Benedict threw another log and watched the fire hungrily eat at the wood. Besides himself, the yellow room was empty. The only sound that could be heard was the autumn wind howling and battering against the windows. Benedict didn't mind the lack of company. His mind was still ringing from the lengthy war council with his dad. It was surreal. Just when they'd all accepted and moved on, dad had come back into their lives as if he'd never left. Corwin hadn't said a word since Oberon's reveal. The moment they were back in castle Amber, his younger brother had stormed to the library, barricaded the doors and still not come out.

"Goodnight, sweet prince."

Brand's whisper made the warrior jolt upright from his chair, his dagger ready in his hand and his eyes darting over the dimly lit room. But aside from the wind howling outside, there was nothing else present. He must have dozed off. The warrior breathed slowly to calm his nerves and seated himself against the backrest, completely alert this time. As he sheathed his knife with his ghostly arm, Oberon's eldest living son paused and admired Random's craftsmanship. Everything, right to the tiniest vein, could be felt. If it had not been for the arm…

"Of what use is the finest swordsman alive if he cannot move to take up his blade?"

Not since he saw his older brothers fall prey to the allure of power, had he felt so vulnerable. Benedict had vowed to himself not to see history repeat with his younger kin and he had been pleased for a long time, that their words had stayed as they were – threats. Wounding and humiliating another of their kin, they all could like the best. But when push came to shove to kill the other, they all stopped their blades. They made excuses. The warrior had always hoped that this hesitation came forth for their persisting kinship. It was proof that they hadn't become entirely soulless, that they had a chance of redemption.

"You're a fool." Benedict repeated Brand's words out loud. It had never been kinship, it had been him. For his siblings, drawing his sword was equivalent to a bloodcurse, his name like a shield. Or so it used to be. Brand had meticulously twisted this to his advantage. The tall warrior groaned and rubbed his hands across his face. Over and over, his mind rewinded his reunion with his redhead brother. Over and over, Benedict went over the different directions, the angles and openings that his brother had flaunted with. Over and over, he saw Brand die in his mind and Benedict felt relief wash over him. He hadn't killed a brother this time around and-

Benedict became nauseous from his own thoughts. Even though Brand was clearly a threat to Amber and Martin, he felt sickeningly proud he'd uphold his moral code. Now that everyone relied on him to take care of their mad brother, the only task that was required of him in decades, he was celebrating his failure.

Perhaps he should have accepted Brand's offer, to later try and talk him out of his mad plans. B etter yet, he should have let Random go in his place. His youngest brother wouldn't have wasted any words and run Brand through the very moment he arrived, while HE should have been more persistent in his trump calls to Martin when he went off the radar. He should have warned Random earlier, he should have been in Amber more often to check on Brand's mental state, he-

"Uncle."

Benedict froze and slowly looked behind his back. His former apprentice was in his rumpled bed clothes, a thin blanket thrown over his shoulders and his hair mussed as if he'd been trying to sleep. "You're not in bed," the tall warrior observed.

"Neither are you." Benedict faced the glow of the fire once more and Martin couldn't help but let out a snort. His uncle was a man of little words and one had to read his mannerisms.

As Martin's distinct footsteps padded towards him, Benedict remembered those dribbling feet coming by his chambers, either to mislead him during nightly escapades or run towards him when he had a nightmare.

His seat protested and whined as Martin sought a comfortable spot, before all turned quiet again.

He hadn't been able to protect him from this nightmare.

"How-"

"We didn't get him."

"… I wanted to ask how you are."

Benedict opened his mouth to reply that Martin didn't need to worry, that they would get Brand soon, that everything was going to be alright… But then the boy might think he didn't care whether Brand died, about what Martin went through and that he was just some… some mindless machine of death. So, the tall warrior dropped his mask. "I hesitated to strike him down, he plummeted from Tir Na Nogh and his body is nowhere to be found." Benedict shrunk in the sofa, "I'm so, so sorry."

"Brand's the one who should be apologizing and begging for my forgiveness."

