Chapter Text
"So, is being a Shield like a family tradition?"
Noctis shot him a wary look over the table but didn't stop to loudly slurp his slushie. Gladio's movements briefly paused before he raised an eyebrow at him and bit into his enormous sandwich.
"Not...really?"
Ok, did he ask something stupid?
"Really? I thought with your dad being the King's Shield and you being Noctis'..."
"Clarus is my father's Advisor."
“The Amicitia clan has always been close to the royal family but we’ve mostly been bodyguards or Council members,”Gladio supplied. “King Mors appointed him as temporary Shield when King Regis came back from his initiation tour, but it lasted only a few weeks.”
"And Gladio isn't my Shield," Noctis cut in before sending the darkest version of his death glare that Prompto has ever seen towards Gladio. "Never will be, if I can help it."
Prompto could feel the mood souring faster than meat left out of the fridge at the pic of summer.
"So, who was it then?" He asked, hoping for a distraction.
"Hugh, actually I can't remember his name but he was a friend of dad's." Noctis's bad mood evaporated as quickly as it had surfaced. "Dad told me he got hurt in Altissia and he chose to stay."
There was something slightly guarded in his tone, meaning there was a story to be told. Prompto chose not to push it further. He had long learned some stories were better voiced between four walls, especially if historians wrote books about your bloodline.
"Wait...so who's guarding him now?"
"Huh?"
Bewildered looks were fixed on him.
"What?"
Their waitress chose that moment to appear with the bill, and Prompto dropped the subject in favor of fighting Gladio over splitting it in half.
The conversation slipped his mind by the time they emerged from the subway station and arrived at Noctis' apartment, replaced by the now usual feeling of dread sloshing in his stomach along the smoothie he drank earlier in the afternoon. He walked a few steps behind Gladio and Noctis with the distinct sensation of being a prisoner walking the green line, despite his friends banter. The day had reached that time between late afternoon and early evening, which meant the risk of Ignis being in Noctis's apartment was at their highest probability rate.
This shouldn’t have been an issue, except Ignis, for some reasons, hated him.
Or, Prompto himself could write a ten-feet long list of reasons why Ignis might hate him. The problem was, he didn't know which of them specifically had triggered such ire from the man towards him. It didn't matter what Noctis argued to convince him otherwise, Prompto was pretty sure no one received the ‘Ignis-Special-Cold-Shoulder treatment’ like he did. And he had proof.
Since day one, Ignis has never smiled at Prompto. Not directly. At his and Noctis’ antics maybe. Astrals forbid if Prompto tried to chat him up, too. Whenever he ventured in the kitchen, his attempts at small talk ended up being shut down by short and concise answers.
Which could have been interpreted as lack of interest from Ignis’ part, except the man was the ‘King of Diplomats’ (insert Noct mocking voice here). Even the Prince’s most fervent admirateurs were shut down kindly and with a polite smile as a goodbye whenever they tried to bribe Ignis to get some information. Prompto was at least sure of that fact, since half of the girls of their class attempted to get Noctis’s phone number through Ignis since the beginning of this school year.
But Prompto? If Ignis spared a glance his way, it remained expressionless at best, disapproving at worst. The same glare one would spare at a spiderweb situated too high one the ceiling. One would remove it, but getting out the stool to get rid of it took too much effort.
As expected, Ignis was standing behind the counter when they passed the threshold of the royal apartment. He welcomed his two friends and acknowledged Prompto with a formal greeting.
"You will find lasagna for tonight in the fridge. I added a note with the instructions for the oven."
"Yeah, thanks Specs. Do you stay for dinner?"
Prompto took his time to undo his laces so he could pretend he had a good reason not to take part in the conversation. He could guess what Ignis was going to answer already, because Ignis never stayed whenever Prompto spent the night.
"I'm afraid I can't," Ignis smoothly replied, as per Prompto's predictions. "I have prior commitments."
