Chapter Text
When Julian was born, the servants used to say that he cried in tune. As he grew into a toddling little thing, he stole an old pot from the kitchens and would hide in the tower farthest from his parent’s room at the Lettenhove estate to drum the rhythms he heard in the wind and sing songs with odd words and unheard scales. Just as quickly as he learned to play, he also learned to hide, always making sure to buffer the doors and windows with thick dusty quilts to muffle the sounds.
He had always been able to hear the music. It came from everything that was alive. Each person had their own instruments, their own tune, their own words. So did every tree, every animal, the ground itself. He’d found out when he was very young that the music wasn’t just about who a person was. It also told you truths about what they were feeling. Bigger emotions usually meant louder songs. Nicer emotions were soft and rolling, mean and angry ones were pointy and blaring.
His cousins and local noble kids used to say that he daydreamed too much. Julian didn’t agree. He wasn’t daydreaming, he was listening. There were so many things to hear, and everything had so much to say. His cousins didn’t much like it when he’d talk back like that.
Sometimes the songs got too much. When his father got too angry or his mother too disappointed, their songs would hurt. When he was in front of too many people, it got uncomfortable. They would blast through his head, making him dizzy and ache like he was standing under a waterfall and couldn’t get out.
When he was younger, he thought everyone could hear the music and just didn’t talk about it. How could they not? It was so loud. Insistent and crashing against one's ears. He couldn’t understand how people would believe others' lies, wouldn’t know how others were feeling, when their song was shouting out the truth. The first time he had questioned the melodies to his mother she had waved him off impatiently. The second, she deigned to look up from her needlework long enough to give him a look of reproach that was enough to send him muttering apologies for the interruption and scurrying back to his room.
The third and final time, Julian had made the mistake of bringing up the songs at a feast the Lettenhoves were holding to welcome nearby dignitaries after a bountiful harvest. It was the most elaborate feast Julian had seen in all of his five summers. The estate had the pleasure of being visited by the Duke of Verden, a man of great renown for his skills in archery, and his conquest of small outlying villages of Brugge. His mother had spent the evening drinking wine and laughing at the stories the Duke whispered in her ear. When his father joined the high table, returning from speaking with the lower nobles, the Duke and his mother had sprung apart. The viscount and duke clasped arms tersely. His father spoke with tense shoulders and thinned lips as he welcomed the Duke to the estate,
“It is a pleasure to meet your acquaintance, your Grace.”
The Duke had responded with a wide smile and a tilt of the head, “The pleasure is all mine, Lord Pankratz, I have been welcomed with such a willing and accommodating audience. I thank you kindly,” he put his hand over the Viscountess’ on the table, “and you as well, my lady.”
Julian’s father had glowered. Sensing the tension, his mother had tittered, “Oh, and you must meet our darling son Julian. Julian say hello.”
Julian, who had been watching the whole introduction closely, listening to the music of all the people that had come to visit, blinked widely. His mother had made it clear that children were to be seen and not heard at these sorts of things, and he felt his chest go tight at the thought that this must be a test. On the other hand, his mother was actually happy, or at least, happier than she usually was around him. He could hear it in the windchimes of her song, louder and a little less out of tune than they tended to be, almost like laughter, though they had dulled as soon as his father had come back, and were near gone by the time she mentioned Julian himself. But, she had called him her darling son! He’d never heard her call him that before. Usually she used far harsher words to describe Julian and he wanted very badly to be worthy of the kind words.
“It’s nice to meet you, your Grace!” He smiled brightly, “I’ve heard all about your skills with a bow! Don’t your arms ever get tired?”
Julian had just started archery lessons that spring, and even with all his might, still could only pull the string half back. The thought of loosing arrows over and over again while fighting was mind-boggling.
The Duke had smirked and gave him a wink. “Not in a long time boy. As you learn, your muscles will get stronger. I’ll tell you what, tomorrow morning, come down to the archery range and I’ll show you a few things.”
