He wandered up to the family grave silently, reading off the names. Robert, Mayrse, Max, Isabelle…and Alexander. The Lightwood family all reunited once more in death. The last of the Lightwoods. Since neither Alec nor Isabelle had had children, the line would not continue. It seemed sad, with these five individuals, came the end of hundreds of years of their genetics. Jace held the Lightwood name, but he was a Herondale. He’d be passing on Herondale blood to the next Lightwood family. It wasn’t the same. And it was sad, that nobody would inherit Alec’s lovely blue eyes, and black hair.
Magnus sat down, on the grass in front of the grave, his eyes fixed to Alexander Gideon Lightwood’s space. He thought of the man he’d known, whom he loved, and still loved, even as Alec’s body was burned and used to keep up the wards. Magnus sighed, his shoulders slumped, and he looked down. He loved the man, married him, even. They’d spent years together, but Magnus was always too afraid to be mortal. Too afraid to give up everything he’d known for an early death. He put his head in his hands, “Alec…” He whispered, although the ashes of his body were far, far away. “I miss you.” He’d died forty-three years old. Too young to die, in Magnus’ opinion; but in Alec’s race, he was old – ready to die, even.
He’d grown upset with being seen with Magnus, as the years had set in, changing him. His face was wrinkling slightly, his hair had begun turning grey with age. And yet Magnus had stayed perfectly youthful – forever nineteen. He’d still loved him, despite the greying hair and the wrinkles, he still saw nothing but beauty and perfection. But it had made Alec worse – he’d always lacked a self-confidence, and since his aging, he’d turned almost completely back into the insecure eighteen year old who wanted nobody to know about Magnus. Full circle.
And that was when it happened. He’d gone out on a routine outing to hunt a demon with Jace and Clary – since Isabelle had died several years earlier, along with their parents, and he’d just never come home. Magnus had waited late that night, sitting on the settee, waiting for his husband to come home. And he never did. He’d sat there, until the morning sun had begun shining through the windows, and still he sat - staring straight ahead, hands knotted in his lap.
And then he’d heard a knock at the door, and had been so excited by the prospect of Alec coming home, he didn’t take any notice that he wouldn’t have knocked, since he owned a key. Magnus had opened the door to find Jace standing, red-eyed, his aging face drooping with sadness. “Magnus…Alec…” He cleared his throat, “Alec died, last night.” That was all he managed to say before the man was overcome by grief.
Magnus had stood there, shocked. “No.” he finally breathed. “No, he told me he was coming home. He told me.” He stuttered, and Jace just put a hand on his shoulder,
“I held him in my arms as he tried to breathe… I watched him leave, I felt him leave, Magnus. Alec is never coming home.” He told him, and it was just as painful for him to hear as it was for Magnus, who continued denying Alexander’s death. Inside he knew, of course he knew he was gone. Just last month Alec had tried to talk to him about his eventual demise. He hadn’t let him. You have years left, he’d said, brushing it off.
Jace had taken him to see the body, of course. They only let him see his face, enough to realise it was him. But he’d seen the red stained onto the sheet where they’d pulled it over without giving the blood time to dry. And he just kept thinking how horrible it must have been, to try and catch your breath as your lungs filled up with your own blood, and you drowned and choked. He kept thinking about how desperate he must have been to make the pain go away, to just make it stop, to feel a complete nothingness with no pain at all.
And at the funeral, as they burned his body, all Magnus could think was about all Alec’s life had boiled down to was the few family members he had left – just basically Jace and Clary and their two sons, and Isabelle’s husband Simon. No one else. No one who was going to remember him, think about him daily. But to Magnus the loss was everything. He’d lost his entire world.
“Oh Alec, that’s why I never gave it up…” he sobbed, “Because I knew you’d die before me - whether I was mortal or immortal, it didn’t matter.” His hand brushed against the Ale of his name engraved in the stone. “But I was so stupid. None of this means anything without you. I just want you back. I just want one more chance with you. I just want you to not be dead.” He regretted all of it. Everything he’d done, when he could have been growing old with Alec, taking care of him, like he should have. And in the end, he’d cared only about himself, and had stayed immortal. He had the rest of forever to mourn his husband.
He felt a hand on his shoulder, and looked up. “Immortality is a bitch, right?” Simon said sadly. He had flowers in his hands, obviously meant for Isabelle. And Magnus realised he wasn’t the only one missing a Lightwood. “You should have that printed on one of your word-shirts.” He joked, shifting over so Simon could sit next to him. “And none of it means anything anymore without the Lightwoods.” He continued, agreeing with Magnus’ passed statement. And the two of them sat together, hopelessly broken by the loss of their significant other, but at least they had each other and the rest of forever to mourn them.