A/N: So here's the second and last chapter of this fic. I don't know if it's very enjoyable, because it is quite angsty, but I hope you like it, anyway!

Marcus was always a character I felt fascinated by ever since I read his story. And then I wondered – what would his reaction be to Edward coming to Volterra? I remember Aro saying something about Marcus being surprised about the bond between Edward and Bella (though I left that out here), and my imagination just came up with THIS. I also thought about how Marcus does not want to kill Renesmee in Breaking Dawn, and I was very intrigued.

So this is probably during the Eclipse time.

Another note: I was heavily inspired by the beautiful tune When The Love Falls by Yiruma when I wrote this. Seriously, that is beautiful. If you haven't listened to it, you should now! In fact, the whole album, First Love, is awesome.

Another inspirational song was Gravity by A Perfect Circle. The words describe Marcus very well, I think.

Enjoy!

The cathedral was empty, save for Aro and I. The ceiling sloped higher and higher above me, the domes of bright stained glass, until they joined together many feet high. I was surrounded by the the glass with the bright colors, intricate designs, and the large portraits and paintings of our ancestry, of our city, of our history, of our followers.

I was surrounded by our majesty.

But what did majesty concern me? It had always been the same for me, everything – all the same, for the past century. Since the day I had stayed out, to wet myself in the monsoon, to wash myself off the images. That was a memory I could remember for all time, but never exactly experience. In truth, there were no memories that I could really experience now. Just watch apathetically, like one might watch a documentary that caused them no concern. It was just the result of something that had happened to me, the result of which had caused me emotions and feelings that I did not wish to feel. But if I did not wish to feel that, I was left with feeling nothing. The consequence of a desire ... a consequence that I endured without much ado.

Aro's nacreous ruby eyes glinted with curiosity, his brow furrowed in concern.

"What perturbs you, Marcus, my brother?"

We are the Volturi – the royalty, by every standard. Aro, Caius, and I are looked upon as gods; we were the ultimate paragons of virtue, of vampirehood – we are the Volturi, the Nightime Patrons of the Arts.

For the last millenia, I had wished for nothing that I did not have – worried for nothing that did not concern me. Felt true concern for nothing, in fact – the exterminations had been, to me, a doing of satisfaction at best; a bore at worst.

But now...

I looked into the clouded eyes of my comrade, willing my voice not to tremble.

"Aro," I whispered. "Hold my hand."

The agony, the burning regret that filled every pore of me now was much too strong to not be clearly defined on my cold face. Too strong to be expressed in articulated words.

"Marcus?" Aro said gently, his eyes full of well practiced concern. "What is it that pains you so, my brother?"

What was I supposed to tell him? What words would describe this feeling – this searing grief and pain, whilst I had not felt anything for a hundred years; the clawing regret ...

I held out my hand to Aro, my face grim. There were no words ... I would have to have Aro understand it all, from my memories and thoughts. Even if I would have to relive everything, that seemed the only way.

Aro threw me a wary, worried glance. "Marcus, are you sure?" he asked me softly.

"Yes, Aro. It is the only way."

His long, spidery hand tentatively wrapped around mine, and I gasped at the flow of the first images in my mind. My eyes were on Aro's intent face.

Dancing golden curls ... A slender, pale body ... Laughing crimson eyes ...

"Didyme ..." I couldn't help whispering as the images assaulted me, and Aro winced.

Marcus! Marcus, I love you. Marcus, let's go, elsewhere; let us go away, Marcus, where we can be together forevermore ...

"Oh, Marcus ..." Aro moaned softly, his head bowed. The memories, so saturated with pain as they were now, would affect him as well with my agony.

The images swirling in both our heads changed.

'She is dead, Marcus. She lives no more ...'

Her body, spread eagled on the glimmering mosaic floors of our room ... Illusion or reality? A cloud of smoke, perhaps, with her in it's scent. A mound of limbs, where I might recognize her face.

Illusion ...

But based on reality.

I shuddered, and my fingers clenched around Aro's convulsively. My eyes closed.

Standing at the highest point in our Citadel. The deep clouds, the muted sun.

I could remember now, I could experience, when I had been apathetic and hollow for so long. So long!

Rain ... rain washing through me, soaking me. Every drop's impact on my marble skin, feeling every drop washing me, cleansing me ... Removing the images.

The images that I was now forcing myself to recall. The image I was now forced to recall.

Marcus?

Where are you?

I'm still here ... Somewhere inside. Somewhere deep, deep inside.

Cleansed thoroughly, washed, so no more of the filth of pain remained to cause me discomfort.

No more filth ...

No more anything.

Aro's eyes stared at me, shocked.

My face in the mirror. My eyes, empty, soulless ... Dead. My entire face, cold and unfeeling.

