Note: This is set midway through The Sister of the South.

In recent years, the palace had become a constant source of light and noise. People walked through the halls at all times of the day and night, for it had become a place of home and work for many in Del. But although sunlight had slowly begun to strain through the windows, the halls were silent and empty.

Doom's boots echoed hollowly through the wide corridors. He would sometimes hear movement behind the closed doors, but no one dared come out. The stink of the funeral pyres seeped into even the highest floors of the palace. The red fabric he had only recently tied around his face began to slip, and Doom reached behind his head to pull it tighter.

Lief had left Del in Doom's hands for months, trusting him to be strong and capable, but with every hour that passed, it seemed to slip further from his grasp.

The memory of Josef's foolish arrogance and Paff's desperation for the old man's approval had left a bitter taste in his mouth. They would cause more trouble, and soon, he was sure of it. He knew Josef never had any love for him, but how did he dare think he could simply do what he liked? Seeking Sharn's presence when it seemed like she might never again open her eyes was not just stupid— it was cruel.

Doom gritted his teeth. He had been shocked by the speed in which the illness had spread through Sharn's body. She had been so happy the night before she fell ill, relieved to hear of her son's success and safety. It had been Doom who had knocked on the door of her bedchamber when she failed to appear at breakfast. It had been he who had thanked the heavens that she had not locked the door, he who found her in her bed, still as death, with angry red lumps swelling across her body. His kindly, clever friend was near death; the very idea that she might not wake clawed at his heart with an icy hand.

If given a sword to hold, and people to lead, Doom knew he would always rise victorious. But this illness, this Toran Plague, as the people had begun to call it, had disarmed him. He had survived in the Forests of Silence and the Shadowlands, clawed his way back to Del, and led the Resistance. But this… it had rendered him weak.

A cool morning breeze pulled him from his thoughts. One of the large glass windows at the end of the hall was wide open. Doom cursed; nothing was going as planned. He had specifically told the guards to shut every window they could find. He stepped forward and reached to shut it, when a scream from below shattered the eerie silence. He had not heard Jasmine scream since she was very young, but her knew her voice, and knew it well.

Doom did not bother looking out the window, although he did pull it closed, and tore towards the palace entrance. He was in the heart of the palace, and on one of the highest floors. He knew every shortcut and secret path in the building, but it still seemed to take him a lifetime to reach the outer stairs.

When he finally burst through the open doors, he was greeted by a scene of utter chaos. Guards were running, shouting, and scanning the skies. Doom stepped forward and found the stairs were slick with some sort of oily black liquid. Lief, Jasmine and Barda were all slumped upon the stairs, unmoving.

Fury flamed in his heart as it pounded in his chest. Had he not told Lief to stay away? And how blindly foolish were Jasmine and Barda to follow him?

A palace guard passed by with his sword drawn, and Doom grabbed him roughly by the shoulder. "Do they live?"

"Yes, sir," the guard said, his eyes wide with shock.

"What happened here?"

"A dra— a dragon, sir," the guard stammered as if he did not believe his own words. "It attacked the captain, and the lady Jasmine. It was about to kill the king, but we managed to drive it away," Doom released him, and he staggered back to his fellows.

Doom looked up, but the early morning skies were empty. A dragon. Of all the stories Min had told him as a child, the ones of Deltora's ancient dragons were always his favourite. His childish fascination had become a nightmare.

Lief was sprawled halfway down the stairs, one arm stretched downwards from his billowing green robe, as if he had reached for Jasmine and Barda below, before he was consumed by darkness. His face and body were covered with bleeding lacerations, but there were also strange patches of fresh scars on his face. Gla-Thon was at his side, and Doom approached them as a guard helped her lift Lief to his feet.

The gnome gave Doom a curt nod. "He is weak, but alive. We have checked them all, they do not show signs of plague."

Doom let out a breath he did not realize he had been holding. Lief's head slumped forward, and Gla-Thon adjusted her grip.

"We will take him to his room," she said, and she and the guard disappeared into the palace, Lief's prone form carried between them.

