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the-great-lightwood-bane · 2 years

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bludgeonings of chance

Chapter 2 of 2 (Chapter 1)

Malec | Rated general | tw canon-typical violence

Day 18: “Just get it over with.” | “Take my Coat”

Summary: “Your precious rebellion won’t last long when it sees its two best leaders trying to kill each other in the Games.”

aka my Hunger-Games-inspired AU, ft. Malec being in love, lots of angst, and a mandatory happy ending.

A/N: Sorry this is late, it got a bit long…

Read it on AO3 or below the cut.

The Brocelind Arena was a forest this year, and Alec walked through it carefully, his backpack slung over one shoulder.

He’d grabbed the backpack from the pile of supplies in the centre of the Arena, then left without trying to fight for any more equipment. At the beginning of the games, there was usually a bloodbath over the supplies, but he’d left before he could see much of it or end up involved; there was no need to risk dying on the first day.

He’d seen Magnus vanishing into the forest in a different direction, too, so there was no real need to stay.

Alec ran over the other competitors in his head — he’d memorised their names in faces from lack of anything to do in his cell as he waited for the Games to begin. The two faeries, Eochaid and Airmed, were siblings; Alec wasn’t sure what they’d done to deserve the Games, or if they’d simply been thrown in because they were powerful enough to pose a challenge to Magnus. Of the three vampires, Alec had heard of Lady Delilah’s court case — she’d been drinking from mundanes, not killing them to avoid getting caught — but another name was more familiar: Camille Belcourt. She, along with the third vampire, Heidi MacKenzie, had been arrested for murder because they’d drained several mundanes completely.

Camille and Magnus had a history, and Camille had originally led the vampire contingent of the Seventh City. She’d been kicked out soon after Alec had arrived, because she’d drunk from and killed several of Alec’s Shadowhunters; it’d nearly caused a rift, but thankfully Magnus and Raphael had helped to smooth it over. Alec had heard no more of her until her arrest and sentencing to the Games.

Only one of the werewolves, Maia Roberts, had been familiar — and for the worst possible reason. She’d been arrested for being in the Seventh City, and Alec had known her beforehand. He didn’t want to have to kill her.

The other three wolves — Rufus Hastings, Casper Sterling, and Theo Snyder — were strangers; Alec wasn’t sure what they’d been arrested for specifically, but they certainly weren’t part of the Seventh City, which meant they’d probably been hurting mundanes.

That left the ten mundanes. Stephanie Crawford, Rowan Durham, Simon Lewis, Evangeline Blake, Ruben Hale, Howard Morton, Nathaniel Ray, Annie Copeland, Rosie Simpson, and George Brown. All of them were being punished simply for the “crime” of having the Sight.

Annie, Rowan, and Ruben had been killed in the first ten seconds of the Games, brutally torn to pieces, the cannons to signal their deaths going off one after another. Alec had heard two more cannons as he walked away, and then a third a while later — likely mundanes again. It was always like that in the Games; the mundanes might be greater in number than any other race, but they died the most easily.

Alec shouldn’t be worrying about any of them. He had Magnus (and, to a lesser extent, himself) to look after; only one person would make it out of the Games, and that had to be Magnus. The best way to do that was, first, to kill every other competitor so that he and Magnus were the last two people in the Games, and then to let Magnus kill him.

Because Magnus would kill him, if he needed to. Magnus loved Alec, and Alec loved Magnus, but only one of them would leave the arena. Even aside from Alec’s personal unwillingness to let Magnus die, it only made sense for Magnus to be the one who survived; he was the Seventh City’s most powerful warlock, and he was irreplaceable. Without Magnus, everything would fall apart, and that was much more important than Alec’s life — something that Magnus knew as well as Alec did.

Magnus wouldn’t want to kill him, but he’d do it, if that was what it took.

Alec’s supplies were limited, to say the least.

He would’ve loved a bow, but he hadn’t wanted to join the dogpile for the supplies; in any case, it was unlikely that Alicante would put a bow in the arena when they knew it was Alec’s favoured weapon. Their goal here was to get rid of him; they’d likely succeed.

There wasn’t any adamas, either — no stele, which meant his runes were useless; no adamas weapons to light up at his touch. They’d injected him with a tracking chip before the games, which likely included a fragment of adamas so his body wouldn’t naturally get rid of it, but such a small quantity would be all but useless.

