Chapter Text
Wayland Maynor, 1999
There was something beautiful about a piano. The way his fingers flew over the white and black keyboards, his hands pressing the keys ever so gently to make a note that would compose into a symphony. Everything about the piano was soft, peaceful. He never felt more relaxed than he was when he was playing the instrument.
It was different from fighting. He did manage to find rhythm and harmony in wielding a sword as well, his slashes of air replacing the sound of the piano keys, but it was still not quite like playing a malady.
Jonathan was surprised when his father, Michael Wayland had suggested he will start learning to play an instrument. His father was harsh and demanding, and he found most things unimportant or useless. So, when he approached Jonathan with the idea of playing he was a little overwhelmed from both excitement and some kind of level of fear.
The thing was that everything needed to be perfect around his father. He was to be the perfect soldier, son, and shadowhunter - it was not a choice but a demand.
‘To love is to destroy and that to be loved is to be the one destroyed.’ his father often said.
He loved his father with all his heart, even with his flaws and high expectations. But, he never dared to say that to him. Jonathan knew well enough that his father wanted obedience and not love, a lesson that he had learned harshly when he was six.
His father was away. Before he left he said, ‘I tutored you long enough, make the rest of the work on your own.’
Jonathan never seemed to bring himself to ask where he was going. It was more of a fact for Jonathan - his father was away and he needed to deal with everything on his own. He had servants in the manor but they were not very chatty, to say the least.
Today he practiced on a melody that he found in one of the books in their manor called Je Te Veux which, from its notes, seemed rather difficult. He wanted his father to be proud of him once he returned from his absences. Jonathan was a good son and if his father wanted him to learn a new melody on his own he would make sure it was a challenging one.
Jonathan stretched his hands and took a deep breath as he looked at the notes on the page. He tried to read the melody and play it in his mind.
He brushed his fingers against the keys and counted, then he pressed them down. It was amazing how far he had come, how his fingers seemed to be almost moving on their own.
G, C, D, F.
He practiced and practiced, the hours passing by without him noticing. It was only when his hands were sour and numb that he stopped, taking his hand off the keys, letting his breath out.
One could have thought this was the moment that he would look up and smile, happy from the hard work he had been putting into the task in his hands.
But as the boy looked at the piano his hands turned into fists. He looked outside the window asking himself, how long has it been? He started to practice when the sun was high in the sky and now there was nothing but darkness.
He did not manage to perform the melody but not to perfection. He was close, really close, and yet he couldn’t do it. Not even after hours of practicing.
He slammed his hands on the key in frustration. Jonathan knew what he had done wrong - he enjoyed it when it was supposed to be like any other task his father asked him to perform.
Jonathan took a deep breath before spreading his hands over the keys. He ignored how his hands were shaking and his stomach made sounds that meant he had skipped at least one meal today.
His emotions were not important. This needs to be perfect.
In his father’s voice, he said to himself, again.
It was when he was playing at a wedding years later that he found joy in that melody again.