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oriionours · 2 years ago

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Ghost of you

Chapter six : So I drown it out

{Magnus has tried to build a new relationship with so many new people, and it's always ended in failure. With Aurora, it's catastrophic. They break up amidst screams and tears, until the vampire breaks down and tells him that Alexander's ghost is in the room}

One break-up turned into a second. Then a third, and a fourth. In the space of twenty years, Magnus never managed to build anything lasting. It wasn't for lack of trying, but the result was always the same.

Sometimes it lasted a few weeks, sometimes a few months. With Julian, Magnus even had four years of a stable, pleasant relationship that the warlock thought would really last.

All these people had been different. From the sweetest like Anastasia to the most eccentric ones like Dorian. Magnus had sincerely tried everything, he had even gone so far as to try to shape his personality to suit one of his conquests, he had almost fallen back into those old habits he was used to when he was dating Camille, just to try not to be alone any more.

Because that was becoming a necessity for Magnus. Alexander had been gone for almost a century now, and even if there wasn't a single day when he didn't miss his nephilim, Magnus could no longer bear to be alone.

He no longer had a taste for whimsical parties, he had promised Raphael that he would no longer sink into alcohol as he had done in the past, human warmth and sociable contact had become a need for the warlock, as pathetic as that might seem.

Magnus was reaching the bottom.

And he couldn't even turn to Tessa for help. He and his friend hadn't seen each other for a few decades now, and Magnus knew he was at fault.

Because James hadn't aged a day. For some reason that escaped anyone who looked into it, Jem didn't age. Magnus himself didn't know if it had to do with the fact that his friend had been a Silent Brother before turning back, if it was because Tessa's magic had fully bonded with his soul, or a mixture of both.

And Magnus held a totally unfair grudge against Tessa.

He had seen the warlock in a deplorable state after Will, and he had prayed more than anyone that the young woman would never be in such a state again. But that was before he lost Alexander, before he too went through the agony of losing his soulmate, the person dearest to him beyond all realms.

The first time Magnus had conceived that thought, he felt like he had become a monster. Asmodeus wasn't his father for nothing. There was no one in this world more deserving of such happiness than Tessa. Even though Jem would stay by her side for as long as Lady Magic allowed, Tessa still had to live with the constant pain of Will's absence. Magnus was unfair, hateful, monstrous. But he couldn't help it.

So no, here in Los Angeles, he had no one to turn to. He didn't dare ask his closest friends for help, because he knew full well how they would look at him. With barely concealed pity, and Magnus wasn't sure he could take it.

Coming back to his failed relationships, Magnus didn't understand. But although the pieces of the jigsaw were gradually falling into place, he had to admit that things always went south when one of his conquests walked through the door of his flat. Was it Alexander's photos? Probably not.

No matter what type of personality Magnus had dated over the last twenty years, the warlock had always made sure that they had a deep respect for Alexander. His nephilim wasn't a memory stuffed in a box, it was a part of him everyone was bound to accept. And up until now, he'd always thought it was no big deal.

Obviously, he was wrong.

This evening Magnus was once again going through a break-up, his umpteenth.

This time it wasn't peaceful. There was shouting, there was crying, Aurora kept pacing back and forth in his flat like a lioness in a cage. In other circumstances, Magnus would probably have joked that she was going to end up digging a hole into is floor. But not today.

Today, Magnus was at his wit's end. He had known times of loneliness. He had known centuries when customs were different from today, more complicated, more strict. So why couldn't he find a calm, quiet relationship that gave him the peace he needed?

"Watch yourself, you'll end up moving a curtain."

"Well, let it move! And burn me with it!"

Magnus sighed in exasperation as he brought a hand up to his face. Right now, he didn't care about destroying the work of art he'd spent half an hour working on that very morning. Aurora was being particularly unreasonable.

He and Aurora had known each other for over a year and a half now. She was a fifty-two year old vampire, and Magnus would like to blame her youth, her inexperience for all her mood swings. But that couldn't be it. Alexander hadn't been this impetuous, not even in the lowest moments of their relationship.

Magnus was leaning against the bar counter of his flat, drink in hand, watching Aurora as she continued to pace his flat. Her anger was palpable, the energy she gave off was dangerous, saturating the air with a fury Magnus had rarely seen before. At least that he had rarely caused himself. He rubbed his temples, trying to calm the headache that was beginning to creep in after long minutes of shouting at each other. He felt exhausted, both emotionally and physically.

Aurora's words echoed in his head, mixed with memories of other break-ups, other screams, other moments when he had found himself in this same position, trying to understand what had gone wrong. But this time, something was different. He felt on the edge of a precipice, at the end of his strength.

"Aurora, please calm down," he said in a tired voice, hoping that she would eventually calm down.

The young woman with golden hair finally stopped. She now stood motionless in the middle of the room. Her eyes were filled with tears, tears of frustration, but also tears of anger. No, there wasn't an ounce of anger in her. Magnus could see the pain in her eyes, and he suddenly felt overwhelmed by a mixture of compassion and weariness.

"Why does it always end like this with you? Why can't it be different with me for once?" she demanded in a voice that exuded fury.

And Magnus felt himself hit hard.

It was a question he had been asking himself for some time. However, by confiding in Aurora the way he had, he hadn't imagined that the young woman would turn her own fears against him.

She pointed an accusing finger in his direction, then finally, just behind him, where a photograph of Alexander still stood proudly, preserved from the sun's rays and the ravages of time.

"Do you want to know why? Because of him! It's always because of-"

"Enough!"

This time Magnus had roared. His eyes gleamed with a fury he rarely let others see. In the room, the lights flickered and the chandelier exploded in a shower of shattered crystals. The warlock had finally reached his limit. Aurora took a step back, startled by this explosion of rage, perhaps frightened by the outpouring of magic that Magnus suddenly no longer seemed to control.

The room fell silent, heavy with tension.

"How dare you!" he continued in an icy voice, his gaze still riveted on her as he rose to his full height. There was venom in his voice, a white rage that he was no longer even trying to conceal. In his opinion, Aurora had just crossed the only line that should never be crossed. "Alexander never did anything to you. He was never even present in your life, not even when you were born. He never did anything for you to attack his memory like that!"

Magnus took a step in her direction, clenching his fists as if trying to give himself some semblance of composure. Aurora, for her part, seemed quite simply bewildered by this emotional outburst. The warlock had never revealed himself to her like that before. Nevertheless, she held his gaze, standing there in the middle of the shards in the centre of the living room.

"Now it's time for you to understand something," Magnus continued in a calmer but still emotional voice. "If you can't live with this, with the fact that Alexander has a place in my life, even though I insisted on it repeatedly when we first met, then maybe we weren't meant to be together in the first place."

Aurora shook her head, her expression a mixture of anger, sadness and incomprehension. Magnus could see that she was struggling with her emotions, searching for words. Like him, the young woman seemed to be at the end of her rope. This discussion was going nowhere, just like their relationship after all.

"It's not just that, Magnus," she finally said, now calmer than she had been a few minutes before. "Sometimes I feel like I'm competing with a ghost. Like I could never be as important to you as he is."

"Because you won't be, Aurora. And I beg you, stop talking about him as if he were in this room-"

"But he is!"

Aurora seemed suddenly overcome with hysteria.

And Magnus didn't know whether it was because of the violence with which his words had just brought her back to the reality of their relationship, or if she was simply sickened by the idea that Alexander's memory was constantly weighing on their relationship, making her lose all rationality.

And somewhere, maybe it was true, maybe the constant memory of Alexander, the impact his absence now had on his life was too much for him to be able to rebuild something healthy with someone else. But Magnus didn't believe it, it had to be something else beyond his control.

Before he could question her, however, Aurora resumed, waving a desperate arm in the direction of the living room as tears rolled down her pale cheeks. Anger, despair, frustration. A mixture of all of these, no doubt.

"He's always there, Magnus, constantly! Every time I walk into your flat, he's watching every move I make, judging every word I say and every action I try towards you! I feel like I'm suffocating since when I enter this room, I'm constantly competing with a ghost and I can't understand why you can't comprehend that!"

Aurora tried to catch her breath, or at least what appeared to be the case since she couldn't really breathe, but what she saw in the warlock stopped her dead in her tracks. She saw Magnus's face, previously burning with anger, transform into a complex mixture of stupor, agony and apathy. If his complexion wasn't usually so tanned, he'd probably be paler than she was now. Aurora suddenly realised that there was probably something much more complicated going on than she had believed.

The warlock had always been a confident and self-assured figure, but now he looked vulnerable and broken in front of her. As he stared at her, his eyes were no longer filled with fury, but with sorrow and melancholy. It was as if a wound he had tried to hide for so long had just been cruelly exposed. And he was desperately glancing around the room, looking for the manly silhouette of Alexander, sitting on the leather armchair by the fireplace.

"Alexander..." he murmured, his voice little more than a whisper. The words seemed to carry everything he had kept buried inside him, all the love and loss, pain and regret. A single name, a single breath that betrayed all the suffering still haunting the warlock. Aurora felt her own heart clench, unable to remain indifferent to Magnus's obvious distress.

She realised that much more than jealousy towards a ghost had just broken the surface. It was the resurgence of an unending mourning, a confrontation with a past he had never really left behind, as he had never hidden. Yet this sudden realisation was not enough to calm the young woman. The anger was still within her, seething, greedy, treacherous. And she had an extinguished sneer.

"What. You never knew?"

Magnus could barely make out the words that left her lips. Her voice was nothing more than a sudden buzz to the warlock, who was desperately looking for concrete proof of Alexander's presence here.

"... You really didn't..."

Aurora repeated, suddenly giving up. Everything in Magnus's posture told her that she was no longer needed. Naively, the young woman had thought that after all this time spent by his side, she would manage to find a place for herself with the Warlock. But she had been wrong, and she should have known it from the moment Magnus had begun to confide in her that his last relationships had been disastrous.

She shook her head and walked around the motionless figure of Magnus in the middle of the living room. Her heels crushed a few pieces of crystal, and Alexander's figure entered her field of vision.

Aurora held the nephilim's piercing gaze, and Alexander returned it just as fiercely, sitting on the sofa as if he were the king of this house.

And perhaps he was.

Aurora's voice, this time tinged with sadness, broke the silence. "He's here, you know. All the time. And I doubt I'm the only one he haunts like that."

Faced with Magnus's actual silence, Aurora this time prepared to leave for good, never to step inside this flat again. Or in the warlock's life, for that matter. She was sure he wouldn't miss her anyway. Magnus's company had been pleasant while it lasted, and she had loved him, sincerely. But Alexander's shadow, the weight he still exerted over the warlock...

She should have known from the start that it would never lead anywhere.

