Benedict looked up at the clock. It was starting to get late--finally. He had been working all the afternoon and into the early evening. The Honor Guard and bodyguards were taken care of, and Gerard...and the rest...they were being taken care of too. Things were almost shaping up here. Almost. Once the protocols were taken care of, he switched to the investigations of the murders. He went from crime scene to crime scene hearing the news--nothing. They had nothing. What investigation? he thought caustically to himself, less than pleased at the proceedings. One by one, he opened up the rooms again.

As he stretched his neck, a guard came barreling up to him in the hallway. "Um, Captain sir?"

Benedict turned to him wearily, "Yes?"

"There's been a bit of an incident, sir. You're wanted up at the infirmary."

"Thank you," he said, dismissing the guard. He turned to the investigators. "Carry on. Once you've found something, get ahold of me." With that, he was gone, walking his way up to the infirmary for the tenth time today.

He arrived quickly and without further incident. A rather strange scene greeted him; there was a bluish-skinned man sitting on a table dripping on it. Callandra was near him, moving from one foot to the other. Not far from him was another man of his ilk, but apparantly unhurt like the first. On yet another table was Admiral Damon of the Amber fleet. He was badly injured, and the staff was working on him quietly, but competently from what Ben could see.

Ben glanced to take all of this in, then asked a general question, "What happened?"

The first gentleman looked in Ben's direction saying in a defeated tone, "We lost Rebma." The other one looked up and caught sight of Ben. He nodded to himself, then got off the table and approached.

"There's more to it than that, I am afraid, Your Highness," he said calmly. "Better that you should hear that from one who understands its significance more than we. I asked that you be summoned because I wish to surrender into your custody a war criminal, as per the treaty Rebma forged with Amber some twenty years ago."

Benedict frowned, feeling very confused, "You're surrendering?"

He nodded, sketching a slight bow, "Yes. My name is William, and I am Prince and, until this moment, Regent of Rebma."

Benedict nodded very slowly, trying to understand exactly why William was turning himself in. "For what crimes?" he asked, hoping for more information.

William sighed deeply. "For the willful and harmful breach of the treaty and conspiracy to commit genocide. I expect you can come up with several others, but those would be the highlights." Benedict just stood there for a few moments, trying not to boggle at the thought. He rubbed his jaw thoughtfully, trying to reorganize his thoughts. This was the last thing he expected upon coming here.

"Well, then," Benedict said somewhat uncertainly, "if the, ah, criminal will come with me..." William bowed slightly again, and ended up following Benedict to a comfortable cell.

Upon reaching the cell, Ben turned to William. William said after a moment, "Thank you, Your Highness. My niece will have some news you will want to hear, I suspect." With that, he walked into the cell.

"Ah, yes," Benedict said ungainly, not really knowing what to say. It was most bizarre. The door shut, and was locked behind William. Ben just stood there for several long moments regarding it. Finally, he took out his Trumps. Llewella has to be sick and tired of hearing from me... he thought as he shuffled out his sister's Trump.

The contact took forever to establish. When it came through, it showed Llewella in the kitchen, sitting at a table. She looked up, asking, "Yes?"

"Do you know that William is currently in a cell?" Ben asked mildly, wondering if that was news to her.

She shut her eyes indicating that she didn't know it, and she confirmed it with, "No, I didn't. But I am not surprised. It is like something he would do...he did turn himself in, didn't he." It wasn't a question.

He nodded, "I won't ask what for. Not my business." And it really wasn't--his business was castle safety. It was best if he kept his mind on that. Of course, some could argue that it was really the family the Captain was supposed to protect, but Benedict found that rather...self-centered. "Safety protocols are done, and the investigation into Gerard's death is underway," he said absently. "The others, well, they're next. William...interrupted me." He stopped, waiting for new orders or information.

She nodded, "I need to tell you what's happened, but...not now. Not right now." She shook her head, and was it his imagination or was her voice wavering a bit? He frowned, cocking a brow to indicate interest, but he didn't interrupt her. "Go ahead and carry on. I'll be calling you in a little while...pardon if I interrupt anything."

He nodded, briskly, and ignored the attempt at humor, "Very well." With that, he cut the contact, and went to the next thing on his agenda...which was either Flora's or Random's investigators. It was the same as before--nothing. Absolutely nothing. He got back to his office and finalized the transfer of guard's duty to either bodyguards or Honor Guard. For most of the rest of the afternoon, he gave them specific instructions on how to deal with the Asgardians. He also made sure to tell them that if any of them (family included) had any problems with the assignments to tell him. No one else, just Ben.

