A/N: Berserker88, when have the vermin ever helped their case? XD
Sebias of Redwall, the kitchen scenes were a lot of fun to write (first time I've written such an extended scene in a kitchen that didn't devolve into characters whacking each other with carrots and frying pans(
Abrahem, I wouldn't really say she was more sympathetic. I feel like she kind of agreed with Montague but didn't like the way he put it. I'm not sure now... Spelling's trivial though right? RIGHT!? (I confirm nothing but there might still be a More trips). It's not necessarily that Montague is more mouse-like, but rather because Morreti (much like Guillame) is a foreign name more fitting for a character that didn't live in Mossflower their whole lifetime.
Wait no longer for the feast is here!
At last it was time for the feast. The exhausted kitchen workers were collapsed onto the nearest benches (and in Bella's case, three) and Abbot Martin too, felt his years creeping up on him. But! But it was worth it. No sane beast could possibly look this feast in the eye and fail to fall in love. Even Montague's blackened foodstuffs looked bizzarely appetising (perhaps because none of them had eaten anything all day) and that was saying nothing of Bella's cakes and puddings and all the rich creams and salads, and leek flans and pies and quiches.
The old mouse hastily wiped at the growing drool- lest it ruin one of the many dishes. The only thing the Great Hall missed now, were the hungry people. They would arrive of course, and he would make a speech, but for now he could recline on the pillowed-up chair that was the seat of all previous abbots. It was a rather large chair- designed to hold all woodlander species. Being much smaller than a badger there was plenty of space besides him, occupied- to Montague's chagrin- by the weasels.
Preventing the over-excited pups from devouring the carefully-prepared meal had been a challenge, but Bella had managed. The weasels had heard much of badgers from their older siblings, and while most of it was probably untrue they were not about to risk becoming part of the feast and cutlery for the sake of doubt.
Now the abbeydwellers began to file in, and the heroic cooks hurriedly straightened themselves. Fur was patted down, sweat was wiped away, Montague's spectacles were wiped clean, habits were adjusted. All save for Bella, who by now was snoozing gently.
At the sight of the surprise feast, many grins began to spread and rumbling bellies were patted. Yet here and there stood the aghast face of one who had spotted the weasels.
"What're ye pointin' at!" Snapped Fang, brandishing a spoon.
This drew everybeast's attention to the abbot. Eyebrows were raised, and awkward coughing became a fashion.
Abbot Martin rose, and they eyes went from the weasels to him. "As you can see some of us have decided to surprise you."
There was some chuckling amidst the crowd and the abbot took this as a good thing.
"Spring and Winter have yet to be named, and I think it is in our best interests to name them before summer is upon us."
There was more laughter, and now smiling, the abbot raised a toast. "We have not had a feast in far too long. So without further ado-"
"What are they doing here!?" Barked the Log-a-log, marching to the front, a paw pointed determinedly at the weasels. His fur was more disheveled than ever before, and anybeast with a half-decent nose could say that he'd spent an unhealthy amount of time in the cellars that day.
"They." Abbot Martin said sternly, before the 'they' in question could react. "Are our guests this evening. I trust you all know by now what has taken place. Our children are still missing, but that is no reason to neglect those thrust into our care."
"So they're replacements, eh? We're just supposed to pretend our own kids don't exist anymore? Because we've got vermin dressed in habits-"
"We ain't replacements!"
"They are not replacements. I would never dream of-"
"An' what's this feast for, eh? Our kids are starving somewhere and we're supposed to forget about them because the table's got food on it? I don't want food! I want my son!"
"As do I!" The abbot declared, raising his voice to quell the growing hubub. "I miss those children as much as the next beast! But that does not mean that we have to suffer! What good is our suffering if it does not aid them? Do you think they would be proud of us? Moping and crying and dismissing our duties? Look at the orchard, look at the grounds, look at the hallways! I see dust and dirt and rotten fruit! Supposing they returned right now! Would they prefer to find us laughing and feasting or half-starved and bickering!" The old mouse felt something akin to relief as he said those words… all his frustrations finally released for all to see.