Dejected, Aurora was about to go through the front door, already thinking about who she was going to have to call to open a portal for her and thus avoid the sun's rays, when she felt Magnus's hand come down on her shoulder, forcing her to stop in her tracks.

"Aurora, wait. Please, will you-"

Magnus had crossed the flat in long strides, his face distorted by dismay, grief and a myriad of emotions that the young woman couldn't decipher. What she could easily feel, however, was the tension that had left the warlock's shoulders. Facing her, Magnus suddenly looked distraught.

A sigh passed her lips and she closed the door. Aurora could have turned back, closed this chapter of her life for good and left behind a relationship doomed to failure. But she had loved Magnus and still did, and to see him like this... She gave in.

With a shake of her head, she pointed once more to the armchair by the fireplace, taking care to avoid meeting Alexander's piercing gaze once more.

"He's here most of the time. I don't know if he moves around, I don't know what he does when I'm not there, but when I'm there he just sits in that chair and watches me. I see him frown when I speak to you in a way he doesn't like. I see him rolling his eyes when I fix you a drink, probably because that's not how he would have done it."

Magnus followed the young woman's gaze, but found nothing more than the hopelessly empty armchair. But now that he thought about it, no one had ever sat here. Not even him. Not even his familiar. Chairman used to perch here when Alexander was still alive, but since he'd disappeared, he hadn't done so. Not once.

It was said that animals had a sixth sense, so it could no doubt be due to the fact that he felt Alexander's absence, or it could just be a reaction to his own magic and nothing else. But that didn't explain why no one else had ever sat there. It was something the warlock had never forbidden anyone to do.

Suddenly, Magnus remembered some of his lovers staring at the armchair again. Anastasia had been one of the first, and Magnus had never paid the slightest attention to it.

His throat suddenly dry, his hands clammy, Magnus needed a few seconds to stop picturing the outline of Alexander's silhouette, without ever fully seeing it.

".. And outside?" he finally asked, his voice shaking with emotion.

"No. Never. Outside this flat, I've never seen him anywhere. But he's been here since the beginning of our relationship, if that's your next question."

Magnus took a deep breath, trying to digest all the revelations Aurora had just made to him. Lately, his life had been a whirlwind of tumultuous, unfinished relationships, and that was a problem he'd never been able to solve. He had turned it upside down, tried to find some kind of explanation for each of his break-ups, to no avail. But now he finally had the beginning of an answer, even if it was a disturbing one.

Maybe it should have made him angry, maybe he should have felt sorry for Aurora, for everyone else. Maybe he should be pissed off at Alexander for ruining those prospects, but Magnus couldn't do that. Instead, he simply felt his heart swell with a warmth he had been deprived of for far too long.

Aurora sensed that this time the situation was completely out of her control. She had hoped that their discussion would lead to a resolution, to mutual understanding, perhaps even to an attempt at reconstruction, but it had only widened the already existing rift between them. Perhaps she should never have mentioned Alexander's presence.

Anyway, who was she trying to fool? If not herself, who was she trying to fool? Magnus had a right to know.

She realised that to insist any further was pointless. Magnus was lost in is thoughts again, desperately looking for some sign of Alexander that he would probably never find, and he was unable to answer her. Faced with his silence, Aurora finally resigned herself to taking her leave, this time for good.

#my writing #angst #angst with a happy ending #magnus bane #malec fanfic #alexander lightwood #shadowhunters #the mortal instruments #fanfiction

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oriionours · 2 years ago

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Ghost of you

Chapter five : But I know better now

{Magnus desperately tried a new relationship with Anastasia, but it was a failure. There was too much resemblance to Alexander, and the idea of her moving in with him drove him to break off the engagement.}

The busy streets of Los Angeles seemed indifferent to the suffering of Magnus's heart. It had been fifty years since he lost Alexander, and thirty-five since he read those letters. He had remained catatonic that evening, but strangely enough, it had perhaps been the shot in the arm the warlock had needed. His soul had become imbued with an agony he thought he had never known before, but it had been as painful as it had been fleeting. In the early hours of the morning, when Magnus no longer had a tear to shed and Tessa had come to ring his doorbell, he had risen.

Both metaphorically and materially.

Magnus had had to work on himself for a very long time, but time had lessened his wounds.

All in all, Magnus Bane needed another five years before he could hope to love again.

No, love was far too strong a word. He would never again feel love for anyone but his Nephilim. But affection, yes, perhaps.

Anastasia had burst into Magnus' life like a gentle breeze, bringing with her a glimmer of hope he thought had been lost forever. The young warlock was bright, endowed with a caring aura that reminded Magnus of his early days with Alexander. An innocence rare among dark creatures.

They had met at an event organised by the Spiral Labyrinth Magnus had not yet fully got back into the swing of things when it came to DownWorld affairs, but little by little he was trying to find his feet again. Their eyes had met in the middle of the crowd, and the blue of her glance had triggered a familiar shiver in Magnus' heart.

Well aware of the unique nature of his past relationship with Alexander, Magnus had no illusions whatsoever. Anastasia could never take Alexander's place. His lover had been a pillar, his soulmate, a beacon guiding his steps through the dark night of his existence. But perhaps Anastasia represented a new chapter in his life, a ray of light in the persistent darkness of his grief. Magnus wasn't hoping for a brand new relationship. He wasn't even hoping for a relationship at all with the young woman. But the idea of letting someone new into his life crossed his mind from time to time.

And Anastasia seemed mature enough to understand what Magnus was getting at. The company of a new soul, without any promises, was what the warlock needed, and Anastasia filled the role perfectly.

Magnus wasn't fooled. He knew that Anastasia could not replace Alexander. He didn't even dare think about it anyway, and that wasn't what he was looking for. But she had brought him a thrill of novelty, her presence making the warlock's daily life a little less dull, a little less dreary. They had spent hours talking about everything and anything, and Magnus had even caught himself evoking memories of Alexander here and there. Anastasia didn't hold back. On the contrary, she encouraged him to continue. In her, Magnus had discovered a friend he hoped was sincere.

However, as his relationship with Anastasia developed, the little details were what Magnus noticed. Every smile Anastasia gave him, every thoughtful gesture, brought back memories of times spent with Alexander. Here and there, the warlock found himself finding almost sickly similarities in his past moments with Anastasia, almost like blurred reflections of his memories with Alexander. An involuntary comparison, but inevitable.

But was it really all that surprising? They were alike in every way, right down to their names. If the young woman hadn't been so sweet compared to Alexander, if she hadn't been a warlock but a nephilim, Magnus could have been accused of trying to transpose his past relationship onto this future one.

As if to replace him.

The first time this unpleasant sensation occurred to him was in the middle of July.

It was a warm summer evening and Magnus and Anastasia had shared a meal in one of those little gourmet restaurants by the sea. It was a pleasant evening during which Magnus didn't ask himself the slightest question.

Now they strolled hand in hand along the seashore, their bare feet in the warm sand, the echo of the seagulls flying over the ocean and the sound of the waves lapping against the shore their only source of noise. Suddenly, Anastasia stopped and bent over, letting her fingers dig into the sand. Carefully, she pulled out a shell and handed it to him with a shy but radiant smile.

"To remind you of our evening," she said in a soft voice.

The shell now rested in her palm, as light as a fragile promise. The image of Alexander offering him a charm on their return from their first date in Japan came back to his mind, awakening the melancholy sweetness of buried memories. Alexander's gifts had been silent symbols of pure love, which had never demanded anything of Magnus in return. Before Alexander, Magnus could count on the fingers of one hand the number of selfless gifts he had received. And it looked like Anastasia had just done the same.

A whirlwind of emotions suddenly swept over the warlock, a complex mixture of gratitude towards Anastasia and nostalgic pain at the memories of Alexander. Would this pain ever fade completely...? Magnus was beginning to think it wouldn't.

He slowly looked up at her, his unglamoured golden eyes mingled with uncertainty. Anastasia looked at him with gentle concern, her attention focused entirely on him. Her delicate features were nothing like Alexander's drawn jawline and yet it was his face Magnus saw instead of hers.

With delicacy, she placed a comforting hand on his cheek, trying to read the emotions that were camouflaged in his gaze. "Magnus, is everything all right?" she asked with an almost touching sincerity in her voice.

A faint smile came to Magnus's lips, although his eyes betrayed the sadness that had come to overtake him. And he was sure that Anastasia had seen it too. Suddenly, he undoubtedly wasn't a pleasant company anymore, but Magnus knew that the young woman was far too gentle to point this out to him.

Magnus gently grasped her hand, holding it between his fingers with some tenderness despite the new flicker of apprehension that shone in his eyes. What if it still wasn't the right time? What if this wasn't the right person?

But Magnus tried to banish these doubts. These were not the kind of dark thoughts Anastasia needed to witness. They were not the kind of thoughts that deserved to cross his mind in her company. "It's all right, my dear. I've just had... A brief absence."

Thus the months in Anastasia's company passed. A stable relationship had finally developed between the two warlocks, and without speaking of love, Magnus found true stability at her side. He was regaining a taste for going out, dining out, social evenings and human warmth.

Yet there were still many occasions when Magnus couldn't help comparing certain moments of his life shared with Anastasia to those he had shared with Alexander. It should have been a warning to him, he should have suspected from that moment on, as soon as he realised that he couldn't prevent this meanness, that his relationship with Anastasia was doomed to failure.

Not that Magnus saw any lasting future in her company, but he had no doubt hoped it would last a little longer.

Their relationship came to an end one winter's evening. Magnus was immersed in one of his novels, sitting on the sofa in the living room, the flames dancing in the hearth of the fireplace lighting his skin with a soft orange glow. Outside, the snow was falling thickly, and the warmth emanating from the glowing embers made the atmosphere even warmer.

Many things had changed since he moved in. Firstly, the furnishings, because Magnus had regained a taste for regular change and also for human beings' company within his own walls. Despite the fact that his relationship with Anastasia had been going on for almost a year now, Magnus still refused to let the young woman spend the night here. It had happened once or twice, because he couldn't see himself sending her away in the middle of the night. But she had slept in one of the guest rooms.

None of her personal belongings were still there. Because Alexander's moving in had started that way: a toothbrush forgotten in a corner of the bathroom cabinet, a few spare clothes tucked away in Magnus's drawers, a jacket hanging in the hallway... For all his goodwill and investment in Anastasia, Magnus didn't feel ready to let her settle in for good.

Yet the young woman had begun to leave her mark on the flat. Her delicate perfume was now mingling in the air, and a photo taken at a dinner party with Catarina lay near the entrance. Anastasia was shown with Magnus, who had one arm wrapped around her waist. For anyone entering the flat, the sight of this photo alone would have been enough to testify to a relationship that appeared durable and solid.

