Er... um. Miss me? Heh... crap. I really have no explanation why I haven't updated in a while. Yeah school had something to do with it sure, but it's mid July now. Basically a month into my summer and I haven't posted at all. I'm sorry guys, I guess just haven't had that same enthusiasm as I first did when I started this fic. And I'm not even 1/4 of the way there in the story! I really have no excuse for my absence, and I hope the very few of you out there who have waited or wondered that you're all still as encouraging as you were before.

Anyways, I had this chapter about 80% done for a couple months now, with mostly editing done here and there, without much actual writing.

Enjoy!

Stumbling off his horse for the third day in a row, Roran cursed the Empire, Nasuada, himself, and everything else in the world for his pains. After days of riding, he had developed large sores on the inside of his thighs, along with chapped lips, which cracked and bled anytime he said anything more than a mumble. The other riders fared little better, and all were windswept and travel-worn. Their journey had not been as particularly heroic as Nasuada put it when she sent them; the days were spent riding, the nights they huddled together around a meager fire for warmth in the wilderness. Originally, the plan was to follow the highways linking the cities of Alagaësia together, but the plan went awry as they encountered more and more refugees as well as highwaymen in the areas near Feinster, which were growing increasingly anarchical, despite the Varden still holding the city. Roran worried if that they did not defeat Galbatorix quickly enough, all out chaos could break out throughout Alagaë were, Roran calculated, about a day's journey away from Aroughs, which comforted the men tremendously, as the general mood around their evening fire displayed. The only good thing about straying off the path was that firewood and game were easier to find, as both were scarce along the King's roads. This night's search brought in some rabbits and a small thrush, a welcome treat after meals of cold cheese and bread. Carn in particular, Roran noted, seem most improved by this new source of food and heightened atmosphere. He even managed to devise a spell using his charmed bracelet that not only healed, but also prevented Roran's lips from splitting constantly. The group went to bed with high spirits, thankful for a small break from the struggles that would await them the coming days.

Roran awakened just before dawn, roused his men, and the group once again began their journey south. At midday, they stopped to rest on a small hillock overlooking a field of marshes. They were nearing Aroughs. The group spent two hours trying to weave their way through the thick marshes and trees, but the pace was agonizingly slow and eventually Roran was forced to give up and they returned to the main road. There seemed to be a sudden absence of people on the road now, Roran noticed, and by the end of the day, he knew why. Up ahead, directly on the path, there was a cluster of grey smudges, with a faint smoke trail above it. Encouraged by this, Roran urged his horse ahead, with the rest of the group following suit. Fifty feet from the Varden encampment, for it was the Varden, a pair of horsemen went out and met the group.

"Halt! Who might your lot be?"

Roran stood tall in his saddle, and stated with as authoritative of a voice as he could muster, "Roran Stronghammer, sent by our Lady Nasuada to capture Aroughs. Where is your superior?"

One guardsman nodded at the other, and the man turned around and rode into camp. The remaining guardsman, an older soldier with long dark bushy sideburns tinged with grey, then snorted at his statement, saying, "Takin' Aroughs? You'd be better off fightin' Galbatorix, with the force we have now. I'm no commander, but even I can tell there's no way of capturin' the city."

Roran was about to respond when a trio of men arrived. It was clear that the foremost man was the leader of the contingent, with his tunic of a finer make than the other men, along with darker leather boots and a sword with a shiny brass pommel rather than plain steel. Despite the garb, Roran could tell he was not a vain man; rather he seemed to assume his dress as simply a part of his higher status in command. The man reigned in his steed and called out, "So the great warrior Stronghammer arrives! Will you be our miracle in taking this accursed city?"

Roran was unsure of whether the man was mocking him or not, but the man laughed and said, "Don't worry, I know you won't go too far in your schemes; after all, we all know what happened the last time you ignored orders." The man winked with a friendly smile, and Roran smiled in return. He was going to get along well with this man.

"The name's Brigman. Captain of the 4th Regiment before I was sent here with this group just before you took Feinster. Nasuada, wise in her ways, thought we could take this city within days, but of course, it was just that, a thought. I suppose your help wouldn't hurt. Come, we have some spare tents pitched that you may use."

