She had heard the rumors, she had heard Carlisle's contradictions, she had checked the future obsessively and day after day, her curiosity grew.

"Please, my king," she pled her case, having practiced her words a million times with Jasper at home. Aro had sat at the hearing room thoughtfully, never interrupting her long narration of why. "There is never a thing worth finding in the past, youngling," he warned her with all the kindness he had.

She insisted and he yielded, standing up and leading the pair to his own private chambers. "This will be uncomfortable for both you and me," he said and started getting himself ready. He removed his jacket, pulled two chairs from the corners close to each other, tied his hair back. Caius entered the room after a timid knock, and gave Aro his own carved silver bottle that he had just filled with fresh blood. "And I suggest you drink. You will need all the strength you can get." He extended the bottle first towards her, as Caius took his place behind Aro's seat.

Alice eyed the bottle, weighing her options. On one hand, she could not afford to offend the king, on the other... But Aro only gave her so much time, before retracting his hand and opening the bottle for himself. He was so quick the Cullen kids hardly had the chance to enjoy the scent.

Aro took his seat. "What you're asking from me is not easy. My experience says what the mind deems unworthy of remembering should stay that way. Sit." The order was clear and Alice lowered herself to the other chair immediately. "As you start remembering I will be seeing everything twice, which is -as you know- confusing. That is why Caius is here. You are not in any danger. Do not pull away from me, for as long as you possibly can." Aro was precise and to the point, but there was nothing unkind in his voice. If anything, he sounded reluctant even know, secretly wishing Alice would change her mind. "I understand. Thank you, my king," she said unwavering. Aro nearly sighed and turned to glance at Caius, waiting for him to motion he was ready. Caius nodded and so Aro outstretched his hand.

Alice lifted hers immediately but just before she made contact with his open palm she seemed to hesitate. She noticed the scarring on Aro's palm, intricate and deliberate, paler than the rest of skin, almost glowing. In the end, she wrapped her hand around his.

Contrary to what he usually did, Aro kept his palm lax and open. This was no interrogation, he needed not to rush at all. He needed to take his time and map out the entire of Alice's mind, find the missing parts and put them back in their rightful place. His eyes had drifted shut quickly and his head tilted to the side, towards her. Jasper was starting at the scene, mesmerized and slipping away into his own limitation, the kings' emotions foreign and thus, overwhelming. Caius stood quietly, listening to Aro's breathing. Soon, Aro groaned in discomfort, his other hand came forward and traced Alice's cheek, his fingers moving gently to smooth out her eyebrow and finally the middle of his palm made solid contact with her temple, fingers combing back her hair. Caius shifted a little, alerted by Aro's speeding breaths, and Jasper moved with him, terrified by the knowledge he was rendered useless by the mere presence of the other king.

Suddenly, Alice yelped, pulled away but Aro was quicker. The hand holding hers locked around it before she had moved it at all, and his other one pulled her even closer, until his forehead touched hers. She thrashed now, trying to get away from him, wailing. Jasper glanced at Caius and found his face twisted in pained patience. This was unpleasant for him as well. With a final wail, Aro pulled away form her, jumping up from his seat, knocking it down as he went. Jasper flinched as Alice latched onto him and he wrapped his arms around her, unable to give her any actual comfort, as he was still overwhelmed by the storm that was the two kings. He thought Aro looked... wild. He brought his scarred palms up to his own face and started digging his fangs onto the old lines, opening the wounds up desperately trying to let his blood out. Jasper watched Caius count the seconds patiently and he thought this must be a known consequence. Finally Caius moved, reaching and pulling Aro's hands away from his face, and onto his own. Forcing Aro into his own mind, forcing him into a familiar landscape and hoping Aro would find himself back to reality. Jasper felt his stomach drop upon realising, that for Caius at least, there was never any guarantee Aro would return whole.

Alice seemed to orient herself first, hugging Jasper more tightly and getting a hold of her tears. She shyly turned to look at the scene that had Jasper frozen: king Aro growling and trying to pull away from Caius' hold, far more like a feral animal than the refined and well contained king.

Caius' blond hair, his eyebrows, even his eyelashes were shining red when Aro finally stopped trying to get away from him. When he finally seemed to recognise him and remember where he was, what he was doing. He caught his breath as best as he could, and let Caius bear his weight for him. He turned to the younglings, exhausted and unhappy. "I'm sorry," he said to Alice and allowed Caius to lead him out of the room. Before closing the door, Caius spoke. "Stay as long as you need. Do not hesitate to ask the guards for anything."

