Work Text:
“Don’t kill him. That isn’t how we do things.”
Rán pauses, her finger on the trigger of the blaster, looking down at the officer on his knees in front of her. She doesn’t meet his eyes. “It’s how I do things,” she says quietly as she pulls the trigger, and tries not to feel the weight of another body on her shoulders.
“They don’t understand,” she says later, curled up in Aure’s arms, while he holds her as she shakes, “They don’t know what war is.”
They can’t afford to be idealistic, to be merciful, to hope those they’ve spared don’t stab them in the back. She knows what the cost of war is, and she knows the cost of idealism too.
Aure makes a sound of agreement. “They think if we try to be nicer , that makes us the heroes, that makes us better somehow.” He snorts. “No fuckin’ heroes in war, just who’s left alive, and who gets killed. Just have to make sure more of them are dead than us.”
Rán slips her hand into his. “They don’t know what it means to carry that.” The rebellion is made up of idealistic heroes, trying to tell themselves whatever lies will let them sleep through the night. She doesn’t blame them for not wanting to carry that weight, to wish they could look at themselves in the mirror and not be covered in blood, but freedom comes at a cost.
“You did the right thing,” Aure says finally, “You did what you had to. Whatever they say, you’re a soldier, alverd’ika, and beings like you, like us, that’s who’s going to win this war, not the heroes they want.”
She knows he’s right, but it’s a cold comfort, even so.