Chapter Text
Truth be told, when Alicia asks him if he's awake, Lloyd isn't totally sure he is.
He doesn't remember lying in this bed, and he doesn't remember this ceiling. It looks like something you'd find in the Magentano castle, but he knows he wasn't here before waking up. He was on... Lloyd was... He...
There's a thrum in his head, heavy and thick. Despite the weight of the blankets draped over his body, none of them are warm. It's too damn cold, which is really strange for... Well, he doesn't remember it being winter season, last he checked.
Alicia's hand pulls away from his chest as he sits up with fumbling apologies, and a shiver promptly follows, as if the trembles intended to fill that gaping space left behind. It's hard to get words out, with the chill rolling around in his ribcage like a snowball.
"—Eye of Summer," is all he really registers of Alicia's voice. There's a tug in his brain at the name, lighter than everything else. That seems good.
"... 'eah," he tries to reply, and he hopes it's with confidence. The furrowed brow Alicia gives him tells him otherwise.
The queen stands up, and her hand motions him to follow. He does,
or well, he was supposed to, but several, long seconds pass before he realizes that his body is rooted, and that Alicia has sat back down. She's now leaning to look more closely at his face, from below him—or wait, when did he look down? His shoulders feel heavy but... Not that heavy. Right? When did—
Alicia's slight scowl seems to deepen as she stares. One hand reaches for the two in his lap, and the other is pressed onto his lower back, and it's a miracle that she could coax him to his feet.
Her touch feels good, like holding your hands right at the sweet spot of the radiator. The warmth of her mana feeds through his limbs, up his back, lapping against the sinking cold in his bones. It's a nice distraction from the way the world blurring a little as he sways. He's not sure if he's really standing.
Distantly though, he realizes he's walking. Alicia's grip on his hands holds firm as she leads him through the halls like a sheepdog pulling on a lamb. Despite the movement and her mana, the chills persist, battering against his throat and his ribs. Every foot forward feels like stepping into deep, ocean water, miles from the surface. It's hard to hear, to feel, to see. A faraway thought tells him that the only thing left is Alicia's heat.
Soft conversation eventually filters into his ears, and he manages to drag his all-too-heavy head up to see.
Javier is here. Oh, whatever could he do without him?
After nodding in response to the queen, the knight turns to face Lloyd. There's something complex in his stare that the engineer can't quite explain. Lips clearly pursed, and a weird shape in his eyebrows. Something pangs in his heart, and he's not sure if it's because he's sad he can't read what Javier's thinking or if it's because the cold is still progressing.
The shudder that wracks through him, jerking his limbs and body without his permission, vaguely indicates to the noble that it's probably the latter.
I'm sorry, his thoughts were finally able to pull together, I'm sorry, I'm sorry, this—he distantly realizes mouth is moving, the chattering of his teeth ringing through his bones and into his skull—*his must be burdensome, I'm sorry for making you do this, forgive me—
His ears and cheeks and lips are sinking in molasses, absorbed into nothing. Alicia and Javier are now staring at him like he's been saying something strange, outright frowns on their faces and what seems to be shushes on their tongues. Lloyd isn't totally sure, it's hard to keep looking up. God, his eyes feel so, so heavy. It's so much work, staying upright like this. They should let him lay down, just a little.
The grip on his hands tightens, accompanied by another wave of warmth. He's not gonna be able to lie down if the queen keeps holding onto him like this; she really knows how to make people work for it. A shudder rambles from his gut and up to his throat in what he hopes is a chuckle.
Their expressions don't really change. Actually, the knight's lips look like they're wobbling. I'm sorry, his head rings again.
Said knight steps closer, grasping at the bottom of Lloyd's bedshirt and lifting it upwards. The movement is slow and ginger, tugs notably weak, as if he were afraid the noble would splinter and shatter into shards of ice with any amount of pressure. The fabric brushing against his skin is sharp, prickling every hair and spurring another vicious shiver. His head jerks, hefty and useless in its swing, and for some reason he hears some kind of whine echoing behind his ears.
"... orry..." a voice says, faraway and underwater, "... My lord, I'm so..."
The shirt is pulled off, and his head lolls. There's a sinking anchor in his chest now, dragging an iceberg down to crash into his ribs. He can't tell whether or not his vision is blurred because of the shaking, or if it's for another reason.
His vision is suddenly lifted to meet the queen's gaze, painted over in scrutiny. She's gripping his chin, and he knows it's a little too tight from the way he can actually feel more than just the pressure of the hold. Her mouth moves. "—ay with me," slips on by. He's not sure if he nods.
The warmth flooding his face from the contact feels blessedly comfortable, actually. He could fall asleep here. Maybe he can allow himself to relax a little bit, to sink a little into this. It'd be a waste to not lean into this fire. The noble lets himself drop all his weight into these warm arms, and it pushes that cold anchor back just a little.
There's some kind of muffled yelling, which is really funny, in Lloyd's opinion. He's not a fool, he knows that so many people want him to relax a little more. The countess gives him a look that begs for such all the time. What's the problem?
He's suddenly pulled away from his temporary bliss from the stomach, a thick arm wrapped around his waist. The knight's mana rushes into him, fast-moving and swirling like the hot sparks of an electrical short. It pushes back against the cold too, over and over, whirring with warmth.
He hears another whine, with some kind of pressure in his throat. Those hushing noises are back too. His knight lets go—another shiver stammers through him as the contact slips away—and comes back with a new fabric to touch his skin, another sharp brushing sensation that stings at every nerve like hooked quills.
Oh, his thoughts hum as his brain lolls around again in a frozen skull, formal clothes.
It's a laborious task getting anything into the cloth, but his knight and his queen somehow succeed. His hands are being held again, a hot pressure disregarding how frigidly frail his bones feel, and he's stumbling through a washed out hallway.
He heaves his head up, and the swing makes his guts lurch and his feet stagger. The only thing keeping the rest of him upright is the hold on his hands, leading him along on both sides.
There's a fiery comet on his left, sending a steady, persistent blaze down his arm. She's facing away from him, focused forward on whatever their goal was down this hallway, but the heat still presses harder and harder, fighting to overtake his shoulders and chest.
On his right is a brilliant, shining moon, and he's looking back at the noble. A buzzing spark of warmth sprints back and forth from his hand to his chest, a hot voltage clashing against the ice nestled in his ribs. The moon's eyes don't stray from the noble, not even once.
It feels like ten years pass before they're out of the hall, and the light floods over his already blurred vision. A ring reverberates up and down through his head, the one sensation he can feel besides the grip on hands and the thump in his chest.
The grip is short lived. His moon falls back, and his comet pushes forward, and the heat that once guided him pours out of his body in mere moments, leaving a yawning, empty gap behind.
Everything is swaying. There's some kind of noise, ambient in the way that brings the winter streets of Seoul to mind. He's not sure where it's coming from.
The cold, frozen thing pushes out past his ribcage, finally unfurling fully through each limb. It sinks deeper still, dragging down, diving into the marrow and pushing out everything else. The air in his lungs is viscous and thick, choking his throat closed. A fog layers over him, drowning him in drowsiness.
Maybe he'll be allowed to sleep, now.
He can count the kicks in his chest, how each one gets softer and softer. There's blue shapes dancing around in his unfocused vision, appearing and vanishing, fainter and fainter with each shift. One last shape appears right at his face, sparking and glitching, just before the world tilts,
the ground rushes,
his eyes roll,
and everything
goes
dark.