Recovery

[Something Horrifying]

Hey guys, this is my first actual multi-chapter fanfic! I hope you like it, and I'd love some feedback~ It's the story of a former vermin warlord trying to sort out his life after his career is cut short by injury. Contains themes of friendship, love, depression, and identity (and gray characters, since just about everything I write in this fandom is all about the gray area)! Enjoy!

(Note: Please don't post in this thread, this is where I'll be posting the story. Feedback is loved, and belongs in this thread.)

[Something Horrifying]

(Author's Note: Just thought I would mention, though this chapter is the writing of a Redwall recorder, it is the actual first chapter, not a prologue. After this chapter the format will return to third-person narrative, but the records of the Abbey will be reappearing later, as sort of dividers between sections.)


From the journal of Sage, Recorder-in-training of Redwall Abbey:

It had seemed this spring would, like all past seasons of my life, pass by without incident. I love our Abbey and am of course grateful for this time of peace, but it's a heavy feeling, to feel nothing in one's life will ever change. It wouldn't be appropriate to dwell on this, however, and I do have a point I was trying to make, so I will move on.

The point (I'm sure by now you're well aware!) was that this spring, something did happen that was very unusual! You see, a visitor came to our Abbey, the likes of which most of us young creatures had only ever heard about in stories. I had never seen a rat before, but I was immediately impressed--he was a large, powerfully built creature, and (I must admit!) a good deal more attractive than I had expected any vermin could be. There was a cold, hardened look to him, especially in the eyes, which were so dark they were almost black. Minerva, the badger mother, warned us all as soon as he arrived to stay clear of him. When pressed for more information, she would tell us only that he was dangerous, but that we needn't be afraid so long as we left him alone--he was wounded, and needed the Abbey's help. I, like many others, was instantly intrigued.

Before long, I began hearing rumors. The rat's name was Branimir, they said, and a few creatures in the Abbey, mostly beasts that hadn't always lived within our walls, were claiming they'd heard this name before. None of them seemed to know much for certain, but they said he was some sort of warlord. I know that, hearing this, I probably should have lost my interest in the strange visitor, avoided him completely...but instead, I found myself more fascinated than ever (though slightly frightened, also).

My first opportunity to speak with him came one afternoon when I found him sitting alone on the wall steps. He was evasive and ill-tempered, at first. And then...I don't know why, but he started talking to me. He did all the questioning at the beginning, about myself, and the Abbey--but after a while, to my surprise, he allowed me to ask some questions of my own.

We've spoken many times since. It's odd to me, that he would care about any of a stupid little squirrelmaid's problems, but he continues to listen to my inane rambling with quite a bit of patience. The part I always look forward to most, though, is hearing more about him. He would only give me the barest details of his story at first, but over time (and with a lot of prompting), he began to open up. It seemed almost a relief for him to have someone to talk to.

It still makes me slightly uncomfortable sometimes, how proud he seems of his accomplishments...the way his eyes light up every time he tells me about his conquests, all the battles he's won. Part of me used to hate him for it. But, the more I learn about him, the less he seems like the cruel, heartless vermin leaders I've read about and heard of in stories. In fact I was shocked to discover that a lot of his intentions were good! Misguided, mostly, but he certainly seems to be under the impression that he was doing the right thing (to some degree at least--it would be a lie to say I thought his primary motivation was usually anything more than desire for power and glory). And...if I'm to be honest, I have to admit that I've grown to like him quite a lot.

Now, I should probably mention here what I found most unusual about his story: Branimir never led his army by himself. He had a sort of partnership with another rat, who he seems to have regarded as an equal. My previous impression of vermin would suggest this is extremely rare, particularly for a creature with as much pride and ambition as Branimir. Until this moment, despite his condition, Branimir had appeared to be a creature entirely unwilling to admit there was anything he couldn't do. As soon as the subject of his partner came up, though, he made no secret of the fact that they probably wouldn't have accomplished much without each other. He did however seem touchy about the subject for some other reason I couldn't identify at the time.

