Chapter Text
Noctis wanted nothing more than for that moment to last forever.
The four of them, sitting around the campfire, laughing like children again.
Prompto’s exaggerated story-telling, Ignis’ small smirk as he sharply crafted a pun every now and then, Gladio’s howling laughter busting apart the stiffness of the dark air; they all harmonized together so naturally.
Even though they rested, seemingly vulnerable, at this small campsite in the midst of an eternal night, it seemed as if none of the daemons in all of Hell could touch them. Their merriment and youth were tangible, their giggles echoing out into the cloudy skies.
Noctis loved seeing how his childhood friends had aged. The sight was bittersweet; he wished he could’ve been there for all those years in darkness that had taken their toll on the three of them, but at the same time he relished every second he could spend with them now, seeing how far they’d come.
Somewhere, in the back of his mind, he was reminded that this moment, however comforting and amicable, could only last so long. He swallowed that reminder down with another draft of Ebony.
To Noctis, the change was most noticeable in Prompto.
The blond youth had very obviously grown out of his awkward stage. Not that the Prince would ever say the adorable, bouncing, 20 year-old Prompto was really awkward, but 30 year-old Prompto looked comparatively more comfortable.
His jawline had sharpened, the rings around his somewhat iridescent eyes more pronounced, (no doubt from an all too unreliable sleep schedule) and the muscles along his arms had transformed from lithe and nimble to well-defined and albeit a little intimidating. When Noctis had gotten a good look at him, really sizing him up good, he had to resist the urge to study his own arms and, consequently, feel scrawny in comparison.
Prompto looked a little less like a scrappy youth and more like a confident, gun-slinging beast. Noctis had teased him for his newly-grown facial hair, but if the Prince was being honest, he found it undeniably attractive. It somehow fit his scruffy look. Scruffy, rugged and handsome. Definitely not how he had been some 10 years ago.
He looked more sure of himself, that much was certain. Noctis remembered looking Prompto in the eyes — those beautiful eyes surrounded by deep rings and fresh scars — as the marksman asked him if the Prince had been worried about him.
Noctis wished he could’ve pulled him in close and kissed him right there, just to prove how much Prompto meant to him.
He wished he could’ve done so much more than just stupidly reply ‘uh yeah sure I was’ or whatever bullshit he had said. He was too dumbstruck at the thought that the one thing Prompto fretted over the most was whether or not his best friend was worried about him.
The gunman had revealed that his absolute worst fear was not ever really being one of them. Noctis couldn’t blame him; he hadn’t raised the Prince as if he was his own child like Ignis, or pushed him to his limit and was duty-bound to protect him with his life like Gladio. Still, Noctis had tried his best to assure Prompto that he wasn’t Gladio and he wasn’t Ignis. Noctis didn’t need another Hand or Shield.
He was Prompto. And Noctis needed him just as badly.
Thankfully, 30 year-old Prompto seemed to finally understand that. Sitting there, eyes illuminated by the crackling fire, laughing loudly and unabashedly, Prompto was his everything, just as much as Gladio and Ignis.
Ignis still held that familiar, motherly posture about him that made Noctis want to lean on his shoulder and cry into his ridiculous coerl-print jacket. The scars that smothered his icy eyes were beautiful, actually. Noctis caught himself staring at them many times, realizing how long they made his eyelashes look; how the one small scar that decorated his lower lip made Noctis’ face redden as he recognized he was contemplating kissing his advisor. Hard.
Ignis had taken to pulling back his hair completely, sweeping it away from his face, as if finally saying he wasn’t ashamed of those scars. Of course he was never ashamed of his sacrifice for Noctis.
There was a time, long ago, in a small tent where four sweaty men were trying to sleep, when Ignis murmured his regrets into Noctis’ ear. When he told him how embarrassed he was for needing assistance, how he kicked himself over every misstep, every time that Prompto had to catch him. He had confided in Noctis his fear of not fulfilling his duties.
That time, when tears fell over his fresh scars and his voice choked, was one of the most heart-wrenching moments of Noctis’ journey. Back then he hadn’t known what to say. All he could manage was a teary ‘I’m sorry’ while he kept feeling sorry for himself.
That wasn’t what Ignis had needed.
But the advisor didn’t complain, didn’t show any more signs of frustration or giving up. He didn’t show his vulnerability again. Even though he was hurting, he persevered. Because that’s what Ignis does. Looking at him now, with his head held high and his scars only partly hidden by his visor, Noctis could tell he had regained that confidence and pride.
Ignis had failed, he had learned, and he had adapted. Because that’s what Ignis does.
At first glance, nothing major seemed to have changed about Gladiolus. The Shield was still sturdy, bulky and unfortunately still very hot. His hair and beard had grown a bit longer, but nothing too astonishing. The one thing Noctis did notice was the lines of age and weariness that had been chiseled into Gladio’s features.
