Chapter Text
Against winds from the north the towers of the castle stand, the limestone walls protecting those inside just as the high mountains do the valley and the old trees do woodland animals.
Hurry, scurry, inside we must go. Winter is coming, don’t you know?
In the creatures rush, taking with them what valuables they have, stockpiling food for the harsher months. The cold bites the necks of these animals, reminding them of the preparations they must make so they survive long enough to see Spring, to feel the warm sun on their faces once more. The fear of never feeling it again is enough motivation to get them working. Even so, there is always one in the pack that is a little more distracted than they should be, isn’t there?
Floor, wall, catch.
Floor, wall, catch.
Floor, wall, catch.
The blonde-haired boy sits in his corner of the courtyard between three walls. One in front, one to his right and the other on his back. A ball bounces between him and the front wall, making noise that no one in the castle grounds seems to notice anymore, as it is so frequently heard by everyone.
When he is not working with his tutor, squabbling with his brothers or training himself in the craft of sneaking, the prince is most likely found in this spot, tucked away where no one can see him, waiting for something.
Floor, wall, catch.
Floor, wall, catch.
Floor, wall, catch.
In the recent months, Tommy has started counting in his head with groups of threes rather than fours. Instead of adding an extra gap between catching and throwing his ball, he throws the ball back immediately. It was difficult to keep time at first, but the more he practiced, the easier it became. It helped, especially, that Tommy had almost completely memorised one of the groups of sounds that came from the cottage. It was split into groups of threes.
It had taken Tommy some time to work out exactly what was different about the sounds when he first heard it, but after listening to it a dozen times (maybe more), he found that it was much easier to pay attention to it if he counted a different way. First, he tried his normal way;
1, 2, 3, and, 1, 2, 3, and,
The sounds always seemed to end in the middle of each group. That was wrong. And so, Tommy tried a few different ways, grouping the sounds into groups of 5, 6 and even 8. However, it was the group of three that took the cake.
1, 2, 3, 1, 2, 3,
Even so, it wasn’t exactly even in all parts. Maybe the sound-maker was making mistakes or maybe they were simply choosing their own adventure. Either way, Tommy found himself accidentally humming it to himself around the castle, in his room, in the halls, even in his tutoring sessions.
“Master Thomas,” the tutor said in their lesson earlier that day, “What are you doing, exactly?”
Tommy hadn’t even noticed that he had started humming. He had thought it was still playing in his head, just much louder than usual. He looked at his tutor, his eyes wide with embarrassment and fear.
“Huh?” Tommy answered, “I don’t know what you’re getting at.”
His tutor eyed Tommy carefully. “I believe you have just broken the law, young man.”
Tommy tilted his head slightly and clicked his tongue, speechless for a moment. “Uh-huh,” he laughed nervously, his eyes ducking between the table, the corner of the room and his tutor. “Now, Sam, do you really think I would ever do something like that..?”
“With your track record,” Sam began, pushing his glasses back up the bridge of his nose, “It would not take much to convince me.” He looked at Tommy through the shiny lenses, a grin playing on his lips. Tommy sat there, silent, terrified. What would his father say? More importantly, what would his brothers do if they found out?
Sam chuckled, breaking eye contact and shaking his head.
“Don’t fret, Tom. I didn’t hear a thing if you didn’t.” he said.
Tommy let out the breath he had been holding. The two of them laughed rather nervously and went right back to studying.
That short moment had shaken Tommy a little. It terrifies him that his voice is able to make noise before he wants it to. But Sam’s reaction was different than most. Usually, people would stare silently or gasp in horror if they heard Tommy making abnormal noises like that. It happened frequently when he was younger. But Sam is understanding. He knows how difficult it is for Tommy to keep things in his head. It’s comforting to Tommy knowing that there is someone he can drop all the royal behavioural shit around.
Floor, wall, catch.
Floor, wall, catch.
Floor, wall, catch.
The warmth and light peeking through naked branches is much more noticeable on the prince’s pale, icey face in colder months. He feels his face continue to defrost as the sun wards cotton clouds away from its path. The corner of the courtyard that Tommy has claimed as his own holds a pocket of sunshine in the middle of the day. The icy northern winds combat the warmth with all the strength they can muster, spinning and bouncing off the walls over and over, but eventually, their stamina runs out and the sun can bring its warmth to the pale cheeks of the prince again.
