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The moment Edward catches the intruder's thoughts, his chin jerks in that direction and his body goes rigid, which alerts Carlisle to a threat. Initially, the unknown vampire was simply a curiosity, but as he grows closer, diligently remaining silent and hidden, Edward divines his purpose. Somehow, he's familiar with and tracking Edward's scent while holding a vague mental image of Edward in his mind. Eradicating Edward is his primary concern.
Most men and vampires are not naturally violent. Hunting is an instinctual necessity, but true violence against one's own kind is aberrant. The thought of inflicting harm arrests rational thought, makes hands shake and actions reckless. This is not the case for Edward or the man who is hunting him. Edward's inherent self-preservation and speed makes him lethal; that combination, in tandem with his telepathy, makes him arguably the most dangerous creature in existence. But he can't fight when he's distracted by Carlisle, and he's stupidly refrained from teaching him how to fight, thinking there was no need. So he tosses Carlisle high into the upper branches of a nearby tree, hisses an insistent "stay put," and goes to confront the assassin.
Edward walks towards the offending vampire at a leisurely human pace, and when he gets within hearing range, he starts goading and shouting insults. It's tactical in that it will incite the vampire to attack, but he mainly does it for the entertainment factor; it's a welcome sight to see an enemy flustered and floundering for words. Additionally, instilling anger incurs impaired judgment; it's wise to keep a foe off-kilter.
"What the hell is that awful smell? Must be a skunk on the rag.
"I can hear you, lumbering idiot. You might as well stay hidden with a face like that, though.
"Come out, pussy! Quit skulking like a worthless dog and FIGHT ME!"
Edward is standing on the crest of a small plateau nearly a half mile across, with a firm grip on Carlisle's location and both eyes glued to the aggressor. He's standing a scant 100 yards from Edward, their positions mirroring one another: knees slightly bent, weight balanced on the forefoot – the ideal athletic (or in this case, warrior) stance. He notices several things about the man. He's shorter than Edward by several inches, with the shaven face of a Roman and stringy black hair sliding from a permanently receded hairline. A tunic is his only attire, belted with a smooth strip of brown leather. His skin, face included, is covered with crescent shaped scars that indicate his fighting prowess. His demeanor is relaxed which indicates he has not risen to Edward's baiting insults. He says in calm, measured ancient Etruscan, "I am Nero, and I am here to kill you."
At the moment, the assassin's thoughts are giving nothing away, so Edward goes fishing. "Why are you here? Someone send you, did they?" Nero's thoughts flicker with information, clues to his origin and intent, but his mind has been refined through fighting so that his focus is fierce and restrained, and his only inclinations are murderous, aimed at Edward.
"I came here to kill you. That is all."
"No." Nero's eyebrows raise slightly. "You are here to die." And Edward attacks.
Nero feints forward and left at the last second, but Edward sees it coming and slides on the ground. His hands snap out like lightning and closes around Nero's ankle with crushing force. As he stands, he pulls the fool off his feet and wedges his heel in between Nero's legs. Yanking with brute force supplied by bicep and abdominals, he rips Nero's leg off at the hip. When he looks down, Nero has attached his mouth to Edward's calf like a limpet. It's not the first time he's been bitten in a similar situation, but that doesn't alleviate the sting. Using the dismembered leg, he bludgeons Nero in the head and neck until his jaw, among other things, breaks and his toothy grip releases. The ruined vampire lays gasping in debilitating pain on the ground when Carlisle appears. Both careful to avoid the sharp ends of the scrabbling, flailing, soon-to-be-corpse, Edward says, "I've got to kill him, brother." The sting in his leg makes his voice grate with tension.
"I know. Just get on with it." And he does.
When the fire has gone out some hours later, Carlisle's curiosity and fascination overcome his friend's reticence. "Just ask me, Carlisle. I'll tell you what you want to know."
"He was a dangerous enemy, Aedwaerth. His scars were a tapestry of successful battles. And you stopped him in seconds. How?"
"I've not told you my full story, friend. I suppose I thought I would never have cause to, but I've fought and killed everything that came against me. The mind reading helps. It's not hard to preempt when you can see their intentions ahead of time, but my violence runs deeper: to my bones. I was born a warrior, and you know this. And I fought my whole human life. At play as a child, as practice as a boy, at war as a man. It only got worse; it didn't stop when I became a vampire, and this is the part I've left out. In ten or twelve years at the beginning of my new life, I destroyed nearly every vampire on the entire island. I was bloodthirsty, territorial and brutal. We're both going to suffer for my sins, now."
Carlisle is rarely surprised at his friend's admissions, anymore, so he presses, "What did you see in his mind?"
"He didn't give much away, but it was clear someone hired him to kill me. A powerful group whose allies I ended; the sum was substantial. I suppose it took them this long to track me down. If I ventured a guess, I'd say it's the Volturi who sent him, but I'm not sure. I saw two faces in his mind, and I was under the impression there were three of them."
"I thought they did their own dirty work."
