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Ignis was eight when the carnival came to Insomnia, the first and last event of its kind since the Wall went up. Maybe the rarity of the occasion was why the king agreed so easily when Noctis asked, bright-eyed and eager, if Ignis could take him there.
It was early morning still, barely past dawn. Ignis had no idea how someone whose day typically started at noon could be awake when he himself was just barely so. And was Noctis ever awake, talking a hundred miles a minute about candy apples and balloons, clowns and jugglers and fire-eaters and please Dad could they go he'd listen to everything Ignis said.
By the time Ignis registered the question, he'd already answered yes, of course he could take care of Noctis for the day, His Majesty had no cause for concern; no, no, it wasn't too early, he'd be happy to accompany His Highness whenever; a car to bring them there, how generous, much appreciated.
Less than an hour later, Ignis somehow found himself in front of the gates to the Insomnia Fairgrounds with nothing but his wits, a small purse of spending money, and a very excitable prince.
Despite the early hour, the carnival was already in full swing, tumblers and buskers and street performers in vibrant colors bringing life to the morning. The Fairgrounds, normally rather empty and used more often for Crownsguard training than for fairs, was so transformed as to be nearly unrecognizable. Streamers and wreaths adorned lampposts, pennants hung on ribbons strung across streets, and floating balloons marked a path seen above the tops of the buildings. The scent of a score of different snacks wafted towards them, and while Ignis's mind warned him against their unhealthy nature, his mouth watered all the same.
Thus began their day: stuffing their faces full of foods primarily made of sugar and grease.
There was a common misconception that Noctis was a picky eater. Ignis was one of the few people to know that this was only partially true. Noctis was only picky when it came to gourmet fare, with rare and exotic ingredients, usually vegetal, that bombard him with unusual tastes. Deep fried street food, on the other hand, had no such ingredients, and the young prince scarfed them down with relish. There was not even a single vegetable in sight, the only remotely similar option being apples coated with so many layers of sugar that they were more candy than fruit.
It wasn't long before Noctis consumed what must have been his own body mass in food, and Ignis almost as much in leftovers. When Noctis eyed the next snack stand, Ignis made an executive decision.
“Noct, how about some games instead?”
Like most kids his age, Noctis loved games. With noon drawing near, more and more people started arriving, and the previously idle stands around the fairgrounds came alive with lights and sounds. Attendants advertised fun! Excitement! Prizes! It was no difficult task to convince Noctis to forsake food in favor of winning some games.
In fact, it was a little too easy. Noctis played game after game with great gusto – ball tosses and ring tosses and beanbag tosses; games of luck, games of guessing, games of strength; he stayed a while watching and playing a fishing game, using a rod to ease out sparkling plastic goldfish.
However, also like other kids his age, Noctis was not particularly good at games. It didn't take long for Ignis's wallet to get light and his pockets to get... not anywhere near heavy. Their winnings were scant and small, mostly candies and trinkets given as consolation. Noctis's greatest prize was no more than a ring with a shiny glass gemstone. Too big for either of them to wear, it hung around the prince's neck with a piece of twine the attendant gave them. The lack of prizes didn't seem to bother Noctis, who cared more about playing than winning, but as the treasurer of their little expedition, Ignis was a bit less thrilled.
In a lull between games, Ignis held out the last of their funds, a few measly coins in his palm. “Noct, we don't have a lot of money left.”
“Oh.” A pause. Noctis glanced at the coins. “How much is that?”
Ignis did a quick count. “Enough for maybe one game.”
“Then we'll have to pick a good one.”
While Ignis was happy about the rather sensible reply, picking their final “good” game proved to be a surprisingly difficult task. All of the games were fun, but none stood out enough to spend the very last of their money on, not even the fishing game Noctis was enamoured of. (“It's okay, Iggy,” he said when asked, “I played it for like an hour.” This wasn't untrue.)
And then they saw it.
“That one!” Noctis declared, coming to a sudden stop and pointing excitedly.
