A/N: Disclaimer: I do not own Redwall
This was written based a reply Faceheightknifefight gave on a Redwall post on Tumblr
The leaves rustled as a soft breeze blew through the woods. Leaves of gold and red dangled from the trees while a few floated down to the forest floor below. Birdsong rang through the branches as robins, dippers, and jays called to one another in the trees. The fields were rich with a bountiful harvest, larders well stocked against the coming cold. There was a chill in the air, and a few creatures even claimed to smell snow on the wind. Autumn had com to the northern woods.
Primrose Voh giggled as she skipped down the path, hopping from leaf pile to leaf pile. She loved autumn. She loved the crackling sound of leaves underpaw, and colorful canopy stretched overhead. Most of all she loved how autumn turned auntie's grave into a bright, fiery red as the laterose gave its last hurrah of the season.
Papa always seemed to grow sad during the autumn. Every morning he would go out to the rim of the valley with Uncle Keyla and Aunt Tulgrew, and, until this season, Grandfather Barkjon. They would stay there for a while, talking together about 'the old days' before returning to the village. Aunt Rowanoak said that Papa was waiting for somebeast to return. But no matter how long Papa waited, the other creature never came.
Rounding the final bend in the path, Primrose stopped short of the grave. There was a mouse there. Primrose did not recognize him. He looked older than Papa, with a bit of silver in his fur, although he stood straight, not stooping like Grandmother Aryah. Across his back hung a sword, very long and sheathed in a scabbard of black leather. The pommel stone on the hilt was as red as the roses on Auntie's grave. She must have made a sound, for the strange mouse turned and saw her. "You must have come to visit your aunt," he said. Primrose nodded. It was not unusual for creatures she didn't know to recognize her. Her father was chieftain of Noonvale, after all. And yet, the more Primrose looked at him, the more she felt that she had seen him before, although she could not put her paw on where.
"I come here often," Primrose said.
The strange mouse chuckled. "Do you now? It's good to hear that she has company from time to time." Primrose though she tears in his eyes, but he dashed them away before she could be sure.
"Did you know Auntie?" she asked.
The strange mouse nodded. "I knew her," he said. "She was the kindest maid I even met." Primrose smiled and walked past the strange mouse to sit in front of the grave. After a moment, he joined her, placing one paw on the gravestone.
"Aren't you going to talk to her?" Primrose asked.
The strange mouse was silent for a long moment before he spoke. "Hello, Rose," he said. "I'm sorry I didn't visit earlier. It's been a while, hasn't it?" He paused, but of course there was no reply from the grave. "I've been gone a long time, I know. I traveled south, found a forest like this one. It's called Mossflower. Turns out you were right when you called me a warrior. I was able to help them win a war." He paused again, this time smiling at something. "You would have liked Columbine and Abbess Germaine, I know they would have liked you. I helped them build an abbey, Rose. We named it Redwall because it's made rose-colored sandstone. It's a lot like Noonvale, full of peaceful creatures. I wish... I wish I could show you." The last few words were little more than a whisper. Primrose looked sideways at the strange mouse, and was surprised to see silent tears coursing down his cheeks. He leaned forward until his forehead touched the gravestone. "I'm sorry,Rose," he whispered brokenly. "I'm so sorry I couldn't protect you. I have regretted that night every day since. I'm so sorry."
Primrose wasn't sure how long she sat next to the strange mouse while he cried. She allowed her thoughts to drift until suddenly she came to, realizing that the strange mouse was no longer beside her. She stood and looked around. The strange mouse was nowhere to be seen. With a shrug and a quick goodbye for Auntie, Primrose headed back to Noonvale. Maybe Papa would know who the strange mouse was.
Trimp listened to Chugger chattering away as they left the valley. The little town had been an unexpected bonus of traveling a bit further east than they had originally intended. The townsbeasts were kindness itself, full of tips and advice on navigating the surrounding areas. She'd even met a friendly mole who, upon hearing that they were travelers, had given her a bag full of sweet honey-cakes, say, "Oi made 'em oop whoile Oi wer aquesterin' moiself. You'm beast'll foind they keeps noice an' easy-loike fer travelin'." Trimp must have thanked him half-a-dozen times while he smiled bashfully, insisting that it was his pleasure to give whole-some vittles to such young travelers.
