Epilogue: Reborn in You

Alec squinted as he tried to see his own image in the full-length mirror and with shaking hands, hands that sometimes he had a hard time recognizing as his own, did up the buttons of his tunic.

"Did you forget your glasses again Alexander?" Magnus asked, and Alec saw his husband's reflection in the mirror, clear, sharp and young. Magnus was standing behind him, and his sleek black hair glittered in the sunshine coming through the window. Alec's eyes met Magnus' and Alec saw, not only love and warmth, but also compassion in those lovely cat eyes.

"I told you Magnus that I can manage without glasses," he replied sharply. He tried to imbue certainty and perhaps some indignation in his voice but couldn't quite manage it. His voice sounded foreign, hoarse somehow, and too quiet to be the voice of a respected Shadowhunter leader. He squinted again, trying to make up his features in the mirror, but all that the glass returned to him was a blurry tall and slim figure, and the silvery reflection of the sunlight in his almost completely white hair. "Darn it," he muttered under his breath, his voice now frustrated rather than outraged. He hated it when Magnus was right, which happened more and more often lately.

"You missed one," Magnus said with a faint mocking tone and then pointed to the first button, the one near the collar of Alec's shirt. "And why are you wearing white?" he asked.

Alec run shaking fingers down the front of his shirt, feeling for the button hole he had missed, until he reached the last one, the only one missing a button. Now he would have to undo and redo all them, he thought with deep frustration. "I know I missed one; you don't have to tell me," he said, and knew that he now sounded like a petulant child. "And, I wear white because I am in mourning, don't you remember?" He reached for his cane which hung from a peg by the side of the mirror, and leaning on it, turned and took a couple of steps towards the night table where his glasses laid. "I hate these darn things," he complained as he settled the glasses on his nose. "Shadowhunters are not supposed to have poor vision, we are supposed to be immune to things like blindness."

"Shadowhunters are not supposed to live as long as you either Alexander," Magnus replied and placed a steady hand on Alec's shoulder, the gentle, loving and youthful smile clearer now that Alec could see better. Magnus was beautiful, as beautiful as he had been when he and Alec married all those years ago, his hair as stylish and glittery as ever, his eyes shining in that way only the eyes of the young shine, his steadying hand strong and soft, as it had always been every time he touched Alec. For a fleeting moment, Alec wondered how come Magnus suddenly looked so young, but then realized he didn't care. He had loved Magnus at all ages.

"You are right," Alec replied and smiled, his hand reaching and resting atop Magnus' on his shoulder. "Shadowhunters are not supposed to live to be three hundred and eighty-two years old. I forget sometimes that I am a freak of nature."

At the end, neither Alec nor Magnus could predict the effect of the spell that Magus cast to protect Alec and his own powers from Annaliese Fen. Neither of them could have predicted that, in the same way that the spell that joined their life forces allowed Magnus to experience aging, it also allowed Alec to experience some of what immortality was like. The spell was unique and no one, no warlock and no Silent Brother, had been able to uncover all its mysteries. Neither had anyone been able to replicate its magic. What remained a certainty, however, was that, on account of the spell, aging had arrived slowly for Alec and Magnus, more slowly than anyone expected. The years and eventually the centuries had settled at a snail pace in Alec and Magnus' reflections in the mirror, in thin slivers of grey and silver, and faint and then no so faint furrows on their skin.

Alec still remembered the smile, a mixture of surprise and dismay, that rose to Magnus' lips when he saw the first gray hairs at his temples, and how much he contemplated whether he should color them or hide them with magic. Alec had been standing behind him, their eyes locked in their reflection, and when Magnus asked his opinion, Alec had hugged him from behind and Magnus had leaned against him, and he had told Magnus that he liked the grey, that it made him look respectable and handsome. They had been married almost a hundred years then, and Alec had already felt the weight of sorrow that came with a quasi-immortal life, the endless chain of loss and change that was part of a life than went on beyond what was expected or possible.

"That was a difficult time for us, wasn't it?" Magnus asked now as Alec redid the buttons on his bereavement tunic.

