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littlx-songbxrd · 3 years

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Chain of Iron:Death theory

As the awaited release date for Chain of Iron approaches and the fandom decends into pure madness, I want to put in my last two cents of overthinking before I stop having coherent thoughts

So we all know this is a second book, and second books bring the absolute pain in the shadowhunter chronicles. There is likely going to be a death from the mains considering the theme of this book, and I am here to throw my theory and reasons as to who I think it might be. Im here to sadly theorize about why I think Christopher Lightwood might not make it past the last hours

1. Tatianas revenge

Right now, Tatiana wants revenge after all our main families: the carstairs, herondales, fairchilds and both branches of the lightwoods. For the lightwood-collins theres barbaras death. For the herondales her daughter has been manipulating their son for over 6 years. Theres a theory that the fairy poison Mathew bought that caused Charlottes misscarriage could be traced back to her. And there are other theories that Elias dissaperance between chog and choi could have something to do with Belial. As of right now the only family who is yet to recieve any permanent damage or tragedy are the lightwood-herondales. Which is really ironic considering its the only family that has two bloodlines Tatiana wants to harm. Not only that, but theyre also the children of who Tatiana blames directly for her fathers death, Gabriel. It seems fishy to me there hasn't been any permanent damage in their family, and I dont think that is gonna last for long

2. The family tree

The family tree states that Grace Cartwright (Aka Grace Blackthorn) marries Christopher Lightwood and theyre the ones who continue the line that leads to Alec and Isabelle. Now Cassandra has said varius times the family tree can be misleading, and I am a firm believer this is one of the misleading ends. Why this lie was created, I'm not sure, but lets analize some things. As of right now there are 5 lightwood children. At least 3 of them can pass down the lightwood name. Of those three, if we take into account that Thomas may not have kids due to being gay, that still leaves two branches of lightwood kids that may continue on. As of present time we only have word of one line, Alec and Isabelles. And Robert isnt said to have any cousins, theres no mention in the future of another lightwood line. So the idea that both Alexander and Christopher have kids is pretty unbelivable considering theres only one lightwood line in the future. Unless Alexander goes on to have only girls and Christopher has only one boy, it seems more likely the family tree is wrong. Isabelle and Alec are confirmed as of the bane chronicles to be decendants of Gabriel lightwood (Isabelle makes a reference to looking up her great great grandfather Gabriel Lightwood and telling magnus he was hot in the last story of the book)

So its already confirmed they're a) the last decendants of the lightwood line and b) that line stems from Gabriel. If we based ourselves solely on the family tree and Christopher being the one carrying the line, that would have been believable enough not to raise any red flags. Christopher IS the son of Grabriel Lightwood, able bodied and seems to have a general attraction to women (I mean, we all know hes aro/ace but lets stick with canon). There isnt anything pointing to him not being able to marry and have kids. Where the red flags raise for me is with Alexander

Alexander wasnt in the original plans for the family tree, he was added when Cassie started writting the last hours. If you take into account his role in chog, there really was no reason to add Alexander Lightwood. He doesnt seem to do anything, hes a 3 year old kid, you can very well delete him from the narrative and nothing would change. So why did Cassandra add him?? Why did she decide to make Cecily and Gabriel have another kid ?

To me, it seems a lot like the baby carstairs situation . The family tree says Alastair carries the carstairs line, Alastair is a gay man so he cant have biological kids, theres another unplaned baby to carry the line. It seems to me Christopher carrying the lightwood line is a lie, and Alexanders role is to carry it in his place. I even found a little info from an ask wayy before chain of gold came out where it said Alexander had green eyes, but in the book she changed it to blue eyes. The exact same shade the modern day lightwoods seem to have. A trait hes more likely to pass down than his lavender eyed brother who supposedly "marries" grey eyed grace

3. Character Arc

Characters in literature need goals, things to work for or work towards through the story in order for them to develop. We call those things character arcs, and it seems we have all ignored how christophers may have indirectly ended. If you read his short story, or just overall analize his character, his main goal is simple. He wants to create something that will help the nephlim through science. His personal character arc is that he wants to prove himself and his skill to the clave using his passion to be a hero.

An arc that could have been expanded all through the series, and ended with him using his skills in the end to defeat belial in some way, proving his passions worth. Through the story we could have had a glimpse at his struggles, how he was put down, the failed attempts, fustrations etc. This all could have rounded christopher as a character, and brought more satisfaction to the end goal of his arc which is proving the value of his science. But instead, his arc in book seemingly already ended? Because he did it, he figured out a way to combine science with his duty and saved the entire enclave from the demon poison. He is now acclaimed a hero for his skills. All the other characters have things to finish going into chain of iron, Christopher doesnt. Why would she end an arc that could have taken through the entire series in just one book? Christopher is the only secondary character with a defined personality and a lack of arc to look foward too in following books. This could all point that his arc was rushed because it was being cut short

4. Lightwood blood

There has been a lot of theories going around about Thomas being the one who gets killed in this book, which is resonable considering the unerving amount of forehsadowing we've had to him getting himself caught up in something. But I raise you this, why would CC be giving us so much assurance that Thomas was going to get hurt if she was going to kill him? Not only would she be reaveling one of her most devastating murders, she would basically be spoiling a very big part of her own book. Thomas death would affect everyone, if she WERE to kill him she wouldnt be indulging us in our Thomas death theory as much as she has. Itd be too expectable, I actually believe that by giving us all the info she has she has more or less confirmed he wont die.

I believe this is all a decoy. Shes giving us foreshadowing towards something bad happening to Thomas, to cover up the very big reality shes planning to kill someone else. Theres a very big chance that for the resurection, theyre gonna need Jesses families blood. Same way Malcom needed blackthorn blood to raise Annabel. As of rightnow there arent any blackthorns (by blood) left alive, the only blood relatives Jesse still had are the lightwoods. So we already know Thomas gets captured by the murderer (referenece to the art), but it is most likely he gets rescued. People speculate he most likely got captured for the resurection Tatianas trying to do, because of his lightwood blood. But if Thomas escapes, Tatiana still needs her families blood. And I'd like to point out this is also where the fact she hasnt taken permanent revenge on the lightwood-herondales would come in. Theres a good chance that if the murders are releated to her, and she cant have Thomas, she wont stop at just Thomas.

5. Story relevance

In all sense of story, Christopher is the perfect candidate to kill. As hard as that is to say: he's a secondary character, who has a well defined personality, loved enough by the fans that there would certainly be a shock factor following his death, important enough to the story that there would be a big impact to the narrative, and interwined enough with the main characters to cause emotional distress in the story. His arc is indirectly done, this author has a history of killing lightwoods, there isnt much to discourage the possibility he might be killed besides the faulty family tree. And as I said, that tree has been stated multiple times to be misleading

Bonus prove

6. Christophers cut-out

Same way were analizing the hell out of a broken spear, why are we not talking about the skull on christophers?

(Sorry couldnt get better quality pics)

The truth is, I hate this theory as much as everyone, Im genuinly hoping chain of iron proves me wrong. But there are 5 deaths comming, and not all of them can be side characters. Cordelia Lucie and James all have main character protection. I already explained why Thomas dying is unlikely. Anna, Ariadne and Alastair have gay protection (and I think some asks about Alastair dying were pretty much answered with a discreet no)

If there are mains dying, Christophers the most likely to go

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lady-o-ren · 3 years

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THE HUNGER OF MY HEART

//PROLOGUE// //PART ONE// PART TWO

PART THREE

For easier reading here’s the link for ao3 (X)

Jamie stepped into the Lallybroch stables and whistled melodically through his teeth. A wide-browed grey horse poked his head out from the corner stall, hitching his ears forward as he blew excitedly through his nostrils.

"Cobhar, ciamar a tha thu?" Said Jamie fondly, firmly patting the long dappled neck of the horse and scratching behind his ears. "Di' ye miss me, my wee laddie?"

Nothing was wee about Cobhar. He was a good-tempered, but spirited 14-hand gelding that had been the first foal that Jamie's father let him care for when he was a lad, still mourning his mother and needing distraction.

Cobhar's big head came down and mouthed affectionately at Jamie's curls then cheeks in greeting, as he always had done, then descended down to his knuckles, eager for the sweet treat he could smell hiding in his palm.

"Och, ye miss being spoilt is all then? Didn'a think of me once while I was gone, di' ye?"

Cobhar huffed impatiently and nudged his head against Jamie's chest, nibbling at the buttons, while swishing his dirt-blonde tail side to side.

"A'right, laddie," Jamie chuckled, patting him again. "Here ye go. No need to knock me over." The stallion's soft velvet lips plucked the whole apple from out his opened palm and devoured it in one loud and juicy crunch.

"Fattening auld Cobhar a'ready, Jamie?"

Jamie grinned ear to ear as he looked aside to see his best friend, and now brother-in-law, Ian, amble up beside him. He was tall and whipcord lean and strong, with an honest, good-natured face about him that had captured his sister, Jenny's heart when they were naught but bairns.

"Ye're one to talk, Ian. My sister didn'a get big as a house on her own, di' she?"

Face a rich blush, Ian laughed and bashfully scratched his nose, crooked from when Jamie broke it years before, having found him and Jenny in the most compromising of ways.

"Still a wee shite, Fraser. And still redder than a roosters arse," said Ian, as he playfully smacked the back of Jamie's head.

As had everyone else in the family since he arrived back home. His uncle's, aunties and brutally by his beloved godfather, Murtagh, for being away from Lallybroch for so long. But the real blackening had come from Jenny, a feat for a pregnant woman who had once been no bigger than his thumb. Thank Christ, he had a skull made of solid stone (though as predicted she had embraced soon after and kissed him more than what was decent for a sister to).

