A BEAR'S SLUMBER [PK]

[Sarmadonn 652]

A BEAR’S SLUMBER

AIN NESTI’S SLUMBNA

 

 

c. 397

The final moments of His Grace, Ruslan Baruch.

 

---

 

The once quiet courtyard in the castle of Lichestadt now echoed with violent coughs, a noise that was familiar to residents of the castle by now.

 

Unable to dismount his steed, even after every stubborn attempt, the now weakened Duke was helped off with the aid of his usual nurse. Not even the decline of his health would stop Ruslan from visiting a certain tree house just outside of Karosgrad. Doing his best to walk on his own, it was time again for Ruslan to be put to bed, his body could not handle the physical strain of what he once used to enjoy doing for his free time. A man of few words already, it did not seem possible he could grow even quieter, but he did. The risk of using his tumor-ridden lungs was not one he was willing to take. 

 

As he was being assisted through the empty courtyard, he shot a glance at the Church of Heinzreich. His lip remained stiff as the northern winds took upon the sound of bustling merriment, the memory of one of his wedding receptions flooding the mind of the ailing Duke. The vows of his marriage being recited echoed throughout the church, while Ruslan stood in front of his nerve-ridden betrothed, stoic as ever. A Duke has a duty to his house, A duty to produce heirs to carry on the family name. That was all he saw the Ruthern girl as - A means to produce children. He remembered how afraid Marjorie looked, after all, she was being sent away to live with unfamiliar faces. Over the course of their marriage, he could have rid her of the fear she carried with her, make her feel a part of the family even. But he did not do that, he made her fears come true. His eye twitched and his mouth drew into a frown, before he continued through the courtyard.

 

A series of wheezing coughs erupted from the Duke but a few steps from the church, bringing the once proud man to his knees. With a palm planted atop the ground, his eyes trailed off toward Valwyck’s Haeseni chess board as he shakily dabbed the blood from his mouth with a handkerchief. As he sat, gasping for air, he could almost hear the bickering of the Baruch children. “Ye chea’ed! Ah ken!” whined a young Georgina, stamping her foot in protest as Juliya rocked in the corner, simply sobbing to herself. Viktor stood proud, his arms folded across his chest and a smirk plastered on his face as he retorted, “Shu’ up! Ah won, ye los’. Tha’s ‘ow the world works. Ge’ used tae i’, woman.” While the children argued, Ruslan sat near the board, working on his yearly Duma transcript. He had already rejected the children’s offer to play with them, and their constant bickering was getting too much to handle. “Enough! Ah’m workin’, take yer noise somewhere else.” The children fell silent, their countenances marred with frowns and looks of sadness, before leaving the Duke to his work. His breathing steadied as he felt the touch of the nurse against his arm, and with trembling legs he rose upright once more. He shot one final glance at the chess board, he knew there was nothing he wouldn’t do to go back to that day, just for one more game of chess with his family.

 

---

 

Ruslan lowered the blood-splattered handkerchief from his lips, taking in a raggedy breath as he made his way through the hallway door that his nurse opened for him. His eyes glanced around the mostly empty feast hall, empty with the exception of his nephew, Odrin. As he moved past the young man, he placed a hand on his head, perhaps for the final time. The Duke’s eyes then looked to the left, where he was met with his portrait that hung above the piano. It was not that long ago where he looked every ounce of a formidable Duke. His face plastered with a look of regret when he turned away from the portrait, as if he could have somehow changed something to not be in his current situation. A man once known as a dangerous opponent, an avid duelist, brought to his knees by a disease. He heard the door to the kitchens behind him close; a servant girl emerging from behind it. Her familiar, dark blue eyes met the Duke’s, and the two stared for a few moments. A smile formed on Ruslan’s visage, offering a slight wave at the girl, who in a certain light, may have resembled him slightly. He turned away then at his nurse’s tug, heading towards his bedroom.

