Chapter Text
The King looked out over the marble parapet of his balcony. He wasn’t looking anywhere in particular, he was just staring. His silvery eyes were unfocused, but his mind was tossing and turning within his head.
To the people, he was a mighty ruler, a faithful monarch who did everything he could to protect his kingdom. He appeared to them as a wise, strong-willed leader. Even though his people were suffering and dying from the mysterious plague of the Starscourge, he stood tall— unwavering in his commitment to his people.
At least, that’s how it seemed.
What would they think of their ‘mighty King’, he mused, if they knew just how much he wavered?
The King absentmindedly fingered the fabric of his toga, his eyes still locked on the horizon.
His head was agonizingly crowded with decisions to be made and contemplations to be had, but he could find a small shred of comfort in the fact that he had somewhere so beautiful to do his serious thinking.
The sky was decorated with all the beautiful, warm colors of evening. The warm oranges and yellows were complimented by the purple clouds that hung low and lazy over the darkening landscape. The white marble pillars of his palace were painted a cheerfully sleepy apricot color. The air was cool and dry, the wind gently tossing his greying hair like a comforting whisper. The consolation was empty, but he appreciated it nonetheless.
Ever since his discussion with the Oracle, he wasn’t feeling much like a King. He knew he was just an old man to whom desperation clung like a heavy coat. He could feel the lines of his face deepening the more he thought about it.
Surely the gods are laughing at me, the King thought bitterly.
The decision he was required to make was anything but noble.
This Starscourge — this mysterious, deadly disease — would continue to ravage his kingdom until all his beloved subjects were wiped out; picked clean by the vultures. There was no cure, no way to alleviate the symptoms. His people were destined to be devoured by this unstoppable sickness.
Unless.
And that was the case with the gods, Regis had discovered. Those celestial lords waited until you had nothing left — until there was no hope. It was only then that the gods would step down from their divine thrones and offer their aid to the pathetic, dying men.
They were cruel beings, playing with the fate of men like star-bound children, seemingly ignorant of the pain, heartbreak and suffering they were inflicting upon mankind.
The people of Lucis would continue to suffer unless Regis proved himself worthy to the gods. As if his 48 years of unending service to his kingdom hadn’t been enough.
Regis had to give up his one treasure, the one thing he wished to protect forever.
His son.
The young Prince had just seen his 18th winter. He was soft-spoken, emotional, and just a little temperamental. He had soft hair, black as night. His eyes were watery pools of blue that looked almost exactly like his mother’s. He was quick to anger, however, and Regis felt as though he was treading on thin ice around him.
But oh , how the King loved him.
Seeing the Prince’s glimmering smile was one of the few things that would cause time to stop for the tired King. No matter how stressful the circumstances, no matter how many people were relying on him— his son’s chiming laughter melted his fears and gave him courage.
He needed to be strong for his son in order to give him the best life he could.
The Prince was the one thing he wanted to protect, he wanted to keep him safe and warm and happy for as long as he could. To be the father to him that he never had.
Alas, the cold, heartless gods!
His beloved Prince was the one thing he had to surrender.
In order to save his people from the Starscourge, Regis had to sacrifice his only son.
He felt his heart tighten within his chest. Tears leapt into his eyes. Out of all the heartbreaking, cruel acts that the gods could’ve asked of him, why did it have to be this?
He knew what must be done.
He took a deep breath, holding his head high.
Regis looked up into the sky.
He had only one last prayer before he made his decision.
Please be kind to him.
“Then it is decided,” The priest proclaimed, waving his pale hands over the crowd of people gathered below his podium.
Noctis stopped struggling. The last of the hot tears rolling down his cheeks plopped onto the ground before him. Little dark spots appeared in the concrete where his tears had soaked into the ground.
So this is it.
He shot one last desperate look to his right, managing to catch his father’s eyes. The King was flanked by Clarus and Cor, looking regal and formal in his most embroidered tunics and togas. His hands were crossed delicately over his cane, his shoulders pulled back and his head held high.
What a gracious king, Noctis thought bitterly. In the back of his mind, he knew it was wrong to blame his father for all of this. It was the gods’ decree, afterall. But still, he wanted to blame it on someone . He wanted to be angry.
His piercing blue eyes studied his father carefully.
A few seconds passed and the King’s eyes met his.
Those silvery, sorrowful eyes stared back at him, and for a moment Noctis thought his father might call the whole thing off. The confidence and nobility escaped the King for a brief flash. He looked tired, morose. He looked like a father wracked with grief.
