Title: Eternally Bound

Summary: He was only three when his parents died. Now he's a servant of the Morgensterns, bound to their secrets more tightly than any could imagine. Breaking the ties and finding the truth before his life runs out is only the beginning of his struggle. AU Malec

Note: Okay, so I suppose it's only fair to warn you that this fic has dark undercurrents. I'm not entirely sure what's going to happen as of yet, as only a few things are vaguely planned and the rest to be determined before I write the next chapter, but there will be themes of abuse (mostly unshown), angst, and overall evilness. I can't share too much - you'll find out a lot in this prologue. It is about Alec. Yes, an AU about Alec. It will feature Magnus as a love interest. And I'm quite certain that the rest of the gang will show up.

Yes, this is multichaptered. I'm hoping I'll be able to stick to a writing schedule and, er, update (I have a bad record, so I'm sort of relying on you guys to keep me on track). Please, read, enjoy, and let me know what you think so far! Thanks in advance!

Disclaimer: I do not own MI. Cassandra Clare does.

Prologue

The dungeons were freezing and he was lonely, but neither circumstance was new to Alexander. He curled into a smaller ball and wrapped the thin blanket around his shoulders. The mattress was lumpy and hard, but he couldn't remember ever sleeping on anything else. This had been his home for almost his whole life.

A bell clanged from the upper floors, summoning him, but Alexander ignored it. It was the middle of the night. Perhaps Jonathan would believe he was asleep? He shut his eyes, willing that to be true even though he knew he wouldn't drift off easily. He rarely did.

The bell clanged again and Alexander's muscles tensed instinctively. He had to go, to serve his employer, but he didn't want to. He wanted to stay in bed, however uncomfortable and frigid it was. Perhaps he was being a brat, but it was late, and anything Jonathan wanted could wait for the morning.

And if it couldn't… if Jonathan was maimed and dying… well, Alexander didn't think it would truly be too tragic.

The bell clanged for a third time, now accompanied by a shout. Alexander cringed. Jonathan wasn't giving up and he was going to be in for it now.

He slipped out of bed and shuddered when his feet hit the icy floor. Hurriedly, he dressed in his work clothes, as he knew that Jonathan expected him to remain professional at all hours of the day, and rushed up the stairs. He was ready to get Jonathan whatever he needed and then go back to bed as quickly as possible.

The bell clanged incessantly, but Alexander didn't mind too much now. He listened intently upon reaching the top of the stairs and followed the sound. The hallway was dim and just as cold as the dungeons. He knew he should have brought a candle, but brushed it aside. Should have, could have, would have – they all equated into didn't. There was no point in brooding over something he was too stupid to think of.

He heard the flames crackling in the fireplace as he turned the corner and frowned. He was quite sure he had put the fire out before retreating to his room, and Jonathan would never have made a new one himself. Alexander's blood chilled and his stomach tied into knots. It could only be one other. He hadn't sent any warning of his return, but Alexander knew he had to act as if he had.

He gulped and pushed open the heavy door. The ringing ceased when the hinges creaked and Alexander averted his gaze automatically. He shut the door gently and remained in his place silently.

"Have I taught you nothing?" the stern, cold voice he knew too well asked. "You do not leave your superiors waiting."

Alexander stared at his feet and clasped his hands behind his back. "I apologize, sir. I was… asleep. I thought I was dreaming at first."

"Liar," the tall man snapped before turning away to face the flickering fire. "What do I always say about liars, Alexander?"

"That they ought to be punished," he murmured and a surge of guilt and terror filled him.

His master sighed and tapped his foot impatiently. Alexander slowly raised his head to peek at the menacing figure that had raised him. He was standing in the middle of the parlor, wielding a stele and seraph blade that he laid on a table. Black tattoos curled on his skin before disappearing under his fine clothes. He looked angry and stressed.

That was never a good thing for Alexander.

"Fill my glass," he ordered and gestured to an empty, ornate wine glass on the table. It had been there since his last visit. Not even Jonathan dared to touch it. Alexander had cleaned it once and then let it rest. He moved instinctively towards the wine cabinet at the demand and pulled out the master's favorite red wine without having to look. Careful not to spill anything, Alexander poured the glass about halfway and presented it to him.