"Yes, it was," Alec replied. "You punished yourself for giving me this gift I never asked for."

"And you were mourning and didn't always know where to put all that grief," Magnus replied.

"So were you Magnus," Alec said, "we both lost so much that first century." Alec hadn't really understood what Magnus' immortal life was like until he experienced the loss and grief that came from losing so many of his loved ones. Overtaken by sorrow, he and Magnus had gone away for a few years and had sought refuge with Kat in a small village by the sea near the Atacama Desert. They had lived in a small house, no bigger than a cottage, and had gotten a dog with whom they run and played on the beach. Alec had left the Shadowhunters for a while, until a new demonic war brought them both back home and returned him to the ranks of the Nephilim.

"But we also had good times and good things, didn't we?"

"Yes, we did," Alec replied and smile wistfully. "Remember the lovely laughs of children that filled our home back then, the sound of small feet running up and down corridors, the endless mishaps as Iara and Madzie mastered their spells, and the constant search for Shinzō's stele? That boy would have lost his head if it hadn't been attached to his neck."

"Oh yes, I remember," replied Magnus. "And remember the endless teenage years? I never thought that it would be possible for a few years to feel like an eternity, especially with Christopher. If it hadn't been for the steady and calming influence of his parabatai, that boy would have ended up a delinquent."

"It wasn't just Shinzō's influence Magnus," Alec stated and looked at Magnus with loving and proud eyes. "That boy adored you and looked up to you his whole life. He was the one among our four children who had the hardest time dealing with his condition as an adopted child. He was so small when we rescued him from the ruins of the Santiago Institute after that nasty incident with those rogue vampires, so small when we brought him home, but he still felt the absence of his biological parents. You helped him, and he loved you unconditionally because of that. You were a good dad Magnus."

"And you were a good father Alexander."

"It was because we had each other," Alec added. "Through the good and the bad, through the loss and the rebuilding, through grief and joy, we had each other. I am sorry if I didn't tell you more often, but I never regretted you giving me the gift of a long life."

"Consul Lightwood?" came a voice from downstairs, the Idris accent clearly audible in a young man's voice.

"Why do people always confuse me with my father? Or is it my daughter they are confusing me with?" asked Alec under his breath.

"They are not confusing you with anyone old man," Magnus said. "You hold the title of Consul. In fact, you occupied the role twice, don't you remember?"

"Of course, I remember," Alec replied as he donned on his formal Shadowhunter jacket. "I wish I could forget it."

With slow steps, Alec made his way down the stairs and on the landing, he took a moment and glanced out the enormous window that provided natural light to the house. Through it he saw the crisp white peaks of the Idris mountains, and in the distance, the demon towers that for more than a thousand years had protected the glass city. Idris was beautiful this time of year, he thought, and was glad that, after three centuries of travelling and serving in Institutes all over the world, he and Magnus had chosen this part of the world to retire.

"It was a semi-retirement Alexander," Magnus said as he leaned against the banister and too looked out the window. "You loved teaching at the Idris academy."

"And you loved doing research there too," Alec added and smiled, "and it kept you out of trouble."

"Consul Lightwood, we should get going," said the young voice from the bottom of the stairs. "Consul Lightwood-Bane is waiting for you."

"Okay, okay, I know Iara doesn't like waiting. Patience has never been my daughter's virtue," Alec said as he slowly continued down the stairs. The young Shadowhunter climbed a few steps and held out his arm to support Alec, but Alec refused with a dismissive gesture. He could still manage the stairs by himself, he thought. He looked back at Magnus who was still standing on the landing and saw the reproach on his face. Considering that he was an immortal, Magnus had aged with so much more grace than Alec. After he got over the initial surprise, he never minded the wrinkles, the grey hair, the cracking joins, the slowing of his movements; neither did he mind it when people offered their arm for support, or their seat in the subway, or when his assistant handed him his glasses when he squinted to read a manuscript. Thankfully, neither of them had gone bald; that would have been a tragedy for Magnus. Yes, Alec thought as he reached the last of the steps and stopped to catch his breath, Magnus had aged with so much more grace. Perhaps it was because he knew it would be temporary.

