They returned just after nightfall.

Aro knew at the first sound of their footsteps that the mission had been a failure. Demetri, Jane, and Marcus' gaits were all clearly audible. There was no hint of Edward, nor anyone else for that matter.

For a moment, Aro thought that the Romanians might have destroyed his legs, that perhaps he was simply being carried in which case–this was not good but they could get him prosthetics or a wheelchair. However, none of them had sounded weighted down either.

The three had returned as they had left: alone.

Aro saw Carlisle's face stiffen with realization, and he put his arms around Esme.

Esme–even more than Carlisle, Aro was not sure that Esme was prepared to handle this. She adored Edward so utterly, perhaps more than she had her husband (and her adoration of him had driven her to sleep with Aro in a matter of hours). He hadn't replaced her own son, by any means, but he had become her son. She envisioned in him how her son might have looked, might have lived, had he reached young adulthood.

To face his death like this–where death among vampires meant that there would be no body for proof, no grave to mourn…

Next to them, Jasper looked concentrated, yet pained, though whether it was his own pain or theirs was impossible to say. Even so, it was clear that he was using his gift, desperately, to keep them afloat.

Jane, Demetri, and Marcus entered the room.

Demetri had a decidedly awkward look on his face. He held out his hands then let them drop with an audible thud to his sides, "Well, it didn't work out."

Jane said nothing, she stood still and stared at no one, not even Alec.

Aro was surprised by the look on her face.

Had she just been upset by the failure, she would have looked annoyed.

No, she looked upset, very much so, and it was painfully clear that she was trying to hide it.

He hadn't thought her attached to Edward. In fact, he wasn't sure they'd ever spoken. Edward hadn't been here long, had been rather dismissive during their orientation when they first met.

It must be Carlisle, then, who had somehow burrowed under her skin, just deep enough to make her sorry to see his son go.

"Vlad and Stefan are–" Demetri then looked towards Carlisle, Esme, and Jasper, and winced, "The Romanians are dead, we saw to that. However, they got to Edward first. We were too late."

Marcus looked out at all of them, taking them in. When a person died–their bonds did not entirely vanish. Oh, one half of the thread was cut, the bridge snapped, and all hint that a person had once existed vanished. However, there was a relationship between the living and the dead. It would fade over the time, lessen though never entirely disappear, as a person grieved then slowly but surely moved on with their lives.

And some–Aro had seen his own bond to Didyme, a tortured, awful, thing that had never faded in Marcus' vision. Marcus, too, was chained to Didyme's memory and had been for two-thousand years.

Carlisle would now have one such bond too, one where he would spend the rest of eternity wondering if he could have done more, steered Edward towards a better path, but mostly there would only be grief, bottomless, endless grief that could never fully heal.

Marcus slowly walked towards the bereaved family, took Carlisle's hand in his. For a moment he just stood there, and then he said, "I'm sorry."

For once, it was Carlisle staring expressionlessly back. He barely seemed to have heard Marcus' words.

"Thank you, Marcus," Aro said for Carlisle, "And Demetri and Jane, you did your best."

"Thank you, Master," Demetri said with a very quick, professional, bow. Then, glancing about the room, he announced, "I take it–Do you need a full report?"

"No, no–" Aro said quickly, "Later, it can wait."

It'd be in his study, to him and him alone, though perhaps Carlisle would want to be there–except if Aro offered the choice he'd be obligated to hear the ugly details of it all. When, really, there was only one detail that mattered.

Better to do it in private, and tell Carlisle that the Romanians had been quick about it regardless of whether that was the truth.

"Jane, Demetri, you're dismissed," Aro said, Demetri was gone like a bolt of lightning, gone in a flash. Well, he never had been very good at breaking bad news.

Jane lingered, her eyes on Marcus, who was still standing before Carlisle.

There was fury in her gaze.

Fury, and devastation, as if she had never seen a more upsetting thing than that.

Then, in a flash, she was gone as well, leaving Alec to run after her.

Marcus had never once turned to look at her. He was still looking up at Carlisle.

"Marcus," Aro said carefully, "I think–Carlisle may appreciate some time for him and his family. They're going to need time to take this in."

