Ash and Steel - Duke of Disaster 3 - A Tale of Brotherly Love

 Part 1: The Return to River Run
The late afternoon sun cast long, weary shadows across the rolling hills of the Southern Marches. For three days, the rhythm of their horses’ hooves had been a somber cadence, a world away from the stone halls of the capital.
Crown Prince Acreseus (30), mounted on his dapple gray stallion Argent, breathed in the cool air, his face etched with a quiet sorrow. Beside him, Princess Consort Anaya (32), regal in black mourning leathers astride her white mare Eira, scanned the horizon with the practiced eye of a predator.
Bringing up the rear was Gideon (30). The usually boisterous Duke rode in silence, his massive black charger, Midnight Runner, seeming to feel the weight of his rider's grief. There was no booming laughter today. They were not riding for a feast or a visit; they were riding to bury Gideon’s mother, Duchess Griselda.
They reined in at a fork in the road, where a weathered signpost pointed east to ‘River Run’.
“Well, this is my stop, royals,” Gideon announced, swinging a burly leg over his saddle. He gave Midnight Runner a hearty pat on the neck. “The old man is expecting me. I need to be there for him tonight. He... he hasn't been the same since she passed.”
Acreseus smiled sadly. “Go to him, Gideon. He needs his son.”
“And you two?” Gideon asked.
“We will stay at the Wandering Wyvern inn down the road,” Anaya said. “We will give you tonight alone with your father. We will join you at the estate in the morning for the burial.”
“Thanks, Steelheart,” Gideon murmured. “Just... be at the north gate by mid-morning. Don't make me face the funeral crowd alone.”
“We will be there,” Acreseus promised.
With a final, somber wave, Gideon spurred Midnight Runner down the eastern path. Acreseus and Anaya watched him go, a solitary figure riding toward a house filled with ghosts.

The manor house was quiet as a tomb when Gideon arrived. The servants moved in hushed whispers, wearing black armbands.
Gideon found his father in the solar. Duke Gavin sat by the unlit hearth, staring into the cold ashes. He looked smaller than Gideon remembered, his frame frail and bowed by the crushing weight of loss.
“Dad?” Gideon whispered from the doorway.
The Duke looked up. His eyes, rimmed with red, filled with fresh tears as he saw his son. He didn't speak; he simply held out a trembling hand.
Gideon crossed the room in two strides and knelt beside his father’s chair, taking the old man’s hand in his own large, calloused grip. They sat there for hours as the sun set, two men united by the empty space Griselda had left behind.
“She loved you so much, Gideon,” Gavin whispered, his voice thin. “She was the light of this house. Now... it is just stone.”
Gideon squeezed his hand. “I’m here, Dad. I’m here.”
He said nothing of Garth. He said nothing of the years of distance. He simply offered his presence, a shield against the silence.

