Chapter Text
One day of the year, every year, the Citadel in the Crown City opens its doors to friends and families of the staff. Of course, no one is ever barred from entering, but it's not a place for leisure visits. But on this day, the Citadel makes a celebration of it, with refreshments and decorations and guided tours. The hallways fill with elderly parents and young children, each as excited as the other. This day, Ignis looks forward to more than any other.
Ignis's uncle brings him after he turns six – younger children aren't disallowed, but are frowned upon. He soon discovers that he both loves and hates this day. It is, of course, his dream to work in the Citadel one day as a royal advisor, and nothing fills him with as much pride and happiness as walking in those vaunted, historical halls. He just wishes he doesn't have to share those same halls with a bunch of noisy, annoying kids.
After listening to something like two hours' worth of various iterations of, “I'm going to be a duke when I grow up,” Ignis has just about had it. When the next princess-wannabe starts telling him about her plans to marry Prince Noctis and live in the lap of luxury, he snaps that the prince is a 3-year-old baby , and storms off. At this point, he feels like maybe he's seen enough of the Citadel, and he's willing to wait until he's an adult before seeing more if it means he can have some peace and quiet. When everyone gets distracted by the Amicitia boy showing off and doing a handstand, Ignis slips through a cracked open door into the next room, where he can finally get a breather in the blessed silence.
“You're not supposed to be here, young man,” says a voice right behind him.
Ignis fairly jumps out of his skin before realizing the voice sounds kind of girly, and very young. He turns and sees a small boy – maybe? At least, he thinks it's probably a boy – staring at him with barely contained laughter. The barely contained soon turns into uncontained, and the boy says, between peals of laughter, “That's what daddy always says when he finds me here.”
Ignis feels rather affronted until he looks around, and realizes that no, he really is not supposed to be there. Somehow, in his infinite wisdom and cunning intuition, he's managed to find his way into the throne room of all places. Rapidly, he feels his lofty dreams of being an advisor dash on the shores of his current situation, and possibly his less lofty dreams of living a long and healthy life. His first reaction is to bolt, but he's already been spotted, after all, and it might look worse for him if someone else catches him going out of the room.
His best bet, then is to make a deal with this kid.
Ignis studies his adversary carefully. The boy looks very young, much younger than him. Ignis doesn't recognize him, though that isn't saying much; he'd be hard-pressed to remember most of the people he's met that day. But he looks surprisingly casual. At ease.
“Doesn't that mean you're not supposed to be here either?”
The boy thinks for a moment, head tilted like a small cat. “Yeah, I guess.”
Somehow, he doesn't look too bothered. Ignis chalks it up to being too young to realize what an offence it is to play around in the throne room without permission. “I won't tell anyone you're here if you don't tell them I am.”
“Okay.” The boy pauses a moment, then holds out his hand. “I'm Noct.”
“I'm Ignis,” he says reluctantly, because it's probably a bad idea giving out your name when you've done something as illegal as this, but he hasn't planned far enough to come up with a convincing lie otherwise.
It takes him a moment to realize, busy as he is making escape plans. And then he freezes, because he is most certainly a dead future-no-longer-an-advisor. “Noct as in Noctis? Prince Noctis?”
“Yeah!”
Oh boy, is he in deep trouble now. Ignis prays to all the Astrals he can think of, and hopes he didn't remember their names wrong, that the boy is joking, even though he knows he isn't, not when he's otherwise too young to be here unaccompanied, and not with the easy way he's hanging around. Ignis feels the cold fingers of the reaper draw dangerously close. If he's lucky, he might not die that day, but his odds aren't looking good.
“Ig...n... can I call you Iggy?”
“Yes, Your Highness!” Ignis snaps to attention. Maybe the prince will spare his life if he likes him enough?
Noct – Prince Noctis – gives him a funny look. “I'm just Noct.”
“I... I can't...” Well, there goes being spared. Ignis gulps. “...All right, Nocti—Noct.”
