Mortal Instruments 1. Lord Alexander Lightwood

_**Dedicated to **_**Disturbing Emily **_**for being one of my most frequent reviewers, thank you, it means a lot.**_

_**Author's Note: An alternative universe fan fiction. Eventually features all of your old favourite characters in new roles, in a new archaic world (that last statement is totally contradictory but, oh well). Takes place in the Kingdom of Alicante. Downworlders, demons and Shadowhunters still exist. Later it will be quite Malec centric**_

_**Disclaimer: I do not in any way own any of Cassandra Clare's characters or concepts. **_

Sweat was pouring down Alexander Lightwood's back as he roughly pulled his heavily embroidered jacket off and flung it to the floor. Peter stepped back as his pulse raced with adrenalin at the ferocity of the fight. But before long their swords were clashing once again, the biting crash of metal against metal held their audience in awe as they watched the skilled young men swivel and turn as if they were locked in an impassioned dance from which neither could break free.

Alec's teeth clenched with every impact. He could see blood trickling from a thin cut on his arm that was quickly dying the white of his shirt scarlet. Peter on the other hand was unscathed and everybody wondered at his courage to spill the blood of the Duke's son. Not just any Duke, but the Duke of Glass who was Lord President of the Regency Council of King Jonathon.

And yet there was no slowing down in the fight, although the agitation of Alexander in the face of such embarrassment was clear. That the son of a merchant should better that of a Duke was humiliating. So he fought on with a renewed intensity that frightened Peter, but not enough to make him give in. They were at a terrifying stalemate, and there was fire in Alexander Lightwood's eyes that seemed to have the devil in it.

The only thing that prevented further injury to either party was the arrival of a fumbling page boy who ran down the stone steps leading to the courtyard so fast that twice he almost lost his balance, and the third time he luckily fell in to the backs of three of the crowded soldiers who were watching the duel.

"I-I'm sorry, I," he mumbled awkwardly as one of the soldiers set him back on his feet. They were all wearing the same royal blue uniform with gold broach and buttons. Tall and thick with muscle; the three stared at him uninterestedly. To the page boy they all looked remarkably similar as if they were just a sample of a common stock of made to order soldiers. Their gaze made him shudder.

He began to put his thumb up to his mouth, the remnants of an old habit he had had since childhood and secretly still gave in to when he went up to his cold chamber every night. Now, however, he managed to stop himself. He puffed his chest out as much as he could manage and practically stood on his tiptoes, trying desperately to make himself as big as possible as if he were a physical representation of the importance of the message he held. To the soldiers he gave off the impression of a startled cat on the defensive. One of the nameless soldiers couldn't help but giggle slightly at the self-righteous page, however the middle one was quite obviously the alpha male and with one glare he silenced his rude friend who blushed faintly under the pressure.

"What is your business, man, out with it," the man's voice was booming and caught the attention of several onlookers who shifted their gaze away from the fight to peer at the scene, however they were not distracted for long. Soon enough a renewed clashing of metal drew their attentions back to the onslaught.

"I have a message for Lord Lightwood, it is quite urgent that I talk to him at once." The stutter was gone and now that the page had reached familiar territory he gained a more natural air of authority that had a much more impressionable effect on the soldiers then the superficial strength displayed moments before.

The Alpha nodded slightly in response before turning round and opening his mouth wide. "AN URGENT MESSAGE FOR LORD LIGHTWOOD," he boomed.

The page had thought the man's voice could not have gotten any louder than it had the first time he addressed him. However, as with most things in the young page's life thus far he had been proved wrong. The man's words seemed to echo off of every surface.

The duel was at an end, an unsatisfactory end, but an end nonetheless. Peter dropped his sword first, throwing his arms up in to the air until Alexander dropped his own weapon, resignation clearly shining in his blue eyes.

Peter bowed deeply to him, the ends of his coattails brushing against his immaculately polished boots. "Until the next time, my Lord."

Alexander grunted in return whilst he picked up his jacket from where he had left it. Delicately, he laid it over his injured arm before making his way through the already parting crowd.

When he reached the page boy he didn't slacken his pace, instead he walked right past him and ascended the stone steps, running his free hand through his hair as he did so.

The Page watched him leave, dumbfounded, until he came to his senses and hurried after the young Lord. As they withdrew the scene the soldiers came back to life, going up to Pete Malley and patting him on the back with rigorous cheer.

Alexander could hear them laughing as he left. His breathing was still ragged from the fight, and from his own fury.

"My Lord!"

