Bloodlines: An Alec and Magnus (Malec) Fanfiction

Chapter 23

It's been a really long time since Magnus and I fought properly in battle together. We fought Sebastian, but not really together, and everything was all so complicated between us then. In the war against the faeries, we were cursed so we couldn't be near one another, so we were fighting separately. In both battles, things went badly, and I'm in no doubt that the fact that the two of us weren't fighting as a unit was at least partly the reason why. But now, when it counts, I'm worried. We haven't battled beside one another like this in a long, long time. Will we remember one another's tactics and rhythms? Will we be able to work together so seamlessly ever again? I wonder about whether or not we should put one of Clary's binding runes to make us more united, but it feels like cheating. Because, really, if the two of us - the person closest to me in the entire world - can't fight as a unit, a rune isn't going to do much. But then I remember that first date, when we fought a rogue werewolf. I'd never fought beside Magnus before in my life, and I'd never fought without Isabelle and Jace. The night had been stressful enough, and I was practically shaking with all the nervous energy that was mounting and mounting. But then, just like that, Magnus and I fell into our rhythm, fell into our unity. If we could find that feeling as two virtual strangers, we can certainly find it now.
"Alec, arrow." Magnus says, and I notch one from over my shoulder.
"Horizon, to your left." I supply and in my peripheral vision, I see him nod.
"So, do we wait for them to attack, or do we infiltrate their base?" I ask.
"Wait." Tessa says, at my shoulder. "Cadair Idris is a total labyrinth."

Close to her side is Jem, hand curled easily around his sword, as though it is second nature. Silent Brothers don't often fight, but thank the Angel we found the one Brother who actually seems proficient in battle. Tessa seems equally comfortable with her own blade and I note, as Isabelle glances across, that my sister seems to have a level of admiration for Tessa she has for few other people. I suppose it's a rolemodel thing; strong, beautiful, intelligent Tessa as an example to Izzy - proof she can be all of those things too. And, of course, she already is.
'Well,' Jem's voice echoes, with eerie omnipresence. 'I don't think we'll be waiting for too long.'
And sure enough, on the jagged rock horizon of Cadair Idris, a swarm begins to descend.
"Forest fortuna adiuvat." I say to Magnus quietly.
"Huh?"
"'Fortune favours the brave'." I explain. "And you tell me to brush up on my Latin."

"Now," Jace says, appearing beside us. "While they're negotiating the valley, I want to get the others into formation. Attack whilst they're at their weakest, but block your heads because they have the height advantage. Stay in small groups. All of us together is too big a target, but it's too risky to be alone on a battlefield like this."
Though it's an unusual move for parabatai - though our skin no longer bears the marks, I still think of Jace as my parabatai - Jace and I split off to opposite sides of the perimeter. I watch him go anxiously, but I'm comforted by the fact that I've always been able to tell if Jace is sick or hurt, even before we had the parabatai ceremony. If he's injured in battle, I'll be able to tell and I'll be able to go and find him instantly. I'd never abandon him. I've been worried that since I moved in with Magnus Jace and I have grown apart, but when he casts me a look back, I know it isn't true. His eyes are confident, but they tell me that he's only a shout away if I need him. I nod, and know he understands it's reciprocal.
He takes Clary at his side, and Simon and Izzy diverge to the back to press forward our group.
"Ready?" Magnus asks quietly, slipping behind me.
"Ready."
Then we fall into our usual formation as easily as anything. It's as natural as breathing. More so, since I don't even do that anymore. But this? This is right. This is how I - we - are meant to work. Together.

We push to the front as Tessa and Jem cover the opposite side to Simon and Izzy, so our group forms an enclosing box to try and protect and navigate the rest of our troops. As Sebastian's troops descend, my confidence remains unshaken. They're half cavalry and their horses aren't taking well to the steep, rocky decline. Many soldiers' horses are spooking and other warriors are simply dismounting and abandoning their horses.
Familiar webs of bioluminescent fibre envelop me, forming a thread-thin cage around my body. However, despite its delicacy, it's deceptively strong. I pull up short, feeling Magnus bump into the back of me inelegantly.
"What?"
"Stop our group." I say.
We're almost at the foot of the slope and we want some flat ground to fight on. In my peripheral vision, I see Magnus summon sparks and draw one magic-clouded hand across his mouth.
"Stop." Magnus booms, some spell on him to amplify his words. He sounds particularly intimidating, not only because of the volume; he's adopted his 'High Warlock voice', substantially more weighted, dramatic and theatrical than his normal voice. "Don't advance any further until attacked."
Then he draws his hand the opposite way across his lips and his voice returns to normal volume.
"That should do it, I would say." He nods, and I can't help but smile.

