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Gladiolus could feel Ignis’ eyes boring holes into his back.
It was pretty damn impressive, considering the fact that one was fused shut and the other couldn’t have learned to seek him out already, especially without the benefit of functioning sight.
Then again, this was Ignis. He’d always been remarkably quick on the uptake, with the impetus of the prince’s needs urging him to pick new skills up at a nearly superhuman rate, and he’d had since Cartanica to relearn the art of wordlessly browbeating Gladio into looking. Understanding why Noct wasn’t ticking the way Gladio was expecting him to.
He knew what Ignis wanted him to do. He just didn’t know how to go about doing it without causing more damage.
Noct was on one of the beds across, sitting upright with his back against the headboard, and curled slightly to the side and away from where Gladio was facing him. The position looked uncomfortable enough for it to be painfully obvious that the kid was attempting to avoid him despite the close quarters. His weaker leg was at least splayed out to its full length and relaxed, as far as Gladio could tell, anyway, and the other was drawn up with his right forearm thrown carelessly over the knee.
Under the harsh fluorescent tubes set into the ceiling of the tiny dorm room, the black band of the Ring of Lucis glinted with a soft, almost ominous light.
“What does it feel like?”
He could tell right away, even before the words had completely left his mouth, that it had been the wrong thing to ask. It was too close to how’s that ring fit you that it was impossible that Noct wouldn’t think back to the tirade Gladio had let loose on the train. Noct’s shoulders hitched, the tiniest flinch in response to the unseen blow, and Gladio hurried to clarify, almost stuttering in his haste to show that he wasn’t out to goad or force anyone into going his way, this time around.
“You’ve been—casting spells, right? Those MTs just disappeared into thin air. And that imp back there shriveled up like a husk before…” Exploding into wet soot and black goop, like all daemons killed the usual way, but then Gladio had seen Noct standing straighter immediately after, as if the daemon dying had invigorated him, and faint wisps of unearthly pink light had connected him to the imp while it literally shrunk before Gladio’s disbelieving eyes.
It looked like Noct had sucked the very life out of that daemon and made that energy his own, and that was a bit close to getting beyond the pale, even by their definitions of unusual.
“I just… wanted to ask… what’s it like, on your end?” he finished lamely, fingers flexing and unclenching on his thighs, futilely groping for the right words to say.
Noct’s expression, when he finally looked up, was shuttered, devoid of anything that Gladio could use to gauge his emotions. “Heavy,” he replied slowly, quietly, “And tiring. But we already knew that,” he added with a humorless laugh.
“Does it hurt?”
Again the languid slide of Noct’ gaze over him, fleeting and almost insultingly perfunctory, but Gladio knew that look: it was one of the first tells he’d successfully identified back when he and the prince were learning how to work with and around each other, and Noct was still small and guarded and knew all too well the older (and much larger) Amicitia’s unflattering opinions of him.
It irritated him that he’d be seeing it again now, when they’d known each other for so long and Noct shouldn’t be feeling the need to filter his answers anymore.
“It doesn’t,” Noct said, after too long a pause—Gladio’s rebuke slipped out before he could even think to soften it.
“Don’t lie.”
Ignis’ stare turned piercing, and Gladio could almost feel the temperature at his side of the room drop a few degrees.
Noct looked straight at him, then, and he sucked in his next breath, out of surprise, or in response to his gut dropping to the approximate level of his knees—the prince’s eyes were dull, weary. The closest to defeated he’d seen them since Insomnia fell.
“I thought you’d approve. I’m wearing it, aren’t I?”
I’m here, aren’t I?
“That’s not—” Gladio stopped, took a moment, and forced his temper under control before he could lash out and—and shake the hurt out of Noct’s hunched shoulders, because he was the one who’d put it there and he didn’t want to be reminded of it.
“That’s not what I meant,” he tried again after he was sure he could continue without raising his voice. “We need—” He stopped again. Took another deep breath, because he couldn’t hide behind Ignis, not for this. “I need to know how bad it gets for you.”
