I feel so bad for iarlath,everyone forgets/hates about the tol angry tree faery. he’s not bad he just has some issues with shadowhunters. and following the great (well- not so great) backstory he has a right to not like them.

I have legitimately forgotten my and Marine’s Iarlath backstory isn’t canon, because he deserves a tragic love too, poor tree babby. The books just need to acknowledge better that almost everyone has a reason to hate Shadowhunters. That’s not a reason to be hurting the Kids, but people are well entitled to hate and mistrust all Shadowhunters. Disliking your oppressors isn’t Instant Villainy Points. 

Here, have some Iarlath and Malcolm bonding over how awful Shadowhunters are . 

The jazz club wasn’t popular, but then again best clubs weren’t. This wasn’t a place for small town girls and bright eyed boys to cut their teeth on glamour. It attracted more mature customers, those who saw past the sparkle and admired the rot creeping up it. People who weren’t deceived by their eyes and the magic that clouded it. 

Malcolm, who still love a bit of sparkle and splendour, found the whole place rather grimy. But Iarlath swore it was the place to go in the Shanghai Downworld, and who was Malcolm to argue? 

They’d certainly gotten good treament since Iarlath had walked in. Travelling with a representative of the Unseelie King had its perks. 

There was a band on a small stage in the corner, the gramophone abandoned for the night. A female singer with dark hair and a slight sheen to her skin that suggested some sort of supernatural heritage and a pair of big band musicians who looked Russian. A few couples were dancing out on the floor but most people sat and talked. It was a sitting and talking sort of place. You could always dance among the mundanes, but company of your own kind was rare. 

“What’s this music?” Malcolm asked, turning an ear to the song which wasn’t quite Western but he thought not Chinese either. He’d never been to China, so it was hard to tell. 

“Mundane,” Iarlath answered shortly, and turned his attention to the other customers.  He had been very sharp with Malcolm since the incident with the King. Malcolm thought it unfair. 

After all, it wasn’t like he wasn’t going to get revenge on the Nephilim. He just needed Annabel first. Surely Iarlath could understand that. 

Malcolm said as much and Iarlath crackled angrily. 

“I’m not here to help your desperate quest, warlock. I want my own revenge and you robbed me of it.”

“Not necessarily,” Malcolm said. “I can still help you. Besides, wouldn’t it just rip their hearts out, to see one they wanted dead alive again. Iarlath rustled, which really wasn’t an answer, and Malcolm forged ahead. “If you help me, I promise, once I have her we can try to bring them down.”

“Silence!” Iarlath snapped. “Are you so blind and deaf, child that you do not see that I am helping you already? My writ was to take you back to the mortal world and leave you, but here I am showing you someone who might just be able to help you translate your scrap of doggerel.”

He fell silent and went back to examining the club in all of it’s dark glory, the American werewolves in the corner, the shaded area where local vampires hopped, a red haired creature getting drunk, warlocks of all colours and shapes, and quite a lot of what Malcolm thought were just mundane gangsters. There were bottles and bundles or herbs behind the counter, brick on the walls and mats on the floors, and a half a dozen different languages being spoken. Shanghai truly was a melting pot. 

Iarlath’s contact still hadn’t shown up and Malcolm was getting antsy. The sign outside the door had said No Opium, but there was still a familiar smell around the place and it brought back memories of being young and recently bereft, wandering and looking for purpose. The music, which had taken a melancholy turn, wasn’t helping. 

“People are looking at us,” Malcolm said hesitantly.

Iarlath nodded. “What of it?”

“Aren’t you worried they’ll…”

“What, tell tales to my lord and master? Of course. But that is the risk you run in places of ill repute. The dishonest mark your passage.”

Iarlath was fidgeting and Malcolm began to suspect that his bad temper was a cover for worry. 

Malcolm stood, unfolding so suddenly he almost knocked over their small table. “Dance with me,” he suggested. 

Iarlath had a scornful glare to die for, or of. “Wherefore?”

“At least then we’re doing something,” Malcolm told him, and offered Iarlath a beaming smile and a helping hand. Much to his surprise, Iarlath stood, branches not quite reaching a ceiling that had luckily been made with the inhuman in mind. 

The dancing was as diverse as the drinkers. A vampire girl in a short dress twirled alone, a few couples did the one step, two horned sailors far from the port part of the city waltzed, and a fanged blue woman moved in slow stately steps, arms undulating. Malcolm barely remembered the foxtrot and grabbed Iarlath’s strange flat fingered hands. Iarlath eyed him. 

“This is most unusual,” he said. 

“it’s the latest fad,” Malcolm promised and thought he was right. The popular dances kept changing on him. He tried to step and found Iarlath’s feet in the way, nearly stumbled and caught himself, all under the faery’s dismissive watch. 

“You aren’t very good,” Malcolm informed him cheerfully. 

“I haven’t danced in centuries.” 

“Oh. Maybe something a bit easier then.” Malcolm thought and brightened up. Alright, one hand in mine and the other on my shoulder,” he said and Iarlath complied in entirely the wrong way. Malcolm took a few minutes straightening them out and then took a tentative step forward. 

“Follow me,” he prompted and slowly but surely pulled Iarlath into what wasn’t quite a ballroom dance but came close enough. Slowly but surely they stepped back and forth across the dance floor and eventually eyes drifted from them. Malcolm even tried a twirl before quickly reconsidering. 

“See,” he said, “It’s fun.”

“It’s slow.” Iarlath complained. “There is no effort whatsoever.”

“It’s for getting to know your partner,” Malcolm sighed. He and Annabel had danced once, under starlit skies with sand under their feet. It had been a different time, a simpler one.

 A hint of a smile graced Iarlath’s wooden face. “We already know what we want.”

“Long term, yes. Short term, its always nice to have someone to dance with.” Malcolm mustered up his bravery and spun out once, striking a pose before returning to Iarlath’s disbelieving embrace. 

“Mortals are very strange,” he said, disgust in his voice. “To have so little time and waste it dancing like snails.”

Malcolm raised an eyebrow. “I’m as immortal as you are. We have all the time in the world.”

The singer’s Mandarin picked up pace, the tone of the song changed, and they stepped on. 

Where are you outside Tumblr?


Oh man, with the news that Yahoo has devalued Tumblr, then why don’t we do one of these.

Tag this post with where you’d like to be found outside Tumblr. Just in case.

ex: #ao3: myusernamehere, #twitter: myusernamehere, #dreamwidth: myusername here

LilyChenAppreciationSociety on ao3, marcythewerewolf.wordpress.com on WordPress (I’m actually backing this blog up at the moment.), marcythewerewolf on Dreamwidth but that one seems clunky, and I might make a twitter page if there’s interest! Unfortunately I tend toward rambles. 

Whoops, I’m still Voltron trash and trying to tie it into this blog. Simon likes Keith/Lance, Clary likes Shiro/Keith, Jace agrees with Clary just because it’s Clary, Isabelle thinks it’s dumb and just wants then to beat up the bad guys Luke saw the whole show with the kids and is firmly of the opinion that Shiro and Allura are destined to be together.