Dunn had pulled Barda to his feet with the aid of two other guards. The large man's eyelids fluttered, but he did not wake as he was carried away.

The guards had given priority had been to their king and captain, but a young guard lifted Jasmine into his arms, and began to follow the grim procession into the palace, as Kree swooped above them.

"Wait!" Doom commanded, following the guard. "Give her to me."

The guard was startled, but gently passed her into Doom's arms without a question. Jasmine was pale as death, and blood soaked the side of her blue robe. A thin and muffled wail rose up, and Doom could see Filli half-buried in the collar of Jasmine's robe.

Doom had not held her in over ten years; she was heavier than she looked, hard muscle under wiry limbs. An unwelcome flare of fear shot through him, as he remembered another early morning that looked much like this one.

"Jasmine," he had whispered to his wife, as they were marched forward, flanked by Grey Guards and weighed down by chains. He had blinked blood from his eyes at it trickled from the deep cut above his brow, and he could still feel the raging heat of the fire on his back,

Anna had turned her tear-streaked face to him as best she could. Her split lip had stopped bleeding, and had begun to swell. "She is safe," her voice had broken on the last word.

Safe. What did that mean? He had tried to ask, but she did not have the chance to tell him for some time, as one of the Grey Guards had ordered her to turn back around with a rough shove forward.

Safe. To be consumed by the flames. Safe. To freeze to death in the night. Safe. To starve. Safe. To be torn apart by creatures of the dark woods.

Doom shook the memory from his mind.

"Follow me", he said to the young guard, and then pointed to one he knew, Nesk, who had not yet left, "you as well."

"Yes, sir," the guards followed without hesitation.

With Jasmine in his arms, Doom led them to her old bedchamber. The door was locked, but he was one of four people who held its key. He reached awkwardly into his pocket and pulled out his key ring. He tossed it to the young guard, who had said his name was Horace, and told him which one to use. Horace shakily unlocked the door, clearly overwhelmed by all that had happened.

"Go get fresh water, a cloth, and bandages," Doom said to Nesk, who took off in a run.

Horace hastily pushed the door open. Jasmine had not lived in the room for some time, but she had left many of her strange belongings when she moved into the forge. Even the bed was cluttered with odd trinkets, scraps of fabric, and other peculiar treasures. Without being prompted, Horace cleared a space on the bed and drew back the covers, as Doom placed her down. Her tangled black hair spread across her pillow like the oil on the palace stairs.

He examined the wound on her side with careful fingers. The blood flow had slowed, though she had lost much. Nesk returned with what he had requested, and Jasmine groaned as Doom pressed the damp cloth to her wounded flesh, but she did not wake. Both guards waited as Doom washed and bandaged the wound. When he had finished, he poured the rest of the clean water into a glass, and placed it on the table by the bed for when she awoke.

He stood by the bedside for a moment. He had done all he could. The practical thing to do next would be to leave her be, but he could not bring himself to turn away. He pulled the blankets over her, so that it looked as if she were only sleeping. Her head rolled to the side, and a lock of hair covered her face. Doom reached down and pushed it back into place with rough, calloused fingers. Kree perched on the bed frame, and Filli wriggled out from under Jasmine's robes by her head. She was safe, for now. Injured, but safe.

Safe. To survive it all, and return to a city turned into a nightmare. Safe. To die, struggling to hold onto her last breaths as her body was ravaged by plague. Safe. Finally home, where they all still could die.

He turned back to Horace and Nesk, who were waiting desperately for new orders.

"I will have my keys back now," he motioned to Horace, who handed them back quickly. Doom motioned to the men to leave, and followed them out. He closed the door, and left Jasmine in the darkness. His fear seemed to pass as the door shut, but his anger returned. His heart began to pound again, and his fingernails dug into the hard flesh of his palms.

"Stay out here," he instructed the guards. "Do not leave, and do not let anyone enter."

He left them, and hurried to Lief's old bedchamber. He had words for the king.

Note: This is a prompt fill for dragonloverdoran on Tumblr, who requested Doom's POV of the trio's dramatic return to Del.