"What is this thing we are going to?" he asked the young man that Iara had sent to escort him to the glass city.

"Don't you remember?" the young man asked. "Today is the unveiling of the monument and the opening of the Magnus Bane Downworld Library."

"Oh yes," replied Alec and looking back at Magnus, saw the look of self-satisfaction and pride in the warlock's eyes. "What is you name young Shadowhunter?" Alec asked trying to ignore Magnus as, with springy and light steps, he almost run down the stairs. Show off, he thought.

"I am Jonathan Herondale, sir."

"I should have guessed," Alec stated adjusting his glasses to take a better look at the young man with the red hair, the same tone as Clary's, and the golden eyes that reminded him so much of Jace. "I can see the resemblance to your ancestors."

"Thank you, sir," young Jonathan replied. "Jace Herondale and Clary Fray were my great, great, great grandparents. If you follow me, I have a portal already opened."

"How are you father?" asked Iara when Alec stepped out of the portal and onto the courtyard of the Idris Shadowhunter Institute less than a minute later. Iara hugged him gently and lovingly, her silver blue eyes and her long sleek silver blue hair reflecting the sunshine as if they were made of precious metals. Not for the first time, Alec wondered how his youngest daughter could look so different, yet resemble Izzy so much, with her warrior demeanor and her no-nonsense attitude.

"We are good, happy to see you."

"I am happy to see you too," his daughter replied and taking Alec by the arm guided him towards the center of the courtyard where a small stage stood beside what looked like a giant canvas-covered ghost.

"Madzie is here," Iara said as she slowly guided her father towards his seat. "She portalled from the New York Institute just a couple of minutes ago."

A second later, Alec was wrapped in the warm and loving embrace of Madzie Lightwood-Bane, the oldest of his children. "How are you sweetheart? How are things back home? The children?" he asked as he placed his hand against his daughter's cheek. As usual, Madzie dressed to impress in a tailored Shadowhunter suit that he was sure concealed more than one weapon, a red silk scarf covering her warlock mark, the only color in her otherwise completely black outfit. Madzie didn't look older than twenty-five, and her tight black curls stylishly fell half way down her back. Madzie had looked twenty-five for over three hundred years, and she was beautiful, with a fierce expression that reflected her Shadowhunter bravery and that Alec thought she had inherited from him, and the sense of style and elegance she had inherited from her dad.

"Everybody is well back home father. How are you?"

"Getting older by the minute," he replied as they sat on seats that were obviously reserved for the guests of honor.

Suddenly, he was surrounded by people and he had to stand up again and shake hands and receive embraces from old and young Shadowhunters, Shadowhunters that called him grandfather in the same loving way that they called Magnus grandpa, the many 'greats' that should accompany the title all but forgotten in the name of simplicity. He saw in some of the faces the familiar thoughtful blue eyes that were Christopher's, and the intelligent almond-shaped eyes and fine features that were Shinzō's. The years and centuries, and their effect on memory, made it hard to keep track of all his descendants, but seeing so many gave him a sense of completion and accomplishment that filled his heart to bursting.

"Many of our relatives have made the trip for this joyful occasion," Madzie commented. "Isn't that nice?"

Alec looked around, searching for more familiar faces in the crowd that was gathering for the unveiling, and saw so many faces with features that reminded him of Jeremy, Izzy, Jace and Clary: sleek black manes of hair, golden eyes, and red curls. So many generations of descendants gathering in one place. And then, there were the downworlders, some wearing Shadowhunter gear, others in civilian clothes. "This is a society so different from the one I was born into," he commented under his breath.

"In many ways, Idris is what it is thanks to you and dad; you broke through many barriers" Madzie stated, and Alec remembered that one of his daughter's powers was surprisingly sharp hearing.

A portal opened under a protective roof at the back of the courtyard and Raphael Santiago walked through it, his friend looking as young and handsome as ever in his black suit. Thanks to a new protection spell that Kat and her assistant had recently developed, he could stand in the daylight for a short time, and only as long as he stayed in the shade. Several Shadowhunters stood up and went to greet him with loving embraces, and Alec was sure that those Shadowhunters also called Raphael grandfather, despite the fact that the vampire didn't look a day older than twenty-five.