But you only had to take a few steps further to see that in the living room, the bedroom and the kitchen there were dozens of photographs of Alexander. After twenty-five years, Magnus had the courage to dig them out again.

Anastasia was a wonderful woman. Not once had she made a nasty remark about the ghostly presence of his former lover in their lives. No doubt because she herself had suffered her share of painful loss too. No doubt because she herself understood.

The sound of a mug being placed on the coffee table drew Magnus from his reverie. Anastasia was there, with two steaming, wood-scented mugs. She sat down on the sofa beside him and offered him a delicate smile.

"I thought you might like a break," she said in a calm voice.

Magnus thanked her and put his book down beside the porcelain cover. His eyes rested on her delicate features. It was late in the evening, and he knew that Anastasia would soon be leaving again.

As she always did.

This time, however, Anastasia didn't immediately engage him in conversation as she usually did. And Magnus sensed in her posture, in the way she held herself, in the stiffness of her shoulders, that something was troubling her.

Just as Magnus was about to ask her about her torments, the young woman finally broke the stillness of the place while replacing a brown curl behind her ear.

"Magnus, I... Maybe I'd like to start leaving a spare outfit or two here. We've known each other for a while now and I'm not asking if I could move in here but... Staying here overnight, from time to time, with you, would be... nice."

There was hesitation in her voice. And Magnus knew perfectly well that Anastasia was trying to broach the subject gently, as if not to upset him.

But the damage was done.

Magnus could feel his breath hitch for a second, and his heart skipped a beat. He analysed Anastasia with a certain apologetic gleam in his eyes. He already knew the answer to that question, and he didn't need to think twice about it to be certain of his choice.

"Anastasia...." Magnus began in a hesitant voice. His body swiveled in her direction and he clasped his hands together on one knee. Everything about his posture showed his discomfort with the situation. "I don't think that's a good idea..."

Although the young woman felt hurt, she showed no sign of it. On the contrary, everything in her eyes radiated understanding. Yet Magnus detected something like determination. Usually, the warlock was more than seduced by personalities brimming with character. But this time, it seemed intrusive. Or perhaps he interpreted it that way because he wasn't ready.

After all, Anastasia hadn't got down on one knee asking him to marry her. She hadn't even asked to settle here permanently. The young woman no doubt simply wanted to build a relationship that was a little more stable than the one they currently shared.

But did Magnus even want that...?

Anastasia leaned closer and placed her hand on his in a gesture of comfort. "Magnus. I'm not asking you to let me move in. Relax."

She was joking. Magnus could hear it in her voice, see it in her smile, but it wasn't enough to defuse the anxiety that gripped him. He had been in enough love affairs in his life to know that behind this disinterested request there was actually much more than that.

Something Magnus wasn't ready to give, yet.

To be honest, what he felt for Anastasia wasn't even love. Maybe it wasn't fair to the young woman, but at least Magnus had always had the gut of being clear with her.

Magnus looked away towards the dancing flames, the weight of guilt suddenly gripping his heart. Every corner of this flat still reminded him of Alexander, even though his lover had never set foot here. It was in the air, in the decoration, in all his magic. The idea of letting Anastasia into a space that should have been shared with Alexander seemed almost blasphemous.

Yet Magnus knew it was everything the Nephilim had wished for him.

Anastasia gently touched his arm, an effortless caress, her expression filled with tenderness. "I'm not here to replace anyone, Magnus." Her voice was soft, almost as audible as a whisper. Yet it rang false in the warlock's entire being. "I'm here because I love you and I want to build something meaningful with you."

Love.

The word had come up. It wasn't the first time Anastasia had confessed to him this way, but after almost a year at her side, Magnus had never been able to return it. Until now, this had never been a problem, and Anastasia had shown a patience and delicacy that few people were capable of.

But tonight.

Tonight Magnus could already feel it.

Tonight, the young woman was undoubtedly reaching the end of her patience.

Magnus gently removed her embrace from his arm as he seemed to search for words, his gaze once again riveted on the young woman. "Anastasia, I'm not ready for this. I'm not ready to live with someone new, to let someone else into what I've built. That's not what you're asking of me now, but let's face it, that's what you'll be asking of me later. And that's something I can't grant you. Try to respect that, please."

A stony silence fell over the room, partially broken by the crackle of embers in the hearth of the fireplace. Magnus was tired. Mentally exhausted. Alexander was a weight on his shoulders that would never leave his mind, and perhaps it had been foolish of him to think he could ever be in a relationship again. He'd enjoyed every moment he'd spent with Anastasia so far, he didn't regret any of them, but this conversation was proving to him that once again he might have rushed things.

That he was going to make Anastasia suffer.

The young woman was now gazing intently at Alexander's armchair. Something Magnus had noticed several times before, from the first time he'd let her in here.

"Is that something you'd be prepared to grant me one day?"

Anastasia's question echoed around the room. There was not a hint of threat in her voice. Nor was there the intonation of a question. Just a fact that the young woman already seemed to know the answer to. Faced with Magnus's lack of communication, Anastasia straightened up and tugged nervously at the folds of her dress.

"I didn't want it to end like this, Magnus. But I can't suppress my own needs, or even what I feel."

Magnus looked at her, his golden eyes clouded by a sadness he could no longer ignore. He had tried to give her everything he could, but it wasn't enough. And Magnus couldn't even blame her for that.

"Anastasia, I... I'm sorry. I didn't mean to hurt you." Those last words were no more than a whisper.

There was no need for an outburst of voice to understand that everything was going to end there.

Anastasia gave him a sad little smile, mixed with a resilience that suddenly struck Magnus. How could he not have noticed before? Everything told him that Anastasia had been preparing for this a long time ago.

"I know, Magnus... I know. You're a good man. And who knows? Perhaps our paths will cross again one day."

The young woman moved backwards. Magnus was no longer facing her, he could no longer read the slightest expression on her face as she approached the front door. A portal would undoubtedly have been more practical, simpler. But probably inappropriate in this situation.

The warlock missed the way Anastasia once again stared at Alexander's armchair with a hint of sadness in her eyes.

How could everything have escalated so quickly? One minute, the warlock was still thinking of spending a pleasant evening with his partner, and the next he was alone again in this large apartment where the absence of human warmth was suddenly more present than ever.

Magnus didn't try to hold her back.

#my writing #malec fanfic #angst #angst with a happy ending #magnus bane #alexander lightwood #shadowhunters #the mortal instruments #fanfiction

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oriionours · 2 years ago

Text

Ghost of you

Chapter four : You'd tell me I'll be just fine

{Magnus knows he's not ready to move on. But out of respect for Alexander, he has to. But he never imagined that reading this letter would bring him so much pain.

Of course, he knew it wouldn't have been easy. But he hadn't imagined for a second that he would come away with the unpleasant impression of having betrayed Alexander.}

It wasn't until August that Magnus finally found the courage to open Alexander's letters, almost seven months after his discussion with Tessa. He had weighed up the pros and cons at length, and he had come to the following conclusion.

Tessa was right, he didn't want to move on. But out of respect for Alexander, he had to.

And Alexander's memory would now be worth far more than anything else.

So there he was now, sitting on the sofa in his living room, a glass of bourbon on the coffee table and the two envelopes neatly lined up on a small metal tray. Magnus was no doubt acting as if they were precious treasures, ancient relics as fragile as those found under glass in museums. But in reality, it was worth much more than that.

Outside, it had been dark for some time. Magnus didn't know whether it was still the seventh or whether the eighth of the month had finally begun. From the half-open window, a light breeze freshened the flat, bringing with it the sweet smell of a summer's night after the rain.

Alexander had always loved the smell of petrichor.

For hours now, Magnus had been staring at those two pieces of paper without ever managing to open them, just like the day before. And the day before that. The warlock had nevertheless decided to read them for real this time, his determination was solid, but his heart was still holding him back.

What would happen next?

What was he supposed to do with these few lines? He would treasure them, of course. But for the last few months, his only aim had been to find out, perhaps tomorrow, what those letters contained.

What would happen then?

In an almost religious silence, Magnus finally made up his mind. With an effort that seemed almost superhuman, he took the first seal. The one bearing his name in Alexander's somewhat anarchic handwriting. There was no doubt, judging by the few stains dotting the letters of his first name, that his lover had chosen one of his fountain pens to write these words.

To his right, Magnus heard Chairman Meow purring. The familiar was not asleep as he was accustomed to at such a late hour, but was curled up on the sofa cushion, staring at the warlock.

As if he, too, was patiently waiting for him to open the envelope.

His fingertips brushed against the wax seal bearing his own initials, the grain of the paper fine, if a little yellowed with age. The envelope dated from the last century, and Alexander must no doubt have found it in his office the day he decided to dedicate these lines to him. Magnus could feel the relief of the ink, but soon peeled off the wax seal without question.

The letter was open. There was no turning back.

Magnus sank further into the sofa and, fingers trembling, unfolded the parchment. His throat tightened, and the mere sight of Alexander's calligraphy brought tears to his eyes. He looked away, brought his fist to his lips and bit down with enough strength to force himself to keep one foot in reality.

He couldn't start crying now. Not when he hadn't even read the first lines.

My Love,

Two words were enough for the tears to start rolling down his cheeks.

It wasn't reading them that made Magnus flinch. It was the fact that he couldn't reconstruct the exact timbre of Alexander's voice in his mind. He could no longer pretend that Alexander was saying those words to him. There were many things that magic was capable of, but memories were far more powerful than any existing charms.

His own mind had betrayed him. It had shut out Alexander's voice.

Magnus tried to calm his racing heart and took a deep breath. If he gave up now, after such a realisation, he wasn't sure he'd be able to immerse himself in this cursed reading.

I don't know when you will read this letter. And quite honestly I hope it will be as late as possible. Because if you find yourself with this piece of paper in your hands today, it's because we both know that I am no more.

Magnus would have liked to be wrong. He was one of those people who rarely admitted to being wrong, because he valued his pride more than anything else. But once again, he had been right. Alexander, for some reason, had written him a farewell letter.

But when? At what stage of their relationship?

Eight years was such a short time. And Alexander had died so young. At what point between his twenty-first and twenty-ninth birthdays had Alexander thought it wise to write a farewell letter? Magnus knew, he had always known, that Shadowhunters died young. The average was rarely over thirty (Alexander hadn't even blown out the candle on this new decade yet), but he had secretly hoped that the Angels would give him the same chance as they had given Tessa.

Will had passed away after a long and happy life. Decades that had allowed them to love each other as much as possible, to build countless memories, to create a family.

He and Alexander had had none of that.

The memories were still hazy, and although Tessa had assured him that it was nothing more than shock, that they would come back as he grieved, Magnus didn't believe it. It had been fifteen years after all, and today he had just discovered that his mind was no longer even capable of piecing together his voice.

