Red, sultry firelight coated the room like velvet. Hushed whispers, the sense of helpless urgency weighing on shoulders as aides rushed to and from the room with heavy footsteps. Shadows danced on the walls and ceiling as the orange flames licked the air, casting ghoulish shade in the expressions upon their faces. Some called for water, some for clean rags. There was a soft, tortured moan amongst the murmuring.
"Your Majesty," a Naiad spoke, tears sparkling in the crimson darkness, "He is very ill." I nodded, brow creasing, worry already set in my face. I stood outside his chambers, waiting, for what I do not know. Waiting for a sign. Waiting for a miracle. Sweat trickled down my face as I waited; the heat blasting from the room was like Calormen in high Summertime. I paced.
"Will he be alright?" I dared, ignoring the way my voice rasped with emotion. The Naiad's face fell, her watery skin refracting the light of the fire as she carefully chose her words. I watched the tremulous waves within her for a moment, steeling myself. Her eyes met mine.
"He is very sick," she spoke softly, and there was nothing more to be said.
Another scream. I stepped forward; Caasca, for that was her name, held her hands to mine, a cooling sensation. "We do not know if this is contagious," she said quietly, referencing the fact that we were not allowed near him. I shook my head, giving her a small, forced smile. "I have to see him."
There was no arguing with Monarchs.
I stepped into his chambers, feeling the dry heat immediately pressing upon me. The windows were all shut up, and the fire roared in the hearth with no signs of stopping. Trying to sweat the fever away. Starve it.
It just kept getting worse.
I made my way to his bedside, unable to see him for all the healers pressed close to him. I waited, a little impatiently, for them to leave. I needed to be with him.
Eventually, the last of the healers adjourned from the bedside, placing the bowl of lukewarm water in my hands. "Make sure he rests," the Faun said, weariness overtaking him. I placed the bowl on the bedside, and with shaking hands, kneeled down beside him, pressing my hand to his face.
"Su," he moaned, blearily creaking open one eye, too weak to do much else. I gave him a shaky smile, brushing the raven hair from his eyes. "I'm here, Ed. Sleep now," I muttered, gently swabbing his face with a cool rag. He was delirious with fever, stuck between two realities as he tossed in his sheets, unaware of the tears slipping down his cheeks. I, also, was unaware of my own. I could not bear to see him like this.
I shakily took his hand as he cried out against the demons in his mind, and I wept.
Whispering empty words of comfort as he was plagued by fever and Hell itself, I stayed with him through the night.