Rubbing the multitude of throbbing black and blue bumps on his head (but after having given Ian a hard punch to his shoulder), Jamie spotted what looked to be an envelope under his brother-in-law's arm.

"Plan on feeling the bills to the white sow, Ian?"

Ian looked at him quizzically before making an "O" with his mouth and pulled the envelope out.

"It came yesterday, before you di'," said Ian, handing it over to Jamie, who curiously flipped it over.

It was a letter actually. He grinned, almost laughing, as it was addressed to James Alexander Malcom Mackenzie Fraser and had been tied thoughtfully with twine and a sprig of greenery embedded (accidentally?) in its bow that he brushed a blunt forefinger to.

It was from Claire.

Jamie glanced up to see Ian smirking at him and felt his ears blush hot.

"Ye're damn lucky I saw that before yer sister di'. She'd be holding it up to the light and steaming the seams open."

"She'd do no such thing," Jamie retorted, with a glint of humor in his eyes. "Yer wife would tear it open wi' her teeth and wave it in my face."

"That she would," Ian agreed with a chest shaking chuckle. "But our lass is a bloodhound and will find out sooner than not about the puir lass that ye've set yer heart upon."

The last was said almost in question. A hope that maybe Jamie had found a way to balm his wearied heart, knowing that his travels were not just a simple bout of wanderlust and the outlandish reason why. He had the look of a man now awakened, as if he'd been reborn. Something Ian himself had experienced the day Janet Fraser gave him his first kiss at the tender age of six and had never recovered from.

Nor had his nose.

Jamie met Ian's hazel eyed gaze.

"Her name's Claire," he beamed, not bothering to hide the emotion in his voice that rivaled the reverence of a prayer to the creator above. "I met her in London a week ago. Spent every second I could wi' her."

And leaving the woman of his dreams had been like having his heart cleaved in two.

"Then you'll have to write to me," Claire had said, beneath her gates woven green with ivy, having clasped her fingers to his, while her other hand held his arm as if to draw him back to her marvelous world.

"Letters, ye mean?" He gulped, having felt himself sway to her power.

She nodded. "I prefer it. I can't stand the ringing and pinging of a telephone. Will you, Jamie?" Her voice had sounded unsure as if it were indeed possible he could ever refuse her.

"Who do I address it to?" He had smiled, while grazing a tentative thumb to the back of her palm. "The funny house no one can see at the end of nowhere street?"

"You're a smart one." She pulled her hand away to tap his nose but had let her caress linger innocently, cluelessly, down his ginger stubbled cheek as he shivered with desire, wanting to kiss the base of her thumb, count her freckles with his mouth. "Address it to this empty lot and your letter will find me. Just don't be forever."

Jamie had pressed his hand over hers, not knowing if he could ever let her go, feeling his breath stitch tight.

"Then until I see ye again, Sassenach."

She glowed at the name he'd given her the day they'd met. Had told him before it suited her better than even her given one.

Jamie hadn't agreed with that at all and wanted to tell her what Claire was in the Ghàidhlig.

One day he would.

Perhaps strung together with the phrase stirring in his heart.

Tha gaol agam ort

But apparently a day had been far too long for her.

"I think she's the one," Jamie continued on, in almost startling disbelief as he grinned like the lovesick fool he was. "The one that's been calling for me all these years."

"Christ, man! She's real?!" Ian gripped his shoulder, matching his excitement. "Should we be expecting yer Claire for hogmanay with a wee one of yer own?"

Before Jamie could stutter a heart racing answer to that query, the two were interrupted by Jenny hollering for them.

“D’ye two want yer dinner, or shall I feed it to the dogs!?”

Said dogs, Luke and Elphin, Mars and auld Bran, howled in answer while Jamie groaned at his sister's impeccable timing.

Ian slapped his back though and gave his dearest friend and bràthair an encouraging smile and waggle of his dark brows. "Read the damn letter, man. I'll take care of yer sister. Just remember when yer wean's born to name him after me, aye?"

After watching Ian depart with a wink, Jamie threw a long leg over Cobhar's stall door (shushing the nosey beast with a promise of sugar cubes) and settled himself low in the hay.

After pocketing the bit of green to his breast pocket with a delicate hand, he carefully untied the twine and opened Claire's letter. The sweet fragrance of elderflowers and chamomile kissed the page where a simple request was written that had Jamie hopping over the stall door and running towards Lallybroch, with his pack of dogs yapping at his heels.

My Dear Jamie,

At the end of the week I'll be in Edinburgh.

Join me?

"Are ye ever going to tell me what's in this thing, Sassenach?"

Up and down the winding streets of Edinburgh, past the many sloping buildings and cafes and bitty book shops stacked beside one another, Jamie had been carrying a heavy and ornate wooden chest for Claire as she walked ahead of him, looking for the shop to deliver it to.

She glanced over her shoulder at him and her young apprentice, Elias, beside him, who'd taken quite a shine to the older Scotsman. He too had been tasked with carrying a package. It was strapped to his back, a long leather cylinder that could've held anything from mundane documents to a treasure map. Jamie wasn't sure at all.

"It's not for me to say. Besides it would only worry your dreams."

"That doesna make me feel any better," Jamie murmured, staring warily at what he held in his arms which amused Claire greatly enough to bite her posey lush lips from laughing.

"Then pretend it's a cake box."

Elias snorted, catching Jamie's attention.

"Ye ken what's in this thing don't ye, mo charaid?"

"Aye - I mean yes. But -" Elias flicked his round eyes to his mistress's straight back then cupped his hand to his round cheek. "I'll tell you later. It's downright awful and I nearly lost my -"

"You know I can hear you both? I'm not that old."

"And how old is that?" Jamie asked half teasing, half with genuine curiosity, while Elias pinked, snorting loudly once more.

Claire stopped in her tracks and spun on her heels, cutting a look at the younger lad who quickly cowered behind the much taller man.

"I'm old enough to remember Queen Victoria but not the Bonnie Prince. Is that enough for you?" She replied flatly, crossing her arms.

Jamie went a bit bug-eyed, mentally counting the decades since the little Queen's reign. Then his wide mouth twitched.

"And ye say ye're no' a witch?"

Claire rolled her eyes and continued walking but a smile had peeked on her lips that encouraged Jamie to tease her more.

"Ye ken," he began, walking beside her now and shifting the weight of the chest as he did so. "There are auld highland tales that say curls wild as yers are the mark of a Ban-druidh, and that the crows favor them to make their nests."

She tugged at her dark locks and watched as they bounced back on release with utter disdain written on her face.

"They're more of a tumbleweed curse if you ask me," she frowned, making Jamie quickly regret his words.

"I didna mean it that way, Sassenach. Truly. Yer curls are lovely. They're like the ripples in a burn when the rain and leaves fall upon it. Luminous as the sky rich in twilight. And yer eyes, Christ, they're. . ."

Jamie's voice trailed off when he realized they'd stopped walking and had the wide-eyed attention of both Elias and Claire.

As well as everyone else on the street alongside them.

How loudly had he been blabbering?

But then a smile of pure delight broke across Claire's face, reflecting brightly in her eyes, as she tucked an errant curl behind her ear, only for another far more impetuous to take its place.

"How has no one snatched up a charmer like you, Jamie?"

One had. A very oblivious one.

Jamie sheepishly shrugged and found unparalleled interest in the engravings of the wooden box he carried as his face blazed the very color of his beating heart. He looked very much like a schoolboy.

Unnoticed by them though was dear Elias, whose sea-grey eyes darted between them both, grinning sweet as pie.

Walking down another street, Claire finally announced they had arrived, and the men, sore footed and muscle strained, sighed in relief.

The shop exterior was hard wood and painted coal black while the door was a dark and flaking green. And written in gold on the long framed window beside the door, Jamie read to himself

THE WITHERED BONE

Potions // Trinkets // Antiques

The Finest Biscuits This Side of the Black Realm

"Biscuits?" Jamie murmured, knotting his brow. "What kind of shop is this? Like yers, Sassenach?"

"Not necessarily," she said, hand hesitant on the brass doorknob. "For one it's in plain sight. But if you want to call anyone a witch the three who own this place would fit the bill. I think they even have a cauldron."

"They do. I saw it with - uh, nevermind," Elias choked at the last, blushing beet red.

Claire arched her brow. "Now Elias -"

"I know, ma'am," he drawled, fiddling with the strap over his chest. "Stay away from Ms. Annalise and keep to your side."

"And Jamie -"

He looked at her smiling wryly. "Ms. Annalise?"

"Shut up," she said, playfully swatting his arm. "You stay at the front of the shop. There's nothing there that can bite your nose off."

Claire then ushered them both through the door.

Inside, it was a cluttered jumble of anything and everything. An elaborate display of lost treasures from Africa to France and most prominently the Jacobite resistance in all its doomed glory. There was an array of vintage costume jewelry, stacked stop tables against the walls and racks of overflowing clothing a group of young girls were pawing through, where one in particular, all flaxen hair and big doe eyes, was swaying to the melancholy chords of a record that crackled softly in the background.

What makes you think love will end?

When you know that my whole life depends

On you

It was a tune Jamie remembered his parents dancing to. His mother had been wrapped in his father's arms as he nuzzled her cheek, softly mouthing the words against her skin. The young girl hummed it too as she gazed dreamily at a dress in her hands.

Overhead hung a simple iron chandelier that seemed to have been ripped straight from a castle's dungeon, dripping hot candle wax to a metal bowl placed on the hardwood floors. One burning drop fell down Jamie's neck as he walked beneath them, that had him cursing underbreath as he scrunched his shoulders and knocked his knee into a table, rattling the knickknacks.

