Benedict was in his rooms in the Castle. Compared to some of his other siblings' rooms, they were decorated sparsely. The sitting room had one couch and several chairs arranged around a coffee table for receiving visitors. The walls had examples of his most loved weapons hung neatly on it. Numerous specimens of swords were interspaced among polearms and crossbows, as well as some more exotic weapons that he'd found out in Shadows. A desk, covered with papers, was tucked into a niche by the window. A Japanese screen depicting a tiger hunt seperated his sitting room from his bedroom.

His bedroom consisted of a king-sized bed, a massive wardrobe, and a footlocker at the end of the bed. Simple again, more so than the sitting room, with no decorations adorning the walls, and a plain quilt upon his bed. A door connecting to the bath was across from the archway connecting the sitting room.

Benedict was sitting on his bed, sharpening his preferred weapon when he heard the door open in the other room. Thinking it was just servants--as no one had bothered him in the few days he'd been back to Amber--he didn't rise to check it out, but continued with what he was doing.

Imagine his surprise when his Father, King Oberon of Amber, and his Grandfather Dworkin darkened the door. He stood, setting aside the blade and whetsone, and started to greet them.

"Must you always have a weapon?" Oberon shook his head as the two enter, eyeing the sword with distaste.

Benedict had the good grace to flush slightly, "Not always." He stood there, uncomfortably, but managing to stand basically still as they address him. It was always like this...since he took up the sword. Neither of them liked his hobby much.

"Sit down, sit down, young pup." Dworkin tossed out.

Benedict reseated himself, wondering what brought them to visit.

"We have much to talk about son." Oberon said, as he seated himself.

Benedict nodded, looking a touch grim, but no more than normal for him currently, "About what, Father?" He had a sinking suspicion that somehow he was in trouble, though he didn't feel he did anything wrong. It was a feeling he hadn't enjoyed since childhood.

"First off, Eric told us everything...including your time with him in Arduin." Uh oh. Benedict sat a touch straighter as Dworkin said this, sensing in here a trap somewhere. He nodded slowly. What use is there in his denying it?

"I was wondering what your use in not telling us all these years was," Oberon stated, stretching his massive shoulders out a little. Yup, Ben was in trouble for something that wasn't his fault.

"Eric felt his privacy was important. I agreed with him." Simple enough answer.

"His privacy...yes...the safety of my first grand-daughter is even more so important." Benedict nodded again, agreeing.

"And, since you both felt it was necessary to keep that away from us...her life is now endangered." What? Ben thought to himself, Jackie's in danger? Eric would have Trumped...well, maybe not if this happened recently, after he killed Gregory.

He frowned slightly, "Are you telling me that I was to go against her father's wishes?" Answer a question with a question, safest way to go here until he could reason out their moods.

"Yes...unless your vows to your brother are more important than your vows to the Throne."

Benedict got the feeling that he was digging himself deeper and deeper, "As far as I knew, Eric was exiled at the time. Wouldn't that make her disinherited?" He was polite and respectful, but the question was made out of curiosity.

"Maybe yes, maybe no. But that decision was, and still is, mine to make. Not yours, not his," Oberon said, pausing to gather his thoughts.

"But, now she is missing, taken by an enemy beyond your understanding...and Eric's...even though it's all Eric's fault." Not entirely, Benedict thought dismally, You're blaming me too, after all.

Still, no matter who was to blame, Jacqueline was his niece, his only niece, and Ben was worried, distressed over this news. "Have steps been taken to recover her? Where's Eric?" He resisted the impulse to jump to his feet, somehow staying seated.

"Eric is here, in the castle. As for steps being taken, we've only known about it for two hours. Steps will be taken, just not now."

Benedict raised a brow at that, and ventured cautiously, "If that's what you think is best..."

Dworkin's voice broke through the silence, cutting off even Oberon. With a chilly, distant tone, the words tumbled forth. "What was best would have been for her to be brought to us, to Amber, and not allowed to run wild in the fringes of Shadow. That is lost to us now...and now I must try to prevent her from being lost to us as well."

