Chapter Text
“But I want to go!” Max cried in a mixture of screaming and sobbing.
Alec closed his eyes and sighed deeply to calm himself, “That isn’t the place for you.”
“I already packed my bag.”
“That doesn’t matter.”
“But Rafe was allowed to go, too. Why not me?”
“Your case is different.”
“I’m also the son of the Consul and you said to Rafe yourself that the son of the Consul should go, to show everyone that there’s no special treatment for the Consul’s family.”
“But you’re not like Rafe.”
“Because my skin is blue?”
“What? No! … Well, it kind of has to do with it…”
“I knew it! This is discriminating!”
They were near shouting now.
“How do you even know that word? Did you watch mundane TV again?”
“That’s not the point here!”
“Indeed. The point is that you’ll not go. End of discussion.”
“Fine,” Max threw his backpack onto the floor, “But don’t expect me to ever talk to you again, Dad. I hate you.”
With that he stomped into his room and slammed the door shut with a flick of his hand. The crash was so loud that Ofelinia fell off her sleeping spot on the windowsill with a disapproving meow.
Behind him Alec heard Magnus, who lay on the couch, close his book audibly but Alec did not turn. He knew his husband well enough to know that Magnus did not approve. But what could he do?
Alec sighed again and joined Magnus on the couch. Magnus put the book away so Alec could snuggle himself chest to chest into Magnus’s embrace. This was the best way to calm him down. The world could shatter, overrun by all demons of hell, but Alec would always find rest in Magnus’s arms. And rest he could need. Being Consul of the Shadowhunter-community was nothing compared to coping with two pubescent sons.
“He can’t go,” Alec whispered half to Magnus, half to himself, “He would be an outsider. A curiosity at best. Even though the Cohort has officially been resolved, their values still linger in many minds. I spare him pain.”
Magnus said nothing.
“I know that I always wished for our boys to be able to be anything they want. I taught them that there are no limits to their individual fulfilment. But… Rafe does have Shadowhunter blood. Max doesn’t. He must understand that.”
Magnus remained silent.
“Perhaps we shouldn’t have trained him like a Shadowhunter. This will make it so much harder for him to accept that he’ll never become a full Shadowhunter.”
Not a word came from Magnus.
“I hate myself for not letting him go. I so much want him to be able to follow his dream. To be who he wants to be. I never wanted to be the kind of dad who puts stones in his children’s’ way.”
Alec heard nothing but Magnus’s steady breaths, felt them with every lifting of his chest.
“Is it right of me to hold Max back? Should he just make the experience? Should I give him the chance to prove himself, not only to himself or to us but to the world? He could be a pioneer, an example for many after him. Just like ourselves.” Alec lifted his head smiling. As always Magnus smelled of sandalwood and the burned-sugar flavor of magic. Alec cupped his warlock’s face with one hand to draw him nearer and place a kiss on Magnus’s lips. A dampened moan escaped Magnus’s throat, a sound that invited Alec to deepen the kiss, to let himself get drunk on it, while Magnus stroked over his arms, his chest, his waist with both hands longingly.
After a much too short symphony of joined movements and soft groans Alec was able to think again and asked with a husky voice, “Shall we go into our bedroom? Just in case Max decides to leave his room after all. You know how embarrassing it is for him to… interrupt us.”
Magnus started to grin and replied, “I don’t think that we have to worry about him interrupting us.”
Alec squinched, “Do you think he’s that mad at me?”
Magnus’s grin broadened, “No, I think we succeeded in raising two very independent and headstrong individuals.”
Alec did not get the point and asked in bewilderment, “Why?”
“Well…,” Magnus protracted the word and raised his brows, “Max’s backpack has magically disappeared from where he dropped it and I saw light flickering beneath his door during our… stimulating preoccupation. So, I assume that our beloved Blueberry took the opportunity while we were distracted to portal away.”
“What?!” Alec sat straight up hastily and took a deep breath as if to shout after his runaway son. After a few motionless seconds he simply deflated and sank back into Magnus’s arms.
“You don’t seem angry,” Alec mumbled against Magnus’s shoulder.
“How could I be angry at our son going his own way?” Magnus kissed Alec’s hair, which sent tingles down Alec’s spine.