“Iggy, you okay?”
Well. He probably isn't, but that isn't what you tell the prince, not when he's staring at you with such concern. “Yes, Highn—Noct.”
Prince Noctis examines him with all the seriousness of a toddler, then nods, satisfied. Ignis lets out a sigh of relief, as if he's passed some difficult trial.
“Okay, then, Iggy. Let's play together!”
“Yes, Noct!” he says immediately. Respond quickly, he reminds himself, channel the discipline of a trained soldier. He's read a story with something like that: a man challenges Death to a game, who agrees to let him live if he wins. Ignis isn't sure what game they're playing, but if this is how the prince wants to settle things, then he'll just have to do his best to keep up.
“'Kay, let's play pretend.”
“Pardon?” In all his years, he's never heard of that game.
“Huh?” the prince asks back.
Ignis suddenly feels woefully unprepared, and frighteningly ignorant. “Could you... explain the rules for me, Highness—uh, Noct?”
Noctis stares at him as if he's crazy. For all he knows, maybe he is. “There's no rules in pretend. You just pretend!”
“Then... how do you win?”
That look again. “There's no winning,” Noctis explains, as if to a small child. “It's just playing!”
“Oh.”
Ignis still doesn't get it, but Noctis nods, as if that's all the explanation he needs, and starts to climb the stairs up to the throne, step after laborious step. “I'm pretending to be daddy .”
Oh, well, here comes the pretend execution then, before his real one. Ignis feels a fool for thinking he'd have a fighting chance.
“Who should I pretend to be?” he tries asking, anyway, but Noctis ignores his question in favour of climbing into the throne.
“You're not supposed to be here, young man!” Noctis declares again in a faux deep voice, and this time the amplification of his voice makes it that much more intimidating.
Ignis tries to hide his quaking, because Noctis bursts into giggles right after, and drops to one knee. If it's this scary facing down a toddler dwarfed by the throne, he's going to die the moment he meets the king, he just knows it, no execution order necessary.
“Apologies, Your Majesty.” Ignis musters up both his courage and the most adult words he knows. His voice quivers, but he continues. “It is simply unfortunate happenstance that I entered this most sacred of chambers. I was but seeking quiet refuge in a tranquillity against the din of the throngs. If you would grace me to forgive this transgression, I would be most grateful...”
He trails off as he looks up, and sees the prince frown at him, brows knit in concentration. Without warning, Noctis bangs his fist on the arm of the throne – though the sound it makes probably isn't nearly as loud as he'd liked, Ignis bets. “Iggy, I can't—I mean, ahem. The king decrees you... use smaller words, Ig...ni...gy...”
The moment's so absurd, Ignis laughs, fear of execution temporarily forgotten. He feels a bit better, instantly, and decides that if his fate is already sealed, then he may as well have fun on the way. He stands with a dramatic bow, such as he's seen people do on TV, and it earns him some excited applause. “What I meant to say, Your Majesty, is that I came into this room by accident. It was noisy outside and I wanted some peace and quiet.”
Noctis nods solemnly along with his words, one hand stroking an imaginary beard, which Ignis is pretty sure he's never seen the actual king do in all the public broadcasts of him. “And then?”
“And then?” Ignis parrots back.
“If you're here to petition the throne for help, then make your request known!”
“Please don't execute me,” Ignis says, as he forgets to stop himself, he's so much preoccupied with gawping. After being asked to use smaller words, that line isn't something he'd expect to come out of the mouth of a three-year-old. He supposes Noctis is simply repeating an often-said phrase from the king, but hearing it is odd at best.
“Huh?” Noctis breaks character and stares at him with a look of utter confusion. “Why would I ex... exgecake you?”