Ignis followed the trajectory of Noctis's arm to see not a game, but a giant plush chocobo sitting on a prize shelf.
“Noct, that's not...” he started, but Noctis gave an insistent tug on his hand, and he had little choice but to follow.
“This one,” Noctis said again, with a nod for emphasis. Then, after a moment of thought, he added, “You do it.”
That was how Ignis found himself in front of a game that was most definitely too far above his level, while Noctis beamed like a proud cat beside him. The game looked like some kind of a dart-throwing challenge, with a wall of bright balloons that served as targets.
The attendant eyed them warily as Ignis approached. “Are... you lost, young man? Do you need help finding your parents?”
“What?” It took a moment for the question to register. “No, I...” Ignis cleared his throat. “I want to try my hand at this.”
There was a stretch of silence. The attendant looked at Ignis as if he'd spoken another language, then shook her head. “I'm sorry, this game is for adults. You're a bit... young.”
Ignis sighed. While that wasn't altogether unexpected, it was a bit inconvenient.
Most of the attendants at the previous games they’d played seemed to have recognized Noctis, judging from the extra tries they’d give him, the prizes they’d award him simply for visiting. This one, however, was a rare exception, showing no signs of recognition, nor any willingness to look the other way for what must have seemed a strange and delusional child claiming he knew how to use throwing knives, so darts really weren’t a problem.
“I’ve been authorized by the Crown Prince of Lucis,” Ignis tried, after exhausting all other options.
The attendant looked even less convinced than when he’d told her he was proficient with throwing knives, despite the fact that this was technically more true.
Fortunately, Ignis was saved from abusing his – or rather, Noctis’s – power by a shift change. The newly arrived attendant glanced at them, did a double take, and started whispering furiously to the previous one. In the din of the noise, Ignis couldn’t catch anything more than scraps of words, but he was quite certain he’d heard “Prince Noctis” somewhere in there.
“We’d be honored to let the prince and his royal retainer play our game!” the second attendant said after a short debate, all too cheerfully, and all too loudly. “Please, step right up!”
Ignis tried not to look too smug.
The smugness disappeared when, approximately two seconds later, Ignis realized that getting permission was the easy part, and he’d never touched a dart before in his life, much less threw one in a game designed to trip up even the most experienced of dart throwers. But Noctis was looking at the chocobo plush longingly, and a crowd had started to gather to watch “the prince and his royal retainer” play games, so Ignis swallowed his nerves and picked up a dart, pretending to examine it. The balance felt all right… maybe. He had no real ways of telling.
“I just have to hit one with a star on it to get that, correct?” he asked with far more confidence than he felt.
The attendant followed his gaze to the stuffed bird. “Yep! Any of the unmarked balloons gets you one of these guys.” She gestured to a line of smaller toys. “The ones with stars net you anything you want from the top shelf.”
He had three darts. That meant three attempts, he assumed. Three chances to look like a fool in front of Noctis and this damnable crowd.
Ignis prayed to all the Astrals that might be listening, and threw.
The first dart hit the board with a satisfying thud, nowhere near where he was aiming. Unsurprisingly, these were, in fact, nothing like throwing knives.
Ignis took careful aim with the second dart. He was supposed to be good at this! Even Lord Amicitia said he had a knack for throwing weapons.
It… Well. It hit.
And then it bounced off.
The crowd gasped in dismay as Ignis stared at the offending dart, trying to ignore the welling frustration. How was he supposed to protect Noctis if he couldn’t even break a balloon? It didn’t matter to him that the two were entirely dissimilar – a failure was a failure, after all.
Last one, then.
He aimed true, and threw as hard as he could.
When later recounting the story, Ignis would swear it was pure determination that saw him succeed. At the time, however, all he knew was there was a loud sound followed by a wave of cheers, and then Noctis was hugging him and laughing.
