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lamalefix · 5 years

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Pulvis et umbra natura renovantur integra - ch. 6

read this work on ao3

[ch1; ch2; ch3; ch4; ch5]

Alec can’t find the words. Maybe he didn’t have mastery of his words in the first place, he doesn’t even know how to move his own mouth right now.

His head will drive him crazy. The noise that echoes in the bottom of his skull, comes down along his spine and drums in his chest, it turns and turns in his auricles, he hears that noise screeching like a murmur under his skin, rattling between his fingers.

He opens his mouth, he wants to oppose, he wants to say something, but the only thing that comes out, besides a long deep sigh is “Impossible”.

Magnus looks at him, a strange expression that veils his eyes.

And Alec moves his arm and there are still signs of the fresh burns of the activation of the marks. So he tries to free his right hand from the bandages. The contours of his first rune, of a permanent rune, are still there. The voyance rune is black, and thick like after the very first burn. The eye segments twist on his hand and look shiny, they stand out even more on his skin now that he has removed the bandages.

He looks up at Magnus as if to prove that he is wrong. But when he meets Magnus’ eyes again, as veiled as they are, dull, tired, wounded, Alec decides to just laugh it off. Even if it hurts. Not just physically.

“You don’t have to tease me, Mags,” he says softly, stretching a small smile, trying to hide all the bitterness, the sadness, the suffering of another possibility denied.

The noise is even louder in his head now. Incessant, like a waterfall.

He breathes noisily, and maybe a rattle comes out of his nose and flickers on his lips. He could swear he heard the sound of blood running through his veins, going to his head. The iron taste of his blood scratches his palate.

“Alexander” Magnus’s voice seems to bring him back to reality.

And now Alec is waiting, perfectly still.

Impossible.

It’s impossible

Alec half-closes his eyes. He can’t tell what is upsetting his heart now, when a deep sigh scratches his trachea. He can’t understand his emotions right now. Maybe he really hoped for it, maybe for a second when Magnus gave the news, a little hope was born inside him, and he had the chance to taste immortality even for a single moment. The possibility of having the same duration as Magnus, the possibility of having a future, a long life together. It can’t be so bad to hope, right? And yet, the rune is there, perfect on the back of his hand, and so are all the permanent marks, Alec knows it even without having to see them. Maybe he’s angry, because Magnus shouldn’t be joking like that, not about these things, not about him, about his duration, about magic or... about their possibilities. About the little time they have. They have so little time already.

And Alec would like to find the words, he would like to tell him that in the end he would like to be a warlock, that if they found the way to stay together forever, it would be perfect, but they have the time that Alec has, whatever it is. And maybe Alec will be good enough to make him happy, to be remembered later. In the future when he won’t be there.

A terrible, terrible feeling of emptiness digs into his heart.

That noise in his head becomes more insistent, more incessant, and something seems to weigh on him. A strange electricity condenses in his fingers, in the palm of his hand. And Magnus squeezes his eyes and retrieves his hand in his. He squeezes it tightly as if to make those heavy thoughts disappear. And a small grimace contracts his face. As if it was hurting him. Alec loosens his grip and observes him.

The gauzes that he had already loosened and dangled on his wrist, are now in tatters, and in the palm of his hand a dense and thin mist glows, black as night, and is traversed by small blue sparks.

Magnus rubs his hands between them, with a vaguely pained grimace. “Calm down,” he says and then retrieves Alec’s hand and squeezes it again in his. The black mist disappears as soon as Magnus interlaces his fingers.

But the electricity is still there: Alec feels it in his head, he feels it rise in his locks of hair. The small flashes bounce off his fingers and seem to burn like embers.

“Calm down”, Magnus repeats and he leaves his hand for just an instant to snap his fingers and close the heavy door of the cell, then he returns to squeeze his hands. “It’s all right… calm down, darling please” he repeats and brings Alec’s fingers to his mouth.

And Alec takes a long breath and tightens his grip on Magnus and then lets them go and squirms and moves to sit up. He rubs his heavy legs and plants both hands in the mattress, to give himself enough thrust to move backwards. With a not-so-fluid movement, he sits down. And there is this terrible pang that takes his breath away, a wave that radiates from every corner of his body, and pulses in his chest. His heart is pounding in his throat and the terrible dizziness that follows makes him want to puke.

Magnus is immediately on top of him, hugging him and making him hide his head in the crook of his collarbone.

Alec moans louder and does everything to push him away, or to move himself.

“It’s all right,” Magnus says very quietly once again, his voice, a whisper, warms his chest. The noise stops for a moment.

“How did you do that?” asks Alec, his voice thick of disbelief and exhaustion. “How did you do it?”.

He can’t believe it. For better or worse he can’t believe it. There was a moment, when Magnus said it, when that news hit him, that something was shaking in his heart. On closer inspection, Magnus would never joke about these things, not in such a heavy tone, not with such dark eyes, not with this pain in his voice. And yet something else appeared before Alec’s eyes: hundreds of possibilities, years and years of time, the eternity that stretches like the celestial vault. They have long sought a way, a way that could gave them more time, a way that didn’t destroy their identity, that allowed them to be who they are, what they are, and at the same time give them all time. Immortality.

“I told you I didn’t do it,” Magnus replies, rubbing his lips against his ear, and maybe Alec needed this intimacy with Magnus so much that he almost forgets the main topic here for just a second.

He takes another breath between his clenched teeth and tries to formulate a sensible thought that can even come out of his mouth. “I have runes,” he finally says. “I have runes and... am I becoming a warlock? It’s impossible, Magnus... I have no demonic blood... I have angelic blood, yet a small part”.

“It’s very complicated, in fact,” Magnus mumbles, and doesn’t even move, he just holds him tight.

Alec can breathe better now, he suddenly realizes it, the noise has disappeared and even the pain seems a distant memory.

Magnus sighs. “There is an old legend, according to which if a mortal of any lineage kills over a hundred demons in a night of eclipse in which there is also Mars in the sky, then...”.

Alec moves slightly, just to look into his eyes.

“I know it’s a mess, you certainly wouldn’t want all this... you’re a warrior, a Nephilim” his voice is like a whisper, tired and broken. “Alexander, I... if I could, if it was possible, I would have tried to interrupt the transformation. I don’t even know what the magic will do to your body, you have angel blood and... it could hurt you... it could kill you...” he murmurs, looking down.

Alec gasps, clenching his teeth more. He could swear to hear his jawbone squeal.

“I don’t know how your body will react, for now the runes work... but ... but there are so many dangers you will encounter. The Clave, first of all” Magnus adds sighing. “I know you wouldn’t have wanted it─”.

Alec hastens to cup Magnus cheeks in his hands, to make him look up. “Mags...”.

“You did some incredible things, it seems you have closed a rift all by yourself...” he mumbles, trying to avoid Alec’s gaze. “Your magic looks like mine, your family told me”.

“Yes, I remember... I thought it was yours, at the beginning...” he nods and a lump builds in his throat. It wouldn’t take long, to make his memories of that terrible battle return in the back of his head, painfully. In front of his eyes there’s Magnus, his Magnus, bloodless, lifeless. He remembers that hollow silence that came from his chest, his heartbeat a distant memory. Magnus. Magnus was dead. “But you were on the ground. You were... how? You were─you were dying, Magnus”.

Magnus smiles at him. And he looks even more tired now.

Alec bites his lower lip, breathing heavily from his nose. “You should rest, we can talk about it later” he mumbles, then, choosing to skirt the issue for now. He is alive, Magnus is alive, and there’s nothing else that matters more.

“It was you. It seems” Magnus murmurs, smiling softly. “I think it was you”.

“Me?” Alec mumbles a bit confused.

“It seems that for something a bit cliché, it seems you gave me a kiss when you come to me...” he murmurs. “Your sister was giving me energy, but something pulls me back to... and it was you.” he tells him in an extremely gentle tone. “Actually, I should thank you,” he adds.

“I didn’t understand,” says Alec. “I─I didn’t understand” he repeats.

“I don’t know how you did it, but ... somehow you wanted it so much. You wanted so much that I stayed with you... that somehow you restored the core of my magic. You’ve brought me back.” Magnus adds. “You have closed the rift, and you were in pieces. When you joined me, you helped me… you were badly hurt... and when I came here you were─” he stops and heaves a long sigh while moving a hand to settle a lock of hair from Alec’s face, he smiles again. “You were dripping blood, badly hurt and so desperate… Your magic has taken shape, a thick and black fog like the one you saw before... The situation couldn’t be saved at that point. You used so much magic, so much energy. So much, that you had burns on your hands, up to your wrists... I can help you manage it but... the effects on your body... I don’t know what they will be. And then,” he stops again, and looks up at him, his big caramel eyes are shiny.

“Magnus” Alec calls him again, he’s just trying to interrupt him to stop those heavy thoughts.

“I will help you control it, my love. I know, magic is scary, it surely is... scary, trust me. I know,” Magnus murmurs, very softly, and his velvet voice trembles and maybe, when he swallows, before talking again he’s trying not to cry. “But we’ll find a way, okay?”.

Alec knows him well enough to understand, from the way he speaks, even more than from the way he looks, from his eyes, from his non-verbal behaviour, from how tense and narrow his back is since he brought out this news, though Magnus is however extremely affectionate and kind, as always, that there is something else. That he’s worried about something, about something else. “It’s all right, you said it,” Alec says resolute, and he feels his smile reaching everywhere in his body. And he really thinks it: it’s all right. Perhaps he is so confused that he still doesn’t see all those negative sides that Magnus has already identified. Or maybe there really are no negative sides... “It’s all right. That’s what we wanted, right, love? Finding a way to always be together, you and me. Where always is the key word...” he smiles more, enough to feel pain in his cheeks.

And Magnus looks at him, and looks amazed. Stunned. “What?”.

“C’mon Mags. You know I want to stay with you forever” he murmurs. “I mean it’s an extra chance for us. We can stay together. Together forever. That’s it,” he mumbles and rubs a finger on his cheek, leaving a vague red glow.

Alec pulls his hand from Magnus face and looks at his palm. There are wounds, signs, bruises, like small burnings. Then he looks up again and doesn’t know how he’s looking at Magnus right now, perhaps he is confused as the warlock snaps his fingers again to call up the blue fire of his magic and let the smoke run over Alec’s hands.

“That’s why I said you shouldn’t fret, Alexander,” he whispers, blinking before looking at his hand. “It’s nothing, though. A little magic and these tiny little wounds will disappear, mh?”.

Alec opens his mouth and the only thing he can say is “Did I hurt you?”.

“No, it’s nothing,” Magnus smiles. “I know you would never hurt me,” he adds, getting closer to him and showing him the palms of his hands, which are just a bit reddened. “I’m alright, see?”.

“So it’s mine, isn’t it? Is this mine?” he mumbles again, while small puffs that seem like lightning run through his fingers.

A small grimace contracts Magnus’ lips, but he says nothing.

In all honesty, Magnus expected a very different reaction from Alec. He expected anger, pain, terror. Truth is that there were some emotions that took over Alec, just for a brief moment, but it took very little to get rid of the black and thick fog of his magic.

But yes, he expected something different. Perhaps Alec didn’t understand the magnitude of the problems they will face, perhaps Magnus was not sufficiently clear, perhaps he didn’t specify enough how serious the situation is, how worrying it is, how in reality this is a leap in the dark. He doesn’t know if Alec’s body will stand the transformation, usually the runes disappear if a Shadowhunter becomes a Downworlder, but it never actually happened that a Nephilim became a warlock. For the least, as far as he knows.

And perhaps he should tell him without turning around too much that the situation is more serious than it seems, that Alec’s body couldn’t react and at best to the transformation - which perhaps is still not complete, and perhaps that is why the runes are still in their place - or again, he should tell him that the Clave will at least take him and try to study him. And this is the best case scenario.

He should tell him that the only sensible thing to do is to run away, hide in a remote place until Alec becomes able enough to control himself and control his magic. At least until then. Or maybe they’ll have to run away forever. Disappear from the Clave registers and say goodbye to everything.

But Alec is so relaxed, even though he looks decidedly tired now, now that he looks at his hands and that little electricity runs through his hands, he looks so happy. His eyes glittering, and a tiny smile that curves his lips.

And Magnus didn’t expect him to be that happy. Magnus is so worried that he can’t actually understand why he should be happy. Or maybe Alec is just so tired that his brain no longer connects.

Alec weaves his fingers together and this gesture recalls his attention . “Hey,” he smiles at him. “No matter what happened, how it happened...” he says. “It doesn’t matter how we did it. This means that we have more time, don’t we? I mean you and me”.

Magnus stays silent. Alec has already said it multiple times, yet only now, does he realize how powerful his words are, how incredibly happy he is. They have more time. More time. Is it true? Does this work even if you are not born a warlock? Do you become immortal anyway? No, maybe not. Because magic could consume his angelic blood, and runes could let his body rot. Maybe they don’t even have the time they originally had. And a flash passes before his eyes, the possibilities that they originally had become smaller and smaller, and Alec who is consumed by this thing, by the transformation, by the magic, by the runes. And their future together becomes even shorter. Shorter than ever.

“Hey, hon?” Alec repeats, squeezing his hand just a little, trying to intercept his eyes, he has this tiny smile on his lips. “You sure I didn’t hurt you?”.

Magnus rolls his eyes for a moment and tries to swallow those thoughts and make them disappear by shaking his head. “No.” he forces himself to smile as softly as he can.

Alec tightens his lips in a thin line, the disappointment that reaches his eyes is a clear symptom of how much he has noticed the nature of what is passing in his head. “Okay, spill the beans” he snorts. “What’s strange about it? Has my mark already come out?” he asks. “Please tell me I don’t look like a spider, Magnus: it would be terrible if I were... if so...” he mumbles shuddering. “To be afraid of myself would be terrible”.

And Magnus looks at him and maybe a small part of him would judge his sanity. Alec that kills demons - by nature not really a pleasant sight - to earn a living, not two weeks ago, after coming face to face with a spider in the Institute’s shower, he came out terrified. He does everything to mask a laugh, but a loud chuckle spontaneously rises in his throat. “No, but think about it! In battle how much usefull four pairs of limbs can be, possibly arms. It would be inconvenient to have sex with all those extra legs...”.

Alec shudders more, in an extremely theatrical way, and closes his eyes. “By the Angel!” He covers his forehead with one hand and then looks at him with the corner of his eye, a small croocked smile that curls a nook of his mouth. “At least I made you laugh”.

Magnus gets closer to him, their distance is already ridiculously small, and maybe it isn’t such a good idea to weigh both of them on that battered cot. He brings his hand, the one with which Alec holds his, to his mouth, and kisses his knuckles. “You’re such a silly man”.

Alec runs his tongue over his lips and smiles slightly. “What’s wrong, do you want to tell me?”.

Magnus looks at him and swallows noisily. And he would like to talk about something else, he would like to plan a trip, take him away, far away. Far from problems, away from pain, away from fear, from demonic attacks. But seclusion will not be enough. The sword of Damocles hovering over them will fall sooner or later, if Magnus doesn’t tell him everything and immediately, if he doesn’t tell him that the only option available, as soon as Alec is able to travel with a portal, is to go away. As long as he survives.

“Magnus?” Alec calls him, in such a low voice.

And he stretches a grimace, and maybe it’s a smile or maybe it’s not. “I don’t know what will happen, Alexander.” he admits. “I don’t know if your body could withstand. You know what happens when a Nephilim becomes a Downworlder... the runes disappear. But usually people like you can’t become like me," he adds. “The mixture of magic and runes could wear you down, you could... you might not have as much time as you hope... you could...” and then he stops. Die, die remains at the bottom of his throat and burns between his vocal chords paralized.

Alec looks at him and seems lost now. His big eyes, the color of the sea, seem even lighter, now, watching him in this confused almost broken expression, now that this revelation gave him yet another slap in the face. But then he smiles “You’ve already said it. I understand, we will find a way, I know that we will find a way” he decides, so serious and stubborn.