Jasper grabbed both Carlisle and Esme by the shoulders, and led them out of the room. His face was still tense in concentration, and he looked much older than his nineteen years of age.

Aro found himself grateful beyond words that Jasper was there with them in Volterra. He honestly didn't know what he would have done, what Carlisle and Esme would have done, without him.

He rubbed at his face. Well, at least he had not had to execute Edward. In the past two days, since Marcus had agreed to Edward's rescue–it had haunted him. Oh, Carlisle had been petrified that it was already too late, that waiting for Demetri would be to wait too long when Jasper had spent so much time just reaching Italy. Aro though–he had been terrified of what might come next.

Perhaps, he'd told himself, Edward would finally stop. After the Egyptians and the Romanians, who else was there for him to find? There was no one, they were the last, and having gone through them he would be left with nothing. Perhaps he would then finally resign himself to his own powerlessness. Nevermind changing his mind about Aro, Marcus, or Bella–if he just recognized that there was nothing he could do then–

Except, that had been a fool's hope, and Aro knew it.

Edward would never have stopped, and there would have come a time when he forced Aro's hand.

Aro–The only thing he could have offered was a faster, painless, death. What Vlad and Stefan had done to him in the days awaiting his execution at their hands, Aro didn't know. He was almost glad that he would now never find out the full details of Edward's final hours on this earth.

Instead, they would now haunt Carlisle and Esme.

As Carlisle, Esme, and Jasper's footsteps faded, Marcus made eye contact with Aro.

They were alone now.

Caius had not bothered to attend, he'd made his opinion clear and had actively hoped for the worst. For once in his life though, he'd recognized just how awful it would be had he waited with the family while saying as much. He and Athenodora were in the tower, Aro would have to tell him shortly.

He'd laugh. Aro just knew the man would laugh.

"You could have picked a better foray into the outside world," Aro told Marcus with morbid amusement, "Of all the missions, you get to come back and prepare yourself for a funeral."

Marcus stepped forward, and took Aro's hand.

And Aro saw what he had done.

For a moment, they just stared at one another, this unspeakable truth resting between them. A secret shared, for the moment, between Marcus, Demetri, Jane, and now Aro.

"Why?" Aro breathed, even though he knew perfectly well why. He knew every thought Marcus had had about this, every factor he'd weighed in his head, every detail he'd taken into the account. He saw the inevitable and obvious conclusion Marcus had drawn, a path so clear that following it had not been a question.

Marcus had even said as much to Jane and Demetri. Whether he had felt the need to explain it to himself, to the horrified Jane whose relationship with Marcus had curdled into utter terror, or to the flummoxed and fearful Demetri was something even Marcus hadn't been sure of.

But he'd said it.

"Aro will never do it."

"You know why," Marcus said slowly.

"You could have voted no," Aro said in horror, "You had the chance to say no."

"And Edward might have escaped," Marcus noted. "Would have, if the poor way they were keeping him was any indication."

And then, Marcus had thought darkly to himself, he would have been out of options. His attempt to find allies had failed him spectacularly, he had been held hostage by the Romanians, living in stark terror of his own death and pained by his missing limbs, for several days.

An unhinged Edward, who had no recourse, who had lived through unspeakable horrors–Marcus imagined newborn armies, the massacre of cities, certainly the targeting of Bella Swan's surviving family.

And so, Edward had to die.

"Marcus," Aro moaned, "don't you understand, I'll have to– I'll have to lie to Carlisle about this. Forever. He's saving your son, doing everything to keep him alive, and you–"

"I know," Marcus said, "And I am truly sorry for that, but it changes nothing."

"So was I!" Aro cried. "You don't think-" he clamped a hand in front of his mouth and turned away from Marcus, squeezing his eyes as though tears might escape them.

For a moment, Marcus stared at him.

Aro had always wondered just how much Marcus knew. Those days–hours–following Didyme's death, her murder, had been hectic and frantic. Aro had had to desperately cover the evidence, had quickly confessed to Caius and gained a co-conspirator, and they'd desperately invented some enemy who might have access to the Tuscan region and might have stumbled across Didyme.

Though–there was a funny thing about vampires.