So I can help you, he couldn’t really say without lying, himself, because they couldn’t directly help, not with matters concerning the gods and the line of Lucis.
Another long, agonizing pause, before Noct shrugged. “It hurts,” he finally admitted, but his tone was dismissive and his eyes flitted to the side, seeking an escape the room couldn’t provide. Ignis shifted where he sat, pinched lips conveying how much he wanted to reach out to the younger man, but otherwise stayed silent, for the moment content to wait and listen to Gladio fumbling his way to any sort of reconciliation with their charge.
“Like you said, it looks like the blood in my veins turns into lava. Dunno if it does, but it feels like it.” Noct shook his head. “Doesn’t really matter. I’m getting used to it already. I’m not gonna start whining about it now.”
Gladio had to remind himself that he’d seen this before, that this was what Noct did, with his father never finding enough time to spend with him, with his classmates only ever caring about his privileged life and never showing interest in him as a person, with Insomnia’s media constantly misunderstanding and painting him in a harsh light—he withdrew, clawed out defenses, and built a wall of apathy around himself so he couldn’t get hurt again.
It stung badly, the realization that he’d turned into one of the things his liege felt he needed to defend himself against. And he was Noctis’ Shield, goddammit, not—
“It does matter,” he growled, managing to modulate the volume of his voice at the very last second, so that he sounded merely frustrated rather than angry at the younger man. “Look, I might not understand everything that goes on with that ring, but I know that wearing it can’t be easy. I know you’re doing your best, now. But I also know—you’re the only one who can wear it.”
Noct had slowly drawn his other leg up, and wrapped his arms around his knees. Now he stared at Gladio, blue eyes wary and waiting for the other shoe to drop, which was still distressing to see, but at least it was more than the affected indifference from a minute ago.
“I wish I could bear it for you, but I’m just a servant,” Gladio continued. “If it’s already taking that much out of you, what would it do to me? I’m not even close to being worthy. And I’m sorry,” he added, finally seizing hold of his responsibility, his duty, his mistakes—he had to fix things now or he’d never find the courage to, “I said too much, on the train. In the quarry, too, I thought I was doing the right thing, but now you’re—”
He couldn’t finish the sentence, and didn’t want to. Saying it out aloud would cement the fact that he’d drawn blood from the very person he was supposed to protect.
“I crossed a line,” he said instead, breath falling heavy from his lips. He was staring at his hands now—he’d dropped his gaze in the middle of his apology, unable to bear facing his king directly while he gave it. “And I can’t undo what I did, but I’m still your Shield. I still want to help you through this, if you’ll let me.”
It had to be enough. He couldn’t think of anything else to say, to stop Noct looking at him like he was an enemy. He felt wrung out, drained dry—this place was just wreaking havoc on all of them. Probably exactly the effect Ardyn had intended. Something at the back of his throat itched at the thought of the prince being forced to traverse how many floors of the keep on his own, and yet, he’d done exactly that and emerged relatively unscathed.
Give Noctis more credit, Ignis had reminded him. Hindsight really was 20/20.
What felt like an eternity passed before Noct spoke again, and when he did… Well, at least Gladio had braced himself for it.
“I dreamed about Luna, before I woke up back in Altissia. But it wasn’t just a dream. I think it really was her. She said goodbye to me.”
A pregnant pause, the last respite before the fall. Gladio thought that he and Ignis might both be holding their breaths in the silence.
“You were a dick. A gigantic asshole,” Noct agreed quietly. Gladio exhaled, imagined Ignis frowning over the prince’s language to take the edge off the reprimand. “But, I figured that you were just being the asshole older brother. I needed someone to tell me to get my head on straight. Maybe not the way you did, but…”
Gladio slowly raised his head, hardly believing what he was hearing. Noct—still looked like he could do with an entire week of sleep and pampering, but the deadened blankness in his eyes had fled, leaving only a confused, helpless sorrow, like he’d finally found the root cause of everything that pained him but couldn’t find the way to make it stop.
