#burkley

Can't wait for this years artfight :D

01x01 “I Hardly Recognized You” - October 12, 2017

((Part one here: http://percival-burnwine.tumblr.com/post/145268161668/secret-part-one  ))

EDWARD DERRINGTON BURKLEY Brave,  Strong,  Remembered.

How did it come to this?

Only a few weeks ago I was still exchanging letters with the boy. But things had changed already by then. We’d all heard of the Horde’s change of command, by now, and tensions ramped up in Kalimdor. Under the new Warchief, grunts and war machines had turned up at Theramore’s doorstep. A few skirmishes forced the city to wall up, and Edward insisted on sentry duty. He was very proud of the few soldiers he’d managed to take out with his rifle. I, on the other hand, was rather worried. I told the boy to keep safe, but he was just as stubborn as his father, and in his own words, “can’t afford to cower in a bunk while my city is under siege.” While I did admire his tenacity and his spirit, it was rather worrying knowing he would put himself in danger, perhaps more than he had realized. In the short time he had begun training, I rather doubt he had ever faced enemies in such number or ruthlessness.

It was some comfort, at least, that his letters came, every few days.  But at the very same time, pressure mounted from his father, who had started to worry about his disappearance. And I wasn’t sure how long I could keep up this correspondence without breaking my word to the boy, or the elder Burkley’s trust. We had both been friends for a rather long time, and while I thought the boy’s convictions admirable, I owed his father much, far too much.

I stumbled upon a solution. Perhaps I could tell Edward this was an urgent matter. Perhaps I could tell him, that should Theramore repel the siege, which he purports to be an inevitable matter, he would have proved his capability to his father, who would then have no reason to reject his desire or position. Perhaps that would persuade him to allow me to tell his father of this secret. A secret I could scarcely bear to hold further.  Yes, that would be perfect. I wrote him that letter, explaining how this could be accomplished - the siege is finished, I bring Jonathan to Theramore, and introduce him to his son and the heroic deeds he had accomplished, which I had perhaps heard through a passing rumor of sorts. The father’s pride that Jonathan would have would, hopefully, quell his anger at his son’s disobedience. I sent that letter, and waited for his approval.

A week passed.

I thought, perhaps, that the mail is slow. But just a day after those seven days, I received the news. But not the news I expected. Not the news I wanted. It was not even news from the boy himself.

Theramore is lost.

No.. worse. Theramore was gone.. forever. The city wiped off of Azeroth with what the messenger called a ‘mana bomb’.

It was almost unreal to hear what the messenger said. This.. this was impossible. Surely there wasn’t such a weapon. Surely this wasn’t true. Surely there were people of Theramore still resisting, still surviving from the impact of the siege.

There were no survivors.

There were no survivors. The words sank in like cold steel into my heart. The city was gone, and if no one survived, then Thomas must have..

No, I thought to myself. No, he must have lived. He must have. Perhaps..perhaps he did not stay. Perhaps he fled before the fight. I clung on to that hope, picked up my coat, and searched for answers among the registrars. I explained my absence as important business as I started my search for the boy. I could not return to Jonathan and tell him I had lost his boy, that I had kept this secret from him so he did not know where and when his son had perished. I knew I couldn’t live with that.

I questioned every man, woman, child that had fled Theramore before its last days, before that fateful blast. I asked every contact I could find, save for Jonathan Burkley himself, if they had information on the refugees, on anyone who could have survived the attack. Anyone, anyone at all named Thomas Burkley.  Nothing, at first. But then some come closer and tell me to keep a secret, that they had told me nothing, that I would not finger them out as deserters. So, once again, I gave my word. I needed to know.

Thomas had been on the list of guardsmen on duty that fateful day. He had volunteered to stay back, despite some of them trying to persuade him to flee with them. They described him as a proud young man, a loyal guardsman who felt he had to hold the town at all cost.

As I had feared. I dismissed the men, and decided there was only one course left. I headed off to Jonathan to bear the news myself, even if it was going to be hard. I needed to tell him this myself.

Instead, I found that he was not at his office. Further prying revealed that Burkley had heard the news - the news of Theramore itself. And given his wife’s history, I suppose he put two and two together, and even if he hadn’t assumed the worst, he had to check, to assuage his doubts. Stubborn as he was, I knew he’d spend days, weeks searching for the boy. But not months. Not two whole months absent from his business.

Two weeks had passed when I decided I could not leave it in shambles. This was the life’s work of the man who had given me my capital, given me the foundation to build my family’s business in the aftermath of the Cataclysm. So I ran his business for the rest of those months, as best I could. I wasn’t an arms trader, but I knew the basics of business. I was familiar enough with his staff that I was allowed to pick up on some of his contacts, enough to juggle his ongoing contracts, meet up with his clients, and manage the resources and production of his factories. For this,I was.. oddly  thankful, that the closure of Theramore as a port meant that both our trades suffered a sizeable loss in client traffic. It was easier to manage both our businesses at the same time with less trips to take care of.

Before it could pick up again, I saw Jonathan at the doorstep. The elder Burkley was a completely different man than I recalled. Before, even with the worry of his son, Jonathan was a man whose energy belied his age, a vibrant, strong man in his sixties with a love for loud greetings and louder rantings. Just as with his son, he was a man of passion.

But that man died with his son. Instead, the Jonathan Burkley I saw before me was an old man, a man who leaned on his cane rather than carried it, who seemed gaunt, even, ragged and wretched and tired beyond measure. A man whose greeting of me was a simple nod, a muttered “Thank you”, a slow, quiet entrance into his own shop, as if he did not wish to speak to anyone, did not want to hear anyone, or for anyone to hear him.  Jonathan never could cry. But there was no need to - I saw the grief in his body, from the day he returned to the day he saw the gravestone erected for his son.