It had been so hard for Raphael when Izzy left him, Alec remembered; when she disappeared, and he didn't hear from her for months. Alec and the whole team had left no stone unturned looking for her until a note arrived at the Institute in Izzy's handwriting. "I am fine and safe; take care of Raphael while I am gone," the note said.

Izzy had been true to her word; she had returned three months later with the casual demeanor of someone who had just gone out to the store. Shortly after, she and Raphael announced that they were getting married and less than six months later, they welcomed the twins, the Lightwood-Santiago twins; brother and sister; Shadowhunters through and through; fierce and brave just like their mother. Raphael had cried like a child when he held his children for the first time and Alec and Magnus had put their hands on his shoulder. No one ever mentioned Izzy's disappearance and no one, Nephilim or downworlder, ever dared question Raphael's parentage of those children.

Raphael now looked in Alec's direction, smiled and nodded his head in greeting.

"Look at that proud man," Magnus whispered in Alec's ear. "Who would have thought that he would make such a good family man."

Someone announced that the ceremony was about to begin, and people began to take their seats. Alec looked at Magnus sitting beside him and saw a familiar look of excitement and pride in his lovely young face as he adjusted his hair style and run his hand though the front of his jacket, checking to make sure that nothing in his stylish outfit was out of place. After almost four hundred years, Magnus' lovely face and the twinkle in his eyes still managed to stir the butterflies in the pit of Alec's stomach. He had loved Magnus every minute of every day of those centuries. He had loved him with a passion and a tenderness that knew no end, and after all they had gone through together, after all the battles and wars, big and small, he still loved him like the first day.

"Ladies and gentlemen." Iara's lovely voice recalled Alec to the present and he turned towards the stage where his daughter, Consul Lightwood-Bane, commanded the attention of the audience. "It is my great pleasure to welcome all of you here today as we honor the legacy of Magnus Bane and Alec Lightwood, and we inaugurate the Magnus Bane Downworld Library. This is a distinct pleasure for me and my sister, Madzie Lightwood-Bane, current Head of the New York Institute, because, as you know, Magnus and Alec are our fathers." Iara looked in Alec's direction, and her smile was loving and tender.

"Did you know that she is dating that girl, what's her name?" Magnus whispered beside him.

"Shush," Alec said. "Her name is Ariché, she is Kat's assistant and a powerful warlock in her own right," he whispered back.

"She always had good taste, just like her dad," said Magnus, a proud smile curving his lips.

Madzie squeezed Alec's hand as if trying to recall his attention to the ceremony and Alec looked at her and smiled indulgently. Madzie had always been the sensible one among the children; the responsible one; the one that never gave them any trouble; the one currently married to a respectable Shadowhunter and raising adopted children of her own.

After a long while of what seemed like endless speeches from prominent Shadowhunters and Downworlders, all of whom spoke glowingly about Magnus and his contribution to Nephilim and Downworld society, and to the betterment of the world as a whole, Iara finally came back on stage. "It is my great pleasure," she said again, "to invite my father, Alec Lightwood to the stage to say a few words and unveil the monument that will stand at the entrance of this important building."

Before he knew it, Alec was standing up and slowly walking up to the stage, Madzie's steady hand on his elbow, his wooden cane marking every slow step with a tap on the ground. And then he was standing in front of all those people and he remembered that he had never liked speaking in public or giving speeches. This had always been Magnus' area of expertise. Magnus had always written his speeches on those occasions when Alec couldn't get out of an official function and was required to say a few words. He looked around with an expression of confusion or perhaps disorientation, but then Iara handed him the end of a rope and he pulled on it, the canvas falling and revealing the effigy that would stand for all eternity in front of the building bearing his husband's name.