He looked… Tired.
Not uncomfortable or stressed, just tired. As if some of his fight had been sucked out of him. Noctis reasoned that 10 years of fighting daemons in the eternal night can do that to a man.
He didn’t look incapable; far from it. Gladiolus’ muscles bulged and strained against his clothing more than ever, and Noctis wondered if it was possible that the broad-shouldered man had actually gotten taller. His scars still looked incredibly appealing; two etched across his handsome, rugged features, and one drawn across his chest and abdomen as if someone had stroked a paintbrush across him to accentuate every little nook and cranny.
No, instead of incapable, Gladio looked composed. He looked less like he was going to fight every little challenge to his testosterone. He seemed reserved and relaxed, as if ready to take a nice, long nap.
From what Noctis could tell, Gladio had matured. He seemed as if he was ready to settle down and start a family. Prompto briefly remarked that Gladio was already gaining a bit of dad-weight, so he had a good start, at which Gladio lunged forward and smacked the blond firmly on the back of his head.
Noctis wanted to watch and listen to them forever. When Ignis said something about getting some rest, Noctis couldn’t bite back the word before it tumbled out of his mouth.
“Stay.”
Ignis didn’t protest. A silence stretched on as Noctis’ uneven breaths interrupted his stifled sobs. He buried his head into the sleeves of his shirt and sat there, slumped over in his chair, for a long moment.
It was alright. He could take his time. These were his friends, his allies, his brothers.
They understood.
They understood that he needed time. Things were so different now. The three of them were so different now. He was still adjusting.
He had missed them so much; he knew he could never make up for that 10 years worth of lost time. He wished things could be different. Regret burned a hole through his heart.
The campfire crackled on.
After a while, Prompto braved the distance that the silence had created.
“You okay?”
Noctis tried not to break into another fit of tears. He had just calmed down.
“Y-yeah.” He answered, voice shaky.
He looked up. His deep blue eyes, glistening and sparkling enchantingly from the tears clinging to them, could barely hold Prompto’s gaze for more than a few seconds. Before he knew it, the pain in his chest welled up until he felt as if his ribcage would explode. He looked down again.
“Well, obviously you’re not,” Prompto chuckled, hoping to drain a bit of the seriousness from the conversation.
Noctis couldn’t find the words to answer him, so instead he offered a weak laugh as he shook his head.
“Love,” came Ignis’ soft, accented voice. Had Ignis always called him that? “Do tell us what ails you.”
Prompto wanted to get up, to rush to Noctis’ side and tell him things were gonna be okay. He hated seeing Noct cry. It was one of the saddest things he had witnessed. Like you-just-kicked-a-puppy kind of sad. The way his small frame heaved, the way his gaze pulled Prompto in with those alluring blue eyes laced delicately with tears. It made the gunman want to pick him up and hold him.
Prompto was also continually fascinated with the Prince’s ability to look pretty - stunning actually - even while crying. Prompto could never do that. Whenever he cried, he sobbed loudly while snot dripped unattractively down his red, freckled face. Noctis was the complete opposite, sniffling delicately while hiding his face that was dusted with a light blush. It was cute, in a sad way.
After a while, Ignis couldn’t bear it anymore. He stood, felt the heat from the campfire and maneuvered around it to get to Noctis’ chair. He followed the sounds of the Prince’s tender crying.
He reached a hand out, into the dark. A small panicky feeling itched at the back of his mind, the one that always said:
What if no one’s there?
But soon he felt the warmth of Noctis’ neck underneath his fingertips. Adjusting, he squatted near the chair and began to slowly comb his fingers through the Prince’s hair. The motherly gesture warmed Noctis a little, and he leaned into the touch.
Almost immediately somewhat jealous, both Prompto and Gladio stood and made their way over to Noctis. They each gently placed a hand on him, all three barely containing their concern and affection.
“Spit it out,” Gladio finally said. His voice was too loud in the growing silence of the night.
The fire continued to be the only source of constant noise, the wood giving way to the flames with a cacophony of prickling cracks. Other than that, it seemed as if there were no other noises. No crickets, no cars, no birds, no camera shutter. It was just the four of them.
“I’ve made my peace.” Noctis spoke after a long time, his voice soft and quiet.
“Your peace?” Prompto asked, feeling a little dumb.
“I know what I have to do.” Noctis’ voice was low.
Ignis winced. Hearing Noctis say this now, after living 10 years in darkness hoping that maybe what the ring showed him had been a lie, another one of Ardyn’s tricks, was almost enough to make him lose his composure.
Gladio’s brow furrowed. He didn’t like this kind of talk coming from Noctis. It was too kingly, too responsible.
“And what do you have to do?” He asked.
Noctis bit his lip.
