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1. Iris.
"Gladdy? Gladdy?"
Gladio scans the crowd in front of the palace. The front gates are still closed, sea of people around them chattering idly in wait. The procession hasn't even begun. Then again, it runs a little late every year, and there's no reason this year should be any different.
"Is it dad?"
Gladio shields his eyes from the sun. "Don't think so, Iris."
"Where's dad?"
"He's probably still getting ready. You know, it takes a while to get ready for something fancy like this."
Iris, newly five, looks up at him with big dark eyes. "Gettin' ready?"
"Yeah, like..." Gladio frowns. "It takes a while to tie your shoes, right? Dad's gotta tie his shoes, and all sorts of other stuff he's gotta wear for today. It takes some time."
"Yeah." Iris seems to accept this answer, going quiet by his side. "Isn't it bad to be late?"
"Nah. It's okay. Dad's friends with the King, and the King can be late as he wants."
"Dad says nobody can be late."
Gladio grins and ruffles her hair. "Yeah, you're right. You gotta tell him off when we get home, okay?"
Iris nods. She sucks on her thumb and draws close, her little hand tucked into his.
Across the way, Gladio spots another light-haired boy his age with glasses. He recognizes him. Ignis Scientia. He's standing at the front of the crowd with the guards — not technically in the procession, but close enough. The boy nods stiffly at him, a bare incline of the head. Gladio nods back.
Gladio should be up there, too. The aides-in-training and the lower officers all have their places in the procession or the guard, and Gladio's technically one of them, even if he won't be full Crownsguard for another few years.
But this year's different. Someone has to look after Iris.
Jared's great with her, but Iris still isn't used to big crowds. She's prone to cry for her mother when too many people are about. They'd thought about leaving her home this year, but she hadn't felt good about being left out, and seeing her dad in the parade did tend to cheer her up.
So Gladio'd put it off for another year. Plenty of time to join in later, and he might as well enjoy not having to march while he can.
He still wishes his mother were here. But, well.
His thoughts are interrupted by a rise in the crowd noise, and then a hush begins to fall.
"Hey, there's the gate," Gladio whispers.
Iris tugs on his hand and stands on her tip-toes, still sucking her thumb. She tries ineffectually to catch a glimpse of the action, big eyes darting about and tiny furrow in her brow. Gladio smiles. People say both of them take after their mother, but he can't really see it in himself. With Iris, sometimes he really can.
"Gladdy. Shoulders?" Iris whispers. She raises her arms.
Gladio bends down. "All right, kiddo. Hold on."
Iris clambers into his arms, then onto his shoulders, little feet narrowly missing his nose a few times. Gladio shifts her until they're both comfortable, and then straightens up. She's up above the crowd now, easily six-and-some feet in the air. The people behind them can't be happy. Well, they can deal with it.
"It's dad," Iris says from somewhere above him, voice awed.
"Yeah, I know, kiddo."
"He's in his shiny clothes."
"Told ya. Takes a while to get that shiny, right?"
Iris grabs his hair, and Gladio winces. Kid's getting strong. Well, he can't fault her for that.
"Gladdy, the trumpets," Iris says next, hushed.
"Yeah, trumpets comin' up. Cover your ears."
Iris covers her ears obediently, thinks, and then removes one hand and uses it to cover one of Gladio's ears instead. Gladio grins.
"One, two..."
The trumpets blare out the opening of the march, and Gladio and Iris watch the King of Lucis stride out of the palace gates, their father at his side.
---
2. Ignis.
"How many deployments ago was that?"
"A few."
"We need to schedule a new joint training session."
"The sooner the better. Until then, I'll take care of my men."
Drautos' unspoken condition is 'as long as you keep an eye on yours,' and Cor nods, letting it slide. These days, it's likely that the Crownsguard is starting more trouble than the Glaive. Cor will have to speak with them. They're generally well-behaved in front of the Marshal, but some of them seem to be under the illusion that the higher-ups don't know what's going on if it isn't happening in front of their noses.
Drautos takes his leave. Cor sighs and starts down the halls of the training centre towards his office. Around him, he can hear the sounds of heated combat from behind the doors of the practice rooms. He's aware that many of the Guard have yet to be put out on a real deployment; they ought to consider rotating out some of the new recruits along with the Glaive. If nothing else, it might help them get along better.