"Ye break it ye buy it, laddie," came a voice from the front of the shop. "I'll take cash and the blood of yer first born."

"Oh, Geilie," said Claire and crossed over to the counter, leaning over the glass display of dirks and sgian dhu (with a cookie jar atop) to kiss a rather wicked to the bone looking redhead's cheek. "You are terrible."

"It wasn'a as if I lied," Geilie snickered, turning her attention first to young Elias who flinched under her unnerving gaze then to Jamie, blatantly raking over his physique before Claire stepped into her view.

"Who's the clumsy stag ye've brought wi' ye, Claire?"

"A friend who I very much like as he is. No twitching your nose or feeding him your biscuits." She then mumbled to Jamie at her shoulder. "Hansel and Gretel, remember?"

"Ye're never any fun," she pouted, then pointed her chin. "Have ye a name, stag?"

"Jamie," he replied simply, not at all trusting the unsettling woman before him with more than that.

"Weel then, Jamie, ye can leave that in the corner there and you," she looked at Elias with a devilish grin as she propped her chin on her hand and drummed her fingers to her cheek. "Louise will be waiting downstairs fer ye, Annalise too. But ye kent that aye?"

While the young lad experienced a sudden shortness of breath, Jamie set the delivery down and rather dumbly asked, "What's downstairs?"

Geilie's eyes shimmered like the feral beast whose blood she probably bathed in, chilling Jamie down to his bones.

"Why? Are ye needin' an ill-wish like the wee lasses over there." She gestured over to the girls taking their leave. "Mebbe something far more entertaining and lethal like a summoning? Those require a blood sacrifice, ken. Nothing so tender as yer sweet lass here wi' her trade of bits and bobs.

She wasn't kidding.

Jamie glanced at the doorway that led downstairs, carved with cabbalistic symbols. A faint whiff of bitter herbs wafted through a pigeon blood red curtain that shadowed it, mingling with a coppery tang he could taste on his tongue, tainting the air. It churned his wame with sick.

"Or are ye wantin' - Oh!" She quickly shot a strange and startled look over to Claire.

"Leave him be, Geilie," Claire chided, unaware of the questions in her sometimes friend's eyes as she threw all her attention on Jamie.

"We'll only be a minute," she assured him with a hand running down his arm, sending a shock of steadying warmth through him that he knew came from someplace bewitching within her. "And don't worry about Geilie, she won't touch a hair on your head when she knows I can shrivel hers like a prune."

Jamie smiled at his own Ban-druidh. Must've whispered it too, to deserve the pinch she gave him before leaving with Elias downstairs to the witch's grisly lair.

"I ken what yer after, mo bhalaich," came Geilie's voice, softly speaking to him as if he were a friend. "I can see it festering in ye like hemlock, yer love fer the Sassenach."

Jamie nervously glanced over to the doorway. "I dinna ken what yer on about, woman."

"Dinna bother hidin' it, no' like she can see it anyhow. She hasn't the heart fer it, ye see. Hers was taken by her old master, the wee frog, who lived in that house of hers before she di'. She hasn'a a clue where it is, doesn'a even ken it's missin', and wi'out it she canna love ye back."

"Why - Why should I believe you?" Jamie asked haltingly, for his throat was being strangled by his heart, ripped from beneath his ribs.

"Why would I lie, ye puir wee fool? Save yerself, getaway, or that love ye carry will swallow ye whole, heart and soul and breath."

Only when she touched the tender spot on his chest did Jamie realize he was bent over the counter a hair's breadth away from the witch, close enough to see the harsh and earnest truth pooling in her eyes.

Then she pushed him away.

"All done," said Claire, coming through the curtain, and cast her gaze between the two in front of her.

"What have you two been doing?" She waved a finger at them both.

"Oh, a little talking is all. Nothing more," grinned Geilie, face a mask of perfect innocence.

Claire hummed, believing otherwise and tried to make light of whatever she saw troubling Jamie's face. "You should know whatever Geilie told you, it's probably only half as bad or twice as worst,"

"Och, I'm sure of it, Sassenach. Shall we go?" Jamie said hurriedly, not meeting her eye. Trying to forget what the witch had said.

She slowly nodded, her face lined with concern, but tucked her slender arm through his and gave Geilie a half-hearted goodbye. Immediately, Jamie felt the blood in his veins flow to his heart now beating in its proper place and air return to his lungs.

But somewhere deep inside himself, Jamie could feel the beginnings of a rotting ache bloom and take root. He was already too far gone.

"You didn't eat the biscuits did you."

He managed a weak chuckle and swallowed. "No lass." But then he swiveled his head. "Where's the wee lad?"

In five seconds flat, Claire had Elias by his arm like a child, his face a burning fever red and eyes bowed to the ground with Ms. Annalise leaning at the doorway, a beguiling smile on her face.

No time is wasted that makes two people friends

THANK YOU to everyone who reads and comments on this fic. You have no idea how much I appreciate it!!

!!MERRY CHRISTMAS!!

Now Author Notes

*First off sorry for all the messy mistakes and eye gouging writing

*Thanks to @soinspiredbyyou/ @mo-nighean-rouge for help with the line tweaking "Perhaps strung together with the phrase stirring in his heart." Although hers was actually better "Perhaps preceded by a phrase stirring in his heart" but preceded sounded too smart and too good for my dummy words.

*The descriptions of Cobhar are from the book cause I don't know anything about horses.

*The song is Never My Love

*I may come back and fiddle with this chapter but I really wanted to get this done before Christmas.

*Next chapter will be the last

#jamie x claire #Outlander #outlander fic #outlander fanfiction

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weavingthetapestry · 3 years

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1130 AD: Slaughter at Stracathro

(Detail of Angus from Robert Edward’s map of 1678- Stracathro can be seen north of Brechin on the banks of the Esk. Clicking on the image should make it larger. Reproduced with the permission of the National Library of Scotland)

In the year 1130, an army led by Angus, ruler of Moray, was defeated by forces loyal to David I, King of Scots, at the Battle of Stracathro. Although this engagement was recorded by a wide variety of medieval chroniclers and historians, few provide any details about the course of the battle or its background. Even the exact date is unclear. Nonetheless, Stracathro is often seen as a pivotal moment in the relationship between the powerful lords of Moray and the developing kingdom of Scotland, and an important flashpoint in the domestic politics of David I’s reign.

To make sense of the various surviving accounts of this battle, it is necessary to give some background information on Angus of Moray’s status. In the eleventh and twelfth centuries, ‘Moray’ covered a much larger area than it does now. A territory which stretched from the north-east to Ross, its rulers often found themselves in competition with the neighbouring jarls of Orkney and the kings of Alba, the latter of whom were then expanding their territory to include Strathclyde and Lothian south of the Forth, forging what we would now recognise as the kingdom of Scotland. However it is unclear whether Moray’s lords were independent rulers or regional lieutenants of the kings of Alba. The current academic consensus seems to be in favour of the latter, with some historians calling the rulers of Moray ‘mormaers’ (literally ‘great steward’ but often seen as equivalent to ‘earl’). Nevertheless Moray’s medieval inhabitants may well have seen things differently. At any rate, the rulers of Moray were clearly powerful figures in the north, with a close (if often fraught) relationship with the rulers of what we now call Scotland.

This closeness increased in 1040 when Moray’s ruler, Mac Bethad Mac Findlaích (Shakespeare’s ‘Macbeth’) seized the throne of Alba. Mac Bethad had claimed Moray after his cousin Gillecomgain burned to death in 1032. He had also swiftly married Gillecomgain’s widow Gruoch* who was a granddaughter of Kenneth III, king of Alba. Some years later, Mac Bethad defeated the then king of Alba, Duncan I, in battle near Elgin, and claimed the throne of Alba. He ruled for seventeen years before his own death at Lumphanan in 1057, following his defeat by forces loyal to Duncan’s son Malcolm III. Mac Bethad was briefly succeeded by his stepson Lulach ‘fatuus’ (‘the simple’), son of Gillecomgain and Gruoch, before Lulach too was killed in 1058 and Malcolm III succeeded in wresting control of Scotland...

(The Laich of Moray in the Blaeu Atlas of 1654. Reproduced with the permission of the National Library of Scotland)

(The shire of Moray is highlighted in blue and Angus (Forfarshire) in red. The old county system was only beginning to emerge in David I’s reign, and Moray in particular referred to a much larger province than shown here. The black spot shows the general location of Stracathro- I am no cartographer however, so this is only a rough guide. Template Source).

No more kings of Alba would be drawn from the house of Moray after Lulach’s death. A short conflict between Malcolm III and Lulach’s son Máel Snechta did break out in 1078: Máel Snechta got the worst of it but may have reached an agreement with Malcolm, since his kinsmen continued to rule in Moray for some decades. After this no serious challenges came from Moray for over fifty years until 1130, when another descendant of Lulach- his daughter’s son Angus- was ruler of the province.

Although we know something of his maternal ancestry (his father is a complete mystery), Angus of Moray is still a rather obscure figure. Late mediaeval Irish annals call him ‘rí’ or ‘king’ of Moray. Conversely, contemporary Anglo-Norman sources, as well as the Chronicles of Melrose and Holyrood, and late mediaeval Scottish historians like John of Fordun, all use the Latin word ‘comes’, which implies that they saw Angus’ position as roughly equivalent to that of a count or earl. Some bias is to be expected from Anglo-Norman sources since they usually favoured the descendants of Malcolm III and St Margaret over other branches of the royal house. Nonetheless we lack convincing evidence that the early twelfth century rulers of Moray controlled an independent kingdom, though they might perhaps have been ‘subkings’. We do know that Angus had a reasonably good claim to rule over both Moray and Alba, and the men of Moray were clearly willing to support him in this. And yet there had been no recorded conflict for over fifty years, so why did Angus choose to make his move in 1130?

