The Losereth Hath Diedeth (tresmoron) wrote in twilightcove,
The Losereth Hath Diedeth

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Since there is no set topic for this community, I will post this here.

Title: Fatigue
Rating: PG
Fandom: Fire Emblem 7: Rekka no Ken
Category: General
Pairings: Implied Raven x Lucius
Summary: ..Perhaps it wasn’t twilight at all when he fell. Maybe then he was blinded by his own blood.
Warnings: None.
Spoilers: None.
Notes: Sequel of sorts to Regrets. Because I stuffed up so badly on Regrets and wrote a couple I didn’t like. This has turned out worse than Regrets, but at least I screwed up on a couple I supported.

The first words his mouth forms when he awakes are those of apology.

He opens his eyes and finds himself staring up at the sky, which is painted a darker shade of black than he had ever seen before, as opposed to the crimson streaked twilight that he remembered when he was falling. Then, perhaps it wasn’t twilight at all when he fell. Maybe then he was blinded by his own blood.


A trembling hand brings itself to his lips and runs a finger along them gingerly. He stops to look, though there is no light.


He doesn’t stop to think where it had come from. Partially because he doesn’t want to know, or remember. Instead, he hastily wipes his lips on his already bloodied sleeve and staggers ungracefully to his feet. He feels slightly light-headed and even the neverending darkness seems unbalanced and unsteady.

A flash of light. Torches. Fire.

He runs toward the direction of the light, only to find that it is moving quickly away from him. Then he stops, silencing the sound of his rapid heartbeat.

Voices. Footsteps. Yelling. Trot, canter, gallop.

And now there is only one voice left. He feels relieved that he recognises it.


The voice is slightly gruff, but carries an air of sharpness. He knows this voice.


He has become so tired he doesn’t hear the rapid footsteps that are coming towards him. He has become so tired he doesn’t see the light suddenly rushing towards him. He has become so tired that he is almost completely unaware of who now is in front of him, and he cannot seem to hear the ragged breaths that do not belong to him.

He takes a glance up and finds himself recognising the face of his saviour. He knows this face. He trusts this face.

‘Lucius.’ A whisper. Though harsh, it is strangely soothing.

He murmurs something vaguely as a wave of fatigue washes over him and he falls into darkness.

...and he finds himself smiling as he is caught.

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