“I was the one who forgot what Cid said. I should have just talked to you guys, but I felt—guilty, and afraid—” Noct faltered, breath hitching, and he shuddered and shook his head, swallowing his misery before he could be overcome. “And the longer I waited, the worse it got, I—I thought Ignis would blame me. I’m sorry—”
Gladio wasn’t sure who moved first. Ignis made a sound, low and wounded and like nothing he’d ever heard from the other man, and then they were crossing the room to Noct’s side, Ignis navigating the narrow aisle in the middle of the room as surefootedly as if he could still see. Gladio found himself squished into the gap between Noct’s bed and the next, the space barely wide enough for even the prince to phase through, and crowded up almost to the headboard as Ignis groped about for Noct’s hands.
“Never, highness,” Ignis swore, steadfast and steel-edged as an oath of fealty renewed on bended knee, and for once Gladio didn’t think, you’re being too soft, because he could see the desperate strength in Iggy’s grip, and how tightly Noct was clinging back as if he’d shake apart without it.
“What happened in Altissia was not your fault,” Ignis continued, more urgently now that Gladio had busted the floodgates wide open, “not my condition, or Lady Lunafreya dying, and not even Prompto getting captured. You mustn’t allow such unfounded thoughts to burden you further.”
Noct ducked his head and mumbled, “I—I know that. It’s just been kinda hard to put into practice.”
Ignis turned his head and aimed one of his looks at Gladio, and he didn’t know if it was just coincidence, or an actual successful attempt at sighting him, but the uncanny accuracy of it when Ignis’ remaining clouded eye did land on him was starting to get terrifying.
Gladio sighed and leaned forward and carefully placed one large hand on Noct’s head, and gently ran his fingers down the unruly spikes of hair. The prince had frozen at first, and for one gut-wrenching moment looked like he was going to shy away, but then he shivered and slumped, going boneless under the unexpected warmth at the back of his neck.
“Dumbass,” Gladio rumbled, voice gone hoarse at the relief that washed over him, sudden and sharp; in retrospect, he realized that he had no idea what he would have done if Noct hadn’t accepted his touch. “None of us blamed you for any of that. If you’d just talked about what you were feeling instead of shutting yourself out, we’d have set you straight right away.”
“Well. Late is at least more acceptable than never,” Ignis asserted, not unkindly, “and I for one am quite relieved to hear these issues finally being brought to light.”
Gladio felt his stomach twist suddenly, like the tiniest flip-flop of joy tempered by cautious hope. When was the last time he’d heard this particular tone of voice from Ignis, without the edge of reserved disapproval turning every moment of interaction between them stiff and uncertain? Weeks, maybe?
And Noct had—all but melted, shoulders dropping as tension bled away from his limbs. This close, Gladio could see and feel every shift and creak and tremor, signs of fatigue and residual pain and a body running on stress and adrenaline instead of—of course, Noct couldn’t have had any moment of true rest since stepping foot in Gralea, not with the alien environment, darkness boiling out of every nook and cranny, daemons and demented MTs infesting the hallways, the chancellor’s surround-sound taunting echoing off the walls and even into these uncomfortable dorm rooms.
It humbled and alarmed him, the prince showing vulnerability under these circumstances. Before he could do anything about it, though, Noct exhaled, with a full-body shudder, and went still.
“Yeah. Okay,” Noct breathed, slowly raising his head to finally meet Gladio’s gaze, and the look in his eyes now—was arresting. Like a lake going placid under the moonlight. The anguish had gone, replaced by something calmer and determined, and amidst the concern and astonishment of seeing the younger man flipping through his emotions the way he switched weapons, Gladio felt the pang of respect, and admiration, and—
Noctis smiled. It was just a tiny uptick of his lips, nearly unnoticeable to anyone who wasn’t one of his three closest, but it was genuine, and it transformed the young king’s face and made Gladio remember—a boy standing stoic under the disappointed stares of his guardians, Iris, crying, experiencing the guilt of having someone else take the fall for a mistake she made, the hollow drop in his chest as Gladio realized his own error in judgment, and the first time he saw the sweet, selfless child beyond the uncaring exterior of the Crown Prince.
