Ash and Steel - Duke of Disaster 6 - A Warrior's Rest

 A Warrior's Rest (Final Canon Version)

Gideon (46) entered The Galloping Stallion, a place far from the silks and concerns of court, and immediately spotted the man he was looking for. There, sitting at a corner table, was Burchard, his long, flaxen hair—now streaked with silver—flowing over his massive shoulders.

Burchard smiled when he saw Gideon's approach. "I knew you'd come," he said.

"Course I did," returned Gideon.

"Siddown, Gidi," invited Burchard.

Gideon sat down next to the berserker, then looked him over. Burchard was wearing nicer clothes than Gideon could ever remember seeing him wear.

"You look great, man!" he complimented.

Burchard smiled at the compliment. "Thanks, Gidi. It's parta my new style. Eat, drink and be merry! Order anything ya like, on me!"

Gideon, big and boisterous, took a long draught of ale from his tankard, the drink warming his core. The roaring hearth in the tavern was loud, but not loud enough to drown out his roguish gray eyes smiling at his old friend.

Gideon took a long draught of ale, the drink warming his core as he leaned back into the worn bench of the Galloping Stallion. "Gods, Burch, this ale's better than anything they poured back in the Southern Skirmishes, eh?" he said, his roguish gray eyes smiling at his old friend . "We survived on vinegar and ambition back then".

Burchard hefted his own mug, his gravelly voice dropping into a low rumble that seemed to vibrate against the tavern table. "Ambition and the promise of a decent sword," he countered. "We were barely men. Just boys with a hunger for a fight. You were all raw fury and that massive, showy sword of yours".

Gideon chuckled, the memory of his younger self flashing through his mind. "And you, a lunatic with a mallet!" he barked. "Remember the White Tide at Riverrun? We were ankle-deep in bone and mud. I still see those damn red pinpricks in the darkness."

The humor faded from Burchard's face as the weight of the past settled over them. "I remember the terror," he said, his gaze fixed on the ale in his cup. "And then I remember the moment Bart went mad. That wasn't a man fighting. That was a storm. Me ‘n you, we were just trying to hold the line, but Bart... when the spirit of Shadowmourne descended on him, he was settlin’ his old score. He turned the whole center of the street into bone dust".

Gideon's smile faded, replaced by a deep furrow in his brow. "Yeah. That’s what I think about too. Every time. It makes me remember the last time we met, ten years ago, right here."

Burchard pushed his plate aside, the easy comfort leaving his face. "Aye. You tracked me down on a rumor. Good meal, good ale... a reunion that ended in a bad way. I shouldn'ta just dropped it on ya like I did, Gidi."

"No. You told me the TRUTH! of it, the one I’d been too much of a fool to see for 15 years. I was laughin', jokin' about the old songs, and you just dropped it on me, cold. 'He's dead, Gidi.' Like a stone," insisted Gideon.

"Guess I had to. I couldn't lie. I couldn't keep that last part of Bart's shadow from you, not after everything. It was a loneliness that killed him, Gidi. The silence of Briar Rose. I just burned the body," sighed Burchard, voice thick with old grief.

"And you showed us the kestrel. And Steelheart—she connected the threads. She gave him back his name ‘n his story. We owe you, Burch. For the truth," said Gideon as he clapped a massive hand on Burchard's shoulder, a gesture of deep, enduring friendship.

"We both just carried a piece of him for too long. Bart, the original Bone Breaker. Here's to him, and to the living," proposed Burchard, raising his tankard.

Gideon raised his tankard. "To Bart." 

The two men clinked their tankards together, then drank in silence.

After the bartender refilled them, Burchard raised his tankard again. "Now another toast... to you," he said solemnly.

"For what?" asked Gideon, cocking his head in confusion.

"There's somethin' I need to talk to ya about, Gidi," Burchard began.

"Wha?"

"I'm stayin' in a row house on the edge of this town. In three days, I want you to come over," Burchard continued.

"Is it your birthday?" asked Gideon.

"Gidi... there ain't gonna be no more birthdays," said Burchard with a shake of his head.

"Burch... what are ya sayin'?" asked Gideon, a note of worry entering his voice.

"I ain't gettin' no younger. My body's startin' to betray me," explained Burchard. "One thing after another".

"We're all gettin' older 'n our bodies are breakin' down," agreed Gideon. "What d'ya want me to come over for?"

"I want you to be there... when I end my life," Burchard answered simply.

Gideon's eyes widened and his jaw dropped at this statement from his old friend. "Burch... that... that's moonstruck!" he exclaimed.

"It's time to go. I wanna do this now... before I end up like Big Bart," said Burchard. "I ain't scared of dyin'. I'm scared of windin' up broken 'n alone. I got me a bushel a laughin' berries. Come Friday night, I'm gonna eat 'em, 'n chase 'em down with some ale. I don't wanna go alone".

"I can't believe what I'm hearin'! This ain't the Burch I fought with talkin'!" exclaimed Gideon.

