Don't Wanna Watch

Roland didn't watch the final moments of the battle. He knew, at least passingly well, the result from his dreams and his time with the Sorcerer.

Such a cosmic victory should have fully commanded his attention, as it seemed to hold everyone else's captive.

He should be glorying in the fact that the battle was ending, that good was victorious, that everything would be resolved and that his wife and children were all right.

Instead, he watched as the light faded in his cousin's eye, and wondered how many others had suffered this day without someone beside them for the end.

He wondered how he could explain to Naomi. He wondered how the brood of children would react to the loss of their new father, reopening wounds so fresh that they would hardly have even begun to heal.

"I'm sorry, Cousin." He whispered. "I'm so sorry."

Gabriel approached and knelt, panting.

"It's clear now," He said, "Those bats… I…" He wiped his brow. "Roland, look at me."

The king tore his eyes away from Caspian for only a moment. "You're an army doctor, where's your surgical kit?" He demanded of his wife's brother. Gabriel paled.

"It fell," He admitted. "One of the bats took hold of my pack, ripped it from me, and then when I killed it, the blasted thing tumbled into a gorge."

The flicker of hope that the needed supplies might be available smothered, Roland nodded gravely and put on a neutral expression.

"Maybe our parents have something," Victoria suggested.

"Dr. Sherman is here?" Roland snapped. "Why isn't he treating Caspian?" It wasn't like his mentor to shirk his duties.

"No, not those parents," The girl shrank back from her adoptive brother's ire. "That is, my parents, and Gabriel's mother, they're right here."

Roland glanced up to see that a semi-circle of white, shining figures now stared down at him. His mother, aunt, and uncle, he all recognized, but the others… Victoria's parents, and Gabriel's–Finn's–mother?

Haf knelt down over his dying son.

"Caspian," He said quietly. "Wake up."

The man on the ground did not respond. Roland checked his pulse.

"It's not good," He said. "Please, get a Fae, or a halfling, or a surgeon. Bring somebody!"

Haf swallowed and looked over to the battle, whose dying screeches were slowly falling into quiet.

"The forces of Darkness are being driven away and hunted down," He said. "I must help. We all must."

"I'm staying here," Roland said stubbornly. "I won't leave him so long as he draws breath."

"As you wish," Haf dipped his head in deference, which induced a strange wave of guilt in Roland.

His uncle had bequeathed him the Commodorship of Ceto, in lieu of his own son. It had seemed strange at the time, and now seemed even moreso as the deceased man showed respect instead of demanding it.

"My son," Liberty placed a hand on Roland's face. "There is another you must see."

The king looked up at his mother with tears on his face, and he glanced to the side where Victoria was tending another patient. He gasped.

"Gabriel, take over. Don't let pressure off, and don't let him die." Roland said sternly, which was unwarranted. The younger man had more recent experience in medical care than he did, and there was no call to be so short with him, no matter what was going on around them.

As soon as Gabriel was in place and able to hold the wound closed as best he could, Roland staggered to his feet and took half a dozen wobbly steps, only to fall to the ground again.

"Father," He breathed. "Please, Father, not you too."

"It is my time," Duncan coughed and wheezed around the blade protruding from his chest. "Your mother's not going to stay here forever, and… I intend to go with her when she leaves."

"Father," Roland swallowed, and glanced up at his mother, who had joined them. The other white-clad warriors were already gone.

"My sweet Duncan, I must go and fight… Do not leave without me." She gave him a gentle smile and kissed his brow.

"I waited for you for over thirty years, I can wait a bit longer," He assured her. "I… I love you."

"I love you, too." She squeezed his hand, and then was gone.

Roland choked back tears. This was too much. He couldn't bear this much loss. The blood in the dreams had been his own! Why couldn't he have predicted that it would be his family, his flesh and blood, that would have been sacrificed to the cause of the war?

"I can't stand it." He whispered. "Father, you cannot die."

"Everyone dies sometime," Duncan's voice struggled, and then he was silent. His eyes slowly closed as consciousness left him. "I love you, Son."

"I love you," Roland broke, leaning forward to weep over his sleeping father. He would probably never wake again.

The ground rippled in some sort of explosion, and the king looked over with baleful eyes as the battle seemed to be in the throes of conclusion.

"Is it dead?" Victoria asked, staring towards the Dragon.

Roland blinked away the tears to clear his vision. A giant black wing swept aside a line of soldiers before the enormous sword made of light plunged into it again, into a wound that was already open and gaping.

The sky split. The stars stood still. Time seemed to freeze in place and silence reigned for what seemed like an eternity.

Had everything broken? Had time itself finally given way beneath the strain of this enormous battle?

Roland had no idea how long he had been there. Between being unconscious and the fact that there had been no visible sun since soon after their arrival meant that time was extremely hard to judge. And perhaps now time was meaningless

The deafening silence was a welcome respite from the cacophony of war, but as it stretched, an eerie discomfort accompanied it.

Just when the tension had built to a point where Roland thought his mind would break as well, time jerked forward. The Dragon's screech resumed, only to end forever. It's hulking obsidian body fell to the ground and dissolved into a plume of black smoke that dissipated into the wind, blown away like chaff.

The rest of the creatures of Darkness fell into panic. With no uniting force, no supreme consciousness to control them, they were in disarray. The warriors in white and creatures of good hunted them down, slaughtering them indiscriminately.

The surviving humans looked around, bewildered, wondering if at last it might be over. They began to pick up their wounded and examine the dead. Weeping and mourning mixed with the cheers of victory.

Their world was their own again.

Or at least, it was now shared only with friendly beings.

Was this all, then? Would everything return to normal, with the water clear and the land hospitable for humans?

Roland's mind wandered down bitter paths as he held his father's head. He wept, resenting that victory should come at such a cost. Why not his own life? Why the lives of people he loved?

The sky lightened, slowly at first, but then Ivan stepped forward and lifted his hands, and the sun broke through the cover of night. There were no more stars to be seen, as is fitting during the day.

The light seemed welcome at first, but it only enhanced the view of the horrible carnage. Roland bit back vomit, not because of the sight itself or because he had a weak stomach, but simply because of the waste of it all.

"Why?" He demanded quietly. "Why did we go through all this?"

"It is not yours to reason why," A feminine voice spoke from over his shoulder, and his foul mood deepened. He could be happy in victory some other day. For now, he would drown himself in the grief of losing others.

A keening wail of grief pulled his eyes forward and down the slope, towards the center of where the battle had taken place. Near where the Dragon had been finally slain. He scanned the people until he found the man crying out loudest amongst the mourners. 

Shayn. It was Shayn, and he was pulling a body into his arms, broken like an old rag doll. A body wearing the distinctive uniform of Klain's General. 

Riley.

Roland's blood froze. No. Duncan was older, and seemed ready to go. But Caspian and Riley? They were young, with children to raise.

"Is it not 'mine' to ask why?" He glared at Gwen over his shoulder. "This death is pointless. Awful, and gruesome, and pointless."

"You did not create these lives." The Fae pointed out. "Are they yours to claim?"

"How many others?" He demanded, turning on her. "How many have we lost today?"

"We have gained much today," Gwen tilted her head. "Good is victorious, and evil has been conquered forever. Is that not worth any price?"

Roland glowered at her matter of fact dismissal of the lives spent. It was flippant and heartless. Cold, like the frozen fire of the Dragon's caliginous breath.

"What if I say no?"