The Redwall books were some of my favourites growing up and since I've been on lockdown I've been revisiting these stories. This takes place at the end of Mossflower after Martin has defeated Tsarmina. It's been a very long time since I've read the book so my apologies if there are any errors regarding timelines. This is a short fic but I'm experimenting with writing Martin's character and trying to get into the feel of the Redwall world again after being gone for so long. It's nice to return to Mossflower woods and all the amazing creatures of Brian Jacques' world.
Remembrance Lost
"Who's Rose?"
Martin froze with the spoon halfway to his mouth. He suddenly became very still.
"What?" he asked, his voice still rough from misuse after being unconscious for so many days. He didn't look at Gonff as he spoke, instead studying his bowl of stew with a dull stare that was so unlike the glinting fierceness that could pin even the most terrifying of beasts.
"Rose, matey," repeated Gonff, joining Martin on the low bench he sat at in Bella's home. "You said that name many a time while you were…ah, asleep."
A shaft of early morning sunlight filtered in through the window, catching on the warrior mouse's gaunt features. Martin had always born an imposing look but with the weight he had loss in the weeks since his battle Tsarmina he almost seemed more wraith than mouse.
Sometimes, it frightened Gonff. Not for himself of course – he was not afraid of any beast, thank you very much – but he often worried about his friend.
He had sensed from the first moment he had met Martin that the warrior bore some dark, hidden pain that he would never share with any beast.
And he hated it.
Something cold and chilling crept into Martin's grey eyes as he finally answered Gonff's question. "No one. It's just a name of someone I used to know."
Gonff was about to reply but Martin mumbled his excuses before slipping out of the hall.
The thief cursed and that's where Columbine found him an hour later, still sitting morosely at the bench, staring at Martin's half-empty bowl of stew.
"Be patient with him, Gonff," said Columbine softly as she sat next to her betrothed.
Gonff growled and banged a paw against the wooden bench in a rare show of frustration. "The stupid, stubborn beast won't talk to me, or any beast, Columbine!" He sighed and added in a softer tone, "sometimes when he gets that look in his eyes…" Gonff shuddered.
Columbine didn't know what to say; she simply sat there and held Gonff's paw between her own.
Some time later, when she was out gathering herbs for Abbess Germaine, Columbine was surprised to find Martin sitting on a fallen log in a small clearing, staring into the woods. The mousemaid wondered what Martin saw in the shadows of the forest that were just out of reach of the late summer sun.
Knowing better than to surprise the warrior, Columbine carefully stepped into his line of sight.
"Martin?" she asked softly, keeping a respectful distance in case Martin wanted to be alone.
Martin's ear had already twitched at her soft steps – of course he knew she was already there, silly, she chided herself – and turned his head at the sound of her voice.
"Hello, Columbine," Martin said, nodding his head politely to her.
Columbine hesitated before stepping closer. There were so many things she wanted to say to Martin – she viewed the warrior mouse as an elder brother and loved him as a dear friend, just as she knew Gonff did.
'Do you know how beloved you are by so many creatures of Mossflower?', she thought. But Columbine didn't say those words out loud, somehow knowing that they would only upset Martin.
"Columbine? Are you well?"
Martin finally seemed to be more aware of himself as he looked at Columbine in concern.
Suddenly feeling reassured, Columbine simply smiled and nodded. "Will we see you at dinner tonight, Martin?" she asked gently.
The warrior had the grace to flush and glance away. He had been noticeably absent from evening meals of late but Bella had forbade any creature from questioning Martin about his absence.
"Yes," Martin said after a moment, "yes, you shall."
Columbine gave Martin one last smile and a quick but graceful curtsy before leaving him alone once again.
After Columbine had gone Martin sighed and stared down at his paws. He felt so confused. Part of him wanted to flee Mossflower and keep traveling until he met a foe that would finally best him in combat. And yet…
Deep down, Martin knew that was a coward's way. His father, his tribe, his friends, Felldoh, Brome…all of their sacrifices would have been in vain if he did take that course.
And Rose…the mere thought of that name had Martin squeezing his eyes shut, his paws clenched until the tendons stood out against his dark fur.
Even now, seasons later, her voice still haunted him. Her beautiful hazel eyes, the sheen of her fur, her elegant figure, her smile…all of it tormented Martin in his darkest moments until he thought he would surely go mad with longing.
He had thought he could just bury her memory, but he had been wrong.
Nothing more had passed between him and Rose than a shared touch of paws, a few quick glances, but those few precious moments were more sweet and intimate in Martin's memory than any other physical affection they might have shared.
No words had been needed between them – even when he had laid down beside Rose on that black day at Marshank, fully prepared to meet death, all he had been able to murmur was something about being able to move a tree with their strength of their unspoken feelings.
He thought back to Urran Voh's warning about living and dying by the sword. He had been right. He was a violent creature. Death was his constant companion – violence and warfare were all that he had ever known.
And yet, even as his head willed his heart to turn to stone, Martin found that he couldn't erase those precious memories, and others, from his mind.
Gonff's laugh and Columbine's smile lingered in his memory, blurring with the faces of friends long lost.
Never again, Martin vowed; he would never think of Rose again. It might break his heart, but so be it. He would never again reveal the depths of his emotions to any beast. His dreams of Rose would be locked away and never again would Martin linger on her memory.
It was the only way to move on. His friends had fought for his life and Martin would not dishonour them by lingering in the past.
The trilling of evening birdsong brought Martin back to the present. He was surprised to see that it was already evening, the burnished hues of the summer day having faded into soft violets and blues, a few stars beginning to appear.
Martin slowly stood and began to walk back towards Bella's home. It was nearly time for dinner, and he had a promise to keep.