And Magnus knows, Alec has every intention of changing the world, of changing it for Magnus, for their love, for their time and for those who find themselves in a situation even remotely similar to their own, stubborn as he is, headstrong as he is, he will find a way. He will find a way to be with Magnus. He found a way to become potentially immortal, so he will find a way. They will find a way.

But he has to pull everything out anyway. He must spill all the information he has. Everything that he is actually assuming. “If even this, let’s call them, actions on your body were to stabilize, without leaving too many marks on you... without taking anything away from you...” he shakes his head. “The Clave would look for you. It would hunt you. And in the best of hypotheses he will find you and...”.

“If I get deruned?” Alec murmurs slowly. “If I get deruned, could I... I don’t know, be fine? The runes would have no effect, would they? And the Clave wouldn’t look for me, right?”.

These words make his head spin, he’s probably delirious. One of them is delirious, or both of them are. It is probably Magnus who is raving, maybe he fainted, in the shower before, in the end he really used so much magic, and Catarina said that he must rest at least a little to recover himself from his own wounds. In short, Alexander can’t really have said that. He is a warrior, he was born to be a Shadowhunter, maybe even to change things, in the Clave. He really couldn’t have said that. And perhaps, if it were just something that happened inside Magnus’ mind, it would be even worse: it would mean to deprive Alec of his family, to deprive him of his identity. And that’s terrible to say the least.

“Could it be a solution?” Alec babbles. "I want to be with you, Magnus. Having more time... succeeding and─”.

Magnus caresses his face, and feels the muscles of his shoulders soften, relax. “We will find a way. Maybe your runes will fade away without harming you.” he smiles. “We will find a way” he repeats.

“You said it before,” he points out.

“Because I want as much time as you want. We’ll do our best, won’t we?” he replies, moving a lock of hair from Alec’s forehead, then moving to pick up his cheek. “We will find a way”.

Alec stretches, every single bone seems to pop loudly. “You’re calmer now,” he says, and it’s a statement.

Alec reads them through with a disarming easiness, with a disconcerting sweetness, as if he had been created specifically to peer into his soul and release every little secret.

He is the one. Magnus always knew it. And maybe they are lucky enough to have a happily ever after. At least Magnus would be the lucky one, to be able to wake up beside Alec for the rest of his life. Of his immortal life.

“I thought you would take it differently,” he murmurs with a tilting his head. And it’s the truth.

“Well, you will teach me to control it, right?” Alec babbles and is nothing more than a rhetorical question, he will certainly help him, even if Alec already controls his magic, maybe not consciously but he succeeds. “I just want to avoid hurting you. And if, if I’m lucky and I become immortal, I can’t see negative sides,” he adds shrugging. “Being able to stay with you until the end of the world? Really, I can’t see the downsides”.

“What a sap!” Magnus whispers, blowing a kiss on his cheek. And he doesn’t want to say it out loud. Because, in reality, however reassuring it may sound living an infinite time together, immortality is still a curse, an eternal sentence. He then tightens his lips and smiles slightly. Then he purses his lips, and smiles a bit softly. “We should talk about other things, mh?”.

Alec snorts loudly, frowning and pursing his lips in a tight line. “And I should also reproach you: you had to rest”.

“I am resting,” he whispers. “I’m here with you, I am resting”.

“Then I’d be the sap! Flattery won’t let you escape from a reprimand...” he mutters. “What else you need to tell me?”.

Magnus takes a breath between his clenched teeth and decides to smile and leans back towards him and rubs a kiss on his cheek . “You know? We can talk about it tomorrow, move a bit, let’s see if this cot can support the both of us”.

“Weren’t they supposed to bring a bed for you?” he mumbles, moving slightly towards the wall to make room for him. “Not that I complain, but maybe I stink...”.

Magnus smiles. “You know that I can’t manage to sleep if you’re not in bed with me.” he murmurs, taking place next to him.

And Alec throws an arm around his waist and pulls him against his chest, nuzzling his nose in the hollow of his collarbone. He breathes slowly and his shoulders tremble as he hunts a sigh.

Magnus moves his hand in light strokes on the broad shoulders of his young Nephilim.

“We’ll manage” he blows very softly on Magnus’ skin. And Magnus nods slowly, sinking his nose into his hair.

“We’ll manage. Your sister has a plan...” Magnus nods, clutching Alec against himself. A sudden wave of tranquility that envelops the heart.

“We will be together forever. And we’ll be happy, and safe and... and─” the words begin to twist on Alec’s tongue and get stuck between the teeth. He too, like Magnus, sleeps better when they are close. “Immortality sounds good, yeah?” he adds tightening his grip on Magnus’ waist.

And the warlock hums kissing Alexander’s hair softly. It does sounds good, terribly good to have and all that time Alec hopes to have. And he tries to ignore the sword of Damocles that hovers over their heads: the transformation, the Clave, the magic. The very fact that infinite time, infinite possibilities can lead to endless conclusions, endless goodbyes. Alec will lose everything in any case. Whatever the course of this matter, any outcome has. At best, in the short time, he will lose who he is, who he was until that fateful night when magic took possession of his body, he will lose the runes, he will lose his angelic blood. He will lose his family, then. If Alec really has an infinite time in his hands, he will lose his family. First the bond with Jace and then everything else. Isabelle, Maryse, and all the rest of his noisy family. Then, gradually, over time, Magnus will lose Alec, they will lose each other. Because even if they can finally stay together until the end of time, until the very end of the world, losing themselves is one of the curses of immortality. Even if their love is infinite, time wears out everything, time rots every single thing. Even the most lovely. And Alec will start to hate him. Him and immortality.

And as much as his heart bleeds, tight in an impossible, hard and painful grip, as much as he already knows it, how much of a curse immortality is, for now, however he should better not think about it.

Alec mumbles something, while his breathing becomes more and more slow and deep, and the arm that surrounds his waist tightens the grip on him, a leg slips between Magnus’ thighs for to bring their bodies even closer. Is she already sleeping.

And Magnus blows a kiss in his hair right above the bandage that seems to stretch at the corners of his forehead. Two small bumps that seem to push the gauze.

Or maybe Magnus is just imagining, he’s already dreaming as tired as he is. Surely he is already sleeping, now that they are both safe, safe and sound, and far from imminent danger. Now that they’re in bed together and have time to heal, the both of them.

Heal and learn.

#malec #malec fic #angst with happy ending #warlock alec lightwood #alec lightwood #magnus bane #pulvis et umbra natura renovantur integra #the little artwork showing alec's warlock mark is coming up next with next chapter :D #lamalefixwrites

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lamalefix · 5 years

Text

Pulvis et umbra natura renovantur integra - ch. 5

read this work on ao3

[ch1; ch2; ch3; ch4]

He is awake. He is awake. Alexander, his Alexander, is awake and Magnus has lost his words. He feels like crying, he feels like laughing. And he has this uncontrollable desire to kiss him.

Alec tightens his eyelids after speaking, after greeting him, but he opens his eyes again immediately, and they are the color of the night for a single moment. He seems bewildered, and again his irises become the color of the ocean, and then this little tired grin comes out, curling his lips softly, in this tender, tender expression on the edge of the dream.

And a multitude of words crowds in Magnusʼ head, but none finds the right path for his mouth. Alec searches for his hand frantically. And Magnus intertwines their fingers, smiles and brings to his mouth that pale bandaged hand.

Alec tightens his grip on him and smiles more. He rubs the tips of his fingers on Magnusʼ lips and squeezes one eye and then the other, as if to focus it better.

He finally seems at peace, Alec, all relaxed with his back to that battered mattress. And Magnus, who had planned to fix that cell with magic in the attempt to make it less humid and vaguely more welcoming for Alecʼs awakening, seems to forget how that little bed is battered, or how effectively the floor still has signs of encrusted blood here and the. Everything is gone. Now they are together. They are finally together.

“Heyˮ Alec repeats and has this tired, yet so happy expression on his face, that suddenly Magnusʼ heart skips a beat.

Magnus feels his lips curl into a smile. “Hey,ˮ he replies, rubbing his mouth against Alecʼs fingers again. “Welcome backˮ.

And Alec seems crossed by a very slight shiver, as he squints and smiles more. He seems to be tasting Magnusʼ voice, he seems to be drinking his very presence. It is as if nothing had happened for a moment, because for that moment even Magnus cannot help but think that, despite the hair that is all plastered to his bandaged forehead, despite the gauzes that are a little everywhere and the dark circles under his eyes and his pale skin, he couldnʼt be more lovely. And he feels so alive.

Isabelle looks into the cell and stays there, motionless with her eyes wide and shiny. Magnus just smiles at her, looking at her out of the corner of his eye. She got out when Alec stopped breathing a few minutes ago. Or maybe itʼs Magnus who let her out, because he had to use magic and maybe Alecʼs would have reacted, or maybe he didnʼt want to make her stay there for her brotherʼs last breath.

“Thereʼs a lot of people who want to see you, you know?ˮ he mumbles, moving a lock of hair from his eyes, something strange seems to burn in his heart. “You made everyone worry, sunshineˮ.

Alexander snorts. He is exhausted, he canʼt say the opposite, itʼs clear: he can see how his eyelids are weighed on his eyes when he opens them again. Yet he smiles, when his pupils stop again on Magnus.

And Magnus doesnʼt feel anything anymore, he doesnʼt feel that strange grip that tightens his chest, now only Alec remains in his head. “Heyˮ the warlock repeats, cupping the young manʼs cheek with his hand and rubbing his thumb on the cheekbone. “You can sleep a little longer if you want. You look really really tiredˮ.

The Shadowhunter swallows and wrinkles his nose, shifts his head a little on his sweaty pillow, and looks at him with this slightly frowning and somewhat confused expression that obscures his eyes. “Thirstyˮ.

“Are you thirsty?ˮ Magnus repeats and starts to get up. “Iʼm going, Iʼll go get you some water, Iʼll entrust you to your sisterʼs wise handsˮ.

But Alec doesnʼt seem of the same opinion, he still holds Magnusʼ hand in his and just tightens his grip. “Stayˮ.

And the warlock opens his eyes wide, he could swear to hear the noise his pupils make when they widen a little bit more, while Alec peers at him, frowning and then snorts softly. Not that Magnus needed further signals, but that is proof that Alec is in himself and certainly doesnʼt want to let him go. “It doesnʼt take me that long to get you some water, Alexander,ˮ he says to him, and even as these words come out of his mouth, Magnus can be relieved. His tone is gentle and amused. As if that horrible terror that weighed on him in recent days has finally become just a distant memory. Still, itʼs so early, and Alec is so weak, so tired, so pale, and there is still the smell of blood in that little room.

“Stay,ˮ he repeats a bit louder, and seems to be moving slightly, until he shifts his head enough to intercept his sister, now a little closer. “Izˮ he says, with this hoarse and very tired voice.

“Yes, Iʼm going,ˮ says Isabelle and is back by the door. “And maybe I also warn others. And we leave you a couple of minutes alone, eh? ˮ.

And Alec gives her this half-smile so sweet that Magnus could swear his breath broke for a second.

As Isabelleʼs steps become farther and farther away, and disappear at the top of the ladder, Alec glances again to intertwine his look with Magnusʼ. The eyes, of that entrancing blue, are veiled and a bit shiny, he looks like someone who would sleep a little longer and certainly this wouldnʼt hurt him, but that faint tired grin still flickers on his lips. He frowns again and opens his mouth, with the clear intention of reproaching him.

Magnus again picks up a cheek with his free hand, the fingers of the other are still tied to Alecʼs, and he has no intention of leaving his grip.

“Are you okay?ˮ Alec asks suddenly.

And he curls an eyebrow. “Really Alexander?“

“You donʼt look so goodˮ he answers with a faint voice and makes a movement similar to a shrug, or maybe heʼs just trying to get a little closer to Magnus.

“Itʼs outright rude of you, Alexander,ˮ Magnus snorts, a soft smile o his lips. “And then worry about yourself a bit!ˮ.

“You have to rest,ˮ he replies, his mouth a thin line of disappointment. “You didnʼt snap your fingers,ˮ he says, wetting his chapped lips with the tip of his tongue and gasping with a pained grimace on his face when he encounters one of the deeper wounds on the edge of his lower lip. He swallows and wrinkles his nose. “You didnʼt snap your fingers to make my water appear...ˮ.

A small part of Magnus would simply like snapping his fingers and making all the pain that weighs on him disappear, if only to avoid hearing him again stifle his groans. But he just grits his teeth and smiles a little more. “Is this really your first meaningful sentence after days of agony?ˮ he grumbles, and a certain strange emotion that is condensing in a little pool inside his stomach.

Alec snorts again, squeezes his eyelids and wrinkles his nose into another grimace. “You have to restˮ he reiterates.

“Donʼt worry, Iʼm fine,ˮ he replies. “I wouldnʼt have missed your awakening for anything in the worldˮ.

Alec opens his mouth and itʼs clear he would like to say more, but he just sighs. And it is clear that this movement hurts him, even breathing hurst him, because he barely mumbles.

Magnus just shakes his head. “I only stayed awake for a couple of days, donʼt worry. Did I ever tell you about that time when I was so busy with a spell that I didnʼt sleep for ten days straight? Catarina and Ragnor kicked hard my ass as soon as I woke up ˮ.

“Expect the same treatment,ˮ he mutters under his breath, his eyes stern, though still veiled by that weariness.

“Oh, kinky!ˮ Magnus replies, and shots him a smile that Alec canʼt help but reciprocate, though he tries to mantain that stern look.

He just shakes his head. “You were badly hurt... You were─ˮ.

“You too were badly hurt,ˮ Magnus replies without giving him time to finish.

“You have to think more about yourself,ˮ he mumbles and his eyes are glossy, and liquid, and Magnus could swear he heard his voice tremble, but maybe itʼs the pain. “You could─you... you were─you...ˮ he mumbles and the words get stuck in his throat.

Magnus gets closer to him, arching his back forward, so as to reduce the distance between their faces, enough to rest his forehead against Alecʼs. “I did it for myself, Alexander. Iʼm not such a selfless person as you think. Iʼd never have allowed myself to lose you, Alecˮ he replies.

“But you...ˮ continues Alec, who lets his fingers run and touch Magnusʼ hands on his face. “You were... you were on the ground and I... I couldnʼt─ˮ.

“This is a matter we will have to face when you get better and you will be more awake and...ˮ he sighs. “I will rest tonight. Donʼt worry, I think your sister is already organizing shifts with the rest of the family to allow me to get some sleep. She also tried the last few days, but...“he shrugs.

Alec frowns again and snorts a warm sigh against Magnusʼs face. “You have to rest. I felt your magic... you used so much, too muchˮ.

“I know. Alexander. Catarina also told me the same, adding a series of nasty comments about my proverbial stupidity,ˮ he whispers under his breath.

And Alec curls a corner of his mouth into a small smile. “Wise womanˮ.

Magnus barely moves his head to place a kiss on the edge of Alecʼs forehead, on the top of the battered bandage. A sudden and reassuring wave of satisfaction and tranquility that relaxes his shoulders. He tries to impart to that kiss all the affection, all the love, all he can give him, keeping out the worries, the pain, the absence that weighed on him these days.

Alec just protests with another loud snort. “True kissˮ.

And Magnus smiles even more and moves back to rest his forehead against Alecʼs again, he lets the tip of his nose slide against the shadowhunterʼs and then moves slowly to rub his lips against a corner of his mouth. Trying not to give it too much strength, because Alec has all his lips dry and battered, and if he can, he would like to avoid that pain there at least.

Thanks. he thinks suddenly, and thanks everyone, the Angel, the Princes of Hell, any divinity that has ever crossed the cultures of the World.

Thanks for not being dead. he then adds in his head and when he is reflected in Alecʼs eyes, he cannot restrain that slight vague hint of terror that shakes his heart. They have to talk, and they still have to heal. Their will be a long way.

“Itʼs not a real kiss,ˮ Alec protests, listlessly blinking twice and curling his eyebrows.

Magnus grins and moves a little to blow a constellation of small kisses under his jaw. Thatʼs a point where he feels a lot of tickling and Magnus hopes to lighten up the tension heʼs still wearing, just like Alec.