Perhaps the answer can be found in the internal politics of the Scottish royal house. By 1130, David I, the youngest son of Malcolm III by his second wife Margaret of Wessex, had worn the title ‘King of Scots’ for six years. Although history remembers David as an impressive and innovative monarch- one of those kings who ‘made’ Scotland- in the early years of his reign his power seems to have been centred on the southern provinces of Lothian and Strathclyde. His control of ‘Scotia’ or Alba- the traditional heartland of the kingdom north of the River Forth- was less certain, and he must have seemed a very distant figure in a place like Moray. He also had to contend with rivals for the throne, like Malcolm, the son of David’s older brother and predecessor Alexander I. Described by the contemporary Anglo-Norman chronicler Orderic Vitalis as illegitimate, in an age when this did not yet disqualify a man from kingship, Ailred of Rievaulx later called Malcolm, ‘the heir of his father’s hatred and persecution’.* He may have opposed his uncle David at the outset of the reign, though if so he was plainly unsuccessful. This was not to be the last of Malcom’s intrigues however, since he pops up again a few years later in the company of Angus of Moray, taking part in the invasion of Alba in 1130. Perhaps then Malcolm’s appearance in Moray meant that he was able to convince Angus to support his claim and that this provided the impetus for the invasion. However it must be said that, in general, Angus is presented as the real leader of the campaign. Most sources do not even seem to think Malcolm’s presence at Stracathro worth mentioning, while Orderic Vitalis wrote that Angus ‘entered Scotland with the intention of reducing the whole kingdom to subjection’, and merely notes that Malcolm accompanied the army.

(David I and his grandson Malcolm IV, in a twelfth century charter belonging to Kelso Abbey. Source- Wikimedia commons)

(The round tower at Brechin, a few miles south of Stracathro, was likely constructed in the twelfth century, if not earlier. It is one of only two such round towers in Scotland)

It is also worth bearing in mind that, at the time of the invasion of Alba, David I was probably hundreds of miles away in the south of England, attending the court of his brother-in-law King Henry I. Although David’s relationship with the English king had proven useful on many occasions, this time it might have provided Angus and his allies with the perfect opportunity to revolt. Perhaps his absence also provided motive: later twelfth century kings of Scots would occasionally face armed opposition to their prolonged absences from the realm, and it is possible that Angus sought to capitalise on any discontent. Whatever the ultimate cause of their revolt, the year 1130 saw Angus and Malcolm march south with an invasion force which is said to have been 5,000 strong.

Contemporary sources do not tell us much about the course of the campaign. Only the late fourteenth century historian John of Fordun, who hailed from the Mearns himself and probably drew on earlier sources, gives a location for the sole recorded battle- Stracathro, near Brechin in Angus. This suggests that Angus of Moray’s army either headed south by one of the tracks over the Grampian mountains or, perhaps more likely, travelled east in the direction of Aberdeen and from there made its way down the low-lying strip of land between the Mounth and the coast. This last route would have covered roughly similar terrain to the modern A90 road and, although the landscape of long rolling fields sloping away towards the blue foothills of the Mounth in the west may have looked very different in the twelfth century, its strategic value for a mediaeval army on the move is readily apparent. The Romans had already marched across this ground a thousand years earlier, leaving the remains of a camp at Stracathro, and the conquering forces of Edward I of England would later follow a similar route north in 1296. It is also clear that, despite the sparse details given in contemporary sources, and despite David I’s posthumous legacy as a strong monarch, the 1130 invasion represented a serious crisis. In the absence of any recorded opposition, Angus and his supporters had been able to overrun the fertile east coast of ‘Scotia’, not far from the Tayside heartlands of the kingdom, and only forty miles or so from the traditional coronation site at Scone.

The men of Moray were only brought to a halt when King David’s constable Edward, son of Siward, hastily assembled an army and cut Angus’ force off a few miles north of Brechin. Orderic Vitalis, the contemporary writer who describes the battle in the greatest detail, tells us little about Edward other than that he was ‘a cousin of King David’ and the son of Siward who, according to various translations, was an ‘earl’ or ‘tribune’ of Mercia. Since his name and paternity indicate that he was of English stock, it is possible that Edward was one of the king’s maternal cousins, but theories abound as to his exact identity. Previously, several historians accepted the theory that he was the son of Siward Beorn (the earl of Northumbria who fought against Macbeth) and thus an uncle of David I’s queen Matilda. However this does not really tally with the few details Orderic provides, and any son of Siward Beorn would likely have been in his seventies in 1130. More recent writers, including David I’s most recent academic biographer, favour Ann Williams’ identification of Edward as a son of Siward, son of Aethelgar, a Shropshire thegn and therefore both of Mercian descent and, like David, a great-great grandson of Aethelred the Unready.

(View of Stracathro and the surrounding country in James Dorret’s map of 1750. I have coloured the kirk of Stracathro in red so it can be spotted more easily; again clicking on the image should expand it. Reproduced with the permission of the National Library of Scotland)

The royal army clashed with Angus and his men at Stracathro. No source gives a blow-by-blow account of the battle but the result was clear. In a rout which the Irish Annals of Innisfallen described as the ‘Slaughter of the men of Moray in Scotland’**, Angus and most of his force were killed. We should be wary of mediaeval chroniclers’ tendency to play fast and loose with numbers, but the language which all sources use about the engagement indicates that the death toll was high, with the late mediaeval Annals of Ulster even claiming that as many as 4,000 of the men of Moray were killed- 80% of the force which Orderic Vitalis claimed Angus was able to put into the field. The Annals of Ulster also claimed that a thousand of the men of Scotland (or ‘alban’) died, but this number was later corrected to one hundred. Leaving the chroniclers’ suspiciously exact death tolls aside, it is clear that the battle of Stracathro was a catastrophe for the Moravians, and a blood-bath from which Angus’ co-commander Malcolm, the son of Alexander, was very lucky to escape. Fleeing soldiers from Angus’ shattered army were then chased back to Moray by the triumphant Edward and the Scots, who promptly established control over the province.

Both mediaeval chroniclers and more recent historians have traditionally made this annexation of Moray following the battle seem very easy. As Robert de Torigni neatly summed it up, ‘Angus, the earl of Moray, was killed; and David, the king of Scotland, held the earldom thenceforward’. Now the undisputed overlord of Moray, David I is then supposed to have set about a comprehensive programme of ‘feudalisation’, complete with reformed monastic orders, a reorganised diocesan system, royal burghs for controlling trade, and, of course, a new settler nobility. However, David’s most recent academic biographer, Richard Oram, has argued that this feudalisation of Moray may have been a slower process than is often implied, and that it took some time for David and his supporters to establish complete control over the old lordship. Indeed, although there was to be no more trouble from Moray until the reign of David’s grandson King William, the fact that rivals for the Scottish throne were still able to draw considerable support from the native nobility of the province in the late twelfth and early thirteenth centuries could indicate that the post-Stracathro reorganisation was not so complete as some writers have assumed.

Stracathro is now a quiet place. A century and a half after the battle the area witnessed another, less bloody, defeat when John Balliol and his council negotiated with the triumphant Edward I of England from the kirkyard of Stracathro in July 1296. But other than this Stracathro is probably best known for its community hospital and a Victorian walled garden. The Battle of Stracathro is not exactly the most famous event in the annals of Scottish history. In a county that is otherwise littered with carved stones which allegedly commemorate ancient battles, few traces of the twelfth-century skirmish remain. Two mounds near Ballownie farm used to be pointed out as the alleged burial site of the slain, and certain internet etymologies claim that the nearby place name ‘Auchenreoch’ can be interpreted as deriving from a term meaning ‘the field of great sorrow’***. But otherwise the battle of 1130 has not left much of a mark in the landscape. Modern perceptions of the battle are also influenced to a great extent by the accounts of Anglo-Norman chroniclers, who may well have downplayed the threat which Angus of Moray (and other twelfth century rivals for the throne) posed to the descendants of Malcolm III and St Margaret. Nonetheless the slaughter at Stracathro is worth commemorating: had the battle gone the other way, Scotland might have been a very different place today.

(Stracathro Mansion is not necessarily on the site of the battle, and the landscape has changed considerably in nine hundred years, even down to the way fields are ploughed. However this may at least give an idea of the surroundings of the north part of Angus, with the Mounth in the background. Reproduced under the Creative Commons License (source here) since I’m limited in the photos I can take personally right now for obvious reasons).

Notes:

* Everybody’s favourite ‘Lady Macbeth’

**Not to be confused with Malcolm MacHeth

*** The original Irish says ‘Albain’

**** Though it must be said, I have my doubts

Selected Bibliography:

“The Ecclesiastical History of England and Normandy”, by Orderic Vitalis, Vol. III, translated by Thomas Forester

“Early Sources of Scottish History”, ed. A.O. Anderson

“Rerum Hibernicarum Scriptores”, vol. 2, ed. Charles O’Conor

“Annala Uladh”, vol. II, edited and translated by B. Mac Carthy

“Chronicle of Melrose”, and the “Chronicle of Holyrood” trans. Rev. Joseph Stevenson in ‘The Church Historians of England’, vol. IV

“Scottish Annals From English Chroniclers”, ed. A.O. Anderson

“John of Fordun’s Chronicle of the Scottish Nation”, ed. W.F. Skene and trans. Felix Skene

“Kingship and Unity: Scotland 1000-1306″, G.W.S. Barrow

“The Kingship of the Scots”, A.A.M. Duncan

“Domination and Lordship: Scotland, 1070-1230″, Richard Oram

“David I”, Richard Oram

“’Soldiers Most Unfortunate’: Gaelic and Scoto-Norse Opponents of the Canmore Dynasty, c.1100-c.1230”, R. Andrew MacDonald

“Companions of the Atheling”, G.W.S. Barrow in ‘Anglo-Norman Studies 25: Proceedings of the Battle Conference 2002′

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queen-lilith-fanfics · 3 years

Text

Silence is Deadly - Chapter Three

Thanks again to @elven-aeterna for giving me motivation. You're helping me hang on by a thread over here.

