Twilight Volturi fanfictions

Marcus of the Volturi - by pommedeterror

Marcus of the Volturi - by pommedeterror

Story can be found on the AO3 website (Archive of our own).

Words : 1.3 k

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Marcus opened his eyes. He stood alone in the throne room, quietly contemplating the thrones he and the highest ranking members of the Volturi sat on so proudly. They were little more than props to feed into the fantasy of power they have been intoxicating themselves on for centuries. And they knew it.

Marcus made his way towards the seats, moving slowly as if not to provoke a sleeping beast. His cloak whispered against the ground, lightly kissing the decorated tiles. It rippled with each turn and pivot. It was as if the cloak were confessing the sins that he had accrued for millennia. Each murder in cold blood, each pointless death by his hands. They trailed behind him like bloodstains. His sins hung off his back, simulating the desperate grip of a drowning man. It refused to let him forgive or repent.

The vampire traced two fingers across the backs of the thrones, following every groove and jewelled detail. He came to a stop in front of his own. His cloak fell silent with him, letting his thoughts have room to speak for themselves.

Marcus often thought of his younger self. Almost the moment he was turned, Aro requested he join him. He sought power, as did any other member of the Volturi. Power befitting the Volturi name. A fool he was, then, taking childish delight in reigning over all whom he thought inferior. Over all creatures, humans, werewolves, and vampires included. They were nothing but subjects to them. Pawns to add to their growing empire of absolute authority. The Volturi would get high off of the euphoria the blood gave them, feeling starved of it whenever they went without it. Marcus was no exception. He had lived for that ecstasy, thriving off of the scent of it alone.

Then, the vampire got his first taste of something different. A sedative to this exhilarating lifestyle.

Didyme. His first and last love.

He knew of her existence of course, her being the brother of Aro, and of her curious ability. The ability to make others happy. At first, Marcus was disturbed by her, almost offended. What use was happiness when they already had something far better? What could be more ecstatic than draining the blood of the inferior creatures around them? Happiness for the sake of happiness? What a weak concept.

That is what Marcus used to think.

He hardly even knew when his feelings towards her started to shift. When he noticed the emotional string of their relationship started to solidify. Even after all of these years, after delving back into his subconscious, dissecting every last fibre of living memory of his lover, he could not pinpoint the exact moment in which he fell in love with her.

Was it when they were first acquainted, when she had laughed at Marcus for his pompous formality? Or was it when she had bumped into him as she was leaving a long, tedious meeting with the Volturi, complaining animatedly, as if they were more than just acquaintances. Maybe it was when she had offered out of the blue to demonstrate her power to him, only to be confused as to why it did not work. Perhaps it was the moment where he had proposed to her, asking her to be his mate. It was an inelegant, clumsy affair that left both of them flushing as if they were the ages that they looked. She had accepted. At that moment, Marcus thought that even the strongest dose of human blood could not compare to her smile.

Maybe it was all of these moments, all weaved into one. The messy, uninspired tapestry that was their love. Perhaps Marcus had fallen in love with her every single time. With every last thread of her being.

Happiness was a peculiar feeling. You were not enduring any kind of labour or consuming anything to earn this feeling. It just simply was. And you were simply allowed to be. Free from pain, free from ecstasy. You just were. And you were rewarded for it. It was strange.

When Marcus realized this feeling, that was the moment when he realised the Volturi were wrong. Power was indeed addictive, euphoric, and just as coercing as the taste of blood. Yet, after hundreds and thousands of years, what was the good of such ecstasy? What happens when the high wears off, and you crash back down to taste the dirt and shrubbery? What happens when you raise yourself so high above the insects and vermin, and suddenly you find yourselves beneath their boots? You will watch as they trod all over the self imposed crowns you have wrested from them, with not so much as a glance towards your rotting corpse.

Marcus was foolish to think such a good thing would last long. That he would go his whole life playing within the mundane cycle humans called life.

The day Aro informed him of Didymes death, Marcus of Didyme had died alongside her.

Marcus of the Volturi lived the rest of his immortality as a walking corpse. Seldom speaking, scarcely moving. His presence was like scattered ashes in a desert. Present, perhaps. But hardly there.

He had thought Marcus would stay dead for the rest of time. In fact, he had prayed he would.

However, when he stood upon that field of snow, gazing at the collection of humans and vampires alike, he had locked eyes with a certain human vampire child.

A shadow of the Marcus that belonged to Didyme started to quiver.

The Volturi had unanimously voted to kill this child. After all, she was the spawn of both of those which they called vermin. She was a threat to them, to their name. To their authority. To their godhood. It was unacceptable. So she must be exterminated.

Marcus of the Volturi briefly stepped aside at that moment. And Marcus of Didyme rose up for the first time in centuries.

When a battle was provoked, Marcus stood on the outskirts of the battlefield. He saw no need to participate in this senseless battle. That old flickering spark of rebellion of his younger self began to blaze once more.

And then he sees the two vampires. The way they looked at him, with such anguish and hate, reminded Marcus of who he was. He was a part of the Volturi. Marcus of the Volturi has done terrible things. Things that he could never repent for, even with his immortal life. It was sorrowful that he could not even remember their names.

And so, Marcus made a decision just then. If he could not repent, even with the rest of time itself, then he would let himself be sacrificed instead. To serve justice for all that he had harmed, to give them some release from their suffering.

Though maybe that was simply justifying his selfishness. For if Marcus Volturi could finally shed his cloak and repay his eternal debt, Marcus would no longer be shackled to the Volturi name. And Marcus, the long dead human, could finally see Didyme again. Marcus of the Volturi could finally rest. He spread his arms, as if he were embracing an old friend.

"Finally"

Marcus opened his eyes. He stood alone in the throne room, quietly contemplating the thrones he and the highest ranking members of the Volturi sat on so proudly. Marcus Volturi sighed to himself.

He supposed it was a vampire's fate to live forever.