"That's what I've always heard. Although, the difference in protocol may stem from the fact that I've not broken any law."
"Sounds about right. So what do we do?"
"First, I teach you to fight, to move like me. Then we take it to their door."
"I'm with you, brother. Until the end. But are you sure that that's wise?"
"Do you want to look over your shoulder for all time? Wait for a threat that may or may not come? I will not hide, nor cower, nor run from an indiscriminate menace."
Carlisle contemplates this for several minutes. He considers a clandestine life full of shadow watching, dark caves and fear. Finally coming to a decision, he simply says, "Show me."
Two years pass, as well as two more attempts on Edward's life. Both are dealt with expediently, the latter by Carlisle's own hand. Carlisle's excellence as a student is matched only by Edward's intensity and verve as a teacher. In attempting to create a warrior in his companion, Edward leaves no stone unturned, no thought unspoken and no tactic untaught. It saddens and depresses him to do so, but he makes Carlisle in his own likeness: a fighter of uncanny speed and aggression, without inhibition or frenetic flaw. Like Edward, Carlisle becomes the perfect instrument of death, a machine made for murder. Their edges grow hard, and it is a difficult time for them to be together, for friction among friends feeds their discontent. The stress of an ill-conceived threat grates against patience and civility, and the constant training has worn down their reserves of kindness and tolerance.
When Edward is sure he's imparted all of his violent knowledge, they decide to tilt, to bring their strength to bear. With the information Edward gleaned from the two most recent assassins, they know that the Volturi aren't directly responsible for the bounty, but their acceptance of the situation rankles. Furthermore, they've facilitated the ridiculous death warrant by allowing members of the guard to go on leave for the express purpose of Edward's murder. The two companions have no clue who might've placed the price on his head, so Volterra is their next destination.
While the two brothers travel, taking their time to creep towards Tuscany, their spirits grow ever darker. Their morose is balanced by the awakening taking place around them in the human world. Culture and hope is being rediscovered, reclaimed from the feudal oppression that was widespread for millennium. The literacy rate is rising just as infant mortality rates fall. Kindness and courtesy are replacing stark aggression and brutality. It's a gradual crescendo that Edward catalogues instinctively, as simple as a merchant taking stock of his wares. It gives Carlisle and him hope that their own personal dark ages will not prevail or pervade their souls entirely.
After many weeks' worth of slow travel, the pair find themselves edging ever closer to the Volturi stronghold. They stop at a range of low hills to the north where they can lay eyes on the castle. After determining that the fortress is nearly impregnable, Carlisle's stress and worry evaporate. He's seeing the steely-eyed determination of his companion, and he finds solace in the hard set of Aedwaerth's jaw, but his nerves make him restless, so he makes idle conversation as a distraction. "Fifty virgins is quite the bounty. Did you ever reckon someone would equate your life to the untainted blood of half a hundred innocents?" His tone oozes derision, and Aedwaerth's answering scoff feeds their disillusion.
"Don't forget the gold. It seems all vampires like shiny things."
"How will we approach the castle?"
"Its placement is isolated and above the surrounding area so we've no room for subtlety. They probably know we're nearby, anyhow. Our best option is to wait for cloud cover and go in amongst the humans. That gives us some measure of control."
The following afternoon finds the area blanketed in grey cumulus clouds, the color of the sky and the feel of the air are oppressive. Their sprint across the valley feels like a funeral procession with the color leeched from the world. Their clothes hang heavy and rough on their skin, even though their bodies are twitchy and restless. When they breach the castle walls, walking down a narrow lane amidst an animal cart and human refuse, the reek of dozens of vampires pervades their senses. It sets them on edge, body and mind, so that they hardly appear human. When a hooded figure appears a few dozen paces away, they both freeze, split between obeying instincts and maintaining anonymity.
Pale fingers pull a dark gray cowl over waves of soft caramel colored hair to expose a startlingly sweet face. With a faint French accent, she speaks in the Florentine dialect of Italian and informs, "I am Esmeralda. What brings you to Volterra?"
Aedwaerth wants to laugh out loud at Carlisle's reaction, both physical and emotional, but he has the presence of mind to treat the situation as potentially hostile. "We're here to seek an audience with the Volturi council. I have a grievance," he answers in flawless Italian.
"What are your names?" It's clear that she follows a strict protocol.
"Aedwaerth and Carlisle."
"This way, please." The woman's thoughts are surprisingly calm and sweet, but laced with an unfamiliar sadness. She even comments internally on Carlisle's looks and his strange eyes, much to Aedwaerth's amusement, but quickly has hesitant and fearful thoughts that follow. The somber quality makes Edward's throat tighten, an unusual reaction to be sure, but considering his companion's distracted state, they must be under some supernatural influence. He flicks Carlisle in the ear, and taps his temple as if to say, "Stay focused, friend." Esmeralda leads them through a maze of tight passages and hallways, the path trending down as it doubles back on itself and twists through tons of stone. They pass several vampires along the way, but their thoughts betray no knowledge of the pair, nor any real interest in their passing.