Alexander was marching through the royal gardens now. The roses were in full bloom, pink ones, white ones and red ones. But he couldn't care less about roses. Not right now. Angrily he stomped through a flower bed as he took a short cut up to the castle wall and then hauled himself up through one of the ground floor windows.

"My Lord?" The page stood behind him, watching his unusual behaviour with worry.

Alexander sighed and then leaned back out of the window. The page boy wasn't one that he could remember seeing before, then again he never really concentrated on remembering their faces or their names for that matter.

"Let me guess, the King received a letter from my father this morning that he wishes to discuss with me?"

The page smiled awkwardly before nodding in assent. He was just about to open his mouth when Alexander turned away from the window and made his way through the labyrinthine corridors of the palace.

The young page looked down at the ruined flowerbed at his feet and groaned as he heard the familiar whistling of the perfectionist gardener, Raynard, coming around the corner. Today was not Adam's day.

* * *

><p>"You took your time arriving, Alec. You know I don't like to be kept waiting."<p>

"I'm sorry, your majesty, I had business to attend to before I could meet you."

"Don't be so formal when you address me, it annoys me like you wouldn't believe, Alec. We were bought up as if we were brothers. So stop mucking about."

Alec rolled his eyes at the young king's back. "Fine, what did you want to talk about, Jace?"

Jace turned around from the strange little wooden contraption he had been inspecting on the dining table. A shark like smile was pasted across his handsome face. The sunlight flooding the room through the ground to ceiling windows reflected off his golden hair made it seem as if he wore a permanent crown. Alec would have likened it to a halo in his mind's eye if he hadn't been better acquainted with the young king's fiery personality. But he could not question the king's beauty. He was almost too perfect to look at.

Jace watched carefully as he saw Alec drink in his appearance. He shrugged lightly as he turned away once again to pick up an unrolled parchment from the table. Leaning on a chest of drawers Jace read the letter to his adoptive brother.

"Dear blah, blah, blah. We are all very well, etc, etc. We wished to inform you of our progress on our diplomatic mission to the Kingdom of Avalon. It is our great pleasure to inform you that his gracious majesty, King Luke, has shown great interest in your merits both in combat and intellectually. Considering the ever nearing time of your majority he has, with great generosity offered you his daughter's hand in marriage. This would be of great benefit to both of our kingdoms and we shall soon be returning with Princess Clarissa so that you may officially court each other and she may grow accustomed to the ways of our own fair kingdom."

As he finished reading Jace let go of the letter as if disgusted by its contents, but his half smile stated otherwise. Alec watched the parchment in mournful silence as it fell to the floor. It felt like a death sentence.

"Marriage? You are to be married?"

"I had rather expected you to be quicker on the uptake then this." Jace drawled.

"You're not going to agree to it are you?" Alec felt lost in a whirlwind that wouldn't die down.

Jace shrugged. "I turn eighteen next month. No more Regency Council, no more bossy Dukes, Duchesses and their sons, to order me around." He grinned at Alec as he finished his sentence. "Why shouldn't I start thinking about having a wife? I'll need a Queen."

Alec shook his head. " No. Just... no. Jace, you know I care about you. I honestly don't think this is the best move for you. If you need me to, I can send them a letter. Get them to postpone the engagement until-"

"Until _**you **_decide I'm ready for marriage?" Jace cut him off.

Alec's face turned from confusion to anger. He felt a painful twinge in his wounded left arm (carefully wrapped in tight bandages). "Why did you bring me here Jace? You knew how I would react; did you just want a good laugh?"

Jace looked out of the window absentmindedly, as if he were only partially present in the conversation. "To some extent... Yes I did just want to see the look on your face. You have the weirdest reactions sometimes, Alec."

Alec stared at him, his face turned to stone. "Sometimes I really, really-"

He groaned in agitation as he ran his hand through his hair gripping it tightly at the back, hurting himself in the process. But he couldn't care less about that pain; it was the pain in his heart that hurt the most. Jonathon, Jace. His adopted brother, the young King of Alicante, had been at the centre of his world since before he could remember. He couldn't quite remember when exactly brotherly affection had turned to infatuation. He did everything in his power to cover the true depth of his feelings but a part of him always wondered if Jace had seen it from the very beginning. And this... this was just a cruel from of torture and Alec was sure, sure on his own sister's life that Jace must know otherwise he wouldn't have done this.

"Do you hate me, Alec?" The question came out of the blue to Alec but then considering his emotional outburst he wasn't entirely surprised that Jace had managed to deduce the essence of his unfinished statement.

"No."

"Sometimes, I wish you would."