Julian had gaped. His own father had never come down to see Julian’s lessons, much less try to teach him himself, and here the Duke was just offering? He glanced at his mother, who was giving him a stern look.
“I would love to, your Grace. Thank you for the offer!” Hopefully that sounded good enough. Julian made sure to bow at the end to really show his appreciation, he was near bouncing from excitement. He’d get to learn from a real war hero!
The Duke had put his hand on his head and ruffled his hair, before going back to talking to his parents and the other adults at the high table. Despite his excitement, Julian felt his shoulders sink in relief. No one was mad at him, so he must have done that right. He looked to his father who was laughing along to a story being told and then tuned back into the songs. He had been so worried about the conversation he had barely paid any attention to the music while he was speaking, but now that he did, he knew something was wrong.
Loud clangs and clashes were sounding from his father, the same sort of sound that came when he had to discipline Julian after he had fallen down the stairs and broke a vase on the way down. His mother’s windchimes sounded like they were in a storm, and now that he was listening closely, Julian decided that he didn’t really like the sound. They sounded like laughter, but not like happiness, as he had first thought. The Duke’s song was also pounding. A staccato of horn’s harmonized with his mother’s and Julian couldn’t help but feel they sounded the same as when his cousins had come to the estate and left him in a tree. Laughing cruelly as they watched him try to get down on too little legs. The more he listened the more it hurt his ears. His head began throbbing to the pounding rhythm.
What had he said wrong? Why were they acting differently from how they feel?
He turned to his mother and tried to ask as quietly as he could, “Mother, why is the Duke acting like he is happy to see Father, but his song is mean? Why is he lying?”
Unfortunately, at that moment the noble had finished his story and the table had gone quiet, making Julian’s words travel farther than he had hoped. He felt his face grow white, the chorus grew even louder, the horns blaring and drums crashing. Julian’s head felt like he had been spun around too many times. His mother stared at him in outrage and the Duke turned his head sharply, before looking to his father with that same wide smile,
“Song? I have come to your estate as a favor to you, Alfred, and you give me the insult of having songs written behind my back? I am no liar.”
The other nobles shuffled nervously. His mother, sensing the rising tension once more tried to stay it back, putting her hand on the back of Julian’s shoulder with a strained smile, “Don’t listen to the boy. There have been no songs written, this we swear to you. Julian is just at the age where he likes to make drama where there is none. Please accept his apologies for offering you insult, your Grace.”
She squeezed his shoulder hard enough to leave a bruise and shoved him forward.
Julian felt tears fill his eyes, that hurt. The noise was too loud, he wanted to cry out to his mother to let him go. Instead, he bowed his head, “I am sorry, your Grace. I didn’t mean to hurt your feelings.”
His mother squeezed harder and Julian did his best to contain a gasp. The Duke looked at him, face expressionless. Julian wanted to go back to when he had ruffled his hair. The Duke turned to his father, another smile on his face,
“No worries Alfred, we were kids once weren’t we? Looks like you have your hands full with this one,” he laughed and the rest of the nobles joined in, picking up as if nothing had really happened.
The Viscount tilted his head in agreement, lifting his glass in favor, “ It seems that you're right with that one, Your Grace.” He turned to give the Viscountess a sharp look, “I do think it is well past time for Julian to get some rest don’t you think, my dear?”
“Of course, I’ll bring him to his room and be right down, darling,” She turned to Julian, grabbing his wrist instead of his shoulder, but grip still just as hard, windchimes loud and raking “ Say goodnight Julian.”
Julian’s head was spinning from the ever present songs, but with the grip of his mother’s hand on his wrist he managed to get out of the chair without falling. First darling, now dear? his parents never used those type of words to each other. Why were they tonight? Did they not mean it? He didn’t think he would be able to manage a bow without toppling over, but he was able to tilt his head down, eyes on the floor,
“Goodnight.”
