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Jan 29, 2023

forgive and forget | part II

summary: a war veteran remembers his fallen lover, to a fate he is too guilty to admit

Rolen winced, bending over in pain. It was a rather scorching day, the sun beating overhead with its blinding rays. A sticky haze pervaded the air. Everything seemed to wilt from the immense heat. The hot spell even seemed to have messed with Rolen’s head. He stood in a clearing, with a target on the far side, and arrows noticeably everywhere but the target. For about half an hour, Rolen had been practicing his aim, failing to hit the target whatsoever. Frustration really started to take hold of him, worsening his aim further. How was he supposed to represent the wood elves, if he couldn’t even hit a target correctly? Rolen swore his aim was much better yesterday. Through gritted teeth, he cursed at the unbearable heat of the Sun Elf lands. At least, he still had his trusty dagger.

Gripping his arm, he assessed the damage. A burning sensation prickled the skin on his forearm. The skin where the string struck him was tender and started swelling red. It was a bad burn. He groaned as laughter erupted from behind him.

“Half a century,” the figure behind him continued cackling. “And you still don’t know how to use a bow.”

“I know how to use a bow, thank you very much!” Rolen retorted, softly gripping the afflicted spot on his arm. “It just… needs some work.”

“See, I told you to use the arm guard. Oh, the struggles of being a daft century something. I simply can’t relate.”

Rolen rolled his eyes. “Varan, we’re the same age.”

“I said daft century something,” Varan sauntered over to where Rolen was kneeling over. “Not just any normal century something.”

“Well you’re one to talk! Which one of us has an ugly scar covering half his face then, eh?”

“Yet you still hold the bow too tight,” he grinned. “Like a daft century something. And I still look better than you, what with your resting orc face.” Varan contorted his face into a terrible impression of Rolen, scowling dramatically, with eyes narrowed, and lips pouted.

“Alright, that’s enough out of you.” Rolen fought a chuckle at his ridiculous face. Varan could be utterly absurd at times. “Lucan will be expecting us back soon.”

“Not with that, we’re not.”

To Rolen’s surprise, Varan gently took his hand, facing the burn towards him. Muttering a few words of enchantment, the injury seemed to disappear under his hand. Where the skin was once red and swollen, it was now smooth, like nothing had ever happened.

Rolen peered wide-eyed at Varan’s little trick. Magic was something Rolen could never really wrap his head around. It was a piece of nonsense in his orderly world, making things appear and disappear when they shouldn’t, somehow causing destruction and chaos and at the same time, providing life and healing. Making the impossible happen. Yet moments like these made him really appreciate magic, at least a little bit.

“Neat, eh? I’ve been practicing it over the last couple of months,” Varan teased at Rolen’s smiling face.

“Yeah yeah, how do I know my arm won’t turn into a mushroom like last time?” Varan was a Druid’s apprentice, running errands, doing internships, and learning the art of magic along the way. He was a good Druid, Rolen could admit that. But he still teased Varan of the accident a couple years ago, when he got overconfident in his abilities.

Varan scoffed at that remark. “Honestly Rolen, what do you take me for, a novice?”

Rolen could only laugh. “Maybe-”

His chortle was cut short as Varan raised the back of Rolen’s hand, gently pressing his lips against it. Varan grinned at Rolen’s flushed expression.

“Aww, have I succeeded in making Rolen speechless? Impossible!” Varan chuckled, pulling Rolen closer, turning his face towards him while Rolen attempted to avert his gaze. Rolen tried to recalibrate, gain back control of the situation. But Varan’s stupid bright green eyes and soft smile had entranced him.

“Now that’s not fair.” Rolen whispered quietly, leaning in to peck his lips on Varan’s forehead. Even at the smallest touch, Rolen became flustered, and annoyingly enough, Varan took advantage of it every chance he got. However hot he felt before, it wasn’t comparable to this.

It was difficult to admit. Varan made him weak.

But Rolen wasn’t unhappy about it.

Resting his head on Varan’s shoulder, he soaked in the rays from the sun. It had been a long time since they were allowed to rest. For three weeks, their squadron had been marching to the very edge of the nation non stop to aid the Sun Elves. Of course, Rolen took pride in doing his duty to help his fellow elf kin. Ecstatic almost, contrary to many of the other people in his village. Then again, they were to work alongside despicable half elves and disgusting orcs, but oh well. What was an elf to do?