Benedict struggled to keep his cool, nodding slightly. "With all due respect," he said dryly and acridly, "it's already done now, and there's no use dwelling on it. If I can help in your plans to recover her, be assured, anything you ask will be done." There, that should satisfy the old man, he thought bitterly to himself.

"Shut up Child." For one of the rare moments, anger crept into Dworkin's face. "All that you have ever known, all of reality itself is now in peril. And with all due respect," dry as well "I think you've helped quite enough already."

Anger started to surface in Ben's features...he can't hide it. But he took the criticism in a stony silence, not offering anything further, retreating instead to an immutable position of silence.

"I've had enough of your children for one night Oberon. I have preparations I must make, and their attempts to look down upon me and what I've done and what I'm doing have worn even my patience thin. You finish speaking with the rest." Dworkin then rose, pulling his robes close, and left the room, leaving father and son alone together.

"He's a triffle upset right now," Oberon offered up.

Benedict nodded slightly, still angry and hurt. After all, he was trying to help, to offer aid, and it was promptly and harshly refused. "I can understand. I think we all are."

"No, that's the biggest part...you don't...and you probably can't understand. I barely do myself. You must remember, Dworkin predates reality as you know it. He's watched the citizens of Amber slaughtered to the man, and barely blinked an eye. Mirelle's death had almost as little effect on him. For the first time in all the millenia I've known him, I've never seen him scared. Till Today. And your attitude certaintly didn't help his disposition any."

"How was I supposed to know that he was scared? That things are so bad here when the two of you didn't tell me?" Benedict paused for a moment, then added, "After all, I tried to guard my niece the best I could, and feel her loss just as keenly."

"You weren't. But do you think that makes a difference in his eyes?"

Ben nodded reluctantly. Dad was right. It didn't matter to Dworkin. Grandfather never really cared about any of us...well, maybe Brand and Fi..Benedict thought to himself, though he tried to keep that particular thought from being broadcast across his features.

"Dworkin doesn't care about her loss. He'd rather have killed her years ago than face all this. Dworkin is worried about losing the Pattern," Oberon stated, almost matter of factly.

Benedict frowned, anger seeping away, "The Pattern? How is that possible?" The Pattern?!? Damn! How bad are things? Benedict's mind raced along, a cold fear settling over him.

"It's best you not know. Mostly because if you did know, Dworkin would probably kill you too. Let's just say it's possible and leave it at that." Once again, Oberon was matter-of-fact. The thought horrified Benedict...the Pattern was supposed to be indestructible!

Benedict ran a hand through his short hair, grimacing, "That bad, huh?" He shook his head, "Father, is there anything I can do?" Not that the warrior expected to be able to do anything. Pattern lore wasn't his strong point...except how to keep track of the time differential. At that, he excelled.

"Would you want people knowing how to destroy reality?"

He shook his head hurridly, "Of course not." Ben could barely deal with the thought, much less the thought of anyone else knowing this secret.

"And he's much older and bitterer than you."

"How long?"

"No, Benedict. You're a warrior, not a Pattern Master. This is not your battle. Dworkin will take the first steps tomorrow, after the mourning. I will need you all to remain in Amber, for the duration." At least steps were being taken.

Benedict was frustrated, and so he latched onto another subject, "What about Jacqueline?"

"What do you mean?"

"Is anyone to try and recover her? Deliver her from this threat? Or is.." he stopped, frowning, "..is Dworkin going to kill her when he finds her? If he finds her." The thought that his grandfather was so cold-blooded didn't surprise him, though it scared him plenty. After all, it ran in the family. Oberon was like that, and so was he.

"Jaqueline is still out there right now. She is still safe. With luck, we'll get her before she's lost. But, the wife is already taken...so we'll have to deal with that."

Benedict nodded, not liking what he hears, but accepting it. Pattern first, duty second, family last. Seemed to be a fact of life.

"Now, while we're dropping bombs on you, I might as well continue." Oh, great, Benedict thought to himself, What now? The warrior nodded. Might as well get it over with.