Various precautions had been taken to make the Games more “fair” — the vampires received sun-proof clothing that could allow them to move around in daytime, the wards over the arena restricted warlock and faerie magic within their bounds — and the lack of adamas was probably meant to be another one. With his runes and the years of training he’d received like every other Shadowhunter, he’d have a solid shot at winning; without his runes, werewolves and vampires would be stronger and faster than him, leaving him with the advantage only of his training. He’d have to resign himself to that.

Alec’s backpack contained a knife, a water bottle, a packet of iodine tablets to clean the water, a sleeping bag, a coil of rope, and nothing else. Making a fire would be challenging, but Alec figured he’d probably be able to figure it out. The forest had enough life in it that he could probably hunt well enough to survive. The necessities were taken care of.

In terms of fighting the other tributes, his knife was his only weapon. He could throw accurately — aiming was similar between different projectile weapons — but if he threw the knife, he’d no longer have it. Which meant he’d lose his only weapon; that was unacceptable.

Consideringly, Alec glanced around. There were several yew trees nearby, and a few juniper; the ground was dotted with sticks and goldenrod. Good enough. He pulled out the rope from his backpack, which was made up of thinner strands of hemp, woven together to make something thicker — but he could unweave them easily enough. And the knife was sharp enough to carve wood.

Alec smiled, and set about making himself a bow.

He shot his dinner with the rough yew bow and an arrow of goldenrod sharpened to a point. His aim wasn’t perfect, but he managed to hit the rabbit through the eye from a fair distance, so it wasn’t too bad.

Alicante was watching Alec’s every move, he knew, through the cameras scattered throughout the arena — he’d seen their blinking red eyes. No microphones, so they couldn’t hear him, but he had to remember that somebody was always watching. They’d be irritated that he’d managed to overcome the limitations they’d given him. Shouldn’t’ve given me the training to make my own bow, he thought nastily, and hoped they didn’t send anything too horrible out of the woods to kill him.

Alec spent his first night in a tree, wide awake and waiting.

He’d watched the sky for the projected images of everyone who’d already died: in addition to Annie, Rowan, and Ruben, three more mundanes — Stephanie, Howard, and Rosie — had been killed almost immediately. Likely by the same people; Alec had seen Lady Delilah, the two faeries, and the three werewolves other than Maia attacking in the initial frenzy. Unfortunately, none of their faces showed in the sky.

Alec didn’t want to hunt down the remaining mundanes — Simon Lewis, Evangeline Blake, Nathaniel Ray, and George Brown — and even less so Maia. He didn’t particularly want to kill the other werewolves, vampires, or faeries, even; these deaths were entirely unnecessary, used by Alicante as some sort of vicious, gory entertainment.

For Magnus’ sake, he’d kill anyone he had to — but for now, he’d focus first on finding Magnus and then on getting rid of anyone threatening him.

The next day, Alec’s plans hit a further difficulty.

He’d hiked back to the clearing in the forest where they’d entered the Games, planning to see what was left of the supplies, but halfway there he’d heard a scream. Not Magnus, which meant he really should’ve ignored it, but Alec had always been too soft-hearted for his own good.

He was too late to help. The four remaining mundanes were lying in a pile on the ground, drained of blood by vampires — foolish, since the vampires would now need to feed on either animals or Downworlders who were harder to catch.

Alec bent over the corpses, wondering which vampire was responsible — he would’ve thought Camille and Lady Delilah were both smart enough to keep a mundane by her as a blood bank, while he’d expected Heidi to stick with Camille.

Looking closer, he saw traces of blood around Simon Lewis’ mouth. Had the vampires tried to make him into a subjugate, but somehow failed?

Alec’s eyes flicked around the clearing, noting the traces of a struggle. Simon appeared to have tried to fight back; he’d died not from a lack of blood but from a broken neck.

Which meant that if Alec buried him, he’d rise again as a vampire.

Alec shouldn’t. He knew he shouldn’t. Why bring back one of the people who would be trying to kill Magnus? But Simon was innocent — he’d done nothing wrong here. He’d likely allied with the other mundanes, which was why they’d all been together when the vampires had arrived. He’d tried to fight back despite the vampire venom surely moving through his veins. He didn’t deserve to die when he could live.

Already regretting his decision, Alec set about digging a grave.

“Why did you bring me back?” Simon Lewis asked, looking up at Alec with a frown.

