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Chapter 1: A Bitter Old Hare

Colonel Fabian Longleep wanted glory. And the Big Island was not the place to find it.

The old hare looked up from his bottle for a moment. To his left, some hares were discussing the logistics of Lord Megroc's funeral. To his right, a younger hare was telling stories of his time in the Northern Mountains to a group of young water rats. Fabian snorted. In his day, you would kill vermin, not tell them stories. Glumly, he returned to his bottle of ale.

When he heard that there was some warlord in the south causing trouble sixteen seasons back, he began to grow excited. When he heard that the warlord conquered the Big Island, he spent the entire day hiding in his room so others could not see his joyful anticipation. When heard he was selected to join the Long Patrol and set off to defeat the warlord, he fainted in exuberance.

Then, in a crushingly disappointing turn of events, he arrived in Southsward to nothing but already-dead rats. Some toads, who had betrayed the warlord and caused his defeat, accepted a payment from the King of Southsward before crawling back to their swamps. The Long Patrol were left with nothing to do. And they were happy about it. That was the worst part. Everybody else was so happy to have missed their chance to live.

Fabian had been around a long time. He remembered the War of the Loamhedge Horde, when an eastern horde attacked Redwall Abbey, and Fabian had defeated the wolverine who led them in paw-to-paw combat. He remembered the Battle of Redshore, when vermin corsairs attacked the Northern caves where a colony of mice had been trying to settle, and Fabian, leading a timely Long Patrol charge, personally saved the life of the leader of the settlers' daughter. He remembered the Third Battle of Terramort, when Fabian leapt from the mast of the Long Patrol ship and onto the deck of the Dread Pirate Bloodpatch's ship, and slew the shocked Bloodpatch. That day, Fabian had earned the name "Longleep". He had returned to Salamandastron a hero. The lassies fawned over him, the chef cooked a meal in his honor. The chef wasn't very good at his job, mind you, but a little recognition never hurt.

Now? Nobody sang songs about him anymore. The lassies fawned over younger hares who performed their own heroic feats in the wars of the Northern Mountains and the Lizard Hordes. In those wars, Fabian had stayed at Salamandastron, as Lord Brawblade wanted him as an advisor. "A reward," Brawblade had said, "For your seasons of loyal service." Fabian snorted. The position had put an end to his "loyal service", as Fabian could no longer do what he was best at, fighting.

Fabian shot a dirty look at the young hare who was talking to the rats. Colonel Alfar Miggory. A ridiculous hare. Ridiculous that he would be a colonel when so young. Apparently he did "such great things" up in the Northern Mountains. Fabian snorted. More likely he betrayed the rest of his company to the Mad Eagle and pretended to have done something heroic, conveniently without eyewitnesses. Fabian knew that theory didn't make much sense, as half Alfar's company was still alive, but he liked to pretend.

"Hey, old chap," called Alfar, noticing Fabian was looking at him. "You wanna give these lads any stories? That jolly one where you saved Old Bergy's daughter, wot wot? That's always a good one, donchaknow."

Fabian scowled and a prepared curt reply. No, he wouldn't tell a story to these vermin. No, he wouldn't dignify Alfar Flamin' Miggory. Then, to the old veteran's surprise, he found himself putting down his bottle, and standing up.

"I've traveled south, to the paradisiacal island of Irgash. I've traveled north, to the flamin' cliffs of Terramort. I have stood atop bally Salamandastron and overlooked the great sea, wot!" Fabian waved his arms in an attempt at gravitas. "Majestic sights, all, I assure you. But none, not one, compares to the simple beauty of the pastures of Martinvale."

"At first, it seems like a basic thing. If you follow the shore north from Salamandastron, you'll find a series of caves dug into some cliffs, wot. You take a quick hike up those cliffs, and you find a flippin' simple field, donchaknow. Just some long grass. Maybe a few flowers. Nice flowers, wot, but it doesn't seem anything special."