Martin was still where they had left him, napping just off the path outside the valley rim. The old warrior's fur was beginning to silver, and he wasn't quite as fast as he used to be, but Trimp was glad of his company nonetheless. A wanderer at heart, she had decided to make one last journey north to visit her family before returning to Redwall. Chugger had refused to stay behind, and Folgrim, of course, would not be kept at Redwall when Chugger left. Martin had offered to accompany them, taking up his sword one last time to ensure that they returned to the abbey unharmed. Gonff would have come with as well, but Columbine had been expecting when they left, so he had stayed behind. They had left the abbey that spring, traveling through the summer and autumn with plans to winter with Trimp's family. They would begin the journey home the following spring.
"Ready to head out?" Martin asked them as he gathered his pack from where it sat beside him. They were. And soon the little band was on the path once more, this time heading west.
They had not gone far when Trimp heard the sound of somebeast running after them. "Wait!" came the voice from behind them. Martin did not stop. "Wait!" the voice came again, this time more urgent. Trimp looked back and saw a mouse dashing through the trees, stumbling from time to time as his footpaws caught on the hem of his robe. Martin kept going. "Martin!" the mouse called.
Martin froze in the middle of the path, not turning around, but not moving forward either. The other mouse caught up with them in moments, doubling over and gasping for breath when he reached them. "Martin," he gasped, "It is you, isn't it?"
"Hello, Brome," Martin said, finally turning around.
"Primrose said she saw you by the grave," Brome said, finally catching his breath.
Martin smiled slightly. "I thought she looked like you," he said.
Brome nodded. "Martin, if you're here then why didn't you come into the valley?"
Martin's whole body seemed to droop. "I can't, Brome," he said.
"Why not?" Brome said, "You'd be hailed as a hero, Martin, despite all the seasons you've spent away."
Martin simply shook his head. "I am no hero, Brome. Besides, how could I face your parents?"
"Not a hero?" Brome interrupted. "Nonsense! Martin, you saved my life. You save all of our lives. Do you really think that Badrang wouldn't have found Noonvale eventually?"
"I cost your sister her life," Martin said. Both mice went silent for a long moment.
"You're really never coming back?" Brome said quietly. Something in his face told Trimp that he already knew the answer.
Martin shook his head. "I have a home now, Brome. One that I promised to go back to."
Brome sighed and nodded. He understood. Suddenly, he moved forward, grasping Martin in a hug. The warrior stiffened for a moment, then returned the hug. "You will always be accepted in Noonvale should you choose to return," Brome said. Pulling away, he pressed something into Martin's paw. "Take this."
Martin tried to return to object. "I couldn't, Brome."
"Yes, you can." Brome was adamant. "Boldred made two, just in case you ever came back. This one is yours." He closed Martin's paw over the small object and stepped back. Turning slowly, he began walking back toward the valley. Martin watched him go.
"Brome!" he called. Brome turned around. Unsheathing his sword, Martin held the blade up in a warrior's salute. Brome raised an answering paw.
Several birds flew into the air, startled as the two mice yelled together, "Fur and Freedom!"
Waiving to each other one last time, Martin and Brome parted ways.
That night by the fire, Chugger asked Martin what Brome had given him. Martin took out the little locket and showed it to him. Trimp peeked over his shoulder and saw two pictures. One was a younger Martin, without the scars from his battle with Tzarmina. The other was a beautiful young mousemaid, with laughter in her eyes.
Trimp did not ask Martin about the mousemaid in the locket, or about the hidden town, even when he cried to see the little honey-cakes the mole had given her. After that night, Chugger did not ask either. There was a part of their warrior's history that he alone knew. To ask him about it seemed unbearably rude. Trimp would be satisfied with the little she knew. The rest, she thought, Martin would take to his grave, along with the little locket with the maid.