And thanks to all my five followers. Y'all are awesome. Even though one of those is me.

Guess who figured out how italics work on the Tumblr app? ME! I'll be using italics for the Silent Brothers thoughts for this chapter and go back and fix the mistakes in other chapters. Yay me!

All characters belong to Cassandra Clare.

Part I - Adjusting

Alec had been a Silent Brother for over a week. And no matter how much time passed, he doubted he would get used to it.

'Brother Zachariah, how did you get used to it?' Alec asked one day.

I don't know, Zachariah replied. I guess it was better because it was a Silent Brother or I would die. You had a choice.

I didn't have a choice, he pointed out. I don't think my parents would have let me be myself. It was Silent Brother or nothing.

Your parents are horrible, Zachariah added on. Did you have to live alone with them.

No, I have siblings. My younger sister, Izzy, and a little brother named Max. I also have had a parabatai. Jace Herondale.

Zachariah adjusted awkwardly in his seat. I had a parabatai too. Will Herondale. Those Herondales . .. they're insane but we love them.

I know, Alec responded. I really do.

Another Silent Brother walked into the room. Brother Enoch.

Nehemiah and Zachariah, Enoch said. Something happened. Jace Herondale has been injured.

Part II - Oath

"I never thought you would be the kind to fall in love with a Shadowhunter," Malcolm said once he overcame his initial shock.

"Love happens," Magnus explained. "You know that as well as I do." He had heard of Malcolm's heartbreak with Annabel Blackthorn. And everything that had happened after.

"You're right," he replied. "Well, I guess you can go into my office and we can talk."

Magnus got up, not taking his eyes off Malcolm. He might be desperate, but he still had to keep a level-head. And know who he was dealing with.

They walked into the "office" which was just two wooden chairs that looked like they would fall apart any minute. There was a nice small table in the middle, but it was banged up. On top of the table, there was a piece of paper and a knife acting as a paperweight.

"You can sit down first," Malcolm said, gesturing to the chairs.

Magnus found the chair that looked the least likely to fall apart while he was sitting on it. Malcolm just nodded and sat down on the other chair.

"So what happened with you?" Malcom asked. "Who did you fall in love with."

"Alexander Gideon Lightwood," Magnus said, at least happy to say his name. "And now he's a Silent Brother. My life is great."

"One of the ones from New York," Malcolm notes. "And a Lightwood. You know his parents were involved in the Uprising."

"It's not like they were Valentine. And he's dead, I saw him die right in front of me. There's no way I'm ever gonna deal with Valentine Morgenstern in front of me."

"The Lightwoods were still in with Valentine."

"Alec isn't like them," Magnus said, holding back years. "He's going to try and erase his parents' legacy and make a new one. We've been dating for about a year. I mean, I started dating him last fall, and now it's almost November. That's long enough."

"Fine," Malcolm said. "I guess he's different enough."

"What do you want me to do?" Magnus asked, narrowing his eyes.

"Join me," Malcolm said. "Join me and we will build a new world together. One where you can love that Lightwood boy."

"I'm in," Magnus replied.

Part III - Injury

Alec and Brother Zachariah rushed to the Institute. Zachariah had agreed to go with Alec only because he, too, cared about the Herondales. And he was a lot more experienced in healing people than Alec.

Apparently Jace had been hurt by a nasty demon and now the venom was under his skin. They'd tried to heal him with iratzes but then realized it was something that one rune couldn't fix.

I don't know how to do this, Alec said.

You'll just comfort Jace, Zachariah explained. Jace will want to see you. I'll teach you what you need to know later. Now is not that time.

Zachariah slowly opened the door to the infirmary, where Jace was laying on a bed. He was shirtless, black lines below his skin.

"Alec?" he asked. "Is that you?"

It's me, Alec said. I'm here for you, Jace, even if we aren't technically parabatai.

"I know," Jace replied. "It still helps to have you here."

Alec reached out and held Jace's hand. Jace relaxed a bit.

It's going to be okay, Alec said.

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swish-swish-nyoom-nyoom · 3 years

Note

for the hockey ask game: 2b, 35, and 36 (with Sidney Crosby, Alexander Ovechkin, and Nathan MacKinnon)

Thank you for the ask <3

2. build a starting lineup: b) for comedic effect

So many possibilities with this...I’d find particularly funny a team that would make play-by-play announcers sweat because of similar/same names/surnames, so a team with the two Sebastian Aho’s would be great, but there aren’t other players with the same name that come to mind. Another possibility would be a team made up entirely by brothers, which is actually doable with many combinations, for example:

Andrei Svechnikov - Jack Hughes - Evgeny Svechnikov (Yevgeny? Evgeni? In Italian would be Evgenij)

P.K. Subban - Quinn Hughes

Malcom Subban

...but it doesn’t sound funny enough. So I spent a few more minutes thinking about it and created this starting lineup that I’ve decided to call “a rat, a friend, and then a lot of players who look like they’re about to go after the rat”:

Matthew Tkachuk (the rat) - Leon Draisatl - Zack Kassian

Drew Doughty - Luke Witkowski

David Rittich (the friend)

Hopefully it’s comedic enough.

35. desert island: which three (3) players would you bring with you?

Brent Burns because judging from his ig he’s good at... idk, survival stuff; and then TK and NolPat because they can fish, which sounds handy in a stranded-on-an-island situation, and because when you’re in a limited space and have to rely on each other for survival, it’s better to have people who get along well and are used to spending a lot of time together, I guess?

36. FMK but instead: Sacrifice to the Gods, Do Hard Crimes With, and Save the World With

Do Hard Crimes With: Crosby sounds too stiff for this, MacKinnon looks too boring, so I’ll go with Ovechkin

Save the World With: Crosby because why not. If everything else fails I can try to save the situation with the sheer power of his ass.

Sacrifice to the Gods: MacKinnon 😔 goodbye

(Hockey asks)

#personal

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let-the-dream-begin · 4 years

Text

A Place to Belong Chapter 9: Rest Easy, Soldier

Chapter 8

Read on AO3

In a week’s time, they had a coffin fashioned, a headstone made, and the priest’s blessing to proceed with the burial, if one could call it that. While Jenny knew Jamie would have wanted Fraser tenants at his funeral, it would have been far too public to have a large gathering of the like. If they found out they were having a burial for a Jacobite that perished at Culloden, the Redcoats would be upon them, likely assuming they’d stolen the body after all. They’d desecrate the grave without a thought. So they would keep the service small, family and their own servants alone.

Claire was sitting in the parlor, staring absently at the empty coffin. She was wearing that black veil around her shoulders, something she hadn’t touched since they’d said goodbye to Faith in Paris. She pulled it over her head as she approached the coffin. She ran her fingers over the wood and looked inside. She swore she could see him lying there, cold and lifeless, no smile on his face despite how it appeared that he was simply sleeping. His hair was combed back as it had been on their wedding day. He was dressed similarly as well, tartan and Fraser crest arranged perfectly. She longed to bend over, to kiss his cold cheek goodbye, to smooth his shirt so he would be perfect for God…

But she could not. Because there was nothing in the coffin.

“Maman?”

Claire was jolted out of her morbid thoughts by Fergus’s small voice. She turned around, and her heart broke anew at the sight of him dressed head to toe in black.

“What is it, darling?”

“I have been thinking...about burying Milord.” His eyes wandered the room, seemingly unable to look at her or the coffin. “What he would want. And I…I would like to be un porteur de cercueil.”

Claire’s throat tightened, overcome. “Fergus…”

“It is traditionally family, no? Brothers, Uncles…or sons.”

Claire sighed, a strangled, pained noise. She crossed the room and took the boy tightly in her arms. “He would be honored to have his son carry him.” Her voice wavered, and she pressed a long, tender kiss on the crown of his head.

Jenny and Ian entered the parlor just then, Ian leaning on the crutch Claire had fashioned to help him to stay off his leg as much as possible while the bullet wound healed. Jenny was carrying the Fraser tartan. Claire moved her arms around Fergus to hold him around the shoulders and guided him behind Jenny and Ian to the coffin.

Jenny held out a length of the fabric to Claire, and she took it in her hands. Ian and Fergus took hold of a piece of it as well. Simultaneously, they brought it to their lips. In Claire’s kiss that she pressed into the fabric was every ounce of love she bore for the man that had once worn it. She reminded herself that it was not that love that she was putting to rest. She would never, never stop loving him. The dull ache of his absence would be with her forever, and she would forever attempt to fill that void with memories of him, shared with those that loved him as much as she did. Memories she would share with their children.

After kissing the tartan, the four of them lowered it into the coffin with all the reverence in the world.

“Mistress,” Mrs. Crook said, having waited a moment before speaking. “The priest has arrived.”

They all turned to see Mrs. Crook, holding Kitty and flanked by Maggie, wee Jamie, and Rabbie, Father Gregor standing behind them.

“Good day, Father,” Ian said.

“Good day. My blessings to yer grieving family in this time of great sorrow.”

“I thank ye.” Ian nodded.

“Who are the pallbearers today?”

“I am,” Ian answered. “And three men from the village, old friends of ours.”

“Two men,” Claire interjected. “The fourth will be Jamie’s son.” She placed her hands on Fergus’s shoulders, standing him directly in front of her.