Soon they reach an ornate chamber door; it's round, made of marble stone and completely covered in intricate gold plating. Pressed into the center of the door is a ruby the size of a fist. Their guide rolls the behemoth to the side, and they enter an antechamber nearly 100 paces long. Aedwaerth knows that beyond the corridor is the council chamber, where the multi-talented guard the three royal brothers. One of whom has a gift that eclipses Aedwaerth's, even if it's limited by touch. With this knowledge, he knows that the room will probably be their crypt, but it is not in him to walk away from a threat nor to back down from a fight.
Quiet conversation has filled the cavernous room before they walk into the chamber, but it gradually ceases as Esmeralda introduces them. Most thoughts are focused on their unfamiliar eye color, but a few are focused on the bounty. Those few are eager to dispense with the pleasantries and attack, but formality, obedience and fear dissuades them. Then the brothers begin, "I am Aro. This is Caius, and Marcus. And you, my interesting friend, are the erstwhile king of England."
"I am no longer a king."
An eyebrow arches, "That may be, but you've incensed some powerful people. And they've paid handsomely to expand their territory. And rid themselves of you."
"We claim no territory. We no longer feed from humans. Enough with this nonsense, Aro." He sneers the Etruscan's name. "I want to know who and where these cowards are."
"No longer feed from humans? How intere-"
"My patience ended when I torched the third member of your guard who tried to kill me. This foolishness will end, by my hand or theirs. Now tell me."
Aedwaerth's tone aggravates Aro into aggression. "Felix, teach our friend some manners." What Aedwaerth knows from Aro's mind is that he's reserving judgment, and Felix is meant only to impose order, establish Aro's dominion over Aedwaerth. Aedwaerth shoves Carlisle out of the way when the hulking vampire stalks slowly towards him. The no-neck inquires, "Do I get the bounty if I kill him?"
Aro replies cooly, "Take that up with James and Victoria, Felix. And please try not to make a mess."
The proceedings so far have lit a smoldering rage within Aedwaerth. He's not accustomed to being neither disrespected, nor discounted so easily, and he abhors it. But he has a faint human memory of how he dealt with disrespect among his war-band, and it involved severe pain and humiliation. Deciding the tactic is perfectly suited to the situation, he girds himself for battle.
When Felix charges, Aedwaerth makes no move. He simply stands his ground as the mountain of a man barrels towards him, and when he reaches him, Aedwaerth gets low and chops down on Felix's forearms, steps slightly right and pivots on his left foot. His hip catches Felix on his leg and the big man goes down on his rear, skidding a several paces, but Aedwaerth is up and after him before he can regain his footing, and he lands two resounding open hand slaps on either of Felix's cheeks. Aedwaerth knows that such a blow is not ultimately harmful, but it's disorienting and painful.
As Aedwaerth slithers backward across the marble, Felix shakes his head to remove the haze from his senses. It's clear that he's enraged, but the crowd gathered in the chamber room is murmuring their surprise and confusion. He comes at Aedwaerth again, at breakneck speed, but at the moment before they collide, Aedwaerth jukes, pulverizes a knee with a well placed fist and parries two wildly thrown grabs. With Felix kneeling on his remaining good leg, gasping for air in pain, Aedwaerth slaps him twice on the right cheek: a backhanded left, followed by a powerful right handed blow.
The he backs off again, standing motionless at the center of the room. While he waits for Felix to recover, he listens to the mental chatter, cataloguing information and making sure Carlisle is getting along well. Noting that there is a respectful halo of distance around his stoic companion brings him immense satisfaction, but it's tempered by the perverse pleasure that Caius and Aro seem to be taking at the proceedings.
He's only moderately annoyed when Felix stands, grabs his ruined kneecap and twists it back into place with a snarl. Intelligence seems to run in opposite proportion to size. The lumbering dolt charges Aedwaerth with a overloud growl, and the result is much the same; Aedwaerth blocks his initial assault with a flurry of lightning quick arms, gains an advantageous position with an elbow to the temple, and slaps Felix across the face twice. He backs up a few paces, and the process repeats itself. Felix is always a little behind Aedwaerth, and becomes a little slower each time.
By the time two full minutes have passed since the initial order, Felix's face is a crumbling ruin. Flakes of marble-like skin slough off in thin sheets, and he can barely keep his feet between bouts of barreling blindly toward Aedwaerth. When it's clear that Felix can no longer defend himself, Aedwaerth kicks him square in the chest. The massive stone mannequin careens across the room to flop lifelessly in front of the three thrones. Aedwaerth regards the Volturi royalty with a look equally balanced between boredom and malice and says, "I want answers."
By the wry grin on Aro's face and the delighted tone of the brother's thoughts, he knows he's passed some arbitrary test for survival among these savage creatures, but he feels no comfort from their acceptance. Aro answers him with an unnerving, "I have them all," and his blood-red eyes glint with mischief and mayhem.
A/N: Props to Stratan, beta magnifico. Rock on, good people.