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The treehouse isn’t as big as it used to be. Or rather, Iris isn’t as small as she used to be.
When the ceiling towered high overhead, its four walls held worlds full of eons old magic and sword fights against daemons, tea parties and book clubs – before Gladio fell into his sappy romances. The doorway is etched with height marks, the floor scuffed with memories, and the walls have seen tears and laughter alike. She grew up here as much as anywhere.
The sun casts a paisley of shadows against the wood as she shakes out a purple cloth. It’s faded from years of use, fresh and warm from the laundry. She lays it atop a low cut table before rearranging the cushions around it. Five, like usual.
They’re lucky they designed it with space in mind, constructed in the carefully selected generations-old tree planted in their manor’s yard. Her father’s broad shoulders left large shoes to fill, and it was assumed his children would follow in his footsteps.
She’d been too young to help the process much, delegated to run errands to and from the house when needed, but she remembers the chorus of nail guns and saws as Gladio and their father built the treehouse from the branch up.
“C’mon squirt, we don’t have all day.”
“Coming Gladdy!”
Iris hefted the bucket and trailed after him into the yard, taking care to not spill a drop. It was Gladio who poured the paint, hands steady and strong, but Iris painted the first stripe across the wall. She danced her way across the room as he followed, making sure the coats were even.
When the last corner had been met, they sat in the middle of the room to admire their handiwork – red shutters and soft yellow walls against a bright green canopy of leaves. Across the horizon, the sprawl of Insomnia glittered in the setting sun.
Gladio dropped a hand in her hair to ruffle it. “Great choice, Iris.”
She frowned and straightened her mussed hair. “Of course it was.”
“Cheeky.”
Before she could blink, he grabbed his brush to dab a dot of paint to the rise of her cheekbone. She squealed, laughing as she retaliated in kind.
The resulting paint fight ended with them returning to the manor covered in streaks of bright hues, much to Jared’s amused exasperation. A splotch of yellow remains on the floor to this day from her hard earned victory.
Iris toes it with her sock, grateful for the time they spent growing up together within this safe cocoon. She couldn’t have asked for a better sibling to share their domain with.
Back then, three cushions had sat around the table – one for her, for Gladio, and for their father. The older they grew, the less he could join them, the swamp of Citadel work leaving his often empty.
The fairylights have yet to turn on as the sun takes its time to arc behind the horizon. Red burns across the sky, and Iris whistles a little tune as she checks over the gaming system to make sure it’s plugged in correctly.
This was Noctis’ addition – the third cushion soon inherited by him when he caught word of the Amicitia fort. Iris often finds him there escaping the Citadel’s shadow, napping on an empty futon to while away the hours.
“Can I bring some games?”
Iris blinked. “What, like Dungeons and Daemons?”
With a snort, Noctis sat up fully. “No, like, video games. Last Legend and such.” He nodded at one of the blank walls. “Could set up a projector and use it to watch movies too.”
He showed up a week later, dumping a full box onto the table and methodically setting it all up. The circles were dark beneath his eyes and Iris wondered what responsibility was breathing down his neck this time. She hoped he could rest here, at least.
“Here,” he said, passing over a controller. “Press this to attack, and this to move.”
Iris loves those days – when Noctis shouts in victory, grinning and laughing. It’s a rare look on him, but in the safety of the treehouse he’s free to be whoever he wants without the pressure of the future bearing down.
The fated trip approaches, looming on the horizon. She knows he’ll do what’s expected of him – for his father, and his country. But the thought of him spending the last few days stressed by himself makes Iris sad, which is why she has a plan.
Climbing down the steps, Iris slips inside the manor to grab a few dishes of food. She had lined the plates with savory meats and cheeses, topped bowls with succulent fruits, and stuffed a dish full of creamy pasta. She lays it out along the tablecloth and the plate piled with cookies threatens to topple, so she takes one for the team and snacks on it as she works.
It takes a few trips, but soon the table is packed with snacks. They’re probably not as good as whatever Ignis will bring, but she won’t let him handle the catering all by himself.
His addition had been the most surprising, always dropping by the treehouse solely to pull Noctis away. He never lingered, merely bidding Iris hello before leaving with prince in hand. She hadn’t known him as well as the others, a swift breeze of an enigma.
Despite this, she’d always made sure to let him know he was welcome to use the treehouse if he ever needed, despite his polite protesting.
“Oh!” said Iris, coming down the stairs at Jared’s beckoning. At the door was Ignis, posture straight as a ruler and a plate of pastries in hand. “Noctis isn’t here today.”