Oh. Well. That's a relief at least. Ignis can hardly believe his life wasn't in danger the entire time. “...No reason at all, Your Majesty,” he says carefully, in case Noctis simply forgot he's trespassing – and if he did, Ignis doesn't want to be the one to remind him. “In fact, I think I'll take my leave now, and stop troubling you any farther.”
Yes, the best course of action now is probably to beat a hasty retreat, like he should have done right at the start after all. Someone possibly noticing him slipping out is not going to be nearly as incriminating as someone else – say, like, the king – finding him in the room. His real audience with the king is not like to be as forgiving as this pretend one.
“Iggy, wait!”
Ignis doesn't really want to wait, but he pauses anyway, and turns just in time to see Noctis tumble off of the throne. He heads down the curved staircase, arms outstretched, and his balance is so precarious—
“Noct!” Ignis runs up and catches him before he pitches down the steps. Someone isn't breathing, and Ignis doesn't realize it's himself until he gasps for air. “Be careful, you could have hurt yourself there!”
Noctis smiles up, bright as the sun. “But you saved me! Thanks, Iggy.”
“...It's nothing. Anyone would have done the same.”
But Noctis keeps staring at him with that look of adoration. “You're like one of daddy's Clowns... Clowns cars!”
Ignis takes a moment to process the word. “Crownsguard?”
“Yeah!” Impossibly, Noctis brightens more. “Iggy, hey Iggy, you should be my Crowns...gar.”
Ignis isn't sure how his life took a turn for the strange, but he supposes there are worse things he could be. Like arrested and thrown into gaol. “Can you do that without the king's permission?”
“Yeah, I've seen daddy do it lots of times. It's easy.”
Noctis plops down right on the steps, and Ignis sits beside him. He holds out his hands, face scrunched up in concentration. Ignis doesn't expect anything to happen, except it does , a soft blue glow that dances between Noctis's fingertips.
The prince beams at him and takes his hands. Suddenly, it feels like he's in the middle of the whole universe, surrounded by everything and nothing. He gasps in... not pain, but something less real and more.
When Ignis comes to, Noctis is leaning hard against him, eyes closed, the blue light starting to fade.
“Noct? Noct, what did you do?” Ignis ignores the rising panic in his voice, and shakes the boy gently. No answer. “Noct, are you all right?”
He doesn't notice it at first, he's so worried, but heat spreads through him, starting at his core and moving down his limbs. It doesn't hurt, so he ignores it, but fire crackles over him and down his arms, and he scrambles away from Noctis, nearly dropping him in his haste.
Ignis is on the verge of crying when the door opens and a small crowd of adults spill in, including, to his chagrin, his uncle and the king. He's in massive trouble now, but he's relieved, because Noctis won't open his eyes and he's afraid to set him on fire. He's never felt so helpless before, never been so aware of how young he is and how far away adulthood is. So, all right, if these adults can fix whatever happened to Noctis – and they must be able to, the king can do anything, Ignis has to believe in that – he'll take whatever punishment they throw his way.
“Ignis!” his uncle screams, and it's such a shock; Ignis has never heard him raise his voice before, and he's not sure if he's angry, or upset, or worried. But the king holds up a hand, and approaches the two boys alone, with all the people waiting at the base of the stairs, very sharp swords at the ready.
So Ignis swallows the lump in his throat, and he bravely stares his impending doom in the eyes, except the king doesn't look like he's going to strike Ignis down where he stands. Still, looks can be deceiving.
“Can you... help Noct?” he manages to croak out between the fear and the fire. “I mean, His Highness?”
The king looks at him strangely, but he gives him a solemn nod, and Ignis lets out the breath he's been holding. And then, to his surprise, the king crouches so they're eye level. Ignis feels his jaw drop, and he knows he should close it, but he keeps gaping as the king reaches out a hand, and the burning heat in him subsides.
And then the king starts to speak, and Ignis braces himself for the booming, “You're not supposed to be here, young man,” but what the king actually says is, “Thank you for your concern. Noctis will be all right. He's merely exhausted himself.”