At least, that’s what it was like earlier. Calm, but infuriating.
Floor, wall, catch.
Floor, wall, catch.
Floor, wall, catch.
Tommy has been sitting outside for what seems like hours, waiting, as he usually does, for the soft plucking sounds that often appear in the sound space of the courtyard. Dinner has already taken place and the blue sky continues to darken by the minute. He hasn’t heard those noises for a few weeks. He wonders if the person making them got caught by palace guards. If they did, their work would certainly have been burned and they would be locked up by now. The reason: treason to the crown.
But I like the sounds, Tommy thinks, and I’m technically part of the crown. I could sway the law a little, couldn’t I?
The boy’s lips tighten and form a hard line as he pictures himself arguing for the release of the prisoner who has only brought joy into Tommy’s life, just in a different way than what is formally accepted. He stands at a hardwood bench, hands planted firmly on the tabletop as he leans over, a passion in his chest and a powerful vibration in his throat. He finishes speaking, looking the judge right in the eye. Both of their eyes are unwavering. Eventually, the judge nods and his mallet drops. A loud bang is heard, communicating the immediate release of the prisoner and eventual redistribution of beautiful sounds.
Tommy smiles at the thought of this, lowering his gaze between his knees at the freezing stone below. It’s a wonderful thought. Hopeful. But, unfortunately, as the third born prince with a reputation for getting himself into trouble, Tommy knows he would never have enough influence to convince a court of law of anything.
The prince raises his head from beneath his shoulders, gazing lazily across the courtyard, watching the final strands of sunlight being soaked up by the shadows of the night. Having heard none of his favourite sounds today, he feels that the day was wasted. He kicks himself internally for prioritising the courtyard sounds instead of the cottage sounds. The cottage has proven to be much more reliable. But Tommy missed the soft plucking that used to be a constant. Maybe if he waited long enough, they would play again.
With the sun sinking beneath the mountains, it has become too late for Tommy to leave the palace. So, he lifts himself up from the position he has been sitting in for hours, his shoulders feeling heavier than before, fixes his jumper from its diagonal position around his torso, and trudges defeatedly through the courtyard and back inside the castle walls.
As winter rolls in from deep within the forests and across the valley, the corridors of the castle become colder. It happens every year, the stone turning somber colours, the floor collecting the cold just to send it through the rubber of your shoes as you walk, the shortest breezes reaching under your coat and sending your skin into goosebumps, but no one ever really gets used to it. As Tommy walks around the castle he can feel the grumbly nature of everyone he passes. By winter, no one wants to laugh at Tommy’s jokes. Everyone is moody and sick of anything deemed fun. But Tommy’s immediate family are the worst during these colder months.
When he reaches the end of the outer corridor, Tommy opens the dark wooden door with old golden hinges, all spotted with rust long past the ability to clean. It closes behind him with a creak that could call birds and a slam that would scare them into flight. A spiral staircase fills the space. The candles lining the walls haven’t been lit yet, but there is still enough natural light seeping in from the narrow windows for Tommy to see where to place each foot as he climbs. Even so, he stumbles a couple of times before he reaches a ladder leading to the roof. A circular hole in the dark wood ceiling acts as a door handle, which Tommy latches onto as he reaches the top of the rickety ladder. With a higher pitched creak, the horizontal door opens and Tommy lifts himself into a small room at the top of the tower. The walls are covered by little green sproutlings and small black and brown bugs. There are light stains on the ground that may be mistaken for dust patches if you don’t look closely. They tell stories of the past of the tower that no one in the castle can recall. There are intricate patterns ingrained into the glass created by years of battering from the wind and rain and smoke. Tommy secretly enjoys these things, even though they are symbols of the decay of the tower.
Barely anyone comes up this side of the palace anymore. It was blocked off when Tommy was quite small. His only memory of this is a still image of Techno using his nails to pry the bent nails out of the wood planks barring the door, and Wilbur holding a lit candle to help his brother see. The tower became the brothers’ clubhouse. They would look over the courtyard and make speeches to no one, taking turns at being king. Wilbur often pushed Techno to be king, as he was first in line, but Techno didn’t enjoy making speeches to plants and walls. Tommy always volunteered after Techno stopped playing king with them, but Wilbur often took up the position himself and made Tommy his advisor.