Ignis felt in a surreal dream when he asked for the giant chocobo plush and handed it to Noctis. He felt like a hero. …A bumbly, blushing hero, mind, when Noctis leaned up and planted a messy kiss on his cheek, right in front of everyone. (“It’s what they do on, like, all the TV shows,” was Noctis’s explanation. Ignis didn’t watch enough TV to say otherwise.)
“Hey Iggy,” Noctis said later, as they sat outside waiting for a car to take them back to the Citadel.
“What is it, Noct?” Ignis arched an eyebrow. The prince had a shy, secretive look on his face, and Ignis wasn’t sure he’d recovered enough from the earlier fluster yet for whatever else Noctis had planned.
“I was thinking,” Noctis began, then looked down, fiddling with his hands. “Um. Dad was reading me a story the other day, and the prince gave a princess a ring, and Dad said…” The rest of the words came tumbling out. “Dad said giving someone a ring means you want to spend the rest of your life with them so Iwantyoutohavethis.”
It took a moment for Ignis to process what happened, from the rush of words to the ring Noctis held out, the ring he’d won earlier. If he wasn’t overwhelmed earlier, he definitely was now. “Noct… Of course.”
“It’s a promise, okay?” Noctis asked, kingly despite his tousled hair and ruddy cheeks.
“Promise.” The rest of their lives sounded pretty good. “Always.”
Ignis knew the moment the Accursed returned to the world, knew from the way his old scars flared up with phantom pain, knew when the dormant crystal pulsed with light, a silent warning beacon.
Knew, because the slowly encroaching night grew rapidly longer, and soon, without the Oracle, the bloodline of the Nox Fleurets alone would no longer be enough to hold the darkness at bay.
And then there were the nightmares, acute and resentful. Frequent. Ardyn attacked Ignis’s dreams with all the subtlety of an imperial dreadnought, making no attempts to hide his hand. Even in sleep, Ignis could sense the foreign influence, but that didn't seem to deter the Accursed. Instead, each nightmare became more pointed, more poignant, faceless torment shaping into personal torture as Ardyn gauged his every reaction.
The first time Ignis dreamt of Noctis, broken and impaled, he woke up in a cold sweat, gasping with pain that didn't fade on waking. His eyes burned, and his hand burned, and all he could see – if it counted at all as seeing – was darkness. Briefly, his sleep-addled mind supplied him with memories of the other world, the blindness, the eternal darkness, the sacrifice—
In desperation, Ignis stumbled to the kitchen sink, splashing cold water over his face. It didn't diminish the pain, but it brought clarity and wakefulness. He was home, in his own time, with all of his senses. His flesh, once scoured by the power of the Ring, felt as if on fire, but as his eyes adjusted to the darkness, he could see that there was nothing there.
The pain faded several days later. The dreams did not.
The second time Ignis dreamt of Noctis, he was alive and well, sitting on his reclaimed throne in the Citadel. Ignis's relief was so great that he didn't think to question it as he swept Noctis into his arms.
And there was the searing pain again, tormenting, cautioning, and he ignored because here was the sum of every wish he had ever had in his life, and Noctis's lips were on his, and he ignored every single warning bell in his head, and—
“Gotcha,” Noctis said. As he stepped back, he was suddenly the Accursed, laughing and laughing as the world faded into darkness.
Ignis woke with Ardyn's mad cackle ringing in his ears, shame and guilt drowning out the white-hot burn of the Ring's reminder.
The next dreams came frequently, each the same, each about Noctis. Ignis woke each night feeling as if engulfed in flames, his body and heart aching to fill the void that Noctis left.
Soon, he reminded himself. Soon, Noctis would be back.
(Soon, Noctis may be gone forever.)
It was a ring that saved him; ironic, when he thought about it. When the nights ran on and even the moon and the stars became shrouded in darkness, the pain from his scars grew to a crescendo, excruciating and unbearable even for him. He fought to keep steady every time he opened his eyes, the world seeming aswim in flames, but the orbit burned around his finger was ever more agonizing, teasing him with a reminder of power just beyond his reach, a reminder of the destiny that awaited the Chosen King. One night, groping on his bedside stand, his hand enclosed the ring Noctis had given him as a child, and the cool metal was as a balm on his scalded skin, the simple band giving him back a measure of control.
