Pandemonium: Chapter 37
The same disclaimer that has always existed, and will always exist: nothing belongs to me.
AN: Sorry about the last chapter. And this chapter. And the next chapter. And this whole story. Sorry. Don't be really angry with me, please? See the end for more notes. Sorry about this coming so so so late. I know it took forever for me to get here, but to be fair I had the end of the semester (which meant term papers and finals to deal with) and then I went off traveling and didn't have much access to the internet during that time. But I'm back, and now I have a vast expanse of time with which to do absolutely nothing (yay?). Right. I'm going to try to wrap up this story as quickly as possible because I've dragged it on too long. In my guess there is this chapter, the next chapter, and then the epilogue. My hopes are to be done before the end of September. Don't hold me to that though. Also I read COHF, and it impacted my decision on where to go with this fic because of reasons I'll outline later.
TL;DR: I have some bullshit excuses as to why I haven't written in ages and now that it's all done, I'm going to try to make this as quick and painless as possible.
The gate swung open and brought in a slow zephyr that stunk of rotten food and human waste. Magnus' eyes opened; for a moment, everything was bright. His pupils dilated, growing accustomed to the torch that accompanied the gate opener. It was Whitelaw.
With a resigned sigh, Magnus coldly asked, "What brings you to this lovely corner of the dungeon?"
Whitelaw pursed his lips. Very rarely did he get attached to clients. His only attachment was to justice, absolutely and firmly to an ideal that had no real definition. And it just so happened that his very client was being denied that justice. If there was one thing Whitelaw was sure of, it was that Magnus was irrevocably and undoubtedly innocent. He didn't know why, and part of him never wanted to know why; that was a personal matter. But, the fact remained that Magnus was innocent. Despite everything that he had done-hell, despite everything that even Tessa had done in the end-Magnus was going to die. He was going to meet his end with a cheap and chippy chopper on a big, black box.
Then he spoke, "I figured you might want to look your best for your execution... and maybe it would help if you had someone with you as you walked towards it."
Magnus let down the façade of bravery and indifference. His eyes looked sunken back into his head, and his arms dangled hopelessly. This was not the vision of a youthful man with everything left to live; this was the vision of a man certain of his impending death.
He smiled a little bit. It wasn't a real smile. It was a smile meant to acknowledge the kindness that Whitelaw was giving unto him.
He stood to his tall, prideful height and greeted the day. A day that would end in a glorious red sunset, awash with the blood of innocents.
And then there was light. It filtered strongly through the curtain with self-righteous contempt for all those who dared to hide from it. Not that Alec dared hide from it. What was the point in hiding from it. It would find him-always. This was the day he died. Well, not really dead, his body would continue to trudge on in the infinite ennui of time and space. But his soul, his soul would die. Like the great swinging of the axe, his soul would be severed from his body much as Magnus' head would be severed from his body. It was going to be awful and gruesome.
He had no desire to go. He had no desire to see the love of his life brutally murdered in front of him for a crime he did not commit. But then, nobody knew that. Magnus was nobody. And nobody cares when nobody dies.
Alec put on his outfit. Dressed himself in all the finery befitting the Crown Prince of Idris. He even plastered a haughty smile on his face as he walked down his winding steep staircase. "Perhaps," he thought quietly to himself, "I should throw myself down these steps. It is a better end." He of course, did not. His presence was required. He needed to see the Queen's justice be served. He needed to see what would one day become his own justice, if nothing, then to make it better.
When he reached the foot of the stairs, he was quickly surrounded by his guards, and Jace. Jace looked at him with sorry eyes, and nodded softly. It was almost imperceptible to anyone but the two of them. In a somber manner Alec and his guard slowly proceeded out of the palace. Once again, Alec was hit by a blinding light; the sun was so powerful it nearly burned his eyes out. So he looked away from the forward direction. He looked back, and saw the palace.
