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It was a stuffy summer night, the kind where anyone would have troubles sleeping, and Roda was no exception. Feeling like she may suffocate, it took almost all the strength of her little arms to throw off the silk sheets and thick, heavy comforter that the bed was ladened with. She missed her own bed in her own room in her own home with her real father and windows that opened so bad she wanted to cry, but she didn’t dare make a sound in case he came to scold her again. Instead she lay there, flat on her back, sticking to the sheets and trembling with the tears she could not let escape.
And then she heard it. Music. So soft and far away that for a moment she was sure she imagined it, but as she strained to listen, there it was again. Someone, somewhere, was playing the harp.
Mustering up all her courage, she slipped out of bed, the marble floor wonderfully cool under her bare feet as she crept to the door, cracking it open. The music was a little louder as she poked her head out, a strange feeling washing over her, music seemed a terribly foreign thing in the severe, towering halls of the capitol, especially something so sweet and soothing. Slipping out of her room, she snuck down the hall, worried at every step that she would be caught, but far too curious to ignore the harp’s call.
The music lead her all the way down the hall and up a spiral staircase to a room she hadn’t been to yet in her thus far short stay in the capitol. It wasn’t a large room, though it had the same vaulted ceilings and ornate decor as much of the rest of the rest of the citadel and from what she could make out it was unusually cluttered, most surfaces were covered with papers and books and heavy golden instruments likely used to divine the stars given their proximity to the large gold telescope stood near the window on the back wall. The only light in the room came from the small fire flickering in the fireplace on the left wall and the moonlight streaming through the back window.
The open window , she realised as the relief of a cool breeze washed over her, carrying with it the sweet scent of night air and the desert flowers that grew in the gardens below. She closed her eyes for a moment, allowing the sensation to carry her mind out the window, over the rolling dunes of sand to the wide open desert where she knew the stars would be so bright it would seem one could just reach out and touch them.
A soft, child-like sigh pulled her attention back to the room, or, more importantly, to the inhabitants of the room. There was a dark skinned man stretched out on the couch before the fire, sleeping, she realised, noting the gentle rise and fall of his chest, or more specifically, the child that lay on his chest. The boy was a couple of years younger than her, if she had to guess, young enough to still be sucking his thumb in his sleep, and almost as dark as the man who held him. And just beyond them was the harp.
The woman who sat behind it, delicately plucking it’s strings, was quite possibly the most beautiful woman Roda had ever seen. She was pale and slight, her hands seeming to glow in the moonlight like fairies flitting from string to string, producing the sweet music. Her kind face was framed by dark, ringlet curls that cascaded down her shoulders like they had been perfectly sculpted and carefully placed.
She must have gasped at the sight of the woman, she realised, because she looked up, her hands stilling, pausing the music. A wave of disappointment overtook Roda, followed by a stab of fear, sure that she was in trouble, but the woman regarded her with kind, curious eyes and a soft, angelic voice.
“Oh hello. Are you Roda? Lord Rassilon told me about you coming to stay.” Roda simply nodded in response and, smiling, the woman continued, “I’ll admit, from his expectations for you, I thought you’d be older.”
“I’m almost five!” Roda protested, then winced, bracing herself to be chastised for her impertinence.
The woman, however, simply gave a small, melodic laugh, “Oh, so you’re a big girl, then. My mistake.” The woman paused, “What are you doing out of bed? Couldn’t sleep?”
“No ma’am.” She admitted in a small voice, barely above a whisper, waiting for the scolding to begin.
“Well… you’re not the only one.” The woman admitted, motioning to the arm chair across from her, “Why don’t you come sit and listen for a little while?”
Unable to keep a little smile off her face, Roda finally padded into the room, crawling up on the armchair and curling up with her head resting on the arm. Once she’d settled, the woman began to play again, plucking out a delicate lullaby on the harp that Roda was sure she’d heard once before, but so long ago she couldn’t remember where or when. Closing her eyes once more, she let the gentle music and sweet breeze carry her back to a time before she’d been swept away to the capital. Back to a time of bedtime stories and dozing off in her father’s lap. Back to a time when she was just… happy.
…
Roda woke in bed, tucked in just the way she had been before the music had called her away to that little tower room and for a moment she wondered if it had a even happened at all or if the nice lady who played the pretty music had just been a dream....