And now... here we are.

EDWARD DERRINGTON BURKLEY.

Brave,  Strong,  Remembered.

The letters were emblazoned for all to see, in an empty grave where his belongings were buried in his stead. It was a luxury for most victims of the bomb, who were simply memorialized in a single slab for all to see. There were too many to even write all their names down. But Thomas was Jonathan’s son, a Burkley. He could not be left on Azeroth as a single name scratched in stone.

And yet... here we were, staring at his single name, scratched in stone. Staring in silence. In contemplation. In regret.

I should have told him. If I had, perhaps...

“..Percival.”

I turned to Jonathan, clutching my cane tight as I summoned the courage. I should tell him. I owe him that much. I must tell him.  I cleared my throat, looking him in the eyes. There was still something strong in there, something determined. And even in his broken state, he proved bolder than me, pushing an envelope in my hands firmly before I could speak.

“...Mr. Burkley? What is - what is this?”

“The deed to my armory. To the shop. To Burkley’s Arms.”

I blinked, holding the deed unsteadily. “Wait, are you.. you are giving me your business? But this is..”

“Take it, it’s yours, all of it. Every last inch, every nail, every workman, everything.”

“....What’s going on, Jonathan? Why are you giving it to me? This is your work. Your life’s work! Your-”

“My FAMILY’S work!” The elder Burkley finally spoke, the first time he’d shown as much energy as he’d possessed before, seized by some unspeakable rage driven by his grief. “My FAMILY! Do you know why I started the company, Percival? Do you?”

“...You..” I recalled his words. Yes, he had told me before why he started the company. “..you started it at your wife’s suggestion.”

“Yes. Yes.” Burkley muttered, still going on by his fury alone. “Yes, it was partially her idea, to use our resources to shore up the strength of the Alliance. It was also my passion. But it was her, and then our son, that I built this company for. All of it.”

“Yes, I remember.”

“I built it to fuel the Alliance’s wars. I used it to help our soldiers. I used it to fund a future for my son. For my family.” He hissed that last word, glaring through me. “For my family. And for what? These same wars, this military - it’s taken the life of my wife. It’s taken the life of my son. It’s taken my family from me, Percival. It’s ripped them from me, and now? Now I have NOTHING!”

I did not know what to say, and perhaps, it was best I did not. I simply remained sympathetic and allowed him to finish his rant. “All I have to remember them.. my family.. is this war. This blasted, constant war. And this.” He prodded the deed firmly. “All this...but it means nothing to me now.”

“Yet....this is her legacy. A legacy that was to be his. I cannot sell it. I cannot destroy it. So I want you to keep it. I want you to run it for me.. for her. For him.” He looked back at his son’s grave, at the emblazoned words on the stone. “Take it as repaying your debt to me, Percival.”

It was then I finally decided to speak. “Fair enough. But.. I should ask, what are your plans, Jonathan?”

“I shall sail the seas, Percival. Sail, and perhaps, find a place to spend the rest of my days. Or perhaps I won’t see land again.”

Those words both worried and relieved me. I was relieved that he did not intend to end his life in his grief, but at the very same time, perhaps that was his own sentence. Or perhaps, it would be his way of finding peace. At any rate it was clear he had made up his mind. The last thing he offered me was his hand, and I grasped and shook it firmly.

“Goodbye, Percival. May the wind guide your sails.”

“Goodbye, Jonathan. May... well, I suppose I’d say the same. I hope you find your way, old friend.”

With a wry smile and a slow step, Jonathan Burkley walked away from that graveyard. And that was the last I had seen of him.

Until today, I still wonder if I should have told him that secret. I owed it to him.  I wonder if that could have saved Thomas, and Jonathan, and the Burkley legacy. But it was too late now. It was all too late.

"Promise to keep this from my dad.”

I wish I hadn’t, but Thomas made quite the compelling case. This, he said, was to honor his mother, who had died in battle on this very land. And truth be told, while I was wont to keep such a secret from his father, a trusted family friend, it was also difficult to refuse the boy his dream, his wide-eyed enthusiasm and determination. With a shake of my head and a chuckle, I turned to the boy.

“Even if I had, it would not change your decision to stay here, would it?”

At this he frowned, but there was still that steely determination in his eyes. Like father, like son. “I thought as much,” I continued, knowing the answer already. “You have my word. He won’t hear it from me.”

All at once the boy’s face changed, beaming as he reached out for my hand, shaking it vigorously. “I knew I could count on you, Percy!”

“Of course, Thomas, but - ah, you can let go now.” As much as I appreciated his enthusiasm, a steel gauntlet makes for a rather uncomfortable handshake with a grip as firm as his, almost digging the metal into my palm had I not worn gloves. Almost immediately, this made him sheepish, and he pulled away with an embarrassed grin.

“Oh, of course! Sorry, sorry - but I can count on you, right, Percy?”

“Now what sort of businessman would I be if I did not keep my word?” With a chuckle I gave the boy a friendly pat on his pauldron. “Of course, Thomas. Now, is there anything else before I depart for Stormwind?”

“Oh! Just one more thing, Percy.” In a moment Thomas stood up straight, bearing his gleaming armor proudly under the Kalimdor sun. “How do I look?”

“Like the proudest soldier on Theramore.”

With that reassurance, he nodded quickly before passing a glance over his shoulder. “Well, I should be off, ought to report to the sergeant for my next shift. Thanks again, Percy! I’ll see you again when you drop by!”

“I’ll make it a point, Thomas!” I called back to him, and turned back to my ship. Only to hear his voice call again from behind.

“Don’t tell dad!”

I answered him only with another wave. As nervous as he was about his father’s disapproval, he was a bright lad, and inherited his father’s stubbornness for the years I’d known him.

Someday, he’ll make a fine officer.