Speaking of conflict.
Cor pauses. The corridor ahead, to the left. There's a ruckus, and it seems to be coming closer.
Cor reaches for his sword, then reconsiders, and instead straightens out his uniform jacket and cuffs, making sure he looks as impeccable and stony as possible. Then he waits.
"I'm not a child, Gladio, put me down — "
"Nuh-uh, not a chance — "
"I can walk on my own!"
"Yeah? You sure couldn't back in th — "
A teenager bursts into view, carrying another teenager over his shoulder. Cor vaguely recognizes them as Gladiolus Amicitia and Ignis Scientia, future Shield and Advisor to the Crown Prince of Lucis respectively.
Gladio skids to a stop. "Sir!" he says.
The body over his shoulder stiffens like a board. "Gladio, put me down," Ignis hisses.
Gladio seems torn between his instinct to salute and his instinct to... whatever it is he's doing with his friend. Cor's not sure he wants to know.
"At ease," Cor says, putting an end to the teenager's inner struggle.
"Sir," Ignis says belatedly. Gladio's face is slightly red.
Cor looks between the two of them. "Amicitia. Care to explain?" Cor says.
Gladio coughs. "We were training and he injured his ankle. Sir."
"I advised him to let me walk on my own, sir," Ignis says.
"I thought it'd be faster to escort him to the med wing, sir."
'Escort' is a word for it. Cor suspects it's more of an euphemism for 'forcibly kidnap'. Either way, Cor has a sneaking suspicion Clarus would be both exasperated and inexorably proud of his eldest if he could see him now. Heavens knew he'd seen Clarus indecorously drag his injured colleagues around on enough occasions.
"I see," he says. "Training accidents do happen."
"Sir," the two of them say at once.
Cor looks at the faint scowls on the young men's faces. He recognizes the look. Whatever happened, it's clear enough that both of them blame themselves.
Well, they can sort it out in the med wing. As long as they're looking after each other, Cor's work is done. If only the rest of the Guard and the Glaive got along as well.
"Be careful. Carry on," he says.
Gladio salutes and tosses Ignis back over his shoulder.
Ignis makes an indignant noise. "Gladio," he hisses again.
"You heard the Marshal," Gladio mutters.
The teenagers barrel down the hall, bickering under their breaths the whole way. Cor looks after them, then shakes his head and continues on.
---
3. Prompto.
"AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAHHHH!"
The entire cavern erupts with the blue light of Royal Arms as Noct whirls around, searching for the source of the blood-curdling scream. "What? What is it?"
Ignis has his knives drawn some distance away, also mid-startle. They look at each other, then sprint back down towards the bend in the tunnel. They round the corner and stop.
Prompto has both arms around Gladio's neck, and somehow both legs around his waist. Gladio's voice is muffled and cursing as he tries to detach the smaller man.
"Prom, get off, I can't see — "
"What the hell was it? No, don't put me down, don't — "
"Do you want me to deal with whatever it is or not?"
"No, just go!"
"Go where?"
Noctis looks at Ignis and dismisses his weapons.
"Gladio," Noctis says wearily. "Did you kick a can again?"
Gladio swings around, and Prompto nearly goes flying. "That was one time," Gladio grumbles.
Prompto looks flustered. "Noct, I swear, something ran over my foot. Something scuttle-y. It was huge!"
There's a crunch, and all of them look at Ignis.
"This?" Ignis says, lifting his dagger. A dead imp is dangling from the end of it.
"Augh, gross!"
"See, I told you — "
"It touched me. I thought it was a bug!"
"What, an imp is better than a bug?"
"Okay," Noctis says. "Crisis averted. Can we move on now?"
"Maybe when Scaredy-Cat here lets go of me," Gladio says.
Prompto doubles-down. "I can't walk. I've lost feeling in my legs," he moans.
"That's what you always say when we get this far." Noctis rolls his eyes.
Prompto looks offended. "Gladio," he gasps. "My Prince has abandoned me. Take me into your arms."
"Prompto..."
Noctis sighs deeply. "Okay, you two. Do whatever you want." Noctis turns and starts back down the tunnel.
"Noct, wait," Gladio protests. He shifts Prompto into piggyback position without thinking about it. Prompto smiles a brilliant smile.
