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In Niflheim’s tundra where icy currents blow,
A doppelgänger wanders in the twilight glow
The snow carries a chilling deceit
In frozen shadows, it slithers discreet.
Beneath the bed where darkness creeps
The creature settles while the child sleeps
Little ones, beware the mimic’s plea
In the silent dark, it yearns to be thee.
Sweet assurances dance in the hall,
A doppelgänger’s grip, it claims its thrall
Fearful screams in the midnight air
Children vanish, caught in its snare.
In the moonlight, the mimic dances with glee
A wicked smile it whispers: “I’m you, not me”
- Lucian nursery rhyme
The screams from the spectators fill the air as they flee the public ceremony. Folding chairs are left upturned, smoke is billowing from somewhere near the podium. The feedback loop of a microphone screeches through it all, all but forgotten amidst the fighting and the panic. The podium is empty and around it, crownsguard soldiers are crowding in from all sides. They’re caught between helping the civilians in attendance, and being on the lookout for the small group who left a bullet hole in the wall just inches from their beloved Crown Prince’s head. He sees Noctis warp out of harm’s way in a split second. That’s a relief, at least.
His heart is hammering in his chest now. Leading the assassins away from the crowd was the easy part when he’s their target. He just hopes the others will forgive his recklessness when this is all over. He can easily imagine Ignis’ silent disappointment and Gladio taking out his anger at their next training session.
Panting, he dares to look back as he puts some distance to the street corner he rounded. His pursuers dash through the smoke like shadows. Luckily, running is his forte, he just about manages to think before more shadows appear in front of him.
One of the shadows is aiming a small rocket launcher in his direction.
Well, shit.
The missile is fired, hitting the nearest building. A blast of debris comes crashing down, but he has nowhere to move unless he wants to run into their line of fire. It is all too late when he sees the falling chunk of concrete overhead.
And then there is darkness.
The first sensation which jolts him awake is a searing pain in the head. A blinding light chases the darkness away when he opens his eyes. Soon though, the light gives way to blurry shades and focuses into what looks like an ordinary hospital room. He blinks in confusion as he takes in the generic furniture and the sound of beeping machinery which makes his head throb.
How did he end up here?
He sits up. A groan escapes his lips and he touches his side. Red has bloomed through his bandaged torso to settle for dark red at some point.
He winces in pain and lets a small curse slip under his breath.
“What the f…”
The thin, white sheet slips from him and pools onto the floor. The linoleum is cold where the tips of his feet touch. Slowly, he moves towards the mirror. Blue eyes stare back through a thick and messy tangle of raven hair. A hefty wound where his head must have collided with a blunt object is halfway hidden beneath the strands.
“Ungh, that’s gonna leave a scar” he groans. No wonder it feels as if his head is about to split in two.
Smoothing some of his dark hair back he realizes some of the strands have been carefully spiked with gel. Moving along to his ears, neck, he takes in this unfamiliar individual in front of him. He touches his face, observing how the (his) pale digits follow the smooth line of his jaw. Cocking his head to the side, his dark brows furrow as the question repeats in his mind.
Who the hell is he?
He jumps with a start at the sound of the doorknob turning, his body taking a defensive stance to sight off any intruder as if it is the most natural thing in the fucking world. He briefly wondered what kind of life he must have been leading up until now as he awaits the incoming intruder.
A pair of amber eyes meets his, and though he does not move an inch from his fighting stance, the newcomer’s expression visibly softens with relief.
“You look like shit” the big guy huffs as a way of greeting.
His frame is muscular but not too hulking, and where his physical features have an edge, his expression seems to soften his harsh exterior. He’s beautiful, and by the way he carries himself, he knows it. The tall man approaches him with brisk strides “Would’ve been here sooner. Got some bad intel that put you closer to the citadel– Noct, what the hell?“ The newcomer’s steps come to a halt as he eyes his defensive stance with visible confusion.
“Who the hell are you?” he manages to growl at the newcomer.
The tall man crosses his arms with an unimpressed expression “come on, Noct. This isn’t the time for one of your jokes.”
Noct.
There is something so right about that name. Familiar.
Noct. Noctis. That’s right.
Noctis straightens his posture, still wary of the stranger in front of him. His eyes flick from one area of the room to the next, scouring his mind for some useful information. Anything to identify this tall guy in front of him. But his mind is blank. He bites his lower lip, daring to flick his gaze back to the tall man in front of him.
The tall man huffs a laugh and crosses his arms “can’t tell if you’re being your usual broody self or if you’re actually serious about this” he sighs ”I’m your poor excuse for a Shield?