 

As he was led toward the library he took a moment’s rest, laboured breaths escaping his lips. A flash of gold caught his eye, his daughter draped in the fabrics of her wedding dress. The young woman, joyous as usual, made her way over towards Juliya and Georgina, who both had been feasting on bits of chocolate. “What do vy think, papej?” With his approval of his daughter’s wedding dress, the two young Baruchs stood up, admiring the dress and conversing with their cousin about her upcoming marriage. Right before his eyes, the little girl he once knew was now a woman, and the same fate would soon befall the rest of his children. Extra time with his family before they grew old was now impossible, things he could have done or said differently was another regret he’d have for the rest of his life, though today was different then the previous days. Ruslan felt odd, he knew he wouldn’t have to live with this regret for long. A light tug at his arm forced the Duke’s head to turn, it was his nurse ushering him up the steps. 

 

After the first flight of steps, he began to suffer yet another coughing fit. After a few moments of rest, he glanced behind him at the staircase leading back down to the hallway. His brows rose momentarily, deep down he knew he would not see his feast hall again, and he was afraid. He thought of many things, yet one stuck out to him more than the others. Is he prepared to leave them behind? He scolded Ser Viktor often as a boy, but he cared for him as he would any of his children. And while Kaustantin was insufferable at times, how could he not be proud of the man he became? His worries and fears were put at rest, he realized that it was now the duty of his family to look after each other. His nephew was Lord Palatine, his niece was a Countess, and his cousin was a knight, who had married a woman that taught Ruslan that there’s at least some decent foreigners. He was proud of them, and he was prepared to speak to them one final time.

 

---

 

After several breaks, Ruslan finally made it to his bedroom hallway. Through labored breaths, the Baruch managed a subtle smile, amused at how difficult it was to climb steps that he had done before a thousand times, without struggle. His nurse opened the door to his bedroom, stepping back and allowing His Grace to enter first. As he entered, the angered yell of his wife caught his attention, forcing his head to turn towards the woman with tears in her eyes. “Nie - Just hang it up!” The young Duke, visibly angered, set a portrait down on the table. He remembered this portrait, it was a portrait of himself. There was another with him, but it was not his wife. For years, he allowed his marriage to be loveless, for what he thought was a good reason. Too long did he allow the ghost of a girl to rule over his marriage, and while he missed her dearly, the living needed his attention more than her. He felt a small moment of pride, because while it may have been too late, he realized there could never live a better wife than the one he had, and he made sure to let her know before his final days. The shutting of a door caught his attention, it was his nurse closing the door behind them. She moved past the sickly Duke, placing a small cup of tea at his bedside before making her way back over to him. The nurse attempted to grab his arm to aid him to his bed, but she was waved off promptly. If this was Ruslan’s final time walking, he would do it on his own two feet.

 

Settling into his bed, he ordered his nurse to send for his family, all those that were home in the keep that day. With a quick bow, the nurse hurried out of the room, leaving him only in the company of his thoughts. Ruslan looked around his bedroom slowly, taking in a labored breath as he reached for his tea. He brought the cup to his lips, closing his eyes as he took a long sip. When his eyes opened, he was met with a frowning girl, a face all too familiar to him. “Are vy even listening?!” The young boy nodded quickly, setting the tea down on the wooden floor of the tree house. The blonde girl had been explaining what happened to her that day, and every word was clear to him. This conversation was one of many he had with Analiesa de Astrea, and he remembered each one as if it had happened just hours before. During a time where his beloved mother had passed away and his hard working father was slowly losing his sanity, his best friend may have been the only source of happiness he could have. It was hard for him to regret much. He had spent as much time with Analiesa as he could, but he always wished he could have saved her from her fate; or at least that is what he thought.

 

The children conversed for what felt like hours, as they usually did. They laughed, shared their usual strawberries grown from the bush outside, and discussed what life would be like when they are both older. The young boy turned to the tea he had set down earlier, before it all started to come to him again. He stared at the cup of tea, as tears slowly started welling up in his eyes. Will his final thoughts be of ghosts, or the living? He glanced back to his friend, before taking a deep breath. “Ah need t’ get goin’ now, Analiesa.” The girl frowned at Ruslan’s sudden need to depart, so like usual, she protested against it. “But why?! Vy just got here, and we’ve so much more to talk about!” A singular tear began to slowly fall down his cheek, looking back to the tea as he prepared to answer Analiesa, but not without hesitation first. “Because yer dead, an’ Ah need t’ let ye go. My family needs me now.” The words stung the young boy to say, but he knew they needed to be said. He couldn’t allow his last memories to be of those who are gone, but instead those that are still with him. As he looked to gauge Analiesa’s reaction, it was not one of confusion, nor malice. The girl didn’t speak, but instead displayed a smile the Duke had so desperately missed. Despite being taken from him too soon, the memories of his loved ones lived on through him. Only the forgotten are truly dead, and so he would never forget his father’s hard work or his mother’s love, and he would certainly never forget Analiesa de Astrea. He lifted his cup of tea off the wooden floor, and with one final look at his best friend, his eyes closed as he took a sip.