"The wars have been over for 30 years... You were the luckiest of us, Gidi. All I've got now is shadows followin' me on the empty road," Burchard continued. "During the day, when I'm out doin' stuff, it's easy to forget. But when I come home every evenin', it's quiet. And for me, the quiet's gotten too loud. I've planned it for three days hence, and I don't wanna go alone. Please, Gidi, help me".

Gideon could only stare into his friend's somber eyes. Any words he might have thought of died in his throat.


He rode slowly back up the trail to the mountain cabin in the pine glen. He thought of the raw, brutal finality of Bart's choice, and the terrifying echo of that finality now ringing in Burchard's voice. He couldn't bear to lose another old comrade in arms the same way.

He found Anaya by the stone hearth. On the mantelpiece, tucked between a few river stones, sat the small stone eagle and the kestrel, silent sentinels of a forgotten past. Anaya looked up, her expression hardening in recognition of his distress. "Tell me," she commanded.

"You remember my old war buddy, Burchard?" Gideon asked, voice wavering despite his resolve.

"The blond berserker? Aye," Anaya answered. She followed his gaze to the hearth, where the two carved stones rested.

Gideon took a deep breath. "I met 'm at the tavern t'day..." he faltered forth. "'N now he means to... to follow Bart!" Gideon's voice broke. He gestured toward the mantel. "He told me the quiet's too loud! I don't wanna lose another ol' war buddy, Anaya! Wuddo I do?!"

Anaya rose from her chair and walked to the mantel. She stared silently into the fire, mulling over Gideon's words. She reached out and gently ran her fingers over the smooth, gray stone of the kestrel.

"What did Bartholomew always say a warrior needs?" she began.

"A post," Gideon answered immediately.

Anaya nodded, her eyes still on the kestrel. "Bartholomew’s suicide was the sound of the line dissolving, and Burchard believes he’s next. He is a warrior without a post. Such a warrior is a danger to himself. What he needs isn't for you to beg him to stay or to try to reason him out of his despair. He needs you to command him to stay and give him a new post!" said Anaya.

"What kindanew post?" asked Gideon.

"That, my friend, is for you to decide," Anaya concluded.

"OK. Thanks, Steelheart," said Gideon, standing up to head to his loft.

"But of course," said Anaya quietly.


The next day, Gideon returned to the tavern. He stood over Burchard, refusing to sit, hardening his heart to deliver an absolute order.

"I will not be there to hold your hand, Burchard. You asked me to witness an act of profound cowardice, and I refuse. You are the Castle Wall. And you plan to abandon your post".

Burchard blinked, eyes widening at the tone of Gideon's voice.

"You said the quiet’s gotten too loud," Gideon pressed on, his voice a steady, unrelenting command. "That noise in your head is the sound of the enemy creepin' back in, and Bart’s watchin' to see if you drop your mallet".

Gideon leaned in, his massive frame dwarfing the table as the tavern's noise faded into the background. He hardened his heart, dropping his voice to a grim, urgent whisper. "I'm the Duke, and I am givin' you a new order, Burchard. I need you to stand a silent, unmovin' vigil over my nephew, Gundric. He's thirteen and he's my heir."

Gideon stared into his ale, his expression deeply troubled. "The old wars are done, and Garth is gone, but the shadows still stretch. We know there are threats more dangerous than bandits, and more personal. Gundric needs steady hands and strong shields around him. If he only learns my way of swingin' a sword, he's a dead man the first time he meets a fighter who doesn't play fair. I need you to be his second teacher—the way Bart was for Anaya. I need you to teach him how to recognize the ghosts before they appear, and how to stand firm when they finally do."

He stood back, his voice thick with unshakeable finality. "The dead need you to guard the future they fought for. You ain't got the right to break ranks. You are the Castle Wall. Stand your post, Burchard!"

Burchard stared at him, the battle-worn weariness warring with the reawakening of his warrior's purpose. He finally let out a breath that sounded like grinding stone. His hand moved slowly to the box of laughing berries and crushed the soft wood with a decisive crack. He pushed the splintered fragments across the table as his massive frame finally eased, the tension bleeding out of him in a long, rattling exhale. He had acknowledged the order. He had pushed away the berries.

"Tell me where he is, Duke," Burchard rasped, the name Gundric still sounding new and strange on his tongue.

Gideon finally sat, sinking into the chair opposite, the desperate focus giving way to raw relief. "He lives at Grimstone Keep with his white dragon, Blizzard."

Burchard sat in silence, absorbing the details. It was a new kind of duty—not blocking a charge on a muddy field, but guarding the heart of the realm with wisdom and presence. It was a purpose worthy of a veteran.

"A mentor," Burchard rumbled, rolling the word in his mouth. "A wall that teaches, rather than just blocks. Good. You got your man, Duke. The post is taken."

Burchard clapped his big paw on Gideon's shoulder, his grip firm. "To the Bone Breaker!" The sentiment, meant to honor their lost captain, now served as a grim vow to protect his friend. 

The two old friends—the Duke and the Castle Wall—raised their tankards in a silent toast, not to victory or to peace, but to the grim, necessary work of holding the line. Burchard had chosen the living future over the quiet of the past.