Ignis doesn't quite believe that, but he manages a small smile, which the king returns.
“Now,” the king continues, “can you tell me what transpired here?”
Ignis takes a deep breath, and considers lying. He doesn't, because a moment ago, he was on fire, and that's not something you can make up a believable story about. “I... came in here by accident, to get away from the noise. Noct, uh, His Highness found me here and asked me to play with him. We were pretending and he asked me to be his Crownsguard, and I said yes, and he did a glowy thing...” He stares at his hands miserably. Glowy thing, very descriptive. But more importantly, if only he didn't agree to this, and went and found and adult, Noctis would have been fine. “When I came to, Noct was like that...”
The king passes a look to one of the men waiting, the one Ignis always sees standing behind him in all the broadcasts. There's an unspoken something that passes, and Ignis can only wonder if that something goes along the lines of, “Now that we know it's this kid's fault, let's cut his head off.” Ignis wouldn't even blame him if it is.
The man doesn't move, though, and doesn't even take out his sword or anything.
“Ignis,” the king says, in a very gentle tone. “I'm afraid my son has made a very grave mistake.”
Ignis's heart thumps. Here it is, he's sure, the mistake is consorting with someone like him, and sharing magic with him, and letting him live to tell the tale. His mouth feels dry as he asks, “Your Majesty?”
The king, oddly enough, looks at a loss for words. Maybe it's not so easy sentencing a growing child like him. Maybe he'll reconsider. Maybe—
“Tell me, young man, do you know about the Kingsglaive?”
He's going to be killed by magical soldiers?!
He's not sure if it's an honour or not, though dead's dead and oh, yes, the king asked him a question. “I know a little, just what my uncle told me.” He shouldn't be dragging his uncle into this, but when he peeks over, his uncle looks perfectly calm, like he's not even going to help stop this magical execution. “They're elite, hand-picked soldiers that can use the magic of the Crystal.”
“Yes, that's a good summation.” The king looks down, first at Noctis, then at Ignis. “The magic is not compatible with everyone, however, and those it rejects can suffer severe side effects.” He looks as worried as Ignis feels, but shouldn't it be the other way around? “Ignis, I'm afraid Noctis has accidentally tried to create a Kingsglaive out of you, and it backfired terribly.”
Now that's... not at all what Ignis expected. No anger, no blame. If anything, the king looks thoroughly contrite.
“I... apologize on Noctis's behalf, and hope you can find it in your heart to forgive him.”
This is all wrong. The king isn't supposed to apologize to him, he's the one who ran into the throne room without permission and started all this. And Noctis... “Noct hasn't done anything wrong. He didn't know.”
The king exchanges looks with the other man again, then with Ignis's uncle. “Ignis,” he says again, in that gentle, patient tone, “if I hadn't arrived when I did to reverse the spell, you may well have died.”
Oh. Well. When he puts it that way, it suddenly seems a lot more serious. He sits down, hard, and looks at Noctis, just starting to stir now beside him.
“The fault is mine as much as Noctis's,” the king says, even though Ignis still doesn't think it's either of their fault. “As his father, I should have kept a closer eye on him, and taught him to control his magic more carefully. The Crown will make any reparation you require. Simply ask, and you shall receive.”
Ignis glances at his uncle, who gives him a small, reassuring nod. “The choice is yours, Ignis. Ask what you wish.”
He knows what it is he wants, already. Maybe he's always known, somehow, and it's taken this day to show him.
“If it's all right,” Ignis says, carefully trying to find the words, “I'd like to... to enter Noct's service. Not as a pretend thing, but for real.” Around him, he hears the muffled gasps of surprise. He can barely believe his own words, but he understands now, he thinks. And it's not because he feels obligated, or because he's surrounded by kings and princes. It's because of a smile as bright as summer, and two small hands reaching for his and holding on tight.
It's because, between the moments of fearing for his life, he had... fun.