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Noctis shifts his weight from foot to foot, trying to be subtle, but he can’t help it. The shoes are ridiculously uncomfortable, sharp angles cutting into his heels, squishing his toes. He longs for his boots, but they wouldn’t match the also uncomfortable outfit that Ignis has picked out for him.
A quick glance out into the crowd reveals Ignis arching an eyebrow. Oops, apparently Noct isn’t as subtle as he would have hoped. He stops his fidgeting, stands up a little straighter, and rolls his shoulders back and down. Ignis isn't one of the few set up on stage, cordoned off with some other members of the Royal retinue, and Noct wishes he were here to at least offer some form of distraction.
It’s hard being under the scrutiny of the cameras. At the bigger venues, he can get away with melting into the crowds. Ones like these, with only a handful of people up on a stage, make him feel like a creature on exhibit at the zoo.
Step right up, ladies and gentlemen, come view Lucis royalty squirming around in their clothes.
One of the Councilmen stands up on the podium, droning on and on, more focused on his own ego than the actual point of the event. Noct’s glad that they’re offering recognition to the University, to the folks there who have worked so hard over the last year to get local community and refugee centers up and running, but all this formality is wearing him out. He wants the focus to be on the people who actually did the work, not a set of speeches like this that just offers the members of the Council a chance to puff up their chests and pat themselves on the back.
Thankfully, after this, they’ll turn the event hall into a banquet, where he can go back into relative hiding, avoiding the various well-to-do people who want to make empty conversation with him in order to get to his father.
Ignis would balk at his attitude today, but he can’t help it. The shoes are really uncomfortable.
He peers over at his dad, who has that warm smile of his as he looks out into the crowd. The proper picture of royalty, just enough put up front that only a few people could see the lines of pain etched behind that smile. His leg must be killing him by now, but he doesn’t waver.
Regis flicks his eyes in Noct’s direction, and Noct tries to match his smile. He wants to be presentable, wants to emulate his father so that he could become something of a suitable king. Even if it means sitting through events like this.
So he holds in his sigh, keeps his eyes steady instead of rolling them, and waits.
~~~~~
Councilman Figaro is halfway through his speech when Noctis hears something out of place. It’s faint, but noticeable enough, a high pitched whine. It sets him on edge, and he’s clearly not the only one, his father and Clarus both tensing up, two Kingslaive by the bottom of the stage turning their heads abruptly. The Councilman continues on, unaffected, but Clarus starts to move towards him.
Between one moment and the next, it all goes to hell.
The wall behind them erupts, drywall and siding splintering as an explosion tears it apart. Noctis doesn’t have time to react before he’s ripped away, hauled towards the front of the stage, blue and purple light crystallizing around him. He looks up to see his father above him, hands out, eyes glinting with power as he encapsulates them in a shield. There’s a series of loud bangs that hit it right in front of his father’s face and reverberate off, like hitting a bell. Fire and smoke quickly obscure the view.
Noct’s mind goes blank for a second, staring up at the sight of his dad, face drawn, dark and angry. It’s a rare sight. The air around them vibrates with power, and when he looks out, he sees that his father’s managed to create a barrier around most of the stage, the explosion stunted by it, billowing out around the sides.
Just outside of the shield, Noctis can make out the crowd’s screams.
He fumbles to his feet, stands next to his father, whose features tighten along his face, clearly feeling the strain. The frightened council members huddle together under the protection, while Crownsguard and Clarus have their weapons out and readied.
“Dad?”
“Noctis, when I lower the shield, you need to run. The guards will accompany you. Head for the back entrance, Gladio knows to meet you there.”
“But—”
“This is not up for discussion.”
Noct doesn’t want to leave him, not amongst the muffled crashes around them, the screams, the smoke still covering their view. Clarus moves past him, puts a hand briefly on his shoulder, and shifts his stance to cover his King. Noct knows he won’t leave his dad’s side and takes some small comfort from that.
“Ready,” his dad says. “Now!”
The calming protection of the shield fades away, and a rush of hot air whooshes over them. Noctis looks out at the chaos, seeing the people fleeing the hall, tumbling over each other on their way out. Debris from the blown out wall is scattered across the floor, still smoldering. Crownsguard are swarming the area now, with Glaives scattered among them. It’s so much louder without the shield to block the noise out.
Two Crownsguard flank Noctis, one strong hand on his back to push him forward. He spares one last glance at his dad, then bolts.
The back entrance to the hall isn’t very far, and Noctis can see Gladio turn to him from the doors, making eye contact and rushing forward to meet him.
They don’t make it to each other.
