Chapter 5: Reconciliation
A/N: The original chapter didn't have an A/N, but while editing it, I felt that the space at the top of the document looked a bit lonely. Just goes to show that I've picked up a few tics through the process of writing this thing.
The days began passing much faster from then on. After a quick, formal talk with a concerned Carlisle, somehow all the problems seemed to fade into the background - with a little help from Jasper, but I was too preoccupied with not caring to get angry at him.
The days and nights spent with my family seemed to pass again, and I sometimes found that I had no words for immortality. I wasn't going to die. All the minor depressions and moping I had wasted precious hours of my life on back when I was ...alive, had no base now.
The only real worry of humans was no matter to me anymore.
But still, no amount of optimism or Jasper's emotional manipulation could push away the reverse of the situation. What would I do in a few decades, when my family and friends were aging and dying? Should I risk taking away their souls, as was Edward's perpetual worry? I spent four nights - the thought that the next could be my last terrified me beyond all reason, so I avoided the thought - lying on my back in bed, vaguely missing sleep, thinking about that and other things, things that I would be better off suppressing.
The morning of Thursday - not "the last day", not "the last day" - everyone had completely dropped the habitual human charade. Alice seemed to have told everyone, and the miasma of stress in the spacious house was palpable. Edward was staring out the window, unmoving, and Carlisle and Esme just sat by the table and stared worriedly into each other's' eyes. Alice and Jasper were outside, probably talking. It hurt to think of how Alice had to be feeling for telling the others. Emmett was uncharacteristically restless, pacing around the living room and up and down the stairs, while Rosalie, who normally avoided any proof of her state that she could, was venting her frustration on the trees across the river. In my detached state on the couch, I wondered what the werewolves would think of it.
Oh. The Quileute. Jacob. I hadn't thought about what would happen to him and his pack. Alice couldn't see them, so there was no need in asking. No need to worry the others even more. An odd sound from the driveway caught my attention, and it took me about a fraction of a second to realize that it was Alice, growling out a stream of words that would have sounded horrifying in anything else than her crystal-clear, girlish voice.
Moments later, she came flitting in the door, followed by Jasper and Rosalie, her usual lithe gait replaced by a jittery, neurotic step. Looking defeated, Alice handed Carlisle a small package, painstakingly wrapped in outdated, bone-colored paper. A tiny intake of air through my nose sent a cloyingly sweet smell into my useless lungs, a stench like moldy sugar and rotting apples. The only person who could have sent that package was Aro. Stunned by stress and fear, I just sat there, silent, as Carlisle ripped open the paper and emptied out a large crystal vial and two folded pieces of paper.
He looked over one piece, an antique scarlet sheet with decorative gold trim, but for some reason threw it to the side while he unfolded the other.
The only thing I could see on the red paper was a perfect circle with two jagged lines cutting through it, drawn like a simple work of art. Carlisle's eyes quickly flickered over the other sheet, off-white and decorated with black ink swirls on the back. His expression darkened over the three seconds it took him to read it. He wordlessly passed it to Esme, and by the time it reached me, the atmosphere in the room was downcast and miserable.
The letter was written in Aro's delicate handwriting, and the dark red ink seemed to radiate a palpable smugness.
"Dear Cullen family,
I apologize for our unfortunate encounter yesteryear.
Naturally, we viewed the existence of your young Ms. Renesmee C. Cullen as a possible threat,
and we were obliged by the trust of our beloved citizens to take action.
I dearly hope that you understand our motives for this.
We would like to continue the peace with your coven, make no mistakes,
but there has been a resurgence of distrust among the inhabitants of our ancient city.
We will regretfully need to take action, but we will avoid the use of unnecessary force if possible.
Thus, we have been forced to resort to untraditional methods.
Unfortunately, the suspicion extends to your allies of the Quileute tribe of La Push,
and as such, even though we of the Volturi council have no will to embroil these shapeshifters,
who we have seen to be both honorable, wise and peaceful, there is a long-standing grudge between our citizens in Volterra and the vicinity and creatures of this kind.
Please do not panic.
We only do this to ensure the continued safety of humans and our comrades.
If you wish to mitigate some effects of this sanction, then drink the contents of the attached vial once the sanction has taken effect.
It does have a cost, but we have never assumed you to be vain and greedy.
We hope our trust in you is not misplaced.
Aro, Caius and Marcus of the Volturi Council.
Overseen by Renata and Alec of the Volturi Guard."
Emmett began snarling a steady stream of words under his breath while pacing the length of the living room.
"Damn it, they know perfectly well that we don't trust their crap. And if they're this formal, it can only mean they're out to kill us again, the bastards." Even as Jasper and Edward began joining in the strained conversation, their words were drowned out by a buzzing in my head.
The Quileute. Quil. Embry. Sam. Seth. Leah. Emily. Billy. And most importantly, Jacob. What were they going to do to them? Emmett was right - Aro's syrupy, formal tone was a clear warning. Still, the part about the vial was clearly the most disturbing. Potions and occult trappings weren't their favored method of solving a conflict, and I knew from experience that Aro preferred to use his hand-picked soldiers for critical situations.
Something drastic was needed to make the millennia-old Volturi deviate from their time-honored customs. With a bit of effort, I pushed my mental shield out from myself to convey the message to Edward. He seemed to have understood, because his expression hardened and he turned silent in the middle of his conversation. When he resumed it, it was clear that he thought the idea plausible, as he told the others in strained tones about my theory.