He brought his voice lower, barely above a whisper. "Least, that's how it is at first. But the longer you stand there, the more beautiful it becomes, wot. The way the wind flows through the grass. The way the rising sun shines on the dew. The way the setting sun glints off the Great Sea and casts your vision in a flamin' paradise o' red and orange. The more you look at the flowers, the more you notice the variety, the intricate details. With a cool breeze through your ears, grass at your feet, and wonder in your eyes, that is when you know true beauty, wot. In all my travels, I have never felt magic as strongly as when I stood there in that simple field." The truest magic was found in the glory of the battlefield, and after standing in the field for too long Fabian felt itchy and bored. But, by the way the eyes of the rats glinted with the light of wonder, Fabian had said something right. A grin rose on his grizzled face as he went on.

"When Bergly Farpaw, the famous adventurer"—A couple of the rats eyes flashed with recognition at the name, Bergly adventures had once taken him here once, to the big island, searching for the lost treasure of the Marlfox—"came to the caves in the summer, he was sure for clues of the Legendary Last Quest of Martin the Warrior"—A few gasps—"These caves were where Martin was born, wot wot. But when Bergly returned to Redwall Abbey in Fall, he brought with him tales of the wonder and beauty of the land he discovered." Fabian resisted the urge to snort. Bergly was just trying to save face after he didn't find anything but dust in the Caves. "He called the land Martinvale, and the next spring he set out again from Redwall, this time with his family and a large group of settlers to live in that beautiful land, wot."

Fabian added a dark shift to his voice. "But Bergly Farpaw was not the only one who had eyes set on the land. During that winter, while Farpaw was away, the evil…" he paused. It was a rat who threatened Martinvale, but the point of a story was to make sure your audience enjoyed themselves. "...Weasel corsair, Vog Myrmec, had traveled to Martinvale that winter.

"Vog was from the dread island of Terramort"—one of rats gave a frightened squeak—"where ver… evilbeasts rule the land, wot wot. Vog Myrmec, a spineless coward, had stolen the ancient helmet of Lord Brocktree, a treasure of Salamandastron, earlier two seasons before, by sneaking into the great mountain. In order to get us off his scent, he had secretly buried the helmet on the shores of Martinvale, so when the Long Patrol caught his ship we had to let 'im go when we couldn't find the helmet. A dreadful mistake, wot!

"Vog returned to Terramort, and raised a great big crew, and set off on a journey to retrieve his helmet. When he approached the shore, though, he saw the settlers of Bergly Farpaw crawling around the land, wot." Fabian mimicked looking through an eyeglass.

"While Vog was planning how he would take the shore back from the mice, Bergly Farpaw saw them. Without a moment's hesitation, he set off running for Salamandastron. A whacking good decision, wot!

"Farpaw reached Salamandastron, almost dead from exhaustion, but he brought his message. While Farpaw stayed in Salamandastron to rest"—and cower from the fighting—"The gallant hares of the Long Patrol set off on their march.

"At the time, I was just a low-ranking captain, wot. We marched day and flippin' night, through a great flamin' storm. Don't regret it for a moment, donchaknow. We arrived just in the nick of time. Vog's great ship, Saltclaw, was just landing on the shore, and General Tenac ordered us to line up and meet them head on. All the young and old settlers were sent up deep in the caves, to be safe.

"Vog's crew was huge, wot. They poured onto the shore in scores. Vog himself led a score o' soldiers up to the beautiful fields in an attempt to flank us.

"Now, that wouldn't be a problem, normally. The Long Patrol can handle anything, wot! But the thing is, that field was too beautiful. With its flowers and shining dew, wot! Instead of climbing into the caves, Bergly Farpaw's lovely daughter, Berry Farpaw, along with a group o' young ones, had flippin' traveled up onto that field to play in the flippin' flowers!

And then, they started screamin'. They saw Vog Myrmec comin' at 'em, what else would you do, wot! A big ol' r… weasel, with a score o' evilbeasts behind em'? You'd scream, I'd scream." A few of the young rats did indeed let out a few fearful squeaks. "I did scream, wot. I knew those youngbeasts were in danger, and something had to be done about it, wot! So I looked at my little group o' soldiers, brave lads, all, and I told 'em to charge backwards, wot! We turned around and ran at those cliffs, and then we climbed up those cliffs like we were squirrels, such was our fear. And, in hardly a blink of an eye, we were up there, defendin' the young 'uns like the heroes the Long Patrol are supposed to be." He resisted the urge to give a dirty look at Alfar when he said what the Long Patrol was supposed to be.