His story began when he was still quite young, younger than I am. The village where he grew up sounded very nice, actually. Peaceful, and well-governed--by his mother in fact. I think he had a lot of respect for her. Then, and he refused to go into any detail on the subject, the region was swept through by some kind of invading force. He described their leader as a cruel tyrant, who quickly had any villagers that fought back maimed or killed, creatures of every age enslaved, and village leaders that encouraged rebellion executed. I didn't press the issue.

It's obvious he considers himself much more just than this sort of ruler, but the fact remains that most of his stories have revolved around conquest, often violent. He's repeatedly made it clear that he would give anything to be back out there, at the head of his army. There's something wistful, almost sad in the way he describes his old life, I think because he knows he can never go back. I feel a touch guilty saying this, but while I can't help but pity him...I'm glad that his condition ended his career.

[Something Horrifying]

The pain was terrible, sharply concentrated in his left leg. Branimir barely stopped himself crying out as he woke. Gritting his teeth and trying to shake the blurry feeling from his head, he felt another paw quickly release his own as the dim interior of the large tent came into focus.

"Branimir?" Galen's voice blatantly betrayed his anxiety as his partner finally began to wake up. There'd been a chance he wouldn't.

With a groan, the large rat started scooting himself up into a sitting position, careful not to disturb his injured leg more than necessary. Galen was protesting half-heartedly, but his fussing wasn't about to stop Branimir evaluating his own condition. The rest of his body ached slightly, but the only serious damage seemed to be that leg...and possibly his head, which still felt a little foggy. At least the chest pain was gone for now. He turned to Galen.

"What happened?"

Galen's eyes met his for only a moment before quickly turning back down to the floor. "You were knocked out," he said.

"Yes, I'm aware of that," replied Branimir, curtly. There was something Galen didn't want to tell him. "What's wrong with my leg? All I remember is—"

"The pain, in your chest again. That was it, wasn't it?" interrupted the other rat, with a hint of exasperation in his voice. "{Darn} it, Branimir, you went down before you were even struck. You just dropped your sword. You were almost killed."

The injured warlord huffed with indignation at his partner's scolding. There was no use denying it, he remembered enough to know it was true. It had been the same feeling as always, the tightness and searing pain in his chest, the breathlessness, like being crushed...only this time it had been worse than ever. It had hit him so hard he couldn't ignore it, couldn't finish off an enemy he'd already heavily wounded. Couldn't do anything.

"I couldn't breathe," he finally grumbled, as though it were some kind of defense. Galen looked like he was about to start lecturing him again, so Branimir tried to change the subject. "Tell me what happened to my leg. How long 'til it's healed? When I get better, we're...oh now what is that look for?!"

"If."

"What?"

"If you get better." His expression was less than reassuring.

"When," grated Branimir. Galen caught the warning in his voice, but wasn't about to shut up—he had the luxury of taking the larger rat's threats as almost entirely empty. Still, this was hard enough without Branimir being difficult about it, and Galen wasn't sure he could keep his well-practiced composure if the other rat lost his temper.

"It isn't your leg you should be worried about," he said. "It's your heart."

"...How d'you know?"

Averting his eyes guiltily, Galen lowered his voice. "Anabelle."

Branimir said nothing, glaring darkly at his companion. Apparently a promise from Galen didn't mean as much as he'd thought—he'd made him swear not to tell a soul about the recurring chest pains, especially Anabelle. The little healer mouse was nowhere to be seen, though. That probably meant Galen had sent her away so as to speak with him alone, a fact that disconcerted Branimir. Galen was a sensible rat. For him to send away the doctor just as her patient regained consciousness...he must have wanted to break the news to Branimir personally. The warlord's expression softened slightly.

"What did she say?" he asked. Might as well hear him out.

After taking a deep breath, Galen instead answered with a question of his own. "Branimir, I know you never met your father, but you told me that he was dead, right? Do you know how he died?"

"Not really," said Branimir, puzzled. "When I was a kid my mother told me she'd heard he just dropped dead one day. Never gave it much thought. Why?"