“Well, bless my soul,” Father Gregor beamed. “I didna ken my Laird sired any sons before his passing.”

“He didn’t,” Claire said. “But Fergus is our boy nonetheless.”

“Oh, that’s fine, very fine,” Father Gregor said, nodding.

Fergus looked up at Claire, crossing his arm across his chest to rest his hand atop hers on his shoulder.

“I’ll go fetch the men, then. They’re in the dining room,” Jenny said, scurrying away and returning shortly with two men.

“Peter Dunkirk and Lawrence Quigley,” Jenny said to Father Gregor.

“Alright,” Father Gregor said, finally crossing the room and approaching the coffin. “Have ye all had, ah…proper goodbyes?”

“As proper as it can be,” Claire said bitterly.

Father Gregor nodded, then gestured for the men to put the lid on the coffin. Jenny, Claire, and Fergus stepped back, all holding onto one another. Peter, Lawrence, and Ian lowered the lid on the coffin, closing Jamie’s tartan inside forever. It didn’t feel as final as Claire had expected it to, perhaps because it was only fabric and not her husband himself.

Father Gregor blessed the coffin in Latin, and everyone bowed their heads. Upon completion of the prayer, everyone crossed themselves. Father Gregor looked expectantly at Fergus, and he looked up at Claire with uncertainty. She gave his hand a squeeze and gently pushed him forward. The four of them positioned themselves around the coffin and hoisted it over their shoulders, Fergus having to hold it up with his hands, being the shorter of the four.

Father Gregor started out of the room, the coffin following behind him, then Claire and Jenny. Jenny paused in the doorway to scoop Maggie into her arms and settle her on her hip.

“Both of ye hold onto Mrs. Crook’s skirt. Dinna let go, and behave yerselves,” she said to Jamie and Rabbie. “This is to honor yer uncle’s memory. Treat it wi’ respect.”

“Yes, Mother.”

“Yes, Ma’am.”

Satisfied when the boys took hold of Mrs. Crook’s skirt, she straightened and gave Kitty a brief kiss on the head, then turned to face Claire. She stretched out the free hand that was not holding Maggie. Claire gratefully took it, and hand in hand they processed after the coffin, Mrs. Crook following close behind, followed by the rest of the servants that had been congregated in the hall, waiting for the procession to begin.

The sky was gray, and a gentle breeze greeted them as they crossed the threshold onto the porch. The weather was finally starting to turn for the better. It was not hot, but there was no longer a bitter chill in the air. It was beautiful. The heather was blooming, something that Claire hadn’t noticed until today. Her eyes wandered to little Maggie, her head resting on Jenny’s shoulder, and Claire’s hand absently rested on her stomach, where a small bump had started to form. It had been just over four months; she’d start getting bigger by the day now.

She let her eyes wander everywhere but where they should have been, which was on the coffin. She watched the trees bend in the wind, she watched the heather dance in the breeze, she watched birds dart between branches. This land was truly beautiful, and she would raise her child on it, raise him to remember that his father had fought for this land that they stood on.

Claire hadn't even noticed when they’d arrived at the cemetery, but before she knew it, the coffin was down and Fergus was back by her side. Grateful to have him back in her arms, she held him close, kissing his head again. Her eyes lazily fell on the headstone, and something took hold of her heart.

Laying the tartan in the coffin, closing the lid, none of it had felt final. But to see his name etched into a headstone:

James Alexander Malcom Mackenzie Fraser

Born in 1721 and Died in the 25th Year of His Age

at the Battle of Culloden 1746

Beloved Brother, Husband and Father

It was unbearable.

Jenny must have felt her trembling, because she placed a steadying arm around her shoulders. Claire tightened her grip around Fergus, crossing her arms over his chest. He held onto her hands.

She wanted to run away. She wanted to pretend she’d never seen his name carved in stone, burn the sight from her memory. She wanted to wake up every day and sit on the porch, waiting for him to appear on the road. She wanted to live forever in denial, holding onto the hope that he would keep his promise and return to her.

But she had to face it. It was time to let him go. She could not raise his child to remember him properly if she thought all the while that he would be coming back soon. She could not be a mother if she was the grieving widow for all eternity. Her child deserved better than that. His child deserved better than that.

The ceremony finished before Claire had even started to pay attention. Jenny gave Claire a gentle shove, jolting her out of her thoughts. Claire blinked herself to consciousness, and finally noticed the priest standing before her, holding a small shovel out to her. Hand trembling, she took it and approached the mound of earth beside the grave. Nothing felt real as she scooped up some dirt with the shovel and walked mechanically to the hole in the ground. She turned over the shovel, watching as each individual speck showered down, eventually landing on the empty box six feet below her.

She stood there, frozen for a moment long after the dirt had fallen, hand and empty shovel hovering over the hole. A gentle hand closed around her hand that gripped the shovel, and she turned to see Jenny’s teary face, Maggie still on her hip.

“It’s alright,” Jenny said gently.

Claire nodded dazedly, relenting her grip on the shovel. Fergus was not far behind Jenny, wrapping his arms around Claire’s waist as soon as she backed into him. Jenny held Maggie’s hand on the handle, pouring the dirt in together. Jenny turned and handed the shovel off to Fergus. He followed suit of those before him, then handed it over to Ian, who brought wee Jamie up with him to pour it over together as Jenny had done with Maggie.

Ian held Jenny in his arms, Fergus and Claire held onto one another, as they watched the servants pour their own scoopfuls of earth into the hole. The small crowd gradually dispersed, the female servants wandering back after they’d thrown dirt in, except for Mrs. Crook, being that she was still holding Kitty. Once only the men were left, Jenny put Maggie down and approached the stone, careful of the gaping hole in the ground.

She removed the wooden rosary from around her neck, kissed it in her palm, and then lovingly placed it atop the stone. She stood up, wiped her eyes, and returned to the family.

“Off we go then,” she said, picking Maggie up again and beginning to walk off.

“I’m staying,” Claire said stiffly.

“Claire, it could take the men hours to get it completely buried — ”

“I need to see it,” Claire interjected. “With my own eyes.” Jenny looked at her quizzically. “I need to see it buried completely so it feels…final. So I can finally feel like…like it’s really over.”

Jenny sighed, rubbing Claire’s shoulder. “I understand.”

“I am staying, too,” Fergus said. “I want to help.”

“Yer needed inside,” Jenny said, trying to usher him away from Claire.

“No, it’s alright,” Claire said, tightening her grip on his shoulders. “If he wants to help then he should.”

Jenny nodded. “Try not to be out here all night.”

Claire nodded. Jenny took wee Jamie’s hand and headed back to the house, followed by Mrs. Crook holding onto Rabbie’s hand. Ian and Fergus grabbed shovels and got to work helping the other men fill the grave.

Claire stood there watching shovelful after shovelful, forcing herself to believe that he was really down there, that they were really laying him to rest after all this time.

Hours went by, and she remained rigid, watching dutifully as her husband was buried. Finally, the mound of earth was gone, the hole was filled. The servants touched the stone one last time before walking off with their shovels and disappearing back toward the house.

Claire watched as Ian struggled to kneel, and Fergus immediately helped him. He prayed silently for a moment, then crossed himself before kissing his hand and touching the stone. Fergus helped him up again, handing him his crutch. Ian started toward the house, beckoning Fergus to follow.

“I want to stay with you,” Fergus said, approaching Claire, those beautiful blue eyes wide with concern.

“It’s alright, darling,” Claire said, caressing his hair. “I need…I need to be alone for a moment, if that’s alright.”

Fergus nodded dutifully. “Of course, Maman.” He glanced behind him back at the stone.

“Go on,” Claire said gently. “Go say goodbye.”

Fergus obeyed, kneeling before the stone, silent for a moment. After a short while, he gently brushed his fingers over the name etched into the face. “Farewell, Milord.”

He stood up and turned to leave, but not without stopping to hug Claire again.

“I’ll be in shortly,” she assured him.

He nodded, and with that, Fergus and Ian departed the cemetery, heading back toward the house.

Claire slowly approached the stone, her heels sinking into the fresh dirt. She kneeled before the stone, gingerly resting her hand atop it.

“Hello, Jamie.” She smiled, despite the horrible pain. “I hope I don’t look too deranged trying to smile right now. I just…I know you hate to see me cry. And you always said that my smile was a…a sun in your cloudy day. So I’ll try to smile for you, Jamie.” She sighed shakily. “And I’ll apologize in advance for all the crying I’ll likely be doing, and all that I’ve done recently. It’s…very hard to go on without you. You made very certain that I’d be incomplete without you whether you meant to or not.”

Her hand lingered over the spot where Jenny had left the rosary, the very tips of her fingers brushing over the beads. “I know you’re not really here, or your bones aren’t at least. What matters is that…that I can feel you here, with me. When I touch the growing bump on my stomach…I can hear you whispering to him like you did to Faith. I can feel your kisses there. I can feel how much you love him.

“I’m…I’m sorry, Jamie. I’m sorry I didn’t tell you about our child. I was afraid. I know what I promised…but I didn’t want to go back. I couldn’t. I couldn't raise your child away from this world that I’ve grown to love as my own. But I promise you that he will be safe, and loved, and so happy here. He’ll run around this land with his cousins, like you did as a boy. He’ll grow surrounded by love, from his Aunt and Uncle. He’s going to learn French, and Gaelic, and play chess, and ride horses. All things you would have taught him. All of us, me, Jenny, Ian, Fergus…we will teach him. All the things you would have wanted him to know, he will know.

“He will be raised with our love for him, but also with the love that you bore for us, me, Jenny, all of us. The way you made me feel…I will carry that with me forever. I could never forget it. And our child will know that love, Jamie. I will make sure that he feels your love.

