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They've been together for millenia. They've seen the rise and fall of empires, the beauty and bane of humanity, and the descent and departure of the divine. They've adorned the skin of pharaohs, monarchs, and gods. They were a mark of nobility and power. They still are. They always have been. Whoever should possess both shall be guaranteed power and fortune untold, the stories had once told.
It takes centuries, but finally, they're reunited.
They sit side-by-side on an archeologist's wooden desk, the only thing sparkling among the dust and dirt, having just been cleaned and studied. They needed proof that they were indeed exactly the same — how rare it was to find such well-preserved and identical treasures, after all. They know what comes next. Museum or money. Who shall ever catch the eye of their archaeologist first would dictate where they went.
Neither of them had accounted for their archaeologist already being under the watchful eye of power incarnate.
Another man enters the room, and without even breathing a word, they feel his magic reach out to look around.
And oh, would you look at that?
They’ve been found.
He stands tall and greets the archeologist warmly, delivering a set of potions in exchange for the chance to peruse the artifacts in the room. He’s always had a bit of an eye for those no other possess. He loves having a rare piece and even more so when they seem to tell their story without trying. The golden bands catch his eye, the ruby inlay glimmering in the bright fluorescent lamp. His magic had gone straight for them the moment the door opened. There’s something there.
"I'd like these, thank you." His voice brokers no space for response or argument.
The mundane doesn't get so much as another say as the warlock, whose golden cat eyes are on display as he looks at his new jewelry, wraps the bands in his magic and summons a portal. He is confident the man won’t say anything, and he smirks at him briefly.
Knowing the potions he regularly receives and pays for with precious artifacts are well worth it, the archeologist nods mutely and watches as the warlock leaves.
In the warlock's lair, he studies the arm bands with a frown. He had felt drawn to them for more than their beauty, he can’t help but think. The way his magic sunk into them had told him they would make a great conduit for it.
Hands still glowing with magic, he reaches out to hold them.
A blast of magic later, two men stand before the warlock, one dark-haired and the other blond. They have strange markings on their bodies that reminds him of shadowhunters, but no other shadowhunter had the eerie golden scales that ran up the sides of the men's bodies, nor the realistic looking snake tattoo on their arms that seemed to slither with every breath they took.
"A warlock!” The blond exclaims with a small hysterical giggle. “Of course. Thousands of years and this is the first time we've fallen into the hands of a warlock that’s actually powerful enough to bring us back to life." He walks right up to the warlock, breaching the personal space he so liked to maintain, before dropping to one knee and bowing his head.
The brunet offers a small smile to his counterpart before meeting the warlock’s gaze and copying his companion. "We're at your service, Warlock."
"Please, call me Magnus. And there's really no need to kneel." He takes a step back, but finds himself frozen as the pair look up at him in unison. The sight of them on their knees sends a shiver down his spine. How pretty and deadly they look on his floor and at his command. He swallows the lump in his throat, already knowing this is the beginning of an entirely new chapter of his life.
Word travels fast about the High Warlock’s newest conquest. He offers them their freedom within a minute of having met them, unwilling to subject them to slavery or to keep them bound to their cursed form, but neither take him up on it. They’d been one, once, they’d told him, but had been divided and cursed when they grew too powerful and greedy. They’re better now, they claim. They’ve learned not to take without giving, and it’s one of the reasons they’re able to do great by their previous masters. They bring power and good fortune to those that own them because these are things they deprived so many of when they’d once been alive.
Magnus wastes no time asking them how to break the curse, never at ease with the thought of owning an actual person outside of set boundaries and rules in play. They admit that they aren’t sure how it can be done, only that they’d been told it would involve hellfire and the blood of the divine.
How convenient then that Magnus possesses both.
And yet…
Neither leaves even after the curse is broken.
Magnus is rarely without his pets now, as many in his world have taken to calling them. He sits on his throne in Pandemonium and the two drape themselves over him one way or another. Often, it’s with one on the floor by his leg (or between his legs) and the other beside him with his legs across Magnus’ lap and an arm around Magnus’ shoulder. People call them his pets, but Magnus feels like he’s the one that’s been claimed.
They prove as much when someone makes the mistake of luring Magnus away from them one night.
Jace, whose blond hair is slicked back and mismatched eyes filled with fire, stalks towards Magnus and the pretty vampire talking him up. He wraps an arm around Magnus’ waist, leaning his head on the warlock’s shoulder and dragging his nose from Magnus’ throat to his jaw. “We were wondering what was taking you so long,” he says, breath hot against Magnus’ skin.
“I wasn’t aware we had plans.” Magnus’ voice remains calm and casual, but there’s no mistaking the way Jace affects him. The vampire leaves them in a huff, quickly realizing that she no longer holds even a fraction of Magnus’ attention. It isn’t long before Jace and Magnus return to their usual spot overlooking the patrons, but before Magnus could even turn around and have a seat, Alec’s crowding him into Jace’s chest.
Jace’s hands grip his hips and keep him in place, while Alec’s hold Magnus’ face and leans in close. “Now what were you doing all the way over there, Magnus?”
Magnus tilts his head to be able to look Alec in the eye, which only results in him baring his neck to Jace, who takes it as a cue to place a kiss to Magnus’ pulse.
“I’m sure you’ve already noticed, but we’re pretty...possessive.” Alec smiles, bright and charming. “Can’t have just anyone taking you away now, Master .” The last word is said teasingly, all three of them knowing how Magnus dislikes it and how far from the truth it is.
More would have happened there, Magnus knows, if his wards hadn’t just alerted him of the arrival of two Circle members meandering in his club. With but a thought the pair disappear, wrapping themselves around Magnus as the same matching armbands he’d found them as so many moons ago. He feels the boost in his powers, and with one step forward he finds himself pulled into the world of shadowhunters and their stupidity.
Alec and Jace remain constants at his side, their unwavering loyalty to him evened out by their natural aversion for things and people that would only leave Magnus harmed in any way. They lead him to power, and when the dust settles with Valentine at his feet, Magnus has a cup in one hand a sword in another. The golden glow of Alec and Jace on his arms disappear as they manifest at his sides.
An angel stands in front of him, the vast expanse of a lake behind it.
“Welcome back, Raziel.” Alec smiles.
“Have you missed us?” Jace mirrors Alec.It strikes Magnus then, when Jace and Alec had mentioned being one, that they had never meant one-half.