Alec looked up at the enormous marble statue and the breath caught in his throat. There in a gigantic scale stood the unmistakable figures of Magnus and him, looking the way they had when they appeared not older than thirty. Magnus had his hands in front of him and by some magic trick, blue and red light streamed from between his fingers, and Alec stood beside him, his bow in hand, his quiver strapped to his back, in the eternal posture of a warrior. For an instant, Alec wondered whether the monument was meant to depict their confrontation with Annaliese; or whether it commemorated any other of the many battles he and Magnus had fought in their very long lives. At the end, it didn't matter, he thought; for the monument was a startling reminder of everything he had lost and gained in his very long life with Magnus.

"Father, you should say a few words," Iara whispered beside him, calling Alec once again back to the here and now.

Alec looked out towards the crowd and cleared his throat. "Thank you all for coming," he said, his voice hoarse and heavy with emotions. "This really is a great honor for us…"

His voice trailed off as he glanced towards where Madzie sat in the front row, a sad smile on her face. He shifted his glance towards the empty seat beside her and his heart missed a beat. "Such a long life," he went on, his voice acquiring a wistful tone, "Magnus told me once that life is like a journey without return and that years are like the ever-growing luggage we accumulate and carry with us. My luggage is jam-packed with years of love and joy. Yet despite being longer than I ever imagined, my life still feels too short. It seemed that it was just yesterday that I met Magnus, that we got married, that we built a life and a family together," Alec squeezed Iara's hand gently, as if wishing to borrow some of the steadiness of her daughter's youth. "As you know," he said and then paused to swallow the sob raising from the depth of his being, "I lost Magnus six months ago, he was taken from me and now I don't know how to go on without him."

Suddenly, Alec was seeing the crown as if through a veil and before he could stop himself, he was back to that horrific night in New York six months before. Magnus had been so excited about spending a weekend walking through art galleries and museums and visiting with friends. They didn't get to go to New York as much as they used to, and he had planned the weekend months in advance. They had visited with Madzie and her family as well as with Raphael, and on Saturday, they had gone to a few art galleries and to an evening concert. They had been in such a good mood and had laughed and held hands as they strolled through the city of their youth. New York had changed so much in three hundred years, some of which were of war and conflict, but in so many ways remained the same. Its mundane and shadow worlds still overlapped with incredible ease, yet the former remained completely oblivious to the existence of the later.

Magnus had reached for Alec's hand outside the concert hall, and Alec had turned to look at his husband; at his wrinkled yet still handsome face; at the laugh lines around his eyes, testimony of a life that contained more joy than sorrow; at his almost white hair. Magnus had kissed him, gently, tenderly but still with a burning passion than didn't seem to go out despite centuries of a shared life. "Take me home, Alexander, and make love to me," he had softly said.

They had slowly walked hand in hand through Central Park in the direction of their hotel, two elderly men, slow, grey and wrinkled holding on to each other, chatting animatedly, reminiscing, making plans, feeling completely safe under the glamor that concealed them from the mundane world.

Everything had happened so fast. Alec hadn't seen the demon until it was too late. He hadn't had time to react, to take out his seraph blade, or to stop Magnus from stepping between him and the ravener. He had been too old and slow, and before he knew what was happening, Magnus was on the ground, his eyes closed, his breathing still, a hole in the center of his chest through which his life had already escaped. Just like that, Magnus had been laughing, chatting, and asking Alec to make love to him one minute, and dead the next. Alec had felt a sudden weakness as the last tendrils of the magic bond that had connected him to Magnus for over three centuries finally snapped, leaving him orphaned, unmoored, untethered like a kite being blown away by the wind.

Alec had kneeled on the cold ground and had gathered Magnus in his arms. "Magnus, Magnus, please don't leave me," he had whispered but there was no answer. As if from a distance, he had heard the mournful howl of a wounded animal, and he didn't realize that the sound was coming from him. He had held Magnus for who knows how long, and all the time, he had moaned and sobbed, calling with all his strength for Magnus to open his eyes and smile at him.

"It wasn't supposed to be like this," he said, tears welling up in his eyes. "I wasn't supposed to outlive Magnus. I was supposed to be the one to die, and he was supposed to go on."

"Father," whispered Iara beside him and Alec realized that he had been speaking out loud. He looked around and saw tears streaming down faces and looks of compassion and sadness. Madzie was then standing beside him and she was guiding him by the hand off the stage.

