Fading Rose Petals (Redwall Fanfic)

Chase Away

Rays of sunlight scattered thoughts of nightmares from the night before into the shadowy corners of the dorm room as if they'd not happened at all.

Martin stirring, stretching his limbs, woke Timballisto, who'd not left his friend's side during the night, instead opting to slumber next to the younger mouse and keeping his promise. His back was to Martin when Martin shifted, reaching out to poke him in the spine while speaking cheerfully. "Did you have a nightmare, T.B.?"

"Yes," Timballisto said, stretching his forelegs over his head as his hindpaws stretched out to the foot of the bed. He felt Martin sit up, nudging his shoulder. He turned onto his back and tucked his forepaws behind his head, taking in the worried look on Martin's face. "Don't worry. I had a good night's sleep. How about you?"

"Oh." A smile appeared on Martin's muzzle. "Good. And yes, I slept well. Thank you for asking. Do you want to talk about it?"

"No?" Timballisto closed his eyes, letting out a deep breath.

"Are you sure? I mean, you'd be there for me if I were in the same situation."

"I know." Except they were in a situation where Timballisto couldn't listen to whatever was causing Martin's nightmares, for the simple fact Martin couldn't remember whatever was causing his nightmares. And the last thing he wanted, what Timballisto wanted, was for him to say something regarding matters that might cause him nightmares that might potentially trigger Martin somehow. "How about you go ahead and get ready for the day? And don't forget Abbess Germain still has you on restricted duties."

"Oh aye, matey," Martin said, mimicking the speech of the otters as he practically bounced out of bed.

"Oi! What I'd say about the Abbesses orders?" Timballisto sighed, opening one eye while watching Martin give him a rather cheeky grin. There was no denying Gonff, and the other creatures of Mossflower had a positive effect on Martin.

"I know, I know. I promise I'll be careful," Martin laughed before leaving the room.

Timballisto sighed, closing his eyes, muttering to himself. "I'd rather you not remember."

He could, after all, remember quite well the day Martin and Windred were taken away from their tribe.

That day was a nightmare, starting off with him and Martin arguing yet again about Timballisto telling Martin what to do, rather than asking Martin to do something, the younger mouse pointedly telling Timballisto he wasn't a dibbun anymore and not to treat him as such. At the same time, Timballisto had other concerns on his mind that day, ones he would later come to regret.

"How could he possibly have known I'd been approached by some of the older members of the tribes voicing their concerns that he—Martin out of all goodbeasts—would lead some kind of rebellion, what with how he kept challenging my authority. It didn't matter to them that it was never my authority over the tribe he challenged, but my authority as the one entrusted by Luke to protect his family, to protect Martin. And I failed that day."

There were nights even after being taken as a slave where he'd not listened to Windred when she asked that she went after Martin alone and nights when he thought he might not be able to do anything, might have been taken himself. He'd grown worried after a while and headed out, looking for the young mouse he'd considered family since the day Martin was born, that feeling of dread not going away.

And he, and the few he'd taken with him, found the spot they'd been taken from. Someone held the light as he examined the markings, markings which indicated the smaller of the two—Martin, had been dragged away, Windred with him. His family had been taken simply because he'd been overprotective of Martin, who'd always been on the smaller side of things. He'd lost what he'd not wanted to lose, but he didn't want to lose it again.

Letting out a deep breath, having gathered his thoughts, Timballisto sat up and did his own freshening up for the day before heading downstairs, taking the time to observe Martin, keeping an eye out to make sure the younger mouse didn't overexert himself, his gut lurching knowing full well he'd become overprotective again.

He wrung his paws, frowning, planning on letting his mouth twist into a smile lest Martin looked up, causing the younger mouse to worry needlessly about him. He also kept the frown hidden from the likes of Gonff, who might alert Martin to what he'd observed.

He'd made that mistake before, and a worried Martin was—

"Another rough night?"

Timballisto turned his head to look at Columbine, smiling despite knowing she wasn't one of the ones he needed to worry about. She did, after all, help Abbess Germaine heal Martin, yet he still said, "How'd you know?"

"When is it not a difficult night for Martin?" Columbine smiled. "Tis more often than not, isn't it?"

Timballisto let out a sigh, watching as Gonff led Martin in keeping the dibbun busy while breakfast was prepared, which kept Martin from overexerting himself. He smiled—couldn't help it as Martin was happy during the day, free from the nightmares which plagued him during the night.

"When are you going to tell Martin the truth?"

Timballisto startled, turning his head to stare at her. "What do you mean?"

"You know what I mean, T.B., that it's him who's been having the nightmares and not you? That he's the one startling everybeast awake some nights, and not you?" Columbine placed her hands on her hips, and he looked away, sighing. "Surely you don't enjoy lying to him?"

"How is it a lie when his nightmares are my nightmare?" Timballisto said. Gonff looked up at that moment, and he smiled, waving as Martin continued playing with the young dibbun.

"I'll try to remember that if the need to explain ever comes up," Columbine said.

"Meaning?" He turned to look at her.

"In case you're not here," she smiled.

"Why wouldn't I be?"

"Because you never know," the young mousemaid smiled. "How do you plan on handling his nightmares should he find out it's him?" The question made him stare at Columbine, but she caught on, her smile fading. "You've not?"

"I don't want him to remember."

Her eyes blinked. "You don't want him to remember? Remember what?"

Timballisto let out a deep sigh. "Oh, nothing."

He felt Columbine poke him in the ribs, but when he turned to look at her, he saw that Gonff's wife was puffing out her cheeks. "Nothing? Be honest with me."

"I can't. I..." Timballisto turned to look at Martin. "It involves things I think Martin's not said to you, but should he remember..."

"What will happen if he remembers or is told what he doesn't remember?"

"He'll blame himself. He's stubborn like that. Always stubborn like that. Drove our tribe's elders crazy, to be honest. Drove me crazy how stubborn he could be."

"Stubborn, like a young mouse deciding to go off on an adventure?"

Timballisto felt his blood run cold, knowing full well that wasn't the case— that Martin hadn't decided one day to go on an adventure, that Martin had lied to the goodbeasts of Mossflower regarding what actually led to him leaving. "He likely blames himself for Windred's death."

"T.B.?"

He started, looking at Cornflower. He smiled before firmly saying, "It's nothing."

The look on her face—something told him she might have guessed he wasn't telling the truth. Thankfully, she shrugged it off, letting their conversation die off so she could help finish the breakfast preparations.