Raging at these revelations, Magnus wiped his cheeks with the back of his hand before resuming his reading.

I don't think I'll ever forget the first time our eyes met at that stupid party in this very loft we now live in.

The loft where Magnus no longer lived.

The letter fell back into his lap and the warlock's gaze fell on the leather armchair that had been left untouched for so many years. A deep breath, a flicker of the eyelash and Magnus forced himself to release the pressure.

He had no right to feel bad about not living in New York any more. He didn't need to have heard it from Alexander to know that Alexander would have wanted the best for him. And in that house filled with memories as happy as they were painful, Magnus would never have been able to move forward. What was best for him today was this flat in Los Angeles. It gave him a real chance to move on, even if he wasn't sure he really wanted to.

But if Alexander was watching him from somewhere, then Magnus owed him at least that much.

I can't tell you that I wish it would have lasted forever, we both know that it would be a lie. But I can assure you that I wish it had lasted longer.

Bloody hell. What Magnus would have liked was for it to have lasted forever.

Of course, when Alexander was still alive, he understood. Immortality wasn't a gift from heaven, it was poison. At the time, Magnus would never have wished it on anyone, least of all his Nephilim.

Knowing that Alexander would one day die was something Magnus thought he had managed to live with when Alexander was still alive. But what about today? Today Magnus would give anything to have Alexander back by his side. It was downright selfish, he knew. But he had never imagined that his lover would be ripped from him so soon.

The Angels hadn't even given him a decade at his side.

His gaze wandered over the handwritten lines, letting his mind soak up every word, even though some were made difficult to read by the moisture in his eyes.

Magnus didn't even want to imagine the context in which Alexander had taken the time to write those words. Or even when he had taken the decision to do so. Alexander had always been a man of strategy, of determination, with an almost sickly need to control his own existence; in the end, it shouldn't have surprised him so much that he had prepared his farewell.

He simply shouldn't have done it so young.

But perhaps Alexander had been less disillusioned than Magnus. Perhaps, with the Shadowhunter upbringing he had received, his Alexander had always been prepared to die young. For Magnus, this was information he knew, but wasn't fully aware of. But for Alexander, it was the daily life and destiny of all Angel soldiers. Unless the loss of Max had had the effect of an electric shock.

If a twelve-year-old could perish without ever setting foot on the battlefield, what would become of him? What would happen to a Shadowhunter in office...?

These lines shattered something in Magnus, probably more than it already was. He had to physically stop reading, otherwise the ink would probably end up on the paper, mixed with his tears.

He pushed the paper back onto the corner of the sofa and his mind went blank.

Screams. Screams of agony. They came from a distance, and it took Magnus a few minutes to realise that they were not coming from outside, but from within himself. It was him, screaming out his pain in the middle of this flat.

Because he'd already realised it earlier: he'd already forgotten the timbre of Alexander's voice.

And suddenly, he realised that he no longer had a single memory of his scent.

In a fit of hysteria, Magnus left the sofa and grabbed one of the cushions from Alexander's armchair. It was his. It was the one on which he brought his work home, the one on which he relaxed after a long day with a drink in his hand. No one had ever been allowed to sit on it since, and Magnus had never had the heart to get rid of it.

Frantically, he pulled the cloth up to his nose. He could already see wet patches soaking into the fabric, and he inhaled like hell. He didn't care if he looked like a fool at the moment. He just wanted to remember the scent of his lover.

Nothing.

The cushion no longer smelt of anything except the strong odour of sandalwood that had originally belonged to Magnus and no longer to Alexander. Magnus knew there was no point in reopening the boxes of his lover's clothes in his dressing room. They, too, were probably no longer wearing the scent of the Nephilim.

Magnus let an expletive escape him. He cursed himself for being stupid, he cursed himself for not having thought earlier of using his magic to preserve the scent, he cursed Alexander for having thought that, without all these things, Magnus would be ready to move on.

Because the despair that now filled his heart proved just the opposite. The pain that reverberated against the walls of this flat, his new flat, went against everything Alexander had ever thought. Chairman himself had ended up hiding under one of the pieces of furniture, frightened by the intensity of his owner's emotions.

Tessa had been right. She was always right, he should never have opened that letter, not now.

Magnus remained there, kneeling on the floor, his arms crossed on the armchair, his head buried between them. It didn't matter how much time passed; in this position he could almost picture Alexander's silhouette against the backrest and feel the ghost of his hand moving up and down his hair in an airy caress.

In reality, there was none of that left.

Strangely enough, it was a gust of wind that restored the warlock's composure. From the wide-open window, a light breeze rushed in and caused the letter to slide off the end of the table. The paper flew for a moment and landed close to Magnus's knees.

In spite of himself, a light laugh escaped his lips. It was devoid of joy or life, but he could almost pretend that this simple act of chance was Alexander's. Who knows? Who knows?

With another hard effort, Magnus pivoted on the floor. His back met the chair and, with an unsure movement, he retrieved the piece of paper. He had to look up at the sky for a few seconds, his vision blurred by tears.

A Nephilim loves only once in a lifetime, and you were the one for me.

Lord, it was getting harder and harder, and for a second Magnus wondered if he'd be able to get through it tonight. But if not, would he ever have the courage to open it again? Rationally, yes, no doubt. The pain would eventually fade, lessen if not dissipate. But right now? It was as if the last few years of work on himself had disappeared, and he suddenly found himself back on the same evening when Isabelle had come to their place to tell him that this nightmare had begun. The valves had opened again, and the pain and sorrow were gushing out of him once more.

The dam had burst.

Alexander had died without ever knowing that, like the Nephilim, there were rare occasions when a warlock's magic clung desperately to a soul. Dead or alive. Some spoke of soul mates, Magnus wasn't sure. But the only thing he was sure of was the love he had for Alexander, and the fact that his magic had clung to him.

Alexander had died without ever knowing that he was and would forever be Magnus' last love.

That's probably why hearing him, sorry, reading him beg to find love again one day made him nauseous. It was impossible, it would never happen again. Because Magnus had felt like he was discovering love at his side despite his centuries of existence.

Of course, he had loved each of his previous relationships, but they seemed so dull now compared to what he had felt for Alexander. In the past, Magnus would probably have hated himself for thinking like that about all the people who had meant so much to him. But now that Alexander was gone, he understood that his heart had always wandered until it found peace in the Nephilim's hands.

That was why he had spent his years at Alexander's side, telling him over and over that he would never end up in a box of memories.

For just a second, Magnus wondered to call Tessa. Instead, he tried to breathe, again and again, just to make sure he didn't sink completely.

Because as painful as it was, it was the last thing Alexander had ever confided in him.

Selfishly, I also ask you to never forget our history.

Despite himself, a chuckle escaped him. It was probably hysterical, because there was absolutely nothing funny about this situation. And Magnus didn't care what he looked like right now, his features flushed and swollen with tears. His clothes crumpled, his hair a mess.

It was impossible to forget someone as fabulous as Alexander Lightwood.

In his letter, Alexander thanked him again and again for everything he had given him. He kept complimenting the person he was, as if the nephilim had never been a better person than he was.

The truth was that Magnus would never be a match for Alexander. His lover had never wanted to see beyond appearances, but Magnus knew. His nights were always filled with the horrors he had committed over the course of his long life and, although he had always kept Alexander informed, his angel had never wanted to hold it against him.

All his debauchery, all his crimes, all his boasts. Alexander had always turned a blind eye.

But Alec? Alec had never been any of those things. He had made a few mistakes, yes, but nothing more than a few bumps on the road to learning. Nothing that could ever tarnish his companion's resilient soul. But Magnus's? Magnus's was as dark as the meanders of Edom.

As for all the hopes Alexander had pinned on him concerning relations between the Down world and the Nephilim... Magnus suddenly felt as if he'd let him down. He had done nothing, nothing to improve and continue Alexander's legacy. He hadn't even taken the time to find out from Isabelle whether the young woman, Lydia or whoever, had taken over. Lorenzo, no doubt? The warlock had taken Magnus's place, he had got engaged to Andrew, no doubt their relationship was the new example to follow, the new hope of a lasting union...

Magnus had sullied Alexander's hopes by abandoning all his positions. And the worst thing of all? He knew full well that if Alec was standing there in front of him right now? He'd just smile and tell him it was nothing. That he understood.

And this simple thought didn't even serve to calm him down. On the contrary, he felt himself being pulled within a bottomless spiral, he felt like the worst cockroach the universe had ever borne. Alexander had had faith in him, and he had been transformed into a human wreck.

Live your life to the fullest, Magnus, and always remember that you are a force of light in a dark world.

Magnus was not a force of light.

Alexander was wrong.

Alexander who had never had the chance to become Alexander Lightwood-Bane.

With all my love,

Alexander Gideon Lightwood (Bane).

#my writing #malec fanfic #angst #angst with a happy ending #magnus bane #alexander lightwood #shadowhunters #the mortal instruments #fanfiction

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oriionours · 2 years ago

Text

Ghost of you Chapter three : If I can dream long enough

{We are in the fifteenth year since Alexander's death. Magnus thinks more and more about the letters, and every day he wants to open them a little more.

Tessa warns Magnus that he is not ready to open the letters. The chapter ends with Magnus finally plucking up the courage to read the first letter.}

That January morning marked the fifteenth year without Alexander by his side. In the end, Magnus had spent more time in Los Angeles than in New York since his lover passed out and, although it couldn't be perfect, things were getting better.

There wasn't a day that went by without Magnus to have his first waking thought for Alexander, and his last for him before he went to bed, but when the warlock ran his thumb over the screen of his phone, caressing his partner's face on his screen wallpaper, he now managed to crack a smile, although a tear still escaped his eye from time to time.

The first few months in Los Angeles had been catastrophic. Although Magnus had resigned himself to moving on, he hadn't succeeded immediately. After all, there was no magic trick that would help him overcome his grief. At least, not one he felt capable of executing. But as he had imagined, the presence of Tessa and Jem had been a great help. With them, Magnus felt like he was breathing again for the very first time.

When he arrived, Tessa had made sure Magnus was always busy doing something. Spending time with Mina, helping her translate complex manuscripts, having tea with James. First, Magnus had been annoyed realising this, having the unpleasant feeling of being a burden, today he understood that it had been necessary.

He had done the same with Tessa years before.

Altogether, it had taken Magnus thirteen years before he felt able to talk about Alexander with anyone. And to talk about him in the past tense. Strangely, it was with James that he managed to do so. His old friend had lost his parabatai and lover a century before. It had never been an official matter because it was taboo, but Magnus hadn't needed any confidence from Tessa to know and understand that the three of them, Tessa, James and Will, had loved each other in the purest of ways. They had been discreet, but Magnus had been close to them at this stage of their lives.

