Chapter Text
Noctis's room had never contained so many people at once and it was becoming hard to breathe.
He was standing still on the small stage Ignis had improvised in the corner of the room, while the piercing look of his advisor checked out every detail of the suit one last time. He saw him hold a golden button between his thumb and his finger and vigorously rub it with his own sleeve; and he wondered if Ignis could hear his heart beating fast in his chest. He couldn't know himself - his entire body felt numb and his brain was filled with nothing but constant, endless, monosyllabic screaming.
"Are you ready?"
Ignis didn't look up as he talked, and Noctis didn't know if it was better or worse. How could he blame him? He had a hard time looking at himself in the mirror, too, lately.
"Does it matter?" he managed to answer, and Ignis raised his eyes but kept looking at his hair instead of looking at him. He fixed his fringe although it couldn't move at all with the amount of hair spray they'd put in it.
"Well it is your wedding we are talking about," Ignis pointed as if it was no big deal.
Noctis's stomach churned. His wedding. The word drowned at the bottom of his mind, melted into the fog that had taken domicile inside his head. Constant, endless, monosyllabic screaming.
"Let's just... get this over with. Let's go."
He wasn't sure he could get down the stage without help, but he managed. He wasn't sure his legs would carry him down to the citadel's shrine, but they did. He hated that - if only his body had given up on him, he would have had a reason to escape this situation, but instead he was stuck here, condemned to see himself hand his body and blood to the enemy.
As if it wasn't enough that they had lost the war; Niflheim had to come up with their plans and schemes. As if it wasn't enough that all Lucis territories had to fall under the empire's always expanding jurisdiction, and the population had to become subjects of Niflheim, they had to carry their name in the mud. His father had been spared only to keep living his life as the king who had failed his country, and Noctis - Noctis wasn't even king yet and he was already failing them.
“And as a proof from the Lucis Caelum line of their commitment to this surrender, the heir of Lucis, Noctis Lucis Caelum, will take the son of the ancient Tenebrae royal family, Ravus Nox Fleuret, as his husband.”
Centuries of war had taught them about the wicked ways of Niflheim but this – this was too much. This was offense. This – hit too close to home.
He hid in his room for three days after hearing this. He could still remember the shock on all the faces, the way they all tried to keep their composure in front of Niflheim's ambassador. He could remember his own breath catching in his throat, the same way it was now, and he could remember himself starting to panic, right there in the throne room, in front of all the royal council and some stranger who seemed to take too much pleasure out of the revelation. He remembered trying to look at Ignis for comfort and Ignis wouldn't meet his gaze, and still hadn't since.
And what could he even oppose to that? They knew, of course, they knew what it meant. They were doing it on purpose - ending the Lucis Caelum line with him, put an end to the magic bearers, and there would never be anything else to challenge the hegemony of the empire. What were their options? Refuse? Resist? Give the cold shoulder to Niflheim? Watch their airships bomb the land while they stayed carefully hidden behind the Wall, ignoring the constant flow of refugees and the way the protests became more and more regular and violent?
What was an offense compared to millions of peole dying, right?
This was his sacrifice to the greater good - and it didn't matter if literally no one was buying it.
He found Regis waiting in front of the doors and gulped with difficulty. No matter how much effort Ignis had put into making him look perfect - Noctis was convinced his face gave his terror away instantly. The look in his father eyes confirmed it - he tried to smile but both of them didn't really feel like it.
"This will be over soon enough," Regis tried to reassure him. "You'll barely have time to register what happens."
"Speaking from experience here?" Noctis bitterly snickered. At least he could still sass his dad, even though his breakfast threatened to end up on his polished shoes every time he opened his mouth.
He couldn't blame him for accepting - he'd seen enough of public announcements where his father held his cane too tightly, enough of his exhausted face after Niflheim destroyed yet another town they couldn't provide protection for, enough nights he'd spend with his council, trying to hold their own against increasingly ruthless attacks. And he couldn't blame him either for trying to keep his only son alive. There was nothing more sacred to the Lucis Caelum than their own blood and asking for Regis to neglect the safety of his child was an offense even bigger than asking Noctis to accept an infertile marriage.
Nilfheim knew that, too.
Noctis grabbed his father's arm and Regis pushed the door.
Whoever had been in charge of the decoration for the occasion clearly took its job at heart - the usually stern look of the crystal shrine was softened by an accumulation of soft pastel drapes and flowery patterns, the rough banks for the mess turned into comfortable cushioned benches. The stained-glass windows, who reflected the sunlight in a variety of colours over the altar, seemed suddenly less dark than Noctis had always felt they were, and added a joyful and even optimistic lighting to the scene. And where the priest usually stood alone, talking to the masses, there was Ravus waiting with him, and Noctis felt his heart drop.
