Chapter Text
Prompto is clenching nearly every muscle in his body to not show even an ounce of the nerves he feels. He is standing in front of the Ignis Scientia, advisor to Noctis Lucis Caelum, future Chosen King. And he, Prompto, is just some guy, trying to prove that he is worth something. Crownsguard openings for the Prince’s rotation are so few and far between, but this is what he has been working towards what feels like his whole life.
“Ah, Crownsguard Argentum. It’s a pleasure to finally meet you. Gladio has spoken well of you,” Ignis nods at the seat in front of the large dark desk. Prompto takes that as his cue to move. He tries not to immediately panic at the idea that Gladiolus, an Amicitia and Shield to Prince Noctis, had uttered his name when he wasn’t around.
Prompto sits slowly and the leather still groans a little under the weight of him. He tries not to wince.
“Good luck, Argentum.”
When he glances over his shoulder, Gladio gives him a wink. Prompto swallows and gives a small salute, two fingers at his temple.
Ignis clears his throat. Shit. He already fucked up—his salute was much too casual given the present company.
Prompto spins back around and the door closes behind him, leaving them both in an awkward silence. Ignis is focused on the manila folder in front of him, which Prompto only imagines is his entire life, laid out before the man who has his fate in his gloved hands.
“According to your personnel records—” Ignis finally speaks.
Prompto sits up a little straighter and curls his fists where they rest on his thighs.
“—it took you four years to graduate from trainee status instead of two years.”
“Yes, sir.” Prompto tries to fight the shake in his voice. He had expected this question, but all the practice in the world hasn't really prepared him for what it's like to have to answer it. “I had to get a job after high school, so I was unable to do the program full time. Once I became a Crownsguard though, I was able to work just for the Crown.”
Ignis studies him with sharp green eyes. He goes back to reviewing the paperwork and makes a note. “You worked in a photo studio?”
“As an assistant, yes. I didn’t take photos myself. Just helped keep things running smoothly, wrangled kids, things like that.”
Ignis hums, makes another note.
Prompto lets out a small sigh. He hopes Ignis doesn’t notice.
It’s not a lie, he did have to work. Jumping into Crownsguard training right after high school was great and all, and that he even got accepted into the program was a miracle. But he also had to eat. And pay rent. Utilities weren’t cheap, apparently. It had hurt a little…okay, a lot...to watch others move past him through the training and become Crownsguards, to move into the position he was fighting for a chance at.
But now he was here, being given a chance. He couldn’t fuck this up.
Ignis looks up at him once more. “It is unusual for someone with your experience to try for a posting with His Highness. Why do you want this position?”
At that question Prompto doesn’t catch himself in time. His hand moves up on its own, towards the letter he keeps in his pocket, and Ignis catches the movement, green eyes following the hand. Prompto tightens his lips and puts the offending hand over his heart instead. He knows how this looks— a punk kid of adopted parents with no notion of being connected to royalty, or caring about politics, wanting to join the prince’s guard could be hyper suspicious. He got it.
He just needed to tell the truth.
“It’s been my goal since I was young to be a part of his guard, sir. I want to protect him, to be someone he can depend on, to stand by his side no matter what.”
There’s a silence after he speaks, and he wonders if he said too much, sounded crazy, like one of those fanatics who obsess over Noctis and his role as the future Chosen King.
But he catches a small hint of a smile crossing Ignis’s lips. Prompto drops his hand.
"I understand you've chosen to specialize in firearms,” Ignis continues on, “which is an uncommon choice among the Crownsguard. What drew you to them?"
Prompto thinks about all the times spent in arcades, killing zombies with shitty plastic guns. He knows he is one of the best marksmen, Gladiolus had said so himself. But he finds it strange Ignis would ask about why guns.
“Just where I felt the most comfortable. I would rather be able to see the whole situation so I can best assess how to react. In close combat, you’re more focused on what’s right in front of you.”
Ignis folds his hands on the open folder in front of him. “Do you consider yourself a tactician, then?”
Prompto’s tongue sticks to the roof of his mouth. He has done his homework on Ignis. Ignis is the advisor to the prince, considered one of the best tactical Crownsguard ever, with higher marks than anyone else before him. Prompto’s panic is palpable. Does he say yes, and risk Ignis demanding he prove himself better than he? Or say no and risk losing everything he’s fought so hard for?
Prompto puts on one of his biggest smiles. “Just good with guns, sir.”
“And it seems you were best in class at marksmanship,” Ignis points out. Prompto puffs up a little because ya, he was, and ya, he is proud. Really proud.
