often watch little Adele surreptitiously out of the corner of her eye when she had her sketch pad out, wondering if her daughter would follow in the footsteps of Fairchild women before her.
By the age of three, Clary decided this wasn’t the case. She found Adele one day sitting on her bedroom floor, crayons smudging every available surface in a riotous rainbow of greasy colour. A piece of paper sat in front of her. There was barely a mark on it.
Clary figured that either her little girl was going to be a world famous abstract artist or her destiny lay elsewhere. She loved her daughter unconditionally - drawing talent or no, and so with a smile she had sat down and pulled a green crayon out of her girl’s golden hair. At the girl’s smile, she laughed, wondering what surprises she had to look forward to.
It was Jace Herondale who discovered Adele’s artistic talent.
Not too long after the crayon explosion incident, he woke up to the sound of crying, as had been the normal thing for the last six months.
‘I’ll get him,’ Clary had murmured and left for the nursery to tend to their baby boy. Now awake, Jace got up and decided to see to breakfast. On his way, he passed the music room.
This early, the only person likely to be in there was himself, playing the piano quietly as the sun rose and the nightmares of years and battles past, fled from the sunlight like the demons that inhabited them. This particular morning, however, was different.
The door was slightly ajar, and so he pushed it open, regarding the scene before him with a soft warm smile. The room was huge, with a gleaming black grand piano in one corner, chairs up against one wall, and a small collection of other instruments lining another. They were all inherited from previous generations of Herondales; most notably a gilded harp, a silver flute, an extremely old violin. The centre of the room was empty, save for a tiny figure, running and jumping about quietly - with the beginnings of the Shadowhunter’s silent grace without any of the training - and enthusiastically, grinning and dancing with abandon.
What really arrested him where he stood, though, was when she opened her mouth.
The tune was vaguely familiar, and Jace thought he may have heard Clary humming it while she drew, though he couldn’t recall the words. Adele, his golden girl, was singing them now, voice high and clear - if a little wobbly - and childish, lacking the control and sharpness that came with years, but still astoundingly beautiful, as if she had transformed into one of the cherubs from a renaissance painting and then decided to sing.
He wasn’t sure how long he stood there, just watching his own definition of perfection with a sense of wonderment, until Adele did a little pirouette, overbalanced and fell over, a look of surprise on her face. He was by her side in an instant, sweeping the nearly-four-year-old into his arms and kissing her golden curls before she’d even had a chance to cry. He blew gentle raspberries on her neck and her hands until she giggled and pulled on a lock of his hair.
‘What song were you singing, baby?’ he asked quietly, and she buried her head in her tiny hands.
‘Mommy sings it to me when you go away,’ she said, voice muffled by her fingers.
‘Why?’
‘Because I get scared you won’t come back and it makes me not-scared.’
Jace lowered himself onto the bench of the piano and nestled his girl on his lap. ‘I’ll always come back, baby,’ he murmured softly into her hair as he swung his legs over the bench so they both faced the piano. ‘I promise.’
Adele nodded into his neck. ‘Okay,’ she said. With his free hand, Jace played a few notes in the higher register absently. Then he had an idea.
‘Teach me that song,’ he said, grin spread wide. Adele looked up at him with wide green eyes, so much like her mother’s they made his heart stutter. She sung the first phrase in that sweet angelic voice and Jace decided, there and then, that he never wanted to go a day without hearing it again. He repeated the phrase, a few octaves lower and far less skillfully, and then she sang the next phrase. As she did, he played a simple chord on the piano and Adele grinned sheepishly at the sound. Then she continued singing, now with Jace accompanying her, laughing and clapping her hands whenever Jace hit a chord variation that hadn’t quite worked with her melody, like it was the most enjoyable game. When they reached the next verse, Jace played perfectly with both hands, adding rhythm and variations, singing quietly along, letting his daughter have the stage.
When Clary took up the position he had previously occupied by the door, baby William on her hip, he acknowledged her with a smile over the shoulder, but said nothing and continued playing until the song was finished.
When the last note had rung out and silence had taken it’s place, Jace swung his body around to face their audience and he and Clary shared a proud glance, before both sets of eyes found their daughter.
‘Beautiful,’ she said, and her voice drew Adele’s attention. The little girl jumped off the piano bench, ran up to Clary and wrapped her arms around her knees.
Watching his family, Jace couldn’t help but agree.