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I come not for fortune, nor for fame,
I seek not to add glory to an unknown name,
I did not come under the shadow of night,
I came by day to fight for what's right,
I shan't let fear, my monstrous foe,
Conquer my soul with threat and woe,
Here I have come and here I will stay,
And no amount of fear my determination can sway.
Joyce Brown
16 year old Freedom School student, Mississippi (1964)
“Magnus,” Aaron’s voice raises in frustration, “even you have to admit it’s unnerving to find a letter from the current Head of the New York Institute in the Circle’s archives!”
Magnus stares incredulously at the young werewolf. Aaron is newly turned, only part of the Downworld for a few years, but surely he’s not serious. Maia had only recently appointed Aaron to the inter-faction working group in charge of processing captured Circle documents, but Magnus had assumed, up until this moment at least, that Maia had appointed someone with at least a modicum of common sense.
“No, I don’t have to admit that,” Magnus says, speaking slowly and clearly. He enunciates each word as though he’s addressing a toddler. “First, that letter could be referencing literally anything. Second, did you somehow manage to miss the one enormous, gigantic, incredibly obvious, literal flashing neon sign of a counterpoint to your ridiculous notion that, what- Alec is secretly a Circle member?”
The sarcasm positively drips from Magnus’ words. “If you’ve managed to recently develop some form of temporary amnesia, then let me please remind you that the current Head of the New York Institute is my husband.”
Aaron ignores the warning flares of irritated magic sparking from Magnus’ hands, something few beings possessed of rational thought would dare to do, and doubles down on his argument. “Maybe he’s not Circle now, but you can’t deny this is his signature!”
Magnus takes in a breath, seconds away from losing his temper in a maelstrom of uncontrolled upset as he hasn’t felt in more decades than he can truly remember.
Magnus has seen his people brutally slaughtered without remorse, bodies torn apart and mutilated like so much trash, by nephilim bearing the Circle’s mark. For someone to conflate Alec, his husband, with those monstrous, genocidal scums of the nephilim species, Magnus is near frothing at the mouth in sheer, unbridled rage.
An incongruous snort comes from the archive’s door as Isaiah Brownfoot, Alec’s Deputy Head, strides in.
He looks to Magnus first. “Alec got caught up with an issue at the Institute and apologizes for not being able to come himself.”
Magnus nods, temper still skittering angrily at Aaron’s insinuations even as he breathes deeply before returning Isaiah’s greetings.
Alec was supposed to have dropped off the latest documents from a raid the previous evening at the joint archive facility, but he’d warned Magnus that morning he had two training patrols going out for the first time today and there would inevitably be a minor crisis of some kind he needed to deal with himself.
“Thank you, Isaiah.” Magnus pointedly keeps his gaze on his husband’s friend and mentor, ignoring Aaron simmering at his side over Magnus’ friendliness to the scarred nephilim.
Isaiah turns his gaze to the note clenched angrily in Aaron’s hands and the friendly smile he’d greeted Magnus with turns suddenly shark-like, far too many teeth showing for comfort.
Isaiah takes the note from the wolf’s hand, taking care not to cover the darkened imprint of the deflect rune next to Alec’s signature.
“The last time I saw this note,” Isaiah comments, his smile sharp-edged and grimly satisfied, “Alec had just pinned it to the chest of a dead Circle member.”
Magnus’ eyes widen. “What?”
He may have known there was an explanation for his husband’s signature being on a note in a Circle archive, but that was most certainly not the explanation he expected.
“Frankly, I’m curious how they got the blood off it.” Isaiah sounds remarkably unperturbed. “There was quite a bit as I recall.”
Magnus blinks and ignores the incredulous snarl from beside him. If Aaron continues testing Magnus’ temper with his casual surety that Alec’s signature here heralds ill tidings - if Aaron continues to imply Alec’s signature here means his husband belonged to Valentine - Aaron may soon find himself lacking possession of a tongue.
Technically, Magnus is only sworn to the protection of his own people and it’s not like taking Aaron’s tongue for slandering his husband would constitute permanent harm. Magnus would return it.
Eventually.
“Isaiah?” Magnus ends up prodding, gently requesting more detail to that mildly horrifying statement.
“Alec has been the Commander of the New York Institute since he was fourteen, Magnus,” Isaiah reminds him, “nearly an entire decade before he met and married you or began the Downworld Cabinet.”
Aaron frowns, opening his mouth and Magnus just knows he’s about to spout off some nonsense suggesting Alec was sympathetic to the Circle before their marriage. He honestly can’t help the crimson that bleeds into the magic still sparking periodically from his hands.
Aaron’s teeth click as he snaps his mouth shut, eyeing Magnus warily in the first bit of common sense he’s displayed since suggesting Magnus’ husband could possibly have been involved with Valentine.
Isaiah eyes the werewolf with displeasure as well, but doesn’t let it stop his explanation. “He was the eldest son and the acknowledged heir of two prominent, highly-ranked Circle members that were openly known to have recanted Valentine’s ideology in name only. When Robert and Maryse began leaving the Institute in his care, it became clear that he wasn’t relying on his bloodline alone and was going to be an immensely powerful member of the Clave in his own right.”
Isaiah glances down again at the note in his hands. “There’s a reason the Clave wasn’t able to avoid naming him as Head when they did. They fought doing it - Alec is the youngest Head in living memory and New York is the largest Institute in North America - but past a certain point, even they couldn’t deny him the title any longer.”
Magnus blinks, understanding dawning. “The Circle tried to recruit him,” he breathes.
“They did,” Isaiah acknowledges somberly. “They would have been foolish not to attempt it.”
