The cries and moans of Archers surroundings seemed to echoed through his head. He took the first hallway out of the courtyard. Ahead of him, there were a couple of the knights that seemed to be heading somewhere with a sense of urgency.
"A welcome distraction, on orders from father no doubt." Archer thought, as he caught himself matching the pace of their sabatons clanking against the ground with heavy thuds.
He had trouble keeping up with the armor clad knights due to the rubble and the dust that was still in the air, obscuring both his movement and his eyesight. Archer found himself coughing slightly as he finally saw the opening at the end of the hallway that he recognized as the Throne Room. Surely his father was in here.
Upon entry, Archer immediately noticed King Smitten, standing in the middle of the room and coddling his right arm against his chest. It looked to be in tatters, almost like something exploded from it, the sight was a very uneasy mess. It was hard to see the blood drenching his clothes among the bright crimson of his robes. The only thing ousting the injury was the wet, red dust across his body and the crudely made sling that hung around his neck. With his left hand, he pointed at the two knights who had just entered.
"Report."
"Sir, the death toll is at about 400 and rising. 73 people are missing and 603 more wounded. The few medical personnel we have are already dispatched to help the most dire. Before the full extend of the disaster, many people felt the tremors beforehand and came to the castle for further protection. There's no telling what the status is outside of the walls yet. I would assume that there are significantly more people still to be found."
Almost as though he was oblivious to his own injuries, Smitten stroked his chin with his off hand. "Take a platoon and head outside the walls, split up into your squads and find me a proper report of our status. Help any citizens that you come across along the way."
"Sir!" The both said in unison and they placed their hands over their hearts and bowed before quickly taking off.
"Father!"
The king turned his head towards the voice and after a moment of eye contact, recognized his son under all the dust. A look of relief momentarily replaced the look of anguish on the heartbroken kings face knowing that his son was alive and well. He ran up to lightly embrace Archer, begin careful not to hit his right arm in the process.
"Are you okay?" asked Archer, gesturing his head to the wound.
"I was in the council room when everything started. I stood up to walk outside when our servant Onsleck came in to check and make sure I was okay. Upon entering, one of the bookcases collapsed over and I managed to push him out of the way. Easy trade if you ask me, I'll be fine."
Archer grunted and nodded his head. He didn't want to bring up his experience yet, cause unlike his father, he wasn't able to save her, he didn't even know her name. He pushed the thought from his mind for now despite a guilty conscious.
"Where can I help?" asked the prince.
"I already have matters handled. Go back to the courtyard and see where you can be of assistance. I have nothing for you, but go show your face. Encourage your people. Help them. Your presence alone might help despite the circumstances."
Placing his hand over his heart and bowing slightly, "Yes father." Archer then turned and began jogging down the hallway. The dust had finally begun to settle and he was starting to see clearly. Luckily, the hallway seemed void of death. Just a mixture of crushed rock and splintered wood among the pictures and armor that now laid on the ground.
Archer got to the courtyard and slight relief gripped him. The cries he had heard before started to disappear as he looked around and saw a majority of the castle healers tending to the wounded. The castle healers were specially chosen at a young age to train for medical purposes. They usually showed extreme aptitude for the problems at hand or they had talent for minor magic.
Minor magic was essentially a small spell that could be passed down. This one in particular could take a portion of the injury and pain of the patient, in return the caster took on that portion of their injury. It wasn't bad to use in everyday situations, as a scrap could be reduced to a mere scratch for each person, but the healers now appeared to be asleep on their feet and shaking. It was obvious this ability had been used on patient after patient. Archers heart bled for them, it had to be the one job he probably couldn't stomach in the kingdom, however; the massive respect he already had for these people, only skyrocketed to bigger heights.
"Meditrina!" Archer shouted
A middle aged woman stood up from a patient, she was the chief healer within the castle. As soft and kindhearted as she was, even Archers father didn't get in her way when someone needed tending to.
"Yes my prince." say the silver haired lady, who had began to hobble to him. Obviously she had used the healing spell, but how much?
"How can I help? Where I am needed?"
"Can you use Curing Touch??" the lady inquired, looking at him with what little amusement she could with an exhausted guise.
"Erm... No." Archer stammered, looking into the distance he said so.
"I appreciate your concern my lord, but I have things handled. We are finishing up. After today, I don't know how much more my underlings can handle. We have saved many lives today, but we have lost a couple of our own for not knowing their limit. Their hearts stopped. It is unfortunate, but not in vain." she said with sad brown eyes.
"That is disheartening, and my heart goes with you for your losses. You will never understand how much I appreciate your services," he said solemnly before retreating from the scene.
The sound of snow crunched under Archers boots as he continued to go around offering his services. To no avail, no one needed him. He decided to retreat back towards his room. The sun had started to set and give its usual golden sheen. Unfortunately, this was not a sunset to admire, this was a nightmare that we would never forget. He wanted to curl up and quit, but given his status, he wasn't given that luxury.
The golden sheen from the sun that usually reflected beautifully across the snow was transformed into one with a purple hue that seemed to reflect the mood placed on the kingdom following the current day. The screaming had stopped. There wasn't any moaning. There was silence throughout the entire castle, which gave the appearance that what had just happened mere hours prior was just the imagination running rampant. That is, until he saw the maid every time he blinked.
Walking over to a wall, Archer pulled his fist behind his head and with a loud yell, he punch the already cracked stone wall. He continued through his now half torn down door and decided to head to his fathers private study. On any normal day, that's where the king could be found when he wasn't busy performing his other duties. The study was located right before the Throne Room.
So Archer walked back across the courtyard, towards the left hallways. As he did so, he also noticed that the fissure that split the ground in two had large planks dropped across it. Along with that, the rubble that surrounded the portcullis had been cleaned up for the most part and a makeshift wooden barricade put up for the time being. The bloodied snow from the injured earlier had even been moved, revealing patches of dead grass and stone.
Archer managed to find the hallways and continued down it, as he did so, he happened to see a familiar looking black coat ahead of him that appeared to be leaving the study.
"Master!" Archer exclaimed out loud.
The tired masters eyes shone with delight upon laying them on Archer. Without hesitation, Archer embraced his father figure tight. Happy he was alive.
"I'm glad to see you safe my prince" the master said, beaming at him.
"Likewise master."
Archer pulled away and looked him in the eyes, "Is father in there?"
"Aye, he is. He could do to see your face right about now. He needs your support as much as you need his."
Nodding his head, Archer stepped back and bowed to his teacher before heading on down the hall to his fathers study. He knocked twice before a tired and gruff voice answered, "Enter."
Opening the door and stepping through the threshold, Archer saw his father. He seemed to barely be awake, but he looked better that before. The blood that was matted to his beard and face earlier was cleaned and his clothes showed no trace of his prior struggle with his injury. His arm was also bandaged and slung around his neck, firm and unmoving. Before either could say a word, tears started running down Archer face and without having to say a word, the king guided him to a seat, completely understanding his son without the need for words.