Work Text:
Prompto dangles his legs off the side of a short wall, drinking deeply from his water bottle. Brushing sweat off his forehead with his arm, he leans back to watch Noctis spar with Gladio, the dark-haired prince warping behind him, ducking under the shield’s arm to take his sword from him. Gladio yells that he needs to be faster than that, knocking him down onto the ground, his boot on his chest. Ignis comes out from the showers of the training grounds, dressed in fresh clothes, his hair damp and hanging in his eyes.
The strategist sits beside Prompto, handing him a foil-wrapped sandwich from his duffel bag. “I made one for everyone. Yours has the finer Cleigne wheat, so the bread isn’t as heavy,” he says with a warm smile, watching Prompto giddily open the foil. “And I added extra sprouts since you liked them so much the last time.”
“Thanks, Iggy,” the blond returns, wiggling in place as he takes a big bite of the sandwich. Noctis curses at Gladio, the shield’s booming laughter echoing as the scowling prince lands in the dirt with a thud.
“Next time don’t be so damn quick to take your eyes off me!”
“Your hair is stupid!”
“Okay, let’s go again, Prince Hair Gel.”
“This is all natural, baby.”
Prompto chuckles, passing his water bottle to Ignis. “They’re a real mess.”
“Indeed. One would think they absolutely despised each other.” Ignis takes a swig, handing it back as he leans over to retie his shoe. The gunman chews thoughtfully, leg swinging idly. This is it. This is what he wanted this whole time. He looks around the training arena at all his friends, his family. At Gladio, the man who stayed up all night with him when he was sick, spoon feeding him broth when he was too weak to do it himself. Who taught him how to parallel park against Cor’s adamant protest. At Ignis, the one who went with him to the bookstore’s grand reopening when his anxiety made him too nervous to go alone in such a large crowd. Who always keeps him grounded when his insecurity gets the best of him. And Noct, dearest Noctis, who, amidst all the mess in his depression den of an apartment, always keeps Prompto’s favorite seat on the couch clean for when he comes over. Who remembers every inside joke, makes CD mixes for the bad days, and spends hours poring over Prompto’s endless scrapbooks, memorizing every page. He smiles to himself, a warm feeling growing in his belly. This is it. This is home.
Ignis carefully sits beside you, feeling around for the arm of the bench as he lowers himself down. You move a pillow out of his way, trying not to be too obvious about it. He adjusts his dark glasses, clearing his throat. “Pardon me. This is going to take some time to learn.”
“How are you feeling?” you murmur softly, the sound of heels clicking on the marble floors resonating down the hallway.
“I suppose it could be worse.” He frowns, leaning back with a sigh. “I have my health. Noctis is safe.”
“Yes, but, that doesn’t answer my question.”
His clouded eyes fall on your face and for a moment, you swear he’s looking right into your soul. “The fighting has already begun. Between Noctis and Gladio. Prompto tries to help, but neither of them will listen. I fear it will only grow worse once we leave Altissia. Gladio has been carrying a massive weight and seeing Noctis lock himself in his room, eternally dismal, is a slap in the face. He only wishes for Noctis to take his place as the Anointed. Though his methods leave much to be desired.”
“You can’t take their misgivings upon yourself.”
“I’m the advisor,” he says firmly, jaw set. “His Majesty chose me to stay by the Prince’s side. To show him his faults, to aid him when he makes mistakes. And I… I can’t even manage…” Ignis trails off, his breath catching in his throat as turns away. “Forgive me. I’ve been rather emotional as of late.”
“That isn’t something to be ashamed of,” you whisper, taking his hand in yours. “Talk to me. Why are you crying?”
“Because I am failing him,” he admits with a broken sob. His crafted façade falls away, revealing a frightened man with too much responsibility heavy on his shoulders. “I’m failing all of them. If I don’t keep them civil... If I can’t fulfill my duty to the King…”
“Then you’re human, Ignis. You’re human.” You bite your lip, carefully slipping the glove off his trembling hand.
“What are you doing?” he breathes, frowning.
“Trust me.” Turning his palm face up, you trace the lines crisscrossing his hand, rough callouses giving way to thin veins under fragile, bruised skin. “How strange…”
“Is something wrong?”
“I just… I don’t see it. The failure line. Your life line is strong, unbroken. And the others allude to a rather healthy outcome. But there is absolutely nothing indicating a massive failure on your part.”
“Don’t toy with me,” he mutters. “I’m not a child.”
“Are you telling me you don’t believe in fate?”
“That, of all things, I believe in the most.”
“Well, Ignis, I hate to break it to ya, but fate is telling me you are doing your best and all of this will work out in the end.”
He opens his mouth to retort, but stops, exhaling with a soft smile. “I suppose I can’t argue with that. After all, fate led me to you. A scrappy, little thing who managed to coax me out of my own head.”
“Precisely. Why would it let you down now?” you grin, kissing his cheek tenderly. “I will always have faith in you. Even when you think you don’t deserve it.”
Gentle shafts of sunlight peek through the forest canopy, filtering down and covering Gladio’s tent in a blanket of muted gold. The earth is damp from the previous day’s rain, the ferns littering the forest floor glittering with raindrops. He unzips the tent and crawls out, yawning quietly. Standing up, he stretches, the hem of his shirt riding up, exposing the smooth plane of his stomach. Birds chirp amongst the branches of the pines, a light mist hanging in the morning air.
Gladio rubs his eyes, wandering over to the small creek trickling just past his camp, and kneels beside it. Splashing water on his face, he takes a moment to admire the mineral-rich soil glimmering under the water’s surface, catching sight of his own reflection as he does so. Making a mental note to clean up his beard, he runs a hand through his tangled mess of hair, pulling it back in in a sloppy bun as he heads back to his tent. Within minutes, he has a tiny fire crackling, the familiar aroma of wood smoke greeting him when he sits beside it.
Resting his cast iron skillet on top of the makeshift stovetop, he waits for a small pad of butter to melt down before he cracks two brown speckled eggs into the pan. They sizzle, the whites turning opaque while he douses them in salt and pepper, adding a dash of chili flakes. Gladio gently eases the eggs onto a metal plate, tossing in leftover potatoes from the night before, still coated in the homemade rosemary seasoning Ignis had gifted him. When they’re warm and a bit crisp, he toasts a slice of brown bread, some dense concoction Noctis had baked for him and insisted he take on the trip.
The world is tender this early in the morning, calm. Gladio sits down, leaning back against his current favorite tree, breaking the yolk of one of the eggs with the corner of his toast. Dipping it into the rich yellow and taking a bite, he watches it run across the plate and dabs it up with a bite of potato, licking it off his fingers. The bread isn’t as terrible as he expected it to be and he thought about how pleased the prince will be when he learns he did it right this time. Gladio takes a sip of water from his canteen, gazing up into the milky morning sunlight, mist coiling through the wide rays.
He recalls the day he left, how disheartened Noctis was when he learned he couldn’t tag along this time. “Why not? You always let me come.”
“I gotta take some time for myself. Reset the old noggin,” he grins, tapping the side of his head. “I’ll be back soon.”
“Wait, you’re leaving?” Iris asks, walking into the room. “Where to?”
“A beautiful place,” he says with a smirk, picking her up and swinging her around. Even though she’s sixteen, she still giggles uncontrollably when he does this, clinging to his arms. “Full of magic.”
Gladio smiles to himself as he swipes up more of the egg yolk with the bread, chewing slowly, relishing every bite. For once he could let his guard down and just be.