Leading the way, Brigman guided the group through the tents and gestured at the ones set aside for the travelers. Roran dismounted, knees almost buckling from exhaustion, but he bore no complaint, and he pulled out the scroll Nasuada had given him and handed it to the captain. Brigman scrutinized the scroll, before tucking it in his tunic.

"They say you once slew two-hundred men single-handedly."

Roran nodded, "Aye, and I've heard that you're a good captain, one of our best, if I'm not mistaken."

Brigman chuckled at this and replied, "Well you know people will say anything to attract attention. Why, there were even rumors once that your cousin Eragon—" but before he could finish there were shouts of warning coming from the south edge of camp. Brigman snapped to attention, his relaxed demeanor gone, replaced with one born of years of military training.

"It seems your arrival was rather ill timed; I hope your men are able enough after your journey to fight." Brigman said gravely. "Suit up soldiers! They aren't going to wait for us to get ready." And the captain proceeded to bark out more orders for his other men in preparation.

Roran looked over at Baldor, who had a look of anxiety on his face, but when he met Roran's eyes, his face hardened and he merely nodded. Mandel appeared just as nervous, but Roran knew his nerves would hold. Carn remained impassive, although it seemed his face was paler than usual.

Brigman left the group, probably to prepare himself for battle, leaving Roran with his own men, for which he was glad. The group, by unspoken consent, all proceeded to don on their various armors and gear. Roran instinctively reached for his hammer at his waist, making sure it was securely fastened, and then placed his arming cap on his head, followed by his helm. His mail shirt came next, and he finished dressing with his forearm and shin guards, drawing the leather cords tight using his teeth.

The group was ready after a few more minutes, when a single horn sounded once, twice, three times, which Roran knew meant the imminent arrival of the enemy. He led the way on foot, knowing it would be downright suicidal to try to fight on horseback after a four-day journey. They were on the southwest side of the camp, and he could hear Brigman nearby. The soldiers were filing out quickly, forming ranks, with spearmen at the front, and archers towards the rear. The captain's orders grew silent as he too joined ranks, just beside Roran.

"Do you think we can hold a full frontal charge?" Roran asked.

Brigman answered tersely, "I believe so; their force is only around three hundred or so, with a hundred cavalrymen. What I'm worried about are the men I've posted at our siege engines." He gestured down towards the city, where a small group of catapults and siege towers lay with a small group of men sitting among them. Roran also saw the forces of Aroughs. At the front were the horsemen with a larger mass of men behind them. From the distance Roran could discern some bright orange pennants, no doubt bearing the crest of the ruling family of the city. Suddenly the group of men, normally at a march, broke out into an all-out charge, the cavalry outdistancing the infantry.

"Men of the Varden," Roran shouted, "my fellow comrades, now is the time we prove to the Empire just who they're dealing with. All of you, stand your ground, guard the man next to you with your life, and know that though they may break our ranks, and our shields, and even our bodies, they will never break our spirits, our loyalties, or our loves, for they shall outlast even the Black King himself. Now I know I have not met many of you, some of you might not even know my name, but all that will be forgotten when our children and grandchildren remember what we did, today for the Varden, doing the job that even the great Eragon Shadeslayer himself was loathe to do."

The soldiers gave a great shout, banging their swords on their shields. Brigman then gave an order to "form the line", and the soldiers straightened themselves out, forming a nearly perfectly straight line. Rather than having grid-like rows, each row was offset, so that even if the Empire managed to break the front line, the Varden forces couldn't be split apart by a wedge.

"Brace yourselves," warned Brigman as the Empire collided with the Varden.

"Archers!" Roran heard someone shout. A twang of arrows sounded, and the frontline of the Empire's cavalry crumpled and tumbled, tripping the horses behind them. Roran almost hoped that the entire charge would fall into disarray, but his hopes were lost as the Empire quickly recovered, and this time charged in a V shape.

"Pikes!" commanded Brigman, his voice as hard as steel.

The front row raised their pointed staffs, even as the archers continued laying down wave after wave of angry buzzing arrows. Roran heard himself shout along with the rest of the men, although he felt detached from the battle after his speech, as though he was viewing the battle from a faraway position. The cavalry smashed into the Varden line with a tremendous crash, almost breaking the line, before retreating after the Varden furiously fought back with their pikes and spears, piles of men and horses now beginning to appear. Roran heard Mandel ask him, "Should we chase after them and meet their army head on?" to which Roran heard himself say "No, because they haven't sent out their whole force; this is merely an attempt to weaken or trick us into following them back to the city, where they may have their full force waiting. Better to let them batter away at us, tiring themselves instead."