“I’m not entirely sure,” Alec said honestly. He’d spent the last six hours killing small animals for Simon to drink when he awoke; he’d collected their blood and given it to the newborn vampire as he’d crawled his way out of the ground.

Simon huffed at the non-answer. “I thought Shadowhunters hated Downworlders. Why would you make me into one?”

Alec raised an eyebrow. “I’m here because I lead a resistance movement called the Seventh City, which defends Downworlder rights. I don’t hate Downworlders.”

Tilting his head to the side, Simon looked at him curiously. “That still doesn’t explain why you saved my life.”

The truth was that Alec simply hadn’t been able to leave Simon there — it would’ve been tantamount to killing him, really, and this boy had done nothing wrong. He remained silent, unsure what to say.

Fortunately, Simon didn’t press, because his eyes widened. “Somebody’s coming!”

Simon’s senses were sharper than Alec’s thanks to his vampirism. Alec moved to a fighting crouch, bow ready; it was only a moment later that Heidi came hurtling out of the woods. Without Simon’s warning, she would’ve killed Alec before he heard her.

As it was, Alec fired an arrow through her chest as she dove for Simon, and she broke into ash right in front of the fledgling’s face.

Coughing — presumably instinctively, as he no longer needed to breathe — Simon wiped the ash from his cheeks. “Thanks.”

“I wouldn’t’ve heard her in time without you,” Alec returned. “So thank you.”

Simon smiled, and held out a hand. “Allies?”

Alec paused, glancing down at it. If it came down to just him, Simon, and Magnus, he’d have to kill this no-longer-mundane, but until then— “Allies,” he agreed.

With Simon’s help, Alec set about tracking Magnus properly. Simon didn’t question why, and Alec didn’t want to explain, but he helped willingly enough.

Magnus had set off into the forest on the first day, and his tracks were still almost visible, although he’d clearly tried to hide them. Thanks to his magic, Magnus rarely had to hide his presence so carefully; the fact that he wasn’t using magic to hide his path now meant that the wards over the arena were powerful enough to significantly reduce his strength.

Alec and Simon followed his trail throughout the day, Simon sheltering under the sun-proof hood they’d taken from Heidi. Magnus hadn’t gone far before the first night, and Alec was relieved to see signs that he’d killed and eaten a rabbit. Magnus had gone on the next day, so they followed until they hit the wards that formed the edge of the arena, through which they couldn’t pass. Magnus’ tracks turned right, so Alec and Simon did the same.

Night was falling when Simon held up a hand, then lowered his voice to the faintest of whispers when Alec stopped beside him. “I can hear somebody.”

Silently, Alec crept forward, and saw Magnus bent over a fire in a small clearing. He breathed out in relief at the confirmation that he was safe—

And then, just like earlier, a vampire hurtled out of the bushes — but it was Camille this time, and she was aiming in Magnus’ direction. There was no time for Alec to draw his bow; he threw himself at her with an arrow in his hand, sending the two of them rolling across the ground. She hissed and bit and managed to slam Alec into a tree, but he got the arrow up and staked her with it through the heart. She dissolved into ash.

Magnus was on his feet, magic crackling around his hands as he stared at Alec and what remained of Camille.

Alec managed a small smile as he looked up at him. “If you’re going to kill me, just get it over with.”

“Of course I’m not going to kill you,” Magnus said, dropping to his knees at Alec’s side. “Are you alright?”

“As well as can be expected, given the circumstances,” Alec replied, and yanked Magnus into a kiss.

A polite cough reminded him of the other person in the area, and he pulled back to introduce them. “This is Simon. Simon, this is Magnus, also part of the Seventh City.”

“Nice to meet you,” Simon said. “I was wondering why Alec was so interested in tracking you, specifically. I suppose this explains it.”

Their little group of three made camp for the night soon enough, agreeing to sleep in shifts. Alec volunteered for the first one, and Simon slept immediately — his exhaustion must have overruled a vampire’s natural preference for staying awake during the day and sleeping at night. Magnus, however, was still awake when Alec glanced over at him.

Magnus’ eyes were focused on Simon when he spoke up. “You Turned him.”

“I did,” Alec confirmed.

“You might have to kill him later on.” Magnus glanced up at Alec, golden cat eyes glowing in the dark. “We both know there’s only one way we can let these Games end.”

“I know.” Alec smiled, slightly sadly. At least he wouldn’t need to argue with Magnus about this. “The Seventh City comes first.”