"Eat." Said the fat shrew, hollowly. "Laugh. Smile." He shook his head. "I can't do neither of those anymore." Stomping slowly away the shrew left the hall.
Abbot Martin coughed awkwardly, his appetite quite forgotten. "Well, the feast… I… I suppose…" He sighed heavily and hanging his head in defeat, left the Great Hall.
Any and all worries he had about how Threeclaw would behave and the reaction of his fellow abbeydwellers were drowned out under the sea of excitement that flooded Matiya from toe-tip to the end of his ears. Heart hammering, and with a goofy smile he could not surpress even if he wanted to, the squirrel knocked at the gates. He waited patiently- bouncing up and down in all but practice- but there was no reply. That was odd. Somebeast was always at the gatehouse…
"Is anybeast at home?" The old hedgepig scratched awkwardly at her nose. "Perhaps we ought to come another time?"
"Yes." Threeclaw's voice conveyed nothing but sarcasm. "Yes we should definitely be turning back around after we just got here. Knock harder."
Matiya did as he was bid, his footpaw tapping impatiently against the snow. If making them wait was Fret's idea of a joke…
"Why aren't they answering?" Threeclaw demanded, stomping over to peek in through the miniscule gap between the walls.
"Maybe they're having dinner?" Matiya suggested. It would explain why nobeast was at the gatehouse. Though normally the gates weren't locked...
"Typical. And I was convinced they would be running to look at you. But no. Apparently food is la priority."
"We should just be patient." Matiya said, anxiously flattening his fur in an attempt at hiding his bruises.
Abbot Martin did not regret letting the weasels come- the Log-a-log would have come up with something to complain about regardless of them. And although the old mouse understood grief and sadness, the shrew had taken it too far.
"If he had just kept himself to himself..." He resisted the urge to rub his forehead. If perhaps he'd brought the four half-way through… "Too late now, isn't it?" He sighed. The feast had been his last hope, and it had failed spectacularly.
He was not sure what brought him to the gatehouse, only that he was there now. For most of it's history the little cottage had been the home of the Redwall Recorders. Indeed, he had spent much time within it. Yet, ever since that fateful day when Constance had come along with Fret in her paws, the Recorder had been given a room directly within the abbey. Montague had argued, but so had everybeast else. A ferret could not live within the abbey! It was not safe for the other children. Veil Sixclaw had been mentioned half-a-hundred times and in the end the mouse had relented. The gatehouse had been freed of dust and the countless volumes within it, moved. It had then been the home of Constance and Fret.
Furniture was not it's strong suite. A trio of stools, a makeshift oven on the fireplace, a sole table. A pair of beds. There were not many pictures either. A portrait of Constance's parents, a pair of large mice he'd been rather well-acquainted with, two of Constance herself, one alongside her parents with the nervous-looking young Connington, another with the bored-looking Fret. There was one more portrait of Connington, looking rather fine in his new armour and a final one of Rowland.
The Abbot had known the big mouse only in passing. A young troublemaker and not too bright, but with a big heart. There were none of Constance's other children. The ones before Fret. Well… they had probably been too little. Dibbuns rarely stood still long enough for portraits. And unfortunately, none of them had made it past dibbunhood.
Pushing those depressing thoughts aside, the old mouse picked up the one with Fret and Constance. It was gloriously crafted, the spring colours clearer in the picture itself than in the snow-peppered grounds of the abbey outside. Intricate and frustratingly small brushstrokes brought both Constance's well-kept and brown, as well as Fret's messy black and white, fur to life. The mouse looked happier than the abbot remembered seeing her lately, one paw around the ferret's shoulders, the other raised in a half-wave. Fret did not know where to put his arms and they stood loose at his side. Boredom was beautifully captured on the young ferret's face.