Benedict regarded the grim face of his former apprentice. One so young shouldn't be looking so weary. "Martin, I-"

"Try to apologize one more time," the younger amberite stood up from the sofa they were seated in and knelt next to the hearth to stoke the fire up, "And I'll shove this in your throat." Martin lightly waved the glowing poker to his former mentor.

The corners of Benedict's mouth curled up. For the tall warrior, this was equivalent to a grin. "I'd rather have that shoved in my throat instead," The tall warrior gestured to the mulled wine on the table.

Martin stood up, poured out two cups, gave one to Benedict and seated himself at the hearth to warm his toes to the fire.

Five more minutes of comfortable silence passed when the doors of the yellow room suddenly banged open. "Ben, Martin's gone! Do you know where he is?! Llewella said he was going to his quarters, but now he isn't there-" Random ran around Benedict's sofa, hardly noticing the small shadow near the hearth. The worry and terror was so evident on Randoms face that Benedict nearly reared up from his seat, despite knowing Martin was barely four steps removed from him.

"Ben? Why are you just sitting there? Are you not the least worried about his whereabouts?!" Random still did not see Martin in the blanket. "He could be hurt! Or- Or dying! What if-"

"Random, he's here." Benedict loudly cut in.

"Where?!" The younger prince began to turn around and reached for his sword, expecting Brand to be behind him.

Benedict stopped him from unsheathing his sword by taking his wrist and forced a hysterical Random to face the little shadow near the hearth, "Martin is here, brother. He's here." Benedict watched his younger brother slowly take in the fact that Martin was huddled in front of the fire, regarding them with a drowsy look from the alcohol. Random's swordhand slipped to the side. His shoulders lost his tension.

"I- I thought-" Random choked out, suddenly looking like he was going to cry. Benedict gently guided his brother to the hearth and pushed his own glass into Random's hands before reaching for the mulled wine.

"What happened?" Benedict quietly asked while pouring another glass for himself. The eldest of the group gestured with his glass to Random's head wound before taking a sip. It wasn't there the night before.

the glass inside Randoms hand began to crack. "Brand." Random downed one third in his throat before continuing, "He was so kind to drop by and test the defenses at the Pattern chamber." Far harder than necessary, the prince slammed the glass on the table. "Gérard had placed archers both inside and outside to make it harder for the little shit to stay in one place, pulled me through for help-"

"And you squandered the opportunity to draw him in, give a false sense of security and finish him." Immediately after he'd said it, Benedict wanted to bite his tongue off.

"Yes, it worked wonderfully on Tir na Nogh." Random walked to his older brother and poked his chest with each emphasis, "I should have been there. I never hesitated. I would have brought Brand's head along with the Jewel. Instead… I got you."

Random had said out loud what he'd been thinking. But his more prideful, arrogant side stopped his agreement from escaping his mouth. "It was dad's plan to have me in Tir na Nogh all along. This arm was created for that very reason," Benedict raised his ghostly arm to poke his younger brother, "You were never considered because you always ignore instructions. Because you abandon Martin time and time again to see your own desires satisfied."

Random was tired from the lack of sleep and the condescending tone that Benedict pulled on him, grabbed hold of Benedict's shirt and curled his other hand into a fist. Benedict's ghostly hand went in reflex for his brother's throat.

"STOP, the both of you!"

The two amberites froze and glanced to the young man, still seated at the hearth. "Blaming one another is not going to help finding Brand or winning the war." Martin quietly continued.

Slowly, the two elders released one another and cast their eyes down. A heavy silence fell in the room.

"… I need a stronger drink than this pisswater," Random finally commented. The prince swallowed the rest of mulled wine, stood up and walked to the liquor bar.

His hands, Benedict noticed, were shaking. "Let me," The older brother said as a peace offering.

Without a glance, the younger brother let the whiskey glass and bottle glide across the bar towards Benedict, who caught it in a fluid motion. While the tall warrior was pouring the drink out, Random was leaning on the desk, his back as stiff as a plank and his breathing turning more erratic by the second. Even when he accepted the whiskey, his brother's eyes refused to meet his own. "Random?"