On one hand, he wished he wasn’t so godsdamned emotional about this. He wished he could just come out and tell them. On the other hand, he knew that this deep emotional weight, this rock in his stomach, was a result of how much he loved them. A result of just how close they all were.
Even after all this time.
Ignis didn’t really want Noctis to answer the question.
Prompto didn’t know what he was dreading.
Gladio was tense, stern.
Noctis inhaled deeply.
And started crying again. He couldn’t keep them waiting, however, so he tried to swallow the lump in his throat and continue.
“I have to be the chosen one,” he whimpered, “I need to stop the daemons… Bring back the light…”
He planned on saying this much more cohesively, but he hadn’t prepared for just how unready he was.
“Well, duh,” Prompto chuckled nervously, “That’s what we’re here for, right? To stop the daemons? Defeat Ardyn?” He had the feeling he didn’t quite understand the situation.
Noct’s breathy ‘oh poor Prompto’ laugh was all too familiar. It was almost like a sigh riddled with a pitiful chuckle.
“Not exactly…” Noctis’ fingernails dug into his palms. The more he dodged the subject, the more every word burned as it spilled out of his mouth.
He took a deep breath.
He took a couple more. He was procrastinating. The other three were still patient, although he could tell they were all tense. Poised.
“I have to make a sacrifice.” Noctis spoke slowly. He didn’t dare look up. “I have to be the sacrifice.”
Gladio’s reaction was immediate.
“Woah, what?” He asked.
“Gladiolus-” Ignis cautioned.
“No, let me finish.” Gladio shot Ignis a look. It grated on him a little bit that Ignis wouldn’t be able to receive his steely glare even though Gladio had to suffer through several of his.
“Why do you have to be a sacrifice? And says who?”
Everything hurts.
“It’s what the gods intended,” Noctis’ voice was breaking. “It’s my duty.”
“Fuck that!” It was Prompto who spoke up this time. “Noct, that’s some serious prophetic bullshit!”
I want to stop.
“I know!” Noctis’ eyes were shut tight. “I know,” he repeated softly.
“How is being a sacrifice supposed to help anything?” Gladio snapped.
“Are you gonna die?” Prompto’s voice was bordering on whiny — panicky, even. “You just got back!”
Stop.
“Both of you!” Ignis scolded loudly. He had heard enough.
He hated the idea of something happening to Noctis just as much as he knew both of them did, but he could hear the pain in the Prince’s voice as he tried to explain. Ignis couldn’t listen to the two of them to unknowingly trample all over Noctis’ sensitive emotions.
There was a silence around the campfire after the advisor’s outburst. Again the campfire crackled innocently to fill in the silence.
“Noctis,” Ignis began slowly, “is trying to communicate with us. Would you rather him never tell us anything at all?” He stared into the void surrounding him, imagining Prompto looking down in shame and Gladio balling his fists.
The sound of Noctis’ quiet, unsteady breathing made Ignis’ heart clench uncomfortably in his chest. He knew what Noctis needed to tell them. He knew how cruel the gods were being to his King.
It didn’t make it any easier on him.
His mind forced him to picture the tears streaming gently down Noctis’ face as he is forced to come to terms with his fate. He would do anything - anything - to aid his King. To stand by his charge. To comfort his brother.
But there were some things the gods wouldn’t allow.
Those beautifully distant, fantastical deities that took pity on mortals and gave them the Crystal. Those same gods were the ones that were ugly to him now, as he witnessed their plan to turn fate wildly on its head and twist the Chosen Prince’s life upside-down.
What kind of gods were they to him?
Bitter resentment rose up in Ignis’ breast.
Who were they to torment his King like this?
He felt hot anger burning behind his ears.
Why had Noctis, the fair-skinned, pearly-eyed youthful prince been chosen to garner this awful fate?
Ignis knew deep down that the daemons must be banished, that Ardyn must be defeated. But in the selfish part of his heart that he kept locked away, he wanted so much more for Noctis. He didn’t want the Prince’s only reason for living to be death by the gods’ will.
It wasn’t fair.
Before he knew it, the Hand of the King had tears sliding down his cheeks, dusting his scars with a silvery shine.
“Iggy.” The way Noctis’ voice broke as he barely whispered the advisor’s name caused Ignis to take in a deep, shuddering breath. He felt suddenly light-headed.
Still crouched next to Noctis, Ignis laid his head delicately upon the arm of the chair. He felt so pathetically useless.
He wanted to pretend he had it all together. Like he wasn’t falling apart at the seams. Like he could make a plan out of this.
But he couldn’t.
It was all a lie. All the times he had comforted Prompto during the 10 years of darkness, saying to him ‘Noctis will return to us.’ All the times he had chided Gladio for his seeming lack of faith in their Prince’s reappearance. All the many, many times he told himself that there was another way.
It was a lie. He was lying to himself. He knew what Noctis had to do. He knew there was no stopping the plan the gods had set in motion.