The next morning, the sun was climbing the walls of the courtyard when Gideon emerged from the manor house. He looked exhausted, his eyes gritty from a sleepless night, but he was dressed in his formal mourning leathers.
He headed toward the stables, intending to saddle Midnight Runner and meet Anaya and Acreseus at the gate.
“Leaving so soon?”
The voice came from the shadows of the stable door, cold and sharp as a shard of glass.
Gideon stopped. A figure stepped out into the sunlight.
It was a shock, a ghost from a past he had buried. It was a younger, leaner version of himself, but where Gideon’s features were burly and open, this man’s were gaunt and sharp with hunger. His clothes were travel-stained rags, and his face was a twisted reflection of Gideon’s own, filled with a chilling, incandescent hate.
A long-bladed spear was balanced over his shoulder.
The breath caught in Gideon’s throat. "Garth?!" he gulped.
The younger man’s lips peeled back in a sneer. "It's been a long time, big brother," Garth (26) said, his voice laced with venom. He leveled the spear, its wickedly sharp point aimed directly at Gideon’s heart.
“Garth, what are you doing?” Gideon asked, his voice low. “Mom is dead. Today is her funeral.”
“I know,” Garth spat. “And here you are, the ‘Duke,’ prancing around in your velvet while I slept in a ditch last night. You stole my life, Gideon. And now you’re going to pay for it.”
"I'll send you to Hell!" Garth snarled, his knuckles white on the shaft of his spear.
Gideon’s face hardened. "Not if I send you there first!"
"DIE!" Garth barked. He charged, a blur of motion across the stones.
Gideon drew Sunderer, the rasp of steel loud in the quiet morning. He met the charge with a downward block.
The clash was immense. The two brothers were locked, straining against each other, faces inches apart.
At that exact moment, the rhythmic clatter of hooves echoed through the open main gate. Anaya and Acreseus rode into the courtyard, arriving for their mid-morning rendezvous. They expected a solemn greeting. Instead, they found combat.
Acreseus gasped. "Gods above! It's Garth!"
Anaya’s eyes narrowed as she watched these two men who looked way too similar not to be related tearing at each other. She saw the lethal intent in Gideon’s eyes—a swing he would regret for the rest of his life.
"RAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAHHHHHHHHHHH!!!!" Gideon roared, shoving Garth back. He raised Sunderer high, his face twisted in a mask of pure hate, and brought the massive blade down for the killing strike.
CLANG!
The sound was impossibly sharp, ringing through the courtyard like a bell.
Gideon and Garth were startled out of their berserker rage by the sudden, jarring impact. Gideon stared, stunned. There, crouched between them, was the red-haired woman whose crossed daggers had just stopped the full, two-handed downswing of Sunderer dead in its tracks.
She didn't strain. She didn't grunt. She simply caught the blow, held it for a heartbeat to let him realize what he had done, and then flicked her wrists, knocking the massive broadsword aside like it was nothing.
"Steelheart?!" Gideon yelped, stumbling back.
"Stand down," Anaya commanded, rising to her full height.
She looked from one brother to the other, her hazel eyes blazing with a cold, dangerous light. "I don't know what the grudge is between the two of you, but I will not stand idly by while kin kills kin."
Acreseus jumped from his horse and tackled the stunned Garth, pinning the younger brother’s arms.
“Let me go!” Garth screamed, thrashing against the Prince. “I’ll kill him! I’ll kill him!”
“Silence!” Anaya commanded, her voice cutting through the rage. She looked from one brother to the other. “You disgrace your mother’s memory. Inside. Both of you. Now.”
Acreseus hauled the struggling Garth to his feet, and the grim procession moved toward the manor house. Anaya fell into step beside her husband, her eyes tracking the brothers ahead.
"His brother?" Anaya asked, her voice low.
Acreseus nodded, his expression pained. "Garth. He was... difficult. Sickly and angry. He ran away thirteen years ago. We thought he was dead."
He glanced at his wife, guilt flickering in his blue eyes. "I'm sorry for not mentioning him to you, Anaya. I should have. I never dreamed we would see him again."
Anaya shook her head slightly, her gaze fixed on the heavy oak doors ahead. "No need. You are his friend, Acreseus, not his keeper. His ghosts are his own to carry."