This isn’t our war. We shouldn't waste our strength on them. What a shame, choosing to exhaust our youth. Rolen had heard their backhanded whispers, concerns and selfishness. He simply came to fulfill a duty, alongside him and his compatriots. The sun elves decidedly needed their help. And if Rolen was the only one willing to have a hand to help, so be it. Thank Za that the clans decided to send more forces as well.

He wondered what Varan thought of the journey. After all, despite his jeers at Rolen, Varan was a very peaceful elf.

Rolen opened his mouth to speak, but out of the blue, Varan shot up. Rolen looked at what he was staring at. Squinting at the sky, his eyes widened. Flying bits of blackened flecks floated gently towards the ground. One landed in the palm of Rolen’s hand. Rubbing it between his fingers, a black smudge appeared.

Soot. The air was tinged with a burning scent. Dark clouds of smoke started to curl up in the sky, casting a dark shadow all around. Rolen and Varan looked at each other in fear. Something was wrong.

“Rolen! Varan!” A figure called towards them in the distance.

Rolen stood up. “Delvor. What’s happening?”

Delvor raced to them, panting heavily. “We’re needed. The Village of Honeybrook just sent for help.”

...

The wind howled against Rolen’s ear, as they raced on horseback towards the village. His heart pounded. Smoke unfurled in the now red sky, almost taunting them with the promise of death lying ahead.

“I see it!” Delvor rode next to Rolen. He galloped faster towards the speck of black at the end of the path. Rolen followed suit, urging his steed to ride faster. Those people needed help as soon as possible.

He was afraid of what he might find once they arrived. Stories of the ruthless Dragonborn rushed through his head, whispers of the rain of ash wherever they walked, tales of the flames that followed, and the savagery that surrounded them. Rolen shook his head, jostled by the pounding of the horse’s hooves against the ground. Honeybrook was but a rural village, with nothing but civilians. It was not a military stronghold, but a mere peaceful settlement. If the Dragonborn were truly as honorable as they claimed, at most they would have left them alone, save an act of intimidation or two. After all, the real threat they had to worry about for now was the force sent to aid the village.

And if they weren’t honorable? Why, Rolen couldn’t bear the thought.

Ahead, Delvor finally pushed to a stop. But the smoke reached Rolen’s lungs first. Coughing, Rolen leaped off the horse to see what Delvor stopped for. He sat still upon his horse, quietly taking in the scene in front of him, a somber expression etched on his face. Rolen followed his gaze, and couldn’t help but freeze as well. For in front of them stood the village, or what he assumed, once was. The whole settlement was completely destroyed, crushed, and burnt to a crisp. Only the bare skeleton of the structures remained, blackened and crumbling. Red embers glowed from the scorched land. And not a villager in sight. They were too late.

Rolen kept walking towards the village, ignoring Delvor’s pleas to wait for the rest of the force to arrive. A cold shiver pricked up his spine at the sight of the village. It wasn’t exactly what he expected when he signed up for this.

Gawking around at the destruction, he noticed something in the corner of his eye. A small rattle sat quietly on the ground next to another scorched home, the handle broken off and smashed into pieces, with the clay charred. It belonged to a child. Or once did. Now, Rolen wasn’t too sure.

Bending down to pick it up, he examined it further. The once bright red was now faded, with scorch marks covering the surface. Intricate designs on the small toy were reminiscent of Rolen’s own. Small and faded paintings of flowers and vines, dotted with spots of gold decorated it. Someone must have loved this child enough to make the art so intricate. Or loved them enough to buy them such a nice handcrafted gift.

And for what?

Sighing, Rolen tossed it back onto the ground. Behind him, the rest of the group arrived, taking in the scene, with the wailing wind, and the crackle of the ongoing fires elsewhere.

His commanding officer called out from his horse, “Spread out! Search for survivors!”

Going further and further into the destroyed village, Rolen got more and more distraught. Corpses littered the area, the stench of death wafting through the air alongside the smoke. In front of Rolen laid one of the deceased. His features were completely melted and burnt off, leaving only a blank stare, gazing at Rolen. Blood splattered the walls and ground nearby, soaking his clothing, with arms and legs nowhere to be found. Rolen gulped at the sight of him, feeling dizzy. His vision blurred at the sight. Grimacing, Rolen stepped lightly over the body, praying to Za.

Nearby was another home, the walls and roof completely destroyed, falling into a pile of rubbish on the wood floor. Suddenly, part of the pile began to shift. Rolen stepped back in surprise, and ran over.

Stepping closer to the spot, Rolen peered at the jostling stack.