The traditional Tenebraean's white suited much more to the atmosphere of the room than Noctis's own Lucian black and the golden skulls engraved on his buttons. Ravus, with his long silver hair and his pale skin, suited the decor much more than Noctis. At least he didn't look at everything like he was trying to escape, which was both comforting and infuriating and Noctis briefly hated him, then hated himself for this. He felt the arm of his father let go of him and as he positioned himself in front of his future husband, he chased off his mind the picture of a deer caught in a bear trap.
The priest started talking but he couldn't listen, focusing instead on Ravus's face and how his eyes wouldn't meet his.
When Noctis went to Tenebrae as a child, Ravus was too old already to be playing with Luna and him. He would sometimes talk to the young prince of Lucis as his manners and education asked for, but nothing Noctis could clearly recall. How old was he, now? Twenty-seven, twenty-eight? Noctis was still asked for his ID sometimes when he was out at night with Prompto (who, somehow, didn't), he still couldn't grow a proper beard like Gladio, and when he met dignitaries they sometimes still called him "cute" as if he was still nine years old and clinging to his father's leg. The doctor he regularly saw to check on his childhood injury had never grown out of the habit of calling him "my boy". Meanwhile, Ravus was half a head taller than him and his shoulders filled his costume nicely. His haircut outlined the square shape of his jaw, and the serious expression he sported. His eyebrows and the shadow of his beard were clearer than Noctis had even seen on anyone else, and yet his traits still looked strong, sharp, like the ones of an adult. And he didn't give away his discomfort as clearly. He stayed still, quiet, looking at the priest from the corner of his eyes and completely ignoring Noctis who was certainly staring now.
The last time Noctis saw him, he was screaming. The last time Noctis saw him, it was over his father's shoulder, as the small, bloody silhouette of the boy cried for help. This was right before Luna let go of Regis's hand. Years after, the girl's letters to Noctis were still full of regret as she mentioned her brother growing more and more aggressive and full of resentment, and how alone she felt when he started working with the empire.
Of course he wouldn't look at Noctis now.
And of course, he couldn't understand. The stories were full of speeches about honour and protecting the blood of the kings, but he couldn't know exactly how important it was for Regis to secure his son first and foremost, even if that meant letting everyone else die. The magic of the crystal, the magic in Noctis's veins - it was so precious, so important, and only their line could carry it. It all came from the King of Lucis, deemed worthy in the light of the Gods. If Noctis had died during the attack on Tenebrae…
Well, now it didn’t matter anymore. They had lost the war. Niflheim, perfectly aware of how strong the power of the crystal was, had taken all the necessary measures to end the line once and for all. And Ravus would have a front-row seat to see the line of Lucis disappear forever.
Another thing to add to the everlasting pile of shit that was this wedding. Niflheim wouldn't just marry him to any man, they had to marry him to the one who hated him, the one who would keep a close eye on him for them. How had he taken the news? Had he received it like Noctis did, all of a sudden in the middle of a throne room, or had he given his agreement beforehand? Was he engaging in this as Noctis's future husband or as Noctis's future jailor?
Because they thought of everything, right? They wouldn't let the fucking prince of Lucis wander around and risk ruin everything by getting drunk enough to knock up the first woman he's cross paths with; they wouldn't let a potential bastard child, just royal enough to use the magic, ruin their perfect, wicked plan, right? So they chose a guy that hated Noctis just enough to keep him under surveillance all the time.
"At least everyone will hate it,” Prompto had said at some point, during one of his numerous attempts to cheer his friend up and make the best out of the awful situation he'd been put in. "This is sort of comforting, isn't it?"
Noctis, at the time, had not dignified this with an answer. Prompto, unlike Ignis or Gladio, had not grown up with politics surrounding him; it wasn't his fault if he couldn't come up with actually resourceful ideas. He was just trying to help as best as he could from his level. Noctis didn't have the strength to correct him.
Ignis, oh-so-thorough Ignis, had scratched his throat.
"Tenebrae is a matriarchal society. They don't put much pressure on the male heirs about who they choose to marry. Actually, it has been fairly common for them throughout history to let their sons marry other men if it was beneficial to their political positions. Even, sometimes, out of real lo..."
“Astrals, Ignis, shut up,” Noctis had growled, raising his head from where it was hidden between his knees, and rolling his eyes at the same time. “I could do without the history lesson right now.”