The pops make Alec laugh just a little. “Awh, awh. It hurts!ˮ he whines.

“Sorryˮ he sighs, pulling back.

“I didnʼt tell you to stop,ˮ he replies, still that tired grin on his lips, and then returns serious. “You promise to rest a while?ˮ.

And Magnus is about to answer, but he just closes his mouth and leaves Alecʼs face when Isabelleʼs steps get closer. “Your water has arrived,ˮ he tells him.

“Magsˮ the wounded Shadowhunter growls.

“Yes,ˮ says Magnus, without even looking at him, while instead inviting Isabelle to enter the cell with a small nod. “Iʼll leave you a little with her, Iʼll go and give myself a clean up and then Iʼll come back hereˮ he sighs and takes a lock of hair between his fingers. “Urgh! Nasty!ˮ he murmurs.

Alec snorts but retrieves his hand and puts it to his lips. “Get some restˮ.

“Yes,ˮ he nods. “You too must do it.“

Alec merely smiles, his eyes still very tired, but he seems so calm when he leaves his hand.

Magnus throws Isabelle a knowing look, no need to say anything else and goes towards the corridor.

Alec watches Magnus starting toward the door and shots him a last smile and blows a kiss before disappearing.

Isabelle sits on the bed next to Alec, hands him the glass with a straw and he takes a long sip, which certainly wonʼt be enough to make the thirst disappear. At least he feels a little better now.

What follows is is a pleasant silence that lasts perhaps a few minutes. Isabelle, who is always an extremely loud type when theyʼre out of work, like a good warrior knows when to be silent, and this is one of those moments.

Also because Alec now, after drinking, feels extremely tired and there is something that whispers under his skin and in his head, that usual rackous that has gripped his head when he was passed out, now it seems to become even louder. And the pain is spreading in waves in every single cell of his body.

But then Isabelle speaks, slowly. “He is fine. Catarina checked on him a few hours ago, heʼs just very tired. He said he wanted to arrange a mattress here to sleep next to you, weʼre getting organizedˮ.

Alec purses his lips and wrinkles his eyebrows. They must have a good motivation for leaving him in that cell. Maybe they think that the thing that pushed him to slip in there at first, still weighs on him.

“Heʼs just tired. He used a lot of magic... we helped him though. Heʼs just very tired.ˮ his sister repeats, smilin, in the attempt of saving him from worry.

“You are too,ˮ he replies. And perhaps it wasnʼt even so necessary to say it aloud, even if he begins to lose his lucidity, he still manages to see his sister well enough, without make-up, deep circles darken her complexion, her hair pulled back in a messy bun, a bit battered jumpsuit.

She smiles and pokes his cheek. “No, itʼs a shabby style, you donʼt know anything about fashion you canʼt understandˮ.

“Thanks,ˮ he says, looking for her hand and taking it in his. “Thank youˮ he repeats.

And she snorts. “Seriously, Alec?ˮ she asks. “Do you thank me for what, exactly? Helping was the very least. You are my brother, and he is one of the family...ˮ.

“For Magnus. For being close to him,ˮ he replies and if he had enough property of his body, he would already be shrugging his shoulders. “For helping himˮ.

“Weʼve all been here. There havenʼt been so many emergencies, typical after an eclipse...ˮ she answers intertwining her fingers with Alecʼs. “The important thing is that we are all well now. Who more bruised, who less...ˮ.

Alec rolls his eyes and snorts louder than he actually expected, a shiver of pain wobbles in his chest. Does he really have to say it out loud? “I mean there. When he was─ˮ and the words die in the back of his throat. He remembers it, in a flash before his eyes, he remembers Isabelle with her hands on Magnusʼs chest, trying to stop the blood. If Magnus is still alive it is certainly thanks to Isabelle. There are no other possibilities.

“Really? Iʼm sure you would have done the same for Simon. Or for Clary,ˮ she replies. “And then...ˮ she adds, but then stops and looks at him, her eyes vibrating on him, she seems to want to tell him something else, but she shrugs her shoulders. “Are you hungry?ˮ.

Alec frowns, and even this microscopic gesture makes him run a pang in every corner of his head. Something is consuming him now, and it is a strange pain that takes away his sight. Small black dots are erasing entire corners of his field of vision, but he has to stay awake enough to be sure that Magnus is okay. Above all, there is something in his sisterʼs behavior that makes him think. “What did you want to say?ˮ.

“I? I asked you if youʼre hungry,ˮ she replies shrugging again.

“Izzy, Alec has already risked dying enough for this week, I would say we can avoid food poisoning,ˮ says someone. Itʼs Jaceʼs voice that echoes from the cell entrance.

Something like a grip at his stomach, even just hearing his voice gives him a strange, uncontrollable warmness. His hands tingle and if he was only a little more able to move, he would throw at least two or three punches against his parabataiʼs beautiful angelic face.

Isabelle snorts loudly. “As if youʼre a better cook. We ordered Chinese last night, thereʼs something you can eatˮ.

Alec smiles and closes his eyes to find some more lucidity. When he opens them again the black spots are still there, but they have not increased at least. He is trying to keep a minimum of composure, seeing Jace has awakened that nasty bad feeling that has begun to envelop his heart again. And he feels a strange heat drumming under his eyelids, warm elettricity spreads between his fingers.

“How do you feel?ˮ Jace asks. And Isabelle takes a breath between her clenched teeth. “What?ˮ he hisses, raising his tone by half an octave, becoming decidedly more annoying.

“Those arenʼt things you should ask him,ˮ she mumbles. “Donʼt you see in which state he is? Donʼt you feel how he is feeling?!ˮ.

“I feel a lot of things from the rune, honestly,ˮ Jace replies with a shrug. “And I feel that practically everything hurts you, but I want to know how you are emotionally, Alec. I get a lot of strange perceptions and...ˮ.

Alec shouldnʼt think much about it. There are a lot of things he feels inside, both positive and negative. He feels his head weighing, something like terror is ringing in his ears, yet there is also this warm wave of joy and love, which originate from the center of his chest and seem to cross him like a hurricane. And then with surprise, he notes that there is also something else. Something like a more powerful anger, irrepressible, that seems to shake his skin and radiate in every millimeter of his body. Heʼs still angry after all.

“Heyˮ whispers that velvety and unmistakable voice. Magnus is back at the door, leaning against the doorframe and it doesnʼt seem itʼs been more than a moment since he left. Not even a moment has passed since he got out, but here he is again. Alec can see from the bed that he he seems to have come out of the shower in a hurry, little beads of water are making his wet hair all glittery, the shirt he was wearing is now upside down, completely upside down, the label sticking out and the stitching marks make the excessive thinness of his body stand out even more.

Alec then concentrates on him, and tries to assume a frown, tries to find the words to reprimand him, because he had to rest and has not had the chance to do it. And that terrible anger stops vibrating in his heart.

Magnus looks at himself and notices the shirt upside down, and when he runs his hand through his hair, he doesnʼt seem surprised at all at how much they are still wet. He then snaps his fingers and arranges one of Alecʼs shirt, a bit jagged and faded, and a loose pair of sweatpants but they seem to be doing their job. The hair is dry again and even if they arenʼt styled in the usual way, but remains soft on his head, it seems to have definitely resumed. “Didnʼt I suggest you stay out of the cell when Iʼm gone, Barbie?ˮ.

“He started to do that thing again...ˮ Jace says, weirdly beckoning to his eyes with two fingers.

Magnus doesnʼt seem impressed at all, he merely passes by and retrieves Alecʼs hand. And when their fingers are intertwined, the warlocks shots him a wonderful smile. “I told Sherwin and Bisquit to retrieve a vaguely better mattress than this, and a couple of blankets and a couple of pillows. Below here is like a morgue, and itʼs terribly wet, hereˮ he adds. “But in retrospect I can snap my fingers and fix this cell without disturbing your angelic heavy assesˮ.

“Magnus this is a prison, not the Hilton Hotel,ˮ Jace grumbles listlessly, rubbing his hand behind his neck.

“I certainly donʼt ask you to repaint,ˮ Magnus replies. “Even if you should consider it, honestly,ˮ he replies with a wink.

Isabelle snorts loudly and stands up making room for Magnus. “You are the Head of the Institute and your parabatai is in a cell, make yourself useful, if you have to make it more welcoming, make it more welcoming. You werenʼt asked to prepare a presidential suite, just bring that other mattressˮ she begins to say, when Magnus intrudes.

“And a couple of blankets,ˮ says the warlock, shifting closer to Alec. “This place is cold and wetˮ.

“Exactly,ˮ says Isabelle. “And a couple of blankets and some pillows too, Jace. He isnʼt asking that muchˮ she mutters. “We canʼt ask Magnus to use magic, heʼs tired enough already,ˮ she adds, poking violently Jaceʼs shoulder. “Walk, come onˮ.

“Weʼll take care of the cell, Magnus,ˮ Jace nods, rolling his eyes and letting Isabelle push him out.

“Remind me to send your sister one of my credit cards,ˮ says Magnus, smiling.

Alec would like to open his mouth and try to understand why he is in that cell, at least because he is still there, he remembers him because he went there in the first place: to avoid killing Jace, in his blind fury, but is it really necessary to still be there?

“Donʼt scowl like that, you will have wrinkles, Alexander...ˮ Magnus whispers, bringing his face close to Alecʼs and rubbing his forefinger between his eyebrows as if to erase the grimace that was drawn on his face.

“Whatʼs going on?ˮ he asks softly, and is surprised by the voice with which this question comes up. Raspy and sounds like a whisper.

“Nothingˮ replies by blowing a kiss on his forehead.

“Magnusˮ calls him, trying to look as stern as he can possibly be, but having Magnus right in front of him doesnʼt make this thing so easy.

“I wanted to do this when you got better,ˮ he replies, running his tongue over his teeth.

Alec feels a knot envelop him at the base of his throat. “Are you okay, right?ˮ.

Magnus smiles, and his eyes vibrate on him as if he were looking at a starry sky. “You really are something, eh?“

“You are not answering meˮ he whispers. A shiver of pain climbs his spine and radiates in the back of his head.

“Iʼm fine,ˮ says Magnus recalling his magic in his fingers and pushing a small flame on Alecʼs forehead. “Iʼm fine, but we have to make a serious talk now, Alexander. And I really wanted to do it when you felt a little better better, but... the sooner the better, right?ˮ he murmurs, curling his lips in a soft smile.

Alec swallows and looks at him. He doesnʼt know what to answer, but he merely nods.

Magnus squints, and Alec can see the tiny movements that his eyes make under his eyelids. Itʼs like heʼs looking for words, the right words. Then he heaves a tight sigh and takes his hand again. “Okay, donʼt fret, alright?ˮ.

“No. No, okay. I wonʼt fret,ˮ mumbles Alec, his eyes fixed on Magnus, on the love of his life that now seems to have a terrible weight on his shoulders.

The warlock opens his mouth once or twice and seems to draw out another heavy sigh, like the words he is looking for.

Alec sighs. “What did you do? What did you do to help me? Did you summon your father? What happened?ˮ.

And Magnus looks at him with this shocked, hurt expression, but then he smiles and shakes his head. “Itʼs not what I did, itʼs what you did. Itʼs what is happening to you”.

“To me?ˮ says Alec, confused, the noise in his head becomes even louder. “What have I done?ˮ.

“To youˮ he nods. “Youʼve killed a lot of demonsˮ.

“Thatʼs my work, Magsˮ he retorts, furrowing a brow.

“I know that, Alexanderˮ Magnus replies. “Something is happening to you... you are─ˮ.

“Iʼm fine,ˮ he murmurs, and tries to ignore the pain that continues to run down his spine, that warmth drumming beneath his skin, that noise echoing in his ears.

Magnus purses his lips, and tightens the grip on Alecʼs hand as if he fears to let him go. “You ... you are becoming a warlock, Alexanderˮ.

[ch.6]

#pulvis et umbra natura renovantur integra #malec fic #Malec angst #angst with happy ending #warlock alec lightwood #alec lightwood #magnus bane #lamalefixwrites

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Text

Pulvis et umbra natura renovantur integra — ch.1

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There is an ancient legend that circulates in the Shadow World.

Nothing more than a fairy tale in black hues, like the ones told at the campground by the fire.

Something extremely ancient, which lurks in the darkest depths of the Spiral Labyrinth. A story written in this vulgar and somewhat battered Latin, in an illuminated codex among the forgotten books of the Silent City. One of those traditions that the people of the Kingdom under the hill, hide behind the ivy leaves. Events that would make even the most bloodthirsty vampire, the most ferocious werewolf, shiver.

During the night of a lunar eclipse, when Mars paints with blood the sky, anyone who is stained by killing more than a hundred demons becomes one of Lilith’s Children. Without having demon blood. Users of demonic magic, without having the magic in their blood. It’s just a legend. A legend handed down by other legendary creatures.

Legends, however, are true.

Before the outbreak of the Mortal War, and now it seems like a lifetime ago, Alec hadn’t killed a single demon. He preferred to be the guardian angel of his siblings, more reckless and scapegrace than him. He tended to protect them to the point of scraping up all kinds of wounds. Even when they were younger, the parabatai rune still fresh on his side, he had always had another role in battle: watching over them. His jumping from one side of the battlefield to the other, the constant protection of the people he loved most in the world, his siblings, his family, had always been a source of pride. Although he wasn’t the best killer of the Clave, the best warrior, he certainly had an overview and integrity to be proud of. And even the marks left by those wounds on his body, were nothing but a source of pride. And he learned to endure pain, to proceed with a clear and cold mind. He never liked to kill, but it’s a necessity, especially if you have a demon that is aiming at your throat. He never liked to kill because his role was always another one.

And now his life has changed, his role has changed. And even if the war is over, sometimes the dangers they face are nevertheless immense.

And maybe he should just stop now, just let himself fall and give in to that pain that is not just physical that radiates throughout his whole body. The blood that runs from his face, from the big gash that crosses his torso from his left shoulder to his right side, and from a multitude of other wounds that he can’t even locate.

But he is so angry. He is so out of his mind. The lucidity seems only a distant memory. And it’s true that he is using this cold anger, he is enslaving it to the Nephilim cause, but in reality if he found his parabatai he would plant his stele in his brother’s neck, with all the strength he has. But for now, he has other priorities to attend.

Animated by his icy rage, Alec crosses the entire surface of the battlefield. The adamas of his daggers sparkling in the dark. Taking a leap, hovering in the night, air he plants the blade in the skull of this other demon, and another, and another. He lost count of how many he killed.

A strange energy blinks between his fingers. It’s sparkling and burning, like thick and fiery smoke, like a thundercloud, it looks like magic and seems to be lighting up in the palm of his hands. Impossible. The blood itself burns in his veins and maybe it’s just the demon venom that throbs inside him, or maybe it’s something else.

After a distance of fifty yards, without difficulties, he gains the position in front of another nest that is still being created. The rift is still open, and Alec will close it with his bare hands if necessary.

Taking up the bow and charging five arrows, Alec doesn’t take long to send yet another demon nest to ashes. The creatures give a strangled cry as the Adamas burns and reduces them to dust.

Now, more hordes of demons rise from that portal that pierces the ground. Winged demons, enormous, gigantic, which come from the depths of Hell realms, skeletal horrors that clumsily climb and slide on the damp asphalt of that little deck, serpent-like creatures that dart like eels.

Alec nocks more arrows and doesn’t blink when the ichor shoots across his face, while this demonic dragon explodes into pieces. He holds a dagger and hurls it at this cloud of giant demonic bees, making one explode is enough to trigger a chain reaction and the others become dust in the blink of an eye.

Perhaps, if it was only yesterday, he would be satisfied with this hunting night, how he accomplished this impossible feat almost entirely alone, a fact that would certainly have filled him with pride.

Today, however, today he can’t feel any satisfaction. Perhaps there is nothing left beyond his anger. Beyond his anger there is only more rage, more annihilating and colder.

The eclipse is still giving the sky this red glow that looks like blood. The same blood that Alec has on his hands, and drips from his fingertips, the same blood that clouds his vision now that it slips into his eyes and returns bitter in his mouth.