“You would have sent him there in the first place, wouldn’t you?”
“Ever since Rafe left last year Max yearned to follow his brother. We could never have stopped him. So why take the trouble to try?”
“Because it’ll be hard for him. He’s not like the other students. He’s neither Shadowhunter nor Ascendee.”
“He’ll get along,” Magnus reassured him, “After all, as a baby he was left on the stairs of this very Shadowhunter Academy. I believe he’s kind of destined to be there.”
Alec rested his forehead against Magnus’s and murmured, “I trust you.”
“And you can trust Max. Rafe is at the Academy, too, to support him. Now, about heading to the bedroom…”
----
Dean Deborah Penhallow was just about to set her signature under a request for new rodenticide when a blueish light flickered on her desk which caused her to flinch, so that she smeared a big black line of ink all over her paper. Her face darkened like storm clouds, and she looked up to scream down whoever played this trick on her until they were as small as the rats roaming the Academy. Well, that was not really a good comparison because the Academy’s rats were immense monsters. They probably fed well on the food the students discarded secretly each time it was not edible. Meaning, constantly.
However, the Dean breathed in deeply, opened her mouth… and froze still, staring. On her desk stood a teenage boy with a huge backpack and a dazzlingly open smile. Not just any boy, that is. Judging from the marine blue skin and the barely visible horns protruding from a mess of curly blue hair this was the younger son of Consul Lightwood!
Since she had taken the position of the Dean ten years ago from her sister Vivianne, who had died during the battle against the Cohort, Deborah Penhallow has gotten used to students skipping lectures, sneaking in the forest, and smuggling in lovers. But never had she to deal with a blue teenager smiling down on her from atop her desk. He did not seem inclined to leave his position. That was not only a rather unfamiliar situation but also made her fear for her desk, which was, as nearly everything in the Academy, even some teachers, a remnant of ancient times. You could call it ‘antique’. But ‘decrepit’ was the more suitable term.
The farm near New York, where the Academy had temporarily been located, had been more comfortable than this ruin in Idris. But as the number of students had risen over the years (luckily, as the depleted numbers of Shadowhunters returned to their pre-Dark War level), the old farm simply could not provide enough space for the required rooms and the Academy resettled, again, in its old home. Therefore, Dean Penhallow had to deal with vermin-invasions and furniture, which could be turned into firewood by a breath of wind.
After a few seconds of silent staring, which did nothing good for the Dean’s authority, the boy cleared his throat and said, “Good afternoon, Dean Penhallow. I’m so glad I finally found your office. I already accidentally portaled myself in the kitchen, a history class and the girls’ bathroom. Though the present girls wouldn’t believe me that it was just a mistake.”
Dean Penhallow finally regained her composure enough to say in a hollow voice, “Um… Good afternoon. Mr. Lightwood-Bane, I suppose? Though it is of course a pleasure to meet you, would you mind if you could leave my desk? Perhaps you could seat yourself in front of it?”
“Sure thing,” he said and with a flick of his wrist one of the chairs opposite of her disappeared and reappeared next to her. The boy hopped from the desk and placed himself neatly into that very chair. This caused another moment of stunned silence before the Dean stated with just a little acid tinting her voice, “Normally, my visitors seat themselves opposite to me.”
“Really?” Lightwood-Bane seemed honestly surprised, “And I thought where you sit is the front.”
Stay calm, the Dean admonished herself. This is the Consul’s son, so be patient. Why ever he’s here, he’ll leave soon enough and then you can forget about this embarrassing incident.
She forced herself to smile back at the blue boy and inquired, “Now that you’ve finally found me, what can I do for you?”
Lightwood-Bane gleamed at her, “I’m here for my enrollment. This year I’ll become a student of the Shadowhunter Academy!”
Dean Penhallow felt as if a vampire slowly sucked the blood out of her hands and feet. She stuttered, “I… I’m sorry?”
The boy repeated slowly and carefully as if talking to a simpleton, “I want to enroll at the Shadowhunter Academy.”
“But… but… the Academy is for Shadowhunters.”