“And I will go on.” She couldn’t help the tears this time, and she cursed herself as they rolled down her cheeks. “For our child, I will go on. For Fergus, our son, I will go on. For Jenny, our sister, I will go on. For you, in your memory, I will go on. Every single day I will feel the pain of you being gone, but as you know by now, I’m a tough lady.” She felt a fraud even as she said it, never having felt weaker in her life. “Jenny has already seen me through my worst of days. She’s a wonder. Even if I wanted to give up, she wouldn’t let me. I can assure you that.

“At Culloden, we said a lot of things. But there was one thing I didn’t say…I couldn’t. But I’ve seen you buried now, the best we could, and I can’t spend my life chasing your ghost. Too many people need me. So, it’s time.” She pressed her lips to the cold, unforgiving stone, feeling as if they could fall off. “Goodbye, Jamie Fraser. My love.

“Rest easy, soldier.”

She gave the stone one last reverent touch before standing up and wiping her tears. “I’m sorry,” she laughed in spite of herself. “It’s going to take some practice.”

Breathing deeply and steeling herself, she made her way back to the house to join her family in celebrating the life of a man they all cherished.

#claire fraser #outlander au #outlander #outlander fanfic #jamie fraser #jenny fraser murray #jenny murray #fergus fraser #lallybroch #ian murray

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2gameprince · 7 years

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Lancelot (Incomplete)

There were forty-three of us back then. Arthur, Gawain, Geraint, Percival, Bors, Lamorak, Kay, Gareth, Bedivere, Gaheris, Galahad, Tristan, Aglovale, Agravain, Bagdemagus, Baudwin, Brastius, Breunor, Caradoc, Colgrevance, Constantine, Dagonet, Daniel, Ector, Ector de Maris, Elyan, Galehaut, Galeshin, Geraint, Gingalain, Leodegrance, Lionel, Maleagant, Morien, Pelleas, Sagramore le Desirous, Safir, Segwarides, Tor, Ulfius, Uriens, Ywain and myself. We all drank from the chalice, and just like that we were eternal. Some decided to stay in Avalon, like Arthur, but more of us wanted to come back. Here. To see the progression of the world. The World Government had known about us since the dawn of time. Hell, I guess you could say we founded the World Government. Originally. Some os us became soldiers. Joined different nations. Branched out. Helped make and win wars. Men of power. What else were we good for? As time went on the people of the new ages didn’t want peace. Not like we fought for. They just wanted control. More powers and bombs and guns. They liked it. I guess things have calmed down, but that thirst for blood is still there. Just barely tamed now. My life has become simpler, ever since I quit serving men of power. The last time I worked with the World Government is when they asked me to kill Kennedy. Now, normally whenever I told that story I used to tell who was ever listening to ask Lyndon Johnson. That he’d give them the scoop. It was a joke, of course. Johnson didn’t remember a thing. That was, after he had his memory wiped. I remember when I was called into that room. They had Johnson sitting down with some other shadowy heads. And that was when they proposed killing off John. Now, I had been close with John for a time. I knew about him and Miss Monroe. I didn’t think it mattered much. All my colleagues seemed to think so. And the instant they brought up me killing Kennedy, Lyndon lost it. So they put him on a sedative, mixed his brain around and sent him on his way. They had me on so much medication back then. I would of done anything they said. And I did. I killed John F. Kennedy under the instruction of leaders far more powerful than him. And that’s how that whole song and dance goes. After I snapped out of whatever they had me on I knew working with these people was out of the question. This was the final straw. I should have seen them going for Miss Monroe. I guess I wasn’t invited to that meeting. Some of the world knows what happened, but no one will say anything. No justice will come to those responsible. For a time it seemed as if the only people that existed were those who enjoyed stepping on others and those who enjoy being stepped on. I will admit, I floated around the Prohibition and bootlegging scene for a while, but that life just wasn’t for me. I worked in some fractions against Al Capone, but I never went far with that kind of life. I couldn’t move in or adapt to that old Italian ideology. The mafia wasn’t my thing, but it paid well-enough. I messed my ties over the decades anyways. I guess moving down from the government and joining up with the mob wasn’t exactly a good transition, but I needed money and their benefits were the best. That was until the day I found myself out on a contract and sitting behind a fella named Henry Hill. I was told to put a bullet in his head and be on my way. It wasn’t like I was gonna get caught. But something about the whole thing just took me back to John and how I felt then. So I botched the hit and left the killing business. I suppose the sixties and eighties were kind of darks times for me. Thinking back to an older age, I think the two people I could consider my greatest friends were Arthur Doyle and Erik Weisz. That is, Sir Arthur Conan Doyle and the man who came to be known as Harry Houdini. I met Arthur after he had come out of Medical School. Arthur and Harry met in 1920 and I tended to lean more toward Arthur as the years went on. The three of us used to have some adventures, I’ll tell you what… but things changed. I was devastated after Harry passed. Wish I could of done something. And one day Arthur stopped answering my letters. I never made any attempt to reconnect, honestly. A new age was approaching and I guess it was just one of those times I had to transition or get lost in the nostalgia of the last few decades. The few people who know about me, who know what I am, usually ask if I had ever met Tolkien. Malcom Little and Andy Warhol in particular. I don’t know why they were so interested in that. As I’d always tell them I was never a big fan of the man. I enjoyed The Hobbit, yet couldn’t stand The Lord Of The Rings. I could never understand it. Plus, there was that whole thing with C.S. Lewis. Personally, I think Tolkien secretly beat Lewis over the head with a bible until he gave into his beliefs. Believe me, I knew Lewis. He was a great guy, but he was impressionable. A frustrated youth who tried to give off a confident outward appearance. Tolkien just kind of beat down on him, always coming off like some cocky spiritualist. He tried to act superior and rain inescapable truths on an unsuspecting Lewis. Sure, I knew Tolkien was correct. And that Christ had walked the Earth and all the mythical phenomenon was true, but still. The way he went about it made me… uneasy. Though, I may have to blame myself for Lewis’ transformation. Meeting me, there was no denying the presence of god. But, what neither of them could never understand was… even I doubted the truths behind the Bible. Yes, we drank from the chalice, but there was still so much more Arthur and I never knew. So much more I feared would never be answered. Tolkien and Lewis became content with whatever little they knew and eventually stopped seeking answers. I think that is what drew me to Charles Darwin. Now, there was a brilliant man. A little assertive, but brilliant nonetheless. The only man I ever met to match his scientific brilliance, but in the form of musical brilliance, was Ludwig Van Beethoven. I was in love with his music. Even helped him out a little in the beginning, until he got his bearings. I have to say, I do blame myself for his hearing. In his advanced years we used to fence. Though, I’m not sure it was called fencing in this days… anyway. One of my most automatic combat techniques was always leading into a swing bringing decapitation. One too many hits to the side of the head and in the ears I think cost him his hearing. Still, he didn’t blame me. I last saw him in 1816. After that I went back to drifting around, as I had before relocating to France the following year. You want to hear a funny story? Did you know Edwin Booth, brother of John Wilkes Booth, saved the life of Robert Todd Lincoln, Abraham Lincoln’s son? Interesting right? Edwin had caught and pulled Robert up after he had fallen between the platform and a moving train. In fact, it was said that Edwin received a letter in the following months thanking him. I personally witnessed this event. I didn’t get involved though. The platform was so crowded at the time, I could have barely noticed. Still, it was quite the feat. So, I’m sure you could image my surprise when Wilkes assassinated Abraham. Looking back on it… I think something was up. Like the two incidents and those involved were more connected than people let on. Wilkes was a Confederate sympathizer. Funny story… I took the bastard in that night. At this time I was living in this small cottage out on those little range in Washington. He stood with me for a few days. He told me he was a drifter looking for work. He didn’t do me any harm and after he was well on his way he headed on down to Virginia. A few days later the Union soldiers got to him. And good for them, I say. I think my life has been fulfilling enough. Not many people can say they’ve sat, smoked cigars and discussed warfare with Winston Churchill while bombs raged about. And not many living individuals can tell of the days they sat in chess matches against the magnificent Alexander Alekhine. And beat him devastatingly once. No. No one believes the word of an eternal who almost captured the heart of the lovely Miss Earhart. Or how said eternal sunk into unending depression as she disappeared into the sky. Yes, I have lived a full life. I only wonder at what time in the future, past eons and uncounted millennia, that it will all finally end. Perhaps… it never will.

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queen-lilith-fanfics · 3 years

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Silence is Deadly - Chapter Two

So much love to @elven-aeterna who has been so nice and is giving me some motivation!

All characters belong to Cassandra Clare.

Part I - Pandemonium

For about a week after Magnus had gone to see Alec (or Brother Nehemiah, whatever he was), Magnus was still getting drunk every night. Yes, he knew it was not a good idea, but Magnus didn't care. It was something he did after a break-up. Like that one time in Peru.

It was hard for Magnus to adjust to this new life. Magnus had fallen in love with so many people, and had so many of them leave him. Everyone left him in someway, but it had never hurt like this.

The pain was like a wound that would never heal. One that if you accidentally opened it again, it hurt worse than when you got it.

Tessa was there for him, though. She'd been doing a lot of things for Magnus. Every night she'd been getting take-out and not forcing Magnus to talk about it if he didn't want to.

"I know it hurts," Tessa would say, "but you'll get over it."

"Tessa, when Jem became a Silent Brother, you were in a cave with Will Herondale," Magnus pointed out. "You had someone to love. I'm all alone."

"I'm just trying to help," she whispered. "Don't push me away if I can help you."

Magnus sighed and got up from the chair he was sitting in.

"I want to go out," he said. "You know, to a club or something. Tess, you want to come with me?"