Purposeless.

"Yes, Aro," I whispered. "That's how it was."

"Was...?" Aro asked, his eyes wide with shock. "Marcus, my dear friend, what is this?"

I tightened my fingers around his. "See," I prompted him. "There is no other way I can tell you. See."

I recalled that fateful day ... We had been discussing our ventures, the countless exterminations we had succeeded in, the countless people we had controlled or defeated.

Then, he had come. He had come, to disrupt the weird peacefulness I had obtained, the strange shield I had developed toward any feeling whatsoever, with his memories ... With his passion for the connection.

Connections ... they were everything to me. They were my eyes.

Edward Cullen.

"You see, Aro," I whispered. "I wish ... I wish he had not come."

He arrived in our court. He was beautiful, even for a vampire.

His face was utterly bloodless ... even for an immortal.

His eyes had glinted like onyxes. As I beheld him, beheld the almost frightening shadows under his eyes, I had wondered idly how long it had been since he had last hunted. I recalled Carlisle Cullen's strange ideologies, and felt faintly amused.

But as he drew closer to us, flanked by Felix and Demetri, I could see that it was more frightening to look into his eyes. They burned with a searing agony, an almost blinding fervor, that made it almost painful to look into them. His face, however, was stiff; well controlled – lifeless.

But there were his eyes ...

To interrupt the image in my eyes, I repeated my last statement. "I wish he had not come, Aro."

And yet, that statement was not wholly true ... But I did not understand that, so I provided Aro the images that I did understand, hoping that somehow recalling these events would help me comprehend the turmoil in my mind.

He had clenched Aro's hand, like I do now.

Aro's head was bowed under the information he received, but Edward Cullen kept his head high. His eyes were closed, his face shut off ... and strangely vulnerable, for one moment. I recalled that this was the boy Aro had spoken to me of; the one that could read other's thoughts.

Edward Cullen's eyes were peacefully closed as he shared his thoughts and read my brother's reactions, but his face was left looking strangely tired, pained, weary.

And then, he freed his fingers, his eyes snapping open.

"Kill me," he pleaded, voice soft. "I have no reason to live. Kill me." For once, his chin bowed. "Please."

In that moment, after so many years, I had felt shock over the expression in Edward Cullen's eyes. The wild, burning regret there. Even in my brain dead state, I had felt mildly perturbed ... and dissatisfied, somehow. Still empty, still hollow, but bothered by this.

And then I realized why.

In the eyes of Edward Cullen, I could see me.

Or at least, I could see what I might have been. In the searing flames of regret in his eyes, I saw the similarity with the fire in my own; the fire that I had extinguished that day, a century ago, in the rain.

Any curiosity for his decision was not strong. Not very strong. All I could feel in that endless moment as I stared into his eyes as he pleaded with us to take his life was the dissatisfaction ... That I should have been this way. Even after centuries had passed since my Didyme had disappeared from my life, there should have been at the very least a shadow of this in my eyes. Not the empty, hollowness that echoed around every pore of my lifeless being. I saw what I should have been – a man in agony for his lost love, however unbearable that agony may be – in the eyes of Edward Cullen, and I felt perturbed by my state.

I shook my head, trying to shake off these thoughts. What had happened had happened. The transformation had taken place, and I had to convince myself that it was better than what Edward was experiencing. Looking at the pain in his eyes, the pleading in his voice as he asked us to take his life, I tried to convince myself that my situation was preferable, if not right. I shook off the mild regret I felt that I did not have one bit of pain or love for Didyme anymore.

I tried to ignore the questions that then bounced around my skull.

Had he lost his love as well? Had another beloved immortal been lost, to cause him the same pain that I had experienced, once?

But it was impossible to not regret, as I saw the face of the boy that ... that I should have been like.

My fingers tightened around Aro's convulsively again.

"I wish I was not like that, Aro," I said softly. Aro's eyes did not open, but I could see his face stiff with shock. "I wish I was not so different."

But of course, we had refused him. Aro had not wanted to take the life of the son of his friend ... even if an untterly incorridgible friend. And the despair in the boy's eyes as we gave our refusal shook me.

As he left our court, I had tried to compose myself, to look the bored, empty vampire I had been for so long. I thought I had managed to look as if there no change.

But inside me, I was engaged in a swirl of incomprehensible emotions – dissatisfaction, for the most part, and confusion. And regret. I felt it through my hollowness, in spite of the apathy that I lived in.

During our counsels, we could communicate with one another – Aro, Cauis, and I. As if we, too, had some mind-reading talent. If we stood in our triangular formation, fingertips interlinked, we had the ability to see each other's views – such was the strength of our bond, and the result of our centuries of meditation together.