“Are-, are they gone?” A voice whispered from within.

“Yes,” Rolen exhaled. It wasn’t an enemy. “You’re safe now.”

Hearing sighs of relief from within the little hideout, Rolen called out, “Help! We’ve got survivors!”

A couple others ran over to aid Rolen. Lifting up the debris, he spotted a small hole in the ground where they hid. Three sun elves were inside, one adult and two young children, covered in a thick layer of soot and dust. Coughing from the dust cloud that arose from disturbing the pile, Rolen held out his hand to them.

“Are you alright?”

“I’m quite fine,” the woman said, standing up, before wincing and crumpling to the ground. There were audible gasps at her injury. A bloody cloth fell from her hands, revealing a large chunk of flesh missing from her leg, as if it was scooped out, the rest of it blistering and burnt. Because the cloth holding the blood in had fallen, blood started spilling onto the ground. The children started to get concerned, attempting to give the cloth back to the woman.

Eyes widening, Delvor grabbed Rolen. “She needs a healer.”

Nodding, Rolen ran off to find one. His stomach twisted in knots at the thought of running about in a place that stunk of death. Of destruction and chaos to the extreme. How anyone could stomach the capacity to do such things was beyond Rolen.

By the end of the hour, they found the rest of the survivors, some that hid in the nearby woods, others that had also stowed in small hidden holes.

Rolen collected water, passing it out alongside others and to the villagers.

“What happened?” Lucan questioned them softly.

The woman from before coughed wildly, looking up at Lucan. “They took everything.” Her voice wobbled, tired and sucked of life. “They destroyed anyone, and anything in their path. Neither gold nor silver could tempt them to stop. Yet all we had to offer were crops from this year’s harvest.”

The rest of the villagers sat in silence, trying to find comfort in each other’s company, giving grim looks at the soldiers.

“We’re just peasants. We don’t know what they wanted.”

“Don’t worry. This war will be over soon enough. The Sun Elves have finally gathered enough forces to crush the Fire Empire.” Lucan’s gaze hardened. “They will listen to reason once they see our strength.”

“You don’t understand!” The woman set down her cup abruptly. “They’re Dragonborn. They won’t listen to reason. They’ll stop at nothing to achieve their means. How many more do you think will die before we put this war to an end?”

She glared at Lucan, lip trembling. “How many!”

Another villager patted her softly on the back. “My husband-,” her voice cracked. “I don’t know if they’ve taken him away to a prison camp, or, or-”

Rolen walked away as the woman fell silent. His stomach twisted at the sight of the burning wreckage, and the dead corpses, alongside the woman’s injuries and the broken rattle. Most of those villagers would be disfigured for life. He never wanted this. Rolen tightened his fist. He couldn’t fathom what kind of monsters would do this. To attack civilians, of all things. How could the Dragonborn manage to do such things without a second thought, really was beyond him. It would only take real monsters, savages, to do what they’ve done without a second thought.

He glanced at Varan a little while away, helping alongside the other healers, distributing makeshift bandages and supplies. Varan spotted Rolen, giving a little wave, with a small smile that disappeared as fast as it formed.

“Varan!” A voice called.

“Coming!” Varan rushed away towards them, leaving Rolen standing alone, in the midst of chaos, the woman’s words circling in his mind. The Dragonborn are of a cruel culture, the scum of the earth. Worse than half elves, worse than orcs, humans, the whole lot of them. How many more would die at their hands, before the Confederacy would manage to stop them? Would there be light at the end of this war?

Rolen simply didn’t know, only faced with only the promise of battle brewing, of conflict with sword and flame. Patting his trusty dagger, he stalked away to see if he could help with anything else, an empty bucket still dripping with water in his hand. At this point, he couldn’t think about that. Right now, all that mattered was that Rolen do his part, his duty to the village, and the elf confederacy. First and foremost, he was a soldier, willing to do whatever it took to rid the world of the atrocious plague that was the Dragonborn.

…

“Ugh, it’s like we’re in a completely different city! Where are we going?”

Shortsighted Eryn and her laughable “values”.What right does she have to deny the truth that stands right in front of her, Rolen seethed, fists balling. She might as well be half breed scum, the despicable being she is. The mere thought of Eryn’s existence, alongside her beloved dragonborn, was enough to make Rolen’s stomach twist into knots. Grumbling, he leaped over a grime covered piece of fallen wall.