Noct dropped his eyes again after another moment, as if suddenly, peripherally embarrassed by the decidedly mushy turn Gladio’s thoughts had taken. The awkward avoidance was more like the normal Noct, and Gladio thought the moment had passed, but the kid wasn’t done blindsiding him yet.
“S’okay, Gladio. I know you’ll always have my back. You and Ignis, you’ve always stood by me, even when I’m like this. I don’t think I can ever thank you two enough.”
Gladiolus stared, mind awash with guilt and grief and something too powerful to be anything but love. Never had he regretted his own failings more than he did now. He’d called the man a coward, for god’s sake, when he knew full well that Noct had always been afraid of disappointing people, that he’d struggled with the burden of expectations his entire life. He’d forgotten—or maybe he’d remembered, then had taken shameless and spiteful advantage of the prince’s fears and said words designed to hurt the most, lost control and allowed his own emotions free rein over the way he carried out his duties.
What a misstep. A massive, mortifying mistake. And he could easily see it turning into a fatal one, held back from the brink now by Ignis intervening and Noct attempting to assuage his Shield’s anxiety over his desire to help being rebuffed.
“We’re… good? No,” he growled, shaking his head at his own slip—that wasn’t right, it shouldn’t be this easy and he definitely didn’t feel comfortable accepting Noct’s forgiveness after a single spoken apology. “Are we better, at least?”
“Better,” the prince mused, as if trying the taste of the word on his tongue, “Yeah. We’re better. We still need to apologize to Prompto.”
“Ahh. Right.”
“You have to say sorry to Specs, too.”
“Uh.”
Of course, he knew that he needed to do at least that much, but it didn’t make it any less daunting, the amends they had to make listed out so matter-of-factly. Noct was peering up at him from behind the cover of his bangs now, eyes glinting with something that could have been read as mischief in any other situation, but Gladio only felt the cold of someone caught unprepared, because his king was waiting for his answer and he didn’t know where to begin—
“It’s all right, Noct.” Ignis said, wry amusement in the tilt of his head as he gave Noct’s hands one last reassuring squeeze before letting go and leaning back, “Gladio and I will make our own amends at another time.”
“Yeah?” Noct blinked, obviously curious, and looked between his Chamberlain and his Shield. Ignis—attuned enough to Noct’s idiosyncrasies that he was apparently already making up for the loss of his vision by predicting his charge’s reactions—nodded, a firm, precise movement that left no room for doubt.
Noct made an amused sound. “’Kay, then. Thank you, Ignis, Gladio,” he added after another pause, seemingly apropos of nothing but for the way he said it, softly and tinged with warmth—he could have been thanking them for listening. Or for accepting his heartfelt apology, or for staying with him, or maybe it was all of it.
Trust the prince, Gladio thought with exasperated fondness, to piggyback on his attempt to make things right between them, but, well—he couldn’t deny that it worked. It was a lot easier to breathe now, and Noct finally felt at ease enough in their presence to uncurl, carefully, and wriggle down the bed to get up, groaning, as he stretched and made his joints pop.
“Okay, I’m good to go if you two are. Just…” Noct gestured vaguely at the far corner of the room, where a door narrow enough for Gladio to have mistaken it for a closet at first was set into the wall, “Need to use the bathroom.”
Ignis’ eyebrows twitched into a frown. “Have you rested enough, Noct?”
“Not really,” Noct sighed as he rolled his shoulders. “It’s impossible to rest in these rooms, anyway. And we can’t keep Prompto waiting any longer.”
