Work Text:
“Ignis, can we pull over?”
The moment the king had issued his command, Gladio stuck his bookmark (a folded-up pamphlet advertising the chocobo post) between the pages and flipped his book shut. Ignis sounded off his confirmation as he switched on the hazard light and veered carefully to the side of the lane.
“Seriously, Noct? Weʼre almost at the outpost!” Prompto complained when he nudged the door open, never one to enjoy some trekking out of schedule, least of all under gray clouds rolling in with the smell of a storm.
“Found a stranded car,” was Noctisʼ only explanation as he stumbled out. “Iʼll be just a minute!”
“Noct!” With his arm behind Promptoʼs seat, Ignis had tried to catch the younger man with the sharp edge of his voice but was left to frown at his absence. “Take your jacket with you, itʼs about to rain!”
“I got it, I got it.” Gladio grabbed the black thing off the seat, then, on his way out, leaving Ignis and Prompto to deal with the doors so he could hurry over to the king. He caught him while he was still rooting around their trunk for the repair kits they stocked up on, giving him enough time to lay the fabric over his shoulders like a cape before Noctis ignored him for the chunky green car blinking its tail lights at them. Like a cry for help.
Overhead, the skies were the pearly kind of white, and the road had a look of being washed off even when the clouds had yet to burst. He could practically taste the Vesperpool from the wind pulling at his own jacket. The dense flora, the wet rocks, the fish which seemed to leave their mark on the very air over the lake.
Noctis engaged briefly with the poor driver scratching his head in shame. For a guy who needed to work on his social skills, among others, his confidence with strangers turned out to be skyrocketing. It figured all he needed was a little encouragement from his friends and the people he helped out to see the effect of his kindness, the difference it made.
Gladio caught himself smirking as the younger man shrugged and offered the kit. The back door opened up in a surprise twist of events, just as the driver was about to take the proffered help—
Shit.
“Hey!” He didnʼt mean to bark with his trainerʼs voice when he dashed for the trio, but the ringing of his nerves was so loud, he thought he was worried that he wouldnʼt be heard over them. Noctis whirled at him in wide-eyed shock as his hand instinctively tugged him backwards by his shoulder so Gladio could put himself between king and countrymen. The back door pulled itself shut in a panicked heartbeat.
Just then, everything seemed to come to a grinding halt when Gladio finally recognized what had been about to happen. The grasshopper green car in question was an old make, muddy along its sides and the back as if it had just been racing down the dirt track. Its hood was down, and he could detect no heat coming from the metal, as if theyʼd been parked there for the longest time. There was a face peering at him behind dark-tinted windows, the stranded driverʼs face was pinched as if by a bitter taste in his mouth.
Gladio breathed out, pushing his senses to the limits as he waved Noctis back…then gestured him over again so he could take the repair kit from him, keeping his eyes on the suspicious stranger. From the dimming skies came the Fulgurianʼs rumbling step.
“Hey, skyʼs about to open up.” He risked a glance at Noctis who frowned at him, half in warning, half in anxious uncertainty. “Go wait in the car. Iʼll finish up quickly.”
There was every intent in the king to protest his orders. Hard-set jaw, a full-blown glare ready to match the incoming storm.
He lost. Whatever he would have said, he was only king but Gladio was his Shield. There was no way he would have been allowed to linger on in the current state of things.
Gladio pulled his brows briefly as he gave him a subtle nod, asking him to obey. Be a bro, as it were.
Noctis graced his request with a surly huff before he turned back and marched to his friends, both of whom stood in rapt attention to the unfolding plot.
Gladio breathed again, cold water slowly trickling down along his back as he finally returned to the dark-looking driver and handed him the kit. “Hard times,” he said, trying for a little small talk to keep the beasts at bay. “Wouldʼve wanted to keep him in bed but we gotta work to eat.”
“That bad, huh?” The beast took up his cue with the kit. He gestured to the Regalia. “Nice car, though. You bring that around for work?” Damn. Figured theyʼd have an eye for that detail.
