Chapter 13: Injury

He couldn't stand next to her without feeling the strange nervous sensation anymore.

It was the first time that he had come to notice the little features about her. The way she would walk, sometimes carrying her lance on the same slant when there was a threat nearby. The way her eyes would dart around her surroundings when she sensed anything discomforting about her. And not just her mannerisms, but her appearance as well. Her elegant shape, her well polished armor, the porcelain smooth face and lips, only ever so slightly chapped by the journey, the deep, deep eyes and the light color of her hair.

He wasn't quite sure what to make of it, but there was no doubting that he enjoyed looking at her from the distance, where it was safe to admire her features. The only time he could be by her side and not feel any nerves whatsoever was in the midst of the battle, where nerves didn't have a place to stand, where adrenaline dominated.

But what he admired the most about her was her potential to remain composed. No matter over how much she cried, when the group suffered another terrible tragedy in the death of Ninian, she suddenly became one of the group's pillars of strength. He finally saw her true colors come out as she assisted and helped everybody, trying her very best to keep morale at a high. It was this that suddenly caught Lucius's eye and caused him to see her in a different light.

Having travelled back to Ostia, the group feeling tired and miserable once again, they were presented to the rooms that they had before. Now that Florina herself was feeling better, she was given a room within the same corridor as many other members of the group. As they started to rest, the worst happened.

The castle had fallen under another attack, this time not by a mercenary group, but Nergal's army of morphs.

Almost as suddenly as they started to settle in, they had to summon all of their strength and take to arms once more, ready to defend the throne.

As a great battle broke out, Eliwood split his team into two divisions, one comparatively smaller than the other. The smaller team was to stay at the throne to protect it whilst the larger force went out and created defense perimeters within the halls. Fatefully, this separated Lucius and Florina, with Lucius heading out to meet the enemy whilst Florina looked after the throne.

During the battle, Lucius fought vigorously against the heavily armored knights that appeared at the gates of the castle, moving forward. With his satchel tied to his side, he had his tomes to hand, casting the spells from them as fast as he could. Some of the knights would come in range of Lucius, who would have to dodge the flying spears and javelins, the swooping lances as he continued to cast his spells. Canas would be helping him, backing him up with the dark arts, his magic seeping through the slits in the enemy armor and poisoning them from the inside, killing them effectively.

The attack was relentless. As hoards and hoards of morphs fell to the ground in defeat, more poured in from the entrance. Both Hector and Oswin, with their supreme armor, charged into the middle of the fray in front of the perimeters, allowing the morphs to encompass them as they battled. Lucius watched as one of the knights advanced up towards him. Preparing his nearly depleted lighting tome, he glanced at the weapon the knight held before gasping in fear.

The lance was dripping with purple fluid. At once, Lucius's mind was cast back to the night after the escape from the Dread Isle. . The lance was laced with a venomous liquid, the same sort that had poisoned Florina some time ago.

And the delay of noticing was enough time for the morph to strike. Before Lucius knew it, the knight had thrust his lance at him, the tip striking against Lucius's shoulder, breaking into his skin. Lucius yelled in pain as he fell back, trying to escape the poisonous tip, but it was too late. In shock, he looked down as the fluid dripped all down his robes, slowly mixing with the trickle of blood.

Looking up, he could already feel his world spinning from the strike. He heard Canas's worried yell before he destroyed the morph with one blast of his dark magic. Everything became a blur as his stomach twisted and turned.

"Lucius, are you okay?" Canas said, kneeling down beside him. Lucius tried to answer, but his throat was dry. He could feel the sting of the wound; the tip of the lance had punctured his flesh, damaging his muscle. The poison was spreading. Uttering an indescribable sound, he collapsed back onto the floor again.

A pair of arms slipped beneath his own before he could feel his feet dragging against the floor. His breathing was heavier and heavier; he could feel something gargling in his lungs with a sickening sensation. Did the lance puncture his lungs? Was he going to die?

In the rush of it all, his stomach contracted, and almost without feeling anything, Lucius threw up, his vomit projecting onto the blue marble floors of the castle and all across his robes staining them further. His slow drag came to a quick end as a pair of armored hands took the reins and efficiently carried him back to the throne. The taste in his mouth was disgusting.

The noises around him became mixed and intertwined with each other as his drag came to a stop once more. He was placed onto his back, his head rested to the side to prevent choking on his vomit. Through the blur, he could make out an armored foot.

"Lucius, can you hear me?" a gruff voice called. It was Marcus, a voice that he had never properly conversed with before. "Somebody, help me take his robes off, I need to see his wound"

Closing his eyes, the wrestling of his body went by in a flash as his robes were removed, revealing his vest and trousers. Lucius then felt a hand cup beneath his head as he was hoisted up into a sitting position. A handkerchief wiped across his mouth, ridding his face of his own vomit. As it passed over his face, he took a deep smell of it, gargling a sigh as the beautiful smell of the lily passed through his nostril.

It was then that a bottle had been brought to his mouth. As he smelt it, it was clear what he was about to drink.

Bergamot and vetiver.

Whilst a hand rubbed burning oil onto his rather grievous wound, he drank the medical solution, closing his eyes. He allowed the half water, half oily substance to slither down his throat and into his stomach, refreshing his insides in a flash. His head felt droopy and heavy as he continued to drink. Just about being able to open his eyes one last time, he saw an angel sat beside him, with the bottle in her hand, producing the elixir to his dry lips.

Pulling the bottle away before it could run out, Lucius knew that his consciousness was fading. Like a miracle, before it could get any worse, the illness that was surrounding suddenly waned, leaving him to drift away into an unknown land. Breathing a long, wistful breath, he closed his eyes and allowed himself to go adrift, hoping that where he would end up would bring him an ultimate peace free of pain and suffering.