"As long as you feel better." Tessa got up and walked towards Magnus. "Where do you want to go?"

Magnus turned around, grinning like a devil. "The Pandemonium Nightclub."

Part II - Hope

Magnus loved Pandemonium club. It was a place he had gone to many nights. He's tried to bring Alec there one night, but Alec didn't like it. At least now that Magnus was here he didn't have the painful memories of Alec attached to here.

They walked up to the club, pounding music coming from the vicinity. People loittered outside, some of them smoking.

Mundane clubs drew Downworlders because it was easier for them to fit in. Magnus could pass his cat eyes off as weird contacts at clubs like this. It was kinda nice to be able for Magnus to be himself, and not have to hide.

"Are you sure you're going to be okay?" Tessa asked.

A moment of silence hung between them. The only sound was the bass of the music coming from inside Pandemonium.

"I'll be fine," Magnus replied. "I'm going to be fine."

"I just want to be sure," Tessa said. "Magnus, I care about you. And I don't want you to try and be okay even though you need time."

"I'm fine," Magnus promised. Tessa opened her mouth to speak, and Magnus bolted into Pandemonium.

It wasn't that he wanted to avoid Tessa. He just needed to stop her from going to full-on Mom Mode. Not like Magnus would be able to avoid her yelling at him later, but Magnus needed to be alone in a crowd of people.

Standing in the middle of the crowd, Magnus closed his eyes. It was almost calming how he could disappear here, become just another lonely soul in a building of sorrow.

Magnus opened his eyes again. A woman from his past was standing in front of him.

"Hello, Hypatia," Magnus said. "Fancy seeing you here."

"I was bored," Hypatia explained. "I wanted a change in locale. So I travelled to New York."

"It's strange to see you here," Magnus commented. He anxiously drummed his fingers on the side of his leg. To be honest, it was one of the most awkward situations Magnus had been in.

Hypatia and Magnus had dated a long time ago. Even if Magnus tried to have an amicable parting when he broke up with people, not seeing Hypatia for about a hundred years just made this weird.

"How have you been doing?" Hypatia asked. "Anything big happen in the past . . . Oh, about hundred years."

"I dated a Shadowhunter," Magnus replied. "He was turned into a Silent Brother really recently."

"My colodences," she said. "You know, Malcolm Fade is starting a service to help warlocks who have fallen in love with Shadowhunters and. . . . Things happened. You remember what happened with Annabel?"

"Of course I do," Magnus whispered. "That was horrible. Wait-what happens next?"

"I don't know."

"I don't care," Magnus said. "I don't even care, Hypatia, but if I can get Alec back-everything is going to be okay. Thank you so much."

"Uh-okay," Hypatia replied. "You know, Malcolm is just across the street. That's why I came here, Magnus, to check up on Malcolm."

"Thank you so much. I will be forever grateful."

And Magnus bolted across the dance floor again, finally allowing himself to hope again.

Part III - Evil Warlock

Magnus was a little worried that Hypatia was screwing with him. But at this point he was desperate.

He missed Alexander. Magnus always knew there was a chance he could lose him, but here he was, with that possibility already playing itself out.

The building across the street Hypatia was talking about had mainly dark windows. One had a bright light streaming out of it, but it was from under blinds that were half-drawn.

There was warlock magic here. Some wards, but just against mundanes. Warlocks could come and go as they pleased.

"I must be so desperate," Magnus whispered to himself. "But Hypatia hasn't steered me wrong before."

Magnus took a deep breath, and opened the doors of the building.

There was a set of stairs. A plastic sign was sitting in front of it. Magnus stepped closer to read it.

"Lost a Shadowhunter lover to the Silent Brothers or the Iron Sisters? Come upstairs and have a little talk with Malcom Fade."

"A little creepy," Magnus whispered to himself.

He took a deep breath and walked up the stairs, slowly. He kept expecting a demon to show up out of nowhere or something like that.

On the landing at the top of the stairs, there was a waiting area and a few chairs, along with one of those "take a number" signs. Magnus took a number and sat down in a chair, staring forward at a door with a number sign above it. The number was 19.

Magnus looked down at his slip of paper. His number was twenty.

The number ticked forward. Now it was at twenty.

The door opened, and Malcolm Fade walked out, wearing an elegant suit.

"Magnus Bane," he said. "Fancy seeing you here."

#silence is deadly fanfic

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queen-lilith-fanfics · 3 years

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Silence Is Deadly - Chapter Five

I finished chapter five. I am still in the process of uploading these chapters to Ao3 and it will take a while. But I'll still post on here; it just might look different because I'm formatting most of it for Ao3.

I also apologize for the ending of this chapter in advance.

All characters belong to Cassandra Clare.

Only ten minutes after Magnus called him, Ragnor showed up at his apartment, with Chairman Meow clinging to his face.

Magnus, being the idiot he was, decided to call Ragnor up. For a few reasons, but mainly because Magnus wanted his cat. Chairman Meow had been in the care of his friend until Magnus was emotionally ready to take care of a cat.

"Your cat wants to claw my eyes out," Ragnor said. Magnus smirked.

"That means he hates your guts," he replied. Tessa put her head in her hands and started to die inside.

Magnus got up and grabbed the Chairman off of Ragnor. The cat relaxed into his arms, but gave a little side-eye to Ragnor and hissed at him.

"What did you feed him?" He asked.

"What did you feed him?" Magnus shot back. "No, wait, you didn't. That's why he wants to eat your eyes. Tess, are you doing okay over there?"

Tessa appeared to have given up on life for a few minutes.

"Magnus what did you do during the week you were drunk on heartbreak?"

"I was actually drunk for most of this, and I signed up to help Malcolm Fade with something."

Ragnor's eyes widened. "Does that mean Necromancy?"

"Of course not. I'll just break Alec out of the Silent City. It's not that hard."

There was a loud sigh from Tessa. Ragnor sighed too.

"Magnus, you need to sit down and explain what you want to do."

"Fine." Magnus sat down at the table and tried not to grab a bottle of tequila sitting next to him. He probably should stay dry for a while. Especially for this.

"How did you contact Malcom Fade?"

"I ran into Hypatia at a club," Magnus said, and Ragnor sat down next to him. "She told me about what Malcom was doing. Helping heartbroken warlocks who were in love with Shadowhunters. And he was just across the street."

"So you helped him?" He asked.

"I went to his office and signed a contract. In blood. Don't ask."

Ragnor winced. "Are you seriously going to do this?"

"What do you think?" Magnus asked angrily. "Yes. It's the only way to get Alec back."

"I'm leaving," Tessa said, getting up and heading for the door. "You two argue all you want. I'll hang out at a restaurant for a while and come back when you're done."

She walked out the door, slamming it behind her. Ragnor leaned forward and glared at Magnus.

"You can't do this," he said. "It's illegal, for one, and dangerous. Do you want to get arrested by the Clave and end up in the Silent City as a prisoner?"

Magnus took a deep breath. "It's Alexander. I'm not leaving him behind. He doesn't want to be a Silent Brother. He's in pain. I have to save him."

"I told you it's a bad idea. Magnus I can't let you do this."

"It's Alec," Magnus reminded him. "And I love him. And you don't know what it's like because you've never loved anyone like I love him!"

Ragnor snorted. He sounded a lot like a pig.

"But I care for you. I love you."

"Great time to come out to me, Ragnor," Magnus exclaimed sarcastically. He got up, walking towards his cat. "I have a boyfriend."

"But I told you, I care for you, and I don't want you to do something you'll regret." Ragnor got up and started walking after him.

"I can't regret this because Alec is the One. He means so much to me. You don't understand because you don't love people like I do. And I don't want to give up on him."

"That's what you always say."

Magnus turned so he was facing Ragnor.

"So do you. With everyone I've loved and lost-you never really try to comfort me. Not even after my first lover died in my arms. You just go on with your own life and pretend my pain is none of your business."

Ragnor grabbed his shoulders.

"You can't do this," Ragnor said. "Forget my reasons, it's too risky. So shut your mouth and forget your idea. Forget that boy. Because all he'll give you is pain."

Magnus shoved Ragnor away from him.

"No," Magnus said. "Now get out of my apartment." He turned around, not able to bear looking Ragnor in the eyes. "Just go."

"Fine," Ragnor muttered under his breath. "Stay in your misery, Magnus Bane. And if you regret what you do, don't come crying to me."

The day after his fight with Ragnor, Magnus showed up at Malcolm's office, early and eager.

Magnus was done caring about what anyone else thought of him. And at this point, he'd be willing to do anything to get Alec back. No matter how illegal or deadly.

The moment Malcom laid his eyes on Magnus, he sighed.

"You're a bit early," he pointed out.

"Does it matter?" Magnus asked.

"Not necessarily," Malcom replied.

"Then I'm going to help you."

"I don't need help. At least, now. Unless you can convince a Prince of Hell to give some of his power to me."

Magnus raised an eyebrow. "A Prince of Hell? Are you messing with me?"

"No, I actually summoned a Prince of Hell. He's one the most powerful, general of Hell's army."

It's not him, Magnus thought. It's Azazel, not my father. Besides, what would Asmodeus have to give to help us?

"I'm the son of another Prince of Hell, I can certainly convince this one to help us," Magnus said. "Where is he?"

Malcom sighed again, and led Magnus to another room. Opening the door, Magnus saw a man-a demon-standing in the middle of the room, in a pentagram. He was looking down at the floor so Magnus couldn't see his face.

"Okay, do you want to do this the easy way or the hard way?" Magnus asked, summoning a bit of blue fire in one hand.

The demon looked up. Magnus found himself looking into cat eyes like his.

"Hello, son," Asmodeus said, and grinned.

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