Magnus sighed. “You still shouldn’t have to kill Simon. I can do it, if it comes down to the three of us.”

“You shouldn’t have to have that on your conscience,” Alec replied. “I knew I might have to kill him when I Turned him.”

“I wouldn’t exactly have to live with it for very long,” Magnus said. “Better me than you.”

“What do you mean, not have to live with it very long?” Alec asked, frowning. “We just agreed that you’re going to win the Games.”

Magnus blinked. “No, we agreed that you’re going to win the Games. The Seventh City comes first; you’re more essential to it than I am.”

“What?” Alec shook his head. “I can be replaced; you’re—”

“—not nearly as unique as the first Shadowhunter to join the Seventh City,” Magnus finished for him. “I’m just a warlock; there are other warlocks—”

“But none as powerful as you, or as well-connected and well-respected,” Alec argued heatedly. “Without you, the Seventh City falls apart.”

“It falls apart without you, too,” Magnus pointed out. “I can be replaced—”

“By, what, Lorenzo Rey?” Alec asked sarcastically. “My siblings or Underhill—”

“They couldn’t—”

“You’re lettings your feelings get in the way—”

“Oh, and you aren’t? You’re simply more important—”

“Sounds like the Seventh City needs both of you,” Simon broke in, and Alec glanced over in surprise to see him awake. Their argument must’ve roused him. “Which means that both of you need to get out of here alive.”

Alec blinked. “There’s no way. The wards—”

“You were just talking about how important you both are,” Simon countered. “Isn’t there anything you could do?”

Magnus shook his head. “At full strength, I could tear down the wards easily, but with my magic limited by the wards…”

“And I could probably take it down with runes, except I don’t have a stele,” Alec added.

Simon sighed. “No special tricks with your Shadowhunter blood?”

“It needs the adamas to amplify its power enough to actually have an effect,” Alec explained. “Without the amplification, I’m a mundane with tattoos and quick reflexes. There’s a bit of adamas in the tracker on my arm, but not enough to use as a stele.”

Magnus, however, had stilled, an expression on his face that Alec recognised as the beginnings of an idea. “But — adamas amplifies your angelic magic, correct?”

“Yes.” Alec watched him, waiting, hopes rising because if anyone could break out of the Brocelind Games, it was Magnus.

“And the problem with my magic is that it’s not amplified enough.”

“Yes.”

“My magic comes from my father, who was a fallen angel. What if adamas can amplify it like angelic magic?”

The adamas in Alec’s tracker chip was small — only a tiny fragment, preventing his body from metabolising the tracker. Hidden from the cameras by Magnus’ body — to Alicante, it would look like they were making out — Alec dug the chip out with his knife. Magnus winced, and a spark of magic danced down to heal the injury.

“Don’t waste your magic on me,” Alec hissed.

“If Alicante sees the cut, they’ll guess what you’ve done,” Magnus retorted. “They can’t know our plans until it’s too late to stop us.”

Alec huffed his resignation to Magnus’ point as he slipped the bit of bloody adamas into his pocket, then wiped his hands on his thankfully dark-coloured pants to hide the blood. He pressed a kiss to Magnus’ lips, both of them relaxing into the touch.

“We will get out of here,” Alec said softly, letting his certainty bleed into his voice. There was no other way he could allow this to end. “I love you.”

“And I you,” Magnus said with a smile.

The next day was mostly uneventful. Lady Delilah had died the day before, her face projected into the sky, which meant that aside from Magnus, Alec, and Simon, there were only the two faeries and the four werewolves left.

They couldn’t let their plans show in their behaviour, so Magnus and Simon went hunting while Alec worked on his arrows. He’d only made two or three, which meant he needed to be careful of breaking or losing them; it made sense for him to want more, and it provided a good cover for their plan.

The straight sticks and pieces of goldenrod had to be fairly straight to start with, but he could straighten them by heating them over a fire and holding them straight, as long as he was careful not to light them on fire. Then he could sharpen their points with his knife; he passed several hours heating and straightening and sharpening until Alicante was probably bored of watching him, and then he pulled the bit of adamas from his pocket and slipped it into the hot coals.

The adamas glowed faintly white, but hopefully it was hidden by the glow of the fire from anyone still watching the Shadowhunter making arrows. Alec went on sharpening the tip of the arrow he was working on, a particularly straight and regular one, as he waited.