Ignis continues, “In addition to guarding His Highness, you may be expected to interact with the nobility while you are on duty. What experience have you had at court?”
The question catches Prompto off guard. He is by all accounts a commoner, as a lot of the people he’s met in his training were young adults who decided not to go to university, or first generations of immigrant families looking to make a name for themselves. Hardly the most royal of people he could have as friends. Sure, they knew royal etiquette, but outside of the Citadel and out of their uniforms, they were all just a bunch of dumb kids.
He could go on about how most nobility also didn't have to go through the same process of training for different combat roles after basic training. Even in basic, those from noble families were on a separate fast track to various officer positions, and so there was really no way for Prompto to interact with them. But Prompto’s sure that complaining about privilege and favoritism to someone who is employed by the Crown would probably be seen as poor form. And he isn't a problem, he isn't. He just sometimes gets frustrated by the obvious gaps in the system. He assumes that’s pretty normal for a guy like him.
His high school was just a run-of-the-mill public school, no one of any sort of status attended it. Or if they did, he didn’t know it. He had kept to himself a lot, focused on his after-school activities of working out, running, getting himself ready to pass the test to join the Crownsguard.
But—this is clearly an important question. Prompto racks his brain trying to think of how he could spin this in a way that would appease Ignis.
“Does Shield Amicitia count, sir?”
Ignis raises an eyebrow. “No.”
Prompto curses inwardly. He has to prove he is competent here despite his upbringing. He won’t let that be what keeps him from his goal. “I haven’t had any direct experience, no, but I am familiar with etiquette of the Crownsguard, speak only when spoken to, etc.”
Ignis sets his pen down. “Then you are aware of the special requirements of being around Prince Noctis, I presume?”
Prompto smiles and tries not to bounce in his seat. He’s spent a lot of time studying up on the prince; questions about him would be way easier to answer than personal questions about himself. “Of course, sir.”
Ignis makes a motion with his hand as if asking him to go on.
Prompto clears his throat and lifts his chin. “Prince Noctis is the Chosen King, selected by the Crystal. As such, he must remain pure, and so no one except the king is permitted to touch him, so that he may save us from darkness.”
Ignis doesn’t immediately reply. Prompto starts to worry.
“Yes, that is correct. Well done. You do sound like a devout believer.”
The statement makes Prompto almost reel back. Not that there is anything offensive to the idea, but it’s more like he had never been religious in his life. The idea someone would think that of him is laughable.
“I just believe in the prince, and what he can do, is all. Don’t think I need to be religious for that, right?” Prompto resists the urge to fidget but he pinches his thumbs and forefingers together. “I respect the traditions of Insomnia and the Crown.”
Prompto hopes that makes sense. To him it’s not so much about religion as it is about accepting and upholding a tradition. The idea of a Chosen King was one from the first King of Lucis—to be able to serve during a time when such a king exists, it's pretty powerful. And for Prompto to potentially be within the Crownsguard during such an important time in history, considering his background, is a lot. He hopes maybe somehow, his story could inspire other kids like him.
Could be cool.
Ignis seems satisfied enough with that answer and goes back to the paperwork in front of him
“However,” Ignis speaks, and Prompto realizes he was zoning out. “There are some additional exceptions to this. For example, members of the Royal Family of Tenebrae are also permitted to be close to the prince, as they have already been chosen by the gods. There are others as well, in special circumstances, such as Shield Amicitia. But those are very specific considerations and purification must be done in order to allow for these cases. Do you understand?”
Prompto nods. It did make sense; having been around the Citadel for four years now he had picked up on such things, and he had seen the purification fountains in certain areas of the Citadel, especially nearer to the prince’s quarters. But he hadn’t been allowed near them and never had reason to use them.
He studies Ignis for a moment. “Are you one of the special circumstances as well, sir?”
He immediately snaps his mouth shut when he sees the way Ignis pauses. Ignis’s gloved hands curl on the desk, but Ignis just smiles softly.
“Not typically, no, unless Shield Amicitia requires my assistance. I spend a great deal of time in His Highness's presence as his chamberlain, but otherwise I am expected to adhere to the same restrictions as everyone else.”
“Oh, sorry, uh, sir.” Prompto winces and looks down at his hands. He takes a breath, hoping he hasn’t completely botched the whole thing with such an insensitive question. Ignis had looked almost...sad as he had answered.
“No harm done, Argentum.”
