The Grand Hall has lost much of its drama, now that I'm no longer trying to end my life or save Bella's. The Guard mill around, their thoughts noisily clamoring in my direction. Suspicion, mostly. Contempt for my request to die, disdain for my defence of a mere human.

It's clear that my gift makes Aro nervous, even now he has it tucked firmly under his wing. He works hard to keep his thoughts light, distracted, like a delighted child. He doesn't always succeed, and when he slips, a flicker of irritation shoots toward me like a lightening bolt.

I do my best not to react at all. If he thinks I'm not paying attention, he might relax a little, eventually let his guard down. It's not much of a plan, but so far it's all I have.

In as much as there is a routine in Volterra, it seems to revolve around gathering intelligence. Every day pairs of Guards depart or return from different parts of the world. Some reports are banal: nomads who have settled in a particular town or city; new covens forming. Others require further monitoring or action. Newborns who are poorly mentored. Vampires who have little regard for secrecy. Within the first two weeks I am there, three unfortunates suffer swift justice on the stone floor before me. Demetri deals with two others in Prague.

I realize how sheltered we have been, living Carlisle's way of life. Exposed to the true levels of barbarism in my kind is a shocking experience. It leaves me depressed and desperately homesick for my family. I long to make contact with them, but the risks are too high. Aro makes a point of taking my hand at the end of each day. There can be no surreptitious phone calls or emails; nothing to give him any suggestion that my dedication to being here is anything less than absolute. The illusion of loyalty is my only protection.

And I discover quickly that this illusion is critical to keeping the hope of rejoining my family alive. I discover this as I come to understand Chelsea. Her gift seems ephemeral at first. I watch as her thoughts range over the Guard each day, touching lightly at any weaknesses or points of conflict. Perceived slights and resentments disappear. Feelings of loyalty and brotherhood surface. Peace reigns among the Guard.

It's the limitations of Chelsea's gift that take me a while to grasp. She can strengthen and weaken the bonds between people, decimating covens by causing them to turn on one another. Binding the Guard to the Volturi. I wait, day after day, for her touch to transform my feelings for Aro from anything but masked loathing and distrust.

All I feel is apathy.

Each morning, as I approach the Grand Hall, my anxiety surges. I am terrified that when I lock eyes with Aro I will suddenly feel trust and commitment. But it doesn't happen. If anything, I find myself caring slightly less about these ancient relics and their schemes. It takes me days to realize that Chelsea can only strengthen and weaken what is already there. It's a relief at first, until it dawns on me that while she can't force me to love Aro, she can certainly make my hatred dissipate. And she can cause my feelings for those I do love to wane.

She can make me forget Bella.

It's subtle, but it's there. Each day the desire to make contact with home is a little weaker. I lie in my room each night trying hard to recall every detail of their faces, the sound of their voices. Alice's giggle. Rosalie's arched eyebrow. Esme's hugs. A strand of Bella's hair drifting across her face as she sleeps. Desperately clinging to these tiny memories. I know that I'm not going to win this battle over the long term, but right now it's all I can do.

Since confronting me that first night, Caius has rarely made an appearance, spending most of his time at a villa in the hills outside Volterra with Athenadora. On the few occasions I come across him within the city, his mind still fills with resentment over Aro's decision to spare Bella's life. Caius' cruelty, I realize, is not to be understimated.

Marcus, on the other hand, is something of a revelation. Quiet, patient, and fiercely intelligent, he spends a most of his time in the library. It is the one place within the Volturi's labyrinthine chambers that feels like an oasis, filled with rare books and manuscripts that would be the envy of any serious collector. It helps me to feel calmer, to clear my head, away from the bloodlust and carnage of the main chambers. Marcus and I are often there at the same time. He never says anything, but his thoughts reveal that he is intrigued by me, and fascinated by the strength of my relationship with Bella.

"Tell me about Didyme." It is late afternoon, and warm sunlight spills in from the high turret windows above us. Marcus looks up abruptly at the sound of my voice. His ancient features barely register the surprise I hear in his thoughts.

"So," he says quietly after a long pause. "The one who listens has a tongue after all."

"I am new here," I shrug, closing the book of Greek poetry in front of me. "It would seem imprudent not to take time to understand my surroundings."

"Perhaps also imprudent to rummage around in the memories of others." He raises his eyebrows at me, but his thoughts are not offended or at all threatening.

"She was very beautiful, the way you recall her. I would have liked to have met her."

Marcus' cloudy gaze softens, and his mind fills with images of his wife and their life together. I realize he is doing this deliberately, introducing her to me in the only way that he can. Their love feels immense, all encompassing. The pain of her loss is still palpable, even after all this time.

"How did you lose her?"

In his memory, he is running toward the sounds of a fight taking place in a forest of dense conifers, panic and fear overtaking his thoughts. There are screams and the wrenching sounds of dismemberment, the acrid smell of burning vampire flesh. Marcus is running so fast the landscape is a blur, and even in this recollection there is only the pinpoint focus of getting to his mate as fast as he can. Centuries have not dulled any aspect of this memory for Marcus, and as he bursts into the clearing and the scene of massacre before him, I feel my own heart leap in my throat.

The Guard are surrounding by the dead and dying. Jane and Alec are throwing limbs onto a massive bonfire, from which curling waves of purple smoke let off a cloying stench. Demetri is snapping the neck of an emaciated looking vampire, dressed like a peasant. Marcus' viewpoint is swinging around the clearing, desperate, despairing. And then Aro steps from the trees, his face a mask of horror and heartbreak, carrying Didyme's limp form in his arms.

Marcus' memories dissolve into total devastation. There is nothing but Didyme's face through a veil of smoke and sadness.

I take a deep breath. The vision clears, and it seems startling to focus again on being here in the library, the visceral scent of the battle giving way abruptly to old books and dust.

"I'm very sorry." The words seem wholly inadequate.

"Our kind do not commit to one another readily. When we do, some hearts are tied together with ribbon and others with chain."

He stands, smoothing his robes and closing the book he had been reading.

"You understand this, Edward. Better than most."

He sweeps from the room. I slump back in my chair, exhausted, empty and aching for Bella.

.x.X.x.

Thank you so much for your lovely reviews. I love hearing what you think of this take on canon, even if most of you are finding a bit sad at the moment. Hang in there!