"Dad's got a plan, right?"

Random's plea caught him completely off guard. Benedict could only stare when his younger brother raised his head. In the glow of the fireplace, he seemed to cry tears of blood. That mischievous spark in his eyes was replaced with an almost child-like hope. His hands held the glass like one would clutch a teddy bear. He looked so… lost and young. That's because he was. His little brother had matured so much in the last 5 years, it was easy to forget his true age. He hadn't been present when the Moonriders of Ghenesh attacked - the only beings out of Shadow aside from Chaos itself, whom had actually threatened Amber's existence.

"Yes. He always does." The warrior bit his tongue when that spark sizzled out. He hadn't been convincing enough, because he'd already let much of his guard down with Martin. His accusations towards Random earlier were his own frustration and self-doubt battering at the dam that was his self-control.

"You'll figure something out."

That little sentence broke the entire wall and the words came out like a flood. "I never figure anything out before any battle. I may act like I know what I'm doing, Random, but… I'm not, alright? I thought Martin was ready to go into the world, I thought I could save Brand, I-"

"Where the hell is this doubt coming from? You're…" Random who had temporarily forgotten his own doubts, shook his head from horror at his brother's insecure tone. "Ben, you're the best of us."

"Exactly!" The older brother took a moment to breathe and calm down before he continued, "My 'best' is never enough, will never be enough to keep any of you safe from harm. You're my responsibility-"

In that moment, Benedict's behavior began to click for Random. "Your responsibility?!" Random shook his head, "No. None of us are, Benedict. Maybe we were when we were under your tutelage. But now we bear it on our own shoulders. That includes when we do something unforgivably stupid and get stuck in a forced marriage for a year and a day."

Benedict followed Random's gaze to Martin who was gently snoring next to the hearth.

"I don't want anything to happen to Martin either," Random softly continued on, "But I'm not going to lock him up in a golden cage. Even Princes of Amber get hurt. It's not news to any of us."

Slowly, Benedict let out a breath and looked away from his brother and nephew. Random wasn't wrong, he knew. But the father in him said to drag Martin to Rebma and keep him heavily under guard despite all what Random had just told him. The father in him said he should have never let Martin be his apprentice, because it had brought him into so much danger. But it was already too late. He'd knighted Martin a Prince of Amber the very moment he agreed to train him. "No," Benedict breathed out, "It's not news to me." As he looked once again at his brother, "But why…"

The older brother became quiet once more but Random understood what he wanted to ask."I'm terrified that this war is going to cost me time - time to get to know him and that I'll never become the father I want to be." Random took another sip of his whiskey and grinded his teeth for the way his words made him seem like a coward. "It's not that I'm scared to die in battle, it's just…"

"You want to be there for him when he needs you."

"… Right." Random smiled from relief when Benedict perfectly described his thoughts out loud, "Exactly."

The conversation died amidst the cracking fire. The two brothers emptied their cups. "It has been a long day for all of us, brother. Unicorn knows we need our rest for the war to come."

"Yes." Random breathed out and his eyes once more sought out his sleeping son. Brand hadn't just appeared at the Pattern. He'd trumped in the sleeping quarters, gone through their stuff and therefore their brother had broken an unspoken but almost sacred rule: No one but the King was to enter the quarters of a royal member uninvited. It was the only place of privacy they possessed and they'd always guarded it jealously. The fact that his brother had thrown Vialle's sculpturing tools aside and ruffled through his books, made the prince nauseous. His quarters, the entire castle for that matter, felt tainted and left an overall bitter taste in his mouth. Brand literally had no boundaries left. Because of this, Random didn't feel much to carry Martin to his room through the dimly lit corridors let alone sleep in his own quarters. "I'd like to stay here."

"Sure."

Not sooner had he said it or Random quickly stepped towards the dying fire, grabbed a cushion on his way and laid himself on the huge carpet on the other side of the hearth before propping the cushion beneath his head. "Can you pass me-" Whatever his little brother wanted to say, died when a dagger pierced his abdomen.

"NO!" Benedict screamed when Brand casually 'cleaned' his knife on Random's shirt.