This was fate.
This was inescapable.
Ignis felt a hand on the back of his exposed neck. The Prince’s surprisingly cold hand stroked gently just underneath his jacket’s collar. The touch was reassuring, gentle.
Noctis wiped his face with his free hand.
Ignis could hear the Prince’s glove rub across his bristly cheek. He allowed himself a small chuckle. Noctis had grown so much. He had truly become the King that his father — and Ignis — knew he was meant to be. But he still rubbed at his face as he did when he was a child.
When he was still the starry-eyed princeling who would make Ignis kiss every small wound he received after tripping down the stairs or tumbling through the garden. Little Noctis would rub his face and screw his eyes real tight as Ignis made sure he left no bruise unattended.
Noctis had grown, but he was still very much the same.
“I’ve made my peace.” Noctis started again. “Still… Knowing this is it, and seeing you here now…” His voice caught.
Prompto’s eyes were hot and he bit his lip to keep from all-out bawling. He knew if he started crying he would most definitely start full-out ugly-sobbing and he really didn’t want to ruin the moment like this.
Well, a part of him wanted to ruin the moment.
A part of him wanted to stop all the angst and go back to just… Laughing.
Only a couple of minutes ago, the four of them were all giggles, fun times and stories. Now… Prompto didn’t want to think about now.
But he knew it was important to Noct.
And he would do anything for Noct.
Gladio had to release his fists, as he felt his fingernails digging aggressively into the skin of his palm. A part of him wanted that pain. It felt real. The rest of this didn’t feel real, it didn’t feel right.
It wasn’t right that Noctis was having to go through all this. It wasn’t right how Noctis opened and closed his mouth, his eyes looking everywhere else but never meeting their eyes.
Gladio felt his own mouth drying just watching Noctis try to give words to the gut-wrenching dread that rested within him.
He wished he could do something. The growing feeling of helplessness was not something that was new to Gladio, nevertheless he found it undeniably revolting.
He remembered feeling that same powerlessness the day he fought Gilgamesh. Like he would never be good enough. Except this time, he couldn’t just muscle and brave his way through it. He couldn’t do anything about it.
None of them could.
It seemed everyone was holding their breath.
Noctis looked up, finally meeting their gazes. His eyes, a dreamy, gentle blue, were glimmering with tears. His face, framed with silky, dark hair and a rough beard was soft — tender in the light cast by the dying embers. His cheeks were a soft, rosy pink.
From what Ignis pictured in his mind, he imagined the man to be quite beautiful, although he couldn’t remember the finer details of his face.
Gladio and Prompto, however, thought simultaneously:
He’s so perfect.
The prince gasped softly a number of times, still somewhat speechless. His lips quivered childishly, timidly.
“It’s more than I can take.” A tear slid down his cheek. He tried to smile, tried to reassure them somehow. He had nothing else to offer.
He felt himself starting to cry again and he hid his face once more, bringing up his shoulders defensively. He grit his teeth. He had nothing else to say.
A long silence.
It was unbearably quiet.
Prompto’s heart was searing through his ribs.
“You’re damn right it is.” The gunman stared down at his hands, letting the hot tears trickle down his face.
Prompto’s right hand rested on Noct’s shoulder. He stood behind the Prince’s chair, waiting. He wanted to say something else. Something useful. Something cheery. Maybe even something dumb.
Just something.
Anything to break this suffocating stillness.
“It’s good to hear.” Ignis had regained his composure, sitting up a little straighter, clearing his throat for good measure.
Another pause.
The world was stopped, waiting for them. All the daemons watched, the creatures heard, the gods observed this little campfire encompassed by the eternal night. This little spot of light. The place where the Chosen One made his peace.
“Then why take it?” Gladiolus’ voice growled.
Noctis blinked in surprise. He brought his gaze up from studying the ground to look at the Shield’s face. The bigger man’s features were drawn tight. He looked stern and angry, and Noctis didn’t blame him.
If anything, wouldn’t this be incredibly hard for him?
The Shield, the ever-faithful protector of the King, ever since he was a little child who refused to persevere through practice or who screamed at anyone who would tell him the cold, hard truth.
The Shield, whose only duty in life, as he had been so rigidly taught, was to put the Prince’s life above his own, and defend him with all the strength he had. With all the bravery he could muster. With all the dexterity his limbs would give. With all the breath in his lungs. With every beat of his heart. With his everything.
And now, it was all being taken away. His charge, his purpose, his everything. Snatched away by the gods themselves.
Noctis knew it was hard on all of them. But he knew Gladio would go down fighting.
The raven-haired youth tried to compose himself before answering Gladio.
“What d’you mean?” His voice was small, mild.
“I mean if it’s more than you can take,” Gladio answered, voice steely, “you can share the load.”