Of course, it was his own fault for expecting so much of her. Why, Rolen was surprised at himself for a split second, daring to hope Eryn had grown out of that idiotic phase, but to no avail.

Rolen cursed under his breath as he tripped over a pile of debris. He didn’t have time for such distractions. He gritted his teeth. His skin was crawling from the mere thought of this cursed place, much less being right in the middle of it. Everywhere, random pieces of debris and abandoned items were strewn about. Trash, discarded weapons, tents, ragged clothes, and Rolen didn’t even want to know what those dark foul smelling piles were made of.

They were close. Too close for Rolen’s comfort, although he wouldn’t exactly call this little venture that. Rolen wanted to run away, heart pounding faster and faster as they went. Every foot, every inch closer, memories flooded his brain. He could barely look around, keeping his head bowed. Sunken eyes stared at the pair from the shadows, whispers and murmurs filling the air. A place once so lively, filled to the brim with vivid colors. Rolen could almost recall it, somewhere much different from how it was now. Now, it stood hollow and empty, a scar of the war that raged the continent. Something found within all the lands ravaged by war. A scar no one bothered to heal.

“What happened here?” Rolen could hear Eryn’s silent gasp, jolting him out of old memories.

“This,” Rolen turned to Eryn, “is your beloved Dragonborns doing. Almost enough to justify a war, no?”

In front of them stood a section of the prodigious wall that surrounded Urgshire. And in the middle of it, a wide gaping hole was poised, almost out of place. Adorning the bare edges of the void was a jet black substance that seemed to suck the life out of the area. Centuries old poison that continued to flow, dripping onto the cobblestone ground. The vines that grew over the hole, sinking their roots into the seemingly endless ink black seemed close to disintegrating. All around, Rolen could spot tricksters, thieves, scavengers who have gone desperate, unable to leave the dreaded lower ring. Bodies laid around, waiting to die, pale and thin, fragile enough that they could wither away from a light breeze. Their eyes, as sunken and hollow as the hole they called home.

“Rolen.” Eryn’s voice sounded stricken.

Rolen followed her gaze to an almost endless line of elves, some barely old enough to drink mead. At the very front there was a wooden stump, stained with blood.

“Come! Drink your poison right here! Feeling down?” A vendor shouted from a supposed execution block, wiping off the scarlet stains on a rusty battle axe. “Why not end it all right here, in the most glorious place in the city! Half off for a clean chop!”

“What’s going on?” Eryn gulped, looking to Rolen for answers.

“Grief lines. For those that…” Rolen looked away, “can’t handle this life.”

Eryn stared straight ahead as they heard the sickening swing of the axe, and the crunch that followed, flinching in unison.

“No, no.” Eryn shook her head, speaking in a hoarse voice. “What one nation can be the cause of such a vile place? Why bring me here?”

“Denial. I wouldn’t blame you for thinking so,” Rolen grumbled. “But this encapsulates what the war was like. It was no war. It was a massacre.”

“But the stories! Books that tell of glory and, and how we crushed them like bugs! Not-,” Eryn gestured all around her, “this!”

Rolen narrowed his eyes. “The stories tell nothing of how shattered the elf lands were offset by the surprise attacks. The sun elves are afraid to be shown as anything but weak and off guard. It was always a close call.”

“Surprise?”

“Massacres. Village after village, I have watched too many burned to the ground, and cursed, just like this place.”

“There is no way those attacks went unprovoked-,”

“But they did.”

“That doesn’t make sense!”

Rolen pinched the bridge of his nose. “They did, because they are monsters! They aren’t supposed to think straight. Logic doesn’t work with monsters,” he spat. “Those friends of yours steal, corrupt, and destroy without notice. Why look at this lousy group you surrounded yourself with.” Rolen threw his hands into the air. “Using tainted magic to get their way! Why can’t you see the Dragonborn for what they are! Look around you!”

Eryn stayed silent, pursing her lips. Rolen exhaled. “You can’t justify this behavior, no matter how you look at it. Everyone who does is a threat to our safety. Humans, dwarves, orcs, and the like, everyone but elves seem to agree that we somehow deserved this.”

Rolen placed a hand on her shoulder, hoping she would finally come to terms with him. “From day one, all I have taught you is that we must look after one another. It does no good to mingle with others unlike us. We best look out for our own kind.”

“No.” Eryn brushed off Rolen’s hand. “I refuse to believe the world has it out for us. We can’t just assume that everyone is terrible or capable of such destruction.”

“Have you been-?”

“Yes, I have, and I still think you’re wrong. Again, we can’t assume such vile ideas.”