The Empire's foot soldiers were close behind the cavalry, brandishing their swords and spears and shouting curses at the Varden's soldiers. Roran tensed; ready for what he knew would be a bloody, and hopefully brief, battle. He knew that for once, the Varden outnumbered the Empire two-to-one; but even so, he knew victory would come at a great cost to the Varden in men and time.

The next three hours or so were a blur to Roran, who still felt apart from the fighting. Apart that is, until a spear cut into his left shoulder, immediately drawing him into the battle. Pain, it seemed, focused him to a point where nothing, not his fears, loves, or hopes would get in the way of the job at hand: defeat the Empire in any way possible. Roran gave a snarl and a flurry of blows later, succeeded in slaughtering a group of the Empire's soldiers, before jumping back behind the safety of a wall of razor sharp swords, axes, and spears.

Then, as quickly as the battle seemed to have started, it also ended, with the Empire's soldiers retreating back to the city, their numbers decimated to less than fifty men left, with only four horsemen remaining. Many of the Varden gave a whoop of victory and wished to chase them all the way to the city, but Brigman and Roran gave orders to remain at camp, which resulted in many groans and complaints, but no one dared disobey orders.

"Bring the wounded to the sick tents; I want a tally of casualties!" Brigman ordered, "And Stronghammer, if none of your men are wounded badly, come to my tent; I will have a man send for you." Then the captain remounted his horse, and headed off, presumably to his tent. Roran wandered back through camp, ignoring the throbbing in his shoulder, until he recognized his tent, where Baldor and the other men stood waiting.

"Anybody injured?" he asked.

Carn shook his head. "A few scratches, and Mandel had a gash on his calf, but I healed it." Noticing Roran's injury, Carn rushed forwards, examining the wound with a look of concern.

"You're hurt! Hold still," and before Roran could protest, Carn placed his palm on the wound, and began murmuring something in the ancient language. At once, the pain began to dissolve as the spell began reknitting his damaged muscle, with his skin smoothing over as though the battle had never happened. Roran rolled his shoulder, tensing and relaxing the muscle until he was satisfied. He noticed that ever since Eragon had given him the bracelet, Carn wasn't as tired from the healings, and so seemed energized somehow, as though the energy he would normally have spent healing could now be used for other purposes. During the battle, Roran could swear he saw Carn conjuring spells he had never used before.

Roran told the men they could remove their armor and return to their tents, and he removed his battle gear as well, setting it down in his tent so that he could reach it quickly in case of another emergency. A messenger stood outside his tent when Roran went out. The man, who was more of a boy, had long brown hair, which covered his eyes, causing him to toss it aside constantly with a flick of his head.

"The c-captain's tent is this way," he stammered leading the way with a quick pace, almost a trot. Roran followed the boy to the eastern side of camp, where a grey tent, larger than the others, stood tall, with two guards posted outside. It was nowhere near as grand or large as Nasuada's pavilion, but it served its purpose.

"Roran!" Brigman stood from his desk, his demeanor very relaxed, considering the battle that had just taken place. "You're here early. Are any of your men injured?"

Roran shook his head. "Nothing too bad; I brought a spellcaster though to heal us just in case."

The captain nodded as he sat back down, "That is good, for the mage Nasuada sent us is particularly talentless, he struggles to heal even the smallest scratch."

"The able ones are stretched thin throughout the Varden; most of them are required to protect the Lady." Roran commented.

"I suppose so, but let's get to why I asked you to come here. What exactly did Nasuada send you to do here? How does she expect a group of six men to suddenly allow our force to overrun a city we've tried to take for the past few weeks?"

Roran was unsure of what to say. He didn't want to be rude, but he still wanted to be honest in his thoughts. "I believe that since I am known for my… unorthodox methods in combat that I would find a solution to taking the city that you… that you may have not."