“We can’t, but…”
“I’m okay, Specs.” The small lopsided grin Noct gave them was resigned, and gentle, blunting the white lie that Gladio didn’t have the heart to call out. He couldn’t decide if it was a good or a bad thing that Ignis couldn’t see it. “I’ll rest after we get Prompto and the Crystal back. You’ll be back to complaining about me sleeping too much before you know it.”
Ignis waited for all of five seconds after the washroom door closed behind Noct before exhaling. Something in the way he kept his head bowed made Gladio think that he didn’t believe the prince, either.
“Well,” Ignis sighed again, after a moment, “That wasn’t so difficult, was it?”
He couldn’t agree. Or disagree; it felt like the easiest and the hardest thing he’d ever done, reaffirming his place as sworn Shield by Noct’s side, and admitting that he’d made a mistake. And he was still struggling to come to terms with a niggling thought at the back of his mind, rapidly growing in strength and insistence: hadn’t Noct always been this kind, this agreeable? If he wasn’t being belligerent as a defense mechanism, in any case. It wasn’t as if he’d changed or become kingly just because he put on a ring.
“It’s… unbelievable. That’s what it was,” he muttered.
“Noct simply needed time. As we all do,” Ignis replied, quiet and understated and removed from his usual eloquence.
Gladio swallowed. There were too many unvoiced thoughts behind that single, simple statement, too many ways he could fuck this up—again—if he answered with the wrong thing. “Ignis, I—”
“I’m not going to force an apology from you, Gladio,” Ignis interrupted, voice starting out strong but growing softer and wearier as he continued, “Not if you truly believed you were doing the right thing. And you were making sound strategic decisions, as was your remit. We were the ones who couldn’t forego with sentimentality.”
Gladio found some solace in the fact that there was no one else around to see the dismay set in, or his hands, fluttering, uncharacteristic indecision stopping him from just grabbing the other man’s shoulders.
“No, look—” Ignis didn’t pull away, though, when Gladio reached out and brushed his fingers along the exposed skin below one folded-up sleeve, so he carefully took hold of Ignis’ wrists, sliding his fingers under the warm leather gloves, until he had the man’s hands resting limply on top of his.
“I am sorry, I just… can’t leave it with only an apology. I feel like I’ve insulted you in the worst way possible, acting like you’re helpless and a deadweight. I have to make it up to you somehow.”
He’d always been bad at this, giving voice to the softer side of his thoughts and regrets, even though he was the one who traveled with a book in hand. Action suited him more: physical gestures, concrete proof, emotions given weight and form and tangibility, little windows to people’s states of mind, like the grounding, bolstering sensation of Ignis’ fingers tentatively curling against his palms.
Ignis’ right eye was closed at the moment, and Gladio found himself staring at it, and the sweep of long eyelashes, feeling the roil of something dark and ugly at the thought of the man giving in to the urge to keep it closed the way all blind people did to avoid unnerving everyone around them.
“I’ll help you get back to fighting form, how’s that?”
For one heartbeat Gladio worried that he’d blurted out something unnecessary, or unsolicited, but Ignis’ eye snapped open, the clouded iris darting, sightlessly seeking him out. The hands in his tightened convulsively, and despite the pain of his fingers suddenly getting crushed, all he could feel was relief and triumph as Ignis seized hold of his offer the way a drowning man would grab at a lifeline.
“That…”
It was Iggy’s turn to choke on his emotions now, but since knocking each other for a loop seemed to be the order of the day, Gladio found that he didn’t feel too bad about it. And as far as he was concerned now, dragging all these troublesome issues out in the open where they could take turns prying them apart was a lot better than the dignified wait-and-see approach Ignis had resorted to doing.
“That would be greatly appreciated, Gladio.”
Gladiolus grinned, the elation of knowing that he’d gotten another thing right giving him the strength to squeeze back in answer.
“And when you’re able to kill and gut a garulessa on your own again, that’s the only time I’ll be even remotely fine with you accepting my apology,” he added, completely seriously, even though nobody could fail to hear the conspiring humor in his voice.