So it wasn't all that surprising that the person Magnus had trusted most to talk about his regrets, sorrows and fears had been James Castairs. The Shadowhunter had lost his lover, his brother of arms, and although they hadn't said a word about it, he was also living with the fact that in a few decades' time, he too would eventually die and leave Tessa once more.

James hadn't known Alexander. At least not that well. A few meetings here and there as a Silent Brother, one or two less formal introductions when Mina was born, but not enough to build a deep friendship with him. So James had gradually encouraged Magnus to talk to him about his lover, a few details here and there, on the fly. But never too directly, for fear of sending Magnus into a downward spiral. And the warlock could only be grateful for how delicately Jem had handled the matter.

Magnus was in fact grateful for having so many people close to him.

Alone, he would never have been able to stand up again, there was no point in trying to deny it.

This was no break-up, no ordinary loss.

With each passing day, Magnus continued to feel his magic crying out in agony.

"Yes, yes I'm coming."

Magnus let a sigh escape him as he sat facing the imposing vanity that sat enthroned in his bedroom. The warlock had started taking care of himself again. It wasn't to please. (Who could he possibly want to please if not Alexander?) But this simple routine, taking the time to take care of his skin, to look after his appearance, to play with his make-up, gave him a semblance of a grip on life.

To anyone who came across him in the street today, he would almost be a carbon copy of the High Warlock of Brooklyn, whose prowess was still being whispered about in the Shadow World. All they had to do was forget about that little spark that was now extinguished in the back of Magnus' eyes.

Facing the closed door of the room, his familiar fidgeting with the wooden door. Chairman Meow knew how to be annoying when he wanted to be, after all his mood had always reflected his owner's emotions and magic.

And today, Magnus knew he was agitated.

For several days now, he had been staring at the drawer of his bedside table with even more insistence than the day before. Inside were Alexander's letters, untouched. He'd never had the strength to read them before, and even now he wasn't sure he was prepared to.

Would he ever be? Probably not.

Nevertheless, as the days, weeks, months and years went by, Magnus felt the need to cling to his lover once more. He didn't really know if this would be the way for him to end his mourning, to read those last few words. A final goodbye that Alexander had prepared for him beforehand. But he was certain of one thing: Alexander deserved to be heard one last time.

As he crossed the room to finally open the door to his familiar, Magnus let his fingertips brush the top of his bedside table.

He'd take a look them, read them.

He'd do it, later.

Alexander's letters crossed his mind again in the middle of the afternoon, when he was having tea with Jem and Tessa at their house, a few days after the incident. They chatted about other things, and in all honesty Magnus was even calm at the time. He was thinking of nothing but the present moment, and the latest news about an unusual pack near Beacon Hills. Nothing really interesting, but enough to clear his head.

"You should look into this one Magnus, there are rumours about a young boy. He's a spark. Something to stimulate your intellect."

"Really? Tessa, dear, I've got bigger concerns right now."

Magnus could see exactly what Tessa was trying to do at the moment.

It wasn't that hearing about the Hale pack didn't interest him, or even that the prospect of having a young spark on the loose wasn't potentially worrying, but in all these years Magnus had never had a single apprentice. And today, he wasn't sure he was in the best mood of mind to do so. Having an apprentice required constant attention that he wasn't ready to give, not when Magnus couldn't take care of himself in all circumstances.

From the patio, Magnus heard the front door open and then close again. No doubt Mina had just returned from her last day at school. High school was over for her and with it, no doubt, the end of a normal life for a half-warlock.

Magnus smiled faintly at this thought, his eyes riveted on his half-consumed tea. In the reflection of his beverage, he observed his own silhouette. It was amazing how well everything looked from the outside.

In fifteen years, he'd almost managed to keep up appearances.

The young lady made her entrance. Eighteen years old, she was now a young woman full of life. She looked so much like Jem and Tessa. Magnus felt his heart swell; for a man who could never have children, she was a godsend.

Mina looked radiant in her lilac-coloured dress, her long hair pulled back into a braid and tied at the small of her back.

" Dad, Mum, I'm home! Oh, hello Uncle Magnus."

Magnus replied with a shake of his head and a small smile.

He had been called uncle by many of his relatives' children. But Mina was special. She was the daughter of one of his closest friends, of Jem and, somewhere in there too, of Will.

She was a child in his life that he would never see disappear.

Not this time.

"Wilhelmina," Jem began with an expression of pure tenderness on his face, "what have you got in your hands?"

"Oh, this? Nick asked me to the prom."

Mina was already pointing to the small unsealed envelope as she already disappeared down the stairwell.

Magnus didn't think about who Nick might be although he'd never heard of him until now. Nor did he think about the fact that his niece had not been with him for more than a few seconds. Nor did he listen to the exchanges that followed between the young girl and her father, who nevertheless spoke a little louder to make himself heard.

Facing him, Tessa had set her eyes on him, and even her piercing gaze failed to bring Magnus back into the conversation.

This envelope had been opened.

Alexander's still sat sealed in his bedside table.

"Magnus?"

It wasn't the sound of her voice that brought him back to reality, but Tessa's tap on his shoulder. Magnus could see the worry on her face. He still had his cup of tea in his hands, halfway between his lips and the porcelain cup. How long had he been lost in the labyrinth of his thoughts? Probably too long. James was no longer at the young woman's side, no doubt he had joined their daughter upstairs.

"Magnus, is everything all right?"

"Excuse me dear, I was... Somewhere else."

Tessa tried to offer him a gentle, almost motherly smile as her grip on his shoulder morphed in a comforting rush. The young woman didn't need words, she had managed, over time, to decipher that veil in Magnus's eyes when he allowed himself to think of Alexander.

After all, she felt the same way when, in her evenings alone, she immersed herself in the novel A Tale of Two Cities by Charles Dickens.

"Tessa," Magnus began after resting his mug in the small plate, "can I ask you a question?"

"Of course, I'm listening."

Magnus thought back to the two little envelopes.

He thought back to the painful months Tessa had gone through after Will's death.

He thought of the way Tessa's smile would falter at the mention of the blue-eyed man.

He thought back to the same smile that had blossomed on the young woman's lips when, in the person of Alexander, she had seen William again for a brief moment.

And Magnus wondered if he too would one day manage to smile at every mention of Alexander in the mouths of those closest to him.

"How long did it take you to be able to read William's stories again?"

There was silence. And Magnus saw immediately in his friend's eyes that she had been taken by surprise.

Once retired, William had written a number of stories for young Shadowhunters. They had become quite popular, and Magnus was certain that Tessa had read them while the author was still alive. But then? After his death. After decades of happy, peaceful marriage. How long had it taken her to get her hands on her husband's last manuscripts? How long after his death had she had the courage to read them again?

He and Alexander hadn't even had time to get married.

Tessa sighed deeply. Magnus could see from the way the tension left the young woman's shoulders that the slight pain caused by the memory of Will had now passed. And he wondered once again if, even after centuries, the pain would really fade for good.

"I had to wait for James to come back into my life. Not our glimpses on the bridge, but when he left the Silent Brothers to become a Shadowhunter again. I'd never had the courage to do it alone before."

"James? But, Tessa, that was-"

"Nineteen years ago, yes. I haven't been able to reread Will's stories for over eighty years. And I'm still unable to reread the poems he dedicated to us. James still hasn't touched the partitures he gave him."

A dead silence fell over the whole room. Magnus slowly sank against the back of his armchair, his gaze suddenly lost in a blur.

Eighty years.

On the scale of their immortal lives, it was nothing. A blink of an eye. But the prospect of not honouring Alexander's last wishes for almost a century left a bitter taste on Magnus's tongue and turned his stomach.

He wasn't ready to read those letters.

Lilith alone knew if he ever would be.

But eighty years suddenly seemed like an eternity, and Magnus wasn't even halfway there yet.

Tessa let a ghostly smile stretch her lips as she, in turn, placed the porcelain back on the small jade tray. She didn't need Magnus's words to understand what her friend was getting at. She had lived with him, Catarina had told her about those letters. And she'd always known that sooner or later Magnus would want to dive into them.

Could he be blamed? After all, they were the last words of the love of his life.

Because of that, Tessa was certain. Alexander had been and would remain Magnus's one true love. Just as Jem and Will, between them, filled the whole of the young woman's heart. After Jem, there would be no one. Tessa would be content to watch over their descendants, as she had always done, waiting for the fateful day when the Angels would allow her to find them again.

Both of them.

With all the caution she knew herself capable of, Tessa resumed the conversation, her hands clasped in her lap as she searched for words to convince Magnus that it was a mistake.

"Magnus... You shouldn't do this."

"What are you talking about, Dear?"

Magnus surprised himself by feigning innocence. But deep down he knew exactly why. He knew Tessa well enough for that, and the young woman would no doubt tell him that opening those letters was a bad idea.

"Don't think I'm stupid, Magnus. We both know what I'm talking about. And if you asked me, it's probably because you want my opinion."

Magnus pursed his lips, a pout of disdain on his face, barely restraining himself from telling her that no, he hadn't asked for her opinion. Just to answer a little question. A not-so-innocent question, of course, but nothing that would encourage Tessa to share a wisdom that, in his opinion, the young woman had not yet acquired.

She wasn't two hundred years old, for goodness sake.

Nevertheless, Magnus would be lying to himself.

In this area, unfortunately, Magnus had no one else to turn to. Tessa was the only warlock in his inner circle who had experienced the same loss he had. It's not that immortal beings never met the one true love of their lives, but a love powerful enough to bind a warlock's magic to another being? It was a rare phenomenon.

It also made him dangerously vulnerable over the years.

And to think that Magnus had never had the courage to share this information with Alexander, foolishly thinking that it was too soon, that he would surely frighten him.

He'd lost him without ever being able to assuage Alexander's doubts about Magnus's life after him.

Magnus would never love again, not in the way he had loved him. He would probably feel affection, yes. But never love again. Just as Tessa would never experience it again after James.

The higher-ups had long wondered about Tessa's case: it wasn't possible for their magic to split in two, to cling to two souls in addition to that of their owner. Magnus, on the other hand, found the answer perfectly logical.

Tessa had fallen for a pair of parabatai. The love she felt for these two men was unbreakable, just like their souls. And since William and James had shared a part of themselves with each other, since Tessa had met them long after the Parabatai ceremony, her magic hadn't tried to separate them.

Not when the two Shadowhunters had in turn experienced the same feelings for Tessa.

"I know Alexander's disappearance seems insurmountable to you, that an eternity already seems to have passed. But it's only been fifteen years Magnus... Less than a decade ago, Raphael found you passed out in your flat, delirious, with only Alexander's name on your lips after you'd called him."