As he was finishing up, he felt the familiar tingle of a Trump call. He answered it immediately. It was Llewella. She was sitting in her own room, holding a mug of something in one hand, and his Trump in the other. "Can you spare a few minutes?" she asked tenatively. When he nodded, she offered her hand after setting the mug down. He took it and stepped through the connection.

Her rooms were pleasant, and pleasant smelling, but in disarray. Mentally, he tsked at his sister, disliking the clutter. Still, he could mostly ignore it as it was most 'feminine stuff'...clothes, accessories, make-up... He had lived with enough women to turn a blind eye to most of their messes. He took a seat that she offered, and sighed. His foot--while healing nicely--still ached after being on it most of the day.

"Did William tell you anything when he turned himself in?" she asked, straightforward and direct. He liked that, but shook his head.

"Just that it was in accordance with that treaty," he replied calmly, "that he broke it, and conspiracy to commit genocide." He paused for a moment, seeing images flash briefly in his memory. That word was perhaps his least favorite word in all his experience. He'd seen too many attempts at doing just that first hand. "I wasn't about to question him at the moment," he said, rather subdued, "Not my job." Thankfully, he added mentally.

"Oh, Uncle William," she murmured, putting her face into her hands for a moment. She dropped them a few seconds later, and looked a touch angry. "What he means is that he failed to do the impossible, and my mother succeeded in forging a pact with the enemy."

That drew a surprised look from Ben as the shock rolled over him. Revulsion filled him afterwards, knowing what these things were. "Should I ask?" he asked rhetorically. He certainly didn't want to hear it, but had the sneaking suspicion he was going to anyway.

She shook her head, "It's nothing that won't become known soon enough. Rebma was to remain uninvolved while the legions of the Glaskinfrok stormed Amber. In return, they wouldn't be obliterated." She sighed heavily, the last few days wearing on her, "And then my mother was taken, and left William holding the mess she created. He'll take full responsibility for it...it's his way...even though he had nothing to do with it."

Benedict snorted loudly, thinking of what he used to do to traitors. "Peachy," he grumbled, scratching his jaw.

She nodded, "That's all secondary to the real point of this conversation, however." She stood, and paced around the room. He straightened up to listen to her, and walked her as she walked. It was so like his own stride, just...diminished. Shorter, yet still as determined. "This afternoon, as the Wyrm was passing through Rebma, the Royal Palace there was stormed by Deep Ones. No one knows where they came from. The Gate is still sealed. They had to have been lying in wait. They made their way through the castle--through a large number of Rebman guards, and a couple of our hitherto unknown siblings--and down to the Pattern room."

"Why wasn't I told of this earlier?" he demanded, "What exactly happened?" It rankled him that so much happened that he didn't know about. Well, that's why she's telling you. Be calm. Still water. He exhaled silently, watching his sister with an unhappy look.

"By the time word reached us here, there wasn't anything that anyone could do," she muttered. "They..." she stopped, voice broken with anger, "goddamn it. There's no decent way to say this. The goddamn things managed to traverse it, Benedict." She swiveled her gaze to look at him straight, "They walked the Pattern."

Benedict blinked. "But that's impossible," he protested, frowning. "Only those of Dwo--" and then he stopped, shuddering. Only those of Dworkin's blood can walk it...and survive. Too many new relations, that was for sure. He'd be happy if he never saw another new member of his family ever again.

He clenched his fist, "Whose, though? Dworkin's...Primus'?" He shook his head, shivering with the thought again.

"I don't know," Llewella sighed, "It could be either. It could be one of those umpteen unknowns Grandfather has only recently condescended to reveal to us. I only know they made it through, and then they vanished. We couldn't get an exact number, but it's believe at least four of them." There was absolutely nothing that Benedict could say to that. Impossible...that's impossible... he thought over and over again, just trying to get used to the idea. He shook his head intermittantly, and Llewella waited and watched him for a few moments before shrugging.

"After than, there's not much to tell. Rhyvin--Callandra's father--Trumped her when he realized they were too badly outnumbered to stop the things or survive if they stayed. That's how he, Damon, and William came to be here." She stopped and added in a low tone, "Our sister Ruby did not make it out."

The sudden loss of an unknown sister didn't shock him. He just shrugged, showing indifference. Why should he care? Three of his other siblings were dead--and those he knew and loved. This was nothing compared to that loss.

To get both their minds off the dead, he abruptly changed the subject, "The Asgardians. How much of a help have they been so far? And what's the status on our own Pattern?"

She returned to her chair and picked up her mug. "Want some coffee?"