He took it without giving Alexander a glance and took a long sip. "How is Jonathan?"

"He is well, sir," Alexander informed him. It was no surprise that, after reprimanding him and wanting a drink, the master would inquire about his son. That was how it generally went. "His training is… it's well." He bit his lip, unsure of whether or not he wanted to share Jonathan's newest routine.

"And?" the master asked, sensing the hesitation.

"He's been working on taking down moving targets, sir. And first aid."

The master turned around suddenly and narrowed his eyes. "We haven't got moving targets."

"I know, sir," Alexander said quietly and resisted the urge to scratch one of the multitudes of bandages on his body. "He is very… resourceful."

The master strode over to his armchair and settled into it comfortably. "Turn around and face me, Alexander."

Alexander obeyed without letting even a full second pass.

He could feel eyes on him, scanning and noting everything about his appearance, his posture, his inferiority. It was only preparation for the lectures. Oh, the lectures… Alexander assumed he knew them all, but then a new one would be sprung on him. He couldn't stand the lectures.

"Do you know who I am?" the master asked softly.

His tone startled Alexander more than the odd question. "Of course, sir." The master said nothing, so Alexander assumed he wanted a full answer. "You are the one that saved me from the fire that killed my family. You raised me and gave me somewhere to live. You take care of me, sir." This was only the beginning of the master's resume as far as Alexander was concerned, but he was stopped by a simple hand gesture.

"No, no. You are aware of my name, are you not?"

"Yes, sir." Alexander paused. He had never been permitted to call the master by his name before. "Valentine Morgenstern."

He flinched when Valentine stood with a hand raised, but didn't feel the sharp pain across his cheek. Instead, he rested his hand on Alexander's shoulder in an almost gentle way.

"That is correct. Now, who are you?"

"Alexander Lightwood," he murmured. "Son of Mayrse and Robert Lightwood, who died when I was three."

"And?" Valentine prompted.

"And forever grateful for your kindness," Alexander finished. "I'm loyal to you, sir." It wasn't as if he had a choice. Alexander had been outside only once in his memory, and he had never met a human being besides the two Morgensterns he served. He had nobody else to turn to.

"Good." He sounded satisfied. "Now, are you aware of what day it is?"

Alexander glanced at the clock. It was after midnight. It had just been Monday, so that meant… "Tuesday, sir?"

"I meant something besides the day of the week, boy."

Alexander struggled for a moment, vaguely on edge from the pressure of Valentine's hand on him. "I don't know, sir," he finally confessed. He looked up, expecting to meet an angry face.

"It is your eighteenth birthday," he said. "You are officially an adult, Alexander."

Alexander felt like he had just been punched in the stomach. Eighteen? But… it couldn't be… How could he not have realized his birthday approaching? He didn't celebrate, ever, but he liked to acknowledge the achievement of surviving another year in close quarters with Jonathan.

"My… birthday?" he echoed dumbly.

"Yes, your birthday." Valentine sighed and stepped away, as if he were reminiscent. "You've grown quite a bit since I first took you in. And furthermore, you've been molded perfectly. Better than I had expected."

Alexander shifted his weight from one foot to another. If by molded perfectly he meant obedient, he supposed Valentine was right.

"So, I have an offer for you. Think of it as… a present, of sorts. You may ask me any three questions you please. I will answer them to the best of my abilities, I swear by the Angel." Valentine smiled encouragingly.

Any three questions… Seven million things popped into Alexander's head, but at the same time, he was unable to catch even one. "Sir, I… I don't know what to say," he said in shock.

"You could use your manners and thank me for my generosity," Valentine suggested offhandedly as he returned to his seat.

"T-thank you, sir." Alexander took a deep breath and tried to draw on the courage he knew was buried somewhere inside him. "Sir, could you perhaps tell me… What were my parents like? I-if you know, of course."

Valentine was silent for a long while and Alexander wondered if perhaps he hadn't been honest when he said any question would go. Still, he didn't move, waiting.