Gladio pushed out what he hoped was a haughty air, tossing his head back to his friends. “Yeah,” he said after a moment, clearing his throat to presume disaffection. “Empire stuff.” That was a dare coming from him.
From where he stood, he watched closely as those muggy features opened up gradually to a look of careful alarm. By the shift in his foot, Gladio could tell heʼd been about to glance backwards to his hidden friend. As if to ask him, What now?
Gladio inhaled deeply, hearing nothing except for the racing pulse in his ears. That low thunder that came with the slightest flash may as well have been his own heart.
He felt the first drop of rain on his cheek, then, as did the stranger. The man made a show of searching the heavy clouds for the errant drizzle.
As it came on steadily, he finally found his excuse to leave, nodding hastily to Gladio before he escaped to the driverʼs seat.
And sped off, everything in perfect working order. Dammit, he was right.
Gladio finally allowed himself to exhale loudly for the close shave. He started back to his friends.
Stopped in his tracks as soon as he caught the look on Noctisʼ face. Round eyes, lips parted, brows tight. Betrayed? Was that how he felt?
His broken expression turned bitter. Noctis whirled sharply to the car and all but tore the door open. The angry slam that followed startled Prompto who stood fidgeting by his seat.
Gladio snarled under his breath, turning an ugly look to the absent car that had nearly gotten Noctis.
—
Nearly gotten Noctis. If heʼd been slower, or dumber…
If heʼd just been a shade kinder, or nicer, he might have…
What if? What if in the future, he would be? And if that happened, then…?
“Donʼt you think you were a bit too rough with the hunter back there?”
Or maybe he was getting too soft and it was about time he got rough again.
Gladio pulled up his nose to frown and waved the beef cutlet on his fork before he devoured the whole thing. “‘m sure he understands,” he insisted, voice muffled by his dinner and the steady cascade of rain splashing from those rock formations arching over what Meldacioʼs hunters called their home. Earlier, on their way to the caravan, a laughing hunter had stumbled into a glum Noctis when nudged too far by a friend. Apologies were issued post-haste but Gladio insisted on presenting his bulk all the same, stepping in-between his liege and the hunters who insisted it had all been a friendly accident.
Ignis, refusing defeat, gave out a huff and a look that insisted the brash Gladio was wrong. Prompto looked on nervously between the two of them. “No one knows who we truly are here, not even Dave.” He directed his head to the man speaking with the old lady in her chair. “We are lucky that didnʼt escalate into something worse that will put any of us in a bind.” Fine, he had a point.
Gladio raised his hands to concede. “It wonʼt happen again.” Because what else was he supposed to say? Ignis pushed out a long breath, looking darkly at him from across the table. He deflected it with a shrug. “Look, I canʼt help it, Iʼm his sworn protector. If I gotta act rough to keep him out of danger then—”
“—I suppose that gives you permission to be the brute, yes?”
Gladio twisted his lips, pushing up the smoke from his chest to paint his frown black, as if he was coaxing a fire in his gut. “Well, not everyone can be Best in Diplomacy like you, Ignis.”
“Is that what you really think?” Ignisʼ voice was calm as ever even as he put down the fork piercing a chunk of his meat pie. “This is why you are making enemies out of friends?”
“If thereʼs anything I learned just now—” It was that there were enemies among Lucians, too. And he might have spat that out carelessly if Noctis hadnʼt banged his cutlery onto the table, forcing silence amongst his friends.
It was like the rift between them was gouging deep wrinkles between his brows, though his lips remained sealed and silent.
Even as he flew up to his feet and stalked back to their caravan.
Prompto shot upwards himself, ready to call him back but a hand on his biceps would advise him to give his friend some space.
“We will talk to him,” Ignis reassured the kingʼs best friend, speaking softly so as not to cause any more upset. That didnʼt stop him from glaring at Gladio, though, the fire he normally coated his blades in somehow glazing his eyes into a more verdant shade.
“I hope you have an explanation for your performative actions.” That was an accusation.
Gladio let his jaw drop with his fist, causing another minor quake in the table. “Performative?” he sneered. His hand flew to his chest. “You donʼt like it when I perform my job?”