“I’m aware,” he said. “I apologize if this is imposing, but he always speaks of,” he cleared his throat and continued in an accent akin to Noctis’, “the ‘magical restorative powers of the treehouse’.”
Iris blinked.
Upon a closer look she could see the tired lines beneath his eyes as he glanced away. She thought of all the responsibility piled on his shoulders – the duties to the Crown and to Noctis, both as a friend and advisor, and the war it must bring out inside him. His posture sagged and he held out the plate in offering. “I brought payment.”
Grabbing the topmost, Iris took a bite and hummed in pretend thought. “I accept,” she said. “Right this way.”
He still drops by every once in a while to hide away, in claim of days for self care. With a book in hand, he’ll curl up on the purchased fourth cushion by the window and read until the shadows chased the words off the page. If it were up to Iris, he’d drop by more often.
Everything in place, there’s nothing left to do but wait. Iris wanders over to the far wall, looking over the photos clipped to string draped along the walls. Each one tells a story of the times they spent together, both in and out of the treehouse – a story of them.
Prompto was the one to start the tradition, stockpiling memories like pages in a flipbook. The boys brought him around in initiation; the last puzzle piece settling in. The fifth cushion soon followed his arrival, pump and yellow.
It joined the rainbow round table that had grown over the years, filling the halls with light and laughter. For a long while, Prompto never showed without someone else in tow, always tagging along in their footsteps. Iris made the invitation explicitly clear, but it was a long time before he took her up on it.
“Where are the others?”
Prompto flipped through the pictures on his camera and frowned. “Official Citadel business.”
Frowning, Iris flopped onto a nearby cushion to look over his shoulder. Some meetings called all three of the others away, leaving Prompto a day or two by himself. Iris got the idea it wasn’t new for him, if Noctis’ worries of an empty house meant anything, so it warmed her heart that he finally felt comfortable to come over and hang out by himself.
“Oh, I like that one,” she said, pointing to a group shot of all five of them. “We should print it.”
Prompto jolted, lighting up like the morning sun, eyes bright with excitement. “Can we?”
“Of course!”
The fire inside him burned like no other, and Iris tried her best to keep it burning until the others returned. They went through the rest of his pictures, picking out the best ones they liked to print, and planning how to go about hanging them all up.
And so the wall of photographs was born. They changed them out with new ones when they ran out of space, squeezing memory after memory onto the wood. Some were faded from years of sun, but still their smiles shone brightest of all.
“Rapunzel, Rapunzel, let down your hair!”
Iris rolls her eyes and sticks her head out the window. “For shame! I just cut it,” she says. “Guess you’re stuck down there.”
“Aw man.” Prompto groans. “Now we have to climb up.”
“What a travesty.”
Laughing, Noctis races up, flopping onto the futon and flicking the game system on. “Ready for another round?” he asks, passing over the controller.
It’s so similar to every other time he’s ever done so, and Iris’ heart aches with nostalgia. Soon, everything will change. She hopes even after he will still be able to drop by every once in a while for a rematch.
Gladio squeezes through the entry and finds a seat on his worn cushion. “Dibs on winner.”
“I call winner’s winner,” says Ignis, setting the bag of food he brought next to Iris’ dishes.
“Just because you have all the combos practically memorized doesn’t make you the hotshot, hotshot.”
The corner of Ignis’ lips twitch and he shifts his glasses. “We shall see.”
“Where does that leave me?” asks Prompto, with a pout. He grabs the chocobo plushie from the corner and stretches out to watch.
Gladio grabs a notebook and a pencil. “I’ll make a bracket instead. Then we’ll know who the real champ is.”
A despairing chime rings form the game, Iris whooping as Noctis’ character is knocked unconscious. He groans and flops on his back. “No fair! That wasn’t the official first game.”
“Deal’s a deal,” says Gladio. “Blondie, you’re on.”
Iris passes the controllers to Prompto and her brother, laughing in delight as they battle it out on screen. She sits back as the shadows lengthen and smiles, grateful for all the time they’ve spent together. After all these years, all these memories they’ve collected, she isn’t sure how it’s going to change.
It’s scary. It’s exhilarating.
The future approaches without fail, both never arriving and always marching on. She’s forever thankful they fell together how they did, and that she’s grown to know such wonderful people.
The fate that lies before them is unknown, but she knows the memories of their time here are the foundation from which they’ll build their future.