A/N; I have just two loose ends to tie off. Both deal with canon aspects of the Redwall books. As such we have this chapter, a brief interlude, and then this story shall close. I'll save my goodbyes for this fic for later, but we are drawing close to that point. However this IS the last chapter in which we'll see many of the characters. Some things may be glossed over and we're going to be jumping around in the canon timeline of Martin's life so be prepared for that. This is also much shorter than previous chapters as well. I debated lengthening it, but I'm not one to add length just for the sake of adding length. Rather I prefer to just let the story tell itself. I've got a feeling you should like this as it ties in what makes this tale canon correct, even with Rose still being alive. Confused as to what I mean? Good, that means I've done what I hoped I would do. Don't worry, any questions you might have WILL be answered in due course or if they don't spoil my last chapter in the interlude I'm planning. So, let the end begin.

36
Departures

"How can you be sure?"

"Because of this."

Brome's confusion only grew as he stared at what Martin was showing him. Likewise he was also confused at the missive he now held in his paws. Martin had given it to him just as Brome was about to leave Redwall to return to Noonvale. Most of the Noonvalers had either left for their northern home or were waiting on the path for their Patriarch. The Warrior had given Brome instructions that he was not to open the leather bound scroll but to keep it safe and secure in Noonvale.

Martin saw the confusion in Brome's eyes. "Please grant me this one favor Brome. Though you may not be the one to deliver this message, I swear he will come for it." Martin tapped the four words on the scroll indicating who the missive was meant for.

"Then grant me one favor in return," Brome looked down at the scroll as he spoke.

"Name it," said Martin.

Brome looked back up at his brother-in-law. "The tradition for our family is to rest in Noonvale when we pass to Dark Forest. Should Rose wish it, please do not deny her that request."

Inwardly Martin frowned. He had just had Dinny construct a chamber just off the Great Hall just for that purpose, complete with a very intricate carving of a rose. Still, Martin knew it was not his place to deny his wife her choice of resting place. He bowed to Brome before he answered.

"Of course Brome. Though that is Rose's choice not mine."

"What's my choice?" The mousewife in question had walked up and put her arm around her husband's waist. Martin returned the embrace at once.

"I'll tell you later," Martin promised.

"Fine," she then turned to where Brome and Aryah stood near the gates. "Safe journey back to Noonvale."

"And peace and happiness to you and Martin," Aryah told her daughter as she gave Rose a goodbye hug.

"I'll miss you mother," Rose told her.

"And I you," was the reply. "But I'm glad you have finally found happiness at last. I wish you and Martin every joy."

"As do I. Goodbye Rose." Brome stepped forward and hugged his sister as soon as Aryah released her embrace.

"Goodbye Brome. I know Noonvale will prosper."

"Thank you Rose," Brome said as he released Rose. He then turned back to Martin. "Any final words of advice?"

"Just one," Martin told him. "Take some time and talk to Trefoil and Scirus about Felldoh. They deserve to hear the truth about him from you."

Brome looked over to where the two squirrels in questions were saying goodbye to some Redwallers. "I don't know what to say. At least not to Trefoil." The Patriarch looked decidedly nervous.

Rose smiled and put a paw on his shoulder. "How about starting with 'hello'?"

Brome felt a quick bark of laughter escape his mouth as his tension lessened. Drawing himself up he and Aryah then turned and walked out the gates. Walking to the front of the Noonvalers he waved one last time to Redwall and began the march back to Noonvale.

"Martin! I'm home!" Rose came walking back into the Gatehouse rooms she shared with her husband. Four seasons had passed since she and Martin had been wed and Brome had returned to Noonvale. The winter snows had barely melted when word had reached Redwall from Noonvale by way of Emalet. Aryah had taken ill and requested that Rose return to the valley as soon as she could. She would have waited for Martin to journey with her, but he was supervising crews at the quarry and wouldn't have made it back to the Abbey for several days due to the snowmelt swollen swamplands that hindered travel in Mossflower in early spring.

As such Rose had packed a travel bag and set off with the owl for Noonvale. She had of course left Martin word of where she had gone. Late summer was now full upon Mossflower as Rose returned to Redwall to find the Gatehouse empty. The hooks where Martin usually kept his sword was conspicuous only because of the absence of the weapon they normally held. Dumping her bag the bed she and Martin shared Rose walked back outside to look for Martin. Rather than finding her husband she was instead greeted by a small brown furry thing that attached itself to her legs.

"Aunta Rosie! Aunta Rosie! You camed back! Me missded you lotsa!"

Rose felt a grin break across her face as she bent down to pick up Gonflet. She returned the hug of the small mouse. "I missed you to you little scamp." She started tickling the Dibbun as she continued to question him. "Where's your daddy and Uncle Martin?"

"Tee hee hee hee hee hee hee! Stoppa dat Aunta Rosie! Hee hee hee hee hee! Daddy an' Unca Martin be goneded."

"Goneded?" Rose repeated the baby word. "What do you mean goneded?"

"He means gone" Columbine had come out of the Abbey brushing flour off her apron. She had been helping the cooks prepare the noontide meal.

Gonflet took the opportunity lean forward to smack Rose a kiss on the cheek before jumping out of her arms to run off and play with Gingivere and Sandingomm's young ones, Isic and Yatal.

"Make sure you keep close to the pond!" Columbine called after her son. "That's where all the strawberries are growing!"

"You want him near the pond?" Rose asked.

"Of course not," Columbine replied. "But lately he's taken to doing the exact opposite of everything I've told him to do. Welcome home. How is your mother?"

Rose's eyes lost some of the sparkle Gonflet had put in them. "With my father."