Yes, he can read your mind so thoroughly you will not distinguish him from yourself. Yes, he can see your deepest thoughts, most personal memories and experience your life as if he himself has lived it. Yes, to be known like this is uncomfortable,

But it is not terrifying.

If his powers ended at "witnessing", he'd be no more useful than a skilled spy. If there was no danger, every vampire who had lost their memories after turning would be queuing at his door for a moment of his time. To enter their minds and open the locked doors for them would be no more than a short inconvenience, and a king who values their people would readily devote a few minutes of his evenings to the duty.

But there are no vampires at his door. And everyone with half a brain that finds themselves at the palace keeps their eyes to the floor, their words measured and pray the king takes no interest in them.

Because they know. They know, because they have seen.

There used to be a coven with a leader so unruly, so unpredictable, and so influential that the Volturi knew not how to address. A threat that was growing by the day, but one they could not execute without an uprising. And so the coven got an invite to the palace, a promised calm conversation, a modest feast and perhaps a treaty. The coven came, highly suspicious, armed and prepared to refuse every deal the Volturi offered. But the Volturi did not have to offer anything other than a handshake. The leader, prepared as ever but lacking in intel, reached forward to Aro's extended hand. There was nothing Aro could see in their mind that was an esteemed secret. And Aro shook his hand, no less and no more than perfectly timed, and when he let go the leader was no more. In his briefest exploration of the foreign mind he locked every door on every path he ran along on. He shut every window, drew very curtain, blew out each candle, and exited gracefully with none the wiser that their beloved leader had been entirely unmade.

So complete was his erasure that the Volturi did not need to execute a single vampire in that coven. They let them drink and feast as promised, and made them sign no treaty. But without a head, the snake can't but wither. Everyone who tried telling the leader who they used to be, what they were striving for and what has been done to them failed. In the place of the fiery rebel was now and forever a calm and rather hopeful vampire. Rootless and adrift and most importantly harmless. They lived for a long time. Joined another coven who had heard their past name, but did not know their face, who took them in as if they were merely a newborn robbed. They even promised their new member that one of the Volturi kings could help them remember.

They start off at the palace, Caius is sending guards away all day. Their problems will still be there tomorrow, and this is his day off. They are both all cutesy dressed, heading out to Volterra. They usually venture off to Florence, and inevitably end up to Caius own home, which he has owned since he was mortal.

"Captain, what are you doing off the ship?" he asked, holding his copper cup a little tighter.

The captain shrugged. "The alessandrinos came back, said the festival wasn't for them. So I went for a walk."

Demetri nodded, brought the cup to his lips, shaking a little. "You should go. It's nice." His voice was small, and quiet.

The captain took a cup for himself and poured himself some wine. "Yeah? Then why are you here, and not there?"

Demetri looked away, craddled the jug closer to himself. "The others don't want me there."

"Fuck 'em. Hang with locals," the captain tried to lift the kid's spirits, but to no avail. Demetri stood up, paid his dues and left.

"See you at the ship, captain."

“You may have my tracker, Mauro,” Amun said.

Marcus paused, his entire speech foiled by Amun's guess work. All his rehearsed arguments of the twins' value and their promise to take care of the tracker would never reach Amun's ears. Days worth of careful planning and practice conversations would not be allowed to seek soil and bloom. Excellent. “Thank you, Amun.”

And I was pondering over them for a long time. It felt like... Idk, Marcus shouldn't get upset over something like that? It felt ooc for Marcus i guess? But then, for some reason, I kept coming back to the scene, because knowing the writer and knowing there is almost always a plan behind word choices I tried to find a possible in universe reason for it.

At the end of the day, when the guards' shifts switched, Aro usually came to find him, and he sat like a parent listening to a toddler's stories of the day. Carlisle would tell him of all the things he found interesting, the things he disagreed with, he would respond to Aro's comments he found in the pages, he'd ask him to elaborate. He'd push a book to Aro to show him something specific, and Aro would lean closer and Carlisle's breath would hitch. If he got Aro to engage more passionately on something Carlisle would think about it for days.