But we could only see the images, never the emotion or tenor behind them.

After Edward Cullen had left, we had held a short counsel. Through the images exchanged, I had seen and understood much.

An ordinary human girl, rather drab in my standards. She had an exquisite scent ... a scent that set my throat to flames, and sent the venom rushing to my mouth.

She was now dead.

That was what I had first understood.

But then, as Aro provided us more of the images that reined in his mind, I had understood more.

I had seen, then, the beauty in the girl. Edward Cullen ached for this beauty, the beauty of the girl that was so unique, that no one could imitate. The way her warm eyes flashed with intelligence and unselfishness. The delicate, scarlet flush of her pale cheeks. The noble, sweet curve of her full, soft lips.

I had cast aside these observations with distaste, unwillingly reminded of Didyme yet again. Didyme was so beautiful, I had though defensively. This girl was drab ... ordinary and boring.

I had forced myself, through all my ridiculous regret, to feel contempt for Edward Cullen. Contempt that he was wasting his existence on so inconsequential a matter – there were so many humans, and all the more beautiful immortals to choose from.

I had realized that this girl was his cantante. Her blood, sweet even to me, sang to him in irresistible calls.

I told myself forcefully that I would have been happy ... if such a girl died. That I would have been glad to know that if I could not feast on my cantante, no other could. That if I could not taste the blood of my cantante, she would not exist to remind me of the temptation.

But Edward Cullen had wanted to die. He had wanted to be killed. He had wanted to be murdered by us, the Volturi. All because the non-existence of this girl was too much for him to bear ... the knowledge of it was too much for him to live with.

Contempt.

And then, a few minutes later.

"He's got weird plans, master," Felix informed us. "I think he wants to force our hand." He held Aro's hand, obviously showing him the evidence to this information.

Aro looked troubled.

And ... so was I.

I remembered feeling a deep sense of Why!?, at the boy that was reminding me so cruelly of what I was not, and what I had felt I could never become.

"Oh, Marcus ..."

"Not over, Aro."

As Jane was sent down to smooth things over, I had sat at our throne, troubled.

But, even then, in my preoccupied state, I had noticed something – something growing gradually stronger as it neared my. My sense, that talent I had to observe the connection between two or more people, was throbbing with an excitement it had not felt in ... a century.

I should have grown wary of it then. I should have paid that sense more attention, in that moment.

Perhaps I should have fled.

But I didn't, I had stayed where I was, curious about the growing eagerness in me, not knowing that my trouble was not over – the worst shock, the most painful, agonizing revelation had only been approaching, in direct proportion with the fierce longing I could sense in my nerves.

I gritted my teeth now, and my eyes were clenched shut. I reminded myself that Aro had to know about this, know about the recent turmoil in me – know how inefficient I was, how I could not serve him in this state. And I had to know if he could help me.

Felix, Jane, and Demetri lead the party.

They were followed by an immortal I had always wished to meet ... Alice Cullen.

And behind them, their arms around each other, was Edward Cullen – his black eyes glowing with ... joy, even from this distance – and the pale, dark-haired girl I had seen only in memories.

She was alive!?

I quickly looked to Aro, who nodded to me. Aro had realized my thoughts, and as he briefly linked fingers with Alec as he passed him, he understood.

Apparently, the girl was well. And this was obviously the reason why the face of Edward Cullen – tight with anger and frustration – was still glowing, happy, his eyes shining with a fierce joy.

He'd had that fierce joy. I had not.

But before I could even register this fact, this resentment, another force hit me – hit me with the strength of a wrecking ball, so that it needed all the power I had to keep myself on my feet, to keep my knees from giving out under me.

I stared at the two of them.

Edward Cullen, Bella Swan.

The girl was not plain. She was lovely and intriguing. She was perfect. And her scent was intoxicating.

But the force that hit me so strongly, so overhwelmingly, did not allow me to think of something as trivial as thirst.

As Edward and Alice Cullen tried to argue their way out of our Citadel safely and without any damage, I felt I could not take my eyes off the two of them.

Because ... because of the connection.

Did it have to be that after a hundred years, when I felt that I had become numb to the agony of losing the strongest bond I had ever felt – to the girl that I had loved, Didyme – something else, something so extraordinary, should come to remind me of this ... of all that I had lost? So cruelly, so callously?

When I was with my Didyme, the bond between us had thrilled me. With that other sense, I could see the thick red tie – thicker than blood, ironically – than bonded her to me, and me to her.

I had lost that bond. And I had felt then, that I had lost everything. Because that bond had been everything. There could not have existed a stronger connection, in this world, than the one I had shared with Didyme.