Ignis knew the moment Noctis returned from the Crystal, knew from the way light and magic flooded his veins, knew because the sudden relief from pain could be attributed to none other.
Knew in the way every fibre of his being resonated, like a compass needle pointing true north. After feeling lost for so long, the sense of direction was like a beacon in the storm.
Even with prescient memories, Ignis wasn't prepared for how startlingly different Noctis became, how mature and regal. Gone was the young prince he had to look after, in his place the King of Light, prophesied savior of the world.
And, heart aching with pride and terror, Ignis sent him to his final battle, alone.
“Ignis, don't worry about me,” Noctis said, before the door.
“How can I not?” the words burst from him, though he tried to keep them down. “You face the full might of the Accursed and the gods.”
Noctis grasped his hand and squeezed. “I won't lose. I promise.”
Ignis didn't put stock in promises. Having grown up in the royal court, he knew they were nothing more than empty words and pretty wishes.
And yet.
“Godspeed, my king.”
Ignis stepped back and bowed.
Believed.
From a young age, Ignis was a heavy proponent of duty. Oaths and vows, words of promise, these were as sacred to him as the gods’ command. He never made them lightly, and expected them to be kept, not least of all from the people close to him. That was why he was rather confused when a twelve-year-old Noctis approached him one afternoon with a rather shocking proposal.
Or, to be more precise, a proposal.
“Noct!” Ignis hissed in a whisper, though they were in his room and there was no one else around. “You can’t say that.”
“Why not?”
Why not? Why not? Ignis stared at him, trying to figure out if this was all a joke. But, no – Noctis looked dead serious, a touch offended, a hint of hurt. Ignis was going to have to give a talking to whoever put this idea in his head.
“We can’t, Noct,” he said, more gently this time. “You’re a prince, and I’m only a servant, and a man besides. It would be a scandal! I’m sure your father would never allow—“
“Actually,” Noctis interrupted, “Dad told me to ask you. He said we don't have laws against that anymore, but 'only Ignis can decide whether to accept or not.'”
Of course he did. Ignis bit his tongue and resisted the urge to rub his temples. Okay, he was not going to give a talking to whoever put this idea in Noctis's head, as much as he'd like to. Still, just because the king joked – presumably – about it didn’t mean he actually endorsed the idea. He was probably counting on Ignis to have enough good sense to dissuade the impressionable prince.
Therein lay the problem. Good sense was one thing, and one that Ignis had plenty of, but a willing heart was another thing altogether.
“You’re too young for marriage,” Ignis said finally, holding up a hand to stop the arguments of “but so-and-so was younger.” “I’m not trying to patronize you, Noct. I just want you to make an informed decision. You’ll meet many people in the coming years, many of whom will be much more suited to you. When that time comes, I don’t…” He swallowed. “I don’t want to make you regret anything.”
Well. That came out a lot more melodramatic than he’d intended, and he didn’t even say anything he’d meant to say – namely, “no.” Still, Noctis looked thoughtful as he listened, though there was a stubborn set to his jaw that said he wasn’t going to simply let this go without a fight.
“Does that mean,” Noctis asked with a shrewdness that belied his innocent appearance, “you’ll marry me if I don’t change my mind later?”
There was an easy way to resolve it, Ignis knew; but just as he couldn’t say the word earlier, he couldn’t still. He had always, always been helpless against Noctis’s wishes. “If you don’t change your mind,” he heard himself saying. “And if His Majesty approves at that time.”
“Promise?” Noctis grinned, victory within grasp.
“Promise,” Ignis said solemnly, knowing his choice was made long ago, even if it may well lead to an unfortunate execution somewhere down the line. For the time being, he was alive, and Noctis was happy. He had never been good at denying the young prince anything, least of all himself.
“Oh yeah, Iggy,” Noctis said, breaking his thoughts. “I got this for you!”