Aaron draws in a breath as if to speak and Magnus doesn’t bother hiding his growing temper as he turns narrowed eyes to the unfortunate wolf. Aaron visibly reconsiders whatever foolish interjection he was planning to make and remains silent.
Isaiah waits for Magnus to focus back on him before continuing. “Maryse and Robert were too tarnished by the actions they’d been caught attempting,” and Magnus knows the damage wasn’t from what they’d been caught attempting, but that they’d been stupid enough to get caught at all, “but Alec?”
Isaiah takes in a deep breath. “If he’d stood behind the Circle in full support, the Institute would have turned with him. Even then Alec had already spilled too much blood in their defense for them to turn against him.” Isiah smiles bitterly. “And the Clave would have accepted a lot to ensure New York stayed under their thumb.”
Magnus can’t even imagine. For all Alec’s dislike towards mundane pleasantries and people in general, he’s one of the most intensely competent and politically shrewd leaders Magnus has ever worked with. He shudders to think of that mind and that loyalty turned towards Valentine.
“It took them two weeks to send one of their men to ambush Alec after his naming. He’d been separated from the rest of his patrol group when a Circle sympathizer in Ops fed them false data.” The bloodthirsty glint in Isaiah’s gaze leaves Magnus with no doubt that whatever foolish nephilim endangered Isaiah’s Head hadn’t made it past that night with their skin intact.
“No one knows what exactly Valentine offered when they tried to recruit him, but Alec made his response quite clear when he returned to the Institute with the body of the Circle member who had made the invitation. Field executions weren’t as common then as they were at the height of the First Rise, but they were certainly still legal.”
And Magnus can only imagine the absolute chaos that would have erupted when their young and much beloved Head returned, alone, to his Institute with a dead body slung over his shoulder.
“He dumped the Circle member on the steps and demanded that one of the watchmen bring him a sheaf of the parchment we use for legal documents - those that need to be preserved for the formal record.” Isaiah glances back down at the parchment in his hand, passing it back to Magnus. “This is what he wrote, though, as I said, I have no idea how they got all the blood off.”
Magnus wordlessly passes the note to Aaron, daring the werewolf to say anything further about his husband after having heard Isaiah’s explanation.
Consider this my answer.
In the Authority of Raziel,
Alexander G. Lightwood
429th Head of the New York Institute
“He pinned the note to the body with an adamas blade,” Isaiah finishes and Magnus sees Aaron almost unconsciously run his fingers over the jagged hole at the top of the parchment. “He left the body on the steps, walked into Operations and ordered every Shadowhunter in the Institute to report to the floor. Runners were sent to the barracks, patrols were recalled if they were close enough, and I still remember seeing Shadowhunters stumbling through half-dressed and armed to the teeth because Alec had never called the Institute together like that before.”
Magnus can barely imagine the sight his husband must have made.
“He stood there, blood still dripping from his blade, and coldly informed everyone present that any Circle sympathizers should consider tonight their only warning. If they ever again acted to the Circle’s benefit they would meet the same fate as the one who attempted to recruit him.”
Isaiah looks both proud and furious and Magnus knows how dangerous that stance was to take ten years ago, let alone for a newly installed Head still building their political base. Alec would have been guarded closely for months after that announcement, a poisoned cup or a silent blade in the dark both much easier for the Clave to swallow than the Head of the New York taking such an open stance against the Circle.
“Alec took his stele then and there and marked himself with a permanent deflect rune - exactly where Valentine branded his servants with the mark of his possession. Permanent runes can’t be marked over - his putting one there was a declaration that could never be taken back. Even more than that, he used the deflect rune.”
Isaiah looks at Aaron and Magnus expectantly, like they should know what that means, but Magnus, unusually, is lost. Isaiah must see that because he meets Magnus’ gaze and smiles softly, an aching pride for the son of his heart as he shares one of the formative events of Alec’s reign as Head.
“Using the deflect rune was a far higher statement than just a repudiation of the Circle - any other rune would have been significantly more palatable, at least in the politics of Alicante. The deflect rune has been a symbol for centuries, a subtle one of course - it still has its use in battle no matter one’s politics - but a symbol nevertheless for those who believe in equality between the Clave and the Downworld.”
Magnus takes in a sharp breath. That he had not known.
“Alec took that symbol and claimed it in front of his entire Institute, using it not to deflect attention from his views, but to make a bold declaration of them. He burned that symbol into the note too, made absolutely certain there was no way to misinterpret his meaning.”
Aaron’s fingers twist around the note and Magnus holds his hand out expectantly, not willing to let this precious piece of his husband’s past be damaged.
Alec has never told Magnus about that night, likely not wanting to focus on something he felt was the only action he could take in response to Valentine’s attempt at recruitment. But Magnus is proud, so enormously proud of the teenage Alec, one he knows was struggling to gain full control of an Institute that only a decade prior had been Valentine’s firmest stronghold.
Magnus knows that Alec didn’t change into who he is because of Magnus - Alec came into their relationship already believing in equality and peace between their peoples. Making that statement so boldly was an enormous risk, however, one that could so easily have resulted in his early death.
The parchment is crisp in his hands, and Magnus’ fingers trace over the intricate loops of Alec’s most formal signature. The thin slice over the heavily inked deflect rune is the precise width of the small hold-out blade Magnus knows so intimately from countless evenings carefully removing it from the small of Alexander’s back before bed.
“Alec left the body in front of the Institute that night - a warning and answer alike,” Isaiah murmurs, an old reminder of a war finally ended. “Told any sympathizers in the audience to either repent and swear anew to Raziel and our Covenant or to get their trash off his steps on their way out the door. There would be no tolerance of the middle ground, no quiet aid and succor, from New York.”
“Tolerance is the virtue of the man without convictions.”
-GK Chesterton