“You of all should know that being the Shield of the King entails much more than being the biggest muscle in the gang,” Ignis rebutted. All muscle, no mettle. It was almost like the divine swordsman Gilgamesh had come to grace them with his presence by possessing Ignisʼ body briefly. “And yet here you are, behaving no better than a garula simply because someone had accidentally rubbed shoulders a little too gruffly with the king.”
“Look, now ainʼt the time to be taking things easily and giving everyone the benefit of the doubt just ‘cause they apologized,” Gladio quarreled back. “You probably couldnʼt see it from the car but the guy who was stranded—”
“Iʼm aware of what happened,” Ignis cut him off, touching his spectacles to shift it. “Am I not the one with glasses?”
At least that would keep his explanation short. “So you should understand—”
“I agree that itʼs disheartening to see Lucians seeking to take advantage of their fellow Lucians but donʼt you think youʼre being quite ignorant of the reality by marking every stranger as a potential enemy?” Ignis frowned deeper. “What will you do next? Accuse Prompto and I of conniving with the empire?” he challenged him.
“Hey, I didnʼt say that!” Gladio jabbed his finger in Ignisʼ direction, shooting forward from his seat. He could distrust a stranger but not two of his best friends.
“No? Well, you might as well have.” Then again, Ignis wouldnʼt be the royal advisor and their strategist in the field if the guy didnʼt always talk sense.
—
After dinner, he excused himself and pretended he had important business with the weapons seller who was all too happy for the company, anyway, even though it was clear that Gladio had no intention of buying anything from their wares. For better or for worse, though, it did reset his perspective.
That hunter from earlier had come by to pick up an order. While the vendor dug around their truck for it, he and Gladio fell naturally into an idle conversation about the weapon he had come for, the hunt he was leaving for. As if Gladio hadnʼt been poised to crush his head between his muscles not too long ago.
So was he getting soft again? Or had he lost his chance to be the tough protector he needed to be?
The Pillow Shield, he thought suddenly as he bounced fists with the hunter and his friend, sending them off with some reminders to watch their backs, et cetera, et cetera. Where is your conviction, Amicitia?
If that was an accusation, he would be a sham to plead innocence. So he stayed out for some drinks yet, hoping to drown the blameful voice in cheap beer and salty nuts until his wallet and his self-control told him to stop it, it wasnʼt working. The night was now darker, and colder and windier after the passing of the storm. Beyond the sanctuary of the hunters, the guttural groaning of the daemons coming to life had begun their infernal orchestra. Gladio could practically feel the tension creeping up his own skin from every shift of their wary sentries, every murmur that passed their rigid expressions.
It was time to sleep, and to hope for the best. Gladio finished the last of his bottles as he got up, guiding the plastic seat backwards, and waved to the restaurateur who would be up for another 6 hours or so. He started for the caravan, then.
He shouldnʼt have been surprised to see that Noctis was still up, sitting atop the makeshift lodging with the weight of the world on his shoulders.
Gladio sighed, heading for the stepladder installed at the back. He couldnʼt just very well ignore him…
Noctis looked up at him as soon as he had gotten onto the roof. “You sure this thing wonʼt give with you up here?”
“Nah. Not when you weigh like those damn vegetables on your plate.” Which was to say: nothing.
Noctis clicked his tongue at him and flashed him an irritable look as Gladio found his place beside him. “I didnʼt say you could sit with me.”
“Gonna shove me off?”
“Ignis and Prompto are sleeping, I donʼt wanna wake ‘em up.” Perhaps if it werenʼt for that reminder, Gladio might have guffawed. But he managed to pull everything back into a painful snort ripping through his nostrils.
Noctis had a weary smirk on his face when Gladio swung his foot lazily to his, so that both their feet met like those perpetually swinging pendulum balls.
Gladio flicked his hand to him. “You okay?”
Noctis took a moment to consider his question with a long look before he conceded with a nod. “Yeah. I guess.”
Gladio braced his elbows on his thighs, waiting for him to continue.