Drenched with sweat, blood and ichor, with his locks of hair sticking to his forehead, Alec then runs towards the rift.

The sound of his footsteps combined with the swirling screech of the barking of those demons that are climbing up the rocky wall seem to explode and reverberate in the night.

Through the veil of pain that tarnishes his eyes, not only physical, especially emotional, Alec sees that the only conceivable way to block that portal lies in his hands. It’s an absurd reasoning, but he feels it, he feels that something that vibrates between his fingers under the skin, it’s like the incessant flow of magic, which resounds in the outer layer of his skin, and then permeates in his tendons, drums in his muscles, skids in his bones.

Are his hands the key to closing the portal? That’s it. He can burn his whole body in that attempt, now for all he cares.

His life is over.

He doesn’t care anymore. His siblings will take care of themselves. And he wants nothing more that to go back to Magnus, wherever he is.

The drops of blood and of ichor that glide along the signs of the calluses and of the small scars on his fingertips trained to battle and haunt, seem to become spikes, impregnated with an energy that he can’t have. Is it magic? Maybe not. Maybe he’s just gone insane.

Perhaps, but he doesn’t remember it clearly, he activated the Alliance rune before arriving there. Maybe he’s stealing some of Magnus’ energy.

Magnus.

No, he shouldn’t have to think about it. About him.

Not yet. When he’ll close his eyes he will reach him. When he’ll let himself go, he will join him.

Alec summons that strength, which now vibrates under his skin and lights up like a bolt of bluish smoke between his fingers, and then turns for an instant and lights up like a gold and orange flame.

It looks like his magic. Magnus’ magic.

His arms, his body, move without a specific purpose and when the palms of his hands impact each other the rift is closed and the last demons that have come out are encircling him.

He moves his hand, and with the stele activates the precision rune, whispers to his seraph blade its name, and with a sharp blow, like a skilled butcher, he kills three or four demons on the spot. Then, with the same delicacy with which a woodcutter plants his axe in the side of a tree, he hurls his daggers at the remaining demons.

Dozens and dozens.

When the threats in his immediate proximity have disappeared, in a flame of ash and wind, with his legs that no longer support him, Alec decides to go back to where he was before, at least if he must die, if he must die, he wants to stay close to him, to Magnus.

There is the possibility that his sister will fight to have them put together, to have them end up underground together, even if he won’t be in Idris, he doesn’t care. If their life is over today, it’s right that they remain together at least afterwards.

One step, and then another. His eyes, clouded by tears, fatigue, get lost in the dark. Perhaps he should reactivate the vision rune. His legs are shaking, and his steps become heavier. The shock, the breath of adrenaline that has run through his skin, that anger that filled his heart and erased his judgment so far, is fading.

Other demons are preparing to reach him, to attack him, and his daggers seem to move by their own accord.

It’s like watching the whole scene from the outside. As if everything was recorded and he was seeing it sitting on the couch at home, a cup of honey tea in his hands, while Magnus plays with his hair and whispers sweet words, the magic that flows from his fingers on his skin like calming steam.

Between Alec’s fingers it flashes again, the blue sparkle that for a second acquires the fiery colour of the sun and if with a dagger he is slicing demons of any nature into halves, with the other he throws small waves of energy. His other arm seems driven by something, as if it were Magnus driving it.

The palms of his hands burn as if the magic, the magic that usually approaches him with kindness and that now escapes from his very hands, from his skin, is burning him.

His knees tremble as Jace approaches him. And he almost doesn’t recognize him. Or maybe he recognized him and that’s why he has the dagger leveled in front of him, right up to Jace’s throat.

Jace says something, or at least it feels like he’s talking to Alec. Jace too is the mirror of this terrible battle, his golden hair stuck to his forehead, his clothes are drenched with ichor and blood, the gear all scratched. His seraph blade seems to be soaked in something mud-like and dense, it’s the blood of all those demons, poison and ichor that drips slowly from the tip.

He speaks to him, therefore, Alec hears his voice rolling in the night, in the reddish darkness of this lunar eclipse, but honestly isn’t paying any attention to him.

He rubs his wrist under his chin to dry the sweat and blood that keep slipping on his face, but still holds the dagger levelled against Jace’s throat.

He’s tired, he’s so tired. And now the pain radiates throughout his body. Probably the wound that crosses his torso from the right side to the left shoulder is just one of the multitude of gashes that are pulling away his last energy.

Magnus.

He must go back to Magnus.

But before his feet move, anger takes over again. Jace is closer and now the dagger seems to glow with a fiery red light.

Jace backs away, drops his sword to the ground and raises his hands, his eyes seem to warn him, or maybe that warning it’s just in Alec’s head. Other demons lurk behind his parabatai and Alec, throwing the dagger away, takes his bow again. His body moved of his own will, his head perhaps telling him to ignore them, those demons and let them feast on his brother’s flesh.

It’s his fault, after all.

His life is over today and it’s only Jace’s fault.

Five or six demons become a pile of ash. And Jace seems relieved to still have his head attached to his neck. Perhaps he thanks him, and Alec decides that it’s okay for now. So, when he’ll reach Magnus, when he too goes away, Jace who is so reckless, will end up in a stupid, horrible death.

He moves then, swallows noisily, his ears ring insistently. He moves away from Jace, who’s trying to hold him up.

This whole mess is his fault.

Magnus.

Magnus didn’t have to be there.

Alec .

Alec didn’t have to be there.

Nobody.

Nobody had to be there.

Alec swallows again, the bitter ferrous flavour of blood, the dense acid of the ichor that sticks on the roof of his palate. The whistle in his ears seems to grow faint, seems to fade. And maybe he is a little thirsty.

Jace tries again to support him, tries again to help him walk, he has the stele in his hand and maybe he wants to activate some rune.

No. No thanks. Alec thinks and withdraws. Willing or unwilling, it’s his body that acts before his mind. An impossible anger rises in his throat. He takes a step back and hears a deep growl that troop off from his chest. The blue smoke of magic flashes through his fingers again.

The sensible part of him knows, he certainly knows that attacking Jace, attacking him for the choices he made, sending them there to die, in this little deck on the edge of Long Island, is a bad bad idea. They needed to protect mundanes, to protect all New York citizens.

But there is something primordial, something feral that burns the air in his nostrils. And that blue lightning that is becoming crimson is proof of this. He is so angry again, that even the pain, physical and emotional, that blurs his vision, seems to annihilate him again.

“I’ll take you to Magnus, okay?”.

Magnus.

His anger disappears abruptly, in one shot. That blue smoke that ran through his fingers disappears along with his impossible anger. Magnus. Yes, now he will see Magnus. Now he’ll go back to him. And they will go away together.

He takes a step, slowly, and decides to lower his weapons, which seem to rustle like the wind now that he is trying to put them behind his back. Jace reaches out to take his face. Clear eyes, dilated pupils. He talks to him again, but Alec is not really interested.

The blood that stains his hands, which looks like mud mixed with the ichor. It’s not just his or demons’ blood. Alec remembers this and the shiver that runs through his back tears his breath away.

He held his hand on Magnus’ chest for an impossible time. A gesture that he usually likes to do, because he feels the beating of his heart. A warlock’s heart beats differently from the heart of any other mortal. It’s a reassuring, undying, and stable sound, the magic that runs through every cell of Magnus’ body seems to gather all over his chest when Alec holds his hand there. And it’s so reassuring. He could be listening to Magnus’ heart all his life. This is what Alec thinks every time. This would be enough for him to be happy.

But he held his hand on Magnus’s chest a little while ago for other reasons. Nothing pleasant. Nothing pleasant at all.

The blood on his hands, the blood is not just demonic, it’s not just his own. That blood is also from Magnus.

And his heart was beating differently, in a way that wasn’t stable at all, the magic seemed to run away from every corner of that huge wound that ran through his chest from side to side. The tattered shirt, the torn flesh.

Alec held his hand on that wound, he listened to the beating of that heart until Magnus had his eyes open.

Alec asked him not to go, to fight, to resist. He asked him to take his strength, his whole energy, he asked him to stay. He told him that he loves him and that he can’t , he just can’t live without him.

But then he closed his eyes and something shook his body. A deeper breath with parted lips.

And then his heart didn’t make any more noise.

Alec’s, instead, broke. In hundreds of pieces. And with a little bit of luck, as soon as he sees him again, his heart will stop. And they will be together. In the end. No dangers. No pain.

He never wanted to think about what would happen next, at the end of his own life. Because he knew he would leave Magnus alone, that Magnus would continue to exist, and a very small part of him liked to think he could walk around the house and watch over him from time to time, hear him laugh every now and then while Magnus thought of him, finally moving on when Magnus would have found new happiness. But now he imagines himself having another chance in the afterlife, being able to be with him forever, in a non-place of the mind.

But even before he can reach Magnus, a dull breath comes out of his mouth and scrapes his throat. And even though Jace is trying to keep him upright, his knees no longer support him. And he falls forward.

The street floor painfully wards off him, but he immediately tries to raise his hands and press on the asphalt, to drag himself there, near Magnus. His life is running out, and he wants to see him at least one last time.

And again, a cold and impossible anger comes over his heart. It takes his breath away. Again and again the blue smoke flashes between his fingers, and a deep growl escapes his teeth.

Everything in front of his eyes becomes confused, everything in front of his eyes looks like thick and dense fog.

It didn’t have to end like this.

After a first moment of darkness, he feels something burn his skin. They are the familiar contours of the healing runes, iratze and sangliers , and the pain disappears for a moment. He opens his eyes and sees Jace, in the corner of his field of vision there is also Isabelle, in the near distance. He sits up, though his parabatai keep saying something, words in the wind.

Finally, he sees him. The unruly mass of Magnus’ hair, the impossible pallor of his face, the dark circles look like bruises under his eyes in that absolute greyness of his face.

And Alec swallows a painful sob, his eyes bleary with tears.

Isabelle is there, motionless, both hands pushing a jacket or whatever it is on the huge wound that crosses Magnus’ chest. The blood reaches her elbows. And perhaps he imagines it, that she shakes her head, he imagines that sense of despair that comes from her too. Or maybe it’s his desperation that is invading everything around them, like a thick and dense fog.

He stretches out a hand, smeared with blood and ichor and cups Magnus’ cheek. He rubs his thumb just below his cheekbone. And perhaps even this is in his head, but he hears his own words, in this broken and trembling voice that he will soon reach him. "I won’t leave you alone, wait for me," he adds, swallowing a handful of tears.

The electricity that passes through his fingertips seems to come to Magnus, though. As if, yes, he was giving him back the magic he stole from him a little while ago. And Alec again has a great chaos that hovers in his head, his eyes clouded even by a darkness he can’t understand, besides those puffy and salty tears.

The only thing he can do, before closing his eyes again and letting go is kissing a corner of his mouth in a silent goodbye.

Again, a jolt of that electricity passes through his body, and reaches his lips like a lightning. And it burns a little, it hurts. But soon it will end.

He lets himself go on him, his hand just above those of Isabelle who are uselessly trying to help Magnus, and maybe someone tries to hold him up, but it’s late.

Maybe they will be lucky enough to meet again later, somewhere in another life, somewhere in another dimension, under other circumstances, with other premises.

Maybe they are lucky enough to reincarnate in something of the same duration. And maybe they will have the same luck they have now and go away together.

Perhaps Alec could have done something more. In all senses, both for their life together, and for his siblings, for the sake of his family.

A little rage grows in his heart, once again, while he feels something vibrate under his head. A very light and confused beat that echoes in his ears. And the sound is so familiar, it looks like something he’s already heard. And it reassures him a little.

The darkness then thickens before his eyes, the last thing he can focus on is his sister, and maybe she is also telling him something, but it’s late.

It’s late.

[click here for chapter 2]

#malec #malec fic #angst with happy ending #warlock alec lightwood #malec angst #pulvis et umbra natura renovantur integra #lamalefixwrites

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lamalefix · 5 years

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Pulvis et umbra natura renovantur integra - ch. 3

read this work on ao3

[ch1; ch2]

The silence that follows his statement doesn’t surprise him that much. Perhaps saying it aloud was a bad idea, because now Magnus could swear to hear the sound of his own heart rumbling in the corridor, resonating between the walls.

He knows, what it means to be hunted by the Clave. All the Downworlders know it, many can say that they have undergone terrible treatments, if not tortures, in certain dark centuries in which the Nephilim used the heads of warlocks and werewolves, mainly, as terrible decorative choices for their walls. Stuffed with straw like animals that you could find in a taxidermy. There are those who might say they didn’t risk their skin, not having fight openly against the Shadowhunters, to see their rights recognized, in a peace of paper that wasn’t really a peace. And Accords after Accordss, somehow, they have arrived at a sort of stasis. And then there was Alec who changed everything.

Here, however, what is happening in that cell is a transformation that the Clave can’t accept. A transformation that probably also crosses that thin line between the possible and the impossible that legends are. Legends like them.

If the Clave discovered what’s happening to Alec, especially in this moment of change, in this moment in which progress is being made and peace is not just a side note, something that is present only on paper and is enshrined in the Accords, now that Nephilim and their minds are changing, now that their ideas are changing, if the Clave discovers that Alec is becoming something different, something that isn’t included in their usual categorization, he would be taken and thrown into the darkest of prisons; and that change that his life, his personality is bringing would end up in oblivion.

The Clave would hunt him down, lock him up and study him in every part. And Magnus doesn’t want to think about the specific name of this practice, that the thought alone sends a chill down his spine. And then he clenches his fists and holds his breath and tries not to look at the young, so very young Nephilim in front of him. It’s indeed a good thing that the Angel allows the ascension of very few of them, and that in that Institute there is only the Lightwood family and their immediate kinsmen: the hunt is not open yet and with a little luck, and many spells, maybe Magnus can still find a solution.

A dull and piercing cry from the cell calls him back from his thoughts. He must hurry. He moves again to gain that thick runed door. The steps that become heavy like his thoughts.

Isabelle’s voice stops him, though. “What's going on, Magnus?”.

And he doesn’t know whether to turn around, if he is stretching a half smile. He just shrugs.

“Isn't this your magic?” Simon asks, and maybe it’s not a question it’s a statement. “I thought he had activated the Alliance rune, really... I thought... I don't know, it seemed like your magic.” he then murmurs and takes a long, loud gulp from his cup of coffee.

And it’s at that point that Magnus turns around and wants to ask him more information about it but Simon continues.

“I didn’t even realize you were on the ground, it seemed like you were fighting with him... I wrote this in the report. He was all zap, bang, slam, chop” he keeps saying waving his hand. “He seemed to be fighting with you by his side”.

“I also thought the same, that he had activated the rune, in the end it seemed to make sense, doesn't it?” Jace nods . “When he reached you, then, it’s like he gave you back the magic... I don’t know if it sounds right…”.

Magnus remains speechless for a moment. It isn’t strange that they don’t know it, that legend. It’s older than Elphas the Unsteady in person, so it’s easy to assume it got lost in popular folklore stories and disappeared almost completely from Clave’s records. Ragnor had a theory: some of the warlocks who fought the demons and who disappeared into oblivion, were through and through mundane and not some demon spawn. But before he can begin to tell the legend there is something else that gets his attention: Alec used magic, he used a magic that was certainly not Magnus’ own, and he used it there on the battlefield. “Impossible.” he finally says, the heavy tone that perhaps doesn't even make the idea of how serious this thing is. It could have been an eventuality if that fog wasn’t there, if those lightning bolts didn’t cross the darkness in that cell, if Magnus hadn’t been on the ground, more dead than alive.

“Impossible?” Jace repeats .

Magnus turns his eyes, sighing. It’s too late. He can only look for a way to slow down the process, he can no longer avoid it. Maybe, maybe he can find a way to make it less painful, to make it less terrible for Alec. If he has already used magic, it’s too late. The runes will disappear. Or maybe his body won’t hold the transformation. Too much eventuality, too little time.

“Magnus?” Isabelle calls him making him come to his senses.