Wilbur was a different king to Techno. Techno was solemn and literal in his speaking. He was quiet and often disinterested in what his palace staff were doing, as long as they didn’t set anything on fire (the ‘no fire’ rule was put into place after Tommy accidentally burned the back of one of Techno’s cloaks). It was calm under Techno’s imaginary rule in the small room at the top of the tower, but it wasn’t interesting.
Wilbur, however, liked to use elaborate metaphors and references that went over Tommy’s head. If Tommy asked what something meant, Wilbur would explain it to him the best he could, but more often than not, Tommy couldn’t figure out the relevance of book characters in speeches about war and peace. Wilbur ordered Tommy to steal them food from the kitchen between meal times and they would have secret picnics together. They painted banners of red, yellow, blue, black and white to decorate the country they created together. They pictured the towns beyond the walls of their home as the people they would form strong and trustworthy bonds with, who they would rule over fairly and justly. Wilbur and Tommy played together long after Techno stopped climbing the tower with them.
But eventually, the time of Wilbur, king of L’manburg, came to a close and the time of Wilbur, prince of Ignus, began.
Tommy brushes his fingertips over the flag he and Wilbur had sewn together. There were stains from the jam tart that was to be shared between the two of them and had dripped while being ripped in half. The crosses in the middle showed the thread unravelling from the inside out and dust bunnies had gathered across the whole surface. The time of their nation had risen and fallen like the rising and setting of the sun. Now, it is in an eternal night, waiting for its king to return.
Slowly, Tommy turns away from the banner and brings his hands together, squeezing them tightly. The resurfaced memories make him feel something deep within his chest - something warm and safe, yet inexplicably frustrating at the same time. Something so familiar that lies just outside his grasp of reality, impossible for him to reach even if he leaned over the edge of the tallest cliff faces, leaving the wise wind to decide whether he would fall or fly. It makes him shake uncontrollably.
Tommy walks to the balcony where he made his first speech to his nation alongside his brothers, and continued to make speeches when he was left on his own. He lifts his slender legs over the edge of the barrier and perches, legs dangling carelessly, as if there is less than fifty metres of open space between him and the ground. From here, the world seems so expansive, yet so small. Shadows have stretched themselves across the courtyard, the town, the forest and the fields. Winter has arrived in full strength. The cold air is collecting itself and multiplying in strength, so much so that the prince pulls his scarf over his nose to fight the pain that expands in his throat when he breathes in. There is no breeze, no murmurs, no sounds. Birds ruffle their feathers in their nests, rabbits burrow into the earth, mice nestle in their holes, all with their families, ready to get through the biting cold together.
Night is merely minutes away, and once again, Tommy is alone.
---------------------------
“Tom? Are you awake?” A quiet voice asks. It sounds like the softest windchimes moved by the first wind of the morning, waking you gently from a deep sleep. As he opens his stale eyelids, Tommy sees a hand with a ring holding a large, green gemstone on the second finger.
“Tommy?”
“Yeah,” the prince replies with a grunt as he pulls his blankets closer to him, “Why are you waking me so early in the morning?”
“My apologies, but the king has sent for you.” the voice answers.
Oh, so now he wants to talk to me , Tommy’s thoughts snap. Then, he ponders on why his father may have sent for him. He can’t think of anything he’s done that he will be praised for, and certainly nothing he would be punished for. Except… the humming that had slipped out of him yesterday...
Sam, you bloody snitch.
“Alright,” Tommy responds. “I’ll get on to that then.”
One side of a face shows from behind the door as it moves on its hinges. The man’s glasses reflect what little light there is in the room and his dark hair is already neatly combed into place. “Good. I’ll see you later today.”
“Sure thing, Sam.”
After the door clicks shut, Tommy sits up slowly in bed, holding his blankets as close as he can and keeping as much warmth in as he possibly can. There is one strand of light poking through the thick curtains that crawls across the tiled floor like a garden snake. Dust particles dance through the golden brightness, existing in Tommy’s vision only until they leave the thin line of light. Outside the sun’s territory, it’s as if they never existed at all.
