Benedict's musings were interrupted by a massive boom, followed by loud crashing noise. It was from the castle proper, and it alarmed Benedict. Are we under attack? was the thought that ran through his mind. He quickly grabbed his replacement sword and belted it on, then rushed through the castle to where the noise originated from. Standing there already were Llewella, Bleys, Eric, and Fiona. The room they were in was the main dining hall, and across the broken table was Gerard, broken and bloodied.
Eric had his sword drawn, and was wearing some kind of black plate armor, with red highlights. He stepped forward and knelt by Gerard, checking their brother over. Benedict was just gaping, and uttered, "My God..." That was about all he could think of to sum up his feelings.
Bleys moved over, stepping to the ground above Gerard's head. He sat down cross-legged and bent over their brother. After a heartbeat's pause, he drew out Gerard's Trump and tried to activate it.
Benedict glanced around the room, taking his eyes off the awful sight. Llewella seemed to be in shock, and was shaking her head. She approached Gerard, murmuring, "Gods of the Deep. Gerard..." The rest seemed to echo the sentiment, as Benedict did himself. What could have happened to him? He was...should have been...almost invulnerable with all the energy he had in him...
As if possessed, Gerard lurched to life suddenly...as all who were around him were pushed back slightly, as if by some invisible force.
His arm raised up, and his body lurched, as if trying to rise. He was only to fall back down again, hard. "Heh...oh damn..oh." He hacked and wheezed, as blood flew from his mouth. "Damn...all this time. Waited all this time...you bastard...Oh....oh damn. And you're all here. Oh it would've been....ack...oh it would have been so nice...so perfect....You...you....ohhh....." Then he slumped over, again.
"Gerard, dear...can you hear me?" Llew tried to approach him again, and made as though to touch him, but then seemed afraid to. "Somebody do something. Damn it. Somebody..."
In that awful silence, Gerard's harsh breathing stopped.
At this point, Llew, now quite frantic, said "Gerard, Lievz. Goddamn it, we're losing him. Someone DO SOMETHING!" Everyone was still, in shock.
"Gods above and below," Eric breathed. "No, come on, Gerard... breathe for me..." He leaned in close for a moment, pushing gently on his chest, then shaking his head. "Damn you, Gerard," he hissed. "Had to go and die on us, you son of a bitch." Eric rose with a clanking of armour. "Couldn't even have the decency to live long enough to tell us what happened." He stalked away from the body, head bowed. He's dead, Ben thought dully to himself, feeling a surge of emotion go through him. He recognized it, and knew what it would do to him...so he suppressed it. You've seen Death before, he reminded himself, You've caused it, been responsible...this is no different. None. Control. Control.. Images swam before his sight, of close friends and lovers dying sometimes gruesome deaths. He felt dizzy, but kept on repeating to himself to keep everything under control.
As Eric walked away, Bleys dropped his Trump. He remained silent, looking forward at nothing. After a few moments, he blinked and looked around. Bleys then bowed his head, weeping. Fiona moved over and sat next to him, holding Bleys tightly.
Llewella turned with a start at the sound of Fiona's footsteps, and seeing the look on Bleys's face, took a half-step toward him. She seemed to want to comfort Bleys, but withdrew as Fiona was doing just that. Her eyes were drawn back unwillingly toward the body, and as though the strength had suddenly left her, she sat down...on the floor, if nothing else is handy. Tears began to trail down her face, but still she made no sound; she just stared at their dead brother.
The sound of running feet was be heard, echoing through the far too silent and empty castle. Finally they ceased, at the point of the door, "What was that sound? I heard it halfway from the cit----Gerard!!" As Caine rushed past all assembled and landed atop his brother's body, shaking it and slamming his fists over Gerard's chest.
At Caine's entrance, Bleys managed to raise his tear-streaked face from Fiona's shoulder. "It's too late Caine. It's too - ", but he's cut off as Caine's entire body began to glow and melt like wa. His entire mass poured itself around Gerard, as if coating him.
Bleys watched this in amazement, though his sadness did not seem to be abated, he's rather shocked by the latest turn of events.
"What the hell is he doing?", Bleys asked Fiona quietly. Time passed, as the bodies seemed to shake, and quiver, and pulsate.
"What the hell...?" Eric stared at the pair, a mix of shock and horror.
Llewella rose and moved towards Bleys. On the way, she tossed in Eric's direction, "Don't worry about it. He's trying to help...it can't hurt to let him try..." But she shook her head sorrowfully, clearly holding out little hope that it will do any good.
Llewella stopped momentarily, hugging herself, watching intently, not daring to hope that Caine can do anything. "Someone," she finally said, quietly, as though not really caring if anyone listened, "had better get on the Trumps and try to raise Julian."
After a few moments of watching with some interest, Bleys lowered his head back down to the floor. "He's dead. God.. he's dead.. it's too late.. too damned late..", he muttered, at least theoretically at Caine, though he doesn't raise his head, or his voice.
