Chapter Text
Alec wasn’t exactly sure how he’d ended up here. One minute he was stepping into the Portal to visit Idris and the next, he was standing in what seemed like, well, a dull-gray London afternoon full with carriages and men with top hats. For a moment, he’d blinked and let it all set in. He’d taken a deep breath and bit down on his lower lip which kept him from yelling but not from the eventual tears. Alexander Lightwood wasn’t someone who cried – of course not, he hadn’t cried since, well, since Max died and well maybe since Izzy was harmed and –
All of that was besides the point. Currently, Alec was sitting on a wooden bench overlooking the Blackfriars’ Bridge. He was sitting in contemplation, with his head in his hands, just trying to make sense of the entire situation. When he’d first found himself here, he had thought that maybe if he turned back to look at the Portal so he could re-enter it and go back to the Institute, however, it was impossible. The Portal had been quick to dissipate right with Alec’s hope of returning to New York. Of course, after an hour of going around what seemed like St. Paul’s Cathedral, Alec had found himself now at the Blackfriars Bridge. Alec didn’t know a lot of people in London, apart from the person after he was named – Gideon Lightwood and his brother Gabriel Lightwood. Of course, other Lightwoods such as his infamous great great great great great grandfather Benedict Lightwor- LIGHTWOOD and of course, Sophie Lightwood and Cecily Lightwood and Thomas Lightwood and Christopher Lightwood and Andrew Lightwood –
But not knowing where he exactly was had unnerved him and besides, without any reference to any time period it wasn’t as if he was going to find any of his ancestors. In a bid to at least find out which era he was in, he drifted in and around the street sellers till he finally found a mundane newspaper stall. Of course with no money, and glamour, nobody could see him or even ask him for any money but still Alec hesitated. A man with a clear conscience never stole, and this made Alexander no exception. He peered into one of the stalls nonchalantly with his hands behind his back as if someone might catch onto what he was doing and almost fell over into the case.
5th June, 1878.
Oh god, Alec thought, surely this was some kind of a dream? Was he about to get caught up with Will Herondale, Jace’s ancestor and Tessa Gray and Jem Carstairs? Surely, this has to be a dream, Alec thought for what seemed to be like the millionth time as he slumped, his shoulders weighing him down as he pressed his hands back against his face.
The thought he was trying to suppress came up – What about Magnus? He could find Magnus and tell him everything and he’d understand, of course he’d understand, he was his boyfriend but... Then again, Alec was Magnus’ boyfriend in the 21st century, not the 19th century and oh, what if he has an existing lover already? Actually, no, ex boyfriend, he reminded himself with a sudden bitterness. A flush crawled up his neck as he tried to think rationally. Both of them had their past albeit Magnus had a longer past and Alec, well, had nothing. Maybe he could find out more about Magnus, but that would be unfair, wouldn’t it...
That was when a thought struck him – The London Institute, he could just pose as another asylum-seeking Shadowhunter and maybe try to get into contact with Magnus or someone or – of course, the famous Henry Branwell. The diagnostics seemed impossible at the moment, but surely he had to start somewhere and this somewhere seemed more plausible than any other somewhere.
Hodge had been a good tutor; he’d taught all the three the major Institutes of the world full with pictures and addresses. Thankfully, Alec was currently on Blackfriars Bridge, which meant that the London Institute wasn’t far, just off Fleet Street and once he’d find the cathedral, it was Hello Mission going back to the 21st century. Un-glamouring himself for a moment, he asked one of the courteous men on the street for directions to Fleet Street and with a courteous nod and a tip of the man’s hat, Alec set down the Blackfriars Bridge. The Thames River wasn’t as grand, just a mass of grey flowing in the gray evening and everything was well, just gloomy. Alec wondered if he was gloomier than the weather and decided he was definitely gloomier.
Getting off the bridge, a pang of homesickness went over him as the salty smell of the river disappeared, making him crave the Hudson River’s smell again. He turned around the corner he was reminded and surely, there was the abandoned Church of All-Hallows-Less. With some concentration, Alec managed to remove the glamour and found hurrying Shadowhunters falling out of their carriages. One of them seemed to be not a Shadowhunter and stumbling with her was a white-haired man along with a cane, a black haired man accompanied with a man with a stocky build, both carrying a man with them in their arms and all the rest seemed to be just flowing out and out – and once only two people were left, Alec decided to step into the gate of the Institute.
As the gate creaked, both the short woman and the man accompanying her looked up and Alec found his throat closing up slightly. The woman was small but intimidating somewhat like Clary and the main with his wild brown hair sticking everywhere just looked confused. Both of them looked like they were just out from a battle and before he could take another step, the man had raised his seraph blade and the woman was holding suddenly holding something that looked like a rope which gleamed in the almost-dark. From afar, Alec could tell that the woman was holding a whip, one which looked a lot like Isabelle’s and both of them seemed hell-bent on killing him. Alec held his hands up and he spoke.
“I’m Alexander Lovelace,” he said. “I’m here to seek refuge in the London Institute.”