This is my first foray into the world of Twilight. I have always been fascinated by Esme and Carlisle, and while this story revolves around Edward, it is an examination of their relationship from their son's point of view. Please enjoy it.

From here, which for miles seemed like the very top of the world, there was nothing but the intensity of nature. A snap of a twig, the soft hopping of a tiny mammal, the damp humming of the earth as it moved and shifted below him. The waterfall rushed into the darkness of the river pool below - with urgency he could understand as it did so; eager to marry with the water underneath.

Even when he hunted he would pause here to observe all the points of the earth meeting in one violent, glorious collision. Hard earth melted to a muddy softness in the river and the arms of trees bent to tickle its surface, rippling the water even more as it rushed past. If he rotated 90 degrees his eyes met the tops of the mountains, virginal with snow and pointing teasingly towards the weakness of the sun. The world above Forks, Washington was beautiful and only they were lucky enough to see it regularly.

They. His family.

He cast his eyes towards Bella, who leaned against the ancient and huge trunk of a nearby tree, her brown eyes fixated on the waterfall that danced down the facing cliff.

A rush of wind swept past her, lifting her hair so it curled around her face in the breeze and whipped against her blood-infused cheeks. The gust reached him seconds afterwards, forcing her scent into his nostrils, filling his senses until it spilled over and became so powerful that venom gathered on the surface of his tongue and he was petrified that it would trickle from the corners of his mouth.

He had carried her up here, at her request, her arms locked around his neck and her face pressed into the crook of his cold shoulder. In recent days she had grown distant and he knew what was troubling her. Not for the first time in their relationship he was desperate to read her mind, even though he upheld the belief that he thoroughly understood her fear without needing to see it at all.

Their wedding, after all, was only 3 days away. She had not necessarily been the typical bride but she had been coping until the high heels. That was when her despondency had settled over her, wrapped around her shoulders like a cloak and dressing her in silence.

Pieces of art, Alice had presented the shoes to her that very morning with the best of intentions. Edward, while understating his lovely sister's good deed fully, often was irritated by Alice's insistence that Bella conform to what she thought a girl should want. Bella had played along initially, attempting to be the enthusiastic bride as she teetered between the parlour and the kitchen and Carlisle and Esme watched with quiet amusement.

As the morning wore on though she had grown tired and less optimistic and he could sense that those heels had begun to represent to worst of her worries. He could hear, from his position in front of his piano, that Alice was growing frustrated and that Carlisle was growing worried and that Esme, faithful as ever, was sharing her husband's concern. His hands tensed over the ivory keys and the Steinway had fallen silent as he had listened to the worry of those he loved ruminating over the one who's thoughts he had no chance of knowing.

So when Bella had requested that he take her away for a few hours, he had wilfully abandoned the piano to grant her small request. She had gladly slipped her worn, and altogether tomboyish, trainers on and jumped on his back and quietly settled her face in his neck.

He had carried her, smoothly and quickly, to the quietest place he knew.

It was not an entirely selfless decision to bring her here. They had established a precedent here at the top of the world. It was the opposite of the meadow in which he had proposed and where they had shared so many whispered secrets and where the sun had danced freely across his skin. Here instead, in those first frantic days of courtship, he had shared with her those details of his transformation at his father's hands. Just below this spot, in the denseness of the woods, he had illustrated to her exactly what he was capable of and yet she had remained persistent.

His beautiful human to whom he was about to be bound in matrimony.

He was sure that if he could read her mind, he would find things there he did not want to find. He knew, that if he looked hard enough and burrowed into the darkest corners of her brain, he would stumble across the doubt that she was so clearly feeling.

Bella was doubting her decision to marry him.

If he had a heart, it would have ached with fear at the very thought. He had spent many restless nights debating the muscle that drove humans, equivalent to a well-tuned engine, with his father. Carlisle was adamant that the heart still reacted, the metaphorical heart remained, even if the organ had lay still and dormant within his breast for years. Edward so desperately wanted to believe him; even if he found it relentlessly impossible to do so.

The venom on his tongue remained and the silence between them grew, stretching out into the vast cavern of eternity that promised itself to them.

"Thank you for bringing me here," she finally interrupted, her brow furrowed, "I was getting tired."

"I miss getting tired," he did not mean to sound forlorn but he realised it was too late to change his tone.

She smiled a little and tipped her head to the side which he found really very endearing. This would have been his whole focus if he hadn't been so disconcerted by her worry. Bella didn't generally share her anguish but it was so concentrated that she was wearing it like a proud badge of honour, despite her desire not to.