Noctis remembered his father was human.
Within another brief moment, the King’s posture was restored, and although the wistfulness never left his eyes, he straightened his back and his weathered hands tightened their grip on his cane.
This isn’t what either of them wanted.
In his heart, the Prince knew that was true. He knew his father was not a cruel man. He was not greedy, he was not prideful. His father was kind, generous, and cared far too much.
If anything that made this whole thing worse.
It made him feel ashamed for being so angry at such a noble action as sacrifice.
It felt selfish.
He should be proud— happy to help his people.
But he wasn’t.
He was really fucking angry.
Still, he stopped yanking against the chains that bound him to the Priest’s podium. He let his gaze drop to the ground before him. His raven hair fell in front of his features, shielding his face from the massive crowd that surged before him.
If this was truly his last hour, he would leave a lasting impression.
He wouldn’t be remembered as the angry, screaming Prince that cried and kicked furiously when his time came.
He could let his people remember him as something noble, someone who cared.
He was not like his father. He didn’t see himself as anywhere near as kind-hearted and benevolent as his father.
But for his people, he could pretend.
He could give them hope.
The Priest lifted his hands to the sky, an ancient incantation on his lips. He prayed loudly to the gods, encouraging the people to lift their voices and do the same.
Clouds rumbled angrily above, gathering and darkening until all that was left was a churning, raging mass of smog. Thunder growled menacingly and droplets began to pitter-patter down on the sad scene.
Noctis closed his eyes. It would all be over soon. This would be better for everyone.
He was scared, of course — gods , was he scared— but what could be done? At this point he had to accept it. He had the honor of being ordained by the mighty Six themselves. The least he could do was die with dignity.
He could try to look as regal as possible, but he couldn’t stop the manic thumping in his chest.
Gladiolus shoved another man aside, paving a way through the crowd for him and his sister.
It couldn’t be true, what they were saying about the Prince. Surely he wasn’t cursed? It had to be some village rumor, and the King had gathered everyone together to address the superstition and set them all straight.
Someone grunted irritably, but he paid them no mind.
The rain was getting harder now, and Gladio paused for a bit to make sure Iris was still with him. She was still young— she had only seen 13 winters. Although he was eager to understand what was happening, Iris came first.
He waited for her to catch up, locked her hand in his and pushed on.
“Gladdy,” Iris sounded uncertain, “what’s happening?”
“I don’t know,” Gladio answered honestly, “but it doesn’t sound good.”
“Is the Prince gonna be okay?” Iris blinked her big, dark brown eyes at him.
“Hopefully,” Gladiolus shook his head.
“Right, because Gladdy’s got a crush- ”
She started to tease him but he whipped around and cupped a large hand over her mouth. She giggled, knowing she could irritate him all she wanted, but her brother could never bring himself to be mad at her.
Gladio struggled to keep a stern face, although embarrassment and amusement were working at his expression.
“Iris, now’s not the time.” he said firmly. “Besides, if you go around saying stuff like that, they might arrest me for treason or start saying bad stuff about dad or somethin’, okay?”
It was just the way Gladio was, always putting the opinions of others before his own desires. He had learned from his father to be as helpful as he could, and sometimes that meant putting his own wants aside for the care of others. When you grew up as a peasant, that’s just how life was.
Granted, now that their father had worked his way up in the King’s ranks, their life was much easier, but that didn’t undo the years of earnest servitude that Gladiolus endured.
The rain was getting more intense now, soaking both of their clothes and flattening their hair against their heads. It was frigid.
Iris shook her head free of Gladio’s grasp, if only to give him a pout. By now she was shivering a little.
“Why?” She was so innocent.
“Because, it’s not…” He struggled to think of a way to explain it. “Prince Noctis is royalty. He’s supposed to be untouchable because he’s chosen by the g-”
“By the gods!” Someone near them exclaimed.
As more people began shouting and yelling, Gladiolus turned to observe what all the fuss was about.
The dark fog that had covered the sky was burst open as a mighty, armored hand stretched towards the earth. The thousands of the people that were gathered began to scream and scatter in terror.
They were right to flee. This was the hand of a god, and not one that would be taken lightly.
Bahamut, the Draconian, was known to be the patron God of Kings. The one that made the decrees, the one who wrote the book of Fate, the one who held the peoples’ very life in its hands.
Why is Bahamut here?
The question just occurred to Gladio, as he took a second to actually consider what the presence of a god meant.
The Prince…
A shock of panic ran through the farmhand’s body and he was suddenly alert and searching for the Prince again.
