Time for some replies
Weee- While I don't mind negative criticism, I would appreciate it if you mention your quirk with my story instead of just telling me I'm bad. I see you figured it out yourself, and I'm glad you did. I tried to offer a more different story, one which is not predictable and can surprise the reader.
Eragonnerd- Thank you very much for your support. So far, your comments mattered a lot to me.
Anonymous- Why, thank you! I hope I'll be a professional author one day, but for now, I'm just writing to improve and to see how good I'm at character development(which is probably one of my weakest points) and story telling. The plot is not a problem, as I have most of it in my mind and ready to use.
Undbitr- We'll get Eragon chapters soon enough. These chapters, while not very exciting, are very important for the future of the Varden. You will see what I mean as the story progresses.
Restrained Freedom- That was the point of the Roran chapters. I surprised myself too! I did want to build up enough suspense, but the second batch of merchants came to me while I was thinking about what task to give Roran and Prestov.
Roran's stride slowly subsided as he distanced himself from the crowd of people. Warily, he looked behind to see if there was someone who followed him, namely the merchants, but such people were simple and predictable. Too greedy to even care about what happened, the people were only focused on obtaining what they wanted, and there were plenty of them who were already holding their newly acquired goods in hands, laughing and smiling at each other, probably congratulating themselves for their quick thinking.
A faint whisper came from his right, but Roran paid no attention to it as he made his way towards the barracks. The whisper of his name became louder, forcing him to turn around. Hidden behind a building, Prestov signaled Roran to join him. A bit confused because of his subtlety, Roran obeyed without further questions.
"The merchants scared you away?" he chuckled, patting Roran on the back in a friendly manner. Roran returned a smile, but he wasn't quite as lighthearted as Prestov. Feeling his tension, he continued on a more serious tone, "Quite peculiar, those merchants. There's something about them, yet I can't put my finger on it."
Roran merely nodded, wishing Prestov to speak before he would relate his findings. After coughing to adjust his voice, his companion looked at the merchants, his eyes narrowed.
"Aran, the heavy armor merchant that spoke to me seemed quite in a rush to distribute his goods to the multitude of soldiers that were visiting him, and assigned someone else to do that while he would talk to me. After I told him about my rank, his face lightened and offered me armor, but…" Prestov suddenly paused, looking downwards for a moment.
"My decline has not been taken lightly, and he completely evaded any question that wouldn't relate with the armor or their goods. I told him that I already have armor and that his goods may help the others, but he blatantly refused to accept it."
Thoughts of his recent encounter rolled back in Roran's mind, varying from the persistent merchant who almost put the breastplate onto him to the disappointed, almost angry young man that only wanted the best for everyone.
"Aye, the same happened to me…"Roran's voice trailed off, his inner dissension stopping him from continuing.
"Maybe we're over thinking this," Prestov intervened. "Maybe this war twisted us so much that accepting good in our lives is nothing less than impossible."
"It is possible, yet-," Roran looked towards the crowd of people and the agitated merchants who frantically moved around to unload more equipment from the caravan, "Those people are just too good."
"Put your mind at rest, Roran," Prestov said, nudging him in the arm hard enough to snap him from his trance, "You are a warrior, not a scholar."
Roran nodded, pleasing Prestov with his ability to overlook certain details until the most important task would be accomplished. What mattered was to fulfill the mission they were originally assigned for.
"We don't want to be late. Not when our superiors tend to lack patience."
With a brisk pace, the two captains made their way through the boisterous crowd, evading soldiers and citizens like it was some sort of training exercise. The arrival of these merchants completely changed Feinster, morphing its dullness into vividness and lifting the pressing veil of sorrow from people, replacing it with cheers and happiness. To Roran, it seemed extraordinary, for only victories could bring such mirth among the Varden.
Although it was named barracks, the structure which was supposed to house the Varden's military force was a residence belonging to a noble who was unfortunate enough to perish in the battle for this city. Wide enough to offer enough space for the troops and lavish on the exterior, with beautiful meandering forms and balconies, the barracks were an oxymoron for each soldier that associated this term with the crude and classic structure designed for only one purpose: battle training.