Galen closed his eyes. Lowering his head and covering his face with one paw, he tried to keep himself together. He'd known what the answer would be before Branimir said it, but somehow hadn't really been prepared to hear it. He wasn't really prepared for any of this, no matter how much he pretended.

Catching part of the other rat's expression, Branimir nudged him. "Hey." His tone was surprisingly gentle. "Talk to me."

That seemed to help. After a moment Galen was able to continue, albeit in low, hollow voice. "There's something wrong with your heart, Branimir, and it's going to kill you if you aren't more careful." Try as he might, he couldn't bring himself to look his friend in the eyes. "I told her the pain always happens when you push yourself too hard, or when you're upset. She's seen it before, she says, just like that. Your heart can't take the stress like it should. Eventually it could just...give out."

"Send her in and go get some air, Galen." The injured rat kept a straight face, but the way he was staring off into space told his partner exactly what was happening in his mind.

--------------------

Outside the tent, the healer mouse was growing anxious. She wondered how her patient was taking the news. There hadn't been any shouting, which was a good sign, but chances were that was a credit more to Galen's handling of his temperamental associate than to the warlord himself. Guilty as Anabelle felt waiting outside, she was glad Galen had volunteered to break the news—his patience and willingness to accept her advice always made him much easier to speak with. Branimir on the other hand was amiable enough when he was hearing what he wanted, but otherwise could be quite difficult. As well as being incredibly stubborn, he seemed thoroughly convinced he was immortal. The mouse couldn't help but smile fondly as she thought about it.

Her thoughts were interrupted as Galen joined her outside. He looked very tired, and Anabelle's heart ached slightly—she knew he hadn't slept since Branimir was hurt, and wasn't likely to anytime soon. She reminded herself that comforting him too sympathetically wouldn't be appropriate. He would deny needing it, anyway.

"How is he?" she asked softly, watching him close. He was staring hard into the distance, struggling to keep his emotions off his face.

"I think it's still sinking in," he said. "And you were right. His father died young from mysterious causes."

"I know how hard this must be for you, sir. I'm so sorry."

The rat cleared his throat and stood up a little straighter. "Yes. Well. I'm going for a walk, to clear my head. Branimir wants to speak with you. If I'm needed, send someone after me."

Anabelle watched for a moment as he strode away, through the camp. With a sigh, she turned and entered the tent. The healer wasn't the least bit surprised to see Branimir sitting up, despite her insisting to Galen that he be kept lying in bed to rest. Since he was saying nothing, she set about changing the bandages on his injured leg.

"How is it feeling, sir?"

"Hurts like {heck}, but I'll live," he replied, gritting his teeth. This was the first look he'd gotten at the wound, and he had to admit it didn't look good—whatever he'd been stabbed with had gone right through his upper leg. He was no doctor, but it was obvious Galen hadn't been exaggerating. There could be lasting damage.

"Now I want straight answers about this heart thing. What's the problem?"

"It's probably something that's been in your family for generations," said the mouse. "It sounds like your father may have died from a sudden heart failure, so I would think it's something you got from him. That's usually the case, when it happens this young. I'm afraid there's no way to be certain, though." Branimir opened his mouth, looking skeptical, so she quickly continued. "But sir, your symptoms...they are classic warning signs. Galen says you've described a burning, crushing feeling in your chest, and have trouble breathing when it happens. And the pain usually happens during some kind of physical exertion, or stress?"

The big rat kept his mouth shut tightly, looking away. Anabelle took this as confirmation. "Sir, I know this isn't what you want to hear, but I have a duty to give you the truth. If you continue to ignore this, there's no amount of strength or determination that can stop it. Your heart will fail." She placed a gentle paw on his arm, but spoke firmly. "I'm sorry Branimir, but this is one battle you just can't win. If you don't dramatically change your lifestyle soon, you won't need enemies to kill you. Your own body will do it just fine. As a doctor, I'm afraid the only realistic advice I can give you is to retire."

"Get out."

"Sir, I—"

"GET OUT!" roared Branimir, sending the healer mouse scurrying from the tent. With a deep breath, he closed his eyes and laid back down. He had never felt so helpless in his life.