Noct stared at him for a while, slowly recalling Cid’s words to him that day they spoke in the garage. He remembered his father’s words as they left the citadel. They had admonished him motherly, reminding him that he wasn’t alone, that his retinue could be trusted with anything.
They were his brothers.
They were more than that.
As much as Noctis treasured the three of them, however, this burden, this sacrifice , had been his duty since the beginning. The gods had ordained it. It wasn’t his choice anymore. His heart pinched awkwardly in his chest.
“Trust me,” he smiled at his Shield, “if I could lean on you guys for this one, I would.”
“You can.” Prompto managed to choke out.
Noctis’ heart twinged again. “I’m not sure you guys understand.”
“What don’t we understand?” Gladio’s voice wavered this time, and the Shield took a moment to calm himself before continuing. “So far, all you’ve said is that this has to happen, and that it’s more than you can take. That’s not a whole lot to go on, Noct.”
Noctis winced. Gladio was right. He was doing a terrible job at making this easy on them. That’s all he wanted, really. He wanted things to be simple and for life to be kind to them. They had already fought 10 years into the darkness, faithfully awaiting their King’s return. They had already suffered their own traumas throughout the journey. Noctis could recall each of them all too clearly.
Gladio’s pride.
Ignis’ sight.
Prompto’s security.
Luna…
They had given up so much for him. To what end? To have it all stripped away at the last minute, when they needed him the most? When he wanted them the most?
Would he be doing them a favor, banishing the daemons and restoring light into the world, if there was a broken city that still needed a King? Or would he just be making life more difficult for them, more painstaking, as they were thrown back into the city and forced to pick up the pieces?
Was he doing the right thing?
The doubt entered his mind for the first time.
When Bahamut had spoken to him, explaining more in-depth the details of the prophecy, the pieces seemed to fall into place in the Prince’s mind. He had been told ever since he was a child that he was special. Luna had explained to him when they were younger that the two of them had a duty. She was the Oracle sent to pray to the gods, and he was the Chosen One.
His father had told him how special he was, his servants had never let him forget how valuable he was to the Kingdom. Up until the final revelation from Bahamut, Noctis had thought maybe that’s how it was for every Prince.
Boy, was he wrong.
Instead, he was expected to sacrifice his life, end his own bloodline, in order to banish the daemons and restore the light to the world.
Some fairytale.
But at that moment, as he stared into Gladio’s glowing amber eyes, full of raging passion and determination, Noctis started to doubt.
Maybe he was just being selfish.
Maybe he was being a coward.
He didn’t want to die.
He didn’t want to leave them.
It didn’t seem fair.
It wasn’t fair.
Don’t be ridiculous, he told himself. The whole reason I’m supposed to be a sacrifice is to save a whole fucking Kingdom — No — The whole fucking WORLD. When I bring back the Light, it’ll save the lives of thousands of people. This isn’t just a sad prophecy, it’s a chance to save everyone, a chance to pay them back for everything they’ve given up for me.
Still…
“Noct.” Gladio’s voice broke into the Prince’s thoughts. Noctis had to refrain from jumping, worried he might startle Ignis.
“I don’t know.” Noctis said, having completely forgotten what Gladio was asking.
“Don’t know what?” Gladio retorted.
“I don’t know!” Noctis responded, a little sharper than he meant. He felt Ignis flinch a little, then the Advisor lifted his head off of the arm of the chair. “It’s not…” He trailed off.
Ignis was ‘watching’ the conversation through clouded eyes. “Noct...” his soothing, purring voice was a foil to Gladio’s harsh growls.
A small flicker of hope ignited somewhere in Ignis’ chest. What did Noctis mean? Why did he sound so uncertain? He knew there was no rebelling against the will of the gods... Right?
Prompto’s watery eyes were locked onto Noctis as he watched the Prince’s composure melt. He was going to start crying again.
Prompto really hated seeing him cry; he was so used to the raven-haired boy who would shrug off any insult or ignore the responsibilities that so often tied him down. Looking at how his expression softened and his lip quivered made Prompto want to squeeze the Prince tightly to his chest. Like he could hug Noctis’ problems away.
He really wanted to.
Noctis’ eyes felt like they didn’t want to cry anymore. They felt sore, his eyelids felt heavy. Every blink felt like lifting weights. Each tear that budded in his vision and unfurled to trail down his cheek seemed to burn more than the last.
He just wanted to lie down and sleep.
He wanted this to be simple. He just wanted to tell them everything would be alright, that they would be fine without him. They might even be better off, a part of him added. He was just making things more difficult.
It wasn’t too hard to see that Gladio was upset. Usually, that was a good sign that Noctis was being a pain in the ass. It was the same look that Gladio gave him whenever he would try to skip out on training, or whenever he forgot to attend a lecture. Like he was doing something wrong.
Again, doubt chewed on the back of his mind.