“:...Gladiolus” The name slips from Noct’s lips faster than his brain can process it, as if he is stuck in a thick fog and can only just make out the outline of his memories. The warm familiarity in his chest as the name rolls off his tongue feels just so right. Memories of broadsword hilts in the man’s calloused hands and muscles rolling under tanned skin. Their many spars on the training grounds.
“Yeah” the tall man reaches out, probably to ruffle his hair in a loving gesture but thinks better of it the way Noct flinches without meaning to “that’s right, princess”
“Stop saying that”
“You’ll always be princess to me”
“No, stop calling yourself a bad excuse for a Shield.” he murmurs quietly. His fingers fidget with the plastic name tag on his wrist as he feels cheeks go warm in his attempt to keep his gaze leveled.
A smile tugs at the corners of the brunette’s lips. His brown eyes are filled with an emotion Noct has a hard time putting a finger on. Is it warmth? Bemusement? Affection.
“I sense Prompto’s cheery disposition has rubbed off on you”
Another sense of familiarity tugs at his chest “Prompto?”
A loud sound brings their attention to Gladiolus’ pocket. It takes him a moment to pry his phone from his way too tight pants (not that Noct is complaining, he thought. Wait, was he ogling? ).
“Iggy,” Gladiolus manages gruffly, and something flutters in Noctis’ chest in recognition. A memory of keen green eyes framed behind a pair of glasses. It leaves him with a sense of relief. If Iggy’s involved, then everything is about to be just fine.
Gladiolus’ eyes flicks to him for a moment with an affirmative grunt, searching Noctis’ face for something which makes him somehow squirm inside. Noctis sinks down on the bed, trying to appear unfazed through the throbbing headache. He’s probably just weighing their options based on his current state and if it is up to Noct, then the hospital room and lack of memories are already making his skin crawl. That and well. Something tells him this Iggy guy can probably get him out of this bind. Is that how an Iggy is supposed to be?
The brunette finally tears his gaze away from Noctis, listening to the muffled but familiar baritone at the other end.
“Not over the phone” Gladiolus mumbles in reply “let’s do a status at a rendezvous point. Point Yellow should be fine” Gladiolus’ phone is soon pocketed again. He walks towards him, carrying a bag in an unnecessarily tight grip, Noctis observes with an increasing sense of dread (and seriously, Gladiolus must be the only person to bunch up the fabric in his grip instead of holding it by its strap).
“Before we leave,” Gladiolus places the bag on the mattress, and something is screaming inside for Noctis not to open it. He swallows and lifts his gaze to fix it on the taller man’s face, and tries not to flinch when something suddenly appears in his hand in a wisp of blue smoke “- here”.
Noctis feels the cool, smooth glass vial against his palm and instinctively clenches until it breaks in his hand. A pleasant sensation surges from the hand to branch out to every fiber of his limbs. The throbbing in his head subsides, and Gladiolus lets out a chuckle at Noctis’ relieved moan.
“Thanks,” Noct murmurs and cracks an eye open “do I look less like shit now?” which makes the taller man’s eyes crinkle at the corners, and shakes his thigh fondly where he rests his warm hand. It’s a comfortable and familiar weight. Whatever reservations he had before seem to melt with every familiar gesture. He even laments the lack of warmth when Gladiolus’ hand moves away.
“Shit show is not over,” Gladiolus reaches for the bag and Noctis’ stomach drops once more “This was found next to an unconscious enemy soldier. Blondie’s aim’s as unbelievable as ever“
He continues with a sigh “I’m showing you this because I trust you won’t do something reckless” Gladiolus’ voice is calm, though it is betrayed by his expression. Noct knows that face. They’re both bracing themselves.
“I need you to focus, Noct. This doesn’t have to mean anything. But I know how you hate being kept in the dark” his hand has not loosened the grip around the dark fabric “can I trust you won’t warp outta’ here and start searching’ before we have a chance to get an update from Iggy?”
Noctis feels his head move in a silent, curt nod and swallows. It’s not as if he wants to have a gander of whatever Gladiolus has brought. Rather, it is the intense gaze and the silent insistence in those amber eyes. He reaches to pull the backpack closer, opening it to reveal something that makes his eyes widen for something so unexpected.
A broken camera.
It does not make sense. It is not as if there’s something special to it. A non-threatening object that is neither a threat nor something as creepy as a limb. Heck, even a chocobo plush should have instilled more feelings than this.
Yet why does it feel like saying goodbye to an old friend?
He must be a man of few words at best of times, because Gladiolus does not seem to expect a reply from him. He does not flinch when Gladiolus moves closer to pull him into his embrace, his hand gently guiding him to rest against the white shirt covering his chest. It is a bit singed at the edges “I know that look” .
