I know that I've got the chapter numbers wrong, starting with chapter 16, which is labeled seventeen. I'll fix it now by having this one be chapter 23. Sorry for the mix up, and I'm too lazy to go back and fix the rest. Thank you so much guys, you've been awesome. I love you all.
-Eragon
Chapter 23:
Forgiveness and Recovery
Roran fought like a madman on the battlefield, felling every man that dared to challenge him. He swung his hammer swiftly and fatally, never ceasing to prevail. He was ordered to the front lines because of his skills. Even though this was the most dangerous part of the battle, he was invincible. He couldn't be touched. He watched as his comrades were slain by the Empire's men, one time after another, but he avenged their deaths. Blood soaked his tunic, but it wasn't his. He cracked men's skulls, and broke men's ribs, accounting for more casualties than some 10 men combined. He couldn't be stopped, and he protected one person, and one person alone. Himself. He tried to save a man once or twice, but he always acted for his own survival, not attempting to sacrifice himself for the sake of a man he didn't know. He always helped a fellow villager in need though, as he had known them his whole life.
He avoided Murtagh and the Shade, though he didn't know where she was. The red dragon swooped over his head once or twice, and he quickly raised his shield over his head, though a few men around him weren't so fast. They were instantly reduced to ashes. He fought hard, ignoring the clashes and clangs of sword on shield, pike on mace, and hammer on helm. His hammer. The only thing that disconcerted him was the crunch of bone, and squelch of blood and flesh. He dodged every attack that was dealt to him, never failing to deal a final blow to a man.
The problem was they were in the middle of a sandy clearing, which made it hard to get a grip on the shifting land. The terrain was treacherous, and one wrong move could cost him his life. Twice, he was almost reduced to a useless corpse next to a decapitated trunk because he slipped. He managed to recover. But later, just as he raised his hammer to crack a man's ribcage, he took a step forward, and tripped on a large rock. Although his opponent already had a broken arm, he managed to raise his sword. Roran looked up into the man's face and saw hate, anger, and a lust for blood there. He flinched, ready for a death blow, but it was not he who received it. A knife that had been thrown from God knows where had flown straight into his left eye, causing him to go momentarily blind and miss. Roran finished it with a hammer blow to the knife that protruded from his eye, which rammed it right into his brain. The man's misery was ended before it could start.
Roran removed the knife and examined it. It was a cleaver with a scratch down the left side of the handle. I've seen this cleaver before, he thought. He realized whose it was, but didn't believe it. His grip tightened, and his eyebrows met as he turned to face his savior. He slowly turned around and saw a man from his memories standing there with a smile on his chubby face.
"Hello old boy. It's been a long time." And there in front of Roran stood the butcher, Sloan.