"Benedict...how do you feel, honestly, about not being named the Heir to the Throne?"

A brow rose, "What does that have to do with anything?" Ben held up a hand, hoping Oberon wouldn't just roll over him verbally, "I don't care really. Amber's my home, but due to my own actions, I feel as though I don't 'fit' here anymore. I don't mind."

"And what actions are those?"

He shakes his head, not choosing to elaborate.

"Just answer the question son."

"Benedict...I just told you that the Pattern could be destroyed, and you're going to try to hold back on me?" A frown crossed Ben's features again, "I would prefer not to talk about it. If I must, I will."

"It has nothing to do with Amber.." Benedict assured Oberon hastily.

"You must. It is important."

Benedict pondered this problem...on how to relate the events that's caused him to feel this way...in a relatively short time. "Father," he began slowly, "I just need to find my place in things. I'm directionless, right now. I feel uneasy about the why's of things. My pastime," he glanced up to you, "doesn't please you at all, and that troubles me as well. Why?"

"We shall come to that. Now, continue. Your actions."

He shrugged idly, trying to cover the rising panic "Fighting wars. I've seen too many things that my siblings haven't. I feel awkward around them...there isn't much more to say, really. Must I go into detail of everything?" He fervently hoped not...this was bad enough, but he knew once he got started--really started--everything he'd done 'wrong', real or imagined, would come pouring out. Just that small admission was hard enough.

"Heh I've already made other members of the family. MIght as well with you. But not right now. So, if I were to offer the Heir to you, right now, you wouldn't take it?"

It's a test! Ben's mind screamed, He wants to see if you're like Osric! Outwardly, he pondered this for a long while, struggling with an answer. "If you truly wished me to take it," he said slowly and carefully, "I would, but only because you wished it." Adding dismally, as though not brightened by the prospect, he murmured, "I would do my best, of course. That should go without saying."

Ben was definitely uncomfortable with how this talk was going, and shifted on his seat restlessly, as though a kid again.

"But do you want it?"

He shook his head, 'Not unless I have to take it." He chanced a bit of a smile, "Hell no."

"Good. Because, in truth, you don't deserve it." Ben didn't know what to feel at that...relief or disappointment.

Benedict snorted, taking the safe route, "Good." He didn't have to try hard to look relieved.

"Do you know why you don't deserve it?" Oberon smiled a little, breaking the monotony of his questions.

"Because I spend too much time honing my skills?" Ben knew his father disapproved of that, "Because I really don't give a damn for the throne?"

"Not at all. Dworkin didn't give a damn about the throne, and he ruled for more millenia than you have chest hairs. You don't deserve it...because you have an older brother. Two in fact.

"Or rather, you had."

Benedict nodded slowly, his face becoming a mask again. Another touchy subject, and Ben's stomach did leaps and jumps. Oberon was just lightening up too!

"Ahhh, Let me guess. You've seen your mother's diary."

He nodded again. No use denying it. "She had...fears." God, was there nothing this man didn't know??

"Fears?"

"Doubts, suspicions. She didn't agree with your decision to send them away of course.." He paused, a thought slowly dawning on him. Watching his father warily, he hazarded a question, "If it was Osric who murdered, why did Finndo go with him?" Benedict steeled himself to hear the answer.

"Two reasons. Eric's birth, Osric's rage...Finndo's career was ruined. And, would you just let your brother be sent off to his death alone?"

"Of course not," Benedict answered readily, "But I still feel his loss, not so much Osric's, but Finndo's." He paused, "I never had a chance to know either." He cast his eyes up to his father, not blaming the other man, but letting his father know how he feels about it.

"Benedict, if I'd sent you off with them, you'd be dead now."

Benedict nodded, "I know that." He declined, once more, to comment further.

"Now, as for why I am so discouraging of you and the sword...if you've had this diary, I'm surpised you couldn't figure it out," Oberon rattled off. Ben had, of course, but he wanted to hear this all the same. "I'd rather not have you fall victum to the same rages that consumed your brothers." Oberon paused. "I have also never named a clear heir, and I won't, until I have Finndo and Osric's bodies buried somewhere."

