"They're back!"
The slender brunette rose from the card table, blurring to the tall, archaic window, where she peered out with eager eyes.
"You are dreaming, cara," said her companion. Her voice was soft, languid. "And once again, it is your turn."
The brunette waved her hand impatiently. "No, no! I know it is them!"
"You've said that thrice already. Please play the card."
Sulpicia returned to the table, sighing as she seated herself. Her feet twitched under her skirts, as if ready to dash towards the door at any moment. She played the card.
After several minutes, Athenodora put out her hand. "Enough. Your mind is no longer here, I can see." She stood, smiling faintly. "I hear them now. Let us go greet our lords."
Sulpicia took her hand eagerly. The two women left the room together, their sylphlike forms ghosting down the familiar set of hallways, towards their own personal sitting room. They seated themselves again, their backs not touching the chairs as they leaned forward in anticipation.
Silence. Then a brief flurry of voices, which they strained to hear. The echo of a door slamming. Then came footsteps, inaudible to a mortal's ear, pattering towards their abode. One was slower than the other two, fading off after a while. The twin steps continued, coming right up to their door.
"Oh!" The women squeezed each other's hands again, beaming.
No one entered. The footsteps beat a rapid tattoo down the hallway, splitting off of each other, and then fading, like the first, into complete silence.
Sulpicia gaped at the door for a moment. Her pretty smile faltered, wiping any previous radiance from her face. She did not understand. Her sister-in-law was equally clueless… and hurt.
"The meeting went badly," Thena said in a low voice.
"How do you know?" Sulpicia whispered.
"Is it not obvious? Our lords do not come to us. Their pride is wounded."
"Wounded how? Why?"
Athenodora shook her head, her fair curls swinging lightly. "I wish I knew." She rose. "I must go to him."
Sulpicia followed suit, still rather dazed. Yes, yes. They must go. They must not allow their husbands to wallow in grief, or suffering.
She thought this. Then her eyes welled into ruby tears. He did not come. I waited for him, and he did not come.
She felt Athenodora's form ghosting past her, disappearing out the door. She followed her sister, endeavoring to swallow her pain, and ignore the little tug at her heart. They parted at the two separate staircases without a word.
Sulpicia's hand caressed the banister, admiring the fine wood even as she hurried. They had planned their rooms together—she and her husband—as had Athenodora and her mate. The staircases as well, supervising each twist and curve as it was formed. The construction itself had been finished by masons of the village, who were paid in sumptuous amounts afterwards, and then led to the throne room for one last, bittersweet visit.
She reached the last step, her delicate feet making little sound as she walked to his door.
"Please talk to me," she whispered hopefully. She knocked. Once.
Silence. Then he answered. "Come."
He sounded exhausted. She entered without hesitation, barely closing the door behind her before rushing across the room, wrapping slender arms about his shoulders. "My dearest, my love, my darling…"
The ancient tugged her down to sit on his lap, his solemn face relaxing visibly. "Oh, tesoro. I have missed you so."
"And I you. Terribly." Her hands, softer than anything, stroked his face. "What ails you, my lord?"
Aro turned his head slowly, as if ashamed to meet her eyes. She felt another hard tug at her heart.
"Is it so bad?" she pleaded. Her fingers traced his jawline. "But it can't be, love. You are here, with the others. You are safe."
"Safe?" he said suddenly. His voice rose in pitch. "Safe from what? Humiliation? A possible dethronement in future from the Romanians?" His voice twisted into a snarl. "I saw them there, the cowering bastards. Sniveling at the edge of the crowd, like two children waiting for a sweet treat. Damn!"
He rammed the palm of his hand into his skull, startling her. Several hairline cracks slithered out from between his fingers, joining others as he pressed harder, as if to force the tortuous thoughts from his mind.
Sulpicia whimpered in distress, tugging his hand away. She kissed both forehead and palm, not breathing until the skin flowed perfectly once more. "My sweet husband," she breathed. "I beg of you. Tell me what is wrong."
"We ran," he said dully. "Our power is for naught. Even Caius failed to spark blood between us, and then… and then…"
His voice faded away. He both looked and sounded like an old man. Sulpicia kissed his cheek. "And then?" she coaxed. "Oh, Aro. Please tell me."
And so he told her. Told her of the strange, yet dangerous force the Cullens had presented—some of which he was shocked to see. The Denali women had been there, excepting the lost Irina, of course, and the Egyptian clan. Clans from all corners of the world, heralded by enormous dogs of every shape and color.
Werewolves. Caius had been a quivering form beside him, before they were close enough for the Cullens to see. Then he had promptly turned to anger, using Irina as an outlet for his fear and rage. Aro's voice grew warmer as he spoke of Bella's child—Bella's marvelous, magical little child—and how close he had come to procuring Edward and his talented sister for his own.