"OK." Prompto tried very, very hard not to wince at the disappointment peeking through Noctis' flat tone. He had once confessed missing spending time with his oldest friend. His Advisor had supported him during hard times and they shared many interests, but between Ignis super busy schedule and Prompto stealing most of Noctis' free time, Ignis had few occasions to hang out with Noctis as they used to.
He didn't know how to fix it. On one side, guilt submedged him whenever he thought of the distance his presence created between the advisor and Noctis, but failed at seeing what he could do to reduce the gap. On the other side, he kind of wanted to yell at Ignis to remove the big stick he had in the butt and stop avoiding him like the plague. It was not Prompto's fault if the man acted like a child. Maybe he could just grow some balls and just tell how much he hated Prompto in the face, instead of finding an excuse to escape the room whenever he stepped in.
"Remember we have the repetition for the Gifting ceremony tomorrow afternoon at four. I will come to pick you up."
"Sure thing. Wait wasn't that supposed to be at six?"
"Lord Almaticia arrange His Majesty's schedule so we could drop by for tea." Noctis visibly perked up at the news. A phone rang and he glanced at the screen before adding: "Now I believe this is my cue to go. Gentlemen, a good evening."
Gladio ended up leaving with Ignis, the two men chatting about some book Gladio was currently reading, and Prompto let himself drop on the couch.
"So, what's the plan? Lasagna, chemistry and Assassin's Creed?"
"More like chemistry, lasagna and Assassin's Creed, otherwise we will never get any homework done."
It was the right call, since the instructions Ignis had left proved to be to actually cook lasagna and not just reheat it, so they spent the extra forty-five minutes reviewing their work and correcting their rushed answers.
"Hey," Noctis started suddenly, "about earlier..."
"Hum?"
"You know, about my dad's first shield." Noctis had stopped erasing whatever doodles he was drawing in the margin of his textbook and wass now looking at Prompto.
"Actually the imperial army found out they were in Accordo and went after them, but his Shield was too injured to flee back to Insomnia. An ally hid him, and when he got better he liked the city so much he decided to stay, so he kind of became an underground ambassador between Lucis and Accordo."
"Oh, that's...nice. That he survived, I mean. Not that he got injured," he quickly added. Noctis was staring at him. His face betrayed no expression but his eyes held a strange gleam Prompto couldn't decipher. As if Noctis wass waiting for him to comment.
Was he supposed to? Was Noctis expecting him to say something about his father having to flee? His heart squeezes a little his chest when he thinks Noctis is still expecting Prompto to have that kind of reaction. He thought he knew better by now, being a close friend for more than a year.
But, after all, Noctis had heard people spitting snarky comments about Regis and lost battles all of his life. One could hardly blame him to expect the worse, if only by force of habit.
"The King's Shield is the only position that can be freely refused," Noctis kept going before he could think of a reply," because usually the only way to 'step down' from the position is by dying while protecting the King or when the King dies. We always talk about the King's Shield, but in reality it's the King's Shields. "
"Oh."
For a moment Prompto was at loss at what to say with that kind of information. With Lucis being at war, he knew the dangers looming over the royal family, having heard about several of them by his friend's mouth. Stories that didn't make it to the public; stories involving daemons or kidnappers; stories about close calls and injuries not healing right. He even remembered being denied Sundays to hang out because Noctis had to attend funerals. Until then, he had never realized how unlikely it was for the Shield to survive the King's full reign.
Noctis' rebuttal at Gladio being his future Shield suddenly made much more sense. Never before had he wondered what the position entailed for the one who took it, and he felt awed thinking what it meant for Gladio to wish for this job.
Noctis was still looking like he was waiting for a specific reaction, or maybe some intelligent words.
"Whoa, Gladio really likes you like a brother!"
That exhorted a suspiciously wet laugh from Noctis. The timer went off, saving his friend's nonchalant act.
"Finally, dinner!"
"Yeah, dinneeeer! I'm starving!"
They dropped the subject while Noctis went to retrieve the food and honestly, Prompto was happy they did. He needed time to digest that kind of earth-shattering information.
That, and he couldn't wait to dig into Ignis's lasagna. For all asshole he was, the guy surely could cook like a five-stars chef.
