#and I was just standing here in my room and heard a like tappy sort of noise coming from my desk area

[sluttyten]

Reminder to take the batteries out of your light sticks if you haven’t done that!

[redwallthoughts]

Redwall Midwinter Miracle: Day 3 part 1

Thanks again to @raphcrow for her help with this chapter

FF.net, AO3, DA

[Ch. 1] [Ch. 2] [Ch. 3]

Announcement: I will be livestreaming while making cover art for this fic tonight (4/14). Details here.

Rough recording of Sheodin's Farewell

Yarrow Freebeast rose early, rubbing sleep from his eyes and leaving his wife, Kastern, to slumber on peacefully. The abbey was quiet and still in that magical hour between morning and night. Soft sounds of snoring and the gentle babble of babes speaking aloud in their sleep echoed throughout the red sandstone halls as Yarrow padded down toward the cellars. The cellarhogs, Ferdy and Coggs Stickle, were also up. They welcomed him with a beaker of warm cider and a seat near the small brasier they had used to heat it.

Yarrow had met the pair the day before, and taken instantly to the twins. They quite enjoyed hearing wanderers’ tales, they had told him, having wanted to be warrior-carpenter-cooks when they were dibbuns. Yarrow, for his part, had been more than happy to answer their questions. They had taken a particular interest when he mentioned the quality of the drinks at the feasts. The art of brewing had been the topic of conversation for the rest of the evening, with Yarrow explaining that he helped in the brewery whenever in Noonvale, and how he had developed his own special brew. By the end of the night, Ferdy and Coggs had invited Yarrow to help them select the drinks for the third day of feasting, claiming it was important to gather outside opinions from time to time.

And so it had come that Yarrow sat with Ferdy and Coggs around the small brasier, sharing a quiet breakfast before beginning the task of selecting the barrels that would need to be tapped for that evening.

Ferdy let out a sigh of contentment as he lowered his empty beaker. “Ah. Naught like a drop o’ warm cider to start a cold winter day.”

Coggs nodded his agreement, heaving himself up and off of the seat. “Right then. We’d best get started.”

The trio wandered the cellars, marking a barrel here and tasting a sip there, all the while pondering over the scroll Ferdy held for the list of drinks to bring up that evening. They had nearly finished their rounds when Yarrow heard paws on the stairs, and saw a pretty mousewife making her way down into the cellars followed by two young mice and a squirrel. He recognized one of the young mice right away. It was Tintin, Brome and Lavender’s eldest. The youngster’s bright blue eyes marked him as Lavender’s son. The other two he recognized from the evening of the first feast. Yarrow was not surprised to see that Tintin had teamed up with the pair. From what he’d seen, the two were thick as thieves and loved to make mischief.

“Good mornin’ to you, Columbine,” Coggs said, “And to you three, Gonfflet, Chugger, and your friend. I do hope you ‘aven’t come down to try swiping anythin’.” The pair in question quickly tucked their paws behind their backs, shaking their heads vigorously.

Columbine laughed goodnaturedly. “Let me know if they take anything, and I’ll straighten them out. Have you seen Martin yet this morning?”

Ferdy’s spike rattled as he shook his head. “‘Fraid I haven’t, marm. He’s prob’bly still asleep, what with no sun to wake him up. Why don’t you send the youngins to check, eh?” He watched Gonfflet, Chugger, and Tintin disappear down the passage, then turned to the small brasier to set a new beaker of cider over the flame. “Were you lookin’ for anythin’ else, marm?”

Columbine nodded. “Goody wants to know what you two are planning to bring up for this evening.”

“You’re in luck then, we just finished the list.”

While the two cellarhogs discussed the menu with Columbine, Yarrow watched the passage the youngsters had vanished down. He knew from Ferdy that the passage led to extra store rooms, as well as one bedchamber which Martin used during the winter when the snow got too deep for him to stay in the gatehouse. His vision clouded slightly as he recalled the dark days of Marshank. The question of what had happened to Martin after the siege was not exactly forbidden in Noonvale, but it may as well have been. There had been hope in the first few seasons after, that perhaps Martin might return someday. Yarrow had spent many a free afternoon seated on the rim of the valley, hoping to be first to spot some sign that the warrior mouse had returned. Such a day had never come. Eventually he stopped going. Little by little, the former slaves of Marshank had given up on seeing Martin again, though the loss struck them nearly as hard as if he had died.