“My magic was─I was dying. That wasn’t my magic. And he... he─” Magnus shakes his head and freezes. He must have the certainty, weighted and perfect, he can’t say it aloud because it’s even scary to think of it. “Stay out of it, okay? It’s useless for you to enter,” he adds and gives them a sufficiently eloquent look. “Right now it's dangerous”.

“But you should rest,” Simon replies, a bit worried. “I mean Catarina said it. And we all know she’ll kick our asses, in the least figurative way, if you don't”.

Magnus gives him a smile. And he doesn’t even know how convincing it can be. “I’m the only one who can help him, though. I try not to die in the process, okay? It would be a pity to throw away all the precious energy that Isabelle gave me”.

“Explain, please.” says Isabelle. And it looks like a prayer. “Tell us, tell us what’s going on”.

Magnus sucks a breath between his clenched teeth, the pain radiating from his chest isn’t only physical, it is more emotional. It’s as if his heart was gripped in a vice, bloody and violent.

How could he explain what’s going on inside that cell, or more precisely inside Alexander?

With all his enormous property of language, with all the languages he knows, he wouldn’t be able to explain it even with all his good will. He would translate it into a handful of words: it’s a big fucking mess.

He swallows, crushes the tongue on the palate. And his mouth tastes ferrous and kneaded by blood and tiredness, he rubs the tip of his tongue between his teeth.

“Magnus? Can you explain?” Isabelle asks.

He moistens his lips nervously, clenches a fist and sighs again, trying to ignore the other twinge of pain that climbs up his rib cage. “Alec is... changing, okay?” he says looking at the sister of his love, and trying to make this step as painless as possible. “Please think carefully about what happened, don’t call anyone, don’t report ... not until I can stabilize this situation and I can give you some more reliable information. Because this thing, if that’s what I think, has never happened before, or at least not that there is someone besides one of the ancient warlocks, and some long-lived fae that really has memory of it”.

“Magnus…” she keeps saying, her big dark eyes fixed on his, and then she shakes her head. She doesn’t need to say anything else. It says be careful, that look, it says save him, it says help him. Please. Please. Please. And many other things.

Magnus just tilts his head a little and then looks at Jace.

“I'll go in too,” he says, handing Clary his coffee . “I am coming in with you, he’s my responsibility. He’s my parabatai”.

Magnus moves his hand to open the cell door. “If it gets bad, get out. Immediately. I have to look after him, I can’t worry for you too”.

A swirl of black fog invades the corridor. Magnus remains motionless for a moment, the wave of negative emotions slapping his face. The darkness is dense and thick and tarnishes his eyes. It weighs on him like the heat in August. It sticks his clothes, like mud.

Magnus then moves one step and then another. Jace moving behind him closes the cell door.

It’s hard to breathe in there, and if Magnus hadn’t inherited his eyes from his father, those eyes that he so despises on certain days, he wouldn’t know how to orient himself in that black fog.

Jace is behind him, his senses enchanted and enhanced by the runes are certainly more useful than expected at this moment. “We didn't close him in here,” he says suddenly, the voice that sounds hesitant like a whisper. “He came here of his own free will...”.

Magnus nods his head. It was to be expected from Alec. He was probably sufficiently lucid to understand that something wasn’t going well inside him. Locking himself up there was the most sensible choice he could make: to minimize the danger for those around him.

Something moves in the darkness, a black shadow, which has appendages, legs and arms, a head and a thick puff of something blacker than the mist, it’s clearly the indomitable hair in which Magnus loves to slide his fingers, it moves. Lightning bolting from one side of the cell to the other. The grunts, the growls grow louder and deeper, vibrate between the stone walls of the cell.

There is a smell of blood, in there, of sulphur and ichor.

Alexander is clearly hurt, and even from how his breathing breaks, it is clear that he is badly injured. But he continues to move in the darkness, jumping from side to side, perhaps he is trying to protect himself.

Clary said that Alec doesn’t want Jace there, judging by how angry he was when his parabatai asked for Magnus’ help for that mission, maybe he can understand why he doesn’t want him in there.

Magnus clears his throat. “Alexander,” he calls him. His voice is soft, slow and sweet. And the black shadow seems to stop a few steps away from him. He can see his eyes shining in the black mist, only the irises, which are of that deep blue, intense and lively. He seems to observe Magnus.

“Alec...” Jace begins to say. “We are here to help you”.

And Magnus doesn’t have time to react, to make him stop.

It is at that moment that the shadow is attracted by that other voice, the eyes move and then he seems to move back into the darkness. Something, a source of light, conveys itself in what Magnus has identified as Alec’s hand and a flash goes through the fog. Magnus moves quickly, to summon his own magic in such a way as to curb that destructive flash and limit the damage.

The shock wave, carried in that fog, is so strong that it pushes Magnus back. The recoil was so hard that his whole body was pushed back from the wall, and his vision blurred again, the pain radiating from his back to his chest. He almost feels the ghost of that wound that crossed his torso from side to side, it’s burning in an impossible way, it breaks his breath.

It’s all dark again for a moment.

But as soon as he hears that wailing groan again, Magnus gets a hold on himself. The same must have happened to Alec, and also to Jace, but at the moment he is the least of his problems in all honesty. And Magnus does everything to recover and get back on his feet, now he can’t see anything even with his eyes open, in that thick and dark fog. There is that annoying ringing in his ears and everything hurts again. He could swear he had the terrible, ferrous taste of blood in his mouth.

Heck.

He has no time for this.

It’s already late.

He tightens his eyelids a couple of times, heaving a painful sigh between his clenched teeth. “Alexander” he calls him again, and his voice comes out choked in his throat. The pain mounts in his trachea, and Magnus tries to swallow it, with the slight ferrous taste of the blood that sticks on his palate and between his teeth. He spits at the end and decides that he has no time even for himself, he can’t let the pain cloud his sight.

He refocuses everything, finally, as he tries to stand up. The black shadow, Alexander, is on the ground and it seems all sprawled, the legs intertwined and an arm covering its head. Magnus shifts his gaze and spots Jace’s hair, which in that darkness is greyish. So, he moves his hand to open the door and push the blond Shadowhunter out of the cell, then closes it again.

When he finally stands up, he takes a step, echoing back into the room, and then another. And everything hurts, and this bothers him a little. He must think clearly, he must help Alexander, yet that fog of pain has entered his head.

He closes his eyelids again, and when he opens them again, there is the shadow that observes him with those intense blue irises, he feels his warm breath colliding on his face.

“It's me, Alexander,” Magnus tells him again. “Nothing happened,” he adds, reducing the distance between them. “I know, I know it's scary, and it hurts but... I’m here now, and now it's all over”.

Perhaps, perhaps the best choice would be to use magic to put him to sleep, to calm him down, but in the first place he doesn’t know how he will behave when he will wake up, if he wakes up, he swallows this thought. Also, he doesn’t know how he will react to his magic again. And now they are so close that they would risk killing each other. And it’s certainly the last thing he wants.

Magnus then extends a hand, to pick up his face and when he touches it, Alec seems frightened by that very light touch, by that caress, but then he gives in, and moves his head leaning a bit closer. Finally, he seems to focus on the warlock, and the darkness begins to recede and thicken only around him, behind his shoulders, in his hands, around his ankles.

The air is no longer unbearable, it’s no longer heavy. There is still the smell of sulphur, blood and ichor, but finally it’s no longer so dark. On the walls start to emerge the signs of a battle, claws and anger that intertwine on the bare stone.

Alec seems to be coming back to himself. Although he’s still impossible to focus precisely, surrounded as he is by that black fog, but Magnus can look into his eyes. The sclera in his eyes is black, as well as the vitreous humour, but in the centre the intense blue colour of his irises still flashes.

The iris is crushed, then, and becomes nothing more than a thin blue frame as the pupil expands, and welcomes Magnus’ image.

Between Alec's fingers, a strange concentration of energy thickens again, which seems to glow in that black and unkempt mass of hair. And Magnus would like to comment, he would like to tell him that he is so cool, now that he has magic at his service, that his magic arrives to radiate in his hair. But if his hair permeates magic, though, they are definitely in deep shit. And Magnus isn’t strong enough to stop him. Not now.

So, he decides to caress his face, the gentle fingers rubbing his cheeks and finally, finally, Alec reacts in the way he expected, and finally seems to focus on him. He seems disoriented, scared and confused, but also a little relieved, reassured. He blinks and his eyes are still black like that dark fog, as if all those demons he killed had become part of his own nature, but he seems to see Magnus anyway. Somehow, he seems to be coming back to himself. The darkness is leaving his skin, that dark fog vanishes leaving that lunar pallor on his skin, the scars of the runes on him, are perfectly in place. Even his face seems to get back to normal, a mask of blood and ichor, but at least that veil of black mist has disappeared.

Again, a flash goes through the darkness that still comes from him, his eyes seem to dart like that puff of energy that rises between his hair and between his fingers.

“It's all right,” Magnus tells him, reducing the space between them even more, resting his lips on his forehead, just above the bridge of his nose, to kiss away that twisted expression he has. “It's all right, it's over. It's over” he repeats.

“Mags” hears him say, and the voice is hoarse and distorted and sounds like a sob.

“Yes,” hhe replies and looks back into his eyes. “It’s me, my love, let me help you”.

And Alec seems so relieved, almost happy. “Have you come pick me up?” he asks him with this voice that trembles, that breaks. That darkness still flashes in his eyes.

“To pick you up?” Magnus repeats. “To go where?”.

And Alec makes this little sad grimace, and it almost seems like a half bitter smile. “Away. With you”.

“And where would you like to go? You mean… like eloping?” he asks him and tries to make him smile, but he can’t. And meanwhile he does everything not to look down, to keep his eyes on him, to mirror himself in Alec’s irises and give him time to come to his senses.

“Can’t I go away with you?” he asks very quietly and looks so sad.

And Magnus reaches out to cup his cheek, barely smiles at him. “I'm here, I'm not going anywhere,” he says.

And Alec frowns and is about to say more, but a small sob escapes his throat, which then becomes a groan. And his lips tremble and his eyes seem to be full of tears, and the sclera is black and perhaps Magnus can swear he feels the fog again begin to envelop them.

“Alexander...” he calls him again, very softly. “Everything is alright, hm? I’m here, I’m a little bruised, but I’m fine, I’m here with you, and I’m not going anywhere. Now let me help you, eh?”.

And Alec's lips are still twitching and then he sighs and moves slightly more towards Magnus. Reducing the already non-existent distance.

“It’s all right,” Magnus repeats. “It’s okay.” he nods and then decides it’s time to look down.

Shredded clothes and that huge gash that starts at his right shoulder and reaches his left side. The smell of blood comes from him, from that and other wounds he has all over his body, on his forehead, on his hands and on his arms, perhaps even his legs and back are badly injured, and Magnus is not sure if he is only from that battle or that fighting that is infuriating inside himself. But he decides that it is not important, that if he has to save Alec he will use all the strength he has. All the energy left in his body. Because he must save hi,. “It's all right” he repeats and continues to hold his face in his hands, smiling a bit.

And Alec’s forehead, his eyebrows, his lips, everything on Alec’s face seems to contract in a grimace of pain before falling back forward. All the weight of his body on Magnus, who even if he is more than a bit battered, manages to support him. He does have to step back and bend a little to avoid tumbling over, but he is able to support him. And Magnus is still for a moment, only one, Alec’s full weight on him, which makes his legs wobble. But he feels him breathing, against him, he hears him moan very softly. He feels the heat that emanates from his body, the feverish warmth that comes from his neck, the sweat and blood that run down his face and fall onto Magnus’ shoulder. He tightens his grip more and moves a hand to open the cell with the blue fire of his magic. “A little help?” he asks quickly, as he squeezes Alec closer to him and tries to bring him into what was perhaps originally a bed, but now it’s only a frayed and battered mattress on which Alec has clearly rashed all his anger.

Jace is the first to return, and it shows that he struggles not to look at the ground or the walls. The marks of nailed, blood and ichor formed in little or large pools, the signs that left their shoes, around the floor, and the stains left by that black fog. Or maybe he does everything not to even look at Alec who physically collapsed in Magnus’ arms. And even when he reaches out to retrieve his brother, his parabatai, to carry him on that loose cot, his eyes seem to be clouded by an impossible pain.

But as soon as Jace puts him down, Alec has his eyes open again, for a moment he seems disoriented and another flash of magic vibrates between his fingers.

“Hey,” Magnus says picking up his hand, to get rid of the spark of magic, which burns his palm, like a sweltering ember. “Now, let me heal you, let me do it,” he adds, kissing the back of his hand.

And he keeps his eyes fixed on Alec’s for another moment, before looking down, on that enormous slash, which pumps blood and ichor and poison with his every breath.

And if he was even a little more lucid, Magnus would wonder how on earth he managed to stay alive until now. But certainly, he can’t fail to say he is happy to still have time. And he tries to ignore that little voice in his auricle, which then curls up in the brain and slips like a chill down his spine.

“It’s all right,” Magnus tells him, but perhaps these words are more for himself than for Alec.

Alec swallows, makes a tiny nod with his head, but continues to keep his eyes fixed on Magnus. “You're here,” he says and stretches his lips in a soft smile, a dull strangled groan escapes his teeth.

“I told you, I’m not going anywhere,” he replies. “Let me help you now, okay?”.

Alec seems confused again, when he opens his eyes and seems to finally realize that he doesn’t feel well. “It hurts” he murmurs.

“I know. I know, Alexander. Believe me,” he says again, kissing his fingers now, which are tightly clenched on Magnus’ hand. “But now I'm here, and everything will be fine. I promise”.

Alec looks at him for a moment and then seems satisfied with what Magnus told him. He smiles slightly, this very weak but happy smile. “You're alive, you're alive”.

“Yes, you are too,” Magnus says, very softly, smiling. “Don’t worry now, okay? Me and Jace are here to help you”.

Alec frowns. And a bolt of energy goes up on top of his head.

“I know you’re a bit upset with Jace, but if the runes can help us heal you faster, we have to try, okay?” He adds, running his fingers through his hair, staring at that flash of magical energy that seems to flicker back there. “Everything is alright”.

“You? Are you okay?” he asks very softly, his eyes seem clouded by pain, fatigue.

“Yes, of course I’m fine, can’t you see me? I’m fine, just let me help you...” he adds, stopping his hand at the edge of his forehead, between two wounds that will probably leave their mark. It’s hot.

“You were dead.” he murmurs, with this heavy broken voice. “I saw you die... I couldn’t do anything for─I… I thought you─” he bites his lips, full and velvety, and tries to hold back a sob.

Magnus decides to hold that hand on his forehead to lighten his pain, and the other will be enough to heal him. “You won’t get rid of me that easily, my darling” he replies, smiling very soft. “Let me heal you at least a little bit, you have a high fever and... you’re just not in your best shape, eh? We will talk, and make out as soon as we both feel better”.

Alec half-closes his eyes. “You’ll stay here, right? You won’t leave, will you?”.

“Never, I’ll never go away,” Magnus tells him and casts an eloquent glance at Jace, who takes his stele and moves to draw a single rune, iratze, a couple of inches above that big gash.

Iratze will relieve Alec’s pain, while Magnus draws the blue fire of his magic between his fingers. Healing magic isn’t easy, and it isn’t his specialty but, for now, Magnus’ abilities must be enough, at least to remove all the ichor and the demon poison that has certainly now mixed with his blood.

Alec moans, again, but he doesn’t say anything, he keeps his eyes half-open fixed on Magnus. That black mist that only a few minutes ago darkened his eyes now a distant memory.

There is friction, that thing, that internecine war, that is inside Alec is rejecting Magnus’ magic, even if he lets it flow gently, so very cautiously on him. “Allow me to help you, Alexander, please” he sighs, bending down again to kiss his forehead. “Allow me, Alexander, I’ll make you feel better. I promise”.

It’s only when Alec sighs louder, his chest wiggling, that Magnus can finally act and suck away the ichor, the poison from that enormous wound and all the others.

It’s certainly not a conscious process, the one with which Alec was rejecting him and his blue healing fire, probably he didn’t even realize that something was pushing away Magnus’ magic, but if he managed to control this innate response, there are good hopes.