Still dragging Iris along, Gladio worked his way through the now-retreating crowd. He caught a glimpse of the Priest’s podium, noticing a small body slumped in front of it.
It can’t be.
His breath caught in his throat, but he pushed onward.
Iris did her best to keep up, but she was holding him back. She kept getting almost knocked over by the careless passersby. Not only that, but the ground was muddy and slick from the rain, so she would often trip over her own feet.
At this point, Gladio was practically carrying her. In fact, carrying her might be easier.
Without hesitation, Gladio swung around, picked Iris up by her underarms, and plopped her onto his shoulders like she was three again. She let out a small cry of defiance, but soon found her new perch favorable to the churning of the crowd.
“It’s him!” Iris cried, immediately using her new height to her advantage.
“What do you mean?” Gladio shouted back.
“The Prince! He’s chained up!”
No…
“What’s happening?” Gladiolus kept his eyes focused on the people moving quickly in front of him.
“The Dragon god… Is he going to hurt the Prince?” Her voice wavered.
Water streamed down Gladio’s face as he pushed forward furiously. He shook his head once or twice, but the cold rain coming down in sheets would replace whatever he managed to shake off.
Gladio didn’t know why, but he needed to be there. Even if he couldn’t save the Prince from an actual god, he needed to try. He would find somewhere safe for Iris, but he needed to help.
There had been a time when Gladio had known the Prince.
Maybe that was why he wanted to help so badly.
When his father had signed up to be the protector of the King, he and Prince Noctis had met for the first time. The Prince was six, Gladio had been eight. Noctis was tiny. His big blue eyes were usually watery with tears, and his hair was short and fluffy. They didn’t take a particular liking to each other back then, as Gladio had a tendency to push him around like a rowdy older brother. But still, the memory was special to Gladio.
Especially since he had seen how much the young Prince had grown. He didn’t see him everyday, but he occasionally caught glimpses of the Prince.
Sometimes the raven-haired boy would be visiting the townspeople or taking a much-needed break from his studies. Sometimes he would be with his father, making a public appearance so the people knew he still existed.
Sometimes he would flee into the woods where none would follow.
Except for Gladio, of course.
He convinced himself he wasn’t being creepy. After all, anyone could have followed the Prince, and Gladio was doing him a favor by making sure no thieves or bandits were waiting to catch Noctis off-guard.
Nonetheless, he would follow the Prince into the forest, watching as the young boy found a small creek and sat down next to it, his posture slumped and tired.
The Prince would run his fingers through the water, pensively staring down at his own reflection. Occasionally he would bring a makeshift fishing rod and cast it into the creek, but most times he would just watch the crystal clear water trickle over his fingers.
Those moments, however few and small, were special to Gladio. He didn’t really know the Prince who would grow to be a mighty King and protect the people, but he knew Noct.
He knew the youthful, raven-haired boy who fought to get a breath of fresh air away from the palace whenever he could. He knew the starry-eyed kid who thought he knew everything. He knew the angsty teen who would never tell anyone about how he really felt.
Everything about the Prince was… endearing.
Even though Gladio could tell he was a bit of an asshole, he had to admit it was kind of cute.
But as they grew up, the two hadn’t seen each other as much. Gladio was getting busier and busier around the farm, while the Prince had his own royal duties and all that.
Time went on and Gladio regarded the Prince as a passing childhood memory. Maybe in the past Gladio considered the young Prince adorable or even nice, but he was older now, and had more important features in his life. Easily forgetting people was a side-effect of being a boy who grew up too quickly.
Afterall, who was to look after the farm while his father was away, attending to the King? He didn’t have time to chase the nymph-like Prince into the forest when there was plowing to be done.
Regardless, the Prince could be in danger.
Again , that strong urge to protect him.
“Gladdy, I think Bahamut is going to hurt the Prince!”
“What?!” Gladio stopped in his tracks, taking a moment to look up and study the scene taking place.
The thudding of his own heartbeat between his ears made his head feel like it was going to explode.
The god’s hand was upon the Prince now, almost encasing him. The Prince was looking up in panic, his blue eyes flickering with fear as he watched his encroaching demise.
He sat under the tree, shielding his lithe body the best he could from the rain. The branch didn’t offer much protection, and he shuddered. He cast a glance toward the sky, as if mournfully asking the clouds why they had descended upon him so. Gladio thought he looked just like a melancholy painting.
Should he help him?
“We’re too late!” Gladio shouted. He hefted Iris off his shoulders and put her on the ground. “Stay here!” He demanded.