One day, as he had exhausted a tome on the details of the first roman law, and he was picking up the second tome, he uncovered underneath it two leather-bound journals. He picked them up curiously, turned them over in his hands. There was nothing on the cover and the leather string that kept them closed was dry and broke immediately. Undeterred but more careful, he unwrapped one and opened it. The pages were not something he had felt before. It wasn't paper, it wasn't even papyrus, it looked and felt handmade. Stiff and yellow, but surprisingly well preserved. He turned the pages carefully. The ink in it vibrant black but the writing unreadable. Incomprehensible to Carlisle both in form and tongue too. He thought it resembled latin but only if the person was illiterate. Still, he looked, marveling and wondering just how old this journal was. He turned another page and a set of eyes met his. He paused at that page and looked. And looked and looked and looked. The sketch was magnificent. Fine lines, and careful details painted a set of dark eyes, with thick eyebrows. The eyelashes were layered on with such care. The creases of the eyes betrayed the person must have been smiling, even if the bottom half of the face was not sketched. Carlisle looked at the man on the page longer, and longer, feeling almost reverent to be looking at someone so ancient who was deemed worthy to preserve in ink.

When Aro came to find him that day, Carlisle was giddy to show him the journal, to ask what it said, to ask who the sketch was representing. Aro had chuckled at first, informing him these were Caius' first journals. He kept notes on the guards and all vampires the Volturi encountered to better be able to do his part of the job. To better be able to train and lead soldiers. He told Carlisle it was in fact latin and that Caius was never taught to properly write. He did not mind to read the notes to Carlisle, but he doubted they would be of any interest. Carlisle had nodded, taking it all in. He liked it when Aro was so sharing with the information. He did not want to interrupt. Carlisle turned the next page, where the sketched eyes laid immortalised in ink. And he said: "I didn't know Caius could draw." Aro's face twisted. His brows came together and then apart. His lips pressed tightly and then released. His eyes narrowed and had a hard time relaxing again. "Oh, no I made that," he said. Even his voice sounded strained.

It took him a moment too to realise Demetri had not reciprocated. Had stood still until Felix came to his senses. He pulled back, horrified and devastated in equal measure. "I'm so sorry," and "I shouldn't have done that," and "Please forgive me..." But Demetri only looked at him, seeming a little betrayed.

Unknowingly to the for-a-good-millenia-now christian people, the festival was originally dedicated to the god of sun, and the connection was never broken, thus, Amun was attending. He had no choice really, but you would never find him complaining about how people chose to worship him.

Demetri was wrapped up in the dance circle and Caius was sitting among the many spectators on a chair, vaguely watching. Amun sat besides him far more distracted and at the same time, far more focused. It was always overwhelming to be around people during these days. All their happiness was passed to him, all their words and drinks and pleasures were gifted to him in turn. And so, feeling a little drunken on the atmosphere, he watched his child smile and laugh and enjoy. Demetri had never seemed to like or dislike anything while he was in Egypt. "He looks happy," he said to Caius who turned to face him, surprised to be addressed so by the sun god. "Good job." Amun nearly regreted it as soon as the words left his lips. Caius' face seemed to fall apart, his jaw tensed and his eyes almost hurt Amun's skin where they gazed at him. When he spoke, Caius sounded breathless. "It's my honor to be trusted with a child of the sun god. Your praise is more than I could ask for." Amun heard it, saw it in all the future possibilities and could not help but turn to face the Roman. A dog, sitting beside him, thirsty, panting and yet, still, waiting loyally for the command. Amun turned back to the festival, his eyebrows coming down, realising he has been pulled into a game that he could not see himself win. "You're crazy, soldier." Caius did not move his gaze, did not speak or nod or hum, leaving Amun to trap himself and definitively speak the losing words. "You don't know what you're asking for. I am light. I will hurt you." And like that, he lost to Caius' quiet "Please."

Amun stood up abruptly. Caius followed him. They didn't go far. Just around the building, pretending to have some privacy there. Caius was kissing him like he could not breathe unless through him. It was quick and desperate and Amun was not lying when he said he was light. It was unlike anything Caius had experienced before and he was going to feel it for days later.

Western europe made use of werewolves and used them as attack dogs.

The Volturi figured that the werewolf bones could in fact cause harm and forged blades from the bones of the wolves they killed.

There used to be a coven in Persia who carved stakes from the wood of the sacred fig tree.

A madman Turk, forged a sword entirely from iron he took from blood.