"Still too slow to take up your blade, I see." Brand's teeth flashed. His unkept hair turned into flames behind the hearth. "Let us play hide and seek instead! I'll start by counting to ten!" With a bow, his mad brother vanished from view. "1…. 2….3…"

Benedict swirled around to block Brand's dagger with his own and proceeded to grab him with his other hand, when the redhead vanished from his grip.

Brand tsked from the shadows. "Brother, you're supposed to run and hide, you know!" His brother resumed his counting.

Benedict swallowed and slowly looked around the yellow room for any movement. Again, a breath near his ear. The warrior moved to the side, and Brand's weapon flashed where his shoulder used to be.

"Wheu?" Martin propped himself on his elbow, woken up by fighting. "Wha-?" Martin instantly woke up when he saw his father in a pool of blood. "Dad!"

"Oh look. The puppy is here too!"

"NO!" Martin screamed when Brand's knife stuck through Benedict's skull.

"Heeeere, puppy, puppy…"

A knife! Where was his father's knife?! It was just at his belt two seconds ago! Frantically, Martin shot up. There were always weapons hanging at the walls of the library, if he could just- They were gone too.

"Gotcha."

Brand's hands curled around his own. His feet were kicked from beneath him, forcing Martin on his knees. Before the prince could take another breath, a burning spear seemed to go through his stomach. And again. And again. Screaming, Martin hurled upright – or at least, he tried to. There were hands made of iron at his wrists and his feet. He couldn't move and he was going to die. "Let me GO! LET ME GO! DON'T HURT ME- Please, please don't- don't-" Through his screams, it seemed as if he could hear the voices of Benedict and Random.

"-artin! Martin, wake up! Wake up!"

Martin's eyes opened and he was met with Random's pale face. "Brand! Brand's here! He's is going to kill Benedict! He's-"

"He's not here, son!" Random kept his son in place by pushing Martin's shoulders down. "You're alright. You're safe."

"You don't get it! He's going to kill-" Martin desperately trashed to get up his feet.

"Martin."

A familiar voice made the young prince freeze and slowly looked in the direction of the voice. "But… I... You were…" Martin stammered and began to examine his uncle and father. Random's shirt was bloodless. There was no knife in Benedict's head. The prince's breathing was about to recover from the nightmare when Benedict's hand reached for his wrist, sending Martin into a frenzy all over again. Before him stood Brand, with a manic grin, pulling him towards his dagger. Martin crawled backwards and reached for his chest to get some air through his lungs before his shaking fingers sought his throat. He couldn't breathe. He couldn't breathe!

In the midst of his efforts to get some air, a quiet voice cut through. Random had called him by name a couple of times, but he'd barely heard it due to the pounding heartbeat in his ears. "Can you tell me where you are?"

"I'm sorry!" Martin could feel salt tears falling from his cheeks. "I-" He shouldn't be crying. It's childish and he's not a child. Martin shut his eyes so he could not see Benedict's. "I'm- I-I-" Stop crying! But it only build up more pressure in his throat and eyes. What must his former mentor think of him now? This was unworthy behavior for a prince of Amber. "I'm sorry" for being pathetic. "I'm sorry." for showing weakness. "I'm sorry" for being gullible. "I'm sorry." for disappointing you. "I'm- I'm sorry, I-" Martin couldn't stop his rambling or find air for his lungs. His head was light and his heartbeat began to block his hearing again. He was going to die. Right here and now.

"Try to breathe."

I'm trying, Martin wanted to shout at Benedict's muffled voice, I'm trying, but I can't!

"Martin, can you tell me where you are right now?" Random repeated the same question.

It seemed to take an eternity for his brain to force the word out his mouth. "Am-Amber!" Immediately the prince coughed and wheezed, his fingers once again at his own throat, "Dying... I'm dying!"

Benedict closed his eyes for a moment, cursing himself for being so sudden with his movements. He should have known better. "I know it feels that way." When Benedict opened his eyes once more, they looked darker than before – clouded, even. "But its not dying." Benedict's tone was firm but not reprimanding. "It's terror - not death."