Perhaps, perhaps he knows Magnus’ magic well enough to be able to dose even what now burns in his veins. Maybe Magnus can afford to hope a little more.

Alec tightens his jaw and moves his head, wrinkles his nose and uncovers his teeth in a pained grimace.

Magnus then moves a hand to try to ease that pain, passing his fingers through Alec’s hair again, while with the other continues to wipe away the poison from his body.

From time to time he feels a bit of friction with that thing that Alec has in his body, and it is perhaps that kind of magic, of new essence that leaks into every cell, rather than the poison of a demon that makes it more painful. But iratze seems to help the healing process, it seems to alleviate his pain at the second activation and so Magnus orders Jace to activate the other one, sangliers , to replace the lost blood alongside the one now rotted by the poison.

This won’t be enough, because now Alec’s body is affected by that internecine war not only by the wounds and the poison and the blood loss, and Magnus will only be able to ease his pain, with as much energy he has stored.

The rest of the healing process, soon enough, will be up to Alec alone.

Please, Magnus asks the Angel or whatever energy lies above their heads, or under their feets, please let him live. Don't take him.

And then moves his eyes and looks at Alec’s pained grimace, his forehead furrowed, sweat and blood covered. And decides he has to ask Alec, and not some Gods, Angels or Saints, nor Demons. No one in heaven or hell cares for this, for his life. Don’t leave me, he asks silently. Don’t.

[ch4]

#malec #malec fic #malec angst #angst with happy ending #warlock alec lightwood #alec lightwood #magnus bane #pulvis et umbra natura renovantur integra

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lamalefix · 5 years

Text

Pulvis et umbra natura renovantur integra - ch. 2

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[ch1]

Magnus is more than sure he has died.

For a handful of minutes at the very least. Perhaps even more.

He remembers perfectly the uncomfortable feeling of the hoof that crossed his chest from side to side. A whole pointed and sharp palm of black mass poking out of his shirt.

He is more than sure he has died, indeed. Bleeding out, there on the ground. Suffocating in his own blood. Alec begged him, begged him, good god, to stay with him while he exhaled his last breath, which in hindsight wasn’t actually his last, since he can make these thoughts now.

But he's sure. He is sure, he clearly felt his magic vanish, his lungs deflate, the light annihilate very softly in the corners of his eyes.

Yet he is alive. And it’s a decidedly uncomfortable feeling, in all sincerity.

Apart from the way his ribs weigh in his rib cage, like his legs and arms seem to be nailed to the mattress, it's his chest and what's inside that hurts the most. Even breathing, taking air in his lungs, causes him a terrible shock of pain.

His chest rises and falls again, trembling. Even the thin layer of bandages that surrounds his chest, to cover that terrible wound, hurts him. And a hoarse sound escapes his lips, and now the air catches in the back of his throat. And he has an impossible thirst that burns his palate. On the tongue the ferrous taste of blood.

Someone rubs his forehead with a wet cloth. And even this feeling is definitely annoying, though the touch is delicate.

He forces himself to open one eye and then the other. And even the eyelids hurt, heavy as they are it’s hard to move them.

There is too much light, this is the first thing his brain can record. There is too much light and he should better close his eyes.

And when he closes them again, he feels it. Clear and glaring. A strange source of energy, unknown and incredibly close.

It's a warlock thing, and Magnus knows every single magical ability of every single child of Lilith who has met his path. The magic trace is unmistakable for each user, it’s like another mark, as a further sign of their ability. And this is exactly what convinces him to move. There is a strange energy hovering nearby. A silent, dark energy. It seems like the strength of hundreds of warlocks together, burning in one place, but not like it happens when everyone is in a meeting at the Spiral Labyrinth, it's something different. It’s as if there were dozens and dozens of warlocks who are channeling their magic, in their full power, in the same point. It’s like demonic magic and yet it’s different, it seems to have a different origin. No. It can't be. He’s having some kind of hallucination: in his plighted state he can’t have the certainty of his perceptions.

So, he decides to reopen his eyes and the ceiling, the one leaning out in his visual field, is the coffered ceiling of the Institute infirmary. The halogen light of the witchlight that illuminates the room forces him to blink a couple of times. And finally, his eyes decide to react, perhaps the glamor was deactivated even before, but now he is better able to focus on what he has around.

A slight grimace of disappointment contracts his face.

He hoped to see Alexander there, near his bedside, he hoped it was his, that touch extremely gentle with that cloth on his forehead. And instead there is Isabelle, her eyes, her big dark eyes are fixed on him. Suddenly she smiles at him, with that warm and gentle smile of hers.

“Welcome back”.

The voice is different from the usual, or rather the tone is different. She is always very energetic and cheerful, her tone is always very decisive which contrasts with her innate sweetness, of course, she is a woman of power, those traits inherited from her parents are deeply-rooted in her, but now she isn’t firm. Her voice seems weak, stunted.

It's the tone of bad news. Her brother assumes the same tone when he has to tell Magnus that he will be late, or that he must stay in Idris or that he must run away in the middle of his day off.

“I'm thirsty,” he says, and decides to postpone for now. But that tone leaves very little doubt. Something must have happened, and it certainly isn't just related to his own current physical condition. He will deepen after drinking.

“Yes, here,” she says, retrieving the jug that is clearly there near the bed, but Magnus doesn't even have the strength to turn around. “Drink slowly,” she says, bringing the glass to his mouth.

And he executes the order with no small effort, because his thirst is terrible, but it’s rather painful even just taking small sips.

“I'm so happy you're awake.” Isabelle says then, picking the glass and putting it back on the bedside table.

Magnus frowns, and decides to take the situation head-on. “Spit it out”.

And he hears her take a long breath, which breaks at the back of her throat.

Magnus swallows painfully, but at least his palate is no longer parched and sighs. Perhaps he would like to sharpen his gaze to force her to speak, but merely uses a slightly peremptory tone, the one he rarely uses to rebuke some rascal warlock. “Isabelle,” he slowly articulates her name. “Is he alive, yeah? Is Alexander alive?” and the question comes choked up his throat. He doesn't want to think about it, he never wants to think about it, not this thing, never this thing, but he must, he absolutely must know.

She opens her eyes and hurries to answer. “Yup. Yup! Yes, he is alive.” she nods, but seems to leave some other thoughts suspended, some other words. Behind those words there is something else. That tone means more.

The energy that pulsates nearby is still there. Magnus thought he had imagined it, and instead it’s now very clear and comes from inside the Institute. Is there a Warlock there? Is that possible?

Of course, it probably took some warlock, and someone powerful, to put his body back in place. But Magnus can't recognize this magic. Which, in fact, has something strange. It doesn’t seem to be something demonic, it seems something primordial, something that comes from the depths of the earth.

But he will deal with this later. His priority, as always, is Alexander.

“But?” he pursues throwing a cutting glance at her.

She tightens her lips and looks down. She frowns like his brother, makes that slight bend of her head to the left, as if to think. She's trying soften the blow.

“Isabelle” he calls her again, slowly, maybe a little more peremptory than expected and looks into her eyes for a moment. Then he starts to move and even if everything hurts, he has to pull himself up. And it's not a good idea, his legs, his arms, everything is terribly heavy, painful.

“What are you doing?” she tells him, jumping up and trying to hold him on the bed, putting her hand on his shoulder and pushing him back onto the mattress. Trying to be as much as delicate as possible, not to hurt him too much, but this is enough to make Magnus desist for just one minute. “You were in pieces... please, it took four Silent Brothers and Catarina to patch you up... they said you have to rest, you don't have to strain yourself too much... your wounds are not healed yet”.

“Take me where he is” he articulates very slowly, breathing heavily. Even talking is painful, but now he has other priorities, now there is only Alexander in his head and he has to see him, he has to go to him. “I realized that I am not at full strength, but... take me to him, please”.

“Magnus please,” she begs. “You were really badly wounded and─Catarina said you have to rest for at least two full days”.

Magnus continues to ignore her warnings, he knows, he knows he was badly hurt, and that perhaps he should sleep for at least two whole days, if only to recover all the magic he lost while he was there, dying. But he has to see Alec, he has this terrible feeling that hovers over him. This energy that he perceives, so dark, obscures his heart. And then Alec would never have left him in the infirmary, alone, even if entrusted to the wise hands of his sister. He must know.

He is therefore able, with an impressive effort, to acquire a seated position. His back, his chest, his legs and arms ask for mercy, beg for him to stop. The bandages that rub against him irritate his skin. “I will rest as soon as I can see him. Promised.” he answers and rubs his legs heavily on the mattress. Even just this movement makes him remember how on earth he was reduced a few hours ago, motionless on the ground, without having the opportunity to speak, to use magic, while he bled to death. Alec there, looking at him, his eyes full of tears, begged him to stay with him, to survive. The disheartening feeling that somehow Alec's heart has broken, that somehow something has broken inside him, weighs on him painfully, more than any millimetre of his body hurts. And that dark energy that pulses within the Institute seems to lose all his interest.

He must see Alec. He must reassure him because he is alive and well and nothing, nothing will take him away from his side.

“He's different, alright?” the young Shadowhunter murmurs softly, her voice trembles, “Things have happened, now Jace is dealing with him. He's trying to calm him down, okay?”.

“Isabelle...” he begins to say, his voice seems like a sigh.

But then he gets stuck, that's when something like a realization comes and slaps him in the face, with arrogance. The two rifts opened in the ground, hordes of demons that kept coming out. How many have been? Hundreds? Probably. Magnus circumscribed that area, he tried to lock up all those demons there, with a huge spell, a force field to keep them from escaping. This probably meant condemning everyone to certain death, but they would protect the Mundanes and the Downworlders, as they always did. It all happened so fast, that he didn't even have time to kiss him, to kiss Alexander and maybe say goodbye, before the hell exploded in front of them and the demons began to surround them.

That dark and dour energy, which pulsates so close to them, so different from that of a warlock and yet so powerful, perhaps it ‘ even more powerful than Magnus’ own, certainly more than his magic at this very moment, makes him think, and gives him the chills. It’s that realization that hovers in his head, which he doesn't really want to name. He needs more elements. But maybe he already knows, he already knows what's happening.

“Tell me what happened, Isabelle, please,” he mutters.

“I really don't know, Magnus,” the young Shadowhunter says, shaking her head. The thick dark hair that falls on one side of the face to partially cover the sad look, lost somewhere in her deepest memories. “I saw that you fell... I saw that Alec reached you and... and then… I don't know” she runs her hand through her hair to bring them back to their place, she looks at him, her eyes liquid. “I saw Alec stand up, shortly after. And level the daggers. I don't know how many demons he killed... but when he came back to you... he─”.

Magnus swallows a long sigh, the uncomfortable feeling of being alive is supplanted by that other terrible feeling, knowing that something in him has broken, that something in Alexander is changing. “I have to see him, Isabelle. You can't help him now”.

She looks at him, her eyes wide. “You know? Do you know what's happening to him?”.

And he shrugs. Even this hurts him, even this tiny movement. Surely it will be hard to get to where Alec is, but he has to do it, he has to go to him. And maybe he’s wrong and he’s just letting himself be influenced. There is no proof, yet, there is no certainty. “Take me to him, please. I have to see his condition before giving you a definite answer, but─”.

“Can you help him? Are you sure?” she mumbles, and decides to give him both her hands.

Magnus merely nods his head and takes Isabelle's hands and tries to concentrate on his movement, on his knees on the steps he will have to take. He hopes not to fall forward, immediately.

“If you need some energy, you tell me and I give you as much as you want, okay?” Isabelle adds, tightening her grip on his hands.

And Magnus looks up, smiles softly at her. “You've already given me enough. Indeed, I should thank you”.

“How do you─” she says, but he interrupts her by standing up.

His magic sustains him sufficiently, his body, although aching and painful, manages to support his movement, yet, a guttural groan tears his breath in the back of his throat. His chest still hurts, the area where there was that big claw running through his rib cage pulsates in a terrible way. His heart rises in his throat and he hears his ears hissing. The dizziness that comes later, however, doesn’t surprise him. He hardly spreads his legs and tries to resist the nausea that turns over his stomach, the taste of the blood sticking to the roof of his mouth.

“Magnus?” Isabelle calls him, a little worried.

“Your brother,” says Magnus, returning on the topic, not to think about the pain, about Alexander somewhere in the Institute who alone fights that dark and powerful energy. “You two have a very similar energy. Yours is more determined, more direct. I felt it permeate every millimetre of me in a short time. Alexander’s does the same, it comes to every point of my body, but gently, like a caress,” he adds with a tiny bit of fondness. “They both have the same consistency, the same warmth. Obviously it’s a trait of your being” he smiles. “And I think I felt Alec's energy first and then yours. If you hadn't been there... I would certainly have kicked the bucket”.

Isabelle takes a breath, tightens her lips in a gentle expression. “Something came out when he touched you, as if he had returned your magic to you, he kissed you and you started breathing again... it seemed like one of those cliché things you see in romantic movies you know?” perhaps it is a somewhat clumsy attempt to make him smile, an attempt that doesn’t have the desired effect. “Your heart has started beating again”.

“Thank you,” says Magnus softly, trying to direct all his attention now to his knees to be able to implement the movement of his body, trying to ignore this last information, trying to ignore the fact that Alec used magic. And that's what he feared. Magic. Alec can't use it. Or rather, he couldn't use it. Before the eclipse. Before the other night.

“Don't talk nonsense, Alec would have killed me,” she replies. “And I don't think he'd let me get away with this thing so smoothly, you know? I'm making you move around even if you're all ragged now…” she adds and then looks at him, her big dark eyes now shiny. “However, if you can help him... Magnus, please...”.

Magnus leaves her hand to caress her face. “Leave it to me”.

“I'm afraid...” she murmurs, her voice trembles “He was... he is unrecognizable, while they were trying to heal you I tried to... calm him down but─”.

He sighs and nods. “I can imagine. The important thing is that the Clave doesn't know it, okay? What happened must remain here as much as possible. Nobody needs to know besides the people in this Institute… it comes in handy that the Angel makes ascend very few of you…” he adds, very serious. “Now take me where Alexander is”.

Now if he really has to be honest, he doesn't like to go down to the dungeons of the Institute. And not just because going down the stairs is something terribly tiring at the moment, after having had to walk all that long hallway to get to the stairs, but because it’s something that gives him some anxiety. For all those terrible things that the Downworlders remember: years of imprisonment, of torture for those like him, of pain, of anger.

But there is also that energy. Huge. Red-hot. And it gets closer and closer.

This is the confirmation he feared. It is enough for him to know that Alec is there in the dungeons, and that energy is there with him, to know what he has to do. Even if he doesn't really know where to start.

His steps become heavier, more uncertain, every muscle begs for mercy because everything hurts, and his magical energy, which permeates every single cell, seems to run away from that pulsating scar that may not yet be defined as such. And as difficult as it is painful as his body is slowing down at every step, and making it even more difficult to keep his eyes open, his goal doesn’t change, his determination doesn’t change. He must reach Alexander.

There is a smell of sulphur that stings his nose and blurs his eyes, the smell of burnt flesh and ichor, of blood and dust makes him nauseous.

That energy comes from the depths of the dungeons, from which also comes a gurgling gloom, which seems a growl, but perhaps it is more a crying. Magnus shudders, and perhaps, even before reaching the bottom of the dark corridor in the dungeons of the Institute, he has already understood.

It's already late.

Jace is facing a cell, Clary is with him, her eyes turned to the floor. Perhaps Isabelle also understood, because her breath breaks at the bottom of her throat, and the hand with which she guides Magnus into the dungeons, tightens more around his, and the one with which she wraps his hips to support him, rubs the very low quality fabric of this terrible shirt that Simon lent him.

The roars become deeper, more noisy, more chilling, and together with them, the air breaks from time to time with this terrible cry of pain. There seems to be a thick, dark fog, like the smoke of a fire coming from the cell, and escapes from the slit under the door, it also comes out of the tiny window on which Jace is leaning over.

