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fandomweekly2021-06-21 08:54 pm
autobotscoutriella) wrote in fandomweekly2021-06-21 08:54 pm
Entry tags:
[#098] Namesake (Redwall)
Theme Prompt: 098 - Legacy
Title: Namesake
Fandom: Redwall (between Mattimeo and Pearls of Lutra)
Rating/Warnings: G / None
Bonus: No
Word Count: 913
Summary: Martin, son of Mattimeo, has a lot to live up to.
Late-spring afternoons at Redwall Abbey were rarely quiet, Abbot Mordalfus reflected. Little ones dashed outside, shrieking happily at their first taste of sunshine and fresh grass after a long, cold winter. Bees buzzed around newly opened flowers, birds soared high over the grounds singing their songs to the new season, and voices hummed through red sandstone halls as Abbey dwellers went about the tasks of cleaning, gardening, and harvesting early fruits and vegetables. But in Great Hall, the sounds of Abbey life seemed to float away. The Abbot paused to linger in the hall, enjoying the brief reprieve from the bustle of work and play outdoors. Dust drifted gently through the shafts of multicolored light that illuminated a single tiny figure, sitting in front of the magnificent tapestry.
Martin, son of Mattimeo the Warrior, was a quiet, serious young mouse, unlike either his father or grandfather. Abbot Mordalfus had watched both Mattimeo and Matthias grow up, and had occasionally thought that young Martin took after his mother and grandmother much more than either of the two Abbey Warriors who preceded him. But today, the young mouse seemed to have been drawn to the tapestry, just as Matthias and Mattimeo had been years ago.
"Hello, young one," Mordalfus called gently, not wishing to frighten him. Martin, however, bolted to his footpaws as if he had been caught misbehaving.
"Father Abbot! I wasn't avoiding my chores, honest - they're all done."
Mordalfus smiled. "I know that, young Martin. I would expect nothing else; you've always been a hard worker. Having a conversation with your namesake, were you?"
Martin flushed slightly and scuffed a sandal along the stone floor. "Er...yes, actually, I was. I know it's only a tapestry, but sometimes it feels as if he can hear me even if he doesn't respond. Do you think that's silly, Father?"
"Not at all." Mordalfus shuffled slowly across the floor, leaning heavily on his cane. Spring was much easier on his old joints than winter, but he had not been a young mouse for a long time, and today it was showing more than it sometimes did. "Many Redwallers have stopped for a conversation with our first Warrior over the years. I find him an excellent listener, myself."
Martin smiled shyly. "He is."
"Might I ask what your conversation was about today, or is it private?" Mordalfus eased himself down on the floor beside Martin with a sigh of relief. "Ah, perhaps I'm too old to be dashing about helping clear away weeds from the pond anymore."
"Not at all, Father," Martin said promptly. "I think you'll still be Abbot when I'm old."
"Hush, young one, I'm old enough to be your grandfather's father," Mordalfus chuckled. Martin's smile brightened, resembling his mother more than ever.
"Well, maybe, but you'll still outlive us all." The young mouse turned to gaze back up at the figure of his namesake on the tapestry, smiling down on the duo. "I was asking him if he knew how many of us would carry his sword after him. I know he knew it would be passed on, we learn that at Abbey school, but did he know how long it would last?"
"That's an excellent question." Mordalfus followed young Martin's gaze, considering. "I would imagine that he did, but I don't know. Whatever he knew when the Abbey was founded, he has been watching over us long enough to know that his legacy has been honored for many, many generations." He glanced at the young mouse, whose expression had turned thoughtful. "It's quite a legacy to uphold, isn't it?"
"It is," Martin said honestly. "Not only his, but my father and grandfather, too. They've all done great things. What if I'm not as good of a warrior as they are, or as Martin was? I can't even lift the sword yet."
Mordalfus placed a gentle paw on Martin's shoulder, hiding a smile at hearing Martin express the same worries that both Mattimeo and Matthias had once felt. "There is more to being a warrior than wielding a sword," he said. "A warrior cares for those who are weaker than he, and is always prepared to aid other good creatures. Did I not see you helping Rollo clean out his recorder's desk yesterday, when the other young ones were outside playing? And stepping in to retrieve young Marigold before she could put her paw in a beehive? I think you've made an excellent start."
Martin brightened slightly, and then sobered. "But a warrior does have to lift a sword eventually."
"And you will have plenty of time to do that," Mordalfus assured him. "You're still quite young, and no one expects you to become a warrior overnight. I am sure that Martin is quite proud of you. I know that I am, and so are your parents."
Martin's smile returned in full force. "Thank you, Father Abbot."
Mordalfus patted the young mouse's shoulder. "Now, shall we go down to the kitchens and see if they need assistance with lunch? I think perhaps there might be early treats available for willing helpers."
Martin offered his paw to help Mordalfus up. Mordalfus noticed, with a smile, that the young mouse was growing up strong; he might not be able to lift the sword yet, but it wouldn't be long.