That had been on the Spring Feast a few seasons before- the Recorder had done portraits of everybeast, having received a set of vibrant inks as a gift from a Southwards hamster that had been their guest that day. The hamster had also brought several barrels of olive extract. Unfortunately Fret had somehow mixed up the barrels and instead of strawberry cordial everybeast had drank the olive oil. It was a rather unpleasant memory come to think of it…
Abbot Martin had never understood Constance's mothering of Fret. In truth he had always thought the ferret a replacement. That he'd only been picked up because her own children had been killed. Many had shared the sentiment, but he was beginning to have doubts. Constance was a kind beast by nature, strength she had, but strength was not what was needed to kill a babe. And what was required, Constance lacked. Raising him had perhaps helped her cope, but she would have done the same irrespective of the fate of her own young.
Fret had always been quiet, especially in his younger seasons, and Abbot Martin had never known him too well. That was his fault. He, as Montague had pointed out, had expected nothing good to come of him and as a result had kept him at paw's length.
Perhaps if he hadn't he'd have realised why it was Constance had loved him so much. Well, he understood now. More than ever before. Parental love knew not the boundaries of vermin and woodlander.
And that was why she'd loved Fret. And why he'd let the weasels join the feast.
Delicately, he placed the portrait down.
But perhaps their love was misplaced. Perhaps it could only end in heartbreak…
The peace and quiet (and moroseness) of the gatehouse was interrupted all of a sudden, by a knocking at the gate.
"Patience is a virtue Mr Threeclaw."
"Well I am not being virtuous, am I?" The stoat snapped, looking semi-deranged as he hammered at the gates with a stick (having already 'broken' every bone in both paws). "And it is not being polite to keep beasts waiting." The stick shattered and the stoat deflated. Hurling the remaining stump at an unfortunate dandelion, he stomped away from the gates and sat down heavily. Every movement seemed to convey nothing but pure frustration.
"Perhaps I could climb in?" Matiya wondered aloud, searching the walls for any nook and crannies to aid him in this quest.
"Supposing you fell off and your skull ends up casé- yes that means broken!- what would we be saying to the abbeybeasts?"
"It was just an idea…" Matiya mumbled.
Just then a familiar face poked out from the wall above. Abbot Martin looked both surprised and delighted.
"M-matiya?"
"In the fur father abbot sir." The squirrel replied, once again made aware of his unkempt appearance. There were snowflakes in his fur.
The abbot looked even more surprised at having been replied to, and hastily scurried away- presumably to open the gates.
"You never told me your padre was a mouse."
Matiya blinked, before rolling his eyes.
"It's just a title. My actual dad is most likely in Southwards… not like I ever see him anyways…"
The stoat got to his feet, and Matiya was surprised to see that his paws were shaking. To disguise this Threeclaw rubbed them together, as if he were merely cold.
It was strange to see the swords master so frightened. Throughout all their travelling he'd almost always oozed confidence and charisma. To see him scared, of a place Matiya called home no less, was equal parts unnerving and hilarious.
Matiya too, was shaking, but for entirely different reasons. He would not find judgement in Redwall, but delight and happiness- and as his stomach reminded him now- food!
After what felt like forever, the gates were opened, and old Abbot Martin sprung forwards with the speed of one many seasons younger. Before Matiya knew it, he was being hugged. The abbot had never been this sentimental towards him… The squirrel found himself strangely comforted and embarrassed. Both because Threeclaw was snickering and because he was unable to return the gesture for the old abbot had pinned his arms to his side.
"I don't think I've ever been happier to see anybeast!" The abbot declared, finally releasing him to wipe at his spectacles. "Look at you! You're real an-and- tall! I thought I'd gone mad bu-but you're actually here!"
Matiya did not know how to reply to that beyond grinning. He was then made aware that he hadn't brushed his teeth in ages…
"And look at you Grollo!" Martin said, replacing the spectacles. Like a star from the heavens, the Abbot's face fell. "You- you- you're not Grollo?"
