Short stereotypical M/R AU. Oneshot. Set shortly after The Legend of Luke.

I do not own or claim to own any of the characters in this story.


Martin sat back, enjoying a peaceful summer day. Everything was going well. The autumn was rolling in - almost time for the great feast - and on this particular day ale-and-cheese tasting was being tried in the cellars. Although Martin was no ale expert, he resolved to join his friends.

Martin went back to his dormitory as he went to retrieve his burlap bag - he would need his short knife to slice the cheese. But he couldn't seem to find it. He scrambled as he looked all over his room for it.

But suddenly, the sweet voice of Columbine interrupted his searching.

"Martin, there's a visitor at the gate. Claims to know you. Says he's from some place up in the north called Noonvale."

Noonvale.

He hadn't recognised that name in so long. And when a visitor hailing from the forgotten place arrived at the abbey gates, it all started coming back to him.

Martin clenched his teeth. He hadn't been prepared for an unexpected knock to his skull, stirring up memories - some were indeed joyful and happy, but the weight of sorrow, pain, and anguish drastically outweighed any joy he had discovered.

It wasn't that he had forgotten. Many a time he debated telling his friends, most of all his dearest companion, Gonff, the Prince of Mousethieves, about his past. Everyone knew the story of his first seven seasons. No one at the abbey knew what lied in between parting ways with his father's homeland and his arrival in Mossflower.

Until now. Some mouse (he had a good idea of who it was) had brought these lost seasons back to him. He wasn't sure if that was a good thing.

"What did he say his name was?" Martin asked the now-confused Columbine, bewildered over his strange reaction.

"Brome. Brome Voh of Noonvale." The name tugged on Martin's heart. A tear began to fall. Brome. Brome, the brother of… Rose. It was that name that hurt him the most. Tears silently began welling up in his eyes as he turned to Columbine once more.

"Bring him to me. Bring him to this room, and let nobeast come near us while we talk." Columbine, still perplexed, nodded and left. The minds of great warriors are strange, she thought.


It would be thirty minutes before Brome arrived. He had to unpack, get a small bite to eat, and climb the stairs up to Martin's room. When he opened the door, which was left unlocked, he found himself staring into a face unto which he had not seen in many seasons. Those grey eyes seemed to possess the same radiant glow he had remembered of him, but as soon as their gazes met, that glow faded. Brome sat down, never breaking their eye contact.

Maybe thirty seconds later, Brome looked downwards, sighing.

"It's been a while. Maybe twenty seasons."

Martin nodded.

"I've heard the stories about you. How you freed Mossflower. How you fulfilled your promise that you would slay the wildcat."

Martin looked away for a second. When he looked back, he seemed to have a bitter countenance.

"There was one promise I failed to keep." Martin choked out the words with great bitterness.

Brome nodded. He remembered the battle all too vividly, but winced as he relived the emotional pain and suffering of those days once more.

"Do you remember her?" was Brome's next question.

There was a long silence in the room. Unbeknownst to them, a certain Bella of Brockhall was eavesdropping outside. Columbine had told her that Martin and the visitor were to be left undisturbed, but Bella had decided to listen, intrigued on how the visitor knew Martin.

"Yes." Martin finally choked out as tears began to flow down his face. It was at that moment that Martin couldn't control himself anymore. What was left of his normal composure collapsed as he started weeping into his paws - stricken by grief as if her death had occured yesterday.

Brome leaned forward, also feeling tears well up in his eyes as he saw his old companion after so many seasons. Together they relived the Battle of Marshank, and together they wept.


Supper was winding down. Friends conversed as they debated topics, discussed the abbey and its history, and shared old stories. Bella of Brockhall, sitting near the head of the table, slowly turned to look at Martin and Brome (at least that's what Columbine said his name was). Contrary to what she had heard in Martin's room, the two seemed to be joyful, joking with each other and reminiscing on old memories. Her eyes followed them as they got up and walked towards Cavern Hole, presumably to converse further.

She was perplexed by the whole affair. The change in emotions, plus out of all else Brome knowing Martin - how? She tried to figure out what the connection was, but she couldn't seem to crack it. Confused in mind, Bella slowly dozed off in her chair.

Yet she dreamed. She dreamed of a pretty mousemaid. She watched her and a young Martin frolick in a meadow, in the shadow of a bygone village.

Martin and the background slowly faded away. Yet the mousemaid stayed. She had only a few words for Bella.

"There is no need to know. Let him remember in peace."


Hope you enjoyed this short fic. I tried to take the stereotypical Martin/Rose AU and make it more realistic kinda. Only my second time writing something Redwall related, so please give feedback if you can.

Later,
-x6