It wasn't his finest moment, Magnus readily admitted. But he wasn't ashamed of it. He wasn't ashamed of having cut himself off from the world for two years, he wasn't ashamed of having cried for days on end, with or without an audience. He had known Tessa in the same state, he had known so many other immortal acquaintances in the same situation. It was unfortunately how their lives went.

But it was normally the kind of moment you don't talk about afterwards. It was fitting to spare the humiliation of such a moment of weakness.

Out of the corner of his eye, Magnus saw Tessa leave the sofa she had been sitting on until now, and settle herself on the arm of the armchair he was currently occupying. The young woman put an arm around his shoulders and Magnus felt himself pulled against her before she slipped one of her hands into his hair.

Sometimes he forgot what a mother Tessa was.

And despite himself, Magnus gave in to this surge of tenderness.

"I know you want to read them. I know you think they were Alexander's last words to you. I also know that you want to remember these letters because you can't remember the last conversation you two had that morning. That's human, Magnus. But keep in mind that when it's done... All you can do is move on. And you and I both know that not only are you not ready to do that, but you don't want to. Just as I don’t want to move on after Will."

And Magnus wished she was wrong.

#my writing #malec fanfic #angst #angst with a happy ending #magnus bane #alexander lightwood #shadowhunters #the mortal instruments #fanfiction

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oriionours · 2 years ago

Text

Ghost of you Chapter two : Still can't sleep on your side

{Magnus goes through the seven stages of grief, finding it impossible to rebuild his life after Alexander's death.

We follow the fifteen years after Alec's death, and how Magnus feels about them, until he reads Alexander's letters.}

Magnus had always known this day would come. Sooner or later, fate was going to take Alexander away from him.

Because Alexander was a Nephilim, because he was a mortal being, because it was the story of Magnus' life.

But that didn't mean Magnus hadn't secretly wished it wasn't so, that the Angels would hear him and leave him his own a little longer.

Alexander wasn't supposed to disappear so quickly, to die so young. Thirty years was nothing, a speck of dust in the scale of time. But it had happened. Life wasn't a fairy tale, Nephilim died young, and Alexander had been no exception. It was unfortunately the fate of their lives, what they were destined to do, what they were born to do.

But that didn't mean Magnus had been prepared for it. You could never prepare yourself for the loss of a loved one. Anyone who claimed otherwise was lying.

The memories of that night were both very clear to the warlock, and at the same time so blurred. Alexander had gone out on patrol with Jace, a simple mission that served more to stretch his legs than to take the slightest risk. In the end, neither he nor Jace came back. To this day, Magnus tries to console himself by thinking that at least the two parabataïs had died together. But who was he trying to impress? It reassured no one, least of all himself. In the end, he had lost the love of his life and a friend, that evening.

There was nothing positive to take from it.

Nothing at all.

Worst of all, Magnus couldn't even remember the last words they'd exchanged. Was it a disagreement? Had Magnus tried to hold him back in the most seductive way? Had Alexander once again complained about Chairman's hair on his clothes before leaving? No, he couldn't remember. Magnus remembered nothing. He just hoped they hadn't had an argument. Tessa had assured him that they hadn't or he'd recall it as clear as day, but Magnus wasn't sure of anything now.

Magnus had not been able to attend the funeral. Isabelle had moved heaven and earth with the Clave to allow him to attend, at least the farewell ceremony. But warlocks were not allowed at Idris, and Magnus had been forced to say his goodbyes alone, faced with Alexander's meager remaining possessions. Well, not alone so to speak. Catarina, Tessa, Maia, Raphael and Ragnor had come to be by his side, but for him it was as if he was alone in the world.

It didn't take long for Tessa to make herself at home in their flat. Just as he had done for her after William's death a century earlier. It didn't matter that Jem was with her again, that they had started a family. Magnus had flatly refused to join them after Alexander's death, so she had come to him. Now he understood all the hatred she had felt towards him when he had imposed himself after Will's funeral. Magnus had hated her for the first few days. He would have preferred to be alone, to cry until every drop of water was gone from his body, to scream until he lost his voice, and to let himself go until perhaps he died of grief.

But even in death, he probably wouldn't reach the place where Alexander now rested.

Tessa hadn't let that happen.

Sweet, charming Tessa.

The brunette had arranged to move into his guest room, leaving her precious family behind for a few days, weeks or months. Magnus hated her as much as he cherished her. Jem was no longer a silent brother. Didn't she realise how much time she was wasting by coming to lend him a shoulder to cry on? Her husband would not last forever.

After that... The warlock had left his position in the community. But he had finally stopped moping to the point of never leaving his bed, and now he moped around their flat. Tessa, despite all his protests, had hidden all the pictures of Alexander. According to her, he wasn't ready to see them yet, so the only remnants that remained were his memories and the gallery on his mobile phone.

As Magnus had always promised, Alexander didn't end up in his memory box. He was far too important in his heart, in his life, for that. Magnus needed, day after day, to be able to feel the presence of his lover around him, otherwise even Tessa's goodwill would not allow him to put one foot in front of the other. It wasn't easy, especially as, apart from Alexander's personal belongings already in the flat, Magnus hadn't been able to get much back from the Clave. Apart from his bow and arrows.

And only because, technically, they already belonged to Magnus following their deal a few years earlier.

The bow now hangs proudly above the headboard of their bed, a timeless and indestructible relic. Magnus had started drinking again. Not that he'd ever stopped, but with Alexander at his side, things had improved. Now Tessa had to get the bottle out of his hands. She'd let him go so far once that she hadn't even offered to help him with the migraine he'd had the next day, just shaking her head as he passed out in the bathroom.

Magnus was no stranger to grief. Unfortunately, it was the price you had to pay if you weren't meant to die. He knew every stage like the back of his hand. Shock, denial, anger, depression, resignation, acceptance and finally, perhaps, reconstruction. This time, however, it seemed insurmountable. Because the pattern was nothing like what he had always known. With Tessa by his side, Magnus knew no denial. Alexander was gone, it was as simple as that. There was no longer his presence between his sheets, no longer his voice in the morning, no longer any of his things lying around the flat. He felt empty, quite simply empty.

For the first few days, Magnus had been unable to move anything. The cup of coffee Alexander had used in the early hours of the morning had been left on a corner of the kitchen bar, a strip of the lip gloss Magnus had been wearing that day still on the rim of the cup. It was Tessa who had cleaned everything up when she arrived; he had been unable to do so.

All in all, it took Magnus four months to set foot outside the apartment for the first time. There had been many arguments with Tessa, but as usual, she had won the battle. Oh, of course, they hadn't been out in New York. That was impossible for him, every street corner would remind him of Alexander. So they went to London for a while. It hadn't been fun for Magnus, but he'd managed. Living it now, he wondered how Tessa had coped with the loss of Will. And how would she cope with the loss of Jem when the time came? The woman was a true force of nature.

During those four months, Magnus had called his partner's mobile phone every night, just to hear his voice one last time on the voice mail.

Exactly 182 days after Alexander's death, his phone line was cut off for good.

After a while, Tessa had to return to her family. Or at least Magnus had sent her back promptly. It had been almost a year now, and even if Tessa thought it was too quick, Magnus couldn't selfishly keep her close to him anymore. Besides, it wasn't as if he was alone. He had Catarina, Ragnor, Raphaël... He would have liked to be able to count Isabelle among his close circle, but since Alexander's disappearance, he had been unable to speak to her. Messages went unanswered, calls rang in vain. Simon, by extension, had also fallen by the wayside. As for Clary... Clarissa was no doubt coping with the loss of Jace just as badly as he was.

The first year without Tessa in their loft had been a disaster. As Alexander's birthday approached, Magnus had started to brood again. He cut himself off from everyone and everything again, until this time it was Ragnor who took matters into his own hands. In comparison, Tessa had been the most maternal of women. Ragnor hadn't taken the slightest precaution. He tore the bandage off, reminding him without the slightest compassion that Alexander wasn't coming back.

That Alexander wouldn't want to see him like this.

And that had been the biggest row they'd ever had in nearly a century. Magnus knew deep down that his friend was right, but he wasn't ready to hear it, to see it.

Following this argument, Catarina came to see him three days later, and after a long discussion and many tears, Magnus agreed to accept her help. Together they began sorting Alexander's belongings into boxes. The young woman tried to talk some sense into him, and to put the boxes away outside the loft, but Magnus couldn't bring himself to do it. They were now sealed and carefully stored in the depths of his dressing room.

Catarina had then given him the letters Alexander had written. Here again, an argument had broken out with one of his closest friends. Why hadn't she given him these letters earlier? They were Alexander's last words. Magnus had every right to possess them, to read them. And yet, once he had them in his hands, he found himself unable to open them, let alone read them. Magnus wasn't stupid. These were goodbye letters, and nothing in them would do him any good.

And to know that Alexander had gone so far as to write a letter to the person he thought would one day take his place... Magnus didn't take it well. In his eyes, it seemed impossible to rebuild a relationship after Alexander. For this simple gesture, he had been angry with the late man.

Altogether, it took Magnus four years to start working again. He did not resume his position as High Warlock, he felt incapable of doing so. But slowly, day by day, he took on a few more clients. It wasn't very complicated work. A few potions here and there, a summoning or two when he was feeling a little better than the day before, and numerous protective charms for his most demanding customers. In this way, he felt as if he had rediscovered a sense of purpose and usefulness. Hardly a day went by without Magnus thinking about Alexander in one way or another, but the next day always seemed less unbearable than the one before.

When fifth year arrived, and after the very first night he spent without shedding a tear at the thought of Alexander, Magnus got back in touch with Isabelle. At first, his stomach churned with fear that the fiery young woman would reproach him for his absence, but he was surprised when she offered him only a simple embrace and a pinched smile. It was an emotional smile, a smile that said "I understand".

That day, over a coffee, they hadn't talked about Alexander.

Magnus told her about his new daily routine, about his customers, about the problems he had recently encountered with one demon who was more recalcitrant than another. Isabelle told him about the many changes at the Institute, Clary's progress and Simon's life. By extension, they didn't talk about Jace either.

Perhaps this was the beginning of the denial he had been unable to achieve with Tessa by his side.

The second stage of mourning after perhaps five years of shock.

After this encounter, meetings with the young woman became rare. Despite his best efforts, Magnus couldn't help noticing the similarity to Alexander in Isabelle's features. If it wasn't for the colour of her eyes, the warlock could easily make a comparison with his former lover. They were almost carbon copies. Nevertheless, Magnus made sure to keep in touch this time. Messages, regular calls. It was easier not to redraw the contours of Alexander's face if all he heard was a voice on the other end of the line.

