For Ender

The Dragon army gathered around the small patch of grey Earth in Kansas, all of them quiet, solemn, unborn tears forming in their downcast eyes.

All of them, with the exception of Shen and Hot Soup, were there, and some could swear that the spirits of the deceased two were there as well, to see Ender off, to welcome him to their world. The world beyond, which Ender had gone to so often. And now his soul was one of so many that lay in that endless field of so many, one unrecognized, unidentifiable soul that could never be brought back.

One by one, they each stepped forward, placing a small token of their loyalty beside the grave in Kansas. Even past his life, Ender's army would always serve him. The toon leaders, with the exception of Bean, all went first, then the soldiers. Crazy Tom set down a small orange stone that would flicker to grey; Petra cast down a red rose. One by one the procession proceeded, as one by one, tears slipped down the faces of those who Ender knew, but knew Ender no better than they knew a random person off the street. No one spoke, for it was a code of silence that they all understood. Any conversation would be awkward considering that they'd not seen each other for years, and Ender was… gone. The Earth, the Galaxy, the Universe were all different without Ender.

Finally, Bean stepped forward, for it would be he that did the honors.

"Ender was a Speaker for the Dead. Ender was the Genocide. Ender did this, Ender did that." The silence enveloped everyone. "But we all knew Ender wasn't perfect. No- we all thought Ender wasn't perfect. But Ender is.

"Ender filled his role in life, he killed the Buggers – we all did – but afterwards, he despised himself for it. He took his place, stepped up to the plate, took his life, even though his life gave him only what he could hate.

"For a while, Ender was a hero; but later the story was warped. Ender the Genocide. How could he have done something so evil?

"Ender made a mistake. But who else made the mistake? Who made him make the mistake?" Heads looked around, and everyone went miserable. "And who took the blame?"

Another silence wrapped around everyone, who's hearts were ten times heavier than they had been. Ender. The silence screamed at them, Ender. "Yet even when we committed the crime in his name, we continued to live our lives, coming to Earth. But Ender never could, never again. And why?

"The Russians, or his brother, would take him, use him. Yet we lived normally, soldiers, glorified. But we were – and are – and shall always be – shadows dressed up and painted to look like heroes. We were always painted shadows, from the day we entered battle school. And we still are. Yet, the one who was substance, real among all of us, was painted for a short decade. Then the paint wore off. Yet we had all forgotten him. Never truly forgotten – we were all too gung-ho with our own lives.

"Ender could never come back to Earth. After all he did for us – the commanders stole his childhood, they destroyed any life he could have had, they made sure that he never had any friends, and he killed an entire race unknowingly, naïve. He was a friend of all of us, but we weren't friends of his. And after we forced him to live with all of this, he couldn't come home; he was forced to live like a refugee.

"And now Ender Wiggin is detested. His name will go down as a black mark in the histories, a black mark that doesn't truly exist. But from there will rise another Ender that fewer know as him, yet people respect. The Speaker for the Dead. The author of the Hive and the Hegemon. Yet who would guess that the Genocide and the Speaker for the Dead were the same person? Who would guess that the Genocide's brother was the Hegemon? Who would guess?

"We all gather here today to uncover a wrong that can never be righted. Ender Wiggin deserves more; Ender deserves what we cannot give him. Ender deserves to be a god, yes, a god, what our world of science looks down upon as silly. But what other payment can we make that would repay what we did to him, made him do, in the least?

"We lay down our minor, ethereal tokens of loyalty – indefinite loyalty – for Ender, and who he is now, and who he once was. May Ender Wiggin never be the Genocide in our minds, for the obscured truth is a truth we wrote; the politicians wrote; a truth everyone wanted to believe.

"In the end, though, it was not Ender that killed the Buggers. In fact, Ender had the absolute least involvement whatsoever.

"In the end, we were the ones to kill them. All of us. Every last citizen. And we pin the blame on the one least involved."

Bean stood awkwardly at the tombstone, and finally a tear slid down his cheek to land on the Earth below. Slowly, everyone, with the exception of Alai, had gone. Alai sat cross-legged by the grave, reminiscing of times long ago. Finally, Alai whispered a word he had once whispered, long, long ago.

"Salaam."

AN: Please don't mind the length; I just felt that Ender's story needed to be told. I suppose I may not have told it very well, but it was important to me. Whenever I read Ender's Game, or even think of it, I feel how unfair it is. Please review. Only my second fic, and my first one-shot. Pardon if I mixed up a few details, and I know this goes against Children of the Mind, so if you are an obsessor over detail, please leave me alone.