Focusing on Benedict's clouded eyes helped. Martin could still hear his wheezing breath but he felt air instead of darkness going through his lungs.

"Besides," Random added as Martin's breathing began to stabilize, "No dying man would have made as much noise as you did."

Martin gave a shaky chuckle at that comment and used the back of his hand to wipe the tears away.

"It won't always be that way," Benedict went on to say, "Those memories.. they're harder for you to carry than it would be for someone who has been accustomed to that kind of danger for years."

"You ever… felt like… that?"

"Yes." Benedict's eyes became more than just clouded - they were pitch black.

"All of us have in one way or another," Random continued for his older brother, "We are not surprised you have nightmares, Martin. In fact, we would be surprised if you never had them at all." Random slowly reached out and gently rubbed his son's shoulder.

Both elders saw Martin take a long breath of relief at their words and gesture. His shoulders lost their tension, his eyes began to close and he would have slumped on the ground, if Benedict hadn't caught and gently laid him to rest. How long, the warrior thought as they listened to Martin's steady breathing, How long had he carried around that chronic stress? It must be the first time in years that he slept so well.

"He's had nightmares every night," Random whispered as if he could read his thoughts. During their journey back to Amber, Random had to daily deal with his son's nightmares - it was either Martin accidentally hurting himself or getting clawed at - but until now, his son had continued to bottle up his emotions.

"You can go and sleep as well, Random. I'll keep watch."

Random had no strength left to argue and the younger brother laid himself upon the carpet, keeping his hand intertwined with Martin's. Benedict watched as his younger brother tried but ultimately failed to combat the sleep, leaving the tall warrior alone with his thoughts once more.

It must have been around 30 minutes later when Benedict heard a different set of feet come his way. Without looking up from his sleeping brother and nephew, Benedict already knew who it was. "M'lady." Benedict greeted while Vialle took stock of the sleeping men before her. Likely she had gotten worried when neither Random or Martin had appeared in their chambers and she had come to check. The warrior swallowed when Vialle nodded to him with a blank face. She had helped to raise the boy alongside Llewella long before he'd came into Martin's life. He wouldn't be surprised if Vialle blamed him as well. If not for allowing Martin's would-be murderer free, then she would for her husband being called and possibly die in war. As of now, Dad hadn't mentioned Random for upcoming preparations or the impending battle at the Courts - not yet, at least. Things were constantly moving on the board. Maybe in an hour or so, dad changes his mind. So what comfort could he possibly offer her? That "they were alright"?

Random's hollow eyes burned his sight. Martin's erratic breath rung in his ears. His own doubts sowed his mouth shut.

They were not alright. Ashamed, the tall warrior broke eye contact and didn't dare to look when the blind woman strode towards him. Benedict expected her to scold or even ignore him in favor for Random when Vialle knelt at his side.

"If I may ask, lord Benedict..."

"Anything, my lady."

"How long?"

Vialle's question hung in the room and began to drag on Benedict's shoulders. But at last, the warrior managed to swallow the growing lump in his throat. "Two days." After a heartbeat, the warrior added, "At most." Benedict rubbed his eyes and face to stay awake. He hadn't slept since he'd trumped to Chaos with Corwin's card. He was so in mind and body. Benedict blinked and looked down when he felt skin on skin contact. It was only now that the warrior realized Vialle's hands were gently holding his own.

"Then you should rest, my lord."

"No, I can't." Benedict shook his head and suddenly felt like a child begging his mother to stay awake for a few more hours, "I can't. I have to make sure that they are alr-"

"-that you are rested for the war to come." Vialle's voice became more firm, now.

Benedict felt his limbs and eyes becoming heavy the longer he looked at her and the warrior struggled against it. "Random... Martin... will you-?" When Vialle nodded, Benedict allowed the sleep to overwhelm him and slumped on the soft carpet next to the younger men.

For a moment the blind woman regarded the trio, before she silently took out blankets to drape over each of them. All she could hear, were their breathing and her own heartbeat... mercilessly counting down to war.