He had wasted no time in scouting out safe areas, so that he might be rid of his burden while still keeping her safe.
“But Gladdy-”
It was already too late. Gladio was already sprinting towards the great outstretched hand of the Draconian.
Gladio felt like he had been shivering before, but his hand showed no waver as he stretched it out to the young Prince.
“Hey, I’m Gladiolus,” he said.
The young Prince looked up at him with those doleful eyes of his. His dark hair was plastered against his forehead, dripping with crystalline rainwater.
“Noctis,” the Prince replied, timidly taking his hand.
Gladio shook it firmly, as he remembered his father did. He then sat down next to the Prince and removed his leather bag that was held by a strap on his shoulder.
“What are you doing-” Noctis began to ask, but got his answer as Gladio opened the bag and did his best to shield the Prince from the rain by placing it on his shoulders.
“That should help a little.” Gladio smiled nervously.
“Thanks!” The Prince beamed up at him with a glittering smile.
Gladio paused the entire world. Just to see that face.
He was approaching the podium, bracing his body to make a leap to the stage when a firm arm gripped him fiercely, bringing his full-force sprint to a sudden halt. Gladio’s amber gaze flashed, enraged, as he wondered what man was capable of stopping him so succinctly.
His gaze was met by Cor Leonis.
“Sir-” Gladio started, but Cor shook his head.
“It is by the King’s decree,” the man’s voice was stern.
“The Prince-”
“-Must be sacrificed if the Starscourge is to be purged from this world.” Cor stared him down. “This is beyond us.”
Gladiolus turned his gaze back towards the podium. The Prince was shielded completely from view now. The royal blue armored hand of Bahamut was clenched around the space where the Prince used to be.
Dammit.
Gladio closed his eyes and turned his head away from the sight, as if he thought not looking at it would make it go away.
It didn’t.
Eventually, the Draconian’s hand disappeared into the sky once more, along with the Prince.
“He’s gone.” Gladio whispered.
A faint sobbing was coming from somewhere nearby. It was so quiet by now that Gladio could hear everyone near the podium clearly. The rush and hubbub of the crowd had been silenced by the mere hand of Bahamut.
The farmhand turned to see where the crying was coming from, and eventually traced the sound back to the King.
There stood the King— the noble, honorable, virtuous King— with his hand resting heavily upon Clarus’ shoulder. His other hand cradled his face, upon which tears were flooding down from silver eyes.
Gladiolus’ shoulders drooped. Iris slowly waddled towards him, tugging childishly on his toga once she reached his side.
So that was it.
It was pure poetic irony how one moment you could be peacefully walking through the marketplace — not a care in the world— and the next moment, every little cherished secret you held could be ripped from your very arms. Everything that you assumed would be with you for the rest of your life could just drip through your fingers like water.
Gladio felt a hollow space open up within his chest. His lungs felt like they were on fire.
“Gladdy…?” said Iris’ timid voice.
At first the word echoed around in his head, but a few seconds later he blinked a few times and then looked down at her.
“What do we do?”
The brother tightened his fists.
There’s nothing we can do , He wanted to say.
The hissing agony of helplessness wriggled into his thoughts once more.
“Shh, Iris.” Instead, Gladio wrapped an arm around his sister and guided her towards their father.
Clarus was still preoccupied with steadying the King in his grief, but he looked up to see his children.
“Dad-” Gladio started, but his father held up a hand in a gesture of silence.
Gladio chewed on his tongue.
After a few more agonizing moments of silence, Cor made his way to the King’s side and slowly led His Majesty away.
Having waited long enough, Gladio stepped towards Clarus again.
“Dad, what just happened?”
“The sacrifice was made.” Clarus answered shortly.
His father was like that, always in the tone of someone who couldn’t waste time on wordy explanations. Gladio loved and looked up to his father, but Clarus had never exactly been someone Gladio could lean on for emotional support. It was part of the reason dealing with Iris had been… A learning experience for Gladiolus.
“A sacrifice for what?” The boy tried to control his voice. He could feel that wavering tickle in the back of his throat that made him sound like he was about to cry.
“For the people.” Clarus looked up into the sky.
Gladio grit his teeth. “Why? Why the Prince? What did he do?” He growled.
Clarus stared unflinchingly forward. “Nothing.”
The boy opened his mouth to ask another question, but Clarus stopped him.
“The King was offered a deal from the gods themselves,” he lowered his gaze to Gladio, “if he were to sacrifice his son to them, they would save the people from the Starscourge.”