“Is this the right thing to do?” Noctis found himself whispering.
“What?” Gladio asked.
“This-” Noctis gestured in no particular direction. “-all of this.”
“You sacrificing yourself just ‘cause the gods said so?” Gladio chuckled a little - that deep earthy chuckle of his. “No, it’s not right.”
“Gladio,” Ignis spoke up. “He has made it very clear that he believes it to be his duty. If he has indeed received a revelation from the gods themselves, wouldn’t it be rather unwise to claim it’s ‘not right?’”
“No,” Gladio widened his stance. “The gods can eat my ass if they think that they can just suddenly show up and start telling Noct when and how he’s gonna die.”
Noctis hissed quietly, as if the conversation itself pained him. It probably did.
“Gladiolus-” Ignis began sharply. This wasn’t the way to do things.
“Don’t ‘ Gladiolus ’ me,” Gladio bit back. “You’re telling me you’re fine with this, Ignis? Like it’s just that easy for you?”
“Of course it’s not bloody easy,” Ignis came to his feet. His voice was venomous. “It was never meant to be easy, Gladiolus. He was chosen by the gods to be a sacrifice for the people, that doesn’t damn well make it easy, it makes it the right thing to do!”
“Does it?” Gladio retorted. “What ‘ magical law ’ says Noctis has to be the sacrifice? Can’t we just kill Ardyn and be done with it already?”
“It’s not our decision to make!” Ignis shouted as he prayed to the gods his voice wouldn’t break.
“Who says so?”
“The bloody gods , you dolt!”
Prompto felt like he was shrinking. He felt the hairs on the back of his neck prickle uncomfortably as the two older men argued. The louder their voices grew, the more he wanted to melt into the ground.
He scooted out from behind Noctis’ chair, leaning more to the right side as he tried to distance himself from the argument.
He didn’t know who he wanted to believe. Sure, he was glad Noctis was trying to talk to them instead of bottling everything up like he used to, but at the same time, he really really REALLY didn’t want Noctis to go through all hell and then just fucking die.
What kind of “divine prophecy” was that?
How was any of this fair?
10 years in the darkness…
10 years of fighting back the feeling of hopelessness and grief that threatened to overcome him.
10 long years of praying to the emptiness of the night: “Please bring back Noct. Please tell me he’s coming back.”
10 years without his best friend; without the person who brought them all together.
Without him…
Without him they had fallen apart. They would never admit it, not now, but a couple of months after Noctis had been snatched away from them, the three of them struggled. There was too much grief, too much blame being thrown around.
They were all hurting.
He remembered when Ignis and Gladio would fight - a lot like what had just happened.
It started with low, angry growls: flickers of disagreement. They each believed something fundamentally different.
Gladio seemed convinced that Noctis would never come back; Ignis clung desperately to the hope that he would. Gladio would say the advisor was wasting his life away, and Ignis would bite back, calling the Shield disloyal and unfaithful.
As the yelling escalated, Prompto would bite his tongue and shrink into the wall. What was he supposed to say? He didn’t know what to think. He was drowning within his own fears and grief, his throat stopped with doubt and hesitance.
It was the same now. The firelight illuminated Gladio and Ignis’ faces, their expressions bitter and intense. He thought maybe after a whole 10 years, they would be able to fix what had shattered in the darkness.
Maybe he was wrong.
The gunman was slung back into reality when he heard another voice — Noct’s — speak up.
“Stop it.”
His voice wasn’t tight from crying anymore, his throat no longer thick with tears. Prompto managed to look up at him.
The King had regained his sobriety, sitting straight-backed in his chair as his bright eyes locked onto his two retainers. He still had a few tears glimmering at the corners of his eyes, but his expression was somber, serious.
“Both of you,” he scolded, “what are you doing?”
Ignis had inclined his head towards Noctis, humbly listening. Gladio avoided his charge’s gaze. They both knew they had spoken out of line, that things weren’t changing no matter who won the argument. Still, they were both tense.
However, Prompto felt like he could finally breathe again. At least they’ve stopped fighting.
“This isn’t what I wanted. I think you know that. Gladio– ” He directed his attention at the Shield, beckoning him to make eye-contact. Gladio brought himself to look at him. “– you know I would never want to leave you guys again. After everything…” The Prince blinked away a couple of tears.
“Do you have to?” came Prompto’s small voice after a few seconds of silence. He had spoken without meaning to.
Another silence. Another heart-pinching silence.
Noctis couldn’t tell if he was tensing all his muscles, or if he was completely numb.
The quiet stretched on and on.
“‘m sorry.” Prompto’s voice sounded even smaller.
He quickly stared down at his hands. His focus immediately jumped to the barcode on his wrist. He regretted talking in the first place. He was probably just going to screw it all up, start another argument. He should’ve just shut up, or maybe he should’ve-
“Don’t be.” Prompto looked up just in time to see Noctis smile.