Tommy breathes in deeply, filling his lungs with the warm air from under his blankets, then launches himself out of bed. The freezing stone underfoot shocks his body into waking up. Warm, stale air races to escape Tommy’s lungs and cold, fresh oxygen fills them again. The prince shuts his eyes and wiggles his fingers, waiting for his body to get used to the sudden change in temperature.
If Phil really had been told about Tommy’s slip up, there would be a lecture and a half coming his way. A ball of heat begins forming in Tommy’s chest as he thinks about Sam tattle-ing on him. He felt betrayed. Afterall, Sam did say that he wouldn’t tell. But then again, he was only doing his job. Tommy understood, but it didn’t make the dread filling his throat feel any better. However, the numbness of his feet took away from this feeling a little.
He had time to make up for it. As far as he knows, no one except Sam and Phil know that he is still allowing the forbidden to slip through his teeth.
What’s more, no one except Tommy knows about his visits to the field beyond the castle gates.
For now, that is all that matters.
---------------------------
Tommy stands and stares at the double doors in front of him. The intricate patterns lacing over each other like reed baskets glimmer in the early morning sun. These doors would be stunning to anyone paying attention to the detail of them, until, of course, they noticed the deep, dark holes between the laced lines. Parts of the door have been scratched and burned off. Black marks show where some old moulds used to be. Why they were removed, Tommy doesn’t know, and he has only gotten in trouble for questioning it; from his father, his brothers and his tutors. The secrets outside the castle had made their way inside over time and there was no throwing them out. They were simply swept under the rug for everyone to hopefully forget about.
Tommy is ready to get another talking to from his dad. He silently loathes Sam, under the assumption that he had told the king about what happened yesterday. A hard rock forms in his chest, heating the more he thinks about how trusting he had been in his tutor. It was only a few seconds. Not nearly enough to make an official report, or at least Tommy thinks so. Either way, Tommy was going to have to face his father no matter what. He takes a breath and reaches for the golden handles.
The great doors swing open almost silently, revealing a room with high ceilings, tall, thin windows and a desk piled with papers in the centre. The king’s private study. Hunching behind the papers is a man with blonde hair, tied into a ponytail at the back of his head, though some strands escape and rest just in front of his eyes. The king looks up at Tommy over his rectangular glasses. His concentrated expression immediately melts into a warm smile at the sight of his son.
“Morning, Tom.” He greets the prince. “Bit chilly, ay?”
“You’re telling me,” Tommy responds, readjusting the deep red cloak around his shoulders and shoving his hands in his pockets. “I can’t feel my toes! Why did you call for me so early?”
Phil chuckles. He takes off his glasses and places them on the pile of papers in front of him, then moves to grab his own dark green cloak from the back of his chair.
“It simply couldn’t wait.” the king says. “There’s something important we need to discuss.”
“Oh?” Tommy says, obliviousness purposefully injected into his tone.
“I’ve been waiting to talk to you about this for years.” the king admits, tying a bow around his neck and letting the velvet cloak hang down his shoulders and back. “It has been a long time coming.”
Tommy tightens his calves in an attempt to stop his legs from shaking. He is sure that he is going to be punished harder than he ever has. God, he really can be stupid. Why can’t he just keep his thoughts in his own head? Especially the sounds he enjoys so much. Why, of all things, did his brain choose to share that? Sam promised he would keep it to himself. He fucking promised. What kind of arsehole would-
Now was no time to blame. It’s time for Tommy to brace himself for what is sure to come.
“I think it’s time,” Phil begins, taking a long breath before continuing, “that you begin your royal training.”
The tension in Tommy’s body falls away like water rushing through a stream. Did Sam not report him? He cocks his head at his father in confusion.
“You’re not punishing me?” the prince asks.
The king raises his eyebrows in amusement. “No. Why? Is there something I should punish you for?”
“No.” Tommy responds quickly. “No, this is just… not what I’m usually in here for.”
Phil laughs and begins walking towards Tommy. “No, I guess not. But you’ve been maturing fast Tommy. I’ve noticed. Everyone has.”