"I think I want to go home now," he quietly told his daughter. "Please take me home."

"Of course," Madzie said gently and waving her arms opened a portal. Before stepping through the event horizon, Alec looked back and met the marbles eyes of the statue of Magnus and, for a moment, thought that the warlock was smiling at him.

A few minutes later, Madzie helped her father settled in his favorite armchair by the window and tucked a blanket around his legs hoping to ward off the chill that seemed to envelop Alec since that night she and the New York Shadowhunters found him kneeling on the ground, cradling Magnus' body, crying like a child.

Magnus' had received the Shadowhunter funeral that his centuries of service to the Nephilim earned him. Alec had stood by the pyre all night as Magnus's remains were cremated, friends and family standing beside him in silence, coming and going until just him, Iara and Madzie remained, the last survivors of their family. When night had begun to turn into morning, Iara and Madzie had tried to convince Alec to come home with them but he had refused. Instead, he had asked them to go ahead without him. "I would like a minute alone, if you don't mind," Alec had said. As they walked home, the sisters had commented that, since the death of their dad, their father was getting older and more fragile by the minute, as if he was fading, as if his magic connection to their dad was like a tether that slowly pulled their father towards whatever realm their dad now occupied.

Alec had come home a few hours later, carrying the urn containing Magnus' ashes. Madzie had placed a cup of tea and some scones in front of him and had tried to get him to eat, but Alec had just stared at the table and then at her with a vacant expression. After a while, he had stood up and, after washing his untouched teacup, had walked out to the backyard where he and Magnus had spent long lazy afternoons sitting in matching lounge chairs, readings books, listening to music or just quietly watching the birds perched on the tree branches. He sat in his chair and placed the urn in the chair beside him, the chair where Magnus always sat. It had been a chilly and grey morning and Alec wasn't wearing a jacket. He simply sat in silence in his white bereavement tunic, the silver mourning runes embroidered along the collar and cuffs shinning dully in the gray light of day.

Alec had sat in that chair without moving for hours and at one point, concerned that he could get sick, Madzie had taken a jacket to him and covered his legs with a blanket. "Father, why don't you come inside? You will get sick out here," she had pleaded, but Alec hadn't even looked in her direction. He was lost in some distant place, in the place of his memories.

So, Madzie and Iara had sat together by the window, looking out towards the place where their loving father sat alone with his grief, with the immense black hole that their dad had left in his life. Through that afternoon and into the evening, the heavy and almost unbearable weight of loss and grief had felt like an oppressive force trying to crush the house. Iara and Madzie spent hours talking about their childhood with their fathers, about their Shadowhunter siblings, Christopher and Shinzō, brothers and parabatais, gone now for almost two centuries. Iara and Madzie understood as well as their father the heavy weight of loss and, despite the fact that their brothers had left a long and large legacy of stories and descendants, the void they left in their lives felt so much bigger now that their dad was also gone.

When night fell, and they could no longer see the stooped figure of their father, Madzie had gone outside. "You are going to get sick father, please come inside where is warm," she pleaded, and when she took Alec's arm, he obeyed and silently allowed his daughter to lead him inside. The two sisters couldn't convince Alec to eat and had to help him take off his shoes and get in bed. Iara and Madzie had taken turns kissing him on the forehead, and after wishing him good night, had left him, silent and wide eyed, lying on the bed in the guest bedroom because neither of them could yet bring themselves to walk into the room Alec and Magnus had shared.

When they got up the next day, Alec was already outside, sitting on the same chair, his mourning tunic wrinkled: unfed, unwashed, silent. The urn containing Magnus' ashes sat once again beside him. In his hand Alec held his stele, the stele that Magnus had reinforced for him with spells of protection and safety, and he turned it around in his hand and between his fingers, the gesture mechanical and unthinking. All through the day, Alec had sat, without moving or speaking, just silently looking out towards the mountains of Idris which had become part of his and Magnus' home in the last two decades of their lives. To Alec and Magnus' surprise, they had loved this place and this house more than expected. The older they got, the more they craved the quietness of country life, the breathtaking view of the mountains, and the relaxing hikes through the forest. They had been happy here and now Magnus was gone.