With her arms still wrapped tightly around her body, Llewella resumed her journey. She maked her way over in Bleys' direction, and sank down into a crouch beside him. "Bleys...what did you see?" She spoke very softly, the raw grief in her voice softened a bit by concern.
Ben just...stood there, hand gripped on the pommel of his sword, as if he could chase away Death with that. Never once did his thoughts turn towards blame, just the cause, and some hope that maybe whatever Caine was doing would work. He felt that he had it pretty much under control now. He also felt this was a good thing, because everyone else seemed to have a hard time of it. He felt...distant.
Bleys seemed to be making a concious effort to keep it together.. he spoke slowly, tears streaking down his face. "Images.. Caine.. A strange mask.. strangling.. then falling.. into darkness.." he paused then repeated, as if tasting the words, "Such darkness. Cold... nothing.. then nothing.. I.. I felt him leave," Bleys' voice seemed to on the verge of breaking up, and he looked to Llewella, then Fiona, he smiled vaguely. He wobbled, then fell into Fiona's arms. She murmured, "Bleys...Bleys...not you too. Wake up, brother."
The forms stop shaking, and quivering, and for a brief time, they solidified into only Caine, and then into only Gerard, and then into an odd meddley of them both...brothers they may be, but they look little alike in the face. It made for an odd combination.
Finally however, the bodies flowed into wax once more...and then Caine rose up, reforming into himself, still sitting atop his brother as he was but minutes before.
The tears were flowing freely down his face...though his breath is not labored. "Nothing...there was nothing left of him...not a damned thing....Gerard oh Gerard you dumb bastard...why didn't you come back with me....Gerard..." with each word he grew more and more quiet, till in the end, his voice just trailed off into nothing.
Eric watched as Benedict did himself: quietly, with nothing to offer the rest of the family. He can't be dead, Benedict thought. It's a trick somehow. Not real. It was a lie, but one he grasped willingly.
"Benedict," Llewella said, turning to him and wiping her eyes, for what little good it does, "would you be kind enough to assist me in contacting the rest of our siblings." He was about to respond an affirmative when she took out her own deck and began to shuffle through. He turned back to Gerard, letting her do it. She stopped abruptly.
She stared at the card on top of her deck. Her expression did not change, but the little color remaining in her face began to drain away...and continued to do so as she slowly flipped through the deck.
By the time she got about three-quarters of the way through, she's as pale as the walking dead, her eyes wide and unseeing, and she had begun to shake uncontrollably. The cards fell from her nerveless hands to scatter on the floor at her feet, and she began to whisper something to herself. Benedict turned his attention to her at the soft sounds, not quite making out the words.
Eric stepped forward, a puzzled frown evident. "What is the matter?" He began hurrying towards the Regent, armor clanking, as he laid a hand on her shoulder.
She startled violently, apparently not having heard the armor at all. "The Trumps. All their Trumps. Th-they're dead. Flora's. Random's. Corwin's...everyone but us, and Julian..." At that, Benedict frowned slightly. Trick. It has to be. Someone's messign with the Trumps. He remained steadfast in this belief...one brother being dead (maybe) was enough. Half the family....he couldn't accept that. He wouldn't accept it.
Llewella sat, head bowed, for a few moments longer. Then she sighed deeply, and rose to her feet. With a fragile air, she walked slowly over to the table, and forced herself to take a long look at Gerard. Her eyes continued to run.
"We can't..." she finally said, just above a whisper. "We mustn't leave him here like this." She reached out with a trembling hand to tenderly brush his hair back from his face. "There's no one here to care for him except us."
"Sniff. He's my brother...my responsibility...I'll handle this," Caine said. "Oh Unicorn...first dad and now this...oh where am I going to put his body...damnit." Caine fell silent again, his head hung in remorse.
That remark struck a nerve in Ben. "Last time I checked," Benedict said while moving forward toward where Gerard lay, "He was brother to all of us."
He was really stiff, and it seemed hard to get moving. The reason was that he was tense, and every muscle in his body had locked into place, refusing to move at first. When he finally reached Gerard, it seeming an eternity. He knelt down by Gerard, and reached out a shaky hand. Control! he screamed to himself, and laid his hand down to rest on Gerard's arm. It seemed the shake only increased once he touched the cooling flesh.
He looked up in a few moments, "There must be other ways of getting ahold of them." His voice was calm, almost sedate. This was good. He glanced to Fiona, then back to the Ruler, "Perhaps a spell?"
At that moment, a tallish man who was very handsom entered the room. He was dressed entirely in black, except for a white shield strapped over his left arm, and a golden blade strapped over his back. Probably hand and a half, Ben thought to himself absently. Around his neck was a very intricate horn, like one used in hunting. He nodded towards Llewella and Eric, then spoke, "Empress, Lord Eric, it is good to find you both still alive."
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