Good, because Noctis does not know what the hell ‘that look’ means, and he is too exhausted to open the Pandora’s box and explore his feelings when he can hardly make sense of what is going on.
Instead, he tightens his grip around the device and lets himself sink a little deeper into his embrace and mutters into his shirt “Point Yellow?” He has no idea what it actually means, but he is not going to make Gladio start fussing by actually admitting to his amnesia. Better play along for now while his brain re-solidifies from the mush it has become.
Gladiolus nods “Point Yellow” he agrees and stands up and offers his hand. Noctis takes it willingly.
Turns out, rendezvous point Yellow is an administrative building a good thirty minutes from where they are at, close to the Citadel.
Noctis slips out of his hospital gown and into the garments Gladio brought.
“Stealth mode activated” he murmurs as he spreads his arms to inspect his attire. It includes a pair of ripped jeans and a comfortable, black hoodie (Gladio’s, judging by the smell of his cologne. Bonus points for remembering that little tidbit).
The camera is carefully returned to the bag. With the lens bent out of shape and a considerable dent in the body it is no use carefully strapping it in place with the intricate loops and belts inside. He pulls the zipper, though, and it is somewhat comforting like not all hope is lost just yet. He slings the shoulder strap over his shoulder with a much calmer expression once he is done. Gladio returns his nod when he signals he is ready.
His Shield pulls a Kenny Crow baseball cap over his black mop of hair. This earns him an indignant squawk which Noctis will never admit was coming from him. He glares when Gladiolus laughs
”C’mon, Assassin’s Crow”
Noctis grumbles and pulls the hood over his head for good measure, hoping it will suffice to obscure his identity.
The streets are busy. Several individuals in Crownsguard uniforms drive by, surveilling the area after what happened just a few blocks over. Gladio leads him towards their designated rendezvous point with hand placed protectively against his back. It’s a comfortable guiding gesture. Noctis follows him unquestioningly to the back of the building, only stopping when the Shield halts to make sure the coast is clear. He swipes a keycard and presses a code against a keypad. They quickly slip inside the building with the door clicking softly behind them.
They climb the stairs two at a time, which is impressive for Gladio, who is texting Ignis all the while to inform him of their arrival. The second floor opens up to a huge hallway lined with elevators on both sides. One of them at the far end pings and opens, just as they arrive at the top of the landing.
The golden doors slide smoothly and out strides a tall, dignified silhouette Noctis would recognise anywhere.
Ignis.
The mere recognition makes him want to close the distance between them and leave everything in the newcomer’s capable hands. (after a hug. Is Iggy a huggy person? He can’t remember)
Ignis lifts his head from his phone and slips it into his breast pocket. Despite the fact that his usually crisp attire is a bit ruffled and singed at the edges, he holds his composure.
“Good timing, Gladio. We-“
But another figure barrels past the tall advisor.
“We’ve gotta’ find Prompto!” The urgency in the newcomer’s voice is evident, “he could be buried under rubble and…” the words die on the companion’s lips.
Noctis’ gaze meets vibrant blue eyes under a mop of raven hair. The person’s black suit is rumpled and singed at the elbow. His jaw is set in such a familiar defiant, yet dignified expression (scowl? Definitely a scowl).
Noctis Lucis Caelum is staring right back at him.
But wait!
He’s Noctis Lucis Caelum.
He has to take a moment to blink when he realizes he is not staring into his own mirror image. And by the looks of it, his double (Not-’tis?) does the same.
In the end, it is Ignis who acts first. In the blink of an eye, a dagger materializes in Ignis’ hand and is gone as quickly as it appeared. The blade strikes past the double, through his hoodie and practically pins him to the wall behind him.
Meanwhile, the other Noctis’ face is pulled in an angry snarl. He closes the distance between them and tackles them both to the ground, the hood making a ripping sound as the fabric drags the sharp blade down with them.
The air is knocked from Noctis’ lungs. The cool surface of the floor grounds him as he lies there in a confused daze.
“Ignis!” his double yells, grabbing the dagger and raising it, ready to strike “call for backup. We don’t know how many imposters they’ve sent”
Only Ignis responds by throwing another dagger. Twin blue eyes widen, as it connects with the dagger in the hand, disarming the double with a loud clang. It skids across the polished floor, past the bag with the battered camera.
“Not possible, I’m afraid” Ignis walks to the dagger where it is lodged into the floor. The strategist carefully picks up the weapon and dismisses it into the aether, his expressions guarded “you see, ‘Highness’. How do I know you are indeed the prince? You have yet to summon anything from the armiger in my presence”
The figure on top of him opens his mouth, anger replaced by mortification “Specs, it’s me . You’ve been with me, like, the entire time!”
Noctis’ head has started throbbing again, no thanks to the fall.