"Your father was cruel," Valentine finally spoke. "You are aware of my ultimate mission, are you not?"

Alexander nodded. There was no way he couldn't know. Valentine was trying to rid the world of Downworlders and demons, repopulate with Nephilim, and simply save their failing society.

"He was utterly for the cause originally, but when we began our true work, he faltered. He went soft towards the monsters and harsh towards his own kind. Sometimes I wondered if he was a Shadowhunter at all and not from some demonic background. He abandoned me, after I had relied on him so heavily, and turned on his former friends. There were several disappearances over the next few weeks, many of which I suspect were linked to him. Your mother… she was much the same. Quieter, very cold, emotionless, narrow minded woman. I hadn't met a mother with less love for her child until you were born." He emptied his wine glass as he pondered his own words. "I suppose it was a double blessing for you when they died. Not only were you saved from their harsh ways, but I was able to take you in and ensure that their short influence did no lasting damage."

Alexander stared at the burning logs. During Valentine's explanation, his body had gone numb, bit by bit. First his hands, then his arms, until finally, even his pumping, pounding, aching heart didn't feel. "It was a blessing," he whispered, unbelieving but knowing that was what Valentine wanted to hear.

He shook his head. "Alexander, I understand that it is hard to hear. The truth often is. But please, I urge you not to dwell on the matter. They were not worth mourning when they died, nor are they worth mourning now."

Alexander had always mourned for the family he knew absolutely nothing about. He had been trained not to care, taught that grief was weak, but he knew he was never strong. So he cried in private, in his room when Jonathan was fast asleep and Valentine was away. He had countless fantasies of his family, of older siblings he never knew, of how they watched him lovingly from Heaven. Surely, he thought, they hated how he was treated here. Surely they wished they could strike out and kill Valentine and Jonathan on the spot. But even angels had their limitations, so that was why he was stuck in this horrible life.

He never considered that they were the ones he should have feared.

"Alexander, do you wish to ask me anything else tonight?" Valentine asked. Alexander jumped, effectively drawn out of his state.

"No, sir," he said. It was already difficult enough to breathe.

"Very well. You may save them for a later date." Valentine reached for the long discarded stele and twirled it in his fingers expertly. "Come closer, Alexander."

He took short, uneasy steps until he reached the chair and bowed his head.

"You are now an adult," Valentine said, echoing his earlier statement. It still felt unreal to Alexander. He hadn't even known it was his birthday. "Though you have not been trained, I must remember that you were born Nephilim and remain so. Every Nephilim deserves at least one rune. Extend your wrists to me."

Alexander bit the inside of his cheek and held his arms out. They shook slightly and Valentine held his fists to steady them.

Alexander almost cried out when the stele touched his skin. The metal burned as it traced black marks around his wrists in a strange, unfamiliar design. White pain blinded him. When it subsided, he opened his eyes to find himself on his knees, nearly bowing down to the man who stood with a smug grin.

Alexander examined the Marks carefully. He didn't know many runes – he could barely read anything, let alone the angels' language – but these were entirely new to him. Jonathan didn't have them, for sure. They looped around his wrists, identical, and tingled unpleasantly. A nagging part of his brain told him they looked like manacles, but he had to push that thought away before he panicked.

"What do the runes mean, sir?"

Valentine stepped away and around him, pacing the room. Alexander remained on the floor, as he did not have permission to stand yet.

"In a few months, I will retrieve my daughter, my wife, and the Mortal Cup. I am not a fool. I know that I may fail. And should I fail, there may be repercussions. Serious repercussions. Regardless of the outcome, they will investigate, they will search. This manor is said to be abandoned. You know, of course, that is not true. And so will they, should they look for me here." Valentine laughed. "Of course, I won't be here. And neither will Jonathan. We can't risk it. You, on the other hand, will stay and keep house for when we return. I don't have the patience, the time, or the need to bring you along and I'm confident that you will be able to take care of yourself."

"Of course, sir," Alexander said, though there had not been a sign to respond. He was confused about what this had to do with the runes.