Yarrow was not entirely certain how to feel about finding Martin. In a way, he was glad that Rose and Brome had been the first ones to speak with the warrior. Yarrow had not been terribly close to Martin, being a season younger, but he had looked up to the older mouse. And then Martin had left. A part of Yarrow wanted to confront Martin and ask why he never returned to Noonvale. Another part of him already knew the answer, and could not blame him for it.

The sound of splashing water and a shout from down the passage pulled Yarrow from the dark corners of his mind. There was the patter of paws on stone, and then the three youngsters burst back into the main cellar. Gonfflet and Chugger were laughing uproariously, as though they’d just played the perfect prank. They ducked behind Ferdy and Coggs, pulling Tintin with them, just as Martin emerged from the passageway dripping wet and blinking sleep from his eyes. The faded blue tunic he wore clung to him, soaked as though some enormous fish had decided to spit on him.

Ferdy couldn’t stop chuckling as he tossed Martin a barkcloth towel. “That water was for rinsin’ your paws and face, Martin, not for takin’ a bath.”

“Aye,” Coggs chimed in. “‘Tis cold enough on these winter morns without soakin’ yourself.” Martin said nothing as he toweled himself off and accepted the beaker of cider that Ferdy had warmed for him.

“Great seasons, what happened?” Yarrow did not want to laugh at his childhood friend’s predicament, but he had to admit that Martin did look rather comical standing half-awake with his fur sticking out in every direction.

Columbine sighed and pulled Gonfflet and Chugger out from their hiding place. “I’ll wager these two dumped the washbasin on Martin to wake him up.” Turning to the two miscreants in question, she waved a stern paw under their noses. “What’ve I told you two about dumping water on a beast to wake him up? T’ not to, that’s what. Someday you’re going to get somebeast sick doing that.”

“Silly Mama,” Gonfflet giggled. “You’re the one who’s always telling me that a drop of water doesn’t hurt anybeast. How could we get somebeast sick by splashing them?” He grinned unapologetically.

Yarrow shook his head. “I’ve seen it happen,” he said. The laughter died almost immediately. Gonfflet and Chugger stared at him, their eyes round with surprise.

“You’ve seen it happen, sir?” Chugger asked.

Yarrow nodded. “I was kidnapped into slavery when I was a dibbun. The guards used to throw cold water on us to wake us in the winter. I saw two of the older slaves die because the water made them too cold. They ended up freezing to death.” He watched Martin’s face while he was speaking, hoping to glimpse some sort of reaction. Though Martin’s eyes were still clouded with sleep Yarrow glimpsed a hint of confusion. It flickered for a moment, then disappeared as Martin looked to his left. Yarrow glanced up and saw Gonfflet and Chugger with horrified looks on their faces. Realizing that he may have said too much, he smiled and tried to reassure the youngsters. “Don’t worry, I’m sure nobeast would freeze to death in this abbey. I might have gotten a bit carried away in my description.”

Columbine smiled and shook her head. “No harm done,” she said. “These two needed the lesson anyways. Oh dear, Martin, your fur’s going every which way again.”

Martin, who was looking slightly more awake now, ran a paw through his fur to smooth it down.

“Right,” Columbine said. “I think I’ve got everything I came down for, I’ll see you all later at breakfast. Gonfflet, Chugger, don’t forget you promised to help Trimp make treats this morning.”

Chugger clasped his paws to his brow. “I’d nearly forgot ‘bout that!”

Gonfflet just chuckled. “If we hurry, maybe we can snatch a few candied chestnuts on the way. D’you want to come with, Tintin?”

Tintin shook his head. “I think I’ll stay here and see what Mr. Yarrow’s doing.”

“Alright,” Chugger said, already starting up the stairs with Gonfflet on his tail. Within moments they were gone.

Yarrow rubbed a paw over his face. “I hope they don’t take my words to heart. Me and my big mouth.”

“Nothing wrong with saying what you’re thinking,” Martin reassured him. “I’m sure those two will either have forgotten it by evening, or else at least learned something from it.”

“Still, I didn’t need to go into detail.” Yarrow grinned to himself and shook his head. “You’d think I’d’ve learned by now, what with my wife being an actress and all.”

Martin chuckled. “If we’re going by that logic, then there’s several things I should have picked up long ago. I’m Martin, by the way.”

Yarrow shook Martin’s paw firmly. “Yarrow. That youngin’s Tintin, Brome and Lavender’s son.”

Ferdy watched them with an amused smile on his face. “Careful there now, Yarrow, see that Martin doesn’t break your paw. He’s got a powerful strong grip.”