Another blast rips through the room, off to Noctis’ left, and he’s thrown sideways. His feet leave the ground, he drifts for a few harrowing seconds in the air, and then he’s colliding into the ground, sliding on it, arm and shoulder exploding with pain. His head cracks against the floor, and the noise around him gives way to a ringing in his ears, vision blacking out for a moment.
He drops his face toward the floor, feeling blood trickle from his mouth as he bites through his lip. The world around him spins, and he moans, trying not to pass out.
He doesn’t get the time to regain his bearings before someone gets a rough grip on him, flipping him over to lie on his back. The sudden movement makes pain shoot up his arm and he cries out. Through his blurry vision, he sees the outline of a man standing over him, gun drawn and pointing at him.
“Caelum,” the main barks out. “To hell with you all.”
Noct tries to pull a weapon from the armory, something, anything, but nothing falls into his hand. His head pounds with pain, starbursts in his vision, his efforts to pull himself up and back failing as he freezes instead.
He locks eyes with the stranger, and sees absolute hatred and disgust looking back. The gun tilts up towards his chest.
The man’s going to kill him.
Noct just about feels the sensation of the armory finally responding to him, too late to do anything, when the man is tackled from the side, taken down with a roar. Gladio slams them both into the floor, wasting no time in lifting his fist up and bringing it down again and again. The man flops against the ground, and Gladio jumps off of him, single minded determination as he rushes over to Noctis and hoists him up.
Gladio swings them both towards the now smoldering doorway in the back. Noct follows along blindly, tucking his arm into his chest, heart caught up in his throat, head swimming.
Gladio gets them safely into the doorway and a few paces up the hallway before bringing them both to the ground, leaning Noctis against the wall. They’re both breathing hard, eyes wide. Gladio runs his hands gently over Noct, feeling for injuries, wincing at the clearly broken arm and taking in the split skin on the side of Noct’s head that’s leaking blood down his face and neck, the blood dripping down his chin from his lip.
Noctis reaches for him with his good arm, fists his hand into his Shield’s shirt. “Gladio,” he whispers.
“I gotcha,” Gladio replies. “We’re alright.”
Noct looks to the side, peering through the doorway still within view, and catches sight of the remnants of the crowd mostly cleared out, save for the members of the Guard and Glaives that have taken up arms to fight off new intruders. He tries to look for his father, or Clarus, or Ignis, but can’t see them in the chaos. “Where’s my dad?” he asks.
“With mine, don’t worry. I gotta get you out of here.”
“Wait, I don’t want to—”
“You know the drill, Noct, we can’t stay here.” Protocol dictates the immediate evacuation of the Prince in scenarios like these, or lockdown when evac isn’t an option. The urgency is all the more important considering the man who had his gun trained directly on Noct’s chest.
Gladio tenses up at the thought; not wanting to consider what could have happened if he hadn’t gotten to his charge in time. He doesn’t know how the intruders managed to get in and plant two bombs, how they got past the layers upon layers of security, but he has no desire to stick around right now to find out.
He lifts them both up again, Noct’s legs like jello beneath them. One hand grips him tight, another summons his sword, and they start to move down the hallway. Turning a corner, ready to keep moving towards the nearest viable shelter. Right up until they nearly run face-first into another man, dressed in the same clothes as their previous foes, gun in hand.
Gladio flings Noctis behind him and lifts his sword, knowing it’s not going to make contact in time. He braces himself for the pain, and as a bang echoes off the sides of the hall, he’s met instead with a flash of blue light and the twisting feeling of being hauled away. It’s an alien sensation, moving through something else, not the normal space they walk in. Energy hums around him, digging down into his bones, making him shake, until he crashes back into their reality.
He glances up, and he’s back at the edge of the hallway looking into the main hall, on his hands and knees. His stomach twists and nausea overtakes him, gagging as he spills its contents.
He feels a hand on his back, hears Noct’s stuttered breaths right next to him. The hand twists itself into his shirt and clings tightly.
“Gladio. Gladio. S-shit.” Noctis starts to slump against him, and Gladio wraps his arms around him. He’s spinning with vertigo, head pounding, nausea still high up in his throat, but he can hear footsteps behind them, so he gets them both to their feet and makes a break for it back into the room.
Noctis trembles in his arms, and together they stumble forward. Gladio hears the distinct sound of a Glaive warping behind them, giving them cover. They make it to one of the walls and Gladio braces himself around Noct as best he can.
Looking out, it seems the tide has turned, only a few adversaries left as the Crownsguard take them down. Some have fallen themselves, along with a handful of civilians, innocent people caught in the crossfire.