Valentine poured himself another glass of wine and, after a slight pause, as if considering, took another glass out of the cabinet. He filled it halfway and then poured a small vial of clear liquid inside. He handed it to Alexander. "Drink this," he commanded. "It has a potion. I'm not oblivious to my son's tendencies. This will help with your wounds."

Alexander slowly brought the cool glass to his lips and sipped at the wine, inwardly grateful. Jonathan was good with bandages, but it didn't stop the cuts from throbbing and splitting days after he received them. He'd drunk before, but only a few scarce times with much cheaper alcohol than this. Valentine watched him intently until the glass was empty, and then drained his own.

"As you will be remaining here, you will likely be found during their investigation. I do not want to risk my secrets being spilled by an idiot servant boy." The usual sneer in Valentine's voice was suddenly back as he insulted the status he had taught Alexander to fill. "Those runes are binding runes. I don't care if you say you are loyal to me. Those runes will ensure it. You cannot disobey a Morgenstern."

Alexander's heart sunk and he felt as his lungs constricting. He had never heard of binding runes, but he didn't doubt they would work. Runes always did. He felt his numbness fall away completely as reality broke the icy wall. He was bound, he was subservient forever. He was never going to have the freedom he wished for every day.

Valentine continued speaking. "You are not allowed to give anybody information on Jonathan and I. Not on our skills, not on our habits, not on our whereabouts – I promise you, if you disobey, the runes will punish you for me." He bent down and Alexander choked on the alcohol scented breath. Valentine gathered him by the collar and held him half off the ground. "Do you understand?"

"Yes, sir," Alexander said, but it came out in a near sob. Valentine wrinkled his nose and threw the boy to the ground in disgust.

"Go to bed. I don't want to see your pitiful existence until you're serving breakfast, seven o'clock sharp."

"Yes, sir," Alexander said and scrambled to his feet. He tried to hold back the stinging wetness in his eyes as he stumbled out of the room. Binding runes. He was bound. He had always been a prisoner, but only in the physical sense. The only times he ever felt so trapped before was in a dark room with a locked door and Jonathan. And that – that was a memory he was trying to suppress.

"Alexander!" Valentine yelled once he was already running at top speed down the hall, unable to contain the hot, salty tears from leaving trails on his cheeks. "Stop!"

He brought himself to a sudden halt, unwilling to learn what happened when the runes took effect, and tried to hide the shuddering of his shoulders.

"I thought you might want to know that the potion really does." Valentine's voice echoed in the corridor. "In a year, I won't need you any longer. So, over the next year, the poison will begin its work. If you're lucky, you'll live until your nineteenth birthday." There was a slight pause as Alexander's stomach flopped and he frantically tried to shove his finger down his throat in an attempt to force himself to eject the substance. "And don't even attempt vomiting." Alexander didn't stop, still gagging and trying to force his stomach to empty. "Of course, if you truly wish to test the rune, proceed. I'll be able to watch the punishment and then we can go for another dose. I have several, if needed."

Alexander dropped his hand in defeat as the order was given and felt his entire body shaking. He dropped to the ground, his legs unable to support him any longer, and choked on every breath of air he tried to take. It was as if his body were trying to kill him early.

"Goodnight, Alexander," Valentine said as he passed him. "Get to bed soon. You'll need your strength for the coming months."

For the first time, Alexander wished it had been Jonathan clanging the bell in the dead of the night.

End Note: All right, be honest with me - how weird was it to read "Alexander" the whole time? He'll eventually transition into being called Alec, but right now he's Alexander. I'll admit, I kept slipping up and writing Alec. Anyhow, this idea bloomed while chatting with a friend about Alec, about how different his life might have been if his parents hadn't survived the Uprising. There were several possibilities, but the one that struck me was the idea that afterwards, Alec might have been sent to live with his parents' friend, Michael Wayland - who was being impersonated by Valentine. I took a little while to decide which house Alec would be raised in, and then just sort of let it flow. It evolved into this and, well, I hope it turns out okay.

Please review and give me some feedback! It would be the most encouraging thing in the world and might let me get a chapter out before midterms! Thanks for reading!