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When Gladio was a child, his father told him, “Heavy is the head that wears the crown.”
It was a lesson Gladio’s entire life revolved around: how to protect his king and shoulder his burdens so he would never have to bear the weight alone. He thought he was prepared to be Noct’s shield—that he was strong enough to protect him in any trial he might face. He’d lay down his life if necessary, like his father had, and his father before him in the name of protecting his king to the bitter end.
But absolutely nothing could have ever prepared him for this.
As Noctis… his king… his friend… his brother explained the true price to return the dawn. A sacrifice that Gladio couldn’t protect him from—couldn’t shield him from.
Next to him, Prompto sniffled softly, head back against his chair and staring at the sky as he tried to conceal his devastation. The heaviness in Ignis’ voice as he responded to Noct’s awkward attempt to lighten the conversation was practically deafening. But there was no way for any of them to lessen this blow. Tears were threatening in Gladio’s own eyes as Noctis floundered, clearly having more to say, but struggling to get his words out.
Gladio couldn’t protect Noctis from what was about to come… but he could shield him from facing the end with regrets. Lend him the strength he needed to push through his emotions. So he forced himself to meet Noctis’ eyes across the campfire and said firmly, “Out with it.”
“I just…” Noctis faltered again, trailing off before clenching his fist against his knee and releasing the tension with a sigh. “...Damn it. The hell is this so hard?”
Gladio listened in silence, giving Noct the space he needed to wrestle with his words. Ignis and Prompto did too—the three of them were weighed down with their own impossible burden of grief but silently gave their full attention and support to Noct. Because he needed it. He needed them. And if they couldn’t protect Noctis from this, they damn well were going to give him anything and everything he needed from now until the end.
“So I…” Noctis tried again as he sat back up and looked them all in the eyes. “I’ve made my peace. Still… Knowing this is it, and seeing you here, now, it's… more than I can take.”
A tear escaped Gladio’s eyes as Prompto broke the silence, “Yeah. You’re damn right it is.”
Gladio gave up wiping his tears away after another one immediately followed the first. It wasn’t supposed to be this way. He was supposed to be the one to lay his life down for Noctis, not the other way around. But this couldn’t, and shouldn’t be about him right now. So he sighed heavily, and said the only thing he could. “You spit it out.”
“It’s good to hear,” Ignis added solemnly.
The only sound that followed was the crackling of the campfire as the four of them sat there, mourning what was to come.
Then Noctis abruptly rose to his feet before them. Standing straight and tall like the king he truly was, with his heart open and exposed as he said, “Well… what can I say? You guys… are the best.”
As a child, Gladio thought he’d understood his father’s lesson. But when Gladio, Ignis, and Prompto rose in unison to envelop Noctis in the center of the tightest group hug imaginable, with the four of them as emotionally vulnerable as they’d ever allowed themselves to be, for the first time, Gladio finally and truly understood.
And even with the four of them bearing the weight of it together, that crown had never, ever been heavier.