That same year, Magnus fell off the wagon again. Like a drowning man struggling in the middle of a storm, he had kept his head above water for just over a year, before feeling submerged again. He'd thought he was ready, he'd thought it would be a genuinely good idea to keep some semblance of closeness with the Lightwoods. But when he had accepted Maryse's invitation to spend Christmas with them, it was Alexander's glaring absence that had echoed his despair.

When he returned from that dinner, Magnus had emptied his liquor cabinet.

He hadn't drunk anything, no. Out of rage, he had destroyed everything. Anger had devoured him from the inside. Against whom, against what, Magnus didn't know. The Angels for ordering the recall of one of their own, the universe for deciding that this fateful day would be Alexander's last, his father for his own birth which condemned him to live with this pain for eternity. Against himself, for not trying hard enough to hold him back that morning. And finally, against Alexander himself for leaving him behind.

Everything had passed under the destructive power of his magic. Magnus had ensured that his entire flat was ravaged by the spreading flames of his rage. Once again, Catarina had been forced to intervene, alerted by the Institute after it had triggered all the protection alarms in the area.

Then the depression came, stronger than anything he had ever known after the first few months without Alexander by his side. It was his silence that had alerted those closest to him. Messages had gone unanswered, scheduled appointments with his clients had not been honored and his own magic had refused to let anyone past his barriers.

Not even Tessa.

This went on for another two years. Two years during which Magnus barely left his flat, two years during which no one was able to speak to him. The only way his friends and family could know he was still alive was by being rejected by Magnus' barriers.

Never before had the warlock experienced such pain, not even when he had nearly thrown himself into the Thames.

Without Alexander, he didn't even have the strength to think about dropping into the East River.

So it was after two long years that Magnus resigned himself. A new stage in his insurmountable grief. One fine morning, when he had not left his sheets for days, he called Raphaël.

Why him, why the youngest of all those he considered part of his family? Who knows? Probably because he was in the best position to understand him in a way, since the vampire had himself suffered the loss of Rosa Santiago a few years earlier.

His little sister had been the last member of his family, of his former life, still alive after all.

Raphael was gentler than he had expected. He made no comment whatsoever on his condition. The man he had considered his son for almost a century simply helped him to his feet, then slipped him under the hot spray of his shower. It had been terribly humiliating.

When Magnus had left his bathroom, Raphaël had cleaned the entire flat, no doubt with the use of his vampiric speed. The smell of despair still lingered, but appearances were safe. After that, Raphaël sat him down at the table in the living room, and Magnus knew at that moment what was waiting for him.

He had prepared for it, after all.

It hadn't been without tears, it hadn't been without a scream. But for the first time in seven years, Magnus had been able to admit out loud, from his own mouth, that Alexander wasn't coming back.

That he was no longer with him.

Raphaël then took him in his arms, and that lasted as long as it took Magnus to accept that it was time to leave. Staying here, in this flat where every nook and cranny reminded him of a moment spent with his lover, would never allow him to move on. Not that Magnus would ever think himself capable of it, but Alexander deserved at least an attempt.

So Magnus left, this time for good. He settled in Los Angeles for good. Distance had never been a problem for warlocks. The portals allowed them to travel as they pleased. But knowing that he was physically close to Tessa reassured him in a way. Catarina couldn't quit her job at the hospital with a snap of her fingers, Raphaël had to lead his clan, and London brought back too many painful memories for Magnus to agree to stay there permanently with Ragnor.

So Tessa was the best solution.

In this new flat, Magnus kept only a few pieces of furniture previously found in New York, and Alexander's bow which remained above his headboard. He knew he needed something new to try and move forward.

This was the beginning of resignation.

Magnus couldn't spend the rest of eternity pretending that he could live as he had before.

#my writing #malec fanfic #angst #angst with a happy ending #magnus bane #alexander lightwood #shadowhunters #the mortal instruments #fanfiction

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oriionours · 2 years ago

Text

Ghost of you Chapter one : Here I'm waking up

{Alexander realizes that he is going to die, he cannot leave thinking that Magnus will be left alone afterwards despite what Magnus seems to think.

Magnus has a big, pure heart, which needs to love and to be loved, so Alexander writes two letters, one to Magnus, the other to the future person who will replace him one day.}

He would eventually die.

Alexander Gideon Lightwood was going to die sooner or later.

It was a fact that no one could deny. He was a Nephilim, a mortal being whose life was constantly in danger because of his activity as a Shadowhunter. He was destined to end his days in the City of Bones, his ashes protecting the generations to come.

Until now, it was an idea that Alexander had always been at peace with. He had been brought up that way, it was an inevitable, unchangeable cycle. Of course, there were potential ways to thwart death. Becoming a vampire was one of those options, but it had never suited him. Alec couldn't watch his family, his friends, Jace die while he was left to live a more or less peaceful life alongside Magnus.

That didn't mean he didn't love Magnus unconditionally, that he didn't wish, deep down, to spend eternity at his side. But Alexander remained realistic, he would be unhappy. The idea that love overcomes everything else was a cliché that even Magnus didn't believe in. His boyfriend had never offered to spend the rest of his infinite days with him.

Of course, they had had this conversation many times, and Alexander had wondered about it at length. But no, he didn't feel he could do it. To see his family grow old, to have children, to die, to see those same children grow up and grow old and then die again and again was unthinkable for him. Max's death was still etched in his mind, and time would not heal this gaping wound. So would he extend it to all of his loved ones? No. No, he couldn't.

Magnus agreed with him. Being immortal himself, his partner understood better than anyone the weight of this burden. Not even once did he try to make Alexander reconsider. Both knew, deep down, that the Nephilim's demise was inevitable.

So yes, Alexander was going to die at some point.

Nevertheless, the Nephilim had not expected reality to strike him so soon. He had thought watching the wrinkles as the first traces of the passing of time, or even fearing a mission more important than another that would eventually strike him, but no. It had been his own reflection in the mirror, at the dawn of his thirties. There he was, masked under his thick brown curls, a white hair. It was not a big deal, Alexander felt good, he was still so young. But the pressure of his position as Head of the Institute, the problems of dealing with the Council, the endless obligations, the constant stress had obviously taken its toll on his body.

He had stood there for many minutes, staring at his reflection in the mirror, not knowing what to think or do. For some people, the appearance of a white hair was a real upheaval, a shattering of youth, the beginning of the prime of life. They tried to make the most of what's left of their lives, knowing that time doesn't wait for anyone. For others, it was a sign of rejoicing, the proof of an apparent wisdom, duly acquired by the passing of time, the natural cycle of life. And then there was the majority, the ones who noticed it, and then moved on, as if nothing had happened.

But for Alexander, the discovery of that single white hair meant none of that. His first thought was not the passing time, it was not panic, it was not fear, sadness or ecstasy.

No.

It was Magnus.

Alexander was aging. It was nothing, almost thirty years. But it was already a white hair, a grain of sand in the hourglass of his short existence. One day or another, he would die. And even if he was at peace with that idea, was Magnus? That was the only subject they never discussed together. Alec and Magnus often talked about how the warlock would be with him every step of the way, from his first wrinkles to his last breath. But they never talked about the aftermath, about what his companion's life would be like after his death. Yet, it wasn't for lack of trying, but Magnus always found a way to avoid the conversation. He kept to himself, or hid behind the frivolous jokes that only he knew so well the art and the way of.

There, in front of the mirror in their bathroom, facing that white hair, Alexander understood.

It was plain to him.

When Alexander Gideon Lightwood disappeared, Magnus Bane would be left alone. And Alexander was suddenly struck with fear at the thought.

That morning, Magnus was away. A pressing matter at the Spiral Labyrinth that would probably take him another day or two. And Alec could never be more grateful now.

He had finally left the bathroom, after calling Isabelle to warn her that he would not be coming in today. A sick leave. His sister hadn't asked any questions. His brother resting was such a rare event, that she simply thought that Magnus had returned. And here he was, all alone, sitting across from Magnus' desk in his apothecary.

How long did this go on? How long did Alexander sit in that chair, staring into nothingness as a thousand questions raced through his mind? He didn't know, but when he became aware of his surroundings, through the window, he saw the full moon hanging over New York.

Magnus would be alone. Alexander was sure of it. Oh, sure, Magnus had a lot of friends. Some of them are more important than others. Catarina, Tessa, Ragnor, they'd be there for him when Alexander will be gone, but eventually, when Magnus walked back through the door of their apartment, no one will be there to wait for him, to wish him a good evening, to hug him, to love him.

Alexander, in his younger days, had long thought that the prospect of Magnus ever getting a new life after his death would drive him crazy, would seal the end of their relationship. Today, after finding out this white hair, he hoped only one thing: that Magnus would not remain alone too long.

"We, warlocks, are keen to forget ourselves. The more time passes, the more we grieve, the more our hearts calcify. You, Alexander Lightwood, blew away the chalk that was beginning to choke my heart."

That's what Magnus had said to him once, at the beginning of their relationship, when the whole thing with Valentine and Sebastian had finally stopped, when they had finally been able to start something solid, something healthy. What would happen when he was no longer with him? Would his heart calcify for good this time?

This thought terrified him.

Alexander didn't know if his next move had been driven by pure impulse, but his hands began to rummage through Magnus' desk until he got his hands on some paper and one of his companion's old quills. Alec had always scoffed at this old-fashioned habit when ballpoint pens existed, but strangely enough, the idea of writing with ink and quill seemed more personal, more... pure. There was something ancient, timeless about reading handwritten lines with imperfect ink stains and smudgy, imprecise letters. Magnus always managed to write so delicately, so precisely, Alec knew in advance that his own handwriting would probably look messy. But he hoped, in his heart, that it would only make it more real.

Facing this piece of paper, Alexander held his breath. His quill in hand, a drop of ink stained the desk, slipping from the point he was holding awkwardly. What exactly was he supposed to write? He hadn't thought about it. It had been an impulsive gesture, a visceral need to leave a trace, not just something Magnus would one day find in his box. Alec had come to understand that it would never fit inside, but it didn't matter. A letter was an intimate token. Magnus would undoubtedly read it again and again, even though in the digital era, there would be a thousand and one ways for him to remember exactly who the Nephilim was, his eyes, the sound of his voice, all the little details.

With a trembling hand and a hesitant gesture, the quill touched the paper.

Magnus,

No. No it wasn't right, it wasn't appropriate. Magnus was not just Magnus. He was so much more than that, and if this letter had to be he last thing, the last Alexander's belonging Magnus would hold, Alexander couldn't possibly start with a simple "Magnus."

So he crossed out his first word, then after a moment's hesitation, rolled the paper into a ball to start again on a pristine parchment.