He grunted, "Coffee would be good, thanks." She got up and found another mug for him, then filled it before reseating herself.

"The Asgardians are still settling in, and haven't had much to say since they got here. And the status of the Pattern remains unchanged," she said, once comfortable again.

"Well, that's something, so far," he replied. "I guess." After a few minutes of silence between the two of them, he asked, "Has a battle plan even been though of yet, Llewella?"

"There's always a battle plan," she murmured. "What's lacking is the conviction on the part of anyone involved that it will do any good." She paused thoughtfully, "Except maybe for Thrawn..."

Ben frowned slightly, "How's he working out?"

"Well, so far he's averted one major catastrophe, causing a couple of minor ones in the process, impressed the hell out of Breetai, relieved Lord Feldane's condition, and begun a massive survey of the surrounding area with the intent of improving his own knowledge so as to better prepare against the enemy." She shook her head. "The word 'juggernaut' comes to mind. I'm rather glad he's not on the other siide."

Benedict considered all she had said about him, then nodded with approval. It was nice to know someone was getting something done. He shrugged slightly with her last comment, "Count one for us then." He paused, contemplating. "You ever get the feeling that this is just some sort of game, Llew?"

"And we're the pieces?" she nodded, sipping at her coffee.

"I'm glad I'm not the only one feeling that then," he said primly. HE glanced down into his mug as he swished the contents around. "Everything's related, as I was telling Fi sometime earlier today...this is too much of a coincidence to be happening all at once."

"I suspect," she said, "that it's a domino effect of some kind. We're just too far removed from the first domino to see it. Or the players, whoever they may be."

He nodded in agreement. "We need to cut to the chase here. Find the source. How...is another question."

"Well. What have we got? The enemies we've already been told about--Primus and the Glasinkfrok. And whoever's behind what's happened to Gerard, Flora, and Random, if it's not one of those parties, or more than one force."

He nodded again, "I know that I'm missing something." He sighed, thinking, There's just so much you hadn't told us, Father. If maybe you had tried to prepare us, we might have had a shot... He shook his head to clear it, "I'm just so fu--er," he stammered, realizing what he had just about said, and in front of his sister, "screwed up right now to think clearly."

Llewella stared at him for a second, then smiled quirkily. "Benedict...if I told you I used to be married to a sailor, would you loosen up enough to allow yourself to swear in my presence, at least?"

He frowned, "You were married?" That shocked him. He had never thought about any of his siblings being married--he had just assumed that they would duly notify the family and arrange the wedding with them in mind too, as he would have done. That something that important should be kept secret...it shocked him, and stung a bit as well.

She nodded, her smile turning sad, "He's...gone. For some time now."

He nodded, giving out a bit of a sigh. I shouldn't condemn her for that. It was her own decision, and I can't say that I've been so open and honest either. Aloud, he said, "I think all of us have stories like that." He took a drink of his coffee, thinking of Jess.

After a moment, he shook himself. "Anyhow, congratulations, and I'm sorry. A bit late, but the sentiment is there, nonetheless."

"Thank you," she smiled at him, and warmly too. "I wonder now...why I never told anyone. If there really was a reason..."

He almost smiled back at her, "I think I understand. I'm a private person; I like my space. I'd imagine...all of us are like that, to a lesser or greater degree." He paused, then added, "We just get so caught up in what we're doign, too, to ask what anyone else is. To even care sometimes."

Her smile faded, "It's sad, when you think about it. All these people we never knew who are gone, or might be gone now. Like Ruby. We'll never know what she was like. And gods know how many others there are, or were..."

"It is sad," he said, "But much as I hate to say it, I'd rather focus my grief on those I knew, rather than those I didn't. It's a tragedy, but it's also something that's too late to change."

"Aye. True enough." She fell silent.

Once again, he changed the subject to avoid further discomfort, "How are Bleys and Flora doing?"

"Not badly, all things considered. The stress is showing, but they seem to be getting along moderately well."

He nodded, "That's good to hear." He paused, then said thoughtfully, "I wonder where Random is."

She frowned into her cup, "I have a hard time believing he could be gone. But I can't imagine why, if he's in the same boat Flora is, he hasn't made himself known." She raised her brows at him and gestured to the coffee pot.

He held the mug out so she could refill it, "Unless Bleys seeing Flora was a fluke, I agree." He took a drink of the refreshed beverage and ahhed slightly. "I don't know... He had said when I last talked to him that he had some business somewhere, but that didn't go any further. Or hell, maybe he went to find Dad." Even as he said it, Ben knew that was wrong. If anything, he'd go find Mirelle.