“Vile? It’s the truth, it was war Eryn! We don’t have time to pick and choose, deciding who’s good and who’s not, not with so much at stake!”

“Well welcome back to the present Rolen!” Eryn retorted back, smiling darkly. “This is a time of peace, uneasy or not, it is up to us to let it continue. That generation of Dragonborn has long since died out. And this new one has been growing under scrutiny and hate.”

“Aw, so sad, I’m bad for not forgiving a clan of murderous monsters for committing war crimes?” Rolen glared. Eryn was being unreasonable. The evidence was right there, and still, nothing. He grumbled, crossing his arms. “Peace talks won’t work, all this talk of coming together as one unit will never work. You cannot reason with terrorists. You think we haven’t tried?”

“And where is this sense of superiority going to get us? Because your brain can’t comprehend it, they are dead,” Eryn snapped at Rolen. “We can’t pin old crimes on innocents with nothing but association to justify it. If they didn’t despise us then, they definitely do now, because of idiots like you. This time it will not be an unprovoked war, and tell me then which ideas helped fuel it.”

“That’s still no excuse to wage war.”

“When the world moves on, you’ll be left behind.” Eryn shook her head, walking away from Rolen, towards the palace. “Alone, bitter and broken from a war too long ago for any to remember, we’ll be made a laughingstock.”

“It was an elf!” Eryn paused to look at Rolen who was pulsating with rage. “The siege of Urgshire began not because of the Dragonborn, but because of an elf that believed peace could be achieved with them. An elf like you. And he was punished for attempting that amnesty you so covet! Killed and left to starve by those he thought friends. It was his fault for putting our kind at risk, for this!” Rolen pointed at the large crater. “There is nothing more dangerous than trust in the unknown!”

Eryn scoffed, “You can’t call people the unknown. Adversity only produces more hate, more war, and suffering. You are hurting people. That is where the real danger lies.” Eryn turned away, marching back to the palace at a quicker pace. Rolen kicked a nearby can in anger, its contents splatting all over the wall. Bystanders gawked at him, curious, some staring at his shiny dagger.

“Degenerates.” Rolen scoffed. He looked back to Eryn’s quickly fading figure as she headed towards the palace. How dare she walk away. It felt too familiar, that conversation. A conversation too long ago to remember. It was almost as if..

No. Rolen should be glad to see her walk away, for that was his final goal wasn’t it? He had finally gotten her to leave him alone. Alone. Now that was a word mentioned too much for Rolen’s liking.

When this ordeal was all over, Rolen would find more than enough evidence to get Eryn out of the way. To stop her and her dangerous ideals. Even if that meant he could never see his cousin again, he would say good riddance. Rolen scratched his head. It was hard to remember they were cousins. For all his talk about looking after his own, why is he pushed to abandon his own family? How could Eryn hurt him like this, like so many years ago. Rolen walked back to the tavern from before, avoiding the shifting eyes in the pitch black.

“Back again? And this late?” The sun elf barmaid looked up at Rolen’s entrance, whilst sweeping the floor.

“This is an all day all night tavern is it not?” Rolen said, pulling out a rickety chair from a table.

“And you would be correct. What can I get you?”

Rolen looked around at the place. Only a few stragglers remained, the tavern more dim and lifeless than before.

“Just a glass of water and some bread will suffice.” Rolen took out his coin bag.

Waiting for his order to arrive, Rolen thought over that debacle with Eryn. Of course she was wrong, she had to be. Eryn was a danger, plain and simple, and so were the Dragonborn. Rolen massaged his head, a migraine engulfing him. Hurting people. Rolen didn’t care if he hurt the feelings of war criminals that Eryn couldn’t understand. Of course people are going to get hurt. But, Rolen winced. Has he really been hurting his own? The suffering of his people, the very thing he wanted to avoid most.

Yes. It really has come to the point where he demanded his own cousin’s execution, compromising with banishment. But Eryn was a danger. That stunt she pulled years ago could have gotten them all killed. That stunt he pulled could have gotten them all killed. At the beginning of the night, perhaps Rolen might have still strongly disagreed with her views. But now, Rolen didn’t know what to think anymore, muddled in this mess of an argument. He still considered other beings besides elves to be a danger, especially the Dragonborn. He always would. Most likely, yes. Possibly.

Rolen’s fingers tapped on the dusty tabletop.

If only Varan was here. Then again, this is the reason Varan was no longer here, wasn’t it?

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