“I'm going in, okay?” says Magnus, and actually wants to swear. He would like to admit aloud that he doesn't know where to start, that he doesn't know if he can actually do something, even just make Alec get a little bit better. He only read this thing in the books lost in the Silent City, he only heard it rumbling in the darkest recesses of the Spiral Labyrinth, he heard it among the many ancient legends that Ragnor never stopped telling when they were traveling together, but no one has never seen anything like this, he’s more than certain of this.

Isabelle continues to hold his hand, tightens her grip on his hips more. She looks more agitated than him.

And Magnus would like to tell her something, reassure her, but he knows what he'll find in there. He knows it, or at least he imagines it, he knows it and doesn't know it altogether. Because, in fact, maybe it's the first Downworlder currently living to see something like that. Not even the ancient warlocks who still walk the earth have ever seen this thing. The legends, however, are true. And this thought is like the tolling of a bell that roars in his ears.

He smiles at Isabelle then. And silently thanks her for having accompanied him there. “I'll take care of it, don't worry,” he tells her. But perhaps he wants to reassure himself.

Magnus remains motionless for another couple of seconds. He watches silently, the thick black fog twisting around his ankles and seems to climb his pants like some kind of arachnid. Everything hurts him, yet the thing that most distresses him right now isn’t his body, but the negative emotion that comes from that cell. It seems as if the magic has become corporeal, like a dense black fog bank, only in response to this agony. And if it is so powerful that it becomes so palpable, it will be definitely unstoppable.

When he moves his hand to palpate the consistency of that fog, he undoubtedly recognizes anger, resentment and remorse. An impossible bitterness that throbs in that darkness. It’s magic dust, it seems to have the thickness of a thundercloud and when a flash of its magic lights up between Magnus’ fingers, that fog in his hand condenses into a single thick mass. Magnus rubs it between the palms of his hands and as it turns to ash, it seems to burn his skin as much as it’s powerful.

The magic that originates from bad emotions is extremely destructive, but in the end he is a powerful warlock, a High Warlock, he will manage to find a way out of it.

Another cry, strangled, torn, rises from the cell and echoes between the stone walls of that corridor. It’s so loud, that it is to be expected that it can be heard in the street.

He can't wait any longer. He must enter. Immediately. As quickly as possible.

“Magnus” Jace's voice sounds grim in that hallway “I go with you”.

Magnus looks at him. He seems summarily battered, the signs of the battle are still evident on his gear. There is a black slap of the same consistency as that dense fog that marks the centre of the chest.

“Do you want to go back?” Clary sputters , behind him. She is worried. “I don't think he wants you in there...”.

Magnus stands in silence and observes them, before moving his eyes into that little loophole on the massive door that closes the cell from which he can observe that kind of dense fog that has piled up in there. A roar, a cry. And something like fiery lightning passes through that black dust. Perhaps he managed to see the forms of something on the ground in that darkness. Someone more than something. Someone huddled. Alexander .

“I feel he needs me, though,” Jace replies. “He's suffering─a lot and... I don't know how to help him this time”.

And Magnus remains motionless. Moves his gaze back to Jace. And perhaps from his eyes shines the same bewilderment that took over his soul. Impossible. “The parabatai rune?”. No, it can't be, it's too late.

Jace moves the leather jacket he wears, raises a corner of his shirt and shows his side. The rune is still there. Dark and perfectly marked on his skin.

Magnus sucks his breath between clenched teeth. Impossible.

“What's the matter?” mumbles Clary, alarmed.

Magnus’ head is lighting up like the sky on July 4th. The lucidity of his thoughts overcomes the turmoil given by pain: it’s as if he were on top of a precipice, and looking down he can see, see the infinite world of possibilities. There is a series of ideas that appear and disappear, flicker in the depths of his mind. It’s impossible that the runes are still in place. It's impossible, or maybe it's something that could make him hope. Maybe he can save Alec, maybe he can avoid the inescapable. “How many has he killed?” Magnus asks, looking back into the cell from that loophole. The fog is even thicker, it’s impossible that the runes are still in their place, that this, all this doesn’t come from him. From Alec.

“I think…” Jace begins to say.

“No. I need the exact number,” Magnus growls. And without even looking at them, he feels that the three Shadowhunters have stiffened behind him. “Sorry but... it's important”.

“They were so many, Magnus,” Clary says , her voice is like a whisper. “The sky was full of demons and Alec took dozens of them down,” she adds pensive. “He killed six, while he passed me, to reach you...”.

Isabelle sighs. “Somehow he closed the second rift, and before doing so he killed around thirty, which had just come out and at least another couple of dozen that came out in the meantime”.

“He was like a war machine” someone else nods. It’s Simon’s voice that echoes from the top of the stairs leading down there, he has four coffees in the plastic cups and a blue paper box with him from the shop down the street. “Supplies, I got doughnuts too!” he approaches and offers coffee to the two girls first.

“You drafted the report,” says Jace, retrieving his coffee. “How many arrows were there?”.

“About sixty around the pier, but I don't know how many exploded with demons... Alec uses many special runes to enhance the arrows and as many to reuse them, why?” Simon asks, handing the coffee to Magnus who instead shakes his head and continues to look in the cell.

Maybe he didn't kill all those demons. This is what a small part of him hopes, and maybe it's just a legend and what’s happening in that cell is the effect of some demon. Maybe he is wrong, maybe his judgment is clouded by all that blood he has lost. Maybe it’s just a simple demonic possession.

“Magnus why?” Isabelle asks.

“It's a long story,” Magnus replies, swallowing noisily and running his hand over the handle of the cell. And then a flash. The report. “Don’t send that report to Idris”.

“No?” Simon asks.

“No.” says Magnus. “Absolutely not. What happened this night must remain confidential, I don't know, say that vampires and werewolves helped us along with some warlocks, maybe the whole Spiral Labyrinth if you please. Invent something. Cover it up, or just say that there was a problem with the sensors, and there weren't all those demons, no rifts… come up with something, I don’t know. I need to help him now,” he adds confusedly, something that bitterly comes back to him, that thought. That bitter thought. If I can help him. If I can save him.

“Why?” someone asks, and maybe it's Clary's voice.

This draws his attention and he shifts his gaze to her, and sucks a breath between his teeth, the pain radiating from him to every corner of his body clouds his vision. “If not, Clave will hunt him down”.

[ch3]

#malec #magnus bane #alec lightwood #malec fic #angst with happy ending #warlock alec lightwood #malec angst #pulvis et umbra natura renovantur integra #lamalefixwrites

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lamalefix · 5 years

Text

Pulvis et umbra natura renovantur integra - ch. 4

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[ch1; ch2; ch3]

It’s a strange feeling, perceiving your own body.

Precisely perceiving, feeling every part of your body is weird, if not gross. Because normally, anyone should concentrate on identifying that exact toe, that specific point behind the neck, that very particular place at the base of the back, especially those like Alec, who have always been much more attentive to what happened around them than to what happened inside them. Yeah, he could reach the very end of his strength, he could find himself with a bloody hand and his shoulder displaced, he would have hurt himself very badly, but he certainly wouldn’t have felt every little part of his body.

It has happened at other times, to feel so tired, so utterly exhausted that every single millimetre, every small particle of his cells, could become clearly identifiable. It happened to Alec a few times, and usually this exhaustion, this complete tiredness, went hand in hand with something else. With the satisfaction of a satisfying intercourse, completely and unquestionably perfect in every single sense, in every detail.

But Alec remembers it, why his body is now so perceptible. And it should certainly not be, so perceptible. He still feels the contours of the burns left by a handful of healing runes, which certainly won’t do much except ease his pain, something they can’t even do much anymore, since their effect seems to last less and less with every single reactivation. Alec can smell burnt flesh, the annoying stench of the ichor and something else putrid that is torn away from him, right from his own body. From that wound that runs through his torso from shoulder to hip. But it’s his head, his head will drive him crazy. He could swear that he even felt the drops of sweat beading his forehead, he could say that he was able to identify which hair is more sticky than the others, in which precise point of his scalp there is this tiny but annoying abrasion that hurts so fucking much. He feels the blood in the beds of his fingernails, that is beginning to thicken and give him an additional sense of dirt. The blood on his hands, on his arms, seems to have become as thick as mud, and now that it is drying it seems to weigh on him like a flow of tar. The clothes, or what’s left of them, feel caked against him.

Everything hurts, but it’s the head that will drive him crazy.

Now that the darkness has cleared, even that dim light that invades the room, the cell ─ was it a cell in which he had slipped in to limit the damage in a moment of strange and unexpected lucidity, right? ─ weighs on his eyelids as if it was molten gold. The corners of his forehead, precisely two fingers above his eyebrows, seem to be about to explode, it seems that the skin is threatening to tear itself apart if it hasn’t already done so, or perhaps he had hurt himself and this could explain this pain.

And then there’s the noise, the voices, the clamour of people who don’t feel comfortable. It is a constant coming and going and if he were not certain that he had seen Magnus, shortly before closing his eyes, Alec wouldn’t believe his ears now that from time to time his voice, gentle but peremptory, velvety and strangely severe, tries to give orders.

And Alec would like to reopen his eyes, but he can’t do it, as busy as he is perceiving his own body. Maybe his head will give him a little peace and let him sleep a bit.

It takes hours, the activation of a lot of healing runes and the use of almost all the energy that is left in Magnus’ body and that has been patiently supplied also by Simon and Clary , to make Alec’s blood completely clean, finally clear of any sign of poison. At the umpteenth groan, Magnus decides to stop. Tissue damage is clearly more extensive than what the warlock, in his current condition, can heal. He can hardly keep his eyes open. He catches his breath and his fingers tremble. His whole body is drained and if he has to use the little magic he still has inside him, he will have to use it to ease Alec’s pain. Alec himself cannot resist much: the runes burn away their effect faster and faster, and his body can’t hold any more magic. The next few hours are crucial, and it will be all in Alec’s own strength.

So, Magnus recovers some shreds of sheet, and begins to cover every wound by hand, without snapping his fingers, first the big one that crosses his chest and that still has those jagged edges, and then all the others. He wraps his head, Alec has an ugly sign on his forehead that reaches the left eyebrow, like a crescent moon, and another slightly smaller on the other side a few inches over his brow. Then the palms of his hands that have these big burn marks that are now drying, the scratches on the arms, on the legs. With a little bit of luck and a little more magic, maybe he can make those scars disappear.

It was clearly a furious battle, even the rest of the Lightwoods don’t seem to be properly at their best, but he, Alec, clearly struggled at the end of his strength.

With a little luck, and a little more magic, but the signs will disappear almost completely. Only if he─

“Magnus?” he hears Jace talking to him in the immediate proximity. He hasn’t spoken at all, and Magnus’s almost surprised to hear his.

He turns, his eyes a bit clouded and sees him, stretching out his hand.

“Take it, take it all. Please save him”.

A small part of him thanks that the blond Shadowhunter has remained there until now, and that, above all, he has stopped Magnus’ stream of consciousness. Those thoughts were aiming at a very dark corner of his head, the possibility that now is more palpable than ever, but he’d better ignore it.

Magnus swallows, and tries to sketch out a half smile. Jace needs him awake, because as soon as Magnus won’t be able to keep his eyes open Alec will need his parabatai to go back, to find his way back, and the rest of his family is drained of their energy and has been dismissed perhaps no more than half an hour ago. “No, not now,” he says. And he only realizes at that moment how weak his voice is. He is thirsty, a thirst that perhaps not even the most crystalline water would be able to appease. It’s the thirst of those who saw death in the face, of those who risked dying.

“Then let’s call the Silent Brothers, or... or let’s call Catarina... we have to heal him, right?” and he’s so loud, yet even his voice has something different: he looks terrified. He is terrified. “The runes no longer have much effect... because he is exhausted but─”.

Magnus sighs and shakes his head slowly: if Catarina were informed of what is happening to Alec she would try to help them, but she would also be hunted down by the Clave. As long as this thing remains between them, there won’t be too much collateral damage.

Jace moves, and maybe it’s a vague attempt to get Magnus’ attention. His hand is still there, outstretched. “Take it, I’ll activate a couple of stamina runes and refresh me, don’t worry” he reiterates. “We have to heal him, if you want to do it... that’s fine, but you’re exhausted, Magnus. Alec wouldn’t let me... take it, please...”.

The warlock then reaches out to cover Jace’s hand. “We have to let him heal. In small steps, it will take a little longer but...” he says and the words die in the back of his throat. It’s difficult to explain this concept, and he is not really of the trade. “At least for the next few hours. His physique would hold no other magic, be it mine or that of a healer...” he adds. “And then we can’t call anyone now.”

“Why?” He asks again.

Magnus swallows noisily and looks back at Alec, gently stroking his face with his fingertips. “Call your family it’s time to explain...”.

There is a great ruckus. It is as indistinct as the buzz of a very crowded street, like a murmur that burns in the ears and seems to get stronger and stronger.

He could swear to hear the sound of his own blood flowing in his veins, rising and turning in the swirls of the auricles, climbing up his back and reaching the base of his skull.

Alec is not a noisy type, he has always been good at listening, drawing his conclusions and living in a heavy silence, a silence made up of bottled thoughts and hidden and denied desires. The noises around him come from afar, yet they are close. It seems the din that his brothers have always made. He has never had chaos in his head, he has always been a methodical type who proceeds with a cool mind. He could swear he never dreamed, or at least he never dreamed of anything striking, nothing to declare aloud, nothing that lingers on his skin the morning after. His head has always been full of thoughts, all bottled, capped well and hidden in a dark crevice, far away even from the eyes of the other part of his soul.

And then Magnus arrived, and everything changed. The ruckus around him took on the connotations of a calm chaos, regulated by the continuous flow of his magic, warm and gentle waves, delicate like light caresses. His thoughts are no longer bottled up in that remote corner of his mind, and every now and then he also gives voice to the most hidden desires, he usually whispers them because it’s still a bit scary to give them a voice. And he knows how to listen and holds his breath and no longer draws his conclusions in a heavy silence. Now, when he goes to bed, when in the evening he falls asleep sometimes he dreams. Because he knows how to dream. And in the dream he clenches his fists, holds his breath and stands there watching. And perhaps he has always known how to dream. But in the morning he has something on him, he has the signs of that desire that hung on his skin, out of the dream, he has the signs of kisses and love, he has the signs of Magnus’ presence and of what he was always afraid of dreaming, of asking, and now he can finally say that belongs to him.

There is a lot of noise around him. And it’s all dark. And perhaps it was a dream but he saw Magnus in that black mist that surrounded him. Magnus who dispelled the darkness. Magnus who spoke to him, in such a soft and low voice.

And maybe it’s not the end, it’s not the end of his life. Of their lives.

Or maybe Magnus is just trying to accompany Alec where he is.

Maybe in another life, in another circumstance, they will have better luck.

Or from that dust and darkness, something else could be born.

Or maybe Magnus is already there, just waiting for him to wake up.

And perhaps it is so, because in that confusion, in that great din, and his head has always been pretty good at identifying that voice, his favourite voice and excluding all the background noise, all the buzz, Alec manages to intercept it: there’s Magnus right beside him.

And Magnus speaks softly and seems to be looking for the best words to say about something that Alec isn’t able to grasp, and he seems to be holding back heavy thoughts and weighing the words, and he seems so worried.

Of course, Alec is confused, and his thoughts are not at all cohesive and coherent, outlined and concise. He is not only confused, he is tired. And maybe fatigue makes his senses benighted and what he saw before him was nothing but Magnus’ ghost who said goodbye to him, and his voice now it’s just trying to guide him. What did that ghost say?

“Okay so you said you would explain everything...” someone mumbles, and Magnus is really careless right now. It was enough to leave him alone for a minute with Alec, and let himself go and closed his eyes for a moment. Certainly, he cannot say that he rested: that kind of half-minute nap in which everything was dark, confused him completely. More than expected.

He wrinkles his nose, sighs and tries to find the words. He swallows and attempts to keep his eyes away from Alec for a moment. Magnus loves drama, and if only he were just in a slightly different situation, he would tell this story with his usual melodramatic intonation, to give it an ancient and magical, almost fairy-tale sense, mostly because something ancient like this deserves some satisfactory performance. Now, instead, everything comes out monotonous. “It is a very antique lore,” says Magnus, his eyes fixed on Alec’s impossible pallor, on his forehead beaded with sweat, on blood-drenched bandages, which he may have to change sooner than expected.