Threeclaw tapped at Matiya's shoulder and indicated the wide open gates. Abbot Martin had not yet noticed him.
"I suppose I should say welcome home." He said quietly. There was something in his eyes the squirrel had never seen before, but a moment later the stoat had turned away and began walking cautiously into the abbey grounds. Matiya at first, followed at the same pace. But the closer they came, the faster he moved until he was quite sure he was running.
"Well. That was a waste of food." Montague said. Nobeast had wanted to stay in the awkwardness of the Great Hall, and taking tokenistic pieces of the feast with them, left. Bella was still snoring on the benches and the rest of the brave kitchen workers were either nibbling at their hard work or slumping in defeat.
"All our hard work for nothing!" The Recorder snapped, apparently determined to make a scene. He stabbed a fork into the table. "Let's make a feast they said! It would work they said! At this rate we'll starve ourselves to death!"
"Will you just shut up?" Constance half-asked, half-demanded. "So the feast was a bad idea, like I've never had any of those."
"No. You've just had one too many." He muttered.
Matiya was definitely running by the time he reached the front doors. Threeclaw was far behind, following at a more natural pace and he was quite sure Abbot Martin and the old hedgehog were still at the gates.
He burst through the front doors, a blur of red fur that only narrowly managed to not fall over in an attempt at slowing down. Unable to contain his excitement any longer it burst from him in an erruption of joy.
"Didyoumissmebecausenowyoudon'thavetobecauseI'mback!" This was greeted with nothing but silence. He really did not have a way with words… "Um, hello?" He flattened his chest-fur, not that that helped his pattering heart relax.
More for something to do than because he thought anybeast might be there, the squirrel pushed open the doors to the Great Hall and peaked in.
For half a second the feast stole his eyes, but then they turned to a small sound.
"Matiya?"
"Rose!" Now it was the squirrel's turn to play the hugger. "I've missed you." Swiftly, he released her, a thousand questions he wanted to ask rushing deep into the back of his mind.
He was saved from any potential embarrassment by the Foremole, who ruffled the fur between his ears and declared for all to hear.
"Oi bet this'll smoile up the oold Lug-a-lug."
"Great seasons! We're all hallucinating!" The Recorder declared, hastily wiping his glasses to get a better look at the scene.
Even Bella's snoring sounded joyful.
"Where's everybeast else?" Matiya asked, turning to Roseheart. Before the molemaid could answer she went very pale. A moment later Matiya knew exactly why.
Standing behind him, fake-smirk at the ready, was Threeclaw. The stoat waved his three-clawed paw in greeting, but before any introductions could be made there came a delighted cry.
"THREECLAW!" Four tiny weasels, covered from tail to nose in all kinds of food, shot towards the stoat faster than was possible, and latched onto whatever they could reach, be it his tail or his feetpaws. The albino looked stunned at the sight of them- clad in both foodstains and habits.
"Woi'z 'ee 'ere?" Roseheart asked, shaking like a leaf. The young mole had had countless nightmares of the incident. Threeclaw was always in them, smiling deceptively or gutting them at the tip of his rapier.
"'Oo'z 'ee?" The Foremole asked, holding his daughter tight in an attempt at chasing away her terror.
"Well he kidnapped us-" Matiya started, but the stoat shoved him aside.
"Threeclaw." The stoat said, bowing low. He reached out and swiftly caught hold of one of Roseheart's paws. Before anybeast could react he had kissed it. "Je suis enchante de vous encore meeting." He stood back up and patted the befuddled Foremole's shoulder. "You have a very brave daughter on your paws mi copain."
Then Threeclaw slunk away, having caught sight of a beautifully made pastry he was determined to sink his teeth into.
Before any further questions could be asked, another voice spoke out from the hallways.
"M-m-matiya?"
"Mother!"
Blind Agatha very nearly fainted away at the sound of his voice, before throwing him in a hasty hug. Evidently the old beasts had become better at it since his departure. "D-dear what's happened to you? Bruises all over, and your fur-" Much to the young squirrel's chagrin his mother began grooming him.