 

---

 

With his eyes now opened, he was back in his quiet bedroom. He lifted his hand to wipe the tear away from his cheek, before hearing frantic footsteps downstairs. He placed his cup of tea down carefully, before settling back in his bed. He knew it was the end, but he was content that it’d be surrounded by the family he loved dearly. One last time to not only see his loving wife, but the girl he had known for as long as he could remember. One final moment to look proudly on the man his son grew to become, and the man he knew would lead his House to an even better future. He blames himself for driving Margot away, but he was happy he’d be able to spend his final moments with her, time spent away from her made him come to see how much he cared for her. One final embrace from his youngest child Annabel, a girl he rarely punished or scolded, and one he struggled to watch grow up. And while he knew it may not be possible, he wanted to see his oldest child, Eleanora for a final time. From holding her at birth, to watching her hold children of her own, he saw it as a privilege to have been able to raise such a caring woman. He took a final deep breath, as his vision began to blur. The footsteps were now on the same floor as him, and before he knew it, the door to his bedroom swung open quickly.

 

But he did not see who came in, nor did he feel the bed he was lying on. Ruslan Baruch was dead.

 

---

 

His Grace, Ruslan Eirik Baruch

 

 

1798 | 1844

351 ES | 397 ES

 

Spoiler

rip ruslan baruch he was a real 1, had a gr8 time as the persona but all good things must come 2 an end : )

 

big thanks to @kaylaaand @indiana105for helping me write the post, and a special thank you to @importanthippoand @Drew2_dudefor giving me a shot at leading a BEAUTIFUL haeseni house, rlly appreciate yall!

 

[Mady 3067]

Within the Seven Skies, sat atop a tree stump, would be a little girl barely over the age of thirteen. Golden locks would fall down her shoulders, shaking as she laughed in merriment. Upon hearing the sound of footsteps approaching her, Analiesa de Astrea would whirl around, a beaming grin resting on her face.

 

"I have been waiting." She said softly, holding a hand out to welcome her friend. "Maman did nie come, so I have been quite bored." She drawled, picking up a small teacup from the set which lay before her. "I saved you a cup, Ruslan. Now tell me, how is Adalia fairing?" 

----------------

 

The soft patter of small feet could be heard as Margot Baruch roamed around the halls of Valwyck Castle, the young girl humming to herself as she explored. It wasn't until she came to the familiar door of her father's room did her footsteps cease. Tilting her head curiously to the side, she would proceed forward, pushing her way into the room to find what remained of her father, laying cold and stiff before her. 

 

The young Baruch would feel the familiar sting in her chest as she realsed what befall her beloved father, hands wiping at her now tear stained cheeks. Margot did not cry often, or at all really and if she did, it was only briefly in her youth. Sniffling to herself as she remained in the doorway, the girl would spin on her heel to run and find her brother, leaving the door ajar in her haste. 

 

 

 

[garentoft 8354]

 

 

Just like tha’, eh? Eirik thought to himself as he stared forward at the decrepit deceased that laid in the bed. The corpse of the cancer-stricken man that had slowly withered away to the tumours within. Idly, he waved a servant to deliver him a glass of water, which he slowly sipped by the bedside. He moved to a chair, and as the rest of his family came and went, he remained seated by the corpse of his father. In truth, he expected something. He expected Ruslan to give a rumble, to awaken suddenly from his state. But day turned to night, and night turned to day, and nothing happened. Yer really dead, an’ it feels like nothin’s changed.