Yarrow’s smile grew wider. “So do most of the freebeasts from Marshank. Nobeast wanted a wimpy pawshake like the compound snitch, so we started shaking paws as firmly as possible.”

“Seems like a good reason to me,” Martin said. He finished the cider in his beaker and turned to Ferdy and Coggs. “So, what’re you two up to this morning?”

“We’ve got to tap the barrels we’ve chosen for the feast tonight,” Coggs told him. “Most everythin’ else is done.”

Martin nodded, setting his empty beaker with the others. “Which barrels need tapping?”

Coggs showed Martin how they’d marked the barrels needed, while Ferdy took Tintin and made a round of the cellars lighting extra torches. Yarrow shook his head at the resemblance between Martin and Tintin when the younger mouse stopped a moment next to the older. Tintin was taller and more slender than Martin had been at eight seasons, but the pale eyes set into dark fur proved an eerie similarity. Yarrow was glad, at least, that Tintin still had the spark of childhood innocence in his eye, which Martin had lost long before he and Yarrow had ever met.

It did not take them long to assemble the chosen drinks. Five pairs of paws made the work quick and smooth, with Tintin running empty flagons back and forth to the adults and Martin collecting filled ones. Tintin seemed particularly excited to be allowed to help with such grown-up work. Yarrow made a mental note of this. If Tintin continued to show such interest in brewing, then Yarrow would have to try recruiting him for the Noonvale brewery when they returned.

Soon enough, they gathered around the still burning brasier, Tintin perching on top of a barrel while the adults sat on wooden benches. Ferdy nodded to the three mice. “Thanks for your help, made things go far faster than we thought it would.”

Yarrow grinned and pulled a canteen from his satchel, which he had brought down with him earlier. “Since we’re all here, would you like to try a drop of this? It’s my own special brew.”

“Get another beaker for the lad, Ferdy,” Coggs said, “I’ll rinse out the ones we used earlier.”

Yarrow waited until all five beakers were cleaned and lined up, then poured a small amount into each one. The dark liquid danced and sparkled in the torchlight. “I’m afraid it won’t be quite the same as it usually is,” Yarrow said. “I’ve kept it as best I can over our journey, but it’s still not the same as having it straight from the barrel.”

Ferdy and Cogg nodded, preoccupied with examining this new drink. They swirled their beakers, examining the color and consistency, as well as sniffing it appreciatively before tasting. Tintin, who had tasted the drink before, was already slowly sipping his. Coggs took a slow sip, savoring the flavor as a grin spread across his face. “Now that’s a quality gin. What’s in it?”

Yarrow allowed himself a small smile. They liked it. “Juniper berries,” he answered.

“It does taste quite nice,” Martin said. “A bit piney. Reminds me of walking through a pine grove.” He took another sip of the gin. “Do you have a name for it?”

“Juniper’s Smile,” Yarrow said quietly.

Ferdy gave him a crooked grin. “I suppose it’s named after somebeast?”

Yarrow nodded. “A dear childhood friend of mine. He was like a brother to me.” He paused a moment, swirling the contents of his beaker as he pictured the last time he’d seen Juniper alive. “He perished at Marshank. Once I found out juniper berries could be used in gins, I knew I had to try my paw at making one.”

Martin nodded slowly in the silence that followed. “It’s always nice to find a special way to remember those dear to us,” he said finally. “Far too many lives are lost to war.”

Silence fell again, and Yarrow was almost sorry he’d brought out the gin. He had not expected Martin’s comment. Have we lost you too? He wanted to ask the warrior. But such a question would only confuse Martin now. How could Yarrow explain to him the grief he’d seen on Barkjon’s face when Martin didn’t return to Noonvale? How could he remind Martin of the times Martin had taken the blame for something he or Juniper had done, just so that they would not be whipped? Even in the past day and a half, Yarrow had seen that same selfless side of Martin again and again. It hurt to see his childhood friend acting so similar and yet so different, almost as if the Martin he had known truly had died and been replaced with another.

The silence had become almost unbearable, when Tintin began to hum. He started softly, the quiet tune rising and falling in a comforting melody Yarrow recognized. Eventually, Tintin began to sing. The young mouse’s voice was soft, but clear, carrying easily throughout the cellars.

“I hear a voice across the sea,

Calling you and calling me,

‘Tis a sweet sound that speaks of long rest,

Yet in my heart I know,

Not I, but you must go,

While here I must stay behind.

Go now my friend,

Unto that quiet place,

Where there is no such thing as pain,

For in my heart you’ll stay,

Until such a day,

As we may be united again.

