Title: Coming Home
Author: Psalm 136
Rating: K
Disclaimer: I own only Quickblade and Tari; the genius of Redwall belongs to Brian Jacques.
Author's Notes: This is simply a short little story that I wrote, and it's dedicated to my best male friend, Chase. We both fell in love with Redwall so quickly, and we have such fond memories of play-acting Redwall in a park near our houses. This is how I feel when I return to those memories; it's a lot like coming home.
Two shadowy figures plodded down the dusty road in the fading twilight. Their eyes recognized the broad trees, but their hearts remembered the airborne song of the ancient spirits that were ever watchful of the single building in the distance.
They looked upon the building with childlike wonder, but with the fear of an adult child returning home, fearful of judgment, but hopeful for the love from his childhood.
The creature on the left was an otter named Quickblade, and his companion was a squirrel called Tari. The female squirrel looked upon her longtime friend and found she felt the bittersweet sting of nostalgia. Ever since leaving their home as wayward youths, their friendship had weathered winters and storms, heat waves and crushing autumns. She knew his intentions and he knew her thoughts; there was hardly a need to speak, but they chatted idly, reading each other's pains and fears without vulnerability.
Tari had seen each wrinkle form and had tended to each wound that became each scar on Quickblade's hardened body. He was her friend and her brother; he had protected her and she taught him when she could do so herself. He could chase away her demons with a flash of his cheeky grin or a sincere word of comfort.
Tari had no fear of losing Quickblade to their home, but she was afraid. It had been many years; her beautiful russet fur was taking on a silvery sheen, and even Quickblade's smooth, youthful face had become ragged and weathered. Both wore their age well, but they had aged and lost their innocence. So much had changed, and it seemed unlikely that their serene home would accept their violent spirits and restless minds. It had been so long.
"It has not appeared to change." Quickblade's deep rumble of a voice broke through her thoughts.
Tari's lips curved wryly. "I do not think it ever does. It is eternal, and it simply is." She replied, and glanced up to his eyes. He was as apprehensive as he, and for some reason, that brought her immeasurable comfort. "Do you believe it has?"
"People change, but Redwall does not." His answer left her no room for doubt, but still, he continued, perhaps to convince himself. "The gardens will still be magical. The summer breeze will still be sweet. Martin guards it, and it will remain so."
Tari knew his faith in Martin had never wavered, and had always found it heartening. They continued to merely look at one another as they walked, reminding themselves that this one, solid, loyal companion could be trusted, for their comrade had always been there.
Her heart beat erratically as a sentry caught sight of them. In a fashion learned over the years, they adjusted themselves minutely so Tari was in a better position to shoot her bow and Quickblade could ward off any returning fire with his double swords.
"Who goes there, friends?" The sentry's voice was friendly but unfamiliar.
"Two weary travelers." Quickblade spoke his usual answer.
Tari finished their customary greeting. "We have heard of Redwall's famous October Ale. Is there any chance we might…?"
The sentry's laughter rang out like one of Redwall's great bells. "Speak no more and come! A feast for the Abbot is due to start in moments and there, you will experience Redwall!"
True to his word, when Tari and Quickblade stepped into the Great Hall, many creatures were sitting and celebrating their Abbot. Tari scanned the crowd and saw a wizened mouse with Dibbuns crawling over him. She furrowed her eyebrows to control her emotions; that wizened mouse, Froderick, had been as a grandfather to her when she had been a Dibbun.
Noting the slight change in her posture that told him of her distress, Quickblade guided her to a table that was not as densely populated as most and sat beside her, angling himself out of habit in a way that he could protect her, if necessary.
"Oh, how lovely!" A female vole across from Quickblade exclaimed happily. "Visitors! How wonderful it is you landed on our doorstep today!"
Tari did not hesitate to answer. "So we have heard. Where is this illustrious Abbot?" She peered around, though she was already aware he was headed towards them.
The vole pointed. "Oh, he is coming! Abbot Froderick, we have visitors!" She cried, delighted.
Tari and Quickblade stood to greet their host, and Froderick studied them carefully. He smiled politely and bowed shortly. "Welcome to Redwall." He shook their paws and his eyes that were years younger than his body twinkled with familiarity. "And welcome home." He added quietly.
Tari averted her eyes. She and Quickblade had stolen away after a shouting match with many of the elders. She distinctly remembered the look of disappointment on the Abbot's face as she cursed them violently, and tried not to crumble underneath his mostly composed gaze.
"You cannot imagine I would not recognize you immediately." Even Quickblade cringed at the judgment his words seemed to convey, but the Abbot smiled kindly. "I would never forget the way you both mirrored each other and were completely attuned to one another." He had to reach up to place a paw on Quickblade's broad shoulder, and touched Tari's cheek. "I wondered so often about you, and wondered when some fated whirlwind would bring you both back here. I have missed you."
"We needed to leave." Quickblade's voice carried only a hint of bitterness, but he looked upon the Abbot with the utmost respect.
Froderick smiled and nodded. "I know, my son. Welcome home." And he embraced them both in turn. The Abbot announced their return, and suddenly, Tari and Quickblade were home, surrounded by long-forgotten friends.
Unbeknownst to all, Martin was watching, and had seen all, and was well pleased to welcome two of his lost children home. Redwall was his, and he would always watch over those he claimed as his.