Y/N is a witch on the run from Viktor and his Death Dealers... for conspicuous reasons. Along the way she makes a vital yet crucial decision that leads her to the Volturi. Aro Volturi had no intention falling in love with a mortal, let alone a witch...
The night of Y/N and Aro's wedding was a mist of experience, a soft, swirling fog of emotions that clung to them like the scent of jasmine. It was a night of whispered promises and stolen glances, of laughter that echoed from the alcove into the Rivendell fortress and then faded into the quiet intimacy of their newly shared space.
Their room, bathed in the soft glow of moonlight filtering through sheer curtains, was a haven of white and gold. It held the lingering scent of Y/N's blood that dried upon her palm, a scent that Aro found intoxicating. He watched her, his dark eyes filled with a tenderness that surprised even him. He'd never known a feeling quite like this, this overwhelming surge of protectiveness and affection that bloomed in his chest every time he looked at her.
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Y/N, ever curious and unafraid, finally voiced the question that had been dancing on her tongue since she walked down the aisle.
"Aro," She began, her voice soft yet firm, "What is this outfit you are wearing?"
Aro's lips curved into a slow, enigmatic smile, his crimson eyes glittering with amusement. "Ah, yes, the crimson uniform," he said, his voice a silken whisper that sent a shiver down Y/N's spine. "A garment of a certain... significance." he voiced.
Y/N, intrigued. "Significance?"
"It is the uniform I wear when I go to battle," Aro stated, his tone taking on a subtle edge of steel. "A reminder of the duty I bear, the power I wield." he was playing with her fingers within his palm. His thumb leaving circled motions upon her skin. As if he was getting lost in thought and the feeling of their skin touching was the only constant keeping him in the present.
Y/N's eyes widened slightly. "Battle? Like the battle you're preparing now?"
Aro's smile faded, replaced by a look of profound sadness. "That is true. However, the world is a fragile thing, Y/N. And the balance of power, a delicate dance. There are forces that threaten that balance, forces that would see our kind extinguished.... as you have witnessed already... there are those that are always seeking power"
He gestured to the cloak he was wearing over his uniform, the crimson fabric gleaming faintly in the candlelight. "This is not merely a symbol of my position. It is a symbol of my readiness. A reminder that, should the need arise, I am prepared to defend our kind, to fight for our survival."
A chill ran through Y/N's veins. They had always known the Volturi were powerful, but Aro's words painted a picture of a world far more precarious than they had ever imagined. A world where the Volturi, with their seemingly endless power, were not just guardians of the vampire laws, but warriors, ready to unleash their might at a moment's notice. She had always seen the Aro and his Volturi as powerful. She witnessed it first hand. Though, she never witnessed their battles and the thought of war....
"The red," Y/N ventured, "is it... a symbol of blood?"
Aro chuckled, a low, rumbling sound. "Perhaps. Or perhaps it is a reminder of the sacrifices we are willing to make to protect what is ours. The crimson signifies our unwavering resolve, our unyielding strength."