She was examining her engagement ring; angling it so it caught the dull light at different points. It was a thorough examination based around precision. She has once told him she loved it because it reminded her of his skin in sunlight; shining white and rainbow pinpoints.

"Have you ever really wondered why I insist on us getting married?"

She lifted her head from her musings to look at him, "Yes."

"And?"

She seemed to consider his question, even though she obviously had thought it through from her quick response previously. She shrugged and even though it was not intended to seem dismissive, a little part on him was inclined to take it that way. It hurt him and amused him at the same time.

"I suppose it's because you're old fashioned," she finally answered.

He smiled despite himself at her accusation, even though she didn't meant it as such.

On the morning of the day he had proposed to her he had gone to Carlisle to seek counsel and the one thing he knew that his father had lovingly brought from his life before; his real mother's engagement ring, taken in the moments before her body was taken to the mortuary. The blond man's head was bowed over his oak desk, his fountain pen scratching along modern paper as he scribbled furiously, a hum of contentment mumbling at the back of his throat. No matter how hard his father tried, he could not get used to ball-points and the only place where Carlisle consistently failed to hide his antiquity was in the looping, elaborate scrawl of his hand. The older man heard him approaching and setting the pen aside, looked up at him with the same smile he had used to greet him for all eternity. The smile was somewhere between fatherly affection and disapproving amusement and it was the smile with which Carlisle greeted all of his children. Edward had often wondered if he used it to put patients at ease, since it seemed to work to this effect on everyone else.

If only, he thought to himself, you could read my mind today Carlisle.

His father had listened patiently, the serenity of his face both irritating and amusing Edward. Carlisle had a habit of jutting out his jaw and biting his lower lip when he listened closely to something, a habit he had developed while attempting to mimic humans, and he maintained that face throughout Edward's little speech. Then, with ill-concealed delight he fulfilled Edward's wish by going to the dresser at the far side of his study and producing a small velvet box. He had told him he could not be more proud of the decision he was making and Edward had not doubted the sincerity of his words. His father, the man who had brought him to this very point, held him then.

"That is somewhat true," he conceded, forcing himself to have this conversation with Bella and move away from nostalgia, "But there is more to it than that."

"Oh?"

He couldn't tell if she was genuinely curious or merely accommodating him but his desire to share this with her far outweighed his desire to be sure she wanted to hear it.

"Yes," he stayed exactly where he was, trying to grasp the words swirling around in head and force them into forming a cogent thought, "When I was first turned I detested God and I struggled Bella. You can't know how I struggled to believe in what Carlisle believed. You know how I chose to..."

His words abandoned him then and he detested them for it. He had thought himself clever with words until he had stumbled across his beautiful human. She had rendered them useless, found the out to be the charlatans that they were and made him mute. They would not come.

"When you had your 'teenage' rebellion," she continued dryly and he was forced to smile because the very thought of what he had done made him want to weep.

"Yes, you could call it that..."

"It doesn't bother me," she whispered emphatically, "I really mean it."

He moved towards her, the venom having dissipated and neutralised in his mouth. He sat down on the damp earth and motioned for her to rest on his lap. She did so, a small smile on her face.

His desire to be near her was always strong but, at times like this, it grew insatiable. He wanted to blame it on the instincts of a predator, the desire that his kind had to consume their prey entirely. Carlisle had assured him though that it was simply the curse of being a man in love with a woman. This revelation frightened him even more in it inexorable enormity because it could not be blamed on breed. It was sinful to want her so much yet it was a sin he was very willing to commit.

"I know it doesn't bother you," he whispered, "And I am content with that Bella. The reason I wish to marry you so badly is because I believe that it is important to do so..." he struggled over the words, "In the eyes of God."

He watched her reaction and while it may have been imperceptible to a human, it was evident to him as astonishment danced across her face, creasing her eyes and curling her mouth.

"You sound like Carlisle," she finally muttered, breaking the tension a little.

He nodded through his embarrassment, "I never believed in marriage. I was a product of the turn of the century when men started to question and Darwin was being considered a reasonable theoretician and I was angry at the world, and at Carlisle, for making me what I was. I hated God and I hated Carlisle for his belief in God."

Again he observed her face at this revelation and the shock which alighted there and settled against her jaw was refreshing to see. She waited though, refusing to break the silence, and he was grateful for her insight at this point. Her urging him to continue was thick in the silence, rather than in any encouraging noises she could have made.