He pulled the bit of adamas from the fire, ignoring the burn on his fingers, and pressed it to the tip of the arrow. Thankfully adamas melted at relatively low temperatures; Alec spread it over the pointed tip of the arrow with care.

Then he added the arrow to the rest of the pile and went on making another one.

Evening came without any sign from the other competitors, which was a blessing in Alec’s opinion; he didn’t know what would come of them when the wards fell, but while he hoped Maia would survive, his first priority was Magnus.

Simon drank more animal blood, although he made a face at it, while Magnus and Alec had more wildlife for dinner. They needed it to be as dark as possible before putting their plan into action, to prevent Alicante from realising what was going on; the moon would rise a few hours after sunset, which meant that they wanted to act before that.

Magnus was on watch duty, but Alec didn’t fall asleep either, and Simon was too still to be asleep. The sun had set, but the sky was still streaked with colours that lit Magnus’ face through the dark.

They waited, as the sky darkened, as the wind rustled through the trees.

They waited until Simon sat up, eyes wide in the dark. “Somebody’s coming.”

Alec grabbed his bow and stood, listening; Magnus had risen to a crouch as well. Simon’s warning gave them only a moment’s advance notice, and then five figures lurched out of the trees to attack.

Drawing and loosing an arrow — not the adamas-tipped one — Alec killed a werewolf, Rufus, just as a second wolf slammed into his shoulder, knocking his bow away but at least leaving him with his handful of arrows and knife. It was dark, a blur of movement and growls and worry about the others, blood spurting from Alec’s shoulder, an arrow through the wolf’s throat, a glimpse of Magnus’ magic bursting out to knock back a faerie, another wolf bursting from the shadows to tackle Theo. Alec hurled his knife through Eochaid’s throat and stabbed Airmed in the arm; the faerie yanked out of Alec’s grip and swung a broadsword, but Simon slammed into Airmed from the side and tore out his throat.

Silence fell, but Alec remained crouched, ready in case another opponent came out of the woodwork. But the only one still standing, aside from Magnus, Alec, and Simon, was the wolf who’d killed Theo — Maia. She was still in her wolf form, but she wasn’t about to attack, only run if they attacked her.

Alec tallied the bodies on the ground. They were the only four still left alive. In most Games, this moment would dissolve into a final bloodbath.

The moon hadn’t yet risen. Alec glanced at Magnus, then pulled off his jacket and tossed it to Maia. “Take my coat so you can shift back,” he told her. “We can talk.”

Maia shifted back in a flurry of fur, wrapping herself in Alec’s jacket. “You’re not going to kill me?”

“We’re going to break out of here,” Alec replied.

Magnus held Alec’s adamas-tipped arrow in careful hands, breathing deeply with his eyes shut.

Alec watched in silence, on guard for whatever Alicante decided to send after them now. Blue sparks were gathering around Magnus’ hands, far fewer than normal, but the arrowhead was glowing between his cupped hands, lit up with the magic of a fallen angel.

Magnus’ brow was creased with effort, and Alec wanted to tell him not to overexert himself, but Magnus knew best how much magic he could give and how much magic they needed to escape. The blue sparks were spinning faster, faster, and then they vanished — and the scrap of adamas was glowing brightly, the main illumination of the space.

The wards stood a few metres away, a shimmer in the air that kept them trapped. Magnus had pointed out a small weak point, high up, high enough that nobody could have been expected to reach it.

Alec took the arrow and held it to his makeshift bow, taking careful aim. The bow was large, and sturdy; Alec pulled it back as far as it could go, looking down the shaft, judging the faint wind, the angle.

He fired, the glowing arrow streaking through the air.

Then it went out, and the world seemed to take in a breath.

The wards exploded.

The four of them staggered to their feet a few moments later. Alec was still blinking stars from his eyes; the wards had lit up the night like a beacon when they’d fallen.

Magnus was grinning, lit up by the magic wreathing his body now that the wards were no longer suppressing it. Maia still looked stunned, and Simon was blinking, and Alec felt a smile spread over his face.

With a flick of his fingers, Magnus opened up a portal and took Alec’s hand. Alec grabbed Simon and Simon grabbed Maia, and they stepped through into the base of the Seventh City.

There were yells and screams and several screens showing the view from the cameras of the forest where they’d been, and somebody had been sent to get Jace and Izzy, and Alec recognised a few of the faces as people he’d rescued in the ill-fated mission that had landed them in the Games.

Most importantly, Magnus was there, bruised and tired but alive — and free.

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