Especially, he could do without hearing stories of men loving each other enough to marry. And he could really, really do without Ignis explaining it to him; Ignis who had avoided Noctis's gaze as well since he had heard the news, Ignis who had withdrawn into protocols and lessons about traditions and the few cold facts that he could handle. As the prince's advisor, and raised this way since he was a kid, seeing Noctis ruin everything the Lucis Caelum family had been holding up for millennia was more demanding than it was even for the person concerned.
"What I'm trying to say," Ignis had insisted, "is that this wedding will probably offend the Tenebraean's... sensibilities much less than it offends ours. Ravus might not have many affinities towards Noctis, but this political arrangement won't sound as horrifying to him as it sounds to us."
"Thanks," Noctis had spat at Ignis. "I feel so much better now."
"Well," Prompto had cut them before they started arguing, "at least you’ll both hate it, right? Ravus and you. So... maybe he won't be so awful to deal with."
And nobody had tried to correct that. Nobody had the energy to explain to Prompto the problem he couldn't see as clearly as them - how dangerous it was that Niflheim's new dog hated Noctis so much and was close enough to him to know of all his whereabouts. Prompto was just trying to help.
His suggestion had not even been that stupid - everyone had the same. And poor Prompto couldn't know. Nobody could know. The last layer of irony, the icing on the shit cake: that even if Noctis tried to escape and find a girl to fulfill his divine duty and keep the line of Lucis alive, he wasn't sure that alcohol would do the trick.
And this was probably why his stomach was tied in knots. He had dreaded the day he would have to marry a girl and have a child, and now he was at the altar in front of a man, and instead of feeling relief, like he would in his most shameful and unspeakable fantasies, it was the worst day of his life. And because Niflheim couldn't let him alone for two seconds, it was broadcasted live, so the whole country could listen when he tried to keep his voice steady as he agreed to take Ravus as his husband, and they could all see as he tried not to blush when the priest joined their hands and placed the veil over their heads and let them seal the deal with a kiss.
“Noctis Lucis Caelum, do you accept to take this man, Ravus Nox Fleuret, as your husband?”
At least Noctis's unforgiving thoughts had let his spirit wander so far away from his body that the words spilled out of his mouth like someone else was telling them, like they meant nothing. He wondered for a brief second what would have happened if he had said no. What if he had actually ran away? Would the consequences really have been that bad? Would Niflheim have sent someone to get him, or would they have left him for dead? At least if he had died somewhere, he wouldn't have had to face the ins and outs of his sexuality ever again.
The priest turned to Ravus.
And what if Ravus refused, now? What if Ravus told him “no”, what if he walked away and disappeared? Would Niflheim send someone to find him, or was he not that valuable to them? And could Noctis live with the consequences of this decision, how could he ever face anyone after accepting to marry a man and see that man reject him?
“I do,” Ravus said, and his voice was clear and did not hesitate at all.
These were the first words Noctis heard him say in twelve years.
Everything turned to blur.
The priest held his hands in the air, and Noctis remembered almost late that he was supposed to give him his hand. He saw Ravus move at the same time, Ravus was still looking down at the priest rather than at his soon-to-be husband. Noctis wished he would at least look at him now. If he could just show a little sympathy, ground him into the moment, make him feel like he wasn't a stranger to his own wedding ceremony...
Ravus's hand was cold when the priest intertwined their fingers. Noctis's one was shaking. He had to close his eyes when the priest put the veil on their head. Ravus was taller than him so the thing didn’t fall quite right on his shoulders and – well, all things considered Noctis couldn’t say he had often dreamed about weddings in his short, repressed life, but still, this wasn't like the stupid romance novels in Gladio's bedroom. This didn’t feel dreamy at all. There was just a panicked kid and the adult who hated him, and they were standing too close, breathing in the same air, all the sounds of the outside were muffled by the veil.
Then, Ravus finally looked up.
He has one eye grey and the other one was a strange shade of purple. Noctis briefly pondered why he had not noticed before. And then, suddenly, those eyes were closer than ever, and he closed his own in reflex, as cold lips were pressed against his.
How stupid was it for them to follow the old Lucian tradition, the kiss symbolising the union of the bodies, under the veil symbolising the union of the houses? Maybe the crystal would call it heresy and open the ground under them, turning their bodies to ashes.
The kiss was soft, and short, and no divine intervention stopped them in their tracks. The priest pushed the veil off their head, and Ravus was back to looking at the ground.
“Congratulations. You two are now officially married in front of the Gods.”
And nobody applauded.