"But then I witnessed the power of marriage, oh Bella...if only you had been there," he tilted his head to the side, letting the happiness wash over him in a strange sepia tone. The darkness of the church, the paleness of hands tied together, the distance he felt from all of it yet how closely tied he was to it too. Then his rejection of it all – simply because he could not have it.

He had been so jealous on that day and so full of happiness for them too.

"What? When?"

Her urgency broke his meandering thoughts and he realised he had panicked her with his half-formed memories, ones that he couldn't share.

"I didn't believe marriage was important," he said softly, "Not until I watched them."

He couldn't really comprehend how difficult he found this to say. In words, having escaped from his head and translated itself awkwardly, it sounded so entirely sentimental.

She was beginning to grow frustrated and he was angry at himself for this. He had intended this conversation to be the one in which he shared his honesty with her, allowed her to see his loneliness laid out before her, his desire to simply be bound to someone in the traditional way because he finally felt he belonged to someone. Instead, he was alarming her.

He felt the heat of self-consciousness wash over him and no matter the centuries behind him, felt inexplicably like a fumbling teenager. His fingers gripped the earth on either side of his legs, digging in and cracking the solid ground in a show of frustration.

"Hey," she whispered, "It's ok Edward. Calm down..."

"I'm not explaining myself very well," he answered through gritted teeth, pulling his fingers from the earth.

"You see," he continued, "Together they made something holy."

"Who?"

"Carlisle and Esme," he muttered.

Now that the admittance of his admiration was out in the open, bouncing off the trees and burying itself amongst the leaves, his embarrassment drained from him.

"Oh," she smiled a little, though behind it he could read her dubiousness.

"I was angry at them both at first," he sighed and though he tried to keep shame from the sound, it seemed all the more prominent because of his resistance, "They decided to get married in a church. Carlisle's conviction was so – so real...and Esme's too. He wanted, he told me, to make her his wife in the eyes of God. I was so furious at them for it, not just for the obvious love but because of the practical matters of being a vampire. They were committing themselves to paper, asking a human to marry them, taking a marriage licence – talking all sorts of risks. And I hated them even more for getting married in front of a God that had cursed me like this. A God in whom I refused to believe."

She was watching him intently, her face inches from his as he spoke. He held his breath and tried not to breath her in as his mouth grew moist with venom, trickling down the insides of his cheeks. When she invested so fully in him, whether he was reading to her or playing for her or simply speaking to her, the urge to devour her grew to a painful height. He would forgo his habit of breathing for the moment as he continued;

"But then I stood as their witness," he could not resist the smile that crept onto his face at this, "A few of our friends joined us. The Denali coven and others. And what they said and did in that church, lost entirely in each other, was the most beautiful thing in the world. The most pure and the most holy. Carlisle had been lost like me, with only his God and his books and his medicine to love him and then he had Esme and she brought him to life. You did that for me..."

He thought back to his father's quiet vows, his mother's silent promises, the satin of her dress ruffling across the aisle as she tried in vain to maintain a human pace in her rush to marry her doctor in front of God.

Edward had wanted it so much that it hurt inside. That had been the moment he decided to leave them, because to watch them so content ruined him completely. It had taken longer for him to actually leave but he had known then that he could not remain so conflicted and watch something so pure.

And for the first time ever, as he watched Carlisle slip the simple gold band onto Esme's impossibly fine finger, he had wondered if your soul could live in someone else. His father's did – it had found its resting place in the immortal that stood mere inches from him, returning the gesture with a platinum ring emblazoned with the Cullen crest.

Bella was smiling in a sad, painful sort of way as she took in what he was saying. Albeit, the loneliness had ironed itself out now that he had Bella, but years of Carlisle misguidedly trying to find someone to be Edward's mate and years of feeling as if he had nothing at all had taken its toll.

He wanted desperately to do this properly.

"You are human Bella," he cupped her face in his hands, the earth still perched atop his fingers and resting under his nails, "And you have a soul. Carlisle has always taught me to do the right thing. I will not risk your soul to live out a life of sin that is only half committed to each other. It is the right thing to marry you in front of God and to tie myself to you forever."

He regretted his choice to use the word 'forever' because he knew Bella didn't really feel like he was going to grant her forever, only the extent of her human life, to be with him. Vote or no vote, he was still reluctant to rob her of her humanity as quickly and readily as she wished to shed it. Her face fell at his words and grew a little harder but she said nothing.

