This is a little piece I had to write. My muses wouldn't leave me alone otherwise. The first song is just too Trowa, there was no choice in the matter (at least on my part ^_^ )
Anyone who can guess where the other music is from gets huggles. I love it so much! It's my obsession. And so perfect for Gundam!
And if I mis-identified that first song My apologies. That was as close as I could find to match the lyrics I knew....of course the record that had the song on it wouldn't give a definite title for it...that would make things to easy ^_^.
Anyways I hope you enjoy it!
Life's Song
"Trowa Barton" The young man's looked up, "Do you have your piece ready?"
The dark head nodded silently as he unfolded his tall frame. Handing the accompaniment to me he put his own part on the stand in front of him. Then he turned to stare at me dispassionately, waiting for a signal. I nod and give a small intro on the piano. The boy began to play.
The piece he had chosen was 'Sarabande' by Handel, a hauntingly beautiful piece and a nice change from 'Baby one more time' for beginner sax. Trowa's eyes were closed as he played and the music flowed through him, softening the harsh lines of his face. As he played I could see tension I didn't even know was there leave his body. I saw his masks fall away, and his soul was bared.
He had only been in my class for one week before this time. I hadn't expected him to have anything ready for these playing tests, but I should have known. He was a model student, doing everything expected of him quickly and perfectly. But he only did what was expected; he gave nothing extra. He never spoke unless spoken to and even then it was with as few words as possible. He had no friends; no one knew him.
My fingers continue their accompaniment without my mind. I finally remember why I know what he is playing. I studied it in University. The words flow in to my head. He plays the notes as if he knows those words, as if he is singing them though his flute.
Give me my freedom from this cruel silence.
Heavens O grant me my liberty
Give me my freedom my liberty
Silent the evening, silent the heavens
Stars here, O hear me, O hear my cry
My music draws to a close and my last mournful note fades away but Trowa doesn't stop playing.
He still stands there, playing something new, playing his story. Unlike most people he doesn't move with his music. He doesn't sway or pulse; just stands there. The only part of him that shows any emotion is his face...and his music.
I can hear in his music everything that he has been forced to see. I can see the fire and death, the pain and the loss, and I wonder what it is that made him so old. My head jerks up and he meets my eyes. He nods, and I feel like the child. All of a sudden, he's too old, to jaded, too sad to be sixteen. This is the first time I've ever seen him show anything other than carefully controlled reactions. It makes me curious, I want to ask, but I'm not sure if I want to hear his answer.
He is pulling in phrases from other pieces of music now, combining them into his seamless story. I recognize a few, his phrasing singing the words in my mind.
'Drink with me to days gone by. Can it be you fear to die? Will the world remember you when you fall? Can it be you're death means nothing at all? Is your life just one more life?'
"I shall weep alone in silence" "Oh my child give your tears to me" "Can you hear me? Can you hear my silent tears?"
"There's a grief that can't be spoken, there's a pain goes on and on. Empty chairs at empty tables, now my friends are dead and gone..."
"For I had come to hate the world, the world that always hated me. Take and eye for an eye! Turn your heart into stone. This is all I have lived for. This is all I have known."
"I am reaching but I fall...and the night is closing in. As I stare into the void, and the whirlpool of my sin"
"He told me that I had a soul...how does he know?"
Then a few phrases of the anthem to a long forgotten country, a hymn, a song of war, a child's lullaby. There is a pause after that theme. A single uncertain, quavering note held a moment long. A second of indecision, then the unseen choice is made. The music arcs up again: technically complex, emotionally intense. There's a piercing note rising out of the chaotic runs and trills. It is held long and loud, screaming out pain and loss. It drops and the song continues, burying the echo of agony, hiding it beneath calmer notes. The song becomes a dirge, pushing the lower ranges of his flute.
He is telling his story. Telling it the only way he can, through his music, but I can't figure it out. All I can hear is the pain with a few crystal moments of happiness, life hidden deep amongst the death, friendship within betrayal.
All to soon his song ends, cut of in mid phrase. It makes my heart ache. He is expecting to die early, suddenly without resolution. That much I understand. He stands there a moment; looks at me and I see gratitude in his eyes. Then the barriers come back, mere seconds after his music ended.
A moment later the bell rang and Trowa packed up his flute, cleaning and handling it with reverential care. Then he left.
I never saw him again.
***end***