Roran smiled wryly as his eyes met the conspicuous and somewhat weathered structure. His opinion of nobles was not a positive one, and in conjunction with its purpose, the result was quite an abomination. Most of the time, soldiers didn't like nobles and vice versa.
Prestov increased his pace slightly while Roran reluctantly advanced towards the entrance of the makeshift barracks, where an armor clad and medium height man seemed to await their arrival. His rough, shoulder length hair was dark as midnight, and his insightful mud brown eyes were enough to give him an imposing yet stoic appearance. A scar notched his beardless cheek, and Roran thought that it was the result of a reckless training or a conflict which took a wrong turn.
"Prestov," he began on a displeased voice. "I expected more from a disciplined captain such as you." Prestov didn't seem bothered by their little insubordination, yet Roran could feel that he was equally confused about this man, and his purpose, before anything.
With an inquiring gaze, Roran looked at the man in front of him, then at Prestov. He couldn't help but to feel a vague sensation of uncertainty crawling across his spine. Who was this man, and why was he waiting for them? Prestov's indications pointed otherwise, yet he mentioned nothing of a possible change of plans.
Before he could muse about the peculiar character of this situation, Roran noticed that patience was not an attribute firmly embedded among this man's principle, his thick eyebrows that almost contorted into a frown denoting his inner displeasure.
"Roran Stronghammer," he said loudly, almost arrogantly, "I heard much about you. Quite an impressive fellow you are."
Roran smiled inwardly and replied. "I wish I could say the same, but my information differs from what reality has to offer."
"You were supposed to meet with the council," the man cut in, pacing around with his hands tied at his back, his gaze never leaving the two captains. "As you can see, they can't receive you at this moment, so they have appointed me, the council representative, to instruct you further."
"We didn't…" the man suddenly fixed his eyes on Prestov, his almost petrifying gaze making him feel slightly uneasy, "know…" Prestov finished, his voice fluctuating with meandering waves of uncertainty.
"All there is to know is that the council has more important problems to deal with, and the likes of you shall not disturb them or Nasuada."
"That's not what we have been told," Roran cut in, trying to obtain some answers. "Moments ago, the existence of a council representative was foreign to me and Prestov."
The armored man chuckled, scratching his chin lightly. "You are a soldier. Acting is what you do, not questioning." A short sigh escaped him. "Politics and warriors are like water and oil anyway."
His arrogant attitude infuriated Roran slightly, but he did a good job overall by keeping a cool attitude. Most of their superiors were no different, and this man made no exception. Suddenly, he stopped, the armor resonating with a clang as metal plates rubbed against one another.
"A caravan has departed from Melian with only a few brave peasants to defend the merchants that transport various goods that may serve the Varden. At this moment, they should have already passed the Jiet river by crossing one of its bridges situated at the conjunction…"
He continued to list a series of geographical markings on a map he pulled from his belt, each of them following the course of said caravan. With a limited knowledge regarding map reading, Roran could only pretend that he was following the man's indication with extra concentration while Prestov's gestures and questions swayed his attention towards him.
"…all you have to do is meet with a contingent of foot troops where we established and protect the caravan. Is that clear?"
Both of the captains nodded curtly, their obedience summoning a smile on the man's face. "Good, then you will have no problems departing at this very moment. You are already late, and should the caravan suffer any damage, the punishment shall be appropriate for those who failed to fulfill this menial task."
"It will be done," Prestov said, bidding him farewell. Although unwilling to respect a soldier's code with this arrogant fool, Roran did the same and quickly followed Prestov, wishing nothing more than to fulfill his mission and return to Katrina after such stressful day.
No words were exchange between him and Prestov while they hurriedly made their way through Feinster's inner parts, using whatever shortcuts available to make up for the loss of time which now weighed heavily upon both of them.
"Council representative?" Prestov laughed with interruptions due to panting. "What are next, personal servants for each commander?"
"That is a possibility," Roran chuckled, patting his hammer. He would never hesitate using it, although he could only hope that he wouldn't have to.
After exiting through the main gate, at Prestov's indication, the two of them turned left, trading the main road with a small, dusty, fit for peasants path used by traders to access the nearby forest. The calm atmosphere, the caressing breeze and the clear blue sky helped Roran reminisce the reason of his struggle, the purpose of this bloodshed and the source of his vigor in battles: Katrina.