	2. Magnus Bane  The Palace Mole

**_Disclaimer: I do not in any way own any of Cassandra Clare's characters or concepts. _**

**_Author's Note: Please excuse the formatting, Fan fiction has been horrible and uploaded the whole thing as a giant paragraph and I sorted it out the best I could but there may be some errors. These will be rectifide tomorrow._**

**_Magnus Bane_**

The place where Magnus Bane lived was quite unusual. Like most Downworlders he lived in the downtrodden streets of Brooklyn. The whole district was practically off limits to all the mundane citizens of Alicante. The palace issued proclamations daily, warning people against travelling too far in to Downworlder territory. Newspapers reported daily on the crimes committed by this so called 'lowly' class.

Not every Downworlder in Alicante lived in Brooklyn but those who chose to live amongst the mundane were persecuted ferociously. The only jobs they could find involved tireless manual labour for which they were paid far less then mundanes. For many Downworlders the turn to crime was the only way to survive.

From violent robberies to petty street tricks the Downworlders were trapped in a spiral of turmoil where the only way to survive was through violence and trickery which only served to further damage their reputation above all repair. There was not a single mundane that sympathised with them. This is not to say, however, that the Downworlders were actually angels, in any sense of the word. There were many, many evil Downworlders who even if they had the opportunity to be freed from their suppression would have gladly gone back home to their squalor because trickery and thievery came naturally to them. It was their live, their purpose.

Demonic blood ran through their veins, this was a fact that could not be denied and yet it did not make them any the more naturally evil then the average mundane. There were bad humans and there were bad Downworlders but some nasty twist of fate had made the very term "Downworlder" synonymous with "Evil".

Nevertheless, despite all the negativity surrounding his very existence Magnus Bane was happy enough. Yes, he did live amongst the rundown houses of Brooklyn but his home was his and he was rather proud of it, thank you very much. Fine sheets of silk and embroidered cotton hung around his four poster bed. Yellow velvet curtains were permanently drawn across the wide windows, removing the view of the squalor and decay of the outside world. Rubies and saphires glimmered from the walls where they had magically been set.

There were splashes of colour everywhere that gave the place the feel of an exotic palace from a bygone era. No other Downworlder had taken so much care and attention of their habitat then Magnus Bane, partly this was simply due to the fact that hardly any other Downworlder had the money to spare on such lavish decoration.

He was like a king in his own right; some came just to view this rich scene of opulence. But most came to ask for treatments and help. This was how Magnus Bane, the High Warlock of Brooklyn funded his mini palace. There were many Downworlders in Alicante but very few were Warlocks. The majority of the Warlock community had fled years ago. They knew that the death of King Michael whilst his heir was still an infant would mean that the prejudiced Lightwood's would seize control over the kingdom whilst the infant monarch grew to majority. Every spell they cast predicted a bleak future.

Magnus knew this as much as the next Warlock but he remained in Alicante regardless. He had no problem with being a big fish in a small sea. He was the only option the whole Downworlder community had in all of Alicante when they needed a bit of magical help. And Magnus was always glad to oblige, for a price.

Today Magnus was lazing on his bed, watching lint float about his room. It wasn't the most scintillating activity he had ever undertaken but for lack of any other excitement it would quite have to do. Magnus sighed with boredom.

_If I just stay here all day I turn in to a mushroom...but then what's my alternative? Become a performing monkey for the high and mighty snobbish king of Alicante. _

He climbed out of his bed with the balance and elegance of a cat, this feline image was only further consolidated by his slitted pupils. With his long silken robe trailing across the floor he went over to his cluttered mahogany desk. On it lay a grand looking invitation with a golden border. The corners of the invitation already looked rough due to the amount of time Magnus had removed and then replaced it in its purple envelope. Now the envelope was abandoned in the bottom of a wicker basket full of used receipts.

The invitation had come as a complete surprise, and not one of those "Oh, how amazing," surprises, more of a "What on earth..." surprises. The royal court had invited him to attend the annual Spring-time Ball, as the entertainment. They wanted him to performe petty magic tricks for the crowd.

So the palace had decided he was nothing more than a court jester. _Great_. Although it was better than being a criminal... only last week palace guards had marched in to district and taken a young lycanthrope away.

The charge was the theft of a platinum necklace from Lady Isabelle Lightwood. Magnus had heard the name before but the only image of her he could find in his memory was one of a young girl of eight standing next to her older brother on a platform before the summer feast.

Yes, he remembered them. They had made a fine pair; both had the same black hair and elegance. But they were only children; he hadn't paid that much attention to them at the time. And it had been a rather long time ago although he couldn't put his finger on the exact dates involved.