Lightwood-Bane facepalmed and exclaimed, “And I always wondered where the name comes from. Thank you for solving this old-times enigma for me. Luckily, I am a Shadowhunter like my father. You might have heard of him. He’s the Consul.”
The vampire now sucked dry her stomach and face, “Yes, well, it’s an honor for us to have your brother with us, but… um… I fear your case differs a little.”
“Of course, I know that thirteen is rather young age to start here. Rafe was nearly fifteen when he enrolled. But I’m positive that I can cope. I already received an extensive training at the New York Institute. My uncle Jace, Jace Herondale, was my tutor.”
If the vampire continued at this speed the Dean would be drained before finishing the next sentence. Jace Herondale was one of the most famous Shadowhunters alive and no one you would want to mess with if you valued your physical integrity.
“Yes, well, you know, we’re not really arranged to host… warlocks here.”
Lightwood-Bane frowned, “But Catarina Loss and Ragnor Fell and my father, my other father, they all lived here for a while and seemed fine with it.”
“Yes, as teachers. But we never had a warlock student here.”
The smile returned on the boy’s face, “Never fear. I’ve no special requirements. Just treat me like everybody else.”
Beside the blood the vampire must have drained her of all her words, too, as she had no idea what to reply. Thus, she retreated into familiar actions: she took an enrollment form out of the second drawer of her desk and started to fill it in, “Your complete name, please.”
“Maxwell Michael Lightwood-Bane.”
“Date of birth?”
“I don’t know. But we always celebrate my birthday on the day I was found on the steps of the Academy. Will that do?”
Dean Penhallow grunted unhappily but replied, “Sure, that’ll do.”
After this was settled, the Dean stopped still over the next question.
“Yes?” Lightwood-Bane inquired.
“I have to sort you into one of the streams for Shadowhunters or for Ascendees.”
“Then why do you hesitate? To the Shadowhunters, of course.”
“Of course,” Dean Penhallow was at the point where she just wanted to overhand the problem to someone else to deal with it. She hurried to finish the form and then looked up.
“We have but one problem left to solve: your accommodation.”
The boy inclined his head, “Can’t I share a room with my brother?”
“Your brother already has a roommate, I fear.”
To her surprise Lightwood-Bane started to laugh heartily, “Rafe has a roommate?! Are you sure the boy in question is still alive? Normally, my brother kills everyone who peaks in his privacy just with his looks.”
Dean Penhallow pressed her lips together indignantly, “Be assured that we do not allow the students to kill each other. We have enough losses during examination and Ascension.”
“I’m so sorry,” the boy said with a suddenly serious face, “I shouldn’t have made jokes about the death of my fellow students.”
“I would be obliged if you didn’t. However, you could live in the suite where your fathers resided when Mr. Bane taught here. How about that?”
The boy beamed: “That sounds great! That’s where they decided to adopt me! It’s in one of the towers, right? Who will be my roommate?”
“You’ll have it all for yourself.”
The smile was wiped from his face, “I’d rather share my room. The suite is big enough for two at least, isn’t it?”
The Dean squirmed, “Um… well… I don’t know if anyone is willing to share their room with… a warlock…”
The boy’s face turned from ocean blue to the color of the night sky. His horns even seemed to grow a little. Dean Penhallow leaned back in her chair.
“I’m a Shadowhunter,” Lightwood-Bane stated firmly, “And I’ll be treated like one. Now, give me a room like any other student has.”
The Dean surrendered. Lightwood-Bane didn’t seem to understand how much rejection he was about to face at the Academy. Though Consul Lightwood did his best to make the Downworlders and Shadowhunters equal partners, most students were taught at their Institutes to fear and mistrust Downworlders by parents and tutors who had witnessed less peaceful times. With his obvious warlock-mark, Lightwood-Bane would have a hard stand at the Academy.
She had to look at the bright side, she told herself. Since Rafael Lightwood-Bane started here, the Academy received a very generous monthly donation from an anonymous donor, connected with the kind request to engage a cleaner for the students’ dorms. Since then, the state of the rooms improved from filthy, moist dungeon to moist dungeon. Perhaps with the arrival of the Consul’s second son, this sum would increase enough to hire a ratter on a regular basis.
Dean Penhallow surrendered and said, “You could share a room with Mr. Rosewain. I doubt that he’ll complain.”