Even now, he could picture her perfect body in their bed, her enticing forms casting their suave fetters of lust on his mind. He could not resist them. He did not want to. With soft moves, his hand would caress her silky hair that rippled like a copper waterfall. His lips would gently touch her cheek, sliding towards her neck…
"Beautiful day eh?" Prestov's voice immediately erased the image of the perfect being formed in his mind, returning him to the colorless and dull reality in an instant.
Shuddering slightly because of the power of his voice, Roran responded with slight displeasure, "Yes it is."
"Thinking about your wife?"
Roran looked towards the white, puffy clouds that adorned the sky, their shapes slowly molding into even more bizarre forms. "Yes… she is at home right now, and she's most likely preparing a fine meal for my return," chuckled Roran, the smell of his morning meal still fresh into his memory.
"My wife is probably doing the same," he said, then released a light laughter, "That, and watching over my boys that cause all sorts of trouble. I always remember about my younger self when I watch them fighting with blunt sticks like two, soon-to-become-warriors."
Roran sighed," Who knows? Maybe the war will be over until they reach the proper age and join our forces."
Prestov laughed again, patting Roran's shoulder with assurance. "I know, I know… but I cannot do anything about their preferences, you know!" he said, pausing for a short while.
"I guess they will both become blacksmiths since they have a fascination regarding sharp objects."
Looking at Roran, he quickly asked," What about your child?"
"I don't know…" he paused, his thoughts drifting towards Katrina and their unborn baby.
"If it is a boy, he will continue my family's tradition and become a farmer. With girls, it is harder." A smile stretched across Roran's face, the pleasant thoughts filling him with happiness. No matter the cruelty of this war, Katrina was the gentle wave of love that kept him floating, lifting his wrecked and troubled mind to heights he would not dream to access alone.
"It always is," Prestov laughed, nudging him in the arm.
They continued this pleasant discussion for a while, their worries and concerns about the war all but gone. Even if a soldier's life was paved with peril, such moments were imperative for uplifting their morale. Although Roran longed for his intimate moments spent with Katrina, words always helped him in his struggle, and Prestov understood him quite well.
Shortly after, the road began meandering through the thin fringe of the forest, where only a handful of trees escaped the axe of the lumberjacks. Confident in the instructions he had received, Prestov retained his mirth and even tried to explain Roran how the map of that council representative worked, but without much success.
Steadily, retaining a fast pace, they penetrated the inner parts of the forest, where the density of the trees, the cluster of plants and the abundance of ferns obscured the path as well as irritating Roran while he tried to climb a small protuberance that resembled a tiny hill.
"Roran, look!" Prestov yelled out of a sudden. With a curious gaze, he tried to locate what Prestov has suggested, but the trees simply blocked his vision.
"Come down here," he said while his hand pointed at a large boulder on which a shard leaned casually. "That must be the guide mark that man talked about."
"So that means we're close?" Roran asked with mild enthusiasm. Although they were supposed to locate a lumberjack cottage where the soldiers would meet up with them, he felt slightly irritated that instead, they were scouting for land marks and rocks.
"See for yourself," Prestov chuckled, taking the lead. When Roran finally reached him, everything began to make sense. Behind this rock, a clearing opened ahead. Which was the best place to build a cottage in the middle of the forest?
With their objective in sight, Prestov beckoned him to break into a sprint, which Roran did without question. Such a late arrival would tarnish the image the soldiers would depict when they would meet, but trudging in such moment was not an option.
However, instead of loud discussions and laughs, an eerie silence permeated the area around the small, wooden hut. Prestov threw Roran a confused look and he shrugged. Letting out a sigh, Prestov started to move towards the door. A screech of a chair, wood sliding across a rough surface, could be heard from the inside, and in the next moment, a young man walked out of the cottage, his expression more serious than that of a battle hardened warrior.
"You delayed long enough," he said shortly.
The Roran chapters are finally beginning to reveal more and more about what is going on. Is it possible that the merchants were only a distraction while the important part of Roran's task was to meet with the Council Representative and fulfill his assignment? More so, who exactly is this man? Both Roran and Prestov never heard of him before.