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Lucien quietly and selfishly wished that Thessaly hadn’t left. They all did, if for no other reason than that it would have prevented such infernal weather. He now walked down the ever-shifting hallways of the castle with Nuala. With Mervyn’s demolition underway, and all the other servants having been informed of the situation, there was nothing left to do but resume normal life the best they could.
A clap of thunder was heard in the distance, just loud enough to make Lucien flinch. Nuala hugged his arm, breathing heavily in dreaded anticipation.
“It is quite alright,” Lucien rubbed her back slightly. “Lord Shaper shall not harm us. That I am certain of.” He hesitated, “and if it is of any reassurance, I’ve never liked thunder much either.”
“Lucien?”
He looked up. “Good evening, Abel.”
“C-can I slee-sleep in the library? M-my ha-house flooded.”
“Of course you may.”
Nuala stepped out of Lucien’s grasp. “I should get ready for bed too. I think I should learn how to sleep in such weather if this rain is going to be happening for a while.” She began to step down the hall and waved. “Good night to you both.”
Abel wound up sleeping in Lucien’s bed, and he made a nest for himself on the floor, despite Abel’s protests. It was only polite, Lucien insisted. Now it was completely dark in the room, and Abel was asleep.
The truth was, Lucien had horribly underrepresented to Nuala how much he hated thunderstorms. In fact, he had spent the day in shock at the noise every other minute, and in complete, unrelenting sensory overload. When Dream caused thunderstorms, they were loud, so loud it seemed cruel. Now, with his nerves on their last threads, he sat wrapped in a blanket, on some cushions, in his nightclothes, looking out the window.
It was a commonly known fact, one that Lucien had read in perhaps millions of books, that the distance of lightning could be estimated by the distance between the flash and the thunder. He had initially used that mechanism to reassure himself that lightning would not strike the library, though he hated that somewhere in his mind was the thought that Dream would do such a thing. Since then, it had evolved into something different.
The lightning would strike, and he would select a language. Changing his accent and the pronunciations in his mouth every few seconds would be an extra layer of grounding. He never ran out, for he spoke every language that had ever existed. He would then measure each second using his breathing, and brace.
Flash, German. Eins, zwei, drei, vier- well that one wasn’t so bad.
Flash, Irish Gaelic. A haon, a do, a tri- It was a silly thing to be scared of really.
Flash, Japanese. Ichi, ni, san, yon, (though not any more superstitious than any other dream, he really did not want to say shi at the moment.)
Flash, Anglo Saxon English. An- oh, things were getting difficult now.
Flash, Swahili-
The thunder shook the bedroom, and Lucien shut his hands against his ears and let out a scream. He staved off hyperventilation, and kept his hands firmly where they were, although the room was silent once again.
He yelped a second time when a hand reached out from the bed and touched his shoulder gently. “Bad memory?” Abel smiled, though concern was apparent.
“No, that’s not it. I'm sorry for waking you. Go back to sleep.” There was a rumble, and Lucien couldn’t help but flinch.
“Oh, Oh! I s-see.” Abel got out of bed and sat down beside Lucien. “There, the-there, old f-fr-friend.”
“Thank you, Abel, but I don’t want to deny you rest, I-”
“I l-live with Cain. I kn-know fear. I c-can help.”
Lucien didn’t have the energy to continue to argue. “Thank you, Abel.”
“Dream w-won’t strike light-t-ning here. He kn-knows better.”
“I know that. There’s no complex reason for it, really. It is just so terribly loud-” again, he covered his ears, and gasped so hard he nearly coughed at the bang. He felt guilty once again, not at Dream, at the concept that he would be frightened of his dear home of The Dreaming. “I would try the library, but I fear I have many times over the centuries.”
“Wh-what ab-bout noise cancel-canceling headphones?”
A frustrated sigh. “The thunder here is always so loud, sometimes it feels like those things don’t do much at all, and during the day I cannot go without being able to hear people. They are also quite uncomfortable to sleep in.”
“Oh. Well, you could- you c-could ask g-Gilbert for s-some slee-sleep medicine. He’s goo-good with those s-sorts of things.”