May you find the quiet streams,

And still forests,

Where the children lost to time do still play,

For I know that in those trees,

‘Neath the branches and the leaves

I’ll find you again someday.

Go now my friend,

Unto that quiet place,

Where there is no such thing as pain,

For in my heart you’ll stay,

Until such a day,

As we may be united again.”

Yarrow brushed tears from his eyes as the last notes hung on the air. Tintin had inherited his family’s talent with music, and it was apparent even at his young age.

“Sheodin’s Farewell,” Martin said quietly. “It’s been many seasons since I’ve heard that song.”

“You know about Sheodin, sir?” Tintin asked.

Ferdy chuckled. “Martin’s the one who told us the legends.”

“It’s an old tale,” Martin said. “Old tales tend to travel far. How did you learn it, youngster?”

Tintin grinned. “Auntie Rose taught me. She says it’s one of her favorite legends.” He finished his gin and slid down off the barrel, setting the empty beaker on an open space on the bench.

Yarrow scratched his ear, trying to remember how the legend went. He was sure Barkjon had told him at one point or another. Martin must have seen the confusion on his face, because the warrior gave him a small smile and said, “Sheodin was a warrior, though the legends never specify where he was from. He went off to war with his friend, Kelshin, who was like a brother to him. They had many adventures together, but always came out alright.”

“Until one day they didn’t,” Yarrow murmured. “I remember now. One day, an enemy archer got lucky, and killed Kelshin. Sheodin wandered for many seasons, mourning his friend, before returning to their childhood home.”

Coggs chuckled loudly. “Sounds a bit like Martin when you think about it. Don’t you think so Ferdy?”

Ferdy nodded. “Aye. So it does.”

“How does that sound like me?” Martin asked. He set his empty beaker next to Tintin’s.

Coggs shook his head as though the answer was obvious. “Can’t you see? Sheodin left his family home when he was very young, just like you. You both spent many seasons wanderin’ and becomin’ great warriors. Not to mention that you went back to the northlands six seasons ago to visit your old home. Only difference is that you didn’t stay there, you came back t’ Redwall.”

Ferdy stroked his chin. “Right, but what about the friend who died? I don’t know if you’ve noticed, Coggs, but we don’t exactly know much about Martin from before he came to Mossflower.”

“I think that part is similar,” Martin said quietly. The twins fell silent.

Tintin climbed back up onto his barrel and faced Martin. “How would you know if you can’t remember? Papa says that you forgot a lot of stuff, so we’re not supposed to ask about your past or where you came from.”

“I remember a few things.” Martin’s eyes had gone distant, and he spoke as though half-asleep. “Mostly feelings and abstract thoughts. But I do know that I was grieving something or somebeast when I entered Mossflower.”

Coggs slapped his paw down on the bench. “That settles it.”

“No it doesn’t,” Ferdy interrupted. “You’re forgettin’ about the sister.”

Tintin tilted his head to one side. “What sister?”

Ferdy laughed. “ It’s the last part of the legend, you see. Sheodin wandered for many seasons, mourning his friend, before returning to their childhood home. There he found healing with Kelshin’s sister, whom he married.”

“Auntie Rose never mentioned that part,” Tintin said.

Coggs sighed. “If we’re goin’ to compare Martin to Sheodin, we might as well forget about the sister. My ol’ father says roses’ll bloom in midwinter afore Martin courts a maid, even if the rest of the abbey wants to see him happily married with a family.”

Martin shook his head and grinned, though Yarrow could not help but notice that the smile didn’t reach Martin’s eyes. “What would I do with a wife? I’ve got my own family right here at Redwall and I’m more than happy here.”

“Try sayin’ that when you wake up cold and alone out in the gatehouse,” Ferdy murmured to his twin.

Coggs sighed and made a show of standing. “Alright you lot, best be up to breakfast afore somebeast has to come down lookin’ for us. ‘Specially if we want to get enough food for a decent meal.”

Tintin grinned and slid off the barrel, calling over his shoulder as he dashed for the stairs, “Last one to the table is a fat frog!”

Martin laughed as he followed the youngster. “Fat frog, eh? We’d better follow him. I’ve met enough of those to say I wouldn’t want to be one.”

Brome set his empty plate aside, pleasantly full of good food, and turned to see how Primrose was handling her scone. The little maid appeared happy enough, though Brome wasn’t quite sure how she’d managed to get strawberry preserves between her ears. He was having a rather difficult time removing the preserves until Columbine handed him a damp cloth from her seat across the table. “Thank you,” he said as he wiped the sticky mess from Primrose’s head.