Prompto raises his eyes to see Ignis has gone back to reviewing his paperwork. “Being a guard on Prince Noctis’s rotation means an entirely different code of conduct. There are strict rules, uniforms, and processes that must be adhered to at all times. Do you have any issue with following the rules to the letter, Argentum?”
He shakes his head emphatically. He’s been on the straight and narrow since middle school, since he promised himself he would forge this path. He had never wanted to risk anything that could have left a mark on his record and ruin his future.
Ignis seems satisfied with his response. “Even though you are not to touch the prince, all Crownsguard in his rotation have to undergo a lighter version of a purification process before entering his quarters. You will also be required to wear a special uniform in his presence as well in order to cover your skin, should any physical contact accidentally occur.”
Prompto tries not to get too excited at the way Ignis is speaking, as if he has gotten the position.
Ignis is focused on the papers in front of him, reading lines Prompto can’t see. “During your final exams, you took a personality test. Your results show that you value friendships highest. Over family.” Ignis looks up. “Can you explain that?”
Prompto panics. He hadn’t thought anything he had said on that stupid test would amount to anything other than making sure he wasn’t a sociopath or serial killer or both.
He swallows hard and tries to stay cool. It’s not a big deal, lots of people don't get along with their families… “I was adopted very young. And while my parents make sure I’m taken care of, I guess I just. Never really had a family like in the traditional sense, you know? But I’ve had friends. And they were always there for me.”
Ignis’s expression does not give away if he answered that at all correctly. “Any hobbies?”
It’s a weird question, considering this is to just guard the prince. But. “Photography, mostly of landscapes and skylines, cool architecture.” He watches Ignis’s reaction closely, trying to see if he’s saying anything that the guy wants to hear. “And uh, video games, that's definitely like, my vice when I need to unwind.”
Ignis makes a few notes. Prompto imagines it’s something like what a loser and get him out of here immediately.
Ignis closes the folder and sets his pen down on the desk, then rises from his seat. “Thank you for your time, Crownsguard Argentum. It’s been a pleasure speaking with you.”
Prompto rushes to also stand. He isn't sure what the protocol is, here. Should he offer to shake Ignis's hand? Does he salute? Ignis is a member of the Crownsguard even though he is a chamberlain and—
Prompto opts to bow at the waist, hand over heart. “Thank you for considering me for this position, sir. It’s an honor to be here.”
He straightens up and turns on his heel before he can gauge whether or not he fucked up, opening the door and walking out without looking Ignis in the eye again. He catches sight of Gladiolus in the distance down the hallway, but he looks away quickly and heads for the exit. He pretends he doesn't hear the hushed shouting of his name.
Outside the gates, past all the guards and the fanfare and security and the feeling like he was being watched, Prompto lets out a long breath. It makes him a little dizzy to where he has to squeeze his eyes shut. He braces his hands on his knees.
Four years of training and he still wants to barf.
It is less about Ignis, really. Sure, the chamberlain has a reputation for being very protective of the prince, but that is his job.
Prompto’s fears mostly circle around whether or not Ignis thinks he is worthy enough to be around Prince Noctis. The idea that all this hard work, years of training in high school and then after, not going to college, not focused on anything other than this…
He sits on the nearest bench as a wave of nausea sweeps over him, the anxiety over the interview growing. Had he been too defensive? Too casual? Was there some protocol he completely missed?
Prompto feels the spiral coming and wills himself to stop letting the thoughts take over.
His hand once again lifts to touch the pocket in his jacket. This time, he pulls out the letter, kept in the same envelope since the day he received it.
It’s probably strange—okay, a little weird—to keep a letter from someone he never met for so long. But it acts as Prompto’s reminder of why he’s going through all this.
Lady Lunafreya had asked him, all those years ago, to find a way to befriend the prince.
It wasn’t an easy task, and she had to have known this. The prince had been hidden away from the public since he was a child. He hardly left the Citadel since he had been deemed the Chosen King. And yet somehow Lady Lunafreya had believed in Prompto, believed he was worth something more and could be someone in the royal inner circle.
He sighs and holds the letter to his heart. Though they’ve had other correspondences, this was the first. The one that set him on his path.
He wants to believe he’s done enough.
Ignis reads through his notes again, unwilling to get his hopes up until he’s finished reviewing them. It still bubbles beneath his sternum, threatening to overflow despite his attempt to evaluate the information impartially.
He isn’t the only one impatient with possibility. Only a few minutes after Argentum left, two sharp knocks sound from the door. Even though he knows exactly who it is, he still glances up when he calls out, “Come in.”
Gladio enters immediately and shuts the door behind him. “You didn’t scare him off, did you?”