Prompto started laughing. He suddenly felt dizzy, so he knelt next at the right side of Noctis’ chair and laid his head defenselessly on the Prince’s lap.
His shoulders were heaving and he couldn’t tell if he was laughing or crying anymore. The line differentiating the two was blurry now.
His vision was blurry now, too.
Oh, he was crying.
Of course he was.
He buried his head further into Noct’s leg, trying to ignore the snot that dripped down his face. The gunman had to breathe out of his mouth, sniffling aggressively as he pushed down the guilt of ruining the moment. Noct’s cool hand rubbed the back of his neck gently, bringing some feeling of warmth back into his body.
Even though he had ruined the moment, even though he was ugly-crying and his nose and throat were burning-
It was worth it.
The soft, kind smile that Noctis had given him. He hadn’t realized how much he missed that smile. How much he loved that smile.
How long had it been since that night on the roof of the motel? That night, decorated by the pale moonlight and flickering lights of the city below, he had been rewarded with that same genuine, affectionate grin that reached all the way to the Prince’s dazzling eyes.
Or that day the Prince rescued him from Zegnautus Keep; Noct’s beautiful smile was filled with melancholy and affection as he grasped Prompto earnestly by the shoulder. He hadn’t said much then, but the emotion and kindness that was portrayed by that smile was all the gunman needed.
Was that smile really going to be taken from him again?
Prompto’s sobbing began anew as the thought flashed across his mind. Why was all of this happening? Why was it necessary? Who decreed this foul fate? Were the gods playing with them? Was this all a sick joke to them?
Digging through all these accusatory questions that infected his mind, Prompto found the one query that kept echoing and repeating like a mantra through his skull:
Am I going to be left behind again?
His breath snagged on something in his throat and he stopped breathing for a bit, the tears falling out of his wide eyes and onto the ground below.
He thought maybe his lungs would erupt and he could just die there and finally stop crying. Finally stop feeling the passionate anguish that wrenched his heart so.
Ultimately, he instinctively started breathing again, and consequently sobbed even louder.
Why couldn’t he just shut up?
He was making this difficult for everyone.
Surely Noct didn’t want to see him like this?
Why did he continue to selfishly cry when he knew Ignis and Gladio felt the same? And look at them, holding their tongues and looking all formal and professional.
I’ll always be the odd one out, won’t I? He thought to himself, with a bitter chuckle.
Noctis kept rubbing Prompto soothingly, trying his best to offer condolences he knew would never suffice.
Poor Prompto. Always so afraid of change.
Always afraid of being alone again. Noctis had told him once, that he wouldn’t have to be alone again. It was right after they finished highschool. It was a quiet night, full of pizza, videogames and cheap desserts that Prompto had brought from the gas station down the road. They had eaten too much food and were lounging on the couch, talking about whatever crossed their minds.
Noctis had looked him in the eyes and told him, somewhat half-heartedly, that he wouldn’t leave him. “Ever at your side,” he had said, his eyes half-lidded as he imitated Ignis’ accent.
He had laughed when Prompto referenced it, only a few years later, after being rescued from Zegnautus Keep. “Ever at your side,” he had said, his eyes, although tired and ringed with fatigue, were bright with passion. Noctis laughed, although it was quickly followed by a wave of nostalgia and hiraeth, so he promptly started crying.
He remembered Prompto fussing over him and worrying about making him cry.
I guess we’re even now , he mused to himself.
He curled some of Prompto’s golden locks around his fingers as he stared into the campfire. He felt the jagged breathing of the gunman, how his chest palpitated rhythmically along with his weeping.
His hair was soft, like chocobo feathers.
Gladio stood quietly, solemnly, like a statue. What was he supposed to say now? Was he just supposed to let this cruel fate play out?
His father had told him to defend the Prince with his life. To stand with him even if the world was crumbling away underneath them.
If mountains were to fall, Gladio was to catch them, lest the King blemish his face.
If the seas were to rise, it would be Gladio who would tame them, lest the King dirty his garments.
If all the wicked, cruel men of the world were to raise their armies and assault the Kingdom, Gladiolus, the faithful Shield of the King, would fight til his very last breath was ripped from his lungs.
He was to be invincible, unstoppable and determined.
Noctis was his charge. More than that, Noctis was his duty, his calling, his reason. His everything.
It had been dreadful when Noctis had been taken by the Crystal. Gladio was left with nothing but a vague hope that his King would return. Ignis had assured him there was nothing he could’ve done.
Was this the same?
Was there nothing he could do?
He could’ve never known that Noctis would get taken by the Crystal, but now?
Noctis’ fate was being waved in his face and there wasn’t a damn thing he could do about it!
“Godsdammit.” The Shield muttered.
Prompto was still sputtering into Noctis’ lap as the Prince looked up at him.
