Work Text:
When he woke up, his entire body felt like it was on fire.
His throat was dry, his skin felt hot and was itching where it touched the fabric on top of him. He pushed it off him and rose up. The soles of his feet protested when he leaned on him, but he pushed himself out of fhe small room and along a hallway, all of it made from wood.
He opened a hatch and was greeted by the outside world. The son shone warmly and its light was reflected from the waves around him.
At the sudden flash of lights, he clamped his eyes shut and pressed his palms against the closed lids.
He had a headache, and it was bright, and his entire body felt like it was on fire.
He could remember the moment it was.
Nothing could destroy your hope quite as thoroughly as flames surrounding you from all sides, rising up from the foundations of the castle and raining down broken pieces of your home.
He had been trying to lead his siblings to the secret tunnel under the castle walls, but then the falling rubble had divided them. He has wanted to scream for them, to shout their names, but all he had been able to do was inhale smoke and choke. He had hardly been able to see anything through the clouds of ash and the flames had approached him faster than he could reach his exit. The secret door had fallen apart in his hands and the metal knob had burned his skin when he touched it.
After that, he only remembered fire.
He must have made it to the shore, somehow. He wondered if anyone else had.
The sun bit his burnt skin. He could hear voices, but he couldn't make out what they were saying. He hissed when hands touched his raw skin, but let himself be led back into the room he had woken up in. Someone spoke to him in soothing tones and then something cool touched his back -- his pain eased immediately. The person began putting a healing salve on him and he sighed in contentment, slowly drifting off to sleep.
He woke up again. His skin still felt raw and he had a terrible headache. He felt sick.
He leaned over the side of his mat and threw up.
He heard footsteps. An old man unlike any other he had seen was standing in the doorway, holding an oil lamp. He spoke to him in a language he didn't hnderstand.
"I'm sorry, I don't...," he trailed off. His vision began to swim. "My father, have you heard from Prince Amadis? Have you seen my sister? Is Owain..."
He woke up again. The person with the cooling balm was back.
When he lifted his head, there was a foreign woman kneeling beside him. She spoke with an accent, but she spoke knew his language: "Heal. There was a storm. I do not think you have family left. I'm sorry.
"You can be safe with us. Stay?"