Ignis gave a startled laugh. “You just want me back on cooking duty again, you oaf.”
“We all do, Iggy,” came the interjection from behind them—Noct had managed to slip back into the room without Gladio or Ignis noticing. He looked refreshed in a way that had nothing to do with the water beading down his throat, or magical energy-sucking rings; he must have caught the tail end of their exchange, and he looked unabashedly happy about it. “I really miss your cooking, and not having you at the stove—it just doesn’t feel right.”
Ignis pinked with embarrassed pleasure. “I shall endeavor to do my best, in that case. Thank you, Gladio,” he added, patting their joined hands. “I look forward to your tutelage.”
Gladio wanted to answer with something teasing to lighten the mood some more, but went with a wordless reply instead: one last shake of their hands before rising and carefully pulling the other man with him and guiding him out from between the beds.
“You ready, Noct?” he asked, although he didn’t need to; an appraising glance over the prince’s features showed only the grim resolve of a hunter who knew that he was fast closing in on his target.
“As I’ll ever be.” The kid cocked his head, a hint of challenge in the curve of his spine as he moved to stand in front of the exit. “Are you?”
Noct was the only one properly armed. A look around the dorm room showed nothing that Gladio could rip out and use as a makeshift weapon—the metal frames of the beds were hollow and would probably crumple at the first hit, and the chairs and tiny side tables had no heft at all and would do less damage than Gladio charging up to an imp and kicking it like he would a soccer ball.
“Eh. I’ll fight with my bare hands if I have to,” he grunted. Ignis, standing beside him, huffed in exasperation, probably unimpressed by his bravado.
Noct shook his head. “Seriously, though, fall back if things start getting hairy. Your priority is avoiding getting injured until we find and kill whatever it is that’s blocking my magic. I mean, we don’t know if potions will stop working, too,” he added before Gladio could begin objecting. “I don’t want to risk it.”
The idea of staying at the rear and leaving all the fighting to his liege was repugnant, especially since not even half an hour had passed after he said that he intended to take his duties seriously, and literally, if he had to, but there was no swaying Noct once he’d slipped into that stubborn, protective mindset.
Noct also had the only serviceable weapon among the three of them, and a ring that could apparently suck enemies into some kind of void.
“All right, but—” The expression he had on just then was probably ghastly, half bloodthirsty grin and half irate scowl. It was just as well that Ignis couldn’t see and Noct had his back turned. “In exchange, we get first crack at Ardyn.”
Noct barked out a laugh, throwing a look that was both conniving and empathetic at Gladio over his shoulder. “Sure, that can be arranged.”
He had his right arm held out at an angle, and Gladio’s breath caught in his throat as a sword—King Regis’ sword, the last of the thirteen Royal Arms Noct needed to collect—materialized in a flash of brilliant blue-white light and the faint, phantom tinkling of glass. Noct’s fingers closed over the hilt, and he brought it up in front of his face in a reverential salute.
It was a beautiful blade, with an ornate crossguard and inscribed steel tapering to a sharp point, and forged for someone taller and heavier than the prince, but it stayed steady as Noct held it upright and whispered something Gladio and Ignis couldn’t hear—maybe a prayer, or a pledge, even a plea for guidance from his father. Gladio didn’t dwell on it too much; all he knew, at that moment, was the thump of his heartbeat, of pride and adrenaline and the satisfaction of seeing Noct standing tall, even if it was from the back.
Or maybe because it was from the back. The line of the sword looming over his head and his black-clothed profile made for a rather striking image. If Prompto was with them, he couldn’t have resisted taking a picture with his camera. Gladio almost felt sorry when Noct broke the position and swept the sword down and to the side, holding it in readiness.
“All right.” Noct punched the button set into the wall, and the door hissed open with an electronic beep and the glare of neon green above their heads. “Let’s go get our brother back.”