happy birthday warrior

The Author (Happy Birthday Brian Jacques)

In honor of Brian Jacques birthday, please enjoy this short little fic about our beloved author. And the music I wrote while typing. Enjoy, my beloved and fellow Redwallers! 
https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=l1IVZpk_rVo


The elderly man sat back in a wooden whicker chair, and surveyed his kingdom through squinted eyes as the sun shone down brightly, chasing away clouds with amble attitude. 

          “My, my. No clouds? Whatever will England do?” He chuckled, pulling off dirt covered gray gloves. Sighing, content with his self-inflected exhaustion, he reached over for his cooling drink. Downing the citrus tea heavily ladened with mint, he closed his eyes to take in the sounds of his garden. Sparrows were arguing amongst themselves, and he chuckled. “What, not enough worm food? I promise, there are plenty of bugs in my garden. Hey! You there!” He sat up straighter, addressing a rabbit. The brown creature froze amongst the carrots, nose twitching, ears erect. “Don’t be poking around in there, they ain’t ripe yet.” The rabbit shot off like an arrow, away from the luscious garden. Chuckling, the old man stood up, wincing as his knees and back cracked. “Well, you’re no Dorothea Duckfontein Dillworthy, that’s for sure. She’d not only have stood her ground, but stuffed ‘em in her mouth while telling me off.”

Placing his straw hat upon his barren crown, the man strode through his garden, vegetables and flowers alike growing greatly under his kind and loving care. Basket in tow, he began to pick the labors of his efforts. Some potatoes and carrots for the evening stew, with some mushrooms and peas to be thrown in. Pausing, he stared at his brown shoes. Hmm…I need some spices. Onions, too, maybe? I think my stomach can still handle them. His storm colored eyes glanced towards the flowers, and he gave a thoughtful thrown, approaching the flower bed with careful steps, minding the sleeping dog nearby. 

       “Excuse you,” He said softly, approaching bright blue flowers. “I do believe that you’ve gotten a bit wild and grown all over the place, way out of your sectioned spot, I believe.” The cornflowers he addressed responded saucily, dancing in the breeze that picked up. Imagining a flushed but rather strong willed lady mouse, he laughed, waking the dog. “Apologies,” He said to his companion. “I believe she becomes sassier with age. Well, I suppose I’ll have to trim this section of the garden. Hmm…looks like I need to trim the columbines too.” His eyes caught a flash of red, and he looked softly towards the rose bushes swaying. “Ahh, rose.” He said softly, sorrowfully. He approached, reaching out to caress a blossom, as if he were comforting a child. Pulling back, he let out a curse as his fingers slipped, gripping hold of the ever sharp thorns. Pulling back and examining his palm, he looked at the embedded thorns. “Well now, how…” 

His words trailed off, mists swirling around him. He could hear the entrancing sound of Celtic music thrumming in his ears and pounding in his heart. He could feel the blood dripping from his palm as he spun around. Behind him stood a giant abbey of brilliant red brick, Virginia creepers crawling amongst her sides. The tolls of the twin bells sounded and around him like misty ghosts, characters appeared, all laughing and running towards the sound. It smelled as if a feast had been prepared. A sound of thunder and lightening. He stood near a mouse maiden who was clenching her fists like him, blood dripping where thorns had embedded themselves. He saw a warrior spirit rising from her. He saw dancing around her a ship tossing on grey stormy waters. He saw her tied to the mast within in the storm, facing the odds head on while crews of pirates laughed under her. He saw a giant black water cave filled with treasure and evil. Sharks and chains seemed to be in her future. Yet somehow she was at the Abbey, with all of that behind her? He reached out to ask her, but she whirled away, dancing with the sword. It shimmered like snow freshly fallen after a blizzard. The red pommel danced like her eyes as she parried and thrust at her foes. She wore a tunic of bright red and had silver and gold bracelets on her wrists. She was dancing in front of fire, now flipping over it. A group of hares and otters danced around her, and there seemed to be three male mice for different talents and stature fighting for her attention. However, she seemed the most at peace sitting next to a large Badger Lord, just calmly discussing scrolls and maps. Brian tried to call out for her attention. Surely, he had to learn her name at least! The music was hitting a frenzy in his ears now. As he stepped forward, he was stopped by a friendly paw. He looked over his shoulder at Martin, who merely smiled and shrugged. 

         “Martin, who is that mouse? What is her name?” Brian asked in bewilderment, trying to glance once again at the dancing mouse maiden. 

          “Old friend,” Martin laughed, watching the party as well. “She’ll reveal her name in time. You simply must write her story.” He then shoved playfully at Brian. “Now! Go! Write!” And with that, the mouse snapped his fingers. 

  Waking up with a start, Brian sat up with a jolt. He was back in his whicker chair, not a clue as to how he had gotten there. The rose clutched tightly in his palm, he shivered as he felt cold drops descending down. His faithful friend sat next to him, wagging his tail. 

    “Well, it appears that it is once again time to start back up at the typewriter.” Brian said in a haze, looking around him with a mystified smile. “He’s appeared again, you know, old chum, and you won’t believe who he introduced me to this time. Come, I’ll tell you all about her.”