"We caught those evilbeasts with tooth and claw! They were all surprised by my heroic charge. We beat back those dreadful corsairs, saving those poor young 'uns, wot. I punched the dread Vog Myrmec in the jaw, and my second-in-command, good lad named Mollos, stabbed him through, and that was the end of the dread pirate." The rats cheered, and a satisfied smirk grew on Fabian's face.

The hare took a paw and ran it along a scar across the side of his face. "Didn't get the old weasel before he managed to give me this, though. But that's the life, wot!

"General Tenac defeated the rest of the evilbeasts. Easy, wot! Captured the Saltclaw, too. The hares of the Long Patrol returned victorious, and the settlers of Martinvale were saved! Now, the beautiful fields of Martinvale are free to any goodbeast who wishes to visit."

The young rats clapped as Fabian eased back into his chair. To his surprise, his grin wasn't wearing off. That felt good, telling a story. Remembering the glory days. Having an audience, even if they were vermin, reminded him of when he was a hero. Maybe he should tell stories more often. Of the times when he was strong, young and fearless. He smiled to himself, and then thought about what he was like now.

Age was catching up to him. His joints creaked and his eyes blurred and his ears fuzzed. His only joy was found in telling a story. To rats. How pathetic was this? Fabian Longleep, great hero and vermin slayer, happy about talking to rats? He scowled, and took another sip from his bottle.

There won't be much bloody life left for me, he thought with a bitter grimace. The dark forest awaited. For the rest of his miserable seasons, he would just grow weaker. When Fabian heard of this southern warlord, Vafír Silvertung, he begged Brawblade to let him rejoin the army. He knew this would be his last chance at glory.

And now it was gone. A few months back there was word of some vermin from Irgash stirring up trouble in Southsward, but Fabian didn't dare get his hopes up. The Southsward armies would probably defeat them by now, and Brawblade had assured the Long Patrol he had sent the Rogue Crew to cleanse Irgash. In fact, because of how slowly information traveled, the vermin were probably already defeated.

Yes, Vafír Silvertung had been Fabian's last chance, but that chance was missed. After they found Silvertung's army defeated, the Long Patrol was sent to the big island. Brawblade wanted them to help rebuild the society there and help out the new leader, an eagle named Megree, after the death of the old one, Lord Megroc, and the death of nearly three-quarters of their male population in the Battle of the Toadlands. Is this what the Long Patrol has come to? Helping flamin' vermin? He shook his head. This will be what it'll be like once cracking foolish hares like Alfar are in charge. I should bloody resign, and join the Rogue Crew, fighting vermin in Irgash. He paused, genuinely considering the idea. The whacking Rogue Crew are sworn to "kill vermin without question". They wouldn't put up with this flamin' Big Island nonsense. They know how to manage things proper. He tapped his glass thoughtfully, until one of the hares discussing Lord Megroc's funeral spoke up.

"Do you mind saying some words for old Lord Megroc at his funeral, Longleep?" One asked. It was General Tenac, who was even older and more grizzled than Fabian. "You've always been good at shining hope in a bleak situation. Considering the manner of Megroc's death, I think we need all the hope we can get." It had been… 16 seasons since Silvertung was defeated and Megroc killed, but they hadn't found the body until last month. The great eagle was at the bottom of the lake, and his throat had been stuffed until choking with corpses of rats Megroc had sworn to protect. "Please?"

Fabian took another swig of his wine. Why would he want to say some words for a sixteen-season-dead eagle? He didn't even know Megroc. It was just a waste of time. He felt like laughing.

Instead, he just smiled at his old friend. "Of course."

Author's Note 1: Fabian Longleep! The first of the main protagonists for this fic, he was hardly even a side character in TDEv1. However, I liked his name. It was also fun to revisit General Tenac and Alfar Miggory, who were a bit more major in TDEv1.

Author's Note 2: I'm not sure if there were more than 3 chapters in TDEv1 that didn't include some kind of violence, if there were any at all. TDEv2 will obviously be a bit different in that regard.