The silence is deafening. He can only hear the choked breath, the half rattle that starts from Alec’s half-open lips, Alec who is doing his very best to stay alive, with his own strength.

Magnus closes his eyes and tries to shift his gaze again and point it at one, any of those present. “Probably, a good part of the Silent Brothers doesn’t even know the whole story... there is a book in the library, in the forbidden area, in which there are early bestiaries... and this legend, it is a short article on an illuminated manuscript, and perhaps it is included in the bestiary only because it is reputed folklore” he mumbles, and his adding words is a dancing around, it’s an attempt in every way to lengthen the broth, to gild the pill.

“Magnus” hisses someone, and maybe he’s so tired he can’t tell if it’s Isabelle or Jace the one who’s talking, of course, whoever it is, they just want him to get to the point.

Magnus swallows again, noisily. And maybe it’s because he’s very tired, because he used so much of that magic that he can’t take it anymore. Or maybe it’s because they are heavy thoughts, they are heavy words, and opening his mouth could do enormous damage. “It’s said that if you bathe in the blood of a hundred demons, in a night of eclipses in which Mars also bloods the sky... you can become more like demons”.

“No, I don’t understand,” Clary mumbles furrowed brow on her confused face.

“Was that magic Alec’s? It wasn’t yours, you said it... so...” Simon deduces, his eyes wide as the realization slaps him. Isabelle also has the same shocked expression. “Is Alec becoming a warlock?”.

“They are just legends...” Jace begins to say . “Right?”.

Clary sighs and rubs the bridge of her nose . “Well, we are immersed in legends. Legends are true”.

Magnus shrugs. “I don’t know. Probably one of the ancient warlocks really knows someone who turned like this, maybe they know the real story behind this tale... Ragnor believed that some of the very first magic-users had become such in this very same way. It’s as if the blood of a demon corrupted the existence of others, and it’s rare because it happens only with the conjunction of multiple factors... it’s like the fall of angels…” he sighs and drops his words when Alec groans louder and his breath breaks at the bottom of his throat. And Magnus looks at him and loses all his attention: Alec’s parted lips are trying to bite the air in front of his nose, just to get more oxygen. And Magnus’ heart breaks a little more.

Isabelle is talking. And a part of him thanks her mentally for pushing him. “Do you think...”.

“This would explain many things... Alec can use magic, a magic very similar to mine, because he has angelic blood.” Magnus nods without even looking up.

“But he can use the runes!” Clary objects . “It doesn’t make sense...”.

The warlock half-closes his eyes and sighs feebly. “I don’t know.” he admits softly. He was hoping this was just a legend and Alec could get better, but he’s seen the magic sparkling between Alec’s fingers so… “I would assume that, since he is not corrupted by the demonic factor, his runes still work. Maybe that’s it…”.

And he waits for any reaction, but nothing comes.

“I mean” he reiterates. “It’s extremely rare, and I don’t know if those like you can survive, I don’t really know if anyone ever survived the transformation. If this can be called transformation... we know little… I know little about it. And Alec is strong, I know he is, but I don’t know how much he can resist, he’s lost a lot of blood and I don’t know... I don’t know what will happen next...” he says again and realizes that it is a stream of consciousness, he’s simply giving air to the mouth, he’s actually spewing all this information onto them. He should stop, he should weigh his words.

Isabelle tightens the hold on his shoulder, but she doesn’t say a thing.

No one says anything, or maybe Magnus is so tired, so confused, that everything around him is beginning to lose all his interest. The only thing that interests him, frankly, is Alec who has this face all wrinkled in a contrite grimace. But somehow, he also seems to have listened to everything, and Magnus merely moves his hand to rub his cheek in a light caress.

He finally opens his eyes in a moment of dread.

Magnus is still there, hastening with his fingers sparkling in the blue flames of his magic and moving on him. Alec cannot move his head but he is sure that his situation, that of his body, is not exactly the best. But the magic moves slowly, and seems to only alleviate the pain. And that’s okay, he can’t ask for more. There is other magic that slowly approaches his body, it’s more precise and surgical, it’s Catarina’s. And she is in the limit of Alec’s field of vision, a dark blue spot that observes him curiously.

She seems to say something, but there is that continuous noise. That noise in his ears that seems to become even more pressing, more deafening. An impossible clamour. There are other people there, besides the two warlocks, and he can’t recognize where he is, but of course the bed is uncomfortable and every inch of his body hurts. From the tip of his hair to the bead of his feet.

Yet when at last Magnus looks into his eyes, the noise disappears and there is peace again. There is a tired smile that curls his lips for a moment, and Alec would like to tell him that he has to stop, that he can see from how his eyes are dull that he is tired, that he can’t do it. That he is so drained, so exhausted and he must, he must rest. Alec will make it. It will take longer, but he will make it. If Magnus is alive, he will make it. He has to do it.

And he opens his mouth and tries to say something but only a dull sound comes out, and something that scratches his throat, a lump of blood and pain, gets stuck in his trachea.

When he starts to cough, Magnus is alarmed and says something to someone who is nearby, beyond the periphery of Alec’s field of view, and even if it was in the immediate vicinity, his eyes as always are only for Magnus.

A very slight smile seems to tremble on Alec’s lips, but that thing that has climbed in his throat seems to have taken away all his words.

Alec isn’t good with words. He’s better at listening. And he is even better, a champion in this, to live in a endless series of heebie-jeebies. And right now it’s even better, even more so, to look at a situation objectively.

And he is objectively dying.

And Magnus was objectively dying. A few hours ago, or it was probably a few hours ago, and now he is there using all his magic to remedy a situation that has no remedies.

He is dying.

It’s an objective fact.

And it doesn’t matter.

It’s like dreaming in fits and starts. The light that flickers in the immediate distance. And then it disappears, and the darkness takes over his visual field.

Alec is really tired of this story, he’s tired of head that is in this continuous chaos.

He doesn’t like chaos, he prefers to bottle everything and forget about it. They will be a problem for later. He doesn’t like chaos, he doesn’t like nightmares that take possession of his sleep, that take his breath away and that always have the terrible taste of absence.

Usually it’s enough to stretch out your hand and tighten his grip on Magnus and the dream disappears and the rest of the night passes in a whisper of smoke. And in the morning, he leaves the bed reluctantly, but with a certain satisfaction on him.

Now he can’t even move his fingers, he can’t look for his hand and maybe in his head everything is confusing again, and it’s all taking on the over-defined form of an absence. If Magnus no longer exists, then it isn’t worthwhile for him to exist.

Maybe he gets lucky and reincarnates into something that will have the same duration as Magnus sooner or later. In something that Magnus will love even half of what he loves now. It must not be him, Alec who is dying, the love of his life. Because Magnus is timeless, without expiry, and will live long and love again and again and again and again─ And maybe Alec is a little jealous, and he feels like crying, but it’s not the pain that clouds his vision, but the farewell that weighs on his tongue but that lump in his throat can’t get out.

It is an objective fact. He is dying. And Magnus is in danger of dying too from using all that magic. Because he was in pieces. Alec felt his life abandoning his body. Magnus was dead.

And maybe this is a dream. And his head doesn’t allow him to die in peace, because it’s his fault that Magnus is dead. It’s his fault. It’s his fault. It’s his fault.

And perhaps the chaos has disappeared because he doesn’t hear anything afterwards.

But it hurts. It hurts like hell. Damn.

And he deserves it a little.

It is the third day. Or maybe it’s the fourth. Magnus doesn’t really know, to be honest, he is rather exhausted to elaborate concepts and systematize them.

Alec opened his eyes a few days ago and yet, yet no sign of recovery. Of course, the wounds are healing very slowly, but they are healing. And perhaps the only thing Magnus can hold on to is that he breathes, and nothing can be worth more: Alec is still alive.

“You don’t look so well,” Isabelle tells him. Even she, to be honest, doesn’t look so good: her hair aren’t that shiny black, now opaque, her big eyes are marked by the livid tiredness of sleepless nights, in which she attempted to make Magnus leave Alec’s bedside for more than those twenty or so minutes for a quick shower and a bite, or for carrying out some physiological function.

And Magnus moves his gaze and looks at her with his usual friendly smile. “My darling Isabelle, I’ll excuse you because I know I’m not that fabulous right now… I’ll tell you the truth: one can’t be fabulous when he’s trying to prevent his love’s death and not ending up killed in the process himself”.

Isabelle never asked that question, she never asked if her brother will survive. She never even questioned it. But that question has been on Magnus’ shoulders since he saw Alec with his eyes open that time. Magnus knows, that this whole situation is all in Alec’s hands, in that internal struggle that is wearing him down very softly, but definitely. Isabelle doesn’t ask that question.

But now the question slips between her teeth, she looks low and lost, and runs a hand through her brother’s hair, damp with sweat and encrusted with blood and ichor. “Will he make it?” and her tone, the tone with which she asks that question, snatches Magnus’ breath.

He doesn’t know how to say it, he doesn’t know how to explain to all of them what’s happening and, above all, he doesn’t know how to put into words that, probably, even with all his magic, with all his good will, Alec might not make it.

He squints and then looks back at Alexander, motionless, the breath coming out of his half-open mouth sounds like a rattle. “He is strong, you know” he replies.

“Magnus,” she calls him, and maybe she is using the same tone Magnus used only a few days ago to ask her if Alec was alive.

The warlock, the High Warlock of Brooklyn, shakes his head and looks at her, his tear ducts seem to be on fire. “I don’t know, Isabelle.” And maybe Magnus has a more definite answer, but he doesn’t want to give it a voice. It’s always in that dark corner of his head, in that black and tumultuous corner of his life. There is where he encloses his worries, where he puts all the terrible thoughts concerning Alec. Alec, who is the love of his life. “It’s all in his hands,” he says, wrinkling his nose and doing his best not to cry, and brings Alec’s hand to his mouth, kissing his knuckles, one by one. “I won’t let him die, I can tell you that,” he adds and feels a new and more powerful determination burning in his eyes. “I’ll do my best to keep him with us, but now it’s all in his hands, I can only ease his pain”.

Isabelle heaves a long sigh between her teeth, and perhaps tries to hold back a sob. “Do you want to move him to the infirmary?”.

Magnus looks at her for a moment and shakes his head. “No. There are runes here that block the magical influx. It is certainly safer to keep it here. Maryse , are you coming? “

“No. She is still at the London Institute” she murmurs. “Should I send her a fire message?”.

“No.” says Magnus. “No. The less people know about this, the better”.

“Catarina said you’re reckless” she mumbles.

“I know.” he nods with a certain fondness that stretches on his face. “I really deserved her pep talk...”.

“Magnus, she can help us. She can help Alec, help you...” she replies, shaking her head.

“First: she already helped,” he starts, and maybe he’s too harsh, his voice is too severe. He tightens his lips in a thin line and gulps again his words, trying to buy time and reformulate. “When I said that the Clave would hunt Alexander, I mean that it will happen. It’s not just a possibility. If Alec survives─” he stops, and he just needs a moment to find the words, tears stings in his eyes saying it out loud makes it true. “When─When he’ll open his eyes, he will be hunted by the Clave as soon as his magic appears...”.

And Isabelle draws her breath between her teeth and sits on that ramshackle bed next to her brother, as if her legs can’t hold her anymore.

“The same thing applies to Catarina. She already knows too many things, she helped us, if they knew she tried to help us... she will risk what we all risk: a life sentence. You could be ripped off your runes and I...” he stops, squeezes Alexander’s hand and brings it to his mouth. “You know what happens to the Warlocks who break your beloved Law.”

“But we’re not breaking the law, Alec was dying... you...” she mumbles.

Magnus smiles at her calmly. “I couldn’t do otherwise. We could not do otherwise.” he replies and does his best, with all of himself, not to let his voice tremble. “But, Alexander is strong, and I’m sure he will do his best not to leave us… I don’t know if and when he can control his magic. His magic is very strong,” he adds. “It’s dangerous and the Clave will hunt him because he is dangerous, Isabelle. Because he is outside the rules, because he is against the law... because a Nephilim cannot become a warlock”.

Isabelle sighs again, her shoulders tremble, but she seems to hold the blow, she smiles at him, in her eyes there is a resolution that is clearly the Trueblood’s heritage. “Take him away, then. As soon as he wakes up, as soon as he is able to travel, take him away. You definitely have a place where you can protect him... and where you can help him control himself... and surely you know a glamour that is powerful enough not to be intercepted by our sensors...” she adds.

And Magnus is speechless for a minute, and when he tries to open his mouth she continues.

“If you can protect him, Magnus. My family and I will do our very best to support you. We’ll make up excuses, we’ll come up with fake missions and all… we will figure it out. We will make sure to take his place alternately. We will also talk about it with mother...” she adds and shakes her head slowly.

And Magnus still has his mouth open, but no sound comes out.

“If my brother lives, I’m sure, I’m sure you can help him,” Isabelle adds, even more resolution that sparkles in her eyes, and almost seems to delete all that exhaustion that lingered on her face. “And then fuck the Clave. If they strip me of my runes for helping my brother, a warrior, a hero of the war, two heroes, my family, then that’s fine. I’ll gladly be a mundie...”.

And while a tiny smile is approaching Magnus’ lips and he is about to answer her, something attracts his attention. Alec calls his attention.

His lips are parted, but no sound comes from his throat. That rattle that was his breathing, doesn’t come anymore.

And Magnus snaps his fingers and calls his magic back to him.

Is he─

It can’t be happening.

No.

The shock of magic that rubs against his lips suddenly seems to help him breathe better. And the weight he had on his chest, a weight he didn’t remember he had, or Alec doesn’t know how long was there, seems to disappear.

The throat is now parched, the trachea asks for water, but he can’t find the words. Maybe he doesn’t even have the words. And he really wants to say something, because that’s Magnus’ magic. His magic kissed his lips and made him breathe. And now Magnus is talking, talking to someone. His voice is velvety, as always, but it is weighed down by an impressive tiredness, and fear, and worry. The words that roll up his tongue, like when he speaks but he is slipping into that satisfying slumber after a night spent together.

Alec forces himself to open his eyes. He doesn’t even remember when he closed them. And it takes all his determination, all his good will to open them.

And when the light enters, when he finally manages to open his damned eyelids, the one that appears in his field of vision is Magnus, with the terror in his eyes and the face that seems to contract into something indescribable, or at least something that Alec couldn’t describe right now. His eyes widen, his pupils dilate and the tiny tired smile that curls on his lip looks so so happy.

And if Alec has looked at him even once like that, as Magnus is looking at him now, he can be satisfied.

It seems that a heavy weight has been taken off his lean shoulders and his eyes are shiny and maybe it’s fatigue, maybe it’s something more, maybe tears. And Alec frowns, and the mere gesture of wrinkling his forehead makes a weird and unpleasant shock that climbs his spine and reaches every single point in his whole body and obscures his vision. But he can’t close his eyes, because he has to drink him, Magnus.

Magnus. All dishevelled and opaque hair, clothes that certainly aren’t amazing and flashy, they are clean at least but certainly had seen better days, but yet Magnus is so beautiful that Alec perhaps for a single moment forgets that even breathing hurts so much.

Magnus seems to have lost his words, or maybe he can’t find them. He has his lips parted and two small tears seem to crown the corners of his eyes, his green-golden iris is just a small, small frame for the black pit of his pupils broad and dilated.

“Hey” Alec finally manages to say with a whisper. His throat is parched from an impossible thirst, and the voice seems to come right from the other world but he couldn’t feel more alive than this. Every single inch of his body doesn’t hurt anymore, he just wants to feel Magnus on him. Even just a kiss. Or ten. Or a hundred. Or a thousand.

But for now he can be satisfied even just looking at him, like this and letting its eyes warm up his heart and ease his pain.

[ch.5]

#malec #malec fic #malec angst #angst with happy ending #warlock alec lightwood #alec lightwood #magnus bane #pulvis et umbra natura renovantur integra #lamalefixwrites

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