My Love,

It was more intimate, softer, full of the tenderness Alexander rarely offered in person. The Nephilim had always been better off with his gestures, less with words. It was Magnus who mastered them. Alexander was much more gifted for small attentions, gestures, kisses, rather than long romantic speeches.

Alexander tried for a long time not to think about the fact that what he was about to write would be the last words he would ever give to Magnus. Doing that now, when he was still so far from death (at least he hoped so), looked so weird. But he had to be honest, Alec knew he could die at any moment. On the battlefield, from an accident, anything could happen that he could not foresee. Shadowhunters were supposed to die young more often than not, after all. He just hoped that Magnus would receive this letter as late as possible.

Taking a deep breath, Alexander took a second to compose himself, then wrote. He wrote as if he would run out of time, as if he would need it to survive, to breathe, to make sure that Magnus would not be completely alone the day he would no longer be there to accompany him through his long sleepless nights.

My Love,

I can't imagine for a second the pain you must be feeling right now. Or maybe you waited until you got better to finally open it? I don't know, but all that matters to me is that you realize all the things I've never had time to tell you in person.

I don't think I'll ever forget the first time our eyes met at that stupid party in this very loft we now live in. Again, it was all Fray's fault, but if I had to thank her for one thing and one thing only, it would be for putting you on my path. It wasn't the right time, I wasn't ready to meet you, to accept myself, but somehow I think I could never have been prepared to meet someone as amazing as you. You are the most wonderful person I have ever met, Magnus, and I am deeply grateful for every moment we have shared together.

I can't tell you that I wish it would have lasted forever, we both know that it would be a lie. But I can assure you that I wish it had lasted longer.

I don't really know what I could ask you to remember, I would like you not to forget any detail of our history, but I also know that it would be deeply selfish of me. You can't possibly remember every little thing, every moment in the course of your life. It would drive you crazy. No, I want you to remember that I would have changed the world for you, that in a way we changed my world. Together, above all odds, make a place for ourselves in the Clave, make a place for you, and all the other Downworlders. We've come so far together Magnus, I can't be prouder, I can't thank Raziel enough for putting you on my way.

Every day with you by my side has been a blessing. I can already see you scrunching up your adorable nose, and I know it wasn't always perfect, but it was enough for us. You gave me more than I could have ever dreamed of, a happiness that I had given up far too early in my short teenage life. You made me a better, a complete, and a happy man. A Nephilim loves only once in a lifetime, and you were the one for me.

And now, I beg you, Magnus, I beg you to keep loving. Don't let my absence extinguish the flame of your heart. I am not asking you to do this now, take the time you need to heal from my absence. But allow love to guide your steps to fill the gaps left by my departure. You are an extraordinary soul, and whoever takes my place one day will realize how lucky they are to share your arms, your mind and your heart. Find the strength within yourself to live fully, to embrace each new dawn with the hope of renewed love. Never give up on love, because it is the thread that binds our lives together. You taught me that.

I know that unfortunately the day will come when you won't remember the exact blue of my eyes, that you will have to look at a photo of us, of me, to remember it fully. I know that one day you won't recognize my scent anymore, that you won't remember the precise tone of my voice. At this moment, it must seem unbearable to you. But when that day comes, you will be ready. You will be able to move on, to open yourself to other arms that will not be mine. And that is all I wish for you, Magnus.

Selfishly, I also ask you to never forget our history. Treasure our most vivid memories, and our passionate embraces in the sanctuary of your mind. Let them inspire you, remind you how beautiful we were together. Don't be afraid to remember the most intense moments, the joys and sorrows we shared. It is through these memories that my mind will live on, and it is through them that you will eventually smile and remember that life is worth living to the fullest.

Lastly, I want to thank you, from the depths of my soul, for everything you gave me. You gave me a life filled with magic and love, an existence where I felt truly alive. You taught me to embrace who I was at my core, to accept the darker aspects of my heritage, and to find the balance between light and darkness. You showed me that love has no limits, no boundaries, and that it can transcend all barriers. I don't know at this point if I could break down all of them, if I have really been able to change the course of history, but if not, I believe in you to do it with the future generations of Nephilims.

Magnus, my love, it is time for me to say goodbye. Know that my love for you will never die out, no matter where I am. It will burn like a star in the night sky, watching over you and protecting you for a lifetime, your lifetime. I never believed in all this before, but now I know for sure. I will not leave you, even if you no longer see me. I am proud of the love we have shared, of the history we have written together, I am proud to have loved you. I wish with all my heart that you will find again the happiness that we had tasted, that you will love again with the same intensity we enjoyed. And maybe this time, that person will be able to not abandon you as I am forced to do.

Live your life to the fullest, Magnus, and always remember that you are a force of light in a dark world.

With all my love,

Alexander Gideon Lightwood (Bane).

A few tears had stained the paper, making some of the words illegible, and Alexander wondered for a moment if he should rewrite it. But in all honesty, he didn't feel able to. His heart was pounding in his chest, he suddenly felt like he was suffocating. Had he really written a farewell letter? What was the point? He didn't feel better, he just felt worse than before.

But on the other hand …

It was almost reassuring to know that he would leave something for Magnus, that their last words would not be a futile argument, a simple good morning kiss on the fly, no matter what happened and no matter when he took his last breath, his last words would be those.

Alexander let himself fall back against the back of the chair, and put down the quill with a weary and trembling movement. He suddenly felt drained of all emotion. His eyes became vague, and he contemplated his companion's desk. The scents, the so fresh atmosphere which reigned there permanently. This room seemed frozen in time, but was it really? Would it still be the same in a few decades? And him, would he be unchanging in Magnus' mind? No. Alexander couldn't let himself spiral such thoughts. It was selfish, and stupidly painful.

But he couldn't help. He wished Magnus to find love again, to live life to the fullest, but would this person be able to do as well as he did? Alexander was not perfect, far from it. But he was certain of one thing: he loved Magnus, and he loved him the right way. How was he supposed to ensure that the person who came after him would do the same? Would they understand Magnus the way he understood him? Would they know how to read his moods and act accordingly? Would they be able to tell the difference between when he was drinking for the sake of a drink, or when he was trying to intoxicate his demons? Would they know how to intervene when he locked himself in the office for too long, losing track of time because he was too busy in exploiting one of his new theories?

Would he feel loved enough?

This simple idea twisted his stomach. Alexander could not imagine a world in which Magnus would not be treated with the preciousness, the respect, he deserved.

Before he knew what he was doing, Alexander gently pushed back the newly blackened parchment and picked up his quill again. With an angry motion, he wiped his eyes, then dipped the quill into the ink again.

To you whom I will never have the displeasure of meeting,

I want you to know that I have never hated anyone like I hate you right now. I know it's not fair, I know we don't know each other. And if Magnus chose you, it's probably because you're worth it, because you're a good person. So please forgive my misbehavior.

I guess if you are reading this letter, it means that Magnus had the strength to move on, to love again and to let a new person into his heart. For that I can only thank you, but I would like to give you some advice on how to love him properly. Don't see any plan here, any steps to follow. Just what I've learned during the many years I've been with him.

Magnus is an amazing, exciting and passionate person. I don't know if you are a Downworlder, a Nephilim or a Mundane. But you have to understand that he lived a hundred lives before you did, you are not the only person on his timeline, and while I sincerely hope for his sake that you will be the last, you have to remember that he has a past. Some periods have been joyful, others more painful. Don't make the same mistake I did, don't pressure him to give himself up to you. Magnus always seems to be a very open person, but deep down he has a lot of secrets. Give him time to reveal them to you one by one, think of it as a treasure hunt. I promise you it will be worth it.

Speaking of passion, you may have already realized that Magnus is a researcher, we call that a scientist in Mundanes? Something like that. Don't try to restrain him. You'll only add fuel to the fire, you'll only make him close in on himself. Take the time to listen to him, even if you don't understand everything, even if he's rambling, listen to him. He's spent too much time around people who wouldn't listen to a word coming from his mouth. If he stops by himself thinking he's being annoying, don’t let him do that. Push him to keep going no matter what. Sometimes he'll lock himself in his office all day. Don't try to get him out. Just remind him to come in for a bite to eat, take care of him when he forgets to do so.

By the way, his favorite dish is Soto. You will never be able to prepare it like his mother did, but suggest it to him on his darkest nights, it will make him feel better.

Magnus will never keep you from his office, he'll even be happy to know you're interested in his stuff, but take care. Some of his artifacts are as old as the world we know, others come from other realms. They have immeasurable power. If you were to hurt yourself with one of them, Magnus would blame himself. So handle them with care. But maybe you already know what I'm saying if you're lucky enough to be a warlock yourself.

You've probably noticed, but Magnus has a special kind of humor. He's sharp, sarcastic, please don't take it to heart. Magnus has suffered from his previous relationships, including the one we shared. He has a tendency to hide behind a smile that may seem bright to you, but remember it's just a facade. Learn to go over it, to read through it and everything will be fine.

Finally, remind him that he is loved, constantly. No one has ever told him this enough, including me. Words have such a rare power, as much as actions. So never hesitate to remind him how precious he is to those who love him, to you. Maybe you'll read this letter too early, maybe you're just at the beginning of a relationship. Don't be afraid. Go for it, it will be the greatest adventure of your life, because there is no greater honor than to be loved by Magnus Bane.

I would like to finish, however, by telling you that no matter how much time has passed since my death, no matter how long you stay by his side, you will not replace me. Just as I never replaced any of his former lovers, you will not replace any of them. Magnus loves unconditionally. There is a place in his heart for all of us, even the most monstrous ones. Don't try to restrain him when he brings up a memory of our relationship, of someone else. You will only drive it away from you. Allow him to remember, to share with you. Because in the end, that's all I am now: a memory.

I wish you both a lot of happiness. He deserves it, and I'm sure you do too, although we'll never meet. Thank you for taking care of him, thank you for loving him when I can no longer do so on a daily basis. No matter what happens, or who you are, I will look out for him, and for you.

With all my love and blessings,

Alec Lightwood

When Magnus returned a few days later, it was at Catarina's side. And after a few embraces, Alexander found the first opportunity to give his letters to the young woman with a significant look. Catarina questioned him with her gaze, but when her eyes rested on the two envelopes, she understood. No words were exchanged about it, nothing more than a game of heavy meaning eyes filled with sadness, love and affection. All of this disappeared the moment Mangus came back into the room with a glass in his hand.

Alexander Gideon Lightwood had always known that he would die, sooner or later. Nevertheless, he never imagined that he would leave so soon, only a few months after writing these letters, at the dawn of his thirties.

#my writing #malec fanfic #angst #angst with a happy ending #magnus bane #alexander lightwood #shadowhunters #the mortal instruments #fanfiction

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