 

It was true, Eirik did not receive the closure he wanted from his father. The two had grown up much apart, they had rarely spoken to each other, despite Eirik’s persistence to try and make a companion out of his father. That, coupled with other things that had struck his mind when he were younger, had thrust the boy into a seven-year reclusion. It had been a few years since he had recovered from it, and perhaps one might have thought that such a pivotal event in one’s life as the death of a father could thrust one right back into it. The news of his cancer had almost done it to him, but not out of fear of losing his father. It was the possibility of never being able to hear an “Ah’m proud o’ ye, Eirik.” or an “Ah love ye, Eirik.” that he had feared back then. Yet, here he sat, by the side of his father’s corpse, never having heard any of those things from him.

 

Now, he remembered those seven years much too vividly. Seven years he had promised himself that he would forget about, seven years that he had abandoned long in the past. A mind ablaze and burning with despair and doubt, misery and anxiety. Only just had she managed to give him the determination to pull himself out of the hole, to regain his footing in the world. And yet, now it was as if the floor shattered beneath him.

 

He rose, and stared down at the limp body. There was no one left in the room, and tears of rage began to fall from his eyes. Furiously, he began to rustle his father’s corpse, begging and screaming for a response, for an affirmation of pride or love, for anything that would confirm that they truly were father and son, for closure.

 

But nothing happened.

[Herod 802]

Kaustantin felt a sharp sting in his heart, he had known Ruslan to be a father after his own went off to the outer world after being disowned of his birthright and his mother fleeing their household.
 

“Ea promised vy ea’ll do good as Palatine.” 

He stared at the statue of the late 11th Lord Speaker, his uncle. Tears rolled down the man’s cheeks yet a stoic expression lingered on his face. The man brought a handkerchief up to wipe those tears off

 

”Ea promised vy.”

 

He gripped the Golden Bulava tightly in his hands as he turned around and walked outside the Duma chamber with tearful eyes.

 

”Ea will niet fail vy.”

[Capt_Chief26 1205]

Ser Reinhardt Barclay signs himself after hearing of the dukes passing, while he had been at odds with some of his ideals, the knight had respected the man’s tenacity 

[Frymark 2792]

Johann Barclay frowns.

[sarahbarah 5023]

Prinzenas Petra Emma, who had diagnosed the Duke with such a disease, signed the Hussariya over her chest in the hopes that he would find his way to the Seven Skies.

[Maevlin 681]

Charlotte Baruch was seated at a fireplace when her youngest son walked in. She was taken back by him coming so soon but she quickly lowers her pipe and turns to him. "I won't say what I've been meaning to say about what happened. What I will say is I'm glad you made it here safely my dear son, come and sit with me. Tell me all that happened and do be honest." She holds out her hand for her son to take, effectively welcoming her son back home.

[erictafoya 2309]

Robert Ludovar drew a heavy sigh, as he knew that he was now the pro tempore Lord Speaker. He never thought the day would come where he needed to preside over the Duma, but he was a dutiful Lord. He would honor the memory of his childhood friend by serving as the presider of the Duma until a worthy successor is chosen by the Crown.

[crazedpudding 2139]

Deep within the keep at Aurveldt, Eleanora Amador sat within the chambers she shared with her husband, embroidering a silken handkerchief for her father, Ruslan Baruch. She pulled the needle to and fro through the fine cloth, humming lightly to herself as she embroidered the Baruch crest within a wreath of chrysanthemums and hydrangea. Eleanora had always had a fondness for flowers, and it was said that chrysanthemums and hydrangea were said to represent fidelity and heartfelt emotion, the perfect sentiment she wanted to relay for the father she so dearly cared for. 

 

She was startled by a knock on the door, and pricked her finger on the sharp needle, a drop of crimson blood falling to the cloth. With a sigh, she bade whoever disturbed her to enter. She'd have to start the handkerchief again. Looking up, she was greeted with the sight of a somber maid. 

 

"News from the Duchy of Valwyck, mea lady." The girl handed the missive over and Eleanora offered a gentle smile, tearing the wax seal from the envelope and setting blue eyes upon the page.

 

A cry echoed from the Viscount's chambers as a daughter collapsed to her knees, clutching the letter to her chest tightly as she wailed her pain to any who could hear her. Despite knowing her father hadn't much time left, contrary to his reassurances otherwise, nothing had prepared her for the despair. Nothing would be the same.