Without another word his mother half-led half-dragged him out of the feast hall and down into the estate, her anger leading a chorus to march with. As the turn came to his room his mother walked straight past and down the steps deeper into the lower level of the estate.
“Mother?” Julian looked up to see the disdain on her face, and went quiet.
They kept walking, the lower level of the estate was mainly used for storage and servants quarters. His mother walked to the end of the hall and opened the door to an unused room, inside there were boxes, and trunks, and on the far wall a small wardrobe, with a lock and key. What were they doing down here? Julian thought that perhaps his mother was grabbing a belt. Maybe she didn’t want to ruin any of his father’s. He hated getting the belt. It made it really hard to sleep for weeks after, but he probably deserved it for messing up so bad tonight. Instead, when she opened up the wardrobe. It was empty.
She turned to him with a raised brow, “Well? Get in”
Julian looked at her confused, then back to the wardrobe. It wasn’t a big fancy one like Mother had in her dressing room. This wardrobe was shorter than Julian and half as wide.
“What?”
“Get in”
She was serious. Julian felt himself start to shake. He hated the dark. He’d rather have the belt.
“no.”
“Excuse me?” His mother’s windchimes weren’t alone. Louder noises kept sounding around the room.
“No! I don’t want to! Please!” He cried.
His mother pushed him in.
His bruised shoulder hit the wood in the back and Julian let out a pained gasp clutching at it and looking up at his mother. Her song was awful. It was thorny and sharp and piercing like a nail in the side of Julian’s already throbbing head. This was not just anger. This was hatred.
“Momma, please.” He whined. Sobbing loudly. Why was he so bad? He couldn’t help it. Mother hated when he called her that. Mother hated his whining. Why couldn’t he just stop?
She scrunched her nose in disgust, “ Honestly Julian, this is your fault. If you hadn’t been such a disrespectful child tonight then you wouldn’t have to be punished. Maybe this time you’ll learn your lesson and I won’t have to do things like this, now move your legs”
Julian scrunched himself into a ball, making himself as tight as possible. The wardrobe was too small for him to stretch out his legs.
Then his mother closed the door to the wardrobe and Julian was in the dark. He could hear his mother put the key in the lock before she rapped her knuckles on the top of the wardrobe, “There, now I’ll come and get you in the morning, after the duke leaves. We wouldn't want you embarrassing this family any more than you already have.. Hopefully that will give you long enough to think about what you’ve done. And this had better be the last time I ever hear about those ridiculous songs, do you understand?”
Julian was silent.
His mother waited a moment then sighed, “What must I have done to be stuck with a blight such as you,” before Julian heard her footsteps walk away and the heavy door to the room close.
For a minute, it was quiet. The first quiet Julian had heard all day. No people, no nature, no songs. His head still ached but there was nothing adding to the pain. It was like a crescendo that suddenly ended. It was a near relief. Then the dark came in.
He could barely move. There wasn’t enough room. And with the door closed there was no light. Julian tried raising his hand and couldn’t see it in front of his face. No sound. No sight. Was he even really there? His breathing started going fast. The tears that he hadn’t realized had stopped came back full force, streaking across his face. He tried slamming his hands on the door to get it to open, but the wood was too thick. His shoulder and wrist hurt. He was all alone. And where was the sound? He missed having a song. Not the loud pompous music of his parents and the nobles, but the sweet soft music the trees made, the river made, the land made. Down in the estate locked in wood, surrounded by old dead stone, he couldn’t hear anything. He was all alone.
Julian didn’t care that it hurt, he kicked out with his feet. Tried screaming, shouting, crying, and nothing. No one came. He was so tired. He just wanted to go to bed.
Eventually, after some time, he tired himself out. Julian lay with his head against the wood, tears that he had left slowly making their way down his face, and he hummed himself to sleep. If he couldn’t hear any music, then maybe it would be ok if he made his own.