“What gave you that impression?”
“He ran out of here like you’d set his hair on fire. Saw me and took off in the other direction,” Gladio says as he drops into the recently vacated seat. He plants his elbows on his knees and leans in conspiratorially. “Well? What’d you think?”
Ignis sweeps his notes back into his copy of Argentum’s folder. “I think,” he says slowly, carefully, “that you have a fondness for underdogs.”
Gladio makes a face, but he doesn’t argue with that assessment. “And?”
This is too important to needle Gladio about, so Ignis doesn’t continue teasing him. “Argentum was eager for the position but a little unpolished. How is he at long assignments? Can he focus?”
Argentum had tried to conduct himself neutrally, but Ignis still caught his sighs, the overenthusiastic nodding, the way he pressed his fingers together to try to keep them still. Not bad, necessarily, but not ideal. Habits that could be overcome with enough work.
“Put the kid on an assignment, and he focuses just fine,” Gladio insists. “When he’s got a target, he gets shit done. You had his marksmanship scores in that folder, yeah?”
“They are remarkable.” Ignis can admit that much easily. Argentum is a versatile marksman, in fact, not just with standard firearms but with sniper rifles, a long-range specialty very few in the Crownsguard aspire to. One that could be fitting for someone who is meant to keep watch on dark and distant threats.
Gladio frowns at him. “So, what’s the holdup? You find something that doesn’t fit?”
“I did not,” Ignis says. “If it were simply a matter of filling the post, I would prefer someone with more experience as a full-time member of the Crownsguard. As there are more pressing considerations—” he taps the closed file “—I think it would be unwise to pass over Argentum simply for that.”
Gladio eyes him, and Ignis resists the urge to roll his eyes. It would be childish for one, and secondly, he cannot blame Gladio for his eagerness. They cannot be so caught up in verifying every detail beforehand that they miss their chance. “I’ll extend the offer to Argentum in the morning.”
“That’s great,” Gladio says. He breaks easily into a smile and stands back up. “Even if he’s not the one, Argentum’s still got the makings of a good soldier. Wouldn’t mind if he ended up sticking around.”
“Are you headed home?”
“Yeah, you need anything before I go?”
Ignis shakes his head. “No, I’m fine. I just need to get Noctis settled this evening.”
“I’ll leave you to it,” Gladio says. “See you tomorrow, Iggy.”
Ignis makes a brief stop at a fountain to purify his hands and mouth before he takes a secure elevator to one of the higher levels of the Citadel, far above the areas available to the public or even most of the Crown servants. He heads for the smaller, private dining room that the king and Noctis use when they share a meal together.
But by the time he makes it there, the door is open, the guards are gone, and a uniformed member of the housekeeping staff is wheeling out a large metal serving cart. She pauses when she spots him and ducks her head in a quick bow. “Lord Scientia.”
Ignis glances briefly through the doorway and sees that another staff member is already wiping down the table. “When did His Highness leave?”
“About half an hour ago, I believe. You just missed His Majesty.”
The discussion did not go well, then. Noctis didn’t send him a message, and that is a small source of concern. “Thank you,” Ignis says, and he heads back for the elevator at a brisk walk.
He keys in his personal security code and takes a moment to gather himself as the elevator takes him even higher. The doors open onto the floor for Noct’s quarters, and the Crownsguard stationed around the elevator offer him a set of smart salutes.
“Sir,” says one.
“His Highness?” Ignis asks.
“His rooms,” says the other.
Ignis gives them a parting nod and hurries down the hallway to the door. There is another fountain midway between the elevator and the door, which Ignis is briefly tempted to use. Instead, he goes straight for the door to Noct’s suite, knocks on it, and waits.
Crownsguard Valeria opens the door after a moment, then opens it wider to let him through. She is a wiry middle-aged woman with gray-flecked hair and a professionally blank expression. Once Ignis steps inside the entryway, she shuts and locks the door behind him and quietly murmurs, “His Highness retreated to his office.”
“Thank you,” Ignis says. He removes his shoes and replaces them with his pair of slippers. “Do you know how the dinner went with His Majesty?”
Valeria shrugs. “I didn’t hear any raised voices, but His Highness left rather abruptly. He’s been in the office ever since.”
Ignis withholds a sigh. “As you were.”
Valeria nods and resumes her post at the door. Ignis heads down the long entrance hall and glances briefly at the alcove holding Noct’s private fountain. Then he turns left, toward the office. He knocks once on the double doors, says, “Your Highness” in warning, and lets himself inside.