Tommy furrows his eyebrows. He doesn’t remember changing the way he talks or the way he thinks. He doesn’t feel any different. He would have noticed if he was maturing, right? Phil places a hand on Tommy’s shoulder.
“It’s time that you start your journey as a leader. The children of our kingdom already look up to you and you must grow with them. Build their trust. Continue my journey after I’m gone.” Phil explains calmly. It’s as if he had thought out each word for years.
“But,” Tommy utters, “I’m not going to be king. And Techno and Wilbur are already fit enough to be your full time advisors if you want them to be. How am I of any use to your kingdom?”
Phil looks down at Tommy, a thin smile on his lips. “As prince, it is your duty to take care of the people no matter who is deemed above or below you.”
Tommy is filled with a sense of pride. His eyes sparkle thinking about standing on the balcony and making a real speech to people who will listen, people who see him as more than just a little kid. People who will rely on him. His people. His kingdom. His own L’manburg.
Phil pulls on Tommy’s shoulder. “Come.”
Tommy obeys as he is led to Phil’s desk.
“Before you start your journey to becoming a leader,” Phil says, sifting through the mass amount of papers on his desk, “there are some things you need to know.”
Tommy nods, curiously eying the papers for important information. Nothing interesting catches his eye until Phil swipes away a paper that falls to the ground next to the desk. A thin line of dust-filled sunlight points to a document with a bold title.
Proposition to Lift the Ban on Music
Tommy skims the page. It is a letter written by some townsfolk. They practically beg for some easing on the musical ban, saying they have heard stories of how powerful it can be and how beautiful it must be to sit amongst the sounds. It is a peaceful proposition. In the centre of the page, however, a red stamp interrupts the letter. Underneath, red ink reads, to be hung .
It is the only letter on the table mentioning music. It is also the only letter with a red stamp. This is the only letter that has induced certain death upon the writers. They didn’t hurt anyone. They didn’t steal anything. They simply asked for something that brings them joy. While Tommy gets a slap on the wrist for mentioning the wondrous sounds, other people are killed.
Tommy’s hands begin to shake. Air almost refuses to enter his lungs. Everything in his chest shrinks until it is one big ball in his stomach.
Tommy remembers how little power he has over the rules, the laws of the kingdom. He is still the third born son. He is still seen as a trouble maker. No one will take him seriously, much less if he tries to change the laws about music. He thinks about his brothers’ reactions to the proposition. They would laugh. They would think it was a joke. They would be angry when they realise it’s not. It is possible that Tommy may suffer the same fate as the people who wrote the proposition to the king...
“Actually,” Tommy mutters. The king stops his search and turns to his son. “I don’t think I can do this.”
Phil’s face softens and he reaches for Tommy. “Sure you can, mate. It’s daunting at first but-”
Tommy smacks his hand away. Phil pulls his hand back towards his body, holding it, his eyes wide.
“No, I mean I really can’t do this. I can’t. I…” the prince freezes, staring at the red stamped letter on his father’s desk. His own father has condemned these people to their deaths. What might he do to Tommy if he found out about the valley sounds…
Tommy looks up at Phil, who is looking back with sadness. The thin strands of hair dance in the tiny breeze coming from the open window and his mouth hangs slightly agape. The sun hits the king’s right hip, showing a glinting blade hanging from his belt. The breeze touches the back of Tommy’s neck and goosebumps rush across his skin. He can’t stay here.
Without another word, Tommy rushes out the doors of the study, leaving the truth he can’t bear to believe.
----------------------------------
Tommy doesn’t remember leaving the palace. He doesn’t remember rushing through the courtyard, leaping over the rusty gate, stumbling down the hill or through the valley. Though, he must have, because he now finds himself at the back door of the cottage in the valley once again. There are no sounds spilling from the cracks between the door and the floor this early in the morning. There never are. But Tommy doesn’t know where else to go.
Tommy is not here to hear the pretty sounds, no. He is here to take action for himself and find out more about the thing that has brought him the most joy throughout his whole life. The thing he has never been able to take more than two steps towards before being pulled back into the dark depths of the quiet cave of reality. Now that he knows the extent of the consequences, he is more frightened than ever of the butterflies he feels in his chest whenever those sounds enter his ears. He knows he can’t keep himself away, so he doesn’t try to.