"That's a thought," she said, then stopped suddenly. "Gods...you don't suppose he would have gone off to try to find Mirelle?"

He smiled slightly, "I had been thinking something similar, but after the procession..." He shrugged.

She nodded, "I'd say we should try to find him, but I haven't the first clue how. I still can't figure out how Bleys managed to spot Flora."

He sighed, I still wonder why him. Of all the people, why him. Benedict shifted slightly in his seat, "I know. Neither can I. If the Pattern were still accesible...since we could see Flora by looking through the sign of it...I'd suggest using that to go to him, wherever."

"That could be extraordinarily dangerous," she said, sounding a touch snippity. "Though it's a moot point right now, anyway."

He gave her another nod, "True, but we'll just send Bleys after him." He couldn't stop the bitterness seeping through a bit. After all, Bleys had not only endangered himself with his antics, but what was left of their sister. It was only fool's luck that kept both of them more or less intact...and he voiced that opinion with, "Since Bleys has so little regard for his own personal safety..." He shook his head, leaving it there.

She sighed heavily, "I do see your point...remind me to confiscate his Trump deck one of these days..." She shook her head, but somehow looked pleased through that. Benedict snorted loudly.

"I already threatened that, but he'd find another somewhere, or do some equally foolish thing in it's place." He sighed, "Anyhow, unfortunately, all we've got here is theory. Is there any way you could gain access to Dworkin's rooms, in case he's got...well, facts on some of these theories we've been bandying about?"

"I can look into it," she agreed, "Maybe one of the Hundred would know. Though I wouldn't put it past the old man to have made the place completely inaccesible to anyone but himself."

"Worth a shot, though," he commented, "The Jewel hasn't turned up yet either, has it?" It wasn't really a question, but a confirmation of the fact Ben already knew.

"No," she said, sounding pissed. "Apparantly, we're supposed to save the Empire without it. Or else there's some other contingency that hasn't been revealed yet."

He nodded, frowning again, "Has Dee been up to talk to you recently? She was pumping me for information earlier, but I didnt' have a whole lot to tell her."

"No, that's someone else I have to talk to yet tonight..." She sighed.

"Have you heard from Brand or Corwin?"

She shook her head in the negative, "Various members of the family have been trying to reach them all day. Nothing so far."

He grunted, that displeasing him mightily. He would give his left arm, diseased as it was, to know where they were and what they were up to.

"Considering how Corwin was behaving the last time I saw him," she remarked, her eyes flashing angrily, "I'm not entirely certain I want him back. No, that's not true. But I wish I knew what the hell he was about. And as for Brand...I've never known quite what to make of him."

"Neither have I, really. And yet people blame me for being distant." He peered into his cup, still disgruntled at what Caine said about him earlier. He chased the thought away with a drink.

"I think it's been said of most of us," she said softly, "and it's no more nor less true for any one of us than for the others."

"Speaking of which, have you talked ot Caine recently?"

"Not since this morning, why?"

Ben shrugged, "Just curious to see if he's settled down from last night." He stoppped, and added hesistantly, "He wasn't terribly pleased with me, when we talked last. And though this morning he was...distraught...it wasn't more than any of us, really. So..." He shrugged, losing track of his own thoughts.

Llewella sighed, "He was less than happy with me, also. Not that it's anyone's fault but his own. Shape-shifted doppelgangers..." She shook her head which he nodded his.

"No offense, but I'm rather glad I wasn't the only one to taste the sharp side of his wit."

"Likewise," she said dryly. "I suppose I should get used to it, though. I'm going to be on the receiving end of an awful lot of suspicion for some time yet, I imagine."

"It comes when rulers change," he said, trying to soothe any anxieties, "It'll pass soon enough."

"You know," she murmured, "I don't think I had a single secret really worth keeping before I took this job? Ah, well..."

He raised a brow, "Really? I don't think that's true. Everyone has secrets."

She laughed at that, and Benedict found himself relaxing when she did. It was a nice, mellow sound, and it had been a while since he remembered hearing her laugh. "Oh, certainly I had some..but it's like my husband...things I really had so little reason to keep hidden. Of course, nothing from back then seems so important now..." She rubbed at her temples, frowning, "Shells, listen to me. I'm talking like it was years ago."

"How long ago was it?" he asked with some interest.

"Carlin? Why, his ship went down..." Her frown deepened. "Actually, now that I think of it...I suppose it was years ago. Shadow time is so hard to judge...it doesn't seem that long, though."

