Work Text:
Smoke wafts skyward, embers from the roaring fire pit swirl in their gentle climb to greet their flickering heaven-bound cousins plastering the night sky. Amber hues mingle with the fluorescence of additional lanterns placed somewhat strategically about the haven, bathing the usually cool toned slab in cascades of warm light.
Not long ago, around the very center of their makeshift campsite, they had placed their respective chairs - just close enough to the flames to feel its warmth, but also far back enough to not be bothered by the smoke should the breeze decide to change direction. Now, however, the chairs were empty, save for one.
Noctis settles himself into the chair on the outermost edge - he always manages to sit closest to the tent, even if he has no plan to turn in at what one (Ignis) would consider a decent hour. That much was clear by the phone perched dangerously on the arm of his chair, just behind the bend of his elbow.
Across from him, Prompto has settled himself on the stone floor, lingering closer to the fire. He is careful when he moves to tuck his legs inward, crossing them at the ankles in a sort of makeshift table so he can better rest his elbows over his knees while cradling his meal carefully with gloved hands. The two have found a strange sort of ritual in their evening conversations, taking bites of their coveted food between bouts of jokes and chatter, all the while pinballing from topic to topic.
Somehow, though, they will finish their meal before it grows cold.
They always do.
Across the campsite, Gladio has forgone his jacket, full tattoo on display as he pushed through his evening workout regimen. To help him sleep better, he claimed once when asked, despite the fact the mountain of a man slept sounder than a rock regardless. With one arm tucked over the small of his back, he lowers himself to be completely level with the rubble beneath. He holds position for a few moments before pushing back up and repeating the motion. There is a slight plink with every repetition as the skull and bone chain attached to his belt taps rhythmically against the stone like a counter.
Nearby, Ignis checks the burner stove is set to the proper level so as not to burn the remainder of the stew he had prepared - mostly meat and beans, but he snuck a few veggies in tonight, a secret he would take to his grave. When he was certain it could rest without his full supervision, he tucks the remaining ingredients back into the paper bags and corks the bottle of red cooking wine.
His eyes catch the pair of bowls and utensils when he places the bottle back down. Humming low and quiet, he decides they can wait to be cleaned until the others are done - if they wanted a second serving, there was no sense in doing the dishes twice.
A small side step is all he needs to stand before the large red cooler he uses to store his more finicky ingredients. Leaning forward, he gives a slight tug at the handle to pull it away from his prep station table, turning it just so that he can sit with his back to the elevated lip of rock and keep the campsite in full view. He was careful not to bump the cooler corner against the lower shelf where he had nestled two potions for emergency use.
While it wouldn’t be a huge loss, it was still an accident he preferred to avoid.
Straightening, Ignis takes up the tin thermos he prepared for himself before perching on the cooler’s lid and propping one leg over his knee. He rests his free arm atop his thigh, bringing the mug to rest against his lips before inhaling deeply. The smell of freshly brewed Ebony greets him, the aroma nutty and filled with the promise of decadence. The steam curls upward and fogs his glasses briefly with its familiar swirls.
A single sip is enough to begin to warm his bones in the chill of the night air.
It is a rare moment for Ignis to take time to sit back and simply observe. Had they put themselves up in a hotel room for the evening, he imagines he would set to work at a desk or table to have a plan for the next week, creating makeshift rosters of hunts he had seen on flyers about the nearby towns, or preparing lists for their next trip to the shops and markets. Or perhaps, he would catalogue the scraps of the treasure map they had a knack for finding every so often.
Not to mention, there were still perhaps a handful or so royal tombs that needed to be found with weapons for Noctis to obtain and fuse into the Armiger.
Between their ever growing list of tasks and the MagiTek engines tailing them, it was hard to find a pocket of time for Ignis to let his shoulders slack and his jaw unclench. His Prince was depending on him and who better to steer him in the proper direction than the Royal Advisor?
Ignis draws another sip of Ebony, letting it sit on his tongue for a moment to savor its deep, rich flavors before swallowing, reveling in the warmth that blooms in his chest like summer. His gaze draws upward over the rim then, just enough to see Prompto bob forward in a burst of excitement, spoon bouncing in his hand with the movement. The blond’s smile is bright like the fire beside him when he laughs.
It’s infectious, Ignis thinks, as Noctis leans back with a laugh of his own.
Prompto continues his chattering through the remainder of both their remaining giggles, his smile somehow growing ever wider as he plows ahead with whatever the punchline to this joke or story must be, stopping only for a bite of stew - apparently breathing takes a back seat.
Noctis snorts around his own mouthful; Ignis only rolls his eyes and smiles down into his mug as he watches the Prince and his childhood best friend carry on as though nothing had fallen apart around them. As if, in this moment, the burden of expectation did not weigh heavily on their minds, hearts and shoulders.
They were just two friends enjoying a meal.
Gladio grunts softly from his corner of the campsite, catching Ignis’ attention. From his perch on the cooler, he can see the light sheen of sweat collecting on the older boy’s arms, back and shoulders. It won’t be long before the tips of his hair will begin to plaster themselves to the nape of his neck.
Ignis makes a mental note they book a hotel in the coming days for bathing and laundry, as they all would need it.
Himself included.
But for now, Ignis simply lifts his thermos and allows himself the small luxury that has been afforded him. Tonight, the four of them were not the Royal Retinue - half on the run and half on their way to Altissia - with burning desires to reclaim their home and right what had been wronged. They were simply four friends at a pit stop on their haphazard road trip, enjoying one another’s company and making memories every step of the way.
And it was during times like these, Ignis realizes as he swirls the remaining coffee around in the bottom of his mug, that he is at ease. Tranquil. Somehow, in the midst of the chaos of the world…
He is content.
And he would trade these moments for no others.