We're plunged into the midst of the battle, the rain making our blades slippery in our hands. It's a good job our warriors are stoic because it would be easy to give up due to the weather. However, some of our group - especially those from warmer climates - seem to be suffering. Suddenly, a scream pierces the air, and I whip to the side, searching for the source.
"Magnus, front." I say, and the sparks before me drop, falling to earth and dissipating before they hit the ground.
I move towards the scream and stop at the sight before me; Alyssa stands facing three faerie knights, heaving a wood-handled axe at her opponents, the axe blade made of adamas. She slices the head clean off one of them, cutting between the neck of their breastplate and bottom of their helmet. However, as the others close around her, she's powerless to defend herself. She's only fifteen or so, and shouldn't really be here fighting in the first place because she isn't of age yet. But I have to admit, she's holding her ground remarkably. The only reason I step in is because she looks like she might be in trouble, not because I in any way doubting her ability. But we can't afford to lose such a promising warrior.

I launch an arrow between the shoulder blades of the unarmoured faerie and Magnus sends the armoured one to the floor with a click of his fingers and a flash of blue. Alyssa looks up, eyes wide, axe raised. She heaves a relieved sigh and lowers her weapon when she sees it's just me.
"Oh, Mr Lightwood! It's you. Thank you."
"No problem. You were fighting brilliantly. I'll leave you to it." I say, not even bothering to correct her in her formality in greeting me.
"Alyssa! Want to partner up with me? I could really use your help?" Mark Blackthorn offers and she nods numbly. He walks over and smiles at her.
I can tell they'll be a fantastic duo, with Alyssa's battle prowess and Mark's strategic mind, despite the youth of them both. They're younger than most of the people here - on both sides of the battle - tonight. But in the dimming light, with their hair plastered to their heads and raindrops clinging to their eyelashes, they look far older and more experienced than their age. It just goes to show, I suppose, that almost everything is arbitrary. Male or female, young or old, shadowhunter or downworlder, and anything else; it's about what you can do, how much you want it, how much you care. Not about things as redundant as gender or status.
"Thank you, Mr Lightwood and..." Alyssa pauses and looks to Magnus.
"Magnus Bane." He replies.
"Mr Bane." She nods, and the two shadowhunters dart back into the fray.

The light is fading fast, our scene illuminated only by the shadowhunters' seraph blades and the scattered glow of warlocks' sparks: Magnus, blue; Catarina, cobalt; Malcolm, purple; and me, green. It strikes me as strange, the juxtaposition and irony of the fact that our scene is lit only by two lights; the angelic, and the demonic. And now, as the fight beside one another and need any source of brightness we can get our hands on, there's no real difference between the two. In the cloaked anonymity of night, with all of us fighting, we're all the same. All warriors. Anyone who ever spat 'warlock' at me, like it was synonymous with a curse word, is in the exact same situation as me right now. There's no hierarchy, no status, only war. And I'm proud to be fighting beside so many warriors with so much bravery and integrity. All the same, all equal, all warriors in a war that's beginning to feel able to win.
A voice calls me then, yanking my thoughts from this idea.
"Alec! Behind you!"
In one fluid movement, Magnus and I both spin and come almost toe-to-toe with a faerie knight. I dart my blade forward, Magnus holding the woman in place in a chokehold of sparks. I feel almost bad as she goes limp in the magical grip and her eyes roll back. She drops to the wet, muddy ground with a thump of finality. Then I notice the jagged slash along my gear jacket sleeve, where her blade sliced through fabric, missing skin by a hair. It's at that point I stop feeling bad, when I see what a near miss it was.