Tommy stands at the door, his fist lifted in the air with purpose. Without a second thought, he knocks at the wooden door. The wood is fairly thick, so the door doesn’t make much of a sound. This doesn’t seem to matter though, as Tommy hears footsteps almost immediately. Before they approach the door, however, they walk to the side. The sound of something light being thrown through the air meets Tommy’s ears. He assumes it is laundry or a blanket; regular morning cleaning.
Once the footsteps start to head his way, Tommy becomes nervous. Was this a mistake? Would the resident of this house recognise him and call for guards. Gosh, Tommy hadn’t even thought about being recognised. If Tommy’s cover was blown now, he wouldn’t be able to come here ever again and he was not about to let that happen. He ruffles his neat hair and unties the deep red cloak from around his neck, throwing it behind some neatly kept bushes just as the door opens.
Behind the door is a young man with short, brunette hair and hazel eyes. He wears a stained moss green shirt and long dark pants. His socks have a hole for each big toe to poke through, but his hair, of all things, is well kept. He doesn’t look too young to be living alone but he is younger than how Tommy envisioned him to be.
“Can I help you?” He squeaks. They seem to be his first words of the day, judging by the immediate crack in his voice.
“May I come in?” Tommy asks, taking a step forward.
The shorter boy blocks the door with his foot. “What business do you have here, especially so early in the morning?”
“Please,” Tommy starts, “I’ve heard your music.”
The boy’s eyes widen, fear filings them to their brims. “I- I don’t know what you’re talking about-”
“Show me how you make it.” Tommy interrupts.
“Look, I don’t know who you are or what you’ve heard, but you’ve got the wrong person. Now, step away from my-”
“Please,” Tommy whispers, clasping his hands together behind his back, “I just- I can’t stand living in a world of silence anymore.”
A stale silence falls between the two of them, both fearing what might happen next, terrified of being caught speaking of such a thing as music,or that one might turn the other in. The boy stares, his expression growing more frightened by the second. His eyes dart around Tommy, searching for anyone else who might be in the valley, then stands to the side of the open door.
“Quick, come inside.” He murmurs.
As Tommy steps inside and onto the thin, wooden floor, he lets out the breath he had unknowingly been holding. His breath is warm on his lips. He savours it until the chill of the morning air overpowers his exertion of body heat. The door closes and latches in place as quietly as the songs the leaves sing as their mother tree is rocked by the wind. The brunette boy, eyeing the young prince, shuffles hastily over to a small table next to a window on the right side of the room. He pulls out one of the two chairs and looks up at Tommy.
“Please, sit.” He says, gesturing from Tommy to the chair. Tommy nods, now more unsure than ever if he should really be here. As he goes to sit down, the shorter boy rushes to the other side of the table and clumsily sits in his own chair. He opens his mouth a couple of times before closing it and sighing to himself, muttering words that don’t form complete sentences, before trying again. He brings his hands to the top of the table and squeezes them together. They shake and shiver violently. Tommy doesn’t think it’s because of the cold.
“You-” the brunette begins, “You say you have heard me playing..?”
Tommy nods. “Your music, yes-”
The other boy reaches across the table and forces his hands over Tommy’s mouth, shushing him. Tommy furrows his eyebrows and rips the shaking hands from his face.
“Oi!” He exclaims. “Don’t shush me!”
“You can’t be going around saying that word,” the brunette hisses. “Don’t you know what they do when they hear?”
Tommy gulps as he remembers the letter on his father’s desk. The red stamp has plastered itself to his skull.
“Yeah… Yeah, you’re right, I’m sorry,” he mutters.
The boy across from him nods, then gazes out the window. The sun has finished its glorious light show for the morning and is allowing the sky to paint itself a lighter blue, or at least that’s what it looks like through the clouds.
“How long have you known about it?” the boy asks.
Tommy fiddles with his lip, then answers, “A few months.”
The boy looks back from the window. “Months?”
“Yes.” Tommy responds, the tone of his voice straight serious.
“And you haven’t spoken to me until now?”
“No”
“And you didn’t report me?”
“God no.”
“Why?” asks the boy, cocking his head slightly to the side.