When night came that second day, Madzie once again guided her father by the hand towards the guest bedroom, and just like the night before, she left him lying down on the bed, his eyes wide open looking up to the ceiling, lost in his grief.

Madzie was worried. No one better than she understood loss, the weight of immortality, the terrible burden of having to go on when life took away the reason for living. But she was Alec's daughter and no matter how much she tried, there were things about her fathers' relationship she could never understand or know. As she walked out of her father's room, Madzie took her phone out of her pocket and dialed a number.

By the third day, Madzie and Iara had been frantic with worry. But when they were getting ready to go outside and try to bring their father back inside once again, a portal opened, and their uncle Raphael walked through it, looking as young and handsome as ever, even though a look of deep sadness darkened his expression.

"Thank you for coming; we didn't know who else to call," Madzie told Raphael as soon as they came apart from their embrace.

The three of them had watched Alec from the window as the day lost its luster to a blue and orange twilight. When night finally set, Iara walked towards the door determined to go get her father.

"Let me," Raphael had said. "You two go get some rest; I will take care of Alec." Grabbing a blanket, he went outside, and from the window, Iara and Madzie saw Raphael gently set the blanket around Alec's shoulder. Gathering some wood, he made a fire in the fire pit, and then silently sat on a chair beside Alec.

Iara had woken up just as the sky was changing from black to dark blue and when she walked into the kitchen, she found Madzie sitting by the window as if she had not yet gone to bed. Iara grabbed a cup of coffee and went to sit beside her sister and through the window, they watched as Raphael and Alec sat by a dying fire, Raphael silent and still as a statute apparently unconcerned about the approaching daylight.

A knot tightened in the pit of Madzie's stomach as she looked at the two figures that constituted permanent landmarks in the geography of her life. Her uncle looked so young; as young as he had been when she first met him; as young as he had been when he married her aunt Isabel almost four hundred years ago; as young as he had been when he too stood by the pyre when Isabel died, surrounded by children and grandchildren, when his own reason for living had abandoned him. Her father, on the other hand, looked all of his three hundred and eighty-two years, grey hair, arched back, shaking hands, but still tall and handsome, despite the marks left on his face by so much loss and so much grief.

Raphael had sat beside Alec all through the night, still as a statute his hands resting on his lap, looking towards the distance, thinking with his friend about all those years of shared stories, of lives built and rebuilt, of family, of loss, of gains, of eternity and tiredness. As the sky began to lighten, Alec suddenly turned and looked at Raphael.

"What are you doing man?" he asked his voice hoarse from lack of use. "The sun is about to come out."

"The same than you; waiting for death," Raphael had replied, his eyes still in the distance

"Why?"

"Don't you know, Alec?" Raphael had said, his expression somber. "When you are gone, I will be the last one left. I will be the last one of our friends left behind. Everybody else will be gone."

Alec had understood that no one better than Raphael knew his loss; not even his daughters or grandchildren knew what it was like to be the last, to see your children, brother, sister and friends age and die while you go on and on. Long life had, at times, been difficult for Alec; it had taken a toll that at times seemed unbearable. But he had had Magnus to carry him through, and Raphael, with all his peculiarities, had also been a constant presence.

"I understand," Alec had said and standing up on shaky and sore legs, had gestured for Raphael to do the same. "Come on," he had added, and as they walked back to the house, Alec had reached and steadied himself by holding on to Raphael's arm. The two had walked back inside and for the next several hours, had sat around the kitchen table, a cup of coffee in Alec's hand as they told stories of their long years of friendship, of Magnus, of Izzy, of Jace and Clary.

"It is my fault," Alec now said as Madzie helped him get settled in his chair. "It is my fault that Magnus died. He was too weak; his powers were almost depleted. That is why he couldn't fight that demon."