It took a moment for Ignis to recognize the small object in Noctis’s hand. It was a ring, he realized, bringing to mind a memory from several years ago: a carnival, a ring, a promise. Judging by the shy smile on Noctis’s face, he wasn’t the only one who remembered.
Wasn’t the only one who knew the significance of a ring and a promise.
However, he was, it seemed, the only one who knew the significance of this particular ring.
“Noct…” Ignis tried to keep the tremor out of his voice, picked his words like steps in a minefield. “Is this the Ring of the Lucii?”
“Yeah!” Noctis answered brightly, a smug smile on his face. “Dad said I should give my fian… umm, my marrying person a special ring, and this is the most special one we have.”
Ignis couldn’t decide whether to laugh or cry. It seemed almost an impossibility that Noctis of all people didn’t know what the ring did, but it was such an earnest, guileless reason, and it left him speechless.
Noctis stared at him expectantly. Ignis drew a long breath.
“Noct, only the king can wear the Ring of the Lucii. Anyone else would…” Die? He wasn’t sure, and couldn’t say that even if he were. “…be judged as unworthy.”
“Oh.” Surprisingly, Noctis seemed more perplexed than upset, for which Ignis was grateful, until he said, “But the queen can wear it too, right?”
“I suppose so.” There were historically Lucian queens, at least, though Ignis didn’t know the details. There would have to be some difference, he was sure, between those born into the royal family and those who married in, but he was no scholar of the ring, nor of genealogy.
“So you can wear it after you become my queen!” Noctis declared triumphantly.
Of course it would come back to that.
“We will… discuss it after that happens,” Ignis said gently, and received a nod in return. Good, Noctis should be older and wiser by then—if it happened at all, which it wouldn’t, he reminded himself. “For now, why don’t you return your father’s ring?”
“But...”
“I have this one, remember?” Maybe Noctis had forgotten, or maybe he'd thought Ignis had lost it by then, but the prince gave him the brightest smile when he pulled out their little carnival prize, now on a sturdier chain. “This is the most special ring, to me.”
There was going to be some explaining to the king soon, Ignis knew, but for now, crisis averted.
With the dawn came hope. Hope, and crushing fear. As the sun climbed over the Citadel, bathing it in gold, Ignis felt his heart pound in his chest. This was it, then, the moment of truth, when he would find out if everything he had done for the past ten years had been worth it. Suddenly, he wished he’d had more time, to research, to prepare, to test—
To stall.
Ten years, and he still remembered the Messenger’s visions: an empty throne, a shattered life; memories from a time that wasn’t this, a failure that wasn’t his.
“Hey, Iggy, you doing okay?”
Ignis glanced up, and there was Gladio looking concerned, and Prompto offering a hand. Friends who had stood beside him through darkness and light, friends to whom Noctis was as important as to him. He straightened and smiled with a confidence he didn’t feel. “Just a touch distracted, thank you. Shall we go greet our king?”
It was easy to tell himself that everything was all right, that Noctis was strong. It was much harder to convince his heart to believe it. Their plan had to work, it wasn’t just a failed gamble, Noctis must be alive, he promised.
What was a promise against the will of the gods?
The Citadel was silent as they walked through the halls, save for the echoes of their footfalls. No sounds of battle, no sounds of life.
The walk to the throne room took what felt like an eternity, step after laborious step moving them at a snail’s pace. Yet, when they reached the door, Ignis wasn’t sure he was ready for what lay beyond. Noctis, his king, his light, his everything, alive and well? Or his last ten years of hell coming to a head in a never-ending nightmare?
“Schrödinger’s Noct,” Ignis muttered under his breath.
Prompto gave him a confused look, but Gladio chuckled. “C’mon, Ig, have a little faith.”
“I never stopped having faith—“
The Shield shook his head. “In us. In yourself. You didn’t spend this entire time twiddling your thumbs. All the stuff we went through? That wasn’t for nothing.”
“Yeah!” Prompto chimed in. “I mean, when have you ever failed Noct? …Or, like, failed, ever, at all?”
