Chapter Text
Noctis saw it.
He saw the one in a million chances before his very eyes.
Clarus wasn't looking.
Cor wasn't looking.
Hell, not even Nyx was looking.
He didn't have time to pinch himself to ensure that he wasn't imagining it-
- so he just warped in front of his father and he bit the bullet.
Well, technically, it was more along the lines of other parts of his body taking bullets than his mouth before the barrier magic could be set up, but nevertheless.
He was already feeling the pain shoot through his body on the scale of sharp and calculated explosions and-
It just hurts-it hurts- it hurts
He knew that after Maralith, his body would be a conglomerate of knotted and ugly scars, and that royal blood would always came with the chase of various assassins' weapons and a target on his back. But he'd always been comforted by the idea that more people would be coming for his head more so than they would for his father.
He was the reckless young heir who was filled with youthful energy, ideas, and the duty to destroy any of his Kingdom's enemies through the blessing of the crystal, the old rulers, and the Astrals. They should be going after him first, not his father.
Regardless, he'd be damned if something terrible happened to his father just because no one else was looking.
All Noctis remembers is the sensation of shock, the weightlessness of warping, the smell of his magic, and throwing up a protect barrier between the throne and the barrage of bullets that seemed to be raining onto them, and then the sensation of the bulle- By the Six that hurts.
And then spots were in his vision before hearing panicked screams and the equally panicked expression of his father above him. He was barely able to note that his world was falling on his side and that his father was actually speaking to him.
"-oct! Noctis! Stay with me!"
Sound was muffled at this point, suddenly every sound but his father's voice was a watery and smothered. Was there water in his ears? Surely he hadn't felt water there, but every sound seemed garroted and hazy. He tried blinking, trying to focus and get rid of the largening stains that were darkening in his vision.
"Dad. You're hurt." He sounded so tired and raspy- why did he sound like that?
"No, Noctis." Regis looked over himself the horror in his eyes scared Noctis, looking hesitant to take his eyes away from probably was a mess that was once his torso.
"This is your blood. You're the one that's hurt."
'Heh' His mind could barely make a cohesive thought as he scanned his father's clothes for any blood spatters that weren't his own. 'So long as he's safe.'
Noctis barely remembered opening his mouth, but was sure something completely incomprehensible had come from him before his head fell back and blackness overtook the outline of the ceiling that he was staring at.
"Huh, I forgot there was still art on the ceiling here."
His last image is a spotty one, filled with fading screams, the smell of Lucian magic, and an ancient likeness of Etro before he blacks out completely, feeling weightless again.
---
Clarus hadn't been so afraid before in his life.
A mere instance ago, he was talking to his son, reminding him that the worst thing tonight would be for Iris to trip on her heels or for the Prince to feel the pain of a papercut. Something small and manageable, easily dealt with by no one because security was the least of their problems tonight, because their planning had gone so smoothly, not even trivial things could make this night go wrong.
He wasn't asking for the world to take that as a challenge.
Because the sound of someone clipping a gun magazine in place was too loud in comparison to not being there at all like it should have been.
He whipped around and prayed that this wasn't happening, that there wouldn't be yet another attempt on Regis's life today, that everyone could enjoy a peaceful night of food and socializing. Clarus prayed, in a masochistic way, that he was dreaming and imagining these horrible things and that he was just hearing something else, anything else.
He also had the fear that he wouldn't make it in time to protect his King and long-standing friend when it came down to it.
Then he heard the heart shattering sound of bullets heading for the throne, the sound of his heart hammering in his ears and Regis's cry, an echo from the time when his voice was hushed and hopeful for his son to wake from the coma a demon had placed him in. That tone was only in his Majesty's voice when his son's life was in danger.
'Was Noctis in trouble too?'
A voice in the back of Clarus's mind reassured him that Regis had to be ok in order to make that sound; but that also implied the fact that now the fear had shifted to Noctis, the crown prince, and his son's charge. That sound of parental fear for their child's life was one Clarus knew he was going to face one day; Gladiolus had sworn in the tradition of their family that Regis wasn't ever going to have to use that fearful sound again.
But was it too much to ask that he wouldn't hear it in his life once more?
What seemed to be the worst part of this whole mess- The hands-down most painful aspect of Regis's cry was the fact that both patriarch and the heirs to the Amicitia Line were present to hear it in the heartbreaking crescendo of an attack on their Lieges.