The towering spires glowed in the sunlight. It was a horrifying, yet magnificent sight to behold. It was as if heaven itself had been placed on the Earth below. And then Alec remembered. He remembered a passage from ages past, a passage from a long and arduous poem about creation and loss. He remembered one particular passage:
Anon out of the earth a Fabrick huge
Rose like an Exhalation, with the sound
Of Dulcet Symphonies and voices sweet,
Built like a Temple, where Pilasters round
Were set, and Doric pillars overlaid
With Golden Architrave; nor did there want
Cornice or Freeze, with bossy Sculptures grav'n,
The Roof was fretted Gold. Not Babilon,
Nor great Alcairo such magnificence
Equal'd in all thir glories, to inshrine
Belus or Serapis thir Gods, or seat
Thir Kings, when Ægypt with Assyria strove
In wealth and luxurie. Th' ascending pile
Stood fixt her stately highth, and strait the dores
Op'ning thir brazen foulds discover wide
Within, her ample spaces, o're the smooth
And level pavement: from the arched roof
Pendant by suttle Magic many a row
Of Starry Lamps and blazing Cressets fed
With Naphtha and Asphaltus yeilded light
As from a sky. The hasty multitude
Admiring enter'd, and the work some praise
And some the Architect: his hand was known
In Heav'n by many a Towred structure high,
Where Scepter'd Angels held thir residence,
And sat as Princes, whom the supreme King
Exalted to such power, and gave to rule,
Each in his Hierarchie, the Orders bright.
Satan himself raised Hell, and made it in the image of Heaven. Yet somehow, humans too had made Earth in the image of Heaven, and Alicante was no doubt made in this very image; the palace itself was made in the image.
But humans were no angels, and no matter how much they imitated, they would never be able to make image the reality. Alicante may have looked like Heaven, but it was hell. Milton raised the great palace of Hell to look just like Heaven. But he never saw the great palace of Alicante. This was his personal Hell. This was his Pandemonium.
By the time Alec arrived to the square, it was packed. This, however, was no somber execution; it seemed like a wild party. It had been a significant amount of time since anyone had truly faced the full wrath of the Queen's Justice, and apparently, that meant a time to celebrate. Alec had never really understood the word "schadenfreude" before this. Now though, he saw it in full force. The worst part was, these people had pretty good reason to celebrate. Executions were rare; the events were so isolated that one would normally only see one per lifetime, and that meant that for the rest of their lives the common folk were safe from the chopping block. What a piece of work is man, Alec thought.
As the Crown Prince-and because of his stupid speech about justice-he was obligated to watch from the front. There are few things more horrifying in life than to watch the love of your life killed in front of you. In fact, the only thing worse would be if it was your fault. Which for Alec, it was.
There was a clatter of hooves on cobblestone, and a cheer from the crowd. Magnus had arrived.
There was a crowd. There was a motherfucking crowd. Of course there was a crowd.
Magnus laughed. It wasn't a chortle, a giggle, or even a chuckle. It was a full throated laugh. The laugh of a man staring at the abyss and the absurdity of his own death.
The crowd jeered as he passed. They also cheered a little. They were so happy that he was the one dying and not them. Slowly, his open cart pushed to the wooden platform on the square. There stood a priest, some minor bureaucrat, and a man in a mask-who seemed to be swaying a bit-with a sword.
He stood up straight then. There was a haughty pride to his posture; it made a statement beyond all others. It was a claim of innocence in all things, and it was the willingness to become a martyr for freedom. Alec would make him a martyr. That was what he had decided; that was what he knew in his heart Alec would do. The boy was many things, but he was not stupid. Magnus knew that his death could be the catalyst for change, and that filled him with pride.
Of course that was entirely bravado. His exterior said all of that, his exterior would never betray what he felt inside. He feared the end.
Long ago, in an education he forgot, he had been taught the basic tenets of religion, which said what happened to people when they died; they went to one of two places, Heaven or Hell. Or was it three? Was Purgatory still a thing? It mattered not. For his actions-his actions with Alec-he was doomed to hell. But Magnus didn't believe that. He feared something much worse.
Death did not lead to Hell, or at least it was not Hell as described by those oafish priests. Death was oblivion. Death was complete and utter nonexistence. Everything he had worked for, his entire existence, his entire essence would be wiped from the face of the Earth. He would cease to be in his glorious form, and that alone was frightening enough. And yes, he would be remembered for a time. He would be recalled fondly by those who loved him, and he would be recalled in a horrific light by those who feared him, and those who hated him. But in the end even those would fail. Eventually he would be forgotten. He would go in an unmarked grave, permanently forgotten and lost to history, just another casualty of the great killing machine called life.
Near the front he caught a glimpse of blue eyes and black hair. He knew the combination. He knew the man they belonged to, and he knew that it meant he had given up. Magnus knew this was for the best. There was nothing better to see than an apathetic Alec. It would prevent him from being associated with this ordeal anymore, and it would help him use the event to bolster his plans. It was good. But it was horrible. He was about to become a footnote. And he, Magnus Bane, was more than a footnote.