They didn't have murder mysteries. There was no body in the aftermath, no death by various means. There was no butlers doing it in the drawing room with the poison. There was only one means of death and it left no evidence, only ashes.

If you didn't see the death, then that person simply disappeared, neither missing nor dead. Pinning murder on another was always–it was a game of hearsay, not evidence. Aro had told Marcus that he had come across a vengeful coven who had murdered Didyme, had seen her death in their thoughts.

And Marcus had simply… died.

And a terrified Aro, who now watched a living man die, had built a tower for his wife. Where she would remain for the next two-thousand years.

"I suppose your bond with her gave it away," Marcus said after a long silence. "There was the faintest trace of pride in you after she died, as if there was some accomplishment to it. And horror, guilt, grief, anger– some emotions I would have expected to see, others I would not. And now… now, there's just pain, a thorny mess that cuts you no matter which way you turn to look at your sister's memory."

Marcus sat down at the floor, his back against his own throne, and stared dully out at the room.

"Will you leave?" Aro found himself desperately asking.

What he meant, of course, was if Marcus would make it all for nothing. If Didyme's death had only been–delaying matters.

"Where would I go?" Marcus said, and he wasn't lost, or even really asking, merely saying that he would have no place to go.

"Do you know why Didyme wished for us to leave Volterra?" Marcus asked, "You must."

Aro let out a shaky breath, a neurotic laugh, and waved his hand out at the room as if it were the world, "There were several reasons. She–she saw that I would have to remain king forever. That all of us would, that if she didn't get out in the beginning then she'd never get out at all. She–"

Marcus interjected, "I was never fit to be king."

Aro stared at him.

"You know this, you've forgotten," Marcus said, "At first, against enemy covens–that was war, that was one thing. I was born in violence, my entire family was devoured by my creator, I survived because I was the last he chose. You had a sister to turn, I had nothing. I knew what had to be done and why."

Aro shook his head. "Marcus-" he tried, but he couldn't say anything more.

"But your secret," Marcus said, shaking his head, "There were so many, abandoned, given no information, who woke up in their villages or made the mistake of wandering home when turned. They destroyed everything they loved without a clue as to who or what they now were. They were innocent in every way that mattered, the law was created for their sake, and I had to murder them."

"You were different," Marcus said, motioning to Aro, "You and Caius–you had your vicious ideals, your principles that bended to no one and nothing. You saw the world and said 'this, this is what must be done', never mind how brutal it all was or how much blood stained our hands. Because we don't bleed, so there was no blood, so what did it matter?"

Aro opened his mouth to protest, desperately, to point out that they had no choice, that if he hadn't done this, created this law, there would have been nothing, but once again, the words refused to come out.

"I do not disagree with it," Marcus said, "Neither did Didyme. Our world is fragile and I believe it is worth protecting, that we have been a force of good in this world. But it was going to break me–soon–and beyond repair. Didyme knew that."

"Then why…" Aro tried.

"Because she knew it would destroy me. You could do it, and Caius too, but she knew that being a king, and all that would mean, would take away all the things she loved in me, until there was nothing left. Until I was a husk, you might say."

Marcus then laughed, a sound that Aro hadn't heard in two-thousand years, "And the terrible thing is–I think in murdering her you saved my life. You put me into–hibernation. I skipped the rest of it. All the wars, all the trials, all the executions and decisions–it suddenly didn't bother me anymore. It didn't matter in a way that it never had. I had transcended to a place where even you and Caius could not reach."

"And now," Marcus mused, "now I have become what she feared. Edward needed to die, so I killed him. And you," he turned to look at Aro, "you are now the one who has a limit."

"She bet on the wrong horse," Marcus concluded with a bemused air.

Aro became aware, distantly, as if he was seeing someone else's memory of it, that he was crying.

"Marcus," Aro said, "I can't keep two secrets."

"Then keep one," Marcus said evenly, "Tell him about Didyme, tell the world, what does it matter now?"

Aro only shook his head in horror, the horror at reliving that, at reminding the world she ever existed and having to contend with all the thoughts condemning him, reminding him of it.

And then Carlisle, Carlisle who so kindly had asked about his sister, felt such empathy for his loss–

A part of Aro wanted to tell him, wanted it desperately, if only to give him the pieces he needed to figure out what had happened to Edward as well.