When Insomnia went up in flames, Ignis wanted to answer. When Altissia was swept beneath the waves. When the Oracle died to protect Noctis in his place. When all that he had to give, even his very life, couldn’t pay the price to bring down the Accursed.
He bit his tongue. None of these were his fault, he knew. He had never failed Noctis, would never fail Noctis.
When the door opened, the tension from a decade of constant worry and anxiety drained from him, leaving Ignis on trembling legs. There was his king, slumped on the throne, dishevelled and exhausted, his clothes askew and his hair a bird’s nest, yet utterly regal and alive.
Ignis gave a deep bow, keeping his eyes on Noctis, a small part of him fearing him to be a mirage that would disappear if he so much as blinked. When he spoke, his voice came out as a choked whisper. “Your Majesty.”
“Hey, Ignis.” Noctis flashed him a tired smile, but there was triumph in his eyes. “I promised, didn't I?”
The restoration of Insomnia proceeded at an astonishing pace after the return of the dawn and of the King, though repairs on the the Citadel languished. When civilians and refugees came to the city in droves, Noctis ordered priority to be placed on residential areas and industries needed to support the new citizens.
It was sensible and generous, and Ignis heartily approved of the plan. However, that meant that instead of windows, he and Noctis often gazed out at the city below from the large gap left on the side of the throne room. It felt odd, sitting on the broken masonry, wind in their hair, a deadly drop a step past their feet.
It felt like home.
“Hey, Ignis,” Noctis said one afternoon, sitting at the aforementioned gap.
“Majesty?”
Noctis rolled his eyes. “Oh, come on, Ignis.”
“Apologies,” Ignis said, completely unapologetically. “I'm simply admiring your noble bearing.”
“Hah.” Noctis snorted, but couldn't hide his smile. “We've come far, haven't we?”
“Hm, well.” Ignis arched a brow. “I'd say we ended up right where we started, back to the home we grew up in.”
“Really, Ignis?” This time, Noctis laughed aloud. “You know what I mean. I can't... even believe it sometimes. Me, king. Over all these people.”
“You've come far indeed.”
“And I couldn't have done it without you.”
There was a shy, boyish look in Noctis's face as he edged closer, one hand closing around Ignis's. Ignis felt his heart skip a beat, and turned away to hide his flush.
“It was all of us—“
“Ignis.”
Ignis took a breath, gulped. He peeked back at Noctis, only to be trapped by the most intense stare he'd ever been subjected to. “Noct...”
“Everyone has done so much for me, but none more than you.” He held up a hand when Ignis tried to demur. “I need you to do one more thing for me.”
“Certainly.” This was going in a direction he didn't expect. “Anything you need.”
“You didn't even ask what it was,” Noctis said, amused.
“Well, I...”
“...made me a promise, when we were little.” There was a small smirk playing against Noctis's lips, a twinkle in his eyes.
Ah, yes. Ignis felt his breath catch, and he fought to keep his heart from giving him away. He mustered up every effort to keep his voice casual as he murmured, “Which one was that? You'll have to remind me. I made so many.”
“I once asked you something,” Noctis said slowly, every word deliberately enunciated, “and you told me we were too young. So I...” He took a long, shuddering breath, dropping to one knee before Ignis. “I haven't changed my mind. And I can assure you, His Majesty has no objections. So, Ignis Scientia, will you marry me?”
Ignis wondered, briefly, whose fate they had really changed, whose wishes they had really fulfilled. There was Noctis before him, offering him every dream he had ever dreamed, and all he had to say was—
“Yes.” It was irresponsible, he knew, but they'd both had enough of responsibility for a lifetime, carrying the fate of the world on their shoulders. And when had he ever been able to say no to Noctis?
“Hey Ignis,” Noctis murmured, after pulling him down into a kiss. “I was totally right, you know.”
“Mm? Assuming that I'd marry you?”
“That too, but, I said the queen could wear the Ring of the Lucii, didn't I?”