Things turn for the worse three weeks later on Friday night.
The bags of chips on his lap remained untouched. Fingers gripped tight on the remote, Prompto couldn't look away from the news playing in the loop.
'Prince Noctis and his retenue attacked outside the wall.’
Prompto usually didn’t watch TV in the living room. It was too lonely when his parents were gone. He had his own TV in his room anyway, which he mostly used to play video games. But Noctis had insisted Dawn of the Future's graphics were too beautiful and that he would miss the best part of the game on his small screen, so Prompto had hooked his system up in the living room.
He scrambled to his phone, screamed in frustration when his trembling fingers made him miss the combo to unlock his screen twice in a row.
He dialed Noctis's number first.
He let it ring four times before trying for Gladio's. If Noctis was hurt, which he was according to the news, he wouldn't be able to answer his phone.
When Gladio didn't pick up, he tried for Ignis. No better luck.
Texts start flowing in. Classmates who know how tight his relationship with Noctis was. Alerts for incoming phone calls kept showing up and interrupting him in the text he was typing to Noctis.
"Leave me the fuck alone!"
In the next two hours, the Citadel went into lockdown. The following press conference barely provided any information. Only that a team sent to clear a patch of monsters outside the wall, which Noctis was joining as part of his combat training, got ambushed and that a Draconian Code was engaged.
It was the start of a long wait.
No one attempted to contact Prompto, but fortunately he had been sufficiently briefed in the past year to know what he was expected to do. He turned off his phone, closed the door and only opened it to welcome his parents back.
He attended school on Monday and stayed in his corner until classes were over, turning away everyone who tried to get any information from him. He wished they could all just go away. Every question asked was a question plaguing him at night, and for which he didn’t have answers..
His mother excused him from school when she saw how that single day messed him up.
"It's the last week before the holiday, anyway," he heard her dismiss the Principal over the phone. "Whatever he misses, he will easily catch up when the school starts again. I am confident things will have quiet down by then."
Words couldn’t express how grateful Prompto felt to have his parents at home. They had rushed back the instant they received the news, his mother fussing over him at every chance she got. They both went the extra mile to keep him entertained, showing him their latest works, enrolling him to help renovate the house, ensuring his mind and his hands always were occupied.
"Don't worry, Promi, everything will be fine in the end," his mother kept promising with a kiss on the forehead, cupping his jaw. "When everything is over, you will turn back and laugh at it all, I promise."
He wanted to believe her. Badly.
But every time the words passed her lips, he could see how she avoided his gaze. They both knew the last time the Citadel went into lockdown, his mother had lost her first husband. Prompto never had the chance to know him, since she had adopted him five years after, and by then she had already been dating his father.
Her words of comfort sounded empty, yet he clinged onto them like a lifeline, pretending to ignore how none of his calls were returned.
Ignis called on their fixed line ten days after the debacle.
"I am calling with only good news to share," Ignis said as preamble. He sounded utterly exhausted, if Prompto was honest, even if some warmth peeked through his usual, unflappable tone.
"Noctis's fife is no more in danger." Prompto breath stuttered, and he seriously had to hold the sob threatening to pass his lips out of sheer relief.
"The Citadel will hold a Press Conference regarding his health and the circumstances of the attack this evening. I was hoping to tell you more in person, if you're amenable?"
"Y-Yes, please! When can I meet you?"
"I am off duty until further instructions, so whenever you can spare the time will be fine." After a moment of silence, he added: "If you have no means of transport, we can meet at your place."
Prompto blinked at the receiver. Ignis, who adamantly refused to step into Prompto's house whenever he dropped Noctis, willingly coming by? He was almost tempted to say yes, if only to test if the man would be as uncomfortable as Prompto imagined he would be.
But Ignis also was willing to meet face-to-face to tell him the full story that - Prompto already knew - would not be shared to the public. Prompto had honestly believed he would have just gotten a call, or even just a text.
"Thanks for the offer, but I think it's better if we meet elsewhere. Just let me know where."
"My place then, if you don't mind. I will text you the address."