'The Caelum line could end today, here, with all of its protectors in the same damn room where we took our oaths in.' Clarus drew a sword before he was even completely turned around to see, to his relief, the throne with its current and future occupant behind a wall of barrier magic as the sound of could of bullets rained on them.
The uncompromising state of the Lucian magic in that barrier was enough to assure him that one of them was at least alive, and that he didn't fail so miserably.
He still didn't know what to think of the situation he saw.
He saw a figure fall on the platform, but it wasn’t the King, Regis had been kneeling to catch the one who had fallen.
The obsidian tuft of hair was Noctis, the damn boy had gotten out of his way to get hurt again.
The shaking sound of the barrage of bullets had ended only because the Glaives had warped on the perpetrator the four-second span in which he tried to drop the weapon and run; probably after realizing how futile this was.
Clarus ignored the scuffle and ran past it, taking the steps two at a time to reach Regis-
-Regis who was unharmed but covered in blood and tenderly holding his son, trying to use healing magic on him, silent and stoic and shaking hands in near panic as if he was the one who had been wounded.
Clarus felt his heart stop at the terrible sight that had become of the Crown Prince he had once guarded the cradle of. Regis seemed to be incomprehensive of anything else that didn’t involve salvaging the chances of his child's survival.
The shock on the face of the always composed man concerned him, because had realized that it was only the calm before the storm. He saw Cor lunge forwards to the royals with a potion in his hands and a steely look on the Marshall's eyes as he administered it to the young Prince, had Noctis always looked so sickly?
When the King couldn't think, Clarus thought for him.
The shield of the King stood up and squared his shoulders, almost unaware of his secondhand nature of 'Protect, defend, and destroy' took over in its eerie calmness; one couldn't survive moments like these without any and all forms of internal focus. He turned around to see the commotion of what was once a small gathering of nobles and recently converted Niflheim families, and now a hushed panic in the throne room. Gladiolus and Iris were already hesitant at the other set of steps to the throne before their senses of duty kicking in, Iris heading to a Crownsguard who was trying to calm the crowd while trying to find any other infiltrators, and Gladio diving back into the fray to find any accomplices that had been missed.
Now the King was holding his son's bleeding form in front of the throne, afraid for his life.
In the back of his mind, Clarus was almost more afraid of the perpetrator's life if anything else.
Regis was a dam in a sense; always composed and unfaltering, but never trying to hide the such strong undercurrents of divine and ancient power underneath. The kind of discipline that reined it all back would always would amaze the Shield as the king wore nothing but a face of stoic calm. The last thing he had seen drive him into an actual rampage was when a demon had attacked his boy as a child, leaving him halfway into death's doorway and wearing the same dulling look of blue in his eyes Clarus saw now. That was one of the few times Regis's eyes turned red and the demon was already dead where it slithered, reminding everyone present that night that the King couldn't be helpless or defenseless even if he actively tried. But that was over a decade ago, and surely Regis has had a lot of pent up anger since then.
He heard the doors lock shut before he saw them.
There were old, and towering statues placed at the doors to the chamber. Stone models an ancient and famous pair of a Kingsglaive and Crownsguard who were known for their fierce protection of their king. Their presence was symbolic of the two different layers of protection that stood between the Crown and those that wished him harm; ensuring anyone who entered the chamber had to pass through those and be safe enough to be in the presence of the Throne.
To Clarus, they also were a reminder of his failure and that all of the ornaments and decorations in the Castle came from past kings who were obsessed with safeguards upon safeguards.
Safeguards that failed to the point where the Prince himself had to do Clarus's own job for him, possibly costing them the life that these safeguards were meant to protect.
"Gladiolus! Iris!"
His son's head snapped up from pinning down the body of another perpetrator and passed the hold onto the two Crownsguard members that had been aiding him. He knew that Gladiolus wanted to feel useful in a situation like this, help eliminate threats before they could evolve into something more; but he realized that he had much to learn before they could fully bear the responsibilities of their family's duty.
Iris herself had to step from scanning the jittery crowd that had conglomerated by the now locked doors and nearly sprint over in order to be at the throne steps by the same time her brother was. Both met his eyes with almost deference and the martial positions he had taught to them, with Iris changing her heels for more sensible flats for better footing to do what he would assign them.