“When there is constant, unpredictable noise, medication induced drowsiness doesn’t work either, I’m afraid.”
Out of nowhere, the entire room shook, and there was a sound so loud that they felt as though they could feel the vibrations in their eardrums, like a bomb had exploded on the roof, and the castle was about to burn. Lucien collapsed, still kneeling, but curled into the fetal position, hands clenched around his ears and over his head. He began to cry, whimpering as quietly as he could manage.
Abel rubbed his back. “Let it out.”
“This,” he gasped. “This is too much.” A rumble. “Oh dear.” he focused, and his breathing began to steady, though its rhythm would still break with gasps and sobs every few seconds. “‘There is another sky, ever serene and fair,” he began. “And there is another sunshine, though it be darkness there.’”
“Y-you should-shouldn’t have had to d-do this mu-much today in-in th-this weather.”
“Lord, Abel.” He took his wire frame glasses off and wiped his eyes. “None of you knew.” He breathed deep and continued the poem. “‘Never mind the faded forests…’”
Abel realized that he too had those words memorized, for Emily Dickenson was a name familiar to The House of Secrets, as well as a favorite of Lucien’s. Abel thought about continuing it with him but was worried that such an action would only cause further distress. Perhaps not. Lucien had never cared much about people joining his performances, so long as they were respectful. He was an awe-inspiring performer too. Even in his current state there was a soothing tone and a great sense of soul to the way he was saying the words. With recitations as private as this, he welcomed synchronization. Abel sat closer to him.
“‘Never mind the silent fields,’” they said together, “‘here is a little forest, whose leaf is ever green.’”
The thunder grew softer, and as the poem reached its end, Lucien’s voice began to lag and slur. “Y-you should s-sleep now. In yo-your own bed. He helped Lucien stand and set him under his patchwork quilt.
In the end, Lucien got two or so hours of sleep, which he was thankful for. It took him a moment to realize why he was in his own bed, and Abel was curled up on the makeshift bed on the floor. The room was dark for morning, bathed in shadows, and out the window he saw that there were buckets of rain still coming down, but no thunder.
Abel left the castle after breakfast to get some things from his house, and Lucien began some work in the library. He soon realized that he was too exhausted for some of the more complex tasks a library needed, such as rebinding and fixing typewriters, and instead took some Percy Shelley, Emily Dickenson and the short stories of an old woman living in Morocco and took a seat in an armchair by the window.
Soon enough, Nuala stepped into the library. “Good morning, Lucien.”
“Good morning, Nuala, were you alright last night?”
“Oh yes, I was fine. I’ll admit I was frightened by that one loud bang near the end of the night, but then I thought about how so many people hurt others when they are angry, and rain, even with this thunder, is so pretty and helps the flowers grow. Then I was perfectly alright.”
That was Nuala, through and through. “That is a lovely perspective, thank you.” He gave her a subtle smile. “I’ll admit that I had quite a bit of trouble last night, so it’s good to see you weren’t too bothered.”
“I’m not surprised, you look all done in.” Mervyn entered the room, toolbox in hand. “I don’t see why he had to scare the living crap out of us though. I think he woke the whole castle up, if not the whole realm. Anyways, the wing is down.”
“Thank you, Mervyn, perhaps this will lift this weather sooner rather than later. You both should also know that Abel’s house flooded, so he shall be staying with us for a time. He is currently gathering some things from his house.”
Mervyn shrugged. “Beats living next to Cain, I guess.”
“Oh,” Nuala grew excited. “I was thinking of going out to dance in the rain now that the thunder’s over.”
“I fear you’d catch a cold doing that.”
“Oh, I have a raincoat, and besides, I’m sure we’ve both had a great deal of colds before, what’s one more?” She dashed off.
Lucien looked out the window. Thunder was horrible, even Nuala’s positivity couldn’t break his opinion, but rain was quite nice. He watched Nuala twirl in unfiltered joy and set his books aside so they would not get wet. He opened the window a quarter, and set his hand out of it, palm upwards. Swaying it from side to side and opening and closing his fingers. It felt nice, the drops falling on his hands. Yes, rain was lovely.