Chapter Text
It was like a painting. The fog mixing in with the colours of the dark, wet grass, as the early light of dawn illuminated the sky, along with their huffs of air, disappearing into the cold atmosphere of the early march morning. For one small and hopeful moment, Benedict pretended that the only reason he was there was to paint. Nothing more. But that joyful moment was gone too quickly, as memories of his brother telling him of the duel flooded his mind and his body, his senses submerged in cold unease and fear.
All he could think of was that this duel would decide if he would have a living older brother, if he would have to say goodbye to his greatest friend, if he would become the heir of the Bridgerton household and name. Could he really do it? Could he survive without Anthony, or was their family doomed in any outcome.
His brother was talking to him, and while he was listening, the words flew above his head and he could only focus on Anthony's face. Memorising every last freckle, wrinkle of the skin, the brown of his eyes, the way his brow furrowed in concentration. Is this the last time he would talk to his brother?
"Benedict!"
He jumped into awareness.
"Sor-sorry. I understand brother, it will be dealt with. I promise," Benedict nodded grimly.
His brother took a sharp intake of breath and placed their father's watch into Benedict's shaking palm. It was as if his brother was now condemned to the same fate their late father did 9 years ago. As if the passing of the watch solidified Anthony's death. It took all of Benedict's strength and will not to break down and hug his brother, wishing that they were 6 and 3 again so he could hide his face in his brother's arms and not worry about a single thing.
But when he pleaded to Anthony, "Brother-" the way he shut him down so quickly, he knew that this was it. His final goodbye to his oldest friend.
"That is all."
Perhaps if he was more aware, less afraid and on edge he would've heard the distant neigh of the horses. Perhaps he could've stopped the horse altogether and no one would've been hurt. Perhaps. But he didn't.
When a shot of red hair streaked past him, his eye somehow catching the fiery wave, Benedict knew what his sister was going to do. He ran forward, whether towards Anthony or Daphne or even the horse, he had no clue. But he knew he had to do something. And in that short moment, time slowed down, his jump in front of Daphne stretched out. All he could think of was this memory of his father.
It was just after Daphne had been born, Anthony was 9, he was 6 and Colin was 1. His father had gathered the 2 oldest brothers, Colin dozing off in his arms, and stood them in front of him. It was probably the most serious he had ever seen his father. Unlike Colin's birth, in which the "you are now an older brother" speech didn't quite stick in Benedict's mind, he remembered the moment so clearly.
"You boys have a sister now," his father said softly, "so while you care for her like you do with Colin, when you grow older and so does she, you must protect her with everything you have. Do you understand me boys?"
Anthony, who had received this speech 3 times already, acted arrogant and proud, but for Benedict it was as if his whole world had changed. If anyone had asked him why he did what he did now, he would retell that very story and say no more.
As he fired his shot, he knew that his world would change forever. He did not expect his sister and then his brother to be the reason for that change. Time slowed down as the shot rang out, his sister flying from the horse, his brother falling down by the impact of the bullet. He couldn't breath. He didn't want to breath, because if he did he would have to face telling his mother that one of her children is dead.
The impact of the ground was painful. The scream that followed it was even more painful. She turned around, her loose hair whipping around her in the wind.
"BENEDICT"
Daphne looked at Anthony's horrified face, following his gaze to the figure lying on the grass just a few feet away from her.
Her older brother lay limply on the wet grass. His face was pale and scrunched up in pain. She choked when she saw the blossoming wound on his shoulder.