Noctis scratched his head. “Guess I just didnʼt expect to meet those kinda guys. Even though I probably should have.” He was half-mumbling. “I shouldʼve looked twice.”
“There was no way you could have known,” Gladio said.
Noctis laughed suddenly, as if heʼd choked on some water. He looked at Gladio funny. “That coming from you?”
“Think I wouldʼve known off the bat?” Gladio snorted back. “They were Lucians. I knew I had to protect you but,” he tossed his hand, “not against Lucians.” A reality check that brought another frown onto the kingʼs face. “We got blindsided, both of us.”
“Sucks,” Noctis muttered. “I thought they needed help.”
“I guess they do.” Gladio shrugged. “They wouldnʼt be out there waiting on some guy to stop for them otherwise. Theyʼve probably pulled this stunt a couple of times now. Times are hard these days.”
Noctis exhaled. “Guess I gotta watch out for them, too. So much for saving my own people.”
“Hey,” Gladio clasped him by the shoulder to shake him, “I got ya. I looked out for ya earlier, didnʼt I?”
Noctis smirked slightly. “Yeah. We got lucky this time.” Very.
Gladio said nothing of it, only pulled his smile up to his cheek. “So you just keep doing what you gotta do for the people. Let me worry about keeping you safe. Itʼs my job, after all.”
“Sure you can keep up?”
“Just donʼt rush headlong into danger without me.”
“Iʼll keep it in mind.” Noctis raised his fist. “Thanks, Gladio.”
Gladio crossed arms with him.
“So youʼre okay now, too?” Noctis rested his palms onto the space behind him, leaning back. The wind swept in with a gentle pull, the smell of clean rain on its tail. “You were really angry earlier.”
Gladio scratched his head. “Angry, huh?”
“Yeah.” Noctis nodded. “You started fighting everyone around you, even Ignis. I thought I really must have screwed up, then.”
“You?”
Noctis shrugged. “Itʼs not like you to be rough.” So was it that bad? That even the king would put the blame on himself?
That wasnʼt Gladioʼs intention. He just wanted to protect him. Better. Thought he needed to protect him better. Still did. “I got scared, I guess.”
“Huh?” Noctis frowned, brows meeting in a wrinkle.
Gladio waved his hand to the empty road underneath them. “Itʼs like you said, we got lucky. But what if next time, Iʼm slower? Or next time, I got too soft, and too nice, I let ‘em slip right under my nose? And then you get the worst of it.” He thought he ought to stop talking when the king turned his attention to his own feet. “Thatʼs gonna be on me.”
“Guess that means Iʼll just have to be a lot faster, and smarter, then.” Noctis shrugged, looking at him again. “If my Shieldʼs too busy flirting around to actually do his job.” This time, he kicked him back, feet bouncing.
“Heh.” Gladio grinned at him. “You know, that might not have to happen if I roughed it up,” he said after a pause.
“Think thatʼs gonna work?” Noctis sounded doubtful. He also sounded like he wasnʼt expecting to hear anything back from his Shield. “Look, I canʼt tell you how to do your job.” He pulled at his earlobe, rubbing it between his fingers as if to itch it. “Just…” He flung his hand out. “Donʼt fight everyone, okay? Especially with Ignis and Prompto. You know…” He gazed down onto the dark road again.
“Weʼre friends…”
—
How does one become a Shield, then?
No. He was already a Shield. By birth and by choice. His father paid the blood price for it.
So, how did one stay a Shield? How would he know if he was protecting too much or too little? Was it worth it for the world to hate him if he could carry his king to the throne? Or to be loved if it put his king in danger, anyway?
He stood again next to the green car, the repair kit in his hand. The door opened and the man struck him with a knife. But somehow, Noctis was there.
And they were falling, both of them, pierced through with a single blade that belonged to Ravus Nox Fleuret, a dark look about him. A squadron of MTs surrounded them and the green car.
On the ground, Gladio summoned his shield but couldnʼt bring it in front of him and the king, what with Ravusʼ sword in the way. He tried, anyway. Again and again. He was the Shield, was he not?