Alec had known for a while that the flow of magic energy between him and Magnus was no longer flowing in both directions. Their bond remained strong and unbreakable, but instead of sharing energy, Magnus had been using the bond to give Alec strength. Alec had begun to see the end of the long road of his life, his eyesight failing, his body weakening, his hands shaking. He was fading, he knew it and he was ready. He was not afraid of dying; three hundred and eighty years was more than Alec had ever hoped for, but Magnus had refused to accept that the end was near and had begun to use his magic to strengthen Alec, to help him live another day, another week, another year.

Alec had confronted him about it a few weeks before their trip to New York; it had been their last argument. He had demanded that Magnus stop. "You are getting weaker, Magnus," he had pleaded, "please stop. I have lived long enough."

"I can't," Magnus had replied between barely contained sobs. "Don't ask me to do that; I don't think I can live without you Alexander."

Alec had held Magnus, his frame feeling so fragile against his also fragile body. "You still have an eternity to live Magnus. You will go on, you have to go on." But Magnus had remained resolute and had refused to discuss it any further. Instead, he had taken Alec by the hand and had guided him to their bedroom, and they had made love slowly and lovingly as they had done countless times in their very long life together.

"It wasn't you fault, father," Madzie said as he brought Alec a cup of tea. "Dad died protecting you, and because he loved you more than he loved life itself."

Alec convinced Madzie that he was fine, that she should go back to the glass city and visit with Iara. "I will be fine, I promise," he said and kissed his daughter on the forehead.

"I will come to see you before I go back to New York tomorrow," Madzie said as she stood by the door, her eyes full of love, the kind of love that warmed Alec's heart.

For the rest of the day, Alec sat in silence in his favorite chair, the chair that for countless years had sat beside Magnus' chair. He looked out the window as the sun slowly made its descend towards the mountain peaks, and as a full moon replaced it in the sky. He thought of Magnus; of their long life together; of the many wars and battles they fought; of the countless demons they defeated; of how much they loved their children. As he did, he thanked the heavens for the countless years of happiness he had experienced with the warlock, for the priceless gift of a long life with the first and only soul to truly see him, to truly know his heart.

As night finally replaced day, he stood up and slowly and with the assistance of his cane, made his way up the stairs, not to the guest bedroom where he had slept since Magnus' death, but towards the bedroom that he and Magnus had shared. As he laid on a bed and felt too big and too cold, he called for Magnus with all the strength left in him.

Sometime in the small hours of the morning, as the first light of day began to filter through the window, Alec felt the gentle and familiar touch of a hand on his cheek.

"Wake up Shadowhunter," Magnus whispered in Alec's ear, and Alec opened his eyes and as they adjusted to the light, Magnus' beautiful and youthful face came clearly into focus. "Get up Alexander."

Alec obeyed and as he got up from the bed, he was surprised to feel a youthful spring in his movements. His joins no longer hurt, and he could see better than he had seen in years. He looked at his hands and recognized his young hands, free of wrinkles and sun spots. He searched for his reflection in the mirror and the glass returned to him the face of his youth, the clear eyes, the broad smile.

"Come on Shadowhunter; it is time to go," said Magnus reaching for Alec's hand.

"Where are we going Magnus?" he asked.

"Wait and see, Alexander. It is a surprise," Magnus replied and then he winked at Alec in that suggestive way he had done the night they met, and he so openly flirted with Alec. With a youthful spring in his step, a spring Alec hadn't felt in so long, he followed Magnus down the stairs. "There is a whole new world of adventures waiting for us Alexander," Magnus said as he opened the front door of their house and him and Alec stepped outside.

"Lead the way warlock," Alec replied, a smile curving his lips, one of those smiles that Magnus thought had the power of illuminating the darkest of nights.

When later that morning, Iara and Madzie Lightwood-Bane came to see their father, they found Alexander Lightwood dead on the bed he and Magnus had shared for countless years, a peaceful smile on his face, his hand resting on the rune above his heart, his expression resembling an angel in repose.

This is the end; what a journey!

I never planned to write such a long story, and I never planned to end the story this way, but these characters captured my imagination and ended up telling me so much about themselves.

I hope this last chapter will not disappoint.

If you have any suggestions, I would love to write more about Alec and Magnus.

Thank you for readings and for sticking with me for 36 chapters!