He glanced back at the tapestry as the two of them started off toward the kitchens. Was it his imagination, or did the Warrior's eye twinkle slightly?
Title: Namesake
Fandom: Redwall (between Mattimeo and Pearls of Lutra)
Rating/Warnings: G / None
Bonus: No
Word Count: 913
Summary: Martin, son of Mattimeo, has a lot to live up to.
Late-spring afternoons at Redwall Abbey were rarely quiet, Abbot Mordalfus reflected. Little ones dashed outside, shrieking happily at their first taste of sunshine and fresh grass after a long, cold winter. Bees buzzed around newly opened flowers, birds soared high over the grounds singing their songs to the new season, and voices hummed through red sandstone halls as Abbey dwellers went about the tasks of cleaning, gardening, and harvesting early fruits and vegetables. But in Great Hall, the sounds of Abbey life seemed to float away. The Abbot paused to linger in the hall, enjoying the brief reprieve from the bustle of work and play outdoors. Dust drifted gently through the shafts of multicolored light that illuminated a single tiny figure, sitting in front of the magnificent tapestry.
Martin, son of Mattimeo the Warrior, was a quiet, serious young mouse, unlike either his father or grandfather. Abbot Mordalfus had watched both Mattimeo and Matthias grow up, and had occasionally thought that young Martin took after his mother and grandmother much more than either of the two Abbey Warriors who preceded him. But today, the young mouse seemed to have been drawn to the tapestry, just as Matthias and Mattimeo had been years ago.
"Hello, young one," Mordalfus called gently, not wishing to frighten him. Martin, however, bolted to his footpaws as if he had been caught misbehaving.
"Father Abbot! I wasn't avoiding my chores, honest - they're all done."
Mordalfus smiled. "I know that, young Martin. I would expect nothing else; you've always been a hard worker. Having a conversation with your namesake, were you?"
Martin flushed slightly and scuffed a sandal along the stone floor. "Er...yes, actually, I was. I know it's only a tapestry, but sometimes it feels as if he can hear me even if he doesn't respond. Do you think that's silly, Father?"
"Not at all." Mordalfus shuffled slowly across the floor, leaning heavily on his cane. Spring was much easier on his old joints than winter, but he had not been a young mouse for a long time, and today it was showing more than it sometimes did. "Many Redwallers have stopped for a conversation with our first Warrior over the years. I find him an excellent listener, myself."
Martin smiled shyly. "He is."
"Might I ask what your conversation was about today, or is it private?" Mordalfus eased himself down on the floor beside Martin with a sigh of relief. "Ah, perhaps I'm too old to be dashing about helping clear away weeds from the pond anymore."
"Not at all, Father," Martin said promptly. "I think you'll still be Abbot when I'm old."
"Hush, young one, I'm old enough to be your grandfather's father," Mordalfus chuckled. Martin's smile brightened, resembling his mother more than ever.
"Well, maybe, but you'll still outlive us all." The young mouse turned to gaze back up at the figure of his namesake on the tapestry, smiling down on the duo. "I was asking him if he knew how many of us would carry his sword after him. I know he knew it would be passed on, we learn that at Abbey school, but did he know how long it would last?"
"That's an excellent question." Mordalfus followed young Martin's gaze, considering. "I would imagine that he did, but I don't know. Whatever he knew when the Abbey was founded, he has been watching over us long enough to know that his legacy has been honored for many, many generations." He glanced at the young mouse, whose expression had turned thoughtful. "It's quite a legacy to uphold, isn't it?"
"It is," Martin said honestly. "Not only his, but my father and grandfather, too. They've all done great things. What if I'm not as good of a warrior as they are, or as Martin was? I can't even lift the sword yet."
Mordalfus placed a gentle paw on Martin's shoulder, hiding a smile at hearing Martin express the same worries that both Mattimeo and Matthias had once felt. "There is more to being a warrior than wielding a sword," he said. "A warrior cares for those who are weaker than he, and is always prepared to aid other good creatures. Did I not see you helping Rollo clean out his recorder's desk yesterday, when the other young ones were outside playing? And stepping in to retrieve young Marigold before she could put her paw in a beehive? I think you've made an excellent start."
Martin brightened slightly, and then sobered. "But a warrior does have to lift a sword eventually."
"And you will have plenty of time to do that," Mordalfus assured him. "You're still quite young, and no one expects you to become a warrior overnight. I am sure that Martin is quite proud of you. I know that I am, and so are your parents."
Martin's smile returned in full force. "Thank you, Father Abbot."
Mordalfus patted the young mouse's shoulder. "Now, shall we go down to the kitchens and see if they need assistance with lunch? I think perhaps there might be early treats available for willing helpers."
Martin offered his paw to help Mordalfus up. Mordalfus noticed, with a smile, that the young mouse was growing up strong; he might not be able to lift the sword yet, but it wouldn't be long.
He glanced back at the tapestry as the two of them started off toward the kitchens. Was it his imagination, or did the Warrior's eye twinkle slightly?
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