This world and its inhabitants belong to C.S. Lewis. I am borrowing them for my own amusement and will return them unharmed.
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Every morning it was beautiful, but if he was in the garden it was best. In the garden, as the eastern sky first began to pale, and the sweet spring scent surrounded him, from high above came the sound of the tower window creaking open. For a moment—two, three—there was utter silence, and then it began.
First came the passionate, lonely notes of a violin in the hands of a master, singing its song with fervent grace. Slowly at first, then quickening to a perfectly crafted storm of sound—and abruptly ending, only to be caught up again as one note played up and down the scale and held for a long moment, wavering through the air.
Then the single note was joined by a delicate thrum of harp-strings, a soft, gentle sound weaving around and through the violin's pathos to create the saddest song he had ever heard. Together the instruments wept, quavering the loneliness of an abandoned child into the air, and through the mist in his eyes the sky seemed as black as it had ever been.
Suddenly the sweet piping of a flute began, gently playing along at first, but slowly it coaxed and cajoled the tune into a merrier sound, one that made him want to dance and run and laugh and nearly weep for the beauty of it. Sometimes the harp or the violin dipped down into the slow sad notes of before, but each time the flute valiantly caught them and brought them back, joining the three into a flowing melody.
Now the eastern sky was ablaze with gold and red, and from the window above another voice joined in, and finally the song seemed complete. Deep and majestic, the horn added a rich nobility to the music, a sober sound that nonetheless carried a deep undercurrent of joy with it. It steadied the other three, providing a solid foundation for them to play with, sometimes winding around it, sometimes venturing high above it, but always returning to join in the harmony.
Once the violin turned, playing its own song, an angry cacophony of notes that raged and wept at once. Briefly the other instruments faltered as the violin shrieked and groaned, but they quickly followed, surrounding the tune with elegance and pulling it back to create a slow, hauntingly wistful song. The clouds were fading into shades of purple and rose now, and the music gentled into a peaceful melody.
Together the four played on, a tune that was, to him, as familiar as the very stars now fading from the sky. Beside him, the nodding heads of flowers woke and opened their faces to the sky as if they, too, knew what was coming. As the music crescendoed, the sun blazed up in a glorious rebirth, tinting the entire horizon with streaks of gold, and with a note curiously like a roar, the song ended.
In the garden of his home, tears streaking down his face into his beard, Digory turned and looked up at the tower, knowing what he would see. At the window, four young children bowed with gracious ceremony to the East, and laying aside their instruments, came down to join him for breakfast.
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Note: "Aubade" is the name of a very beautiful Renassiance sunrise song. If it isn't clear, Edmund plays the violin, Susan the harp, Lucy the flute, and Peter the French horn. This story takes place approximately a week after the end of LWW.