"Muuuuuuuum! I'm fine! Really!"
The other abbeybeasts did not seem to take note of his displeasure- but Threeclaw did and gave a silent and exaggerated fake-laugh behind their backs. Matiya replied the only way he knew how, by sticking his tongue out.
"-Snow in your fur and goodness! You must be starving!" The next thing he knew, he was seated and a tremendous pile of food was placed before him. Some of it was burned, and in their rush to bring him food everybeast forgot that he loathed leeks and mushrooms, but quite frankly Matiya did not care. A return home had never tasted so good.
Somebeast must have spread the news, for soon the whole abbey was there, wishing him a welcome home and asking him the same three hundred questions. Which he really could not answer what with his mouth being always full and all.
"We have been looking for you," said a shrew he had never spoken too before. "All bloody winter! Wait 'till the Log-a-log hears!"
Their was a genuine attitude of merriment about the place, and Matiya did not remember a more perfect day.
"I'm glad you're back dear." Said Rosebrush, though there were tears in her eyes. That was when he realized Momchillo had not yet said his greetings. Nor had Hawthorn. Or Tibbers or Jack. Or Fret or-
"Where are the others?" He whispered towards Roseheart, who was seated besides him. "Momchillo and Fret? Jack and Tibbers?"
"Not back yet." Said Friar Gord, who had heard him. The hedgehog forced a smile. "But at least you're with us."
Matiya's jaw dropped. The news hit him like a sledgehammer. "W-wh-what do you mean they're not back yet- it's been all winter!"
He must have spoken too loudly, for almost instantly the hall was silent again.
"We mean that thankfully you're still alive, but unfortunately the same cannot be said about your peers who, as you can see, are not among us." Replied the Recorder with characteristic bluntness.
Just as sullen silence began to spread it's slimy paws all over the Great Hall, the Log-a-log (still drunk as ever, but bizzarelly cheerful now) hurled a pair of burnt pies at him. Laughter filled the hall again but Matiya was left feeling sorry for the frustrated writer, who stomped away without another word.
Matiya felt guilt begin to bubble in the pit of his stomach and the squirrel could not eat another bite.
It had seemed like the obvious choice. The one any decent beast would make if given the chance. Guilt had nagged at him then. Liar liar liar liar… He slumped in his seat and the squirrel's dejection did not go unnoticed by those around him.
The Friar put a comforting paw on his back. "Now now, you know the Recorder, always making everything more miserable than it is. I'm sure your friends are fine. Who knows, maybe they're knocking at the gates as we speak?"
That was unlikely, but Matiya was cheered up upon remembering that Grollo and Hawthorn were on their way here… with Sharpfur…
A sudden yelp drove his attention back to Threeclaw, who now hung in the air, Bella's paws clamped around his middle like a pair of pincers.
Many others turned to stare at the sight.
"Put him down ye dumb badger!" Snapped Fang from around a half-eaten turnover. Her siblings brandished their own barely eaten foodstuffs.
"Anybeast care to explain what this vermin's doing eating at our feast?"
"Maybe he's hungry!" Wheezed the stoat, thrashing in the mighty grip of his captor.
"Er- he's with me." Matiya raised a paw. Several beasts gave the young squirrel startled looks, as if he'd said a bad word. "Threeclaw's been… taking care of me…" He did not like the way everybeast suddenly seemed to notice his bruises.
"He didn't hit you, did he?" The Friar gave voice to the question on everyone's mind.
"No." Was the squirrel's immediate reply. "I got them er- wrestling a frog."
"Big frog." Threeclaw wheezed in agreement, his face going cherry red from lack of air. "Troi big frogs."
Although some looked at him skeptically, noone refuted the squirrel's claim. Just when it seemed Bella was about to relinquish her grip, another voice called from the din.