"Clarus!" The King's voice was thundering over the roar of the chaos.
"Your Majesty!"
"Have your children escort Cor in taking Noct to the Infirmary. You and I will take things from here." His voice had almost lowered into a growl, and Clarus was sure the Crownsguard to his left was very close to soiling himself.
Right, get the children out before they see why they should fear you instead of admire you. Great idea Regis.
Part of that thought was sarcastic, but another part made him thankful that they didn't have to see what was yet to come.
Clarus rarely saw Regis angry nowadays, but he considered the situation; but if he were a king and he saw his only child standing in the line of fire for him, only to be carried off to the infirmary by the people who should have been protecting them both, he too would be filled with the righteous fury that was now sparking the King's eyes.
Cor gently lifted the boy in his arms, but nearly toppled over backwards by standing up too fast. Clarus narrowed his eyes at the usually cautious man. Was Noctis so unexpectedly light for Cor to rock backwards like that?
They exited quickly through the typical Council entrance to the left from the throne, quietly followed by three Glaives that were ready to follow and defend the unconscious Prince.
Clarus could only hope that there weren't more assassins waiting in the halls for them.
He turned away from the closing doors behind them to see Regis standing to his full height, covered in the vibrant crimson blood of his son, and nearly shaking in rage as he saw the small crystals in the air preceding summoning the Royal Armiger.
Clarus stepped closer to his friend.
"Regis, we must choose our next actions carefully."
"Bring me the attackers." Clarus wasn't sure if he had even been heard, but four men had been brought forwards nonetheless; Roughly forced down and held there by some Crownsguard. They were obviously of Niflheim origin, from their features and clothing, they seemed to have snuck in from amongst the other nobles that had arrived today to switch their allegiances.
Regis had summoned his sword and slammed it into the granite in front of the throne, summoning the Armiger fully now in all of its celestial glory; the crystals in the air pulling forth the blue phantom swords from the steps to throne in a blue-violet glow. It was entrancing to watch for Clarus, but very likely a terrible one for the assassins. He almost smiled at the cowering fear that overtook their worn expressions.
' Good' He thought, probably too proud for the moment, but refrained from allowing it to show. 'Let these fools serve as a warning to anyone who thinks the Crown was weak.'
Because they had hurt Regis's boy, they had brought weapons and intended to kill; and Noctis became the only line of defense between their King and death in that moment. It was shameful when Clarus remembered how there were supposed to be multiple other lines of defense for Regis that included himself that were supposed to be there.
"I hope you choose your next words carefully now, or I might just let the old kings smite you down right now."
Sometimes, even Clarus forgot how downright terrifying his friend could be. Cloaked in power, magic, and the blessings of violent and powerful Astrals, Regis's entire form at this moment was a pinnacle of divine judgement.
"My first question: Who sent you?"
The thunder behind the King's voice was powerful and already seemed indicative of just how doomed these men were about to be. Magic was crackling, creating a static pressure to the audience chamber's already fierce tension, Clarus was almost sure he saw the fear of celestial anger reach into some Crownsguard as he ordered them to relocate the guests for questioning.
Looking over at the green fury in Regis's eyes, Clarus couldn't miss the shift in color, the glowing impossible to miss even under the snarl that took the normally stoic King's features. Emerald was currently rippling into a shade of gold that could blend in with the blood-spattered throne behind him. The flaring colors were at the brink of engulfing themselves in the inferno of magic that would change the King's eyes to the shade of scarlet. Clarus knew that color well, that was the color that called the Astrals to the Lucian King's will and would lick battlefields clean, leave no survivors and only charred ashes in its wake.
Regis was normally cold when he doled out punishment, much like his father. Under other circumstances, he was quiet and calculating, making sure each punishment would ironically and poetically fit the crime that had been committed. It had been very long since he'd seen that particular shade overtake his friend's eyes, phosphorescent as they were filled with emotion and a coldness that poets and tales of old would spend years trying to describe and capture into words. And here, right here and now in this very moment of space, Regis could have had the entire Hexathon down, and they'd be tripping over themselves to answer his beck and call.
Clarus spared a glance over to the last of the other guests of the party being ushered out by the Crownsguard for questioning; it was probably for the best, considering how things here might just turns out.
He stands at Regis's side regardless, and only hopes that the Prince survived this,