Hey, folks. Now, I know that you all want me to update Eldy, and I promise that its on the way. Patience, dear friends. This is only a one- shot, not an ongoing story, so cool it, Eldy is not forgotten.
This one-shot is from a challenge set to me by Thunderhowl, a good friend of mine. Does this meet your Vietnam!Roran request, my dear? I hope so!
Warnings- Mentions of mass death, mental trauma.
For Thunderhowl, and all those brave soldiers who have made a tough decision.
Disclaimer- I do not own Inheritance Cycle, nor any of the characters.
The Choices We Make
The Varden's camp was subdued, its bold, brash men silent, weeping. Not a soul moved among the somber tents, except one. A lone man stirred, interrupting the mournful stillness, striding through the lank, drooping tents. The air was still rank with smoke, spilled blood, and flesh. On the other side of the small forest, the fires that devoured Melian still burned. The man stops at one tent on the outskirts, away from the others.
"Roran?" He brushed the tent flap aside and stepped in, his brown eyes seeking his cousin.
"What?" From thee depths a man looks up, his haggard face in half- shadow, his red- rimmed eyes hidden. "I'm busy, Eragon." He gestures jerkily at a map that lies on a table, marked with the positions of two armies. The man rubbed his eyes and focused back on the map, determined.
"Have you slept at all?" Eragon said softly, concern crossing his too- old young face. "Since the battle, I mean."
Roran did not reply, his bloodshot eyes raking the map, searching, searching for any maneuver that could have saved Melian from its fate. Both men knew that he would not find one.
"There was nothing you could have done, Roran." Eragon ventured quietly. "It was either your men or Melian. You chose your men."
"You're wrong!" Roran snapped, harshly. "I could have-- should have--" He choked on his words, his head bowed, his shoulders trembling. "I wasn't strong enough, and I condemned a town full of people to the death!" He roared, flinging and empty wine flask. The flask thudded against Eragon's chest, but the Rider does not move. He hears the unspoken words in the terrible silence. I am not a god, just a man. What could I have done? And he finds that he cannot answer the question.
"Tell me, O mighty Dragon Rider," Roran hissed at his cousin, shaking, "what would you have done? A village full of people you don't know, or the men who trust you?"
"I don't know. But Roran, you can't change what happened." Eragon tried to reach out, to comfort his friend, his brother in all but name.
"Go away." Roran snarled, jerking back. "I don't need your help. I'm fine. Perfectly fine."
Eragon stepped back and nodded, even though he knows, he knows that Roran is not fine. "As you wish. If you need to talk, I'll be in my tent."
"I'm fine." Roran repeated, the unspoken plea, Help me, please, I'm so afraid, lost in the tension shivering in the air.
The Rider vanished through the flap, leaving Roran alone with his demons. The cries echo in his ears, the burning village, its people screaming.
He looks back at the map, the enemy lines and his own men, the forest. The town that no longer exists. And the fear, the terror he hides from everyone, even himself, wells up, awfully loud in the silence. I wasn't good enough.
And Roran, with a howl of and rage and helplessness, raises his hammer and brings it down on the wood table, shattering it like glass, bows his head, and weeps.
Thanks for reading, everyone! Well, this is a pretty morbid, vague, somber sort of deal, isn't it? Please review! I do take drabble requests, in case anyone wants to see something written!!
Thunderhowl, my dear, I did your challenge, now you have to do mine. I'm looking forward to it!! XD.
~WSS