Benedict paused, considering Oberon's words carefully as the old man spoke.

"Father. I'm not my brothers," Ben thought for a moment, adding, "I won't say that I don't get hot tempered, but I try not to act on those impulses...more so after reading Mother's diary." He shrugged his thin shoulders, "I can understand that sentiment about them, not naming an Heir, that is." Nothing more to say, really. He does understand.

"You will do what you will, but I will never...no matter what you accomplish...be comfortable with you wielding a sword. You're almost as good as your brothers now..." Benedict gaped inwardly. Almost as good?!? What things they could teach me! He struggled for a moment, ruthlessly suppressing his urge to go out immediately and find them, and in doing so lost the rest of Father's words,"...and you never know how much rage there is within you till you are faced with a similar situation."

Benedict nodded, trying his best to look as if he was paying attention earlier. "I suppose," he said, "I can only try my best, and you can only trust me in my intentions." That should be good.

"Heh...I learned years ago to trust no one...not even family. Now, one final thing. And this I will need you to swear...on your life."

Benedict nodded again, noting to himself how he became the obediant child in Father's presence, "If you require it, you'll have it."

"Swear that you will never mention anything you have learned tonight, or anything you've thought about while we've been in here, to anyone else. Live, dead, animate, inanimate...no one. You are old enough to deserve to at least know what is happening, in case Dworkin fails and dies, and if I do as well."

That sinking feeling returned to Ben's stomach. He paused before answering, asking before he swears, "Is there anything else that I should know about before swearing this oath?" He frowned slightly, "What if you two die...? And Amber is in danger?"

"Probably. But time grows short. I need you to swear this now."

Ben stated simply, "I swear on my life.." he frowned, knowing that generally one swears in what one believes in...traditional in quite a few places. He goes on, though, making up with his lack of belief in anything with honesty, "I swear that I will speak of this to no one, unless comes a time that you release me from my vow." A heavy oath, and not many contingincies at all. Not a comfortable thing, and he shifted restlessly in his seat once again.

"Good. Now that that messy business is over with, I must be off." Oberon rose, and made to leave, and then stopped short. "Before I go though, I have one last thing for you. Your contingency as it were."

Benedict stood as well, preparing to see his father out. "And that would be...?" He asked, moving to stand near.

Oberon reached deep within his Robes and Tunic, searching around, finally pulling out a Trump card...one drawn in Dworkin's Hand, Ben could tell by the back, but it looks slightly different from his Trumps....and it felt stronger when Oberon passed it over to Benedict.

He examined the Trump closely, running his fingers over it. He turned his gaze back to Oberon, listening intently.

"If all else is lost, and you have foung the bodies of both Dworkin and I, and if walking the Pattern only brings you to those bodies...if all is sure we are dead, then contact this man. Never, ever, ever call him until then, no matter how bleak all may seem. And, also, show this to no one. Nor mention it."

Benedict examined the Trump again, seeing this: The trump is of a man dressed in red and gold armor, but aside from that, he appears almost identical to Oberon...though younger....granted the card is rather old.

After a thorough examination of the card, Benedict nodded, shuffling the Trump into his own for the meantime. "I swear this also, 'pon my life." He returned his look to study Oberon, "Things are most dire, aren't they?" Now, worry is seeping through, anxiety apparant on his face.

"No, they aren't. Hopefully everything will be resolved after the mourning." "Hopefully," Ben murmured. "Things wouldn't be troubled at all if Mirelle hadn't died, but as you said before, that is in the past. But no, everything should be fine. All this is a long way away from being a threat. Jaqueline will be safe...Jaqueline...hmph...Eric had no business in naming I wager...the name is too tasteful."

Ben shared the joke, a smile cracking his visage, "Indeed. His wife definitely outclassed him, in many aspects." He felt happy to be able to share a touch of humor with his father, who seemed almost alien to him now. Have I changed that much? he wondered idly.

"Most wives do Benedict...and trust me, I know better than most. Now, I must be off...damn I have too many children at times." And with that, he's gone.

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