He lifts his hand to feel the sore area of his temple for any signs of bleeding. In hindsight, this was probably not the best move during such a tense moment. His double reacts to the movement, letting his hand glide up as if to pluck something out of thin air. A weapon, he realizes.
“Whoa-wait!” he yelps. Muscle memory kicks in to counteract before Noctis can even reflect on what he is doing. He reaches, calling out to that familiar not-quite-void (armiger, he reminds himself) and feels cold steel against his fingers in reply.
Wisps of blue smoke dance before their eyes as an Engine Blade appears in his double’s hand, only to be blocked by the weapon appearing in Noctis’ own hands. The loud clang seems deafening in the silent building.
Noctis’s gaze never waivers from the double. Even if it is strange, looking into those identical blue eyes. The flick of confusion behind the determination. Is it the same look he gives, he wonders. Unlikely. His double can probably sense his distress coming from a mile off as he holds his position.
“Well shit, “ Gladio begins in disbelief, staring at the weapons where the two of them keep them locked against each other, neither of them yielding “this is straight out of that Niflheim nursery rhyme.They both have access to the armiger?”
Ignis merely pushes his glasses up the bridge of his nose in thought. Then, unfazed, he strides brusquely towards the two princes and picks up the broken camera from where it has ended on the floor. He inspects the device in his hand as he speaks:
“You will dismiss your weapons. Both of you. Now!”
The tall man moves towards the doppelgangers “honestly, Noct, I will disarm you twice in less than five minutes if need be.”
He kneels between the two to pry the weapons apart. The Engine Blade falls to the floor and dissipates immediately (Noctis thinks his double’s ears have turned pink at the reprimand).
As for Noctis, he tightens his grip, one hand on the handle and the other on the barrel to shield himself from harm. This only makes Ignis’ expression soften, his hold on the revolver more gentle.
Ignis’ voice is kind and considerate, as if he is addressing a frightened animal “we won’t hurt you. You can let go now, Prompto”.
His breath hitches.
Prompto?
There was that name again. Gladiolus had said the same. Same with the Noctis straddling him.
The gun slips from his fingers and disappears before it can hit the floor. His eyes shut, head still throbbing.
The ceremony. He remembers Ignis catching Noctis in his arms as he stumbles out of a warp, leading him to safety. The enemy troops coming after them. His own hands running through his hair, letting dark shades bleed into his yellow strands until his hair is completely black. Throwing his camera and striking the nearest soldier in the face to lure their attention away from his fleeing companions.
That was right. Prompto Argentum. His name.
When he lifts his gaze, Ignis meets it, patient and with a knowing smile. Noctis' eyes seem to widen with realization.
Prompto didn’t know where his powers had come from, but he knew it had something to do with the barcode hidden under his wristband. Something he feared would make him lose their trust if they ever knew. Even if he himself did not know where he came from. Urban legends about doppelgangers and other experiments from Niflheim kept the children of Lucis up at night, after all. But he had no regrets. If it meant saving Noctis, Ignis and Gladiolus, he would gladly expose his nature again.
He let his guise drop like leaves falling from a tree, recalling his blonde hair and calling on his freckles on his easily sunburnt complexion, as muscles and bones and cartilage rearrange under the canvas that is his skin. Soon he is back to his true form, and with it, a fear pools into the pit of his stomach. There is no return from this. And judging by the three pairs of wide eyes, they would never look at him the same way ever again.
“I’m.. home?” he whispers, eyeing the raven haired prince with a weak smile. It is time to fess up, and the words spill from him like a dam has broken “I’m sorry I never told you. I saw the soldiers and I thought distracting them would-” the rest of the sentence ends abruptly as the remaining air is squeezed out of his lungs. Noctis' arms encircles him even tighter and the prince buries his face in the hoodie.
“That,” Noctis murmurs against the warm fabric “was incredibly stupid”, earning a shaky laugh from Prompto as he wipes his face with the sleeve of Gladiolus’ mutilated hoodie. “I’m sorry. Ow” he winces at the squeeze he earns.
“Easy, princess” Gladiolus kneels beside them and, despite his chiding, joins them.
Ignis swats the other two indignantly “let the man breathe”
“What, are you jealous we’re hogging him?” Noctis' eyes glint mischievously “or hugging him?”
It earns him a laugh from Gladiolus and an eye roll from Ignis. They only move to leave just enough space for the tall man to slip between them. His hands sneak around Prompto, and soon his back rests against the advisor’s chest.
There’s peaceful silence for just a moment as everything falls into place.
“Um, Prom? You know those council meetings I have to attend…”
“Noct,” Ignis warns.
A sigh “You’re right. I’d never subject Prom to that kind of torture”