Even from behind, Ignis can tell Noctis is agitated. The prince has his hands shoved into the pockets of his dress slacks, and his sleeves are unbuttoned and rolled up above his elbows. His suit jacket is dangling half off one of the couches in the sitting area along with this tie. There’s a defensive set to his shoulders for all that he is gazing out the large window on the back-office wall. From this angle, all Ignis can see through the window is the purple-tinted glow of the Crystal’s light against the night sky.
Ignis closes the doors carefully and repeats in a quieter tone, “Noctis. Are you all right?”
One shoulder lifts up in a bristling sort of shrug. “Nothing’s changed,” is all Noctis says, but it is enough for Ignis to hold back a wince. “Dad still won’t agree.”
“A new tactic, then. Or perhaps—”
Noctis turns sharply. His expression is thunderous, though his frustration seems as much directed inward as it is at his father. He still won’t quite meet Ignis’s gaze. “What other arguments are there that we haven’t tried yet? I’m twenty-two—older than Dad was when he went beyond the Wall, and my magic is stronger than his was at this age.” Noctis pulls a hand out of his pocket so he can run it through his hair. When he speaks again, there’s a subtle tremor to his voice. “The Ring is killing him, Ignis. I could help. But he won’t—”
Ignis steps into the space Noct’s cut-off silence leaves behind. He offers what hope he can. “Gladio found another candidate. I interviewed him this evening.”
“You did?” The uncertainty in Noct’s expression carves a slice out of Ignis’s heart.
“I’ll be offering him the position in the morning.”
“Do you think he’s the one?”
Ignis chooses his words carefully. “We’ve found nothing that contradicts the characteristics of the third Swordsworn.”
“You don’t know, then,” Noctis says, and the bitter tinge to his disappointment has Ignis moving even closer, until he is directly in front of Noctis. Close enough that either of them could reach out.
Neither of them do.
“No,” Ignis admits, and he does not remind Noctis that he is the one who has to ultimately make that call. He cannot know, until Noctis does. “But Gladio will continue his search through each group of Crownsguard recruits. We will find your third, Noct. The Cosmogony says—”
“It doesn’t say that Dad has to die first before passing the Ring on!” Noctis says, voice brittle. “If I can get him to share the burden soon, maybe he’ll actually make it to fifty-five. Queen Sylva let Luna take on the work of the Oracle outside Tenebrae. I could take the Ring, or even just the Kingsglaive, from him.”
They’ve begun to rehash old arguments, and that means Noctis is on the brink of a downward spiral. Ignis needs to intervene. “Noct,” he says, wanting to placate him. “Gladio and I want that as well. We’ll find your last Swordsworn. Trust us, please.”
The please is what finally gets Noctis to look up at him. Ignis’s heart aches at how vulnerable he looks. Noct’s eyes are dark, stormy with worry and fear for his father. Ignis would do whatever he could to clear them, if only there was a solution.
“Ignis,” he says. His throat works for a moment, and Ignis glances down. Noct’s right hand shifts, fingers curling loosely into a fist and then straightening out.
He won’t force Noctis to ask in words. The motion itself is question enough. Ignis reaches out carefully, ignoring the way his heart begins to race, and turns his gloved hand so his palm is open, inviting.
Noctis reaches for Ignis’s hand quickly; their fingers curl around each other. Ignis hopes the warmth of his palm reaches Noct’s skin through the leather, hopes that Noct can’t feel how his pulse has spiked. Hopes that his earlier purification will make this a small transgression in the eyes of the Astrals and the Crystal.
Ignis has never been good at telling Noctis no. Perhaps he should be better. But he cannot deny Noctis the smallest of comforts: a soothing, human touch. He couldn’t bring himself to do it when they were younger, and he certainly cannot do it now that he is in love with Noct.
“I am expected to adhere to the same restrictions as everyone else.”
His earlier conversation with Argentum on the topic had gone sour with every hypocritical word. Ignis locks away his own guilt on the subject and reminds his fearful heart that Gladio has left the Citadel for the evening, that Valeria would never enter the office without knocking first. That no one will catch him breaking his own vows for Noct’s comfort. That the burying of his own impossible feelings is justice for the guilty pleasure he takes from being the one Noct asks for this quiet, simple reassurance.
Noctis squeezes his hand tighter, then loosens his grip. Ignis pulls away and tries not to think about diminishing Noct’s divine light or how quickly his heart is still beating.
“Okay,” Noctis says. His voice has smoothed out a little, and Ignis feels a guilty sense of relief. “I’ll trust you, Specs.”