The air in Duke Gavin’s solar was frigid and heavy with the scent of lilies.
Duke Gavin sat behind his large oak desk, looking up as the door burst open. He expected to see Gideon.
Instead, he saw his worst nightmare.
Gideon stood grimly to one side. Acreseus and Anaya stood guard over a bound, kneeling figure.
Gavin’s gaze landed on Garth.
He didn't see the brigand; he saw the sickly younger son who had run away at thirteen. He saw the child he had unwittingly driven away.
"Garth..." the Duke whispered, his voice trembling as he leaned forward, squinting through his tears. "Is that you?"
Garth remained silent. He lifted his chin, staring at the wall with a look of pure, defiant hatred, refusing to meet his father's gaze.
"Yeah, Dad," Gideon said, his voice heavy with exhaustion. "It's him. He attacked me as I was goin' to meet my friends."
The Duke’s face crumpled. The confirmation shattered the last of his hope.
"My God," Gavin whispered, a frail sound of utter devastation. "What have you become?"
"I became what you made me!" Garth screamed, straining against his bonds. "A rat! A thief! I lived in the mud while he lived in a palace! I stole to eat while you feasted!"
"Shut your damn mouth!" Gideon barked, stepping forward. "You chose that life! You ran away!"
"Because you erased me!" Garth shouted back.
"Enough!" Acreseus warned, struggling to hold Garth back.
But the stress was too much. Duke Gavin’s face turned an ashen gray. He clutched his chest, his breath hitching in a terrible, rattling gasp.
"Dad!" Gideon yelled.
The Duke’s eyes rolled back, and he slumped forward, his head hitting the desk with a sickening thud.
The room froze.
Anaya moved instantly. She shoved Gideon aside and vaulted the desk. She pressed her fingers to the Duke's neck, then immediately produced a small vial of smelling salts from her belt, snapping it under his nose.
"He's alive," she hissed, looking up at the terrified brothers. "But his heart is giving out. You fools. You nearly killed him."
She fixed her terrifying hazel eyes on them. "If he dies, it is by your hands. Get the Maester! Now!"

An hour later, the Maester had stabilized the Duke, but the warning was stark: Gavin’s heart was hanging by a thread. Any further shock would kill him.
Garth was held in a chair, silent and sullen. Gideon stood by the window, shaking with adrenaline and guilt. Duke Gavin lay on the couch, his eyes open but glazed with pain, his breath too shallow for speech.
Acreseus stepped forward, placing himself between the invalid Duke and the prisoner. He looked every inch the Crown Prince.
"Garth," Acreseus said, his voice cool and heavy with authority. "You stand here a criminal. You tried to kill your brother on the day of your mother's funeral. The law demands you be locked away."
Garth sneered, though his eyes flicked nervously to Anaya, who stood like a statue of judgment beside the Prince. "Lock me up, then. It's what he always wanted."
"That is not for you to decide," Anaya cut in, her voice sharp. She glanced at the frail man on the couch. "Your father is in no condition to sentence his own son. That burden falls to the Crown."
She turned her hazel gaze back to Garth. "You have two paths. You may go to the gaol and await the King's justice for attempted fratricide and brigandage. Or..."
She paused, letting the silence stretch.
"You may stay here. You will live in this house. You will trade the rope for the task of learning to live a decent life again. You will serve the Duke, and you will learn to manage this estate under his eye."
The ultimatum hung in the air.
Garth stared at them. He looked at Gideon, who was watching him with a mixture of hatred and desperate hope for their father's life.
Garth dropped his chin. "I'll take the house," he rasped. "I'll take the damn house."
From the couch, a faint, trembling sigh escaped Duke Gavin. "Thank you," he whispered, the sound barely audible.
Anaya stepped forward and cut the ropes. "The gaol is avoided," she stated. "But you are on notice. You will stay here. You will obey the Duke. And you will not raise a hand to your kin again."

That evening, Gideon paced the floor of his own estate in the Southern Marches. He had left River Run immediately after the burial, unable to spend another night under the same roof as Garth.
"I still wanna kill him," Gideon admitted, pouring a cup of wine with a shaking hand. "I saw him standing there, alive, while Mom is dead... and I wanted to end it."
"But you didn't," Acreseus said, sitting by the fire. "You chose your father's life."
Anaya cleaned her daggers, the firelight catching the steel. "He survives because you chose peace. Now we focus on the living. Garth is imprisoned by his father's weak heart, and you are free."
Acreseus looked up, his blue eyes filled with quiet pride for his friend. "You did the hard thing today, Gideon. You walked away."
Anaya sheathed her daggers with a sharp click. "Let's go to bed," she said quietly. "The ghosts of River Run can haunt themselves tonight."
Gideon nodded slowly. He looked out the window toward the north, toward the capital, and toward the future. The feud wasn't over, but the truce had begun.
Fin