"I want her," he groaned. He closed his eyes under the force of that want, feeling Sulpicia's fingers stroke his hair smooth. "She would be so perfect, Picia. She would blossom here… not be stifled under Carlisle's pastoral influence."
"I know how you wanted her, glika," she responded lovingly.
"But it is all for nothing." He covered his face with his hands, and she was shocked to see him weep for the first time in centuries.
"Aro," she whispered.
He blindly took the silk kerchief she offered, dabbing angrily at the venom around his eyes. "I am not so strong, Picia," he said bitterly.
"It is not that, my love. I have not seen you cry since…" She lowered her voice. "Since Didyme's death."
He looked up at her silently, then sucked in a breath before laughing harshly. "Oh, God! You're right! And this is my punishment. After all this time, He has seen fit to destroy me. Dear God…"
She brought his head close to her breast, feeling his shoulders shake with renewed sobs. He crumpled in her arms, slipping into a childlike state she had never seen before. It frightened, yet humbled her. She was forever placing him on a pedestal, after all. Some unreachable pinnacle of perfection that neither man nor immortal could ever reach. She loved him, and her love was often blinding.
He was not perfect.
He was a man. Immortal, yes. But still a man.
And yes… yes. Their kind could cry.
She held him tighter, covering his back and shoulders with her dark hair. She had never cut it, 'til the day he changed her. And there it had frozen, as thick and beautiful as the day he had proposed.
"I'm sorry, Picia," he wept brokenly. "S-so very sorry…"
"Hush, dearest," she cooed. A tiny tear slipped down her cheek. She took a slow breath, endeavoring to cheer him. "Aro… do you remember… the day we wed?"
He was silent for a long moment, his sobs quieting. She thought maybe he hadn't heard her. But then he spoke. "Yes," he said, his voice fragile.
"It was the same day you proposed. My parents were so scandalized."
He let out a dry chuckle. "So was your entire village, if I recall."
She nuzzled the dear head cradled to her breast. "You swept in like a prince of some foreign land, covered in jewels and Roman silks. You were magnificent, my darling."
She felt him stir as she spoke, smiling as he sat up to look at her. His eyes were bloodshot and swollen, the irises black as a starless night. A faint smile tugged at his lips. "Keep talking, glika. Don't stop."
Her heart warmed to hear his answering endearment, one shared by only the two of them. "You had originally planned on a large sapphire from India as my ring, but it was too heavy for my fingers. You came the next morning, to my father's house…"
Her throat caught a little. Her husband pressed her hand gently to continue. These past recollections were calming for both of them, over the tempest of the present.
"The sky was heavy and grey, but my heart was on fire. You spoke briefly with my father. He was a quiet man, like my mother, and naturally shocked to see you. I had never spoken of you to them, as you asked me to. You knelt in the dust when I came out, in all your fine clothing." She giggled gently. "I was so proud, so vain of my lover. All of my friends gawked at us. My brothers, too, dirty from the fields. Your ring was the only jewelry I'd ever owned. A smaller sapphire, surrounded by white stones, and set by your own hand."
Aro kissed her fingers, a speck of venom fresh on his cheek. The ring still lay in its place on her left hand; faded, yet carefully preserved throughout the centuries. "You looked like an angel," he murmured softly.
"I wore peasant clothing. My hair was unpinned."
"You looked delightfully untouched. My atithasos koritsi. My wild girl."
Sulpicia beamed tearfully. "Don't make me cry, Aro."
"When your husband has already made a fool himself?" He smoothed back her hair, the hair he so loved, setting a shining barrette back in its rightful place. "My love. You complete me."
"As you do me." She curled closer to him, feeling his fingers in her hair. "Is our brother, Caius, well?"
Her husband's voice was sad. "He is as I am. But I am sure he is grateful for Thena, as I am for you."
"We will be all right, love. We will get by, as we always have."
He sighed heavily. "I hope you are right, glika."
She stood, then, wanting to lead him to their room, and a more comfortable setting. His warm fingers fell from her hair, resting on the crest that lay beneath her throat.
"You need a new one, angel. Or perhaps a retouching."
"Oh, Aro… why worry of such trivial things now?"
"Trivial things will keep my mind of others," he said seriously. He rose, kissing her lips. She tasted of summer. "Come."
The two of them left together, perhaps a little worse for wear, but stronger as they emerged. Another day finished, in the long, long string of days that was their eternity. But they would live it together, as they always had. And from somewhere out of this world, in some darker, cosmic climate, I am sure that Death saw them there.
Perhaps he lingered for a moment. Or perhaps their love touched him. At any rate, I like to imagine that he eventually turned aside, his heavy scythe forgotten.
Not this day.
solatium - literally, Latin for "solace."
atithasos koritsi - Greek, "wild girl"
glika - Greek, "my sweet" or "sweetness"