Ravus sneered at him, raising his sword. “A weak Shield protects naught.”
—
More than the cold steel sinking into his chest, it was that traitor speaking with his fatherʼs voice that woke him up.
Daylight was still about an hour away but staying in bed and screwing his eyes shut only brought him back to his nightmare. So Gladio climbed off the top bunk as quietly as he could and made his way out of the dim caravan.
He waited for the dawn on the steps leading up to the door, running his hands over his face as he produced a deep groan trapped in his throat. Like a stone sentinel by the steps of his master, he tried to sneak a few more minutes of sleep that way.
Gladio jumped when he heard the door shut, and felt a hand tapping him on his shoulder. Ignis, fully dressed despite his hair down, hopped off the steel steps and waited for him to get up before he led him to the empty restaurant, where they ordered some local Cleigne coffee and breakfast hash to wash down with it.
“Then he told me a weak Shield protects naught, but it was my dadʼs voice I heard coming outta Ravusʼ mouth.” After retelling his nightmare, Gladio let out a heavy sigh. He kept a loose fist around his warm cup, the fragrant steam rising patiently, like a friend reaching out to him in an otherwise cool morning.
“You know, when I beat Gilgamesh, I thought that was it.” Gladio rubbed his fingers onto his face again. “No more doubts, no more being haunted by the past…but guess itʼs happening again. I know Iʼm a Shield, I know I can protect Noct but…” He exhaled, squashing his cheek on his palm. “Am I getting too comfortable just ‘cause I got Gilgameshʼs approval? What if I never learned anything, all this time?”
“Well, you have always been a work in progress, Gladio,” Ignis said to him. “You have never settled, in all your years in the service and even before it. Your best has always been a moving target. A higher summit to reach.”
Gladio cackled suddenly, running his fingers through his hair until he could park his hand on his nape.
“I suppose you can say,” Ignis lifted his cup, “itʼs the price you pay for quality.”
“Funny word to use,” Gladio chuckled. For whatever it was worth, it put a smile on his weary mood, anyway. He never did like losing sleep. They couldnʼt afford a, well, weak Shield who couldnʼt protect his king because he was sick. “What should I do, then? Stop trying to be better? Just accept the fact that Iʼll never be able to catch all of Noctʼs enemies at his expense?” That seemed wrong, any which way he put it. What kind of Shield wouldnʼt choose to improve themselves to face the bigger monsters for their king?
Ignis pulled his brows together. “Are you asking me how to do your job?”
Gladio gestured his cup to him. “You’re the royal advisor, ainʼcha? Might as well ask you. I already asked everyone I knew.” His father Clarus once told him that no matter what happened, he had to protect Noctis not just as a king but as his friend. But Gilgamesh said he had to accept his flaws before he could call himself a true Shield. Noctis told him to do whatever he wanted as long as he didnʼt fight his friends.
Ignis started with a sigh. “Suppose you get some sleep first,” he added to Gladioʼs growing list of advice.
Gladio stared at him under heavy brows.
“It might do you well to clear your mind,” Ignis added, sipping from his cup. “I feel like you already know the answer, but you just havenʼt found it.”
“Doesnʼt that kinda mean the same thing?”
“You said so yourself, you are the Shield of the King.” Ignis shrugged. “I feel like if there is anyone here who can best answer your questions, it is yourself.” Way to avoid them, though.
Gladio popped his brow as he finally touched his lips to the coffee. Warm, dark, amorous. But strong and bitter and flat.
He twisted his features as he returned it to the table. “Thatʼs bad.”
“Come now, you simply need to appreciate it for its qualities,” Ignis chuckled. “Cleigne is proud of these beans.”
“Doesnʼt mean it canʼt be improved upon.”
“Doesnʼt make it bad either,” Ignis argued back. A deja vu? Gladio felt like theyʼd already had this conversation before.
But in any case, it was a good conversation to be reminded of. Something to think about. Ignis really was the royal advisor for a reason.
With a smirk, Gladio raised his coffee to him. “Thanks for the wake up call.”