Ignis wipes his knife off, sheathes it, and follows with a shake of his head.
---
4. Noctis.
Noctis' phone buzzes.
The display lights up, telling him it's around noon. The sun is shining through the shut curtains, telling him that it's another brilliant day in Lestallum. The bustle from down the hall tells him that the cleaners are starting to do their rounds.
He ignores all of it and rolls over in bed. What day is it? It's probably a weekend, right? Fuck it. Time to sleep in.
Heavy footsteps come from down the corridor, and he burrows deeper into the blankets, heart dropping. That doesn't sound like Prompto.
Sure enough, there's the creak of floorboards, and then a low, rumbling voice from the doorway.
"Stuff's in the car. You up?"
Noctis peeks out from under the pillow. Gladio has his arms crossed and is leaning against the frame of the hotel room door.
"Yeah," Noctis says, not moving. He's absolutely up.
"Count of three and I'm getting Iggy," Gladio says.
Noctis moans and covers his head again. "Why, what's he go'n do?"
"I don't know, but you won't like it."
"Gnh." Iggy probably does have some sort of creative and sadistic punishment lined up for him just to coerce him out of bed. It probably involves vegetables.
Gladio uncrosses his arms. "All right, cut it out. What is it?"
Apparently his disregard for Ignis' threats is genuinely worrying. "Tired," Noctis grumbles.
"And what?"
Noctis presses his face into the sheets. "Tired. M'leg's acting up."
Gladio crosses the room and crouches at the bedside. "Did you stretch last night?"
He knows he was supposed to after the physical exertion of the last few days. He'd meant to, but after the beer and the cards and Prompto accidentally dyeing the bathtub blue, he'd just sort of fallen straight into bed.
"Mnh," Noctis says.
"I'll take that as a no."
"Enh," Noctis says.
Noctis wonders if Gladio's going to launch into another long Personal Trainer rant about the importance of physical upkeep and therapy in times of high stress, but it seems like Gladio's not in the mood for that either today. The other man just crouches silently by the bed.
Noctis finally pokes his head out. Gladio is studying him, eyes dark.
"Yeah?" Noctis says. His mouth tastes like cotton.
Gladio sighs. He straightens up and pockets Noctis' phone.
Noctis sits up. "Hey — "
But Gladio just tilts his head, turns, and drapes one of Noctis' arms over his own shoulders.
Noctis lets Gladio lift him up and carry him down the hall. It's one thing to be lugged around out in the wilderness where nobody can see them — Noctis kind of enjoys that — but in the city, Noctis keeps his eyes closed and his face buried in the front of Gladio's jacket. Best case scenario, anybody milling around will just see a guy helping his hungover friend get home. Worst case scenario, royal kidnapping. They'll cross that bridge when they come to it.
Gladio grunts in Noctis' ear. "We're doing a round of stretches before you get into the car. Got it?"
"Aye-aye," Noctis mumbles. It comes out like a yawn, even though he's wide awake by now. He nestles into Gladio's shoulder.
Gladio huffs affectionately. "Brat."
---
5. All of them, one particularly memorable and ill-advised time.
"Two."
"Three."
"Two."
"C'mon, Iggy, three. Two's not going to do anything."
"If he crashes, we'll be out of a car, out of our best likelihood of moving said car, and we'll have an extra hundred and ten kilos of dead weight to carry with us to the next Coernix Station. Is that what you want?"
"Who're you callin' dead weight?"
"Be grateful. I am trying to advocate for your life."
"Don't worry about me. I can take it."
"That's what they all say."
Prompto hoots, scandalized. "Iggy!"
Ignis shoots a deadpan stare at Prompto over the smoking hood of the Regalia.
"Okay, we'll start with two," Noctis concedes. "Go slow."
Gladio grins. "You worried about me?"
Noctis scoffs. "Yeah right. More like worried about leaving the Regalia out here overnight."
"No need. This'll work."
Noctis hands him two bottles of grade-A muscle stimulant.
"That is disgusting," Prompto says in awe as Gladio chugs one, and then the other. Gladio tosses the bottles aside and wipes his mouth, stretching from side to side.
"You feel like you're going to pass out, get back in here before we have to peel you off the pavement," Noctis says.
"I'll try, Highness," Gladio grins. "Hold on."