“That sounds great! I can’t wait to meet him! Thank you very much, Dean Penhallow.”
And to her utmost surprise, the blue skinned warlock stood up and embraced her cordially. She froze, her eyes wide, until he released her. Then she shook her head and silently guided him to the door.
Outside the Dean’s office one of the second year-students passed the floor with hurried steps. Dean Penhallow called her, “Miss Ross? Would you show Mr. Rosewain’s room to our newest entrant, Mr. Lightwood-Bane? It’s in the tower of the first graders. And give him his timetable, please.”
Miss Ross didn’t seem very eager to obey and opened her mouth in protest, but the words died in her mouth, and she just stared as Lightwood-Bane entered her visual field in all his smiling blue friendliness.
Dean Penhallow hurriedly took advantage of Miss Ross’s astonishment, “Thank you very much, Miss Ross. I wish you all the best for your start, Mr. Lightwood-Bane.”
And with these words she hastily closed her office’s door between her and her latest problem, as if it could be solved by putting a heavy wooden shield between them. Then she leaned against the closed door and took a deep breath.
The Consul was known to be overly protective of his family. What would he do if his son was bullied at the Academy? And the boy would be bullied, the Dean knew her students well enough to know that Lightwood-Bane’s appearance, simply him being a warlock would cause more trouble than just a complicated enrollment. But then, she thought, he had such a cordial, sincere attitude. It was heart-warming. Dean Penhallow just hoped that he could maintain it in a hostile environment.
----
Max took some time to examine this new acquaintance of his. After all, this girl was the first fellow student he got to know (besides Rafe, but a brother didn’t count). She seemed a few years older than him, 16 perhaps. Judging from the name, she was a mundane training for her Ascension. Judging from her physique she could compete with every Shadowhunter: everything about her, from her sturdy legs to her broad shoulders, was covered in muscles. She was dressed in training gear with a broadsword strapped over her shoulder, so Max supposed that she had been on her way to the fencing hall, when she had been stopped by the Dean. And considering the darkness of her looks beneath her pony-tailed blond hair, she was not happy about it. Max decided to make the task as pleasant as possible for her. He gave her a bright smile and said, “Hi! I’m very happy to meet you. My name is Max, and I enrolled just today at the Academy. What’s your name?”
To his surprise the girl’s looks turned even darker as she answered quite monosyllabically, “Cara.”
Then she just turned and went away. Max was stunned for a moment before he went after her. “Shouldn’t you show me my room?” he inquired. Without looking at him she replied, “I do.”
“Oh, ok. So, you’re not the talkative kind, I suppose. But that’s ok, I figure I can talk for us both. My Dad uses to say, if I were at the Congregation, the meetings would even outlast the lifetime of the vampire-member. I have two dads, actually. And a brother. He has already trained here for one year. We…,” but before he could finish the sentence, Cara interrupted him briskly, “I don’t want to know about you or your family. I simply want to finish this task as soon and silently as possible to resume training. Because I’m here to train. Not to converse.” Without waiting for a response, she moved on through the dark corridor. Max had heard some accent in her words that he couldn’t quite classify. Swedish perhaps?
While they proceeded through the labyrinthic floors of the old building Max continued to talk nevertheless, but he changed to more general topics than family. He asked where to find the bathrooms if the food was as bad as they claimed and when in the mornings the first lesson started. Cara replied but kept the answered so short that Max was quite impressed how condensed she could express information.
Finally, with one question, he seemed to hit a sensitive spot, “With which weapons will we train?” Her face brightened a nuance and she started to rattle down a list of weapons every ancient warlord would have licked his fingers for. Max didn’t know half of them and suspected that Cara also listed some instruments of torture and kitchen equipment without him noticing.
When they arrived at a heavy wooden door in one of the towers, Cara, who had just finished specifying all variations of scimitars available at the Academy (it was seventeen), knocked and entered without waiting for an answer. Max entered his new home right behind Cara just in time to see a slim boy about his own age with messy brown hair, who stood on a chair in front of the window, spin around in surprise. His movements caused the chair to tip over so that the boy lost his balance and fell headfirst through the open window towards the stony courtyard 100 feet below.