The Trees Used To Sing

TW: Death, Descriptions of Death, Gore/Violence, War Themes, Descriptions of Corpses, Some Language

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“Where I come from, the trees used to sing,” the Old Man told me, “The Oak would start and the Hickory would join, the Willow would harmonize, and the woodlands would be the center of music and chorus, of love, and of joy.”

I snuck away from home every day, avoiding my chores, to hear stories from the Old Man about where he came from. He told me about Varengar, about the city of song, the city of gold, and how every morning the sun shined off of marble roofs. The city glowed every dawn and every dusk; the trees sang their praises, and all were peaceful and prosperous. 

I dreamed of nothing more than the opportunity to chase these stories, to follow the trail the Old Man laid so perfectly for me, to find this golden city the first chance I got. My dreams were haunted by pillars of stone, stretching into the sky, and buildings large enough to hold my entire village in their depths. I dreamed of the trees, of their songs, and I dreamed of the sun casting its good fortune across Varengar’s citizens. Yet, I did not expect to find a city of black.

“No survivors yet, Commander,” Luah said, striding beside me. 

“I didn’t think we would find any,” I replied.

My dreams were promised gold, and I was delivered charcoal and ash. The woodlands were burned to the ground, and with the remains of trees, we found the blackened bones of dead soldiers and demons alike. Smoke lifted from the ground, the stench of rotting flesh suffocating the patrol, with each of us tying a cloth around our faces. Skeletons lay suspended in motion, fallen where they’d died in an instant, the mutilated bodies of the enemy surrounding them. Beasts lacked arms and legs, some with their mouths and jaws broken and half missing, and no lack of weaponry lay abandoned beside former masters. Swords rusting from blood and blades shattered from impact alongside bows and arrows splintered and thrown away, decorated the ground surrounding the dead. All were covered in black.

I knelt and slid my finger across a stump, or what I presumed to be a stump, from a tree or a severed arm, it didn’t matter. The pad of my index came back chalky and black. I rubbed my finger and thumb together, encouraging the ash to fade, as a yell from one of my soldier’s caught my attention. I glanced at Luah before stepping over to where I was summoned.

“Found the patrol,” they said as I approached. 

Solemn, I stared at the bodies strewn at my feet. Four Dragonborn lay mutilated where they’d fallen, scales littering the ground from where they’d been blown from their bodies. Their wings were mangled, the membranes gone, and the horns covering each of their bodies snapped and cracked into pieces. The glowing pride of these people was snuffed out, thrown into disarray at their disgraced corpses.

“Bury them. Find a memento from each to bring back to their families.”

“Yessir.”

I crouched beside the fallen soldiers, rubbing my face and jaw. They’d all been decimated. A stream of air slides from my lungs, heavy, as Luah knelt beside me. 

“They said it was bad. I didn’t anticipate how bad.”

“Commander Nightshade wasn’t lying. You know they weren’t. You saw the look in their eyes. Harrowed.”

“Nightshade is a murderer,” I muttered quietly.

Luah shifted beside me. I looked over and their strained expression told me, they didn’t agree with my opinion. “Any good soldier would have found another way.”

“Commander, you’re foolish, and far too idealistic, to have believed there was any alternative to this. Nightshade did the only thing they were able to do.”

“Yes, they ran like a coward and killed their squadron! Willingly!” I raised my voice, anger brimming beneath my skin. No soldier of mine would’ve been allowed to live if they’d abandoned their squadron, if they’d killed their squadron. Luah met my stare with disgust, a grimace on their face. I glared back, and scoffed before rising to my feet and walking away from the piled bodies.

“Nightshade gave their companions an instantaneous death! The demons would not have! What they did was merciful, not from the hands of a genuine murderer!”

I turned, staring at my second. They were standing, fists balled at their sides. I saw their anger, and it fueled mine.

“So, you would kill your squadron, too, then? Me and all the rest of them?”

“If the only other option was you being ripped apart by the demon army, then yes! Yes, I would! You are cruel and downright idiotic to not be willing to do the same,” they exclaimed, throwing their arms in the air. I marched over, leaning into their face, spittle flying into the cloth covering my mouth. They did not cringe away.

“I would have found another way to get us all out alive instead of just running!”

There’s a flash of silver and the point of a blade pressed against my chest.

“Get the hell out of my face,” Luah snarls, “I hope someday you wake up, Commander. You’re a bigger fool than I took you for, and fucking stupid to boot.”

My lieutenant shoved past me, resheathing their dagger, as I remained standing by the dead. I looked over at one of my squad staring at me nervously.

“What?”

“Uh- We found enough mementos, sir.”

“Did you find the one the Dragonborn described?”

“Yessir. We… We severed a horn off as Commander Nightshade requested, and a claw.”

I grunted and waved the soldier off. Their footsteps receded as I looked in the distance at the shadow of what was once Varengar. The city was a crumbling pile of debris with naught a sliver of life to be found within. This city of gold fell into darkness, and the trees no longer sang of joy and prosperity. The trees didn’t sing at all anymore.

Everything remaining in this place was the dead and the forgotten, and my dreams couldn’t bring them back to life, nor could I restore the glory the Old Man so passionately told me. Varengar should never have fallen, but it did. We lost this battle due to the actions of a Dragonborn Commander, a foolish, selfish, and cruel Commander, who annihilated their kin. The city was buried under the decisions of one, and here we were, searching among the battlefield for mementos to return to mourning families. After this, no one would return to Varengar, and no songs would ever be heard again, caught only in the fragments of memory and time.