When I write my autobiography, I will dedicate the book to Magnus, and I will leave no detail left out. He will not be a footnote to history.
Alec frowned at the thought of this. How had he resigned himself so quickly to Magnus' death? He knew how quickly he had resigned himself. Magnus had told him to do it. It was the only thing he could do to ensure his own survival. This was the sacrifice he had to make. This was the ultimate sacrifice.
Magnus was moving up to the platform. He didn't look at Alec. He looked straight ahead at the palace in the distance.
The bureaucrat spoke.
"Do you have any final words?" he asked in a nasally whisper.
Do I have any fucking final words? Do I? Do I really? Magnus thought to himself. Then, with a sneer, he nodded.
Magnus inhaled. What the fuck do I have to say to these people? He quickly glanced at Alec and felt the terror in his heart. Then, he knew what he was going to say.
"Justice is an interesting concept. I believe justice is the idea of equitable treatment and the idea that what is right must be above all others. See there's the interesting thing. It depends on what is right. But we don't know what is right. Right is no objective, tangible object that can be pointed at, consulted, and used as a point of reference. Right is an idea. And like ideas it is malleable to human influence and perspective. So am I really receiving the Queen's Justice? No. I'm receiving the Queen's Perspective on What is Right. But that doesn't have the same ring to it, now does it. There is something better than Justice to make our decisions with. It's love. Love is not tangible or objective either. But love, at least, is not malleable. Love is the strongest force in the universe. For isn't it love 'that moves the sun and all the other stars?' Not that any of that matters to you." He paused and inhaled. He looked at Alec and said, "But if you can take a moment to stop being yourselves, to stop letting your false notions of justice rule you, then perhaps you can pay attention to love. Because love will always guide the way. I die with love in my heart, and that's the right way to go, not with justice or any warped sense of right. Don't pray for me; pray for yourselves." He kneeled.
Alec couldn't breathe. In the last moment Magnus had looked at him, and had spoken to him. The message was left to him. It was love he wanted. He would give him the love. It was only right. Alec looked at those green cat-like eyes. He wanted to see them in the fullest. They were his, and his alone. They were the most beautiful things in the world, and he could claim them as his own; at least for now, while they still existed as part of this world.
Finally, the priest began to speak. Per istam sanctan unctionem et suam piissimam misericordiam,
indulgeat tibi Dominus quidquid per visum, audtiotum, odorátum, gustum et locutiónem, tactum, gressum deliquisti. Amen.
Magnus wondered if it was a truly a sin of sight to see those blue eyes. The final things he would ever see. And whether he went to Hell, Heaven, Purgatory, or nowhere in particular, they would be the only sight worth seeing for the last time.
The sword was too fast for Alec to see. But he did see the bright gleam as the sword swung downward, and the high whistle of steel crashing through the air. Alec was brave then. He looked right at Magnus as it was happening.
Magnus screamed. The executioner had missed his neck. Blood was spurting everywhere. On the priest, the executioner, the bureaucrat, the platform, even Alec, so close to the front, had a little splatter. Magnus gave out another great howl of pain. He had been struck in the back, and the sword was temporarily lodged there.
Blood, Alec thought. Blood, everywhere. Alec did not phase. He continued to look at Magnus. He would look at Magnus' eyes until the light went out, and even now, with a sword lodged in his back, with blood gushing out like a great river, Magnus lived and had light in his eyes. He screamed, but still looked at Alec.
A second sloppy stroke came down, and slammed Magnus in the back. He let out only a whimper. His face was pale, and the light, was finally leaving his eyes. The blood loss was too much. But they continued to look at each other.
Finally the bureaucrat stopped the executioner. He lifted the sword himself. Alec heard a song. The terrible song that is always sung by a sword as it comes crashing down to take a life. The sword sings of the life that was, and all the beauty in it. The sword sings with glee at its plan to utterly destroy the life. To take all the beauty out of that life, and to take that life out. It is a cruel song. Cruel and beautiful.
There were no screams the second time. The vocal chords had been cut. Blood still gushed everywhere, even covering Alec's front rather thoroughly. It was only when the head finally rolled off that Alec looked away. There was nothing worth looking at.
The only thing worth looking at did not belong to the world anymore.