Nevertheless, he refused to become a courtly puppet, even though the offer to attend such a party was tempting. _But I wouldn't be a proper guest in the full sense of the word..._

An abrupt knock on the door disturbed his trail of thought.

"Come in!" he called

When the door opened a tall beautiful woman, with golden curls and piercing green eyes, stepped in to Magnus's home. She immediately fit in with her surroundings, as if she were a part of the vibrant ensemble of silks and jewels.

"Camille, I should have known it would be you." As he spoke Magnus grabbed the invitation off the table and shoved it in a draw. He watched Camille's eyes analyse his actions but said nothing by way of explanation.

"I thought you might want to be filled in on what we discussed." She leant against the closed door, not moving any further in to the room.

"You know very well that I care very little for what happens in your meetings," his tone was disinterested but Camille could see in his eyes that was just an act. And worst of all, he knew that she knew.

She smiled widely, showing her sparkling teeth. The extended canines were being one of the few outward proof of her vampire nature. "You are such a liar, Magnus Bane. Are you seriously telling me that you think that we, the Downworlders, should just accept our lot in life? That we should allow those impertinent mundanes to look down at us as if we are worthless?"

"I'm just saying that from where I'm standing there is nothing to be fixed. I'm king of _my_ castle," he said whilst waving his hand.

"And what happens when you get framed for a robbery or perhaps murder? Who will be king of the castle then? The only ones who are truly King are those stuck up Lightwoods. Not even that little brat Jonathon can truly call the crown his own."

"Ah well, boohoo for him. I shall sob profusely in to my pillow every night in his memory."

"Oh shut up, Magnus, you know how serious this is! I can't take being a second class citizen anymore!" Her tone was biting and harsh.

"You could just leave, you know."

"And you very well know that I can't! Not until they releasehimfrom the dungeons. They think that just because he's a Downworlder they can treat him like dirt, but **no more**. The bottom line is things need to change, but, as much as I regret to admit it, I need your help."

"Ah, so the ex-girlfriend wants a favour. You cheated on me, Camille. I devoted everything I had to you and you left me out to dry for a lycanthrope. You come here with your high morals and ideas of justice but you don't believe a single word of it. You're just in it for yourself. I don't think I have ever met somebody so utterly selfish in my whole life! So excuse me if I don't bend over backwards to accommodate your every whim."

A stony silence passed between them. Eventually Camille peeled herself away from the door and slunk over to the bed, perching on the very end of it.

"I'm sorry for what I did," Magnus laughed but she just waited for him to quieten again before continuing. "And you are right. I do have my own motives but you cannot question the fact that there are positive outcomes to my proposals. Revolution is the only way. They don't listen to us, they don't care about us. We need to make them care. We shouldn't have to move away just so we can be free. I don't want much from you, Magnus. But I know you have links in the palace. All that I ask is that you cultivate them and when the time comes and I ask you for some information, you get it for me. And that's it, the end of your involvement."

"So basically you want me to be a mole."

"Basically," her smile caught him off guard again, he couldn't help but feel a twinge in his heart as he remembered all the day they had spent together sharing every secret and every little thought. On that very bed he had lain snuggled in his arms. But she wasn't his anymore. She never really had been his from the beginning...

"What makes you think they would ever trust me _that much_?"

"Because you have a good reputation with them, I also know that you have turned in quite a few of our kind to the palace guard."

"Only the ones that had truly done wrong."

"Nevertheless to them you are a trusted snitch. They see you as _their_ mole in _our_ affairs. So let them carry on in their world of delusion. It's all I ask."

"And what do I get in return?"

She stood up slowly. Her hair tumbled over her eyes as if it were a golden curtain. Pressing against Magnus she cupped his face in her pale hands and gently pressed he lips against his lower jaw.

"You can have one last date with me. We'll eat pasta under the stars and steal roses before dawn." Her voice was husky and seductive.

He knew he was stupid to listen. What did "one last date" mean? He wouldn't be able to persuade her to come back to him again. If her plans succeeded she would be riding off in to sunset with her steamy lycanthrope. But maybe, just maybe she would change her mind before then.

_It's worth a chance..._

"Fine, I'll do it. But only because I have nothing better to do."

She pulled away from him abruptly and Magnus suddenly felt quite cold. "I knew you'd come through."

"Oh, don't worry darling. I promise to supercede all expectations." His mind was already wandering to the scrunched invitation lying in the draw. What better opportunity was there to get close to the palace officials then to go to the palace itself?

_They won't know what hit them. I'll give them a performing monkey with a two-for-one offer on a free palace spy thrown in to the bargain._

**_A/N: Reviews= Love_**


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Mortal Instruments, Hurt-Comfort, Romance