Brigman leaned back in his wooden chair, an impassive look upon his face. "She is not wrong about that, my friend, as you have done the unthinkable numerous times in the past. But trust me when I say this: Aroughs is unconquerable with the men and resources we have now. The only real course of action is to wait and hope she sends reinforcements, but until then, I suppose I may as well let you see the scale of what you have to accomplish."

Brigman stood once again from his chair, and he exited his tent, leading the way.

"Aroughs is a city of roughly five thousand people, although with the troops Galbatorix posted, it may number close to seven thousand."

Roran looked toward the direction he was pointing, and saw the city down in the valley. The city had two levels, one taller than the other. Surrounding the city were an assortment of farms and even large manors. Outside the city lay the Varden's siege engines, though they seemed pitifully small compared to the walls of the city.

"As you can see, breaching the walls is no easy task, and having far less men than the Empire doesn't help either. Today's battle may have been successful, but we still lost a good hundred men, while the Empire still has thousands at its disposal. Attacking the city through conventional means is utterly impossible. However I simply cannot fathom how you would do it otherwise; the walls are too high to climb over, and we do not know enough about the interior to make a good estimate of where key strategic points would be."

Roran scratched his beard, thoughtfully looking down at the city. True, he could see past the walls into the city, but as Brigman said, he couldn't decipher where the guard stations might be, or how well defended the inner levels were, or even which house was in use or not. Roran could only tell that the main gate opened to a wide street leading directly to the next gate of the inner wall, with a multitude of houses and shops beside it. Inside the inner gate, Roran could just make out a large palatial building, undoubtedly the quarters of their lord. A key detail, Roran noted, was that one side of the city near the Varden was open to the sea, although the gap was very narrow, almost too small for any ship to enter through.

When Roran indicated to Brigman this point, the captain nodded and answered, "Aye, that's a small port that they use to bring in supplies they normally wouldn't get here, various spices and the like. Trying to break that gate wouldn't be any easier than the main one, seeing as we lack any battle-worthy ships."

Roran nodded, but kept his thoughts to himself. There is no way that the city is unattainable. Roran reasoned. If we cannot get men in, then they cannot leave the city either. They have to break at some point. If only Nasuada could give me another week! However, Roran knew this was unlikely; the Varden desperately needed these men if they were to have any success taking Dras Leona, especially with winter fast approaching. This had to be decided within the next few days, with as few casualties as possible.

After exchanging some more thoughts on various tactics and strategies, Roran returned to his tent. While there was no doubt Brigman was an excellent captain, he lacked one intangible quality that Roran knew was needed in this type of situation: creativity. It was blatantly clear that taking the city was impossible through ways taught in the traditional officer schools, and Roran was afraid that Brigman could not exceed the capabilities of what his training, smart as he was.

He has done all that he could have. The situation could have been worse.

Roran asked Brigman how the port was set up. Brigman promptly replied, "The sea extends some ways into the city, I'd say about five hundred feet. They have a gated iron portcullis that closes about twenty feet underwater, where there is another solid iron gate. The metal's as thick as my waist though, so there's no use in trying to cut through."

Roran thought for a moment. "Iron you say? And the water is salty yes?"

Brigman nodded. "Aye, it's unrefined, but tough. And yes, the sea provides them with salt year-round. Why do you ask?"

"How well do you think they maintain the metal gate?"

Recognition dawned on Brigman's face. "You mean to think it's rusted away?"

Roran nodded, "Aye, I haven't heard of a battle here for some time, and longer still for a naval attack. The only ships that come here are the ones you said, spice and grain boats. I doubt they'd have checked to see how strong the metal still is."

Brigman chuckled. "Stronghammer, I've never met anyone the likes of you. However there's no guarantee that it'll work."

Roran nodded. "Yes, we'll have to send a small group just to find out. I'll lead one if you wish."

Brigman spread his arms in mock surrender. "You're the mastermind here, Stronghammer. This is a blasted plan, but a plan indeed. Let's just hope it goes well."

So yeah, the chapter was a touch short, and it definitely wasn't the way I wanted it, but I worked with what I had. Paolini's version of Roran capturing Aroughs is so much better than I had originally thought, that this section of the story is going to take some careful and creative planning to make it even half as epic as CP's.

Next chapter will be... Hmmm with my procrastination, who knows? I think Eragon's though, who knows.

Until next time,

~Argetsverd