Gladiolus only stared, his mouth agape. “How could they…” He murmured, not even realizing he had said it out loud.
“How could they?” Clarus repeated. “Gladiolus, you’re talking about the gods . They do whatever they damn well please.”
Gladio knew he was right, so he just shut his mouth.
Clarus huffed and gestured in the direction Gladio and Iris came from. “Take Iris back home.” He said shortly.
The youth clenched his jaw.
“But Daddy-” Iris started.
Gladio grabbed Iris’ wrist and dragged her away before any more could be said.
“Hey!” Iris struggled helplessly against her brother’s much larger hand. “Gladdy, stop!”
“He told me to take you home.” Gladio answered sternly.
While they walked briskly in silence, Gladiolus allowed himself some time to process. He thought about the Prince’s lowered head as the mighty, unforgiving hand of the gods descended upon him. Had that really just happened?
He felt… cold.
It was wet and damp from the rain and Gladio couldn’t really think through anything clearly. The only thoughts in his head were those focused on the sound his sandals made as he trod through the mud.
Something in the back of his mind warned him that Iris was upset. It was that bothersome brother’s instinct of his. He couldn’t bring himself to ignore it. That being said, he wasn’t about to stop in the middle of a muddy street and give her a little pep talk.
“We can talk when we get home.” He made sure his voice was softer than before.
Iris nodded obediently, and was soon practically skipping along at Gladio’s side.
Their house was nothing spectacular. It looked almost identical to the ones that flanked it on either side. Simple, slate-grey bricks made up the sturdy walls which stood atop a stone foundation. The clay roof tiles were a sunburnt red, each shingle stacked on top of the next like a house-shaped puzzle.
They entered the house through the large archway which acted as a door. Gladio was thankful that the walls insulated them a bit from the cold, although he wasted no time in moving to the sitting room, where the couches were warm and comfortable.
He let go of Iris’ hand as he approached the nearest couch, although she still followed close by.
Not a sound escaped his lips as he lowered himself onto the sofa. His eyebrows were still lined with worry while his mind echoed the empty refrain: is he really gone?
“Gladdy?” Iris tilted her head expectantly. She was never one to let things set for long. Always ready to get on the next piece of action, that one.
The farmhand rested his elbows on his knees, letting his head fall. “Yeah?” He responded tiredly.
“Why do you think the gods wanted the Prince?”
“Who knows,” Gladio was surprised at how bitter his voice was. He didn’t want Iris to think he was mad at her.
“Do you think it will really get rid of the Scourge?” She peeped.
Gladiolus squeezed his eyes shut.
Even if it did?
Would he be happy?
Why was it affecting him this much? He had always convinced himself he barely knew the Prince. Sure, maybe a few chance encounters in the woods, but they weren’t soulmates or anything. For all he knew, the Prince was a snobby brat who never took his duties seriously.
He barely knew him, so he should just appreciate the noble sacrifice and move on.
All of that good, solid reasoning melted away when Gladio remembered the look on the boy’s face.
The morose mixture of acceptance and holy fear that painted his porcelain features as the very hand of the gods stretched out to steal him away.
Those cobalt blue eyes staring up as the sky split open.
The tremble of his thin lips.
Like a lamb offered up for slaughter.
Sure, he hadn’t known the Prince. But it didn’t sit right with him— letting someone so young and innocent be offered up as a flesh offering to appease the gods.
Giving gifts to the gods was not something new to their people, but the position of the sacrifice was reserved for animals. Creatures who had no say in the matter. Speechless beings whose only reason for living was to be offered up for someone else’s sake.
Not a human.
“Gladdy?” Iris sounded concerned.
Gladio stood up suddenly, not registering he had stood until he saw he had almost knocked his sister over.
“Sorry,” he muttered, instinctively reaching down to make sure she wasn’t going to fall over. Then he straightened. “I’m going back to the palace.”
“Why?” As Gladio began to move towards the door, Iris bounced alongside him.
He placed a hand on her shoulder, stopping her. “I just… I need to talk to Father about this, okay?”
“You’re not gonna let me come, are you?” Iris crossed her arms and puckered her lips.
The youth sighed, his shoulders drooping defeatedly. “I was hoping you’d be fine with that.”
“Yeah, I am,” she smiled mischievously up at him, “just don’t make daddy mad, okay?” Her cute remark was accompanied with a wink.
“ You little- !” Gladio laughed and reached to tickle her but she was already sprinting off through the house, giggling like a maniac.
The farmhand was still chuckling to himself as he set off towards the palace.