Why would I tell anyone about this place? Tommy thinks. No one would understand my love for it. This is the only place I feel free to be myself. Why would I let anyone take that from me?
Tommy simply shrugs. “Dunno.”
The boy’s expression doesn’t belong to a person who is convinced, but he doesn’t question Tommy any further. Though, he must be grateful for Tommy’s unwillingness to report him for treason to the crown, as his next question is one that Tommy has been waiting to be asked his whole life.
“You want to know how I make the noise, huh?” he asks, his voice breaking in nervousness.
Tommy’s eyes widen in eagerness. “Absolutely.”
The boy stands and his chair skids slightly, making a horrible squeak on the wooden floor. He walks to the corner of the room where a pile of old clothes and blankets sits. Tommy squints at the pile, trying to make sense of how blankets could make the beautiful sounds he has been listening to for months. Before he can come to any conclusion, the boy rips the top blanket from the pile. Underneath is a massive, irregularly-shaped, wooden box. It curves at the front and juts back into the main rectangle part of the box. The curved part opens when the boy pulls it revealing small white and black ivory rectangles placed in what seem to be random places. Tommy hears the potential tapping the box could make just from looking at it, but he still can’t figure out how it can make the sounds he has been studying.
The boy moves a rectangular seat over from under some clothes and sits in front of the large box. He takes a deep breath and places his hands on the white and black ivory, and starts playing.
At first, Tommy doesn’t register the sound. He simply watches as the boy’s fingers move and stretch across the length of the box, pushing one ivory piece and moving to the next. The movement is graceful and calm. Sound comes to Tommy’s ears once the playing becomes louder and the boy pushes the pieces down harder. The more Tommy watches and listens, the more complete everything feels. The movement matches the familiar song he had been hearing for months. The song that sounded like two streams rushing into each other and freezing over in the winter. They come to a stand still while chilled, getting to know each others’ patterns of behaviour, discovering similarities and differences along the way. After learning enough about each other, the Spring sun comes out from behind the dark clouds and begins to melt the ice. The two streams are no longer frozen. They will have no more time to get to know each other. They will miss each others’ patterns and quirks, but they know that if their water stops running, they will be letting the rest of the natural world down.
1, 2, 3,
1, 2, 3,
1, 2, 3,
It is a bittersweet moment, and it’s right in front of Tommy. It’s not just in his head anymore. Everything he has ever wanted is in this room with him. A smile crawls onto his face as the mid-morning sun creeps in through a space in the window. The sun hits the large, rectangular box with a gentle force. The dust particles move through the golden patch in celebration. They cheer for the prince’s achievement. They sing and dance and sway together, finally becoming one with the world around them. It is a moment of pure, inescapable adrenaline and Tommy is content with the feeling of it.
The sounds fade away into a comfortable silence. The boy slowly pulls his hands away from the ivory and places them by his sides. He sits for a moment, just with his own thoughts, then turns his head back towards Tommy. His eyes change from a calm expression to one of confusion.
“Are you okay?” He asks.
At first, Tommy doesn’t understand what the boy is asking. Then, he feels something drip from his cheek. He follows it and watches a drop of water splatter on the table. A tear. Tommy brings his hands to his face and finds two streams of water spilling from his eyes.
“Yes,” Tommy says wiping his face with his shirt sleeves, “Yeah, I’m fine.”
Another strong silence falls between the two boys, though this time, it isn’t tense. It is calm. The boy has stopped shaking and Tommy has started breathing slowly. There is no conversation in the room, and it doesn’t feel needed. It feels like they are old friends.
“Hey,” Tommy starts. The boy looks back over at him. “I never asked your name.”
The boy averts his eyes for a moment, looking at nothing in particular, unsure of himself and his immediate safety once again.
“It’s Toby.” He answers.
“I’m Tommy,” the prince responds.
A thin smile is shared by both boys. In this insanely vulnerable moment, they have both discovered someone else who wants nothing but to enjoy what they can’t. They have both found a person they can really trust, or so they hope. In just five minutes or so, they have formed a stronger bond than any person can make in their time. A bond formed through music.
But still, Tommy has one more thing on his mind.
“Hey, Toby,” He asks.
“Yes Tommy?” Toby responds.
“Teach me.”