"Holding on for dear life," Prompto declares, hanging precariously over the back of the front seat so he can get a clear shot with his camera.
Noctis puts his feet up on the back seat. "All yours, big guy."
"Ready? One, two..."
Gladio chugs the third muscle stimulant with three hundred metres to go. They make it to the rest station before he passes out cold. He ends up saving them a handful of gil, settling a months-long bet, and getting out of clean-up duty for a week; Prompto sets his lock screen to a photo of Gladio shirtless and sweating while bent over the back of the Regalia. Gladio seems proud.
---
6.
The moment the shield shatters into splinters of light, Noctis knows.
They shouldn't have come here.
They've been wandering the same godsforsaken tunnels for what must be days, slowly running out of supplies and energy and patience. The strange stone around them seems to move when they're not looking. It shifts from blue to white shadow, ancient carved surfaces groaning with languages long-lost, and the markings only sometimes respond to Noctis' touch. He walks with his fingers along the walls for hours on end, looking for a way forward, Prompto and Ignis and Gladio silent with fatigue a few steps behind.
The monsters that they stumble across seem familiar. They'll exhaust themselves putting down a corridor of grinning thunder ghouls one moment, then turn the corner and find themselves faced with the crackle of purple lightning yet again. Phantom swordsmen without faces, goblins, the sweet stench of mousse. It never ends.
"We've been this way," Ignis says when the gloomy air opens up into an old damp darkness, a draft seeming to draw their feet towards the cavern ahead.
"I know," Noctis snaps. (He's tired. He's so tired.)
All of them know what they'll see when they get to the end of the tunnel. They don't know how, but they do, and they all have their weapons at ready.
The glowing blades pull themselves out of the floor. A laughing hiss joins them. Noctis thinks, I should have brought more potions, and then there's no time to think.
The fight goes badly. Ignis keeps them together the best he can, but he's run out of throwing knives and is beginning to limp. Noctis is out of breath, there's grime everywhere and there's blood running down the back of his leg; one side of Prompto's face is bruised where the serpent slams him into the rock, and his machinery is failing, in desperate need of maintenance.
They're down to their last elixirs, and Noctis has one glowing feather in his pocket, one that he can't use, keep it for yourself, Noct, you must keep it for yourself. A giant swings at Noctis, and he tries to parry.
He misses. The giant's knife slams into Gladio's shield just in time. The shield breaks.
They shouldn't have come here.
Noctis calls on the Old Kings, the royal arms flashing to life. He brings them all against the daemons. Ignis and Prompto are at his side. Gladio isn't. It isn't enough, and Noctis prays, and...
... and the Astrals answer.
Noctis is on his knees at Gladio's side before the sparks even die. "Gladio. Gladio."
He's breathing, but barely. It's hitched and thin, shallow. Noctis pulls out the Phoenix down. Gladio's hand shoots up and grips his wrist weakly.
"Don't," Gladio chokes through blood.
"Yeah, fuck you," Noctis spits. But Gladio doesn't let go, and Noctis yanks his hand away.
Noctis looks across at Prompto, who's pale and bruised. Ignis approaches. Noctis puts the Phoenix down back in his pocket.
Noctis stands.
"We have to get him out," he says.
They head for the haven not far from the ruins.
As soon as they're outside, the night air hits Noctis, fresh and biting. It smells like iron. There will be daemons around. They limp on, slipping on the wet grass and stumbling over rock.
Prompto goes for supplies in the car, but they don't have enough. He comes back with bandages, blankets, a few packs of cup noodles. Noctis could almost laugh.
They build the fire and don't bother with the tent. There's elemental energy left in the deposits surrounding the haven, and Ignis stands by on guard as Noctis draws from them, ignoring the groaning and howling around them. When they make it back, Noctis opens a packet of cup noodles and imbues it with whatever magic he can muster. He shakily shoves it into Gladio's hand, Gladio, Gladio listen to me, you need to use this.
In the morning, Gladio will blink blearily at them in the sun. The three of them will grin, too tired and relieved to do anything else. He will look between them and utter, How the hell did you get me out of there? And Prompto will joke, Listen buddy, my back will be feeling it three months from now.
Now, Ignis stands at his left and Noctis kneels at his right, and Prompto sits with Gladio's head in his lap, and they carry their Shield through the night.