Columbine smiled and waved a paw at her son and husband, who were seated either side of her. “I’ve learned to keep one around in case one of these two gets into trouble.”

Brome chuckled and handed the cloth back. “It happens that often, then?”

“Only once in awhile,” Gonff said with a grin. The chubby mousethief winked broadly before surprising Columbine with a kiss. “Not that you mind, d’you my pretty flower?” Columbine didn’t answer, so Gonff turned to the rest of the table and asked, “So, what’re the plans for the day? Anything fun?”

“Don’t forget, you’re supposed to help Martin move into the cellars,” Bella reminded him. The big badger stood and began clearing the table.

Gonff was the picture of innocence. “Me, forget to ‘elp my matey move his things? You know that would never happen, Bella.”

“What about last summer, when we were supposed to help Columbine rearrange the infirmary?” Martin said without looking up from his plate. “I don’t recall seeing you about for the first half of the day.”

Gonff glared at Martin and aimed a leftover bit of scone at him. “That was different. It wasn’t my fault the sun made me drowsy in the orchard.”

Skipper nodded. “Must’ve been the birds what stole Goody’s pie that mornin’.”

Before Gonff could start up another argument about pie, Rose said, “I am curious about what’s going on today. I’ve got nothing planned for the afternoon.”

“Do you s'pose you could help us with moving Martin’s things then?” Gonff asked, completely forgetting his previous argument.

“Gonff,” Martin broke in.

Gonff waved a paw at Martin as if dismissing him. “Martin’s got most of the notes on how the abbey’s built.”

“Let me guess,” Rose said, “They’re written in northern runes?”

Gonff nodded. “I tried havin’ Gonffleft an’ Chugger sort them last time. Martin stayed up half the night re-sortin’ ‘em.”

“I don’t mind, Gonff,” Martin said.

Gonff fixed the warrior with a mock glare. “Are you tryin’ to deprive the maid of havin’ somethin’ t’do today?”

Rose giggled as Martin looked down at his plate and murmured, “No.”

“I’d love to help,” Rose said. She turned to her brother, “What are you planning, Brome?”

“Abbess Germaine has kindly offered to compare medical notes in exchange for helping to resort the herb supply,” Brome said. The Abbess smiled and nodded, her eyes twinkling as others around the table began explaining their plans for the day.

Lavender had agreed to help Columbine and Lady Sandingomm with a scavenger hunt for the dibbuns. Skipper apparently knew of a holt up north and was planning to ask Keyla and Tullgrew if they’d ever heard of the place. Lady Amber mentioned a roof-beam she need to look at, although she firmly insisted that Martin not worry about it unless she needed his help. Martin grumbled his agreement, causing Rose to start giggling again. And with that, Brome found himself heading to the infirmary with Bella and Abbess Germaine.

Bella carried Abbess Germaine up the stairs and carefully deposited her on one of the infirmary beds.

“I’ll be down in Great Hall or Cavern Hole when you finish,” Bella said. “Come find me when you’re done and I’ll bring Abbess Germaine back down.”

“Thank you, Bella,” Brome said, before turning to the table of herbs. It was easy enough at first to compare uses of familiar plants. Comfrey, feverfew, motherwort, and of course the ever present dock leaf. Brome found they had similar uses for most of the herbs he knew, which did not surprise him. Then he noticed the small satchel of herb hanging ready by the door.

“What is that for?” he asked, nodding to the satchel.

Abbess Germaine smiled sadly. “I haven’t used that in many seasons, though Columbine still keeps it ready in case we need it again.” She sighed, and indicated that Brome should take a seat before she continued. “There were many creatures to tend to in the seasons following the Mossflower war. Some, like Martin, stayed in Brockhall with us until Redwall was completed enough for us to move in. But others moved farther afield, building their own homes in the woods. That was my emergency satchel. I didn’t want to waste precious time gathering supplies whenever somebeast came to Brockhall in the middle of the night. Even so, there were some that could not be saved.”

Brome nodded. “There are times when no medicine can help,” he murmured. “We lost many in the seasons following the siege of Marshank.” It was rather amazing when he thought about it, that they had managed to save so many lives. He did not realize that Abbess Germaine had spoken again until the silence returned. “I’m sorry,” he said, looking up from his paws, “I was a bit distracted. What did you say?”

The smile on Abbess Germaine’s face was both sad and understanding. “You wonder now if you’ve lost Martin as well, don’t you?”