"Hey! I think I recognize this vermin!" Declared a hare, prodding the stoat with a salad fork. "He was one of the kidnappers!" The hare turned to another. "You remember, the one that climbed the anchor to get away?"
The addressed hare's eyes widened in recognition, just as Threeclaw started going purple. "You're bally right you know!"
"No!" Matiya shouted, drawing all eyes to himself. "I mean, yes, he was a kidnapper at first- b-but h-he he saved my life!" It was not strictly true, but the squirrel needed something radical. "There was a-a bird! A giant sparrow and it v-very nearly carried me off! Goodness knows where I'd be if it weren't for Threeclaw! J-j-just let him go. Please ju-just- he needs to breathe!"
Maybe they believed him, or maybe it was the frantic way he'd said it that had convinced them to spare the stoat.
Gently, Bella placed the albino on the table, where Threeclaw hastily began swallowing air.
"Sorry about that." She said slowly, her eyes narrowed in mistrust.
"No... worries." The stoat said, rubbing at sore ribs. To say he was disgruntled would have been an understatement.
"It appears we are indebted to you." The badgermum sat back down. Despite said gesture she still towered over the stoat. "Threeclaw. Saving our child from that sparrow. And those frogs…" Her eyes were narrowed enough for the albino to shrink in on himself.
"M-Matiya's a-a bon copain." He replied, crawling off the table and onto his feetpaws while keeping eye contact with the large badger lest she try a surprise attack.
"Indeed."
A kind of tension began to set in. Incredibly aware that he was outnumbered, outgunned and unarmed while surrounded by perhaps a hundred less-than-friendly woodlanders, Threeclaw picked up a muffin and began to nibble at it.
It was a relief to all when Abbot Martin walked in. Threeclaw slunk to a corner- incidentally Fret's preferred spot at one point- and all eyes were upon the mouse and the old hedgehog besides him.
Abbot Martin had just spent a rather enjoyable afternoon hearing of the exploits of his students. Relief and joy filled him to the brim and not even the foulest of thunderstorms could put a damper on his smile.
"Friends, this is Lily Prickla. She has been looking after our children all winter long. Giving Grollo and Hawthorn and ahem, Sharpfur, her food and hospitality all winter long and I would be greatly ashamed if we fail to outdo her!"
There came a hearty cheer, and the Log-a-log unwisely slapped the back of the nearest abbeybeast- this was unwise because the nearest abbeybeast was Grollo's mother.
"I take it you have all met a Threeclaw?" The abbot asked over the fat shrew's cries of pain.
"Oh they have." The stoat in question supplied rather grumpily, the soreness of his ribs not quite gone yet.
"Well, I would like to extend the paw of friendship towards you. Irrespective of any and all ill deeds you may have done, you have brought us good news and Matiya home. Our thanks go with you as does an offer of hospitality."
The stoat cocked his head to the side, the ghost of a smile beginning to dance along his lips and clashing viciously with the startled face he pulled.
"Of course, we can leave anything of import for the morning. For now my friends, we have got a lot to celebrate and anybeast I catch not enjoying themselves," He sent a mock-stern glare along the rows of seated beasts. "Can spend the rest of tomorow on dish duty."
With a final hearty laugh the feast began properly, and it was just as Abbot Martin had promised the weasels. There was no dancing, and there was some music. And lots, and lots, of vittles.
Footnote: The second re-union of this story (Fret and Momchillo's was the first one in case you were wondering) and while not necessarily a reckoning there was some tension to it (I think so anyways). For now Threeclaw seems to have pulled a Karma Houdini, let's see how long he can keep it that way.
As fun as setting up this reunion was and despite everything that still needs to be cleared up (a lot of things, since this chapter was short and semi-unfocused) we'll be taking a break from Matiya and Threeclaw and heading back slightly further North to either Greyclaw or Sharpfur (haven't decided yet).
Regardless I hope you enjoyed the chapter. Unnecessary question since I think I already know the answers but this seems to be a thing in the Redwall fandom at this point, who's your favourite character?