#weightofworlds

With the very last of his strength Alec sends the fire message. It’s barely gone before his whole body shudders and he loses consciousness. Magnus’ entire body feels numb, but for a second he takes comfort in the fact that he’s breathing. 

Until that too comes to a stuttering stop.

“Alexander, no, no, no.”

His hands flutter over his chest. Is there any safe way to keep his heart beating? With the arrow stabbed into him this way? Magnus doesn’t know.

“Cat, please, please, hurry.”

The fire message had to have gotten to her. It had to. 

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        the warlock kneels beside yet another injured knight,  a seemingly never-ending roll of bandages his constant companion as he makes his rounds around the camp.  these were all wounds he could treat  (  or at least offer some relief  ),  no matter how much the men complained.  they were LUCKY to get away with a few cuts and bruises after the unexpected ambush that their party had walked into a few hours prior.  merlin had made sure to check for any signs of magic that could have possibly been involved in the attack but all injuries sustained seemed to be no more than one would expect from a usual skirmish.

        that was,  of course,  until his own wound seemed to prove a little troublesome.  numerous enchantments had not worked to close the cut in his side,  his hand coming away slick with blood  -  proving that the bandage he had placed on it along with the continued spells were ineffective in stopping the bleeding.  merlin had begun to suspect that a form of enchantment was used that repelled any healing magic  -  and his attacker KNEW just who to target.

        but before he allowed himself to worry any further on his own account,  there was one other person he had to tend to first.  one that refused to be seen to until the rest of his men were treated first.  washing his hands in a nearby stream to remove any evidence of his injury,  merlin finally approached arthur.  his satchel is dropped beside the man and he kneels down with a brief WINCE before it disappears into the usual exasperated expression he adopts when in presence of the king.

It was strange being in the London Institute. Not because it was new to him but because it wasn't anything like he remembered. There wasn't any of the technology that most of the institutes had, there wasn't he hustle and bustle of the city, and while it wasn't New York with Church, it also wasn't the London Institute he was used to seeing. If anything, it honestly felt like he was in a completely new world. And all of his thoughts were to getting back no matter the cost. The more time he spent there the harder it would be for him to leave. Jace figured the others were probably trying to figure out what happened and that he just needed to be patient. But home — Brooklyn was where he belonged. London was nothing more than an accident.

Sighing, he started to wander around the building, looking for anything that might actually give him an idea as to how he'd get back. While it was easy for him to avoid the children running amok, it wasn't easy to realise just how few shadowhunters were in this Institute. Was it just how things were? Or had Valentine's revolt forced the Clave's hands? Jace wasn't certain and wandering towards what he hoped was still the library. It wouldn't give him the answers that he was looking for but it would be something familiar. And maybe it would help him attempt to adjust to this time. His mind was thinking about home when he heard the noise coming from one of the other rooms. It wasn't something he normally did; allowing his thoughts to wander, but with his situation being what it was he could forgive himself this one time.

      Magnus was most likely late, he’d sent Catarina a text message saying he was headed over hours ago. Only to find himself taking a slow walk, his sunglasses taking most of the glare from the sun as his cat-eyes glint behind the darken rims. 

       He was far too restless, with too many variables unknown to him. Him! He always had an answer for everything & this experience in itself was nothing he had a console for. The reverse, yes, he could find a few words for any new downworlder that crossed his threshold, but this? This was a terrible joke no one should dare to tell.

Ember eyes resolutely stared away from Catarina as the older woman spoke-- Lectured him. ‘This is the fourth time in two weeks.’ He thought as she said the same exact words. It wasn’t like he could get away from her since his body currently refused to move, though he was sure if he REALLY pushed himself that he could get up but that’d just result in a whole new lecture.

@weightofworlds

He tried, Alec really did, and for a minute, it seemed like he would be able to grant Jace’s wish from before.  Death, the one thing the archer had been to selfish to grant Jace before.  He wanted to make it right, wanted to make sure that his parabatai wouldn’t feel the pain of taking anymore lives, even if it meant dealing with a missing piece of himself.  

He tried - he failed.  The owl was strong, of course he was and all it took was one wrong move for the demon to take control of the fight.  When the bones snapped in his hand, knocked the air out of his lungs, Alec knew the fight was over.  He had struggled with both hands operational.  He wouldn’t survive with one only.  It didn’t bother him to die.  Shadowhunters were raised with the idea that each mission could be their last, prepared to lay their lives down for the cause.  But not like this.  He didn’t want to die by the hand of his brother, didn’t want yet another death, his death on his parabatai’s conscious.