An eternity of life with Carlisle stretched out before Aro, one where every time Aro touched him, he would see Carlisle's grief for his son, and compassion for Didyme's loss, and just as the wound Didyme left had festered, so too would this lie fester, and grow, until Aro could endure it even less than he could now.

But if he told Carlisle, told him that Marcus had murdered Edward in cold blood, that in pleading for Edward's life, Carlisle had ensured his death? That Edward never stood a chance?

No, Aro could never tell him.

"You are innocent in this," Marcus said softly, "You can tell him that, and it's not a lie. It was out of your hands, you genuinely hoped for his survival even if you feared it, you sent us on that mission confident in your knowledge that we would do what you had intended. You are innocent, Aro, even if I am not. You can face him."

"You faced me for two-thousand years when you were not innocent," Marcus added, eyes dark and unreadable.

"I am not sure if kings are worthy of happy endings," Marcus said quietly, when Aro said nothing, "I am not sure if anyone is. We live in this place for a time and then we leave it. For all the philosophers who have pondered who and what we are–that is all we truly know. However, I should like one of us to be happy. I should like you to be happy."

"How can I be?" Aro asked brokenly.

"Because he'll need you," Marcus said, "You can't afford to break, because he will need you, as much as the world needs you, if not more."

"And if you're not worthy of happiness," Marcus mused dully, "Then neither am I. And you've put so very much effort into that."

Funny how distant that all felt now.

And–

There was a terrible thought. Had Marcus never found Bella, had Aro never taken her into the castle, had Marcus not been even partway recovered by the time that trial had come to pass–he would have voted whatever way Aro wished. And he would have meant it.

That was how it always went, Caius said something absurd and monstrous, Aro said–whaver he said, and Marcus would just sit there, touch his hand to Aro, and agree with whatever he had determined best.

With a sense like something had finally clicked into place, Aro realized this was it.

Marcus was a person again.

Oh, he had his expressionless visage, his emotionless gaze, but that was now only a characteristic.

The haze that had shrouded Marcus' every moment of existence for the past two thousand years had finally lifted.

And the man that stepped forth from that haze was not a man Didyme could ever have loved, but he was fit to be a king.

"You realize, Marcus, what this means?" Aro said, laughing helplessly to himself.

"It's over," he said, looking at this throne room, this stage he'd made for the three of them so many years ago, in wonder, "Maybe not now, maybe not soon, but someday–I will falter, I am limited in a way I never thought I could be. I–All empires fall, all men are flawed, and I knew this but it was an intellectual exercise. Something to pass the time, wondering at my end."

"I thought, with Bella, that I was ensuring my empire would last forever, that she was the final piece in the puzzle that would make me truly indomitable. That with her by my side, our supremacy would be truly supreme. But now," he broke off, laughing even harder, "I see that our fall won't be because of who has the finest gifts or the best strategy, but because of me!"

"I will be the end of our empire," he concluded.

"That's very bold of you," Marcus noted after a pause, "And I suppose Caius and I will be doing nothing? Knitting scarves?"

Aro grinned maniacally at him, feeling for once like every inch the madman that so many took him to be. "Who knows? Perhaps you will put me down like a mad dog. Perhaps you too will break, Marcus, just as I have - just give it time!"

"Perhaps your Carlisle will be the next Caesar," Marcus mused distantly.

Unspoken was that this would break Carlisle just as it would have Marcus. That Carlisle's fate on the throne–it would be the worst thing to possible befall him.

"I suppose I will have to endure, then, for as long as I can," Aro said.

"Not so different from usual," Marcus mused, "Not so different from yesterday."

Marcus then stood, brushed off his knees, and began to make his way out the door.

"Where are you going?"

"It seems, when I wasn't looking, I got married," Marcus said, looking amused, "If you haven't heard, I have a child on the way and a wife who can keep nothing down."

Marcus then spared Aro a smile that was–it was too kind, too unbelievably kind for what he had just done and what he knew Aro had done to him, "You should find your Carlisle. Don't be afraid of him or afraid to be happy. If he ever finds out, you can always blame me."

And just like that, he was gone.