Title: Of History and Wisdom
Characters: Aro, Carlisle
Author's Note: This one-shot was requested by idylchild, a friend on livejournal. She wanted a story about Aro mentoring Carlisle. As promised, here is a discussion between the two, featuring references to Machiavelli, Jesus, the ancient Romans and a few abstract concepts.
idylchild and I have very conflicting views on Aro. I believe our first online interaction was a debate about my use of the term 'sociopath' to describe him. Here, I tried to display his intellectual side, which she loves, while keeping a little bit of evil within his character.
Carlisle's steps through Volterra's still corridors were nervous, a patter of feet that mimicked a rabbit's pulse in anxious hurry. With a hesitant smile, he reassured himself that he was not a schoolboy, tardy for a lesson and deserving of a reprimand from the master, but merely a man seeking his friend to discuss the contents of a folio, cautiously clutched between interwoven fingers.
Nonetheless, there was something volatile in the bond between acquaintances, a sure imbalance where Aro held the upper hand, secure in knowledge and the might that stretched before him, a dynasty carved in militant obedience, in stone and parchment. It was enough to unnerve, though Carlisle knew that he received only curious kindness from his ebony-haired mentor.
It was preferable, he supposed, to the acerbic, battle-seeking dislike of Caius or the still, skeletal apathy of Marcus' gaze.
.-.
"Good evening, Carlisle," Aro sang, the whispery tremolo of his voice terribly out of place in the dust-filmed serenity of the library. The susurrus of echoes melded with the rustling of pages carelessly threaded through eager fingers.
"As always, it is a pleasure." The younger man settled himself at the opposite side of a table, an ancient thing resting upon gilded claws and covered with moldering manuscripts in characters that were utterly alien.
Aro's smile was cheerful, gleaming with enthusiasm like the play of sunlight upon a blade, and Carlisle wondered how long it had been since his companion had taught a pupil how to discuss and wonder, as the scholars of old had done.
"Tell me, did you enjoy my recommendation?" A translucent hand gestured to the book the golden immortal had placed upon the table, the name Niccolo Machiavelli neatly emblazoned upon the cover.
"This treatise—it could not have been written in earnest. There are fallacies, ridiculous claims… Aro, I believe that any man who tried to rule by these standards would find himself at the head of a burned and empty empire." The words left his mouth far too quickly, and Carlisle wondered why he was so rapidly dismissing a carefully-penned manifesto. Perhaps, he decided, it was because he feared that Aro would disapprove.
"Very good, dear friend. You align yourself with the philosophers of your day, idealists the lot of them. It is an admirable viewpoint."
"You do not agree?"
"I am afraid not." Aro's smile was catlike while curiosity shone in his eyes, as though he was willing to await justification.
"Take into consideration Machiavelli's other works- he shows himself to be a republican, a man who valued defending the common people from a tyrant's whims." Those texts, Carlisle remembered, were enjoyable. There was something soothing, intellectually peaceful, about the advocation for justice in graceful terms.
"Ah yes, because his other writings were aimed at the unwashed rabble. This little book, young one, is for the tyrants. Although dear Niccolo makes some attempts at satire while seeking to denounce political enemies, he also captures the spirit that has always defined the acquisition of power."
Carlisle hesitated then, worrying at the corners of pages before dropping his hand, remembering that the fine paper beneath his fingers was likely delicate and without price. "Forgive me, Aro, but do you believe that following this man's political theory to the letter will lay the foundations of a kingdom?"
Something beatific entered Aro's expression. "If you observe Rome's unfolding, you will see that its kings, its senate and emperors lived by that precarious balance of force and benevolence precisely."
This veneration of forgotten days was nothing new to Carlisle; it seemed that the entirety of Volterra lived in dreams of a golden age, expansive and idyllic. Cautiously, he sought the words to draw his friend into the shattered present.
"Rome fell, and the empire was scattered to the winds. Surely such a loss of power disproves your argument."
"Everything mortal is torn asunder in the end," Aro said, with sadly steepled fingers.
"But the cruelty of those days, the barbarism—so many innocents were crucified, tortured for their faith—"
"Of course," the older man agreed. "You speak of your martyrs and of your Christ."
"Indeed I do. They were peaceful, no threat to the rulers of the time, and yet they were murdered." The memorized words of an Easter liturgy echoed in Carlisle's ears, and he remembered how much he had been moved as mortal by the notion of sacrifice.
"Under Roman law, there was nothing greater than the vision, the ideal of the republic," Aro murmured. "Your prophet and followers dismissed it, perhaps rightly so, as an earthly concern. It was the prospect of fractured loyalty that spurred their deaths, the threat that their words could unbalance the delicate equilibrium of power. Dissension, you see, is such a trial."
Carlisle swirled the notion uncomfortably through his thoughts. It was chilling, he decided, how easily Aro could dismiss conflicting opinion, how assured he was that retention of control redeemed any sin.
"Perhaps you do not understand the culture, the single-minded dedication of Rome," Aro mused. "Do you know of their founding story, the myth told to children about the origins of their city?"
"About Romulus and Remus, the twins?" There were sculptures of cherubic infants suckled by a she-wolf, cast in bronze and wrought in marble, hidden in Volterra's shadows.
"Indeed. Do you know why this story was so valued, so crucial to the mindset of its tellers?"
Carlisle shook his head before fishing for reasons. "Perhaps the Romans felt affinity with the rapacity of the wolf?"
"No, my dear friend, not quite. Wolves, after all, are quiet creatures. It was the myth's ending that drew fascination, where one brother kills the other." Aro's tone was gentle, a cadence and an arpeggio; Carlisle found himself tangled in his companion's convictions.
"As you recall, Remus insulted his brother's fledgling city by leaping over its walls in a gesture of mockery. From the beginning, Rome wished to show that its sanctity, its honour was more valuable that familial ties." Aro concluded his tale with seeming satisfaction, as though the moral was not terrifying and the ending unwarranted.
The lapse in conversation turned tense, thrumming as an ill-tuned harpstring and the crimson eyed man spoke first. "I have offended you."
"No, no, it is not quite that simple. I…" he faltered.
A consoling palm was placed upon Carlisle's hand. "Someday, dear friend, you will comprehend that limits need to be set upon behaviour and thought. Else, there will be no governance, no justice. Free will can only be permitted to extend as far as the spirit of the law allows."
The younger man sighed heavily. "It is difficult to perceive the world as you do," he said. "I do not think that I understand the skills you possess."
"You have no need for it," Aro agreed.
Before the silence fell once more, Carlisle smiled, momentarily uplifted. "You cannot say that you live by Machiavelli's precepts, or the laws of Rome. You are not a hypocrite, painting a gilded reputation of civility, nor do you use force untempered by mercy for your own ends." It was a comfort, he decided, to find that his friend had managed to elude the cynicism and crawling darkness that a simple history lesson presented.
"Of course," Aro purred, and Carlisle was not nearly wary enough to catch the shadows of a lie.
Extended Author's Note: This chapter mentions Niccolo Machiavelli, the Italian political thinker, whose most famous book, 'The Prince' can be interpreted as a guide to absolute power or as a satire of those who abused it. Obviously, Aro and Carlisle favour opposite interpretations.
This one-shot is quite different from my other stories, talky and certainly theoretical. If you managed to sit through this history lesson/exchange of ideas, please let me know what you think.