"But so much more than that, I want to say those things to you that are said in those vows. I want to follow in my father's footsteps...I want my choices to make him proud," he finished.

She understood his speech had come to a close and she seemed to contemplate his every word. He waited patiently for her response because, unlike her, time was not an issue for him.

"You haven't ever told me something like this before," she toyed with the collar of his shirt, "You haven't ever said you wanted to make Carlisle proud. You rarely call him your father."

"He is my father," he answered, "In all the ways someone can be a father. And I call him it in my thoughts. I know it seems bizarre-"

"No," she interrupted softly, "It doesn't."

He smiled a little, relief washing over him at her reassurance. The earth seemed to spin again and the world seemed to start up, reminding him that it was acceptable to share these things with her.

He hated to admit that he was jealous. He loathed to admit that he feared a God he could not understand.

Carlisle and Esme loved quietly and fully, as they had done in their human lives. The good doctor loved his wife with a ferociousness that was so real it was barely touchable and she returned it with her abounding love, spreading it across the coven they called their children with a heart that was full.

They were not like Rosalie and Emmett; flirtatious and ostentatious and demonstrative and having a wedding every few years or so. Nor were they like Alice and Jasper; childish and wholesome and desperately romantic.

No,they loved quietly and entirely, shutting themselves behind closed doors and reading to each other by the light of a fire and making love to each other as reverently as prayer when they thought their children didn't know. They shared compassion with each other as if it were air. They had bound themselves entirely in their marriage, never wanting anything else other than what they had and had managed to combat the unhappiness of eternity by drowning solely in the other's contentment.

Edward had that with Bella and he wanted to show them that this was the case. That they could finally relish in his contentment too.

"My parents didn't have a good marriage," she shrugged and he knew that she had been effected by the erratic Renee and the awkward Charlie's poor coupling, "So I just didn't see it as important. I was frightened of what it can mean."

"I'm elated by what it can mean," he countered.

She smiled teasingly and he knew that she was about to rile him.

"You're frightened I'll go to hell for living in sin?"

Her laugh soared through the trees and the gentle mockery of it all made him feel embarrassed.

"It's my job to protect you in every way I can," he answered, a trifle more sternly than was really necessary.

"I know," she grew serious, her hand touching his face, "You've been lucky to see something beautiful."

"Not just beautiful," he whispered, "But holy."

"You're sentimental," she accused, smiling against his lips, "But such a change in belief doesn't come from nothing. I'll just have to trust your judgement."

"I would not have told you this if I didn't want you to know how important it is to me Bella," he said forcefully, though not with anger.

"I know," she tilted her forehead to rest against his, "I know. You're bringing me round. I just need some coaxing."

"Is my coaxing working?"

She nodded, her smile brilliant as the sun strengthened behind her, forming a halo around her beautiful face. He was impressed with its timing, its realisation that it was required to frame this moment for him and bathe him in the reassurance that she would not abandon him at the altar. He felt contentment.

"Yes, it's working."

Bella went home that evening, promising Alice that the first thing they would do in the morning, when she returned, would be to try the shoes again. He tentatively hoped that the reinvigorated tone of her voice was not simply for his benefit and she was truly ready to commit to him within the ancient bond of marriage.

He made his way up the stairs after she was gone, his hands sweeping over the bottom portion of the Cullen Cross as he stalled before it. It meant more to Carlisle than he could truly verbalise, even though he had tried many times to share it with Edward and with his wife in those early days. After trying to explain it to Rose, he had simply stopped and now it hung in whichever house they occupied, somewhere prominent enough to belong but discreet enough to seem just like another piece of art.

If Carlisle had brought anything from his previous life, wrapped up and bound in this hewn piece of wood, it was his desire to openly share his compassion and faith. At times Edward was both in awe and disgusted by how truly pure the other man was.

Carlise's library was at the far end of the hall, just off of the bedroom he shared with Esme. He could already hear their low voices, Carlisle ruminating over a patient he had lost that evening, unexpectedly, while Esme offered words of consolation that were so entirely genuine, Edward was at a loss to hear them. He tried to block them out for various reasons: one, it was distasteful and discourteous to listen to a private conversation that was laced with even more private thoughts and two, he felt like Carlisle would not want him to hear anguish days before his wedding.

He knocked on the door, but being vampires themselves, they had heard him coming and quieted anyway.