The training yard outside Grimstone Keep was large enough to accommodate the descent of a dragon, but still felt crowded by the presence of Burchard. He stood by the main gate, massive and unyielding, his icy blue eyes fixed on the sky, the enormous head of his mallet resting on the ground. He was built like a castle wall.

A shadow fell over the yard as the young dragon, Blizzard, landed with the light grace of a seasoned flier. Dismounting was Gundric, a young man, 15 years old, with the eager, hopeful energy of youth.

"Uncle Gideon," Gundric greeted him, snapping a ready salute. He noticed the huge, formidable man instantly.

"Gundric," Gideon said, placing a hand on his nephew’s shoulder. "I want you to meet Burchard. He is my comrade-in-arms from the Southern Skirmishes and White Tide, and quite simply, the strongest man I've ever fought beside".

Burchard offered no smile, no hand. He simply fixed his intense gaze, filled with the memory of Bart and the duty to live, first on the young man, and then slowly up the snowy neck of the dragon. "This is Blizzard," Gundric said, introducing his partner with a touch of pride. Blizzard dipped his head, silver eyes observing the mountain of a man who did not flinch from his heat or size.

"The Duke tells me you are the future," Burchard rumbled, his voice deep and flat.

"I'm the heir, sir," Gundric corrected respectfully, meeting the man's intense gaze. "And I am prepared".

"Preparation is silence," Burchard countered. "Your hands know how to wield a sword, and your dragon knows the wind. But neither of you knows how to listen for the sound of the enemy who is not moving". He tapped the shaft of his mallet against the ground, the sound sharp. "The Duke needs you to learn to see the threats that don't carry swords, the ones that wait on the empty road. Your future is too precious to be guarded by palace walls and uniformed men. It needs a silent vigil".

"I don't teach courtly finesse," Burchard stated. "I teach unbreakable lines. You will not ask questions; you will listen. Do you understand your first assignment?"

Gundric’s eyes, which had been wary, now flashed with intrigue. This was not the standard instruction he received. This was a man carved from a different, harder world.

"Yes, sir," Gundric replied, snapping a sharp salute. "I understand. I'm ready to learn".

Blizzard nudged his great head toward Burchard, a silent acceptance of the massive man who would now be their anchor. Gideon let out a breath he hadn't realized he'd been holding. The first line was drawn. The Castle Wall had found his post.


Gideon rode back to the mountain cabin in the pine glen. He found Anaya by the stone hearth. He came to a stop near her, the exhaustion of the emotional battle finally hitting him.

"He chose life," Gideon finally managed, his voice thick with relief. "Took the post".

Anaya gave a single, firm nod of acknowledgement.

"He crushed the box of berries, Anaya," Gideon said as he looked at her with profound gratitude. "Your advice was perfect. You didn't tell me to save the man; you told me to give the Castle Wall a new, irreplaceable line to hold. Thanks, Steelheart".

Anaya met his gaze. "The quiet is always loud, Gideon. We both know that. But he is a warrior. You don't defeat a warrior by letting him rest; you defeat him by giving him a battle that only he can win". She picked up a small, polished blade. "Go get some sleep. The Castle Wall is standing".

A week or two passed, and the quiet relief in the Duchy began to solidify into new routines. Gideon and Burchard settled into their partnership, the success of the mentorship quickly becoming evident. Gundric took to the massive warrior like a fish to water. The heir spent his mornings with Gideon, learning the political "dragon stuff" of the realm, and his afternoons with Burchard, learning the grim, silent trade of the unmoving line. Burchard, anchored by his crucial new post, was slowly shedding the weary shell of despair.


On a crisp autumn evening, Gideon and Anaya met Burchard at a quiet, grassy field nestled near the river, the same field where, a many years prior, Gideon and Burchard had fought their boisterous duel. 

The three former students sat together in the fading light. Anaya, ever the practical one, produced a flask and three tarnished iron mugs. The usual boisterous energy was absent, replaced by a deep, collective reverence.

"This is the place," Gideon said quietly, looking at the spot where the thunderous KABOOOM of his and Bart's swords had driven them apart. "Where we found who he really was".

Anaya nodded, her gaze fixed on the spot where she had revealed the truth of Bart's past to Gideon and Burchard. 

She poured the dark, potent liquor into each mug. The clink of iron was the loudest sound in the empty field. She handed a mug to each man. The three who had been forged by the same hand—the Duke, the Queen, and the Castle Wall—raised their drinks.

"To the Bone Breaker," Burchard whispered, the name of his teacher now sounding like a solemn promise, not a sorrow.

"To Big Bart," Gideon finished, his voice thick, but free of the sobs he had choked back just days before. "The line holder".

"To Bartholomew," Anaya said simply, her voice low and steady. "The shadow is gone, but the lesson remains.”


They drank, the bitter burn of the liquor a quiet affirmation of the immense cost of their survival and the unbreakable bond between the warriors Bart had molded. The line Bart had dropped was now being fiercely held by the students he left behind. The Castle Wall was standing, dedicated to the future, and for the first time in a year, the silence between the comrades was truly at peace.

Fin