And here I was, a century later, listening to the arguments of these people who wished to go free, to live and love; here I was, seeing the impossible, unattainable, a hundred times stronger than fetters of iron – the beautiful, unbreakable bond that tied Edward to Bella, and she to him.

As Caius was cruel, and Aro genteel, I gasped, and cowered down on my throne at the onslaught of beautiful memories and images, passionate feelings and emotions – joyful things, with a large part of piercing pain with it.

Because then, I had realized – that for the past century, I had not lived. I had not healed. I had been erased, in my quest to escape the pain.

And now, I realized, that I could feel myself again.

I opened my eyes, and found Aro watching me in a mixture of expressions – horror, awe, and regret, maybe.

"I wish ..." I whispered. "I wish they had been happy and together. I wish they had not come here ..."

"I understand," Aro said awkwardly, still under the images that I provided him.

But then again, I had realized ... that being erased was not being healed. It was not right, to forget Didyme in such a way. She deserved more from me ... I should have grieved for her, until the day would come, that I had grown resigned and could think of her and enjoy the happy memories, and hope that perhaps I would join her, some day.

With this realization, as I watched Edward writhe with pain under Jane's torturous, sadistic gaze, and Bella's eyes widen in horror and agony, I was filled with a chilling, unwilling gratitude to the boy, and I was annoyed at Jane, for the first time.

As Edward's arms once again circled the waist of the girl, as that bond – so overwhelmingly strong, unbreakable, so filled with passion – assaulted me again, I could not help being thankful, in the middle of my pain and regret, that they had come here, lifted me to the sun ... brought life to me again.

The guilt that I had not felt for so long; the guilt for forgetting Didyme and evading the pain of her loss for so long, now assaulted me, and I felt glad that I could feel it now. It was masochistic, perhaps, to feel so – but it was right.

Afterwards, I was to know what had happened – that Edward had left Bella in a hope that he would keep her safe from the dangers of our myths and legends; that Bella had been hurt so much by his leaving, gone through so much pain, that she stayed alive only for the sake of her father's happiness. And that now, under a misunderstanding that Bella had killed herself, Edward had been racked with sadness, and had come here to be killed himself, in a hope that he could atone for the pain he had caused her ... or join her.

Just what I would have done ... should have done. I could not evade that fact.

I trembled as I stood beside my brothers as they decided what punishment to give these people, my cold skin and muscles seeming to tingle with an excitement, an emotion, that I had not felt in so very long.

As Aro finally decided that he would let them go, in a condition that Bella would join our world of immortals one day, my heart swelled with joy.

If I could not be happy, they, they with the connection perhaps even stronger than the one I'd had, should have joy. I got some satisfaction from that, in the midst of all my grief.

Edward, Bella, and Alice had then been in a great hurry to leave, as Heidi would then bring us our meals. They had turned away from us to exit our cathedral. Edward's arms had been tightly wound around Bella's waist, and she did not let go of him as she trembled in fear.

I trembled, too. Like a weakened, yet thrilled man, I slowly sunk back into my throne, not joining in the conversations of my brothers.

As they were about to take the step that would remove them from my sight, I could not help voicing, in my thoughts, what I had felt at that moment.

Overcome by a fierce grief, yet thankful that I could feel again.

Thank you, I thought fiercely, fervently, to Edward. Thank you ... so much. Thank you.

Perhaps Edward would not know what I meant. But I had to express my gratitude.

Thank you, I whispered again.

Edward had not acknowledged anything, and I had sunk back into my throne, and closed my eyes.

Slowly, I loosened my fingers around Aro's, and drew back my hand. I watched him, my face calm, my eyes fierce. Recalling these thoughts had been better for me than I would have imagined, and the next words I voiced were of a realization that came to me at this very moment, clearing my mind with crystal clarity.

"And yet," I whispered. "I wish they had come sooner." I half-smiled bitterly at the shocked face of Aro.

"I wish they had reminded me sooner ... to gather from the floor the tiny shards of the crystal, to notice them, and to grieve for their broken, sharp edges. To look at the crystal of ... my fate, envision it unbroken and beautiful, and regret that they had been destroyed – instead of ignoring them."

I ignored the speechless Aro for a moment, swimming in that regret again, and gathering joy from the next words I was to speak – the words that were still filled with grief, but a grief with some hope of being removed.

"I wish they had come sooner to remind me to cast away those tragic, beautiful, broken shards, and put together a new crystal for my life."

A/N:Yeah, that's it! I really enjoyed writing this – I've always been sort of touched by Marcus, even if, by canon, there is nothing to really be touched by. I mean, he can't ALWAYS have been "bored"!

So I hope you enjoyed this, people! And please, please review, if you're reading! I would LOVE to know what you think, as usual!

~starlit skyes~