Columbine at once stepped forward and embraced her friend. "Oh Rose, I'm so sorry for you."

"Thank you," Rose said as she returned Columbine's hug. "She passed to Dark Forest peacefully in her sleep. My brother might be the finest healer Noonvale has ever known, but there are no cures for some things. I'll be fine as soon as I see Martin again. Where is he anyway? You said he was gone."

"It's a bit of a long story. Why don't we sit down by the orchards and keep an eye on the rascal that calls himself my son."

The two mousewives walked to sit under the shade of an apple tree. In the distance they could see Willic and his new wife Kristyal trying unsuccessfully to protect the baskets of strawberries they had just picked from the antics of Gonflet and his friends. Rose and Columbine kept their eyes on the playful Dibbuns as Rose was told of the arrival of a young hedgehog maid named Trimp and how she had knowledge of Martin's father.

The covers moved slightly as a creature got out of bed. A door opened and a blast of cold winter air shot through the room waking the other sleeping beast. She opened her eyes to find herself lying in a bed she usually shared with her husband. Getting out of bed she looked out the window and saw a familiar figure walking under the clear midnight sky to the Abbey building. Donning slippers and a cloak to ward off the cold she followed the figure inside.

She entered Great Hall and looked around. Only two torches burned in their holders so a beast wouldn't stumble on the tables and chairs scattered about. Looking around she saw a faint glow coming from the kitchens. That was strange to her as it was still far too early for breakfast preparations. Silently she walked forward. She hadn't taken three steps when the faint sound of metal on metal began ringing faintly. Picking up her pace she walked through the kitchens towards the Cellars where she knew Ferdy and Coggs kept a small forge and anvil for barrel making purposes.

Walking down the stairs she found not the two hedgehog brothers but her husband at work at the forge. Sitting down on the stairs she watched him work. The piece of metal he was crafting was slightly longer than his arm and had already lost the white hot glow it had when he had taken it straight out of the forge. Placing the glowing red metal back in the forge he gave the bellows lever a few pulls to bring the temperature up. Soon the iron again glowed white hot and he grabbed it with a long pair of tongs. Setting the iron on the anvil he picked up a hammer and began pounding it into a rough triangular shape. The metal cooled fast in the cold night air but not fast enough to prevent the one working it to shape it how he wanted.

Placing the iron back in the forge to re-heat he then placed it back on the anvil. With a strong vice clamping the iron to anvil he took a long chisel and along with the same hammer began pounding a large groove into the hot iron. He repeated the process several times before he had a groove large enough to tap into the proper shape with a smaller hammer. Grasping the iron in the tongs again he plunged the metal into a bucket of water chilled to near freezing thanks to the snow and ice of winter. Steam and thousands of bubbles crackled as the water came into contact with the searing metal. Taking the iron out of its bath he inspected his handiwork. Judging it well suited for his needs he heated the iron back to white hot again before quenching again in freezing cold water. He repeated this process several times to harden the iron. When it had cooled sufficiently to grasp with a bare paw he tapped it against the anvil. The ring it produced must have meant something to him because he gave a satisfied nod and set it down. Turning he reached for a beaker of cool mint tea. It was only then that he realized he had an audience.

He jumped as he saw her. "Rose! What are you doing down here?"

"Watching you pound away on that piece of iron. What are you making?"

Martin took a sip of his tea before he answered. "A promise," he replied cryptically.

"What?"

"It was something I promised my father when he passed his sword to me. That if I had none to pass the sword to that I would hide it where only a true warrior would dare venture to find it."

Rose stood up and walked down to the anvil to examine what Martin had been working on. "It looks like a holder for your sword." She then looked up at her husband. "Does this mean you've decided to hang up your sword?"

Martin could see the hope in her eyes. "Yes," he said.

Rose was overjoyed and she launched herself at him. "Oh Martin! I'm so glad for you. I know what it must mean for you. I'm so proud of you."

"Thank you my sweet Rose."

She backed off and looked into his eyes. She was looking for any signs of the hot blooded warrior within them. To her everlasting relief there wasn't even a hint of war in his eyes. "But why now?" she asked.

"There are more important things to me than my sword now," he told her. "I've found out the truth of my father so I know my past. You are here with me so I know my present. And I know for certain that should the need arise it will only be by a test of greatest courage that my blade shall be found once it is placed where I have in mind so I know my future. Either that or a bolt of lighting," he added with a grin.

"Where do you have in mind?" Rose couldn't contain her curiosity.

"For the time being, in the tomb Dinny and his moles have built for me. It's a warrior tradition to be buried with his blade. But that is not where my sword will hide. Here let me show you something."

Taking Rose by the paw they walked back up the stairs, through the kitchens, and into Great Hall. The torches had gone out so only a single beam of moonlight shone through a high window. The silver beam illuminated the only decoration on the walls of the Hall. The woven picture Martin had brought back with him from the caves of his birth. Columbine had chosen the spot where her idea for a grand tapestry would begin. Such dreams were still only a distant dream for the future as the final projects of major construction were still underway.

"Lift up the cloth and run your paw over the wall," said Martin.

Rose did as she had been bidden. "There's writing there!" she exclaimed.

"Shhh not so loud! You'll wake the whole Abbey and I don't want them to know about this. It's a message for someone," he explained.

"A message? For who?" Rose turned to Martin with a confused look on her face.

"For the same one as that missive I gave Brome after our wedding," Martin told her. "For the one who will climb to the very top of this Abbey to fetch my sword from the holder I've just fashioned for it from the weathervane."

"Who?"

Martin said only four words. "I Am That Is."