[Mio 3773]

Atop a tower of gray did Otto Baruch gaze outward at the quiet walls of Lichtstadt, reminiscing the rocky past he had with his brother, the horrible past he'd caused. Abruptly did the crazy man shout lengths of uninterpretable words, a plethora of curses and other unholy phrases- whether it was in a fit of anger or mere confusion? He hadn't known.

"Ruslan! My dearest brother! Ye' damned fool wha'd you do this time to wrong the world? Did ye' toss your kid inta' a bucket and send him down the hill? So you chose to kick the bucke' yourself! Tha's what ah' would've done. Mamej and papej would've gotten mad a' me if ah' tossed vy down, vyr the favorite child after all! Ah' think..." A realizing smile cracked that mans face as he placed him down onto his balcony, continuing his observance of his home from afar.

"Mostly my fault ah' suppose, could've been a bit nicer.." The wretched man sighed, "Ah've wrong the world too many times but i' does niet choose to take me away? Ah' wrong vy so many times but... all vy ever wanted to do was go fishin'."

The man rose from his squatted room and headed down to Lake Voron with a boat in tow. There he set sail, offering a final toast to his brother before shouting out into the land he wronged. "We're ou' sailin' papej! Look a' it! We're gonna catch a big whale and bring i' home for vy!"

[milkyi 1503]

Hollowed cries of a woman bounced off the hills of Lollybroch, from the windmills to the ivory castle atop another mound.

 

“Je suis maudit!” The voice bellowed from within, releasing a guttural groan alongside sobs that never seemed to end. 

 

Those particular words never left Eugénie's mind, in fact, they hadn't for some time, since her father had sought to murder her, since her mother had shamed her, since her first child was born, and the even ones that followed after her.

 

The sound of a thump echoed throughout the manor's walls.

 

“J- Je suis m- maudit ...” The veiled woman croaked as she collapsed to the floor, her head bowed as she sat curled into a ball, alone, hurting.

 

The only thoughts that ensued were, 'What?' and 'Why?' What did she ever do to deserve to be cursed, to have everyone she cherished turn against her or to suffer and die? Why did GOD put her in this horrible loop of death and bereavement, for herself, her children, and her children's children? Was she cursed in the truest sense of the word?

 

“Libère-moi de cette malédiction, mon dieu.” She would beg for forgiveness, pleading to really any higher power that lent an ear. 

 

Eugénie hurried out of her home, kneeling in the mud, her gaze cast to the seven skies as her hands swiftly clasped one another, she prayed, prayed for forgiveness for whatever she had done to deserve this, prayed for her family, prayed for Ruslan.

 

“M- Mon Dieu! Mon Dieu!” The woman wailed for hours, perhaps days on end. 

 

Praying and waiting for the curse to end.

[MotherLay 815]

Marjorie Baruch stands within the cold bedroom where Ruslan had taken his last breath. Her lip quivers as she feels a chill, clutching to her black shawl tighter. For a woman who relished in loneliness always, she had never felt so… alone. A small wail escapes her lips as she stand amidst his and her things, and she swiftly covers her lips with her hand. 
 

She plucked out the painting they had been given on their wedding day, studying the depiction of Analiesa and Ruslan. She loved him, that was for sure, and she knew he loved her. Deep in her heart though, she knew that his heart barely belonged to her. It was the woman in the portrait who occupied most of it. 

 

“Be with her, Ruslan. I’ll meet vy there someday.” 
 

 

Within the Valwyck keep, a young servant girl sat in her smallish bedroom, a silver mina clasped within her palm tightly, the metal indenting her skin. Never before had she sobbed this way, her breath clutched in her throat, her face full of numerous tears. She had never felt such pain, such hurt. Her mourning was harsh, and her heart was broken.

[indiana105 2140]

Ser Viktor "THE BEAST" Baruch wiped a single tear from his cheek, though a smile came to his face as he realized Marj was available. 

 

[Drew2_dude 2130]

Sigmar Baruch would greet his great grandson with open arms, “ not too bad my boy, not too bad. The family legacy ‘as been proudly kept fer one more generation.”

 

Andrik Jan Baruch would mourn the loss of his cousin, pouring one out for the boyzz 

Edited October 27, 2021 by Drew2_dude