The Men Who Rule New York

Through The Eyes of A Hawke (wingfic) part 1

Warnings for description of severe injuries, child sacrifice.

Alec Lightwood was fifteen years old when he was thrown off a cliff for the clave.

He remembered being led up the trampled down path to his death. This was for the clave, they told him. The best and the brightest. It was an honour. He'd wished that the road had been more overgrown, didn't display the countless youths that had walked it over the centuries. They'd tied his hands together so he couldn't fight them, and tied a rope around his neck to act as a leash so he couldn't fly or run. It wasn't a completely clear path, there had been some brambles growing on the way like nature was trying to make him stumble away from what was coming. Fuck. Maybe he'd come back as a thistle or a nettle or something, doing his best to prevent others from going the way that he had. They'd dressed him in white because they had to stick to the stupid fucking cliches. He was about to die, he was allowed to swear in his mental narration of events. A linen shirt and trousers. He'd tripped over and dirtied one of the knees. And they'd led him like an animal to the precipice and they'd burned him and they'd beaten him and they'd broken his wing, only his right wing because they wanted it to hurt when he hit the ground, and when there was no chance he could fly anymore they'd runed him to stop him from having a heart attack halfway down and pushed him off the cliff.

The worst part about falling was how close it came to flying. The same feeling of unsupported freedom, the same adrenaline rush. The same thrill. His instinct was to enjoy the air rushing past his face, the sense of complete weightlessness because normally he could and he did. The only real difference was the pain lancing through his right side from his burned and twisted wing, and the sickening knowledge that he would hit the ground hard, never to rise again. The impact would be the end of him. His left wing struggled to slow his fall but it wasn't enough. Alec Lightwood was about to die and holy shit was he not ready for it. The cliff face rushed past him at a terrifying pace. He closed his eyes. Hopefully the wolves resident in the woods below would take his body before his family could find what was left of him. Izzy. God. Jace, who'd almost been his parabatai. He'd look after her. And Max, they could both watch out for his baby brother. Fifty meters up he remembered the basic physics he'd been taught back at home and spread himself out as best he could because maybe it would be enough, maybe he wouldn't have to die.

It was unclear whether the ground hit him or he hit the ground but either way, first there was pain and his vision filming red and then there was nothing.

He wasn't within his body anymore, like the fall had jolted his soul out of its container and now it was hovering untethered with nowhere particular to go. He - or the thing that used to be him - looked close to normal. That was ignoring the fact that his legs shouldn't have been at that angle and the fact that his skin had split in places, showing parts of him that should never be bared to the open air. He was presumably dead, though this wasn't quite how he'd imagined spending eternity. There was blood pooling below his head. Fuck. It wasn't the first time that that had been the only really appropriate reaction to his... death and it probably wouldn't be the last.

Voices echoed out from the forest and everything blurred brighter and brighter until he was forcibly slammed back into the destroyed body like he was putty that some cosmic hand had grabbed and forced back into a box which didn't quite fit, leaving parts bulging out and escaping from the containment. He couldn't open his eyes, was dimly aware that he was breathing rattling breaths into punctured and destroyed lungs. It felt like he was being burned alive. Everything was hot, the blood that was struggling its way around collapsing veins, the pain that flooded every part of his body. He couldn't think, couldn't move, couldn't see beyond a crimson void.

"They've sent down another one," a voice said. "Looks like it's a breather. Poor sod."

"This is normal, brother? Does the clave make a habit of letting children fall from the sky?" asked a new voice.

"I forget that you're still new here. It happens every so often. He'll be dead soon enough. We normally burn the bodies." The first speaker sounded not quite detached, more resigned. "Can't do much for them anyway, not after that kind of fall. Though, if that warlock finds us he'll probably give it a go."

More footsteps at the corner of his fading consciousness. "Stand back - stand back I said!"

"Speak of the devil."

A coolness rushed over him, beating back the heat. It reached up, tangling around his shoulders and the base of his wings before curling through his neck and into his head. It brought with it darkness. Finally, Alec thought, I can die.

He didn't die.

The daylight streaming in from the barn windows was bright enough to break through his closed eyes and he opened them to stare at the wooden ceiling above him. His body wasn't working, he could just about move his eyelids but not much else. Someone had come in, probably whoever had brought him here, some time after he'd woken up but they were standing somewhere outside of his line of sight and hadn't said a word. He was entirely exposed and vulnerable and not for the first time since he'd woken up, he wished that the fall had done what it was meant to do and killed him. This was his fault for trying to slow his fall. He'd tried to live and he'd get his wish, only he'd be unable to move or speak or cry, no longer a warrior but a prisoner inside a body which no longer fit him. This was the price of selfishness. If he'd been a better soldier, a better sacrifice, he'd have let himself die for the Clave.

Footsteps echoed out and he heard the creak of a door opening. "How is our fallen angel doing?"

"Well, he's awake. You sure you can heal that? You've got a limi-"

"Oh, dear friend. Have faith!"

A twig crunched as one of the two made their way towards Alec's prone body. A warlock, with horns sprouting from his head and magic crackling around his hands.

"This, my boy, will send you back to sleep. This may hurt and it is quite unnecessary - quite unnecessary, I say - for you to remain conscious through the process." His eyes met Alec's and he smiled. "I am Ragnor Fell, shadowhunter. I understand your fear, but you must understand this. Your body is broken from your fall, my magic is the only thing currently keeping the pain from spreading through your system and reaching your brain. I expended much - too much! - magic yesterday healing you. I have a limit, my wolffish friend is correct. A waste! It was inefficient and panicked. Fortunately it was enough to render you stable. Now I must begin the long process of finishing what I have started. It is time, more than time, for you to sleep."