Gladio looks down at Noctis, shakes him gently. “You with me?”
He nods, still shaking from the exertion. “Yeah, m’okay.”
“Didn’t know you could that.” Noct’s gotten better at warping over the past few months, but his grip on it still isn’t entirely reliable. Reacting so quickly to warp and bringing someone else along with him is…impressive, to say the least.
“Didn’t know I could either,” he replies, sounding surprised at himself. It’s clearly taken a lot out of him, as he breathes heavily, sliding a little further down the wall, gritting his teeth at the pull on his arm.
Gladio’s grateful that Noct’s head is tucked down, wouldn’t want to give the kid the satisfaction of seeing him smile. “Give a guy some warning next time, yeah? That hits harder than a hangover.”
Noct chuckles, leaning into Gladio a bit more. “Sure thing,” he says.
Gladio keeps a constant watch, but their guards do their jobs well, and fighting ends soon after. A Crownsguard heads towards them, and is abruptly cut off by a rushing, ruffled Ignis, much to Gladio’s surprise.
He slides down onto the floor in front of them, knees crashing into the tile, hands fluttering. “Are you alright?” he all but shouts.
“We’re good, Ignis. Could use a medic, but he’s okay.”
Ignis doesn’t take his word for it, reaching out for Noctis himself. He curls his fingers around Noct’s good arm, gently pulling to get his attention. “Highness?”
Noct stares up at him, eyes starting to droop with exhaustion as the adrenaline wears off. “Iggy. Are you alright?”
Ignis tilts his head, huffs incredulously. “I’m fine, Noctis, it’s you I’m worried about.” He calls out to the medics starting to filter into the room, waving them over. He keeps his other hand gripped on Noct’s forearm. Gladio’s still holding onto him, practically cradling him in his lap.
The two finally relinquish their hold when the medics arrive to take a look at Noctis. They quickly check over the cut on his head, shine a penlight into his eyes to make him wince, and grab a triangle bandage to hold his arm in place.
With the fighting over, and his advisor and Shield watching over him, Noctis takes stock of what’s around him. The room’s a mess, debris all over the floor, blood splattered across the tiles. Bodies of friends and foes are scattered among the debris. Some of the Crownsguard are picking up their injured brethren, others are crouched over the ones who didn’t make it. Noct sees the body of one of the university students, crumpled up on the floor. She had been in the front of the crowd, had smiled up at him when he glanced out over the people there.
He thinks back to the man with the gun trained on his chest, ready to fire. The way everything around him just stopped, heart pounding in his chest, blood rushing through his ears as he froze.
All the training in the world couldn’t really prepare him for that. He could have died today, at the hands of someone who stared at him with such venom it was hard to look at.
“Highness? Noct?” He hears Ignis call to him, familiar hands wrapping themselves around his own, gripping gently. It feels like he’s miles away from everyone. He opens his mouth to speak, but nothing comes out.
“Can you hear me?”
“Is it his head?”
“It’s alright, most likely an adrenaline crash. Please just let us work—”
“Noctis?” His dad’s voice cuts through it all, and he snaps his head up. Clarus and Regis walk towards him, Regis limping heavily, but otherwise unscathed.
“Dad—” Noct lunges forward, away from the hands surrounding him, and reaches out with his own good hand to cling to his father. Regis wraps his arms around him, mindful of the sling, and lets Noct tuck his head into his chest.
“It’s alright, Noct.” Regis says, firm hand on his back. He starts to talk over him, conversing with the medics for an update, and Noct just burrows himself further into his father’s embrace, breath hitching, trying to block out the noise.
It doesn’t take long for them to get cleared, all threats taken care of, though the guards stand close by. Noct’s arm is properly braced, head wound cleaned up and butterfly bandages applied, and they make their way back to secure transport to be taken to the Citadel. His father doesn’t leave his side, with Ignis close beside him, offering another arm to lean on. Noct hears, faintly, the two Shields in discussion with each other. He tucks himself in a little closer to his father, unembarrassed at the close contact. For all his teenage petulance, his father’s always been there to comfort him when he needs it.
“You did well, Noct,” Regis whispers to him as they move towards the cars.
It certainly doesn’t feel like it. He thinks of freezing up, of Gladio coming to his rescue, of the body of that woman left behind. “Who were they?” he asks.
Regis sighs heavily, shaking his head with something akin to sorrow. “We don’t need to worry about that now. Let’s just get you home.”
Regis places a kiss on the top of Noct’s head before extricating himself, handing Noct off to Ignis and Gladio. Noctis trades in the comfort of his dad for the comfort of his protectors, and together they make their way back home.