“What can you do?” Noctis smiled sadly.
“Exactly,” Gladio growled, “what can I do?”
Noctis bit his lip.
There was a lull as the three others listened to Prompto’s breathing start to even out.
Prompto murmured a tearful “sorry” once more as he sat up and rubbed his face until his cheeks were all red.
Noctis patted him on the shoulder a couple of times before letting his gaze fall to the ground again.
Ignis shuffled his weight from one leg to the other. Although he knew everyone needed their space, he couldn’t help but be somewhat annoyed by all the silence. Something needed to be said, although he couldn’t say what.
It dragged on for what felt like hours.
“Right,” Ignis’ voice had regained its sharpness. The other three looked at him, a bit startled. “I say we call it a night. It’s getting late.”
Gladio’s mouth hung open. How could he say shit like that, so calm and collected, while their entire livelihoods were snatched away by the gods themselves?
He was talking as if nothing had even happened.
“Iggy-” Gladio started.
“Gladiolus,” Ignis intervened, “that’s quite enough. It’s late.” His voice heralded finality and the Shield knew better than to argue with him like this.
Still, hearing everything Noctis had said… Would any of them really be able to sleep?
Ignis headed towards the tent and gracefully disappeared into the entrance. The tent made a couple more shuffling sounds, then it was quiet.
“Classic Iggy, amirite?” Prompto’s voice was still choked, but he laughed cheerfully.
“Yeah,” Noctis let an easy smile spread across his face.
Gladio huffed an agreement, although he muttered something about “classic bitch” before making his way towards the tent as well.
More shuffling, then silence.
And then there were two.
“...That went well.” Noctis’ voice was heavy with sarcasm.
Prompto chuckled, still feeling a bit numb. “I mean, what’d you expect?”
“Dunno,” Noct answered, “I guess…” He trailed off.
What had he expected?
He had just returned after 10 years of darkness to his closest friends who had been mourning and missing him like he was dead, only to tearfully inform them that it was his duty to sacrifice himself per the gods’ orders so that light could finally return to the world and the three of them would be left to pick up the pieces.
Man, I’m a shitty king , he thought.
“... You guess?” Prompto fished him out of his thoughts.
“I guess it was what I was expecting.” He finished.
“Mmm.” Prompto looked down.
The two of them existed together, under the featureless sky. The darkness suffocated all but their little light. Their breathing was quiet, both of their gazes locked on the ground as they tried to sort through their thoughts.
“What now?” Prompto didn’t bother trying to sound cheerful. He knew the gig was up. It’s hard to recover a sunshine smile after a full-out meltdown.
Noctis hummed in reply, still trying to mentally sort out everything that had just happened.
“Sleep, I guess.” The Prince cocked his head to the side as he shot a half-smile at Prompto.
The blond didn’t seem to be amused. “I guess.”
Noctis hissed. “C’mon, Prom,” he urged earnestly, “you’re not mad at me, are you?”
“No,” Prompto smiled slightly. “It’s just so hard, y’know?”
“Yeah, I know.”
They stared up at the dark, bland sky again.
“It’s just happening so fast.” Noctis whispered.
Prompto chuckled dryly. “Probably to make up for the 10 years that felt like 10 centuries.”
Noct cringed. “Oh riiight. Forgot about that.”
“Hm,” Prompto gave him a sarcastic look before dissolving into a quiet chuckle.
Noctis didn’t want to dredge up unpleasant memories from those dark years, but he thought he might try breaching the subject, just to make conversation. Anything to fend off the silence.
“Must’ve been hard, trying to find someone as handsome as me to take pictures of,” the Prince teased.
Prompto let out a breathy “haah” and looked down.
Shit.
“Seems pretty difficult to get some decent lighting around here too, huh?” Noctis felt like he should bite his tongue off.
Prompto had his hands on his knees staring down at the ground, his frame shuddering a bit.
Godsdammit–
“Prom, I’m sorry, I was just trying to– ”
Prompto let out the loudest laugh Noctis had heard in the few hours they had been together. Noctis blinked. The gunman laughed heartily, a real laugh that reached down into his gut. Noctis found a smile etching itself across his face as he watched his friend laugh.
“What?” Noct chuckled. Prompto’s merriment was contagious.
After a few more seconds of authentic giggles, Prompto was breathing normally again, clutching his side.
“Dude,” his smile was wide. “You are so bad at this!”
Noctis gaped at him. “Hey!” He reached over and punched the blond’s shoulder. “I was trying to find something to talk about! You weren’t helping much.”
“I know, I know,” Prompto giggled. “But really? Trying to make a joke out of the 10 years of darkness we’ve fought through is just poor taste.”
Noctis hissed again. “ Ehh shut up, I was trying, at least.”
“Now I know why you left the cheering-up to me.”
“Shut it!”