He nodded again, thinking how long it had took him to discover the knack for keeping track of Shadow time relevant to Amber. It all boiled down a fairly short but complicated mathematical equation based on ratios and whatnot... He stopped letting his mind wander, and shrugged, "Once again, I can understand. These last few days have seemed like years to me." He slumped slightly into the chair and let out a deep, cleansing breath. Miles to go before you sleep; stay awake, idiot, he thought to himself, the last few days washing over him like a tidal wave. "Too much, too fast. It's a wonder that all of us aren't insane yet."

She laughed that mellow laugh again, "How would we tell if we were?"

Benedict smiled slightly at her, "I think I came close, once. It wasn't a pleasant feeling...it was..." He looked away, frowning at the thought. It wasn't pretty...he could still smell the charnel pits he had walked through with his platoon. It was nothing more than a slaughter house for people. The prisoners had wept uncontrollably when they arrived, and the bastards that had done this to their own people fought like devils to keep them out. Every sick and twisted part of the art he loved so much had confronted him that day. He had looked up at a shout, and stared into the commander's face...his own face. It was... "...it was pretty bad. And I've seen some horrible things." He looked back to his sister, "I think you'd know if you were losing it."

She nodded soberly, "That's an oddly comforting thought." She peered up at him, "You know...I never..." She paused, and he frowned, wondering what in the hell it was she wanted. After a while, she said almost shyly, "I heard all about those wonderful stories you used to tell the others...but I never got to hear any of them. Maybe someday when all of this has blown over, if we're still here...you could tell me a few?"

That wasn't what he was expecting. He flushed a bright red, but felt pleased, and warm at the thought. "Ah, yeah..." he said, swallowing hard. "Sure. I don't see any reason why not.." He stopped there, and forced himself to be calm again; it took him a fair bit of time. He continued when he felt in control again, "I should have made more of an effort to get to know you, you know. I just thought..." He shrugged his thin shoulders, "...that you were more like me. Wanted your privacy. Distance, or something."

She shut her eyes, and shook her head. "Of course you did. I never gave anyone any reason to think otherwise." She opened her eyes, and Benedict never noticed exactly how green they were. How nice. The things you notice.. he sighed mentally. "The truth is, though, I was shy...painfully so. I never felt as though anyone would have any reason to want to know me...so I made no effort to know them." She paused to drain her cup and sigh. "Amazing the way we punish ourselves for no good reason, and excuse ourselves for things we should regret always..."

Benedict smiled warmly at her, feeling her regret emanating from her, and feeling a touch regretful himself. "That's just the way it is, Llewella." They watched each other for a few moments before he stood and set the cup aside. "I really should get going. Still have things to do."

She nodded, and got up to walk him to the door. When they reached the door, he turned to her, "Ah, I hate to ask...but Callandra mentioned you were a Trump Artist?"

Llewella blinked, obviously not expecting that question. "Yes, I am."

He rested his hand on the pommel of his sword and shifted his feet slightly, "How well do you have to know the subject? I mean, if you had a picture...could you, er, make one from that?"

She frowned, "From a picture, I doubt it. I'd need something a bit closer to the subject. A personal impression from someone who knew them well."

He nodded, considering that. Easy enough to tell her about Jess...and hell, if she made the Trump, she'd be meeting her soon enough.. He looked back to his sister, "If I could ask a favor sometime, and have you draw me a Trump?"

The question seemed to delight her. "Of course I will, Benedict. I'd be glad to."

He smiled back at her, "Thank you. This means a lot to me." He turned to leave, then turned back to look at her. He wavered for a moment, then put his arms around her in a brotherly hug. She sank into his arms, and they just stood that way pleasantly for a few moments. This was the first time he could ever remember hugging her.

He ducked his head low and whispered in her ear, "I love ya, sis." He had dropped into an easy accent, one he did when truly relaxed. "Remember that, cuz in the next few days, I'm apt to be a bastard at times."

"I love you too, brother," she whispered back, leaning on him for a few seconds more, just like...well, like a little sister. She leaned back and added, "Don't worry about being a bastard...you haven't even begun to see what a bitch I can be when somebody calls up my Rebman side."

He gave her one more squeeze before releasing her completely and straightening up. "I'm sure some other crisis will come up in the next few hours, so I'll talk to you then."

She stepped away, and opened the door. "Take care, Benedict," she said, smiling. "And don't let that arm go too long without attention, all right?"

He glanced down at it involuntarily, rather wishing she hadn't brought it up. "I won't," he answered succinctly. He exited before he could ruin the nice feeling that still hung in the air.

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