The library was warm and a fire danced idly in the hearth, throwing shadows carelessly onto the books and furniture in the room. Solely for medical texts, the room bore the most ancient quality of all the rooms in their house. It smelled indescribably old, of parchment and oil and ancient leather, and was home to texts from around the 6th century, right up to yesterday's Lancet.

"Good evening Edward," Esme was first to greet him, turning from Carlisle to allow him time to compose himself.

In her head, she had suppressed the urge to be annoyed at him for entering but he had seen it there anyway before she was able to quell it. Her mouth quirked in an apologetic smile and she bowed her head, her hand reaching for Carlisle's on his knee.

"Tough shift Carlisle?"

It was like old times, when it had just been the 3 of them in Ashland, trying to navigate this new triumvirate of immortality. Deep conversations that delved into the night and met the morning, with none of them sleeping through any of it. He had been restless and rebellious, Carlisle had been lost and withdrawn and Esme had been awkwardly between them; loving one as a mother and the other as a wife but unable to show either of them how she felt for fear of not being enough.

No, he corrected himself, it was nothing like old times.

"Yes," Carlisle answered, but dressing his face with a smile, continued, "How is Isabella?"

Carlisle could not abide portmanteaus or the shortening of a given name and struggled to call Bella by the name she liked. Edward smiled at his habit that was so telling of his human reality that was so antiquated now.

"Better than she was," he answered, sitting beside Esme on the couch.

"I imagine being forced to wear high heels might do that to someone," he looked to his wife, who shared with them an amused smile, "Esme?"

"I can't remember," she shook her head, "But for a human, I'm sure it must hurt terribly. Don't the nurses at the hospital complain vociferously regarding their quest for height?"

He chuckled then and Edward was glad to hear it, after witnessing his despondency at losing a patient, "They don't include me in these conversations."

"Why ever not?" She said dryly, then turned to Edward, "She will be content, she is just nervous."

"I know," he smiled to himself, not wishing to reveal what he had shared with Bella and the reason for his sudden sureness, "I know she will be."

"I am going to compose my wedding speech tonight," Carlisle volunteered, pointing to the paper that lay half finished on his desk, the wet ink glittering in the fire light.

Perhaps for any other son, this might make him afraid of humiliation or mockery, but Edward was deftly aware that this was not Carlisle's style. His style was entirely the opposite.

"Nothing too heavy, Carlisle," he said, half-joking.

"Do not worry," Esme assured, "It is on my behalf as well, so I will ensure it is not too sentimental."

"A nasty accusation," Carlisle murmured, but it was not entirely serious.

He reached for Esme's hand and Edward was warmed to see him lift it to his mouth to place a kiss between her knuckles. If she could have blushed, and if Carlisle could have looked more smitten, it would almost have been improper to watch. There was indescribable love dancing in their eyes.

They were not asking him to leave but he wanted to anyway.

Tonight, Carlisle so evidently needed to close his library door and be with his saviour. People would have said Carlisle was the leader of the family and truly, he was, but behind him was the quiet presence of Esme. She pulled him through those moments where the weight of his eternity pressed onto him and those things that he had witnessed pressed against his eyelids with an intensity which crippled him.

And Edward had found that in Bella. Someone to stand at his back, while he reached behind to grasp for her.

"Carlisle?"

He turned at the door, his hand lingering on the handle as he stalled.

"Yes Edward?"

That smile was there again – his half smile curling the side of his mouth and pushing his dimples to rise on his cheek.

"I'm getting married," he laughed and the sound was crystalline and pure.

The couple before him smiled, their marble skin reflecting the light from the fire, casting them in a blaze of glory. He could hear their thoughts.

I have never been more proud of you, young Edward.

You're making him so proud, darling, thank you. He can rest now.

"Thank you," he murmured and for two seconds wished that they could read his thoughts.

He could not share them, could not verbalise them, could not show them exactly how they were in his head. So he used his words, words that were simple and uncomplicated.

"Thank you very much for letting me be in your life,"he smiled, "Both of you."

On the way back down the stairs, he brushed his hand over the cross again. This time he allowed his hands to linger over the grains, feeling the history of his family bleeding from the knots and lines and hardness of the wood. It was something holy.

He thought of Carlisle's words just before he turned his back on them in those years where he had been lost; "Even the damned find redemption. Even the damned can find holiness."

He had witnessed holiness, dressed in the robes of love and now he had found his.

Thank you for reading this story. I would be very grateful if you would review it, particularly as it's my first foray into the the Twilight universe.