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He is tired.
Beyond tired, actually. He is exhausted.
The voices of the council members around him translate to white noise in his head, muffling any kind of thoughts he tried to muster and leaving instead a dull ache in his temples and a ringing in his ears.
He breathes in heavily and sits back. His seat is cold and uncomfortable, too hard on his back. The room, always so dark by the characteristics of the Lucii architecture, is especially darker that day due to the clouded weather, which just sends more shivers down his body.
He closes his eyes when the noises around him become louder as the members getting heated over the discussion; their discussion. It’s been a couple of minutes since he stopped trying to follow the topics of that reunion, the fatigue in his body and mind too heavy for him to stay afloat.
The air around him is chilly and he wants to leave and go somewhere quieter, warmer. He wants to be alone.
He thinks of his bed and the fine duvets and warm throws and of the welcome darkness that the thick curtains bring as they block the sunlight from dripping from the tall windows. He wants to take a nap like he used to when there was too much in his mind, when everything was too much— And then he thinks of those lithe, careful fingers that used to ran through his hair, the short, beautifully painted nails that lightly scrapped at his scalp and the gentle palms that would cup his face, the silk-like skin always so warm against his cheeks…
His breathe hitches suddenly as if the thought suddenly laced around his chest and squeezed hard. He can’t. He shouldn’t…
“—Your Majesty? Your Majesty King Regis?”
Regis opens his eyes and notices the whole room looking in his direction, expecting an answer for a question he did not hear. He averts his eyes to Clarus, who looks back with studying eyes but remains silent otherwise.
“Your Majesty,” someone in the room calls again, dragging their chair across the marbled floor noisily. “Please, give your say in whether a new onslaught against the front lines of Nifheilm army’s should be attempted or if the current reinforcements in the north side of the wall shall be straightened with the help of the magic bearers Glaives. We also emphasize that—”
The frown in his brows deepens and before the council member can finish her saying Regis raises his hand, making the woman halt in her words and enveloping the room in a tense silence.
Regis feels his chest tighten for the shortest of moments, his mind wrapping around his next words with unusual slowness. He exhales and slowly lowers his hand to rest on the long table again, feeling the cold of the stone prickling his palm. He straightens his back and looks at the group surrounding him.
“I will give my answer in the next reunion so I ask for your patience, but for now the meeting is adjourned.” his voice comes out loud and clear, but he can hear the weak vowels dragging past his lips and hopes he’s the only one to notice it.
The members sit up rigidly in their seats, exchanging looks.
“And may I ask when will be the next reunion, my king?” someone's voice on the far end of the table reverberates through the walls and into his head.
The muscles in his jaw tighten and Clarus’s eyes are on him.
“There will be a notice in your offices as early as possible.” He asserted with a stone stare under heavy lidded eyes. “All dismissed.”
In the silence that had fallen in the room he clearly hears someone take an intake of breath, mentioning to say something too, but the stern voice next to him is the one to fills the air instead.
“Your Majesty has spoken. Please leave the room at this instant.” Clarus demands as he stands up, staring down at the council party as if he challenged any of them to argue.
A brief relief comes to Regis with the sound of chairs being dragged back and files and folders being gathered, the tense silence still among the members as they begrudgingly leave. He doesn’t move a muscle as he listens to the rhythmic sound of their footsteps echoing through the walls, remaining like that until he can hear silence around him again.
He releases a heavy sigh and brings up a hand to run across his black hair.
“Regis.”
His lips contort slightly.
“I apologize Clarus.” He says sincerely, turning to look at his bodyguard and long-time friend who looks at him with familiar studying eyes. “I wasn’t paying attention to anything that was being said.”
“Are you aware of the decision you made?” Clarus' frowns, his voice is firm as ever. “Ending this reunion so soon when there were still so many topics to be discussed.”
"So soon?" Regis feels like he had been sitting in that uncomfortable chair for countless hours.
“Yes I am.” He merely replies.
“They weren’t happy and will most likely complain.”
“I am aware of that as well.”
“This meeting must be rescheduled soon for you mustn’t let the issues fester—”
“Yes, Clarus, I know.” He stresses his words, pressing his fingers on his temples as he slides just so slightly in the rigid chair, grunting when the ache in his back worsens in the new position.
Clarus goes quiet. He observes Regis using his fingers to comb his jet-black hair that keeps falling over his face. Then he notices the unfocused gaze in his eyes, as if his mind is somewhere else; somewhere far away from there.
When Clarus speaks again, his voice comes out softer, lower.
“Is anything amiss, Regis?”
The question makes the king stops and for a moment Clarus thinks he sees pale fingers twitch in between strands of black hair, but then Regis is leaning on his chair’s arms to stand up. His movements are sluggish and Clarus attempts to step closer to his aid but stops when Regis raises a hand again.
“Everything is fine.” Regis says but he doesn’t meet his eyes. He adjusts his coat around his body. “I’m fine.” He adds and the tone in his voice says he’s done talking.
The frown in Clarus' forehead deepens but he chooses to not press. Not now and not here. Perhaps not this time.
“I see” he replies, voice flat.
They fall in silence as Regis focuses on getting ready to leave and Clarus keeps on closely watching him, feeling worry creep up on his spine and so he places a hand on Regis shoulder when he’s about to head out, who tenses under his touch. He doesn’t like it.
“Regis. Listen,” he starts slowly. “You should get some rest.” He mutters, squeezing the strong shoulder carefully.
He receives a nod as a response, but then Regis replies.
“I will.” Is all he says as he turns around to walk out, escaping from the touch.
He wants to be far away now.
For once he is thankful for the dark hallways in the palace, taking in the silence as he trudges down the hallway, hoping to not raise awareness of the handmaiden on their duties or to stumble upon guards on their shift changes.
And yet, as alone as he is, his mind is still relentless and full of unwelcomed thoughts, thoughts he wishes he could set aside only for a day or borrow deep down.
He turns a right and is met with more dark hallways. He runs his hand across his hair again. He’s still so far from his wing in the palace…
“Maybe I really should have more walks.” he muses and the corner of his lips contorts at his own bitter comment.
As he keeps on his stroll, trying to shut down the thoughts, he walks past the statues.
They’re about the same color as the stones that adorn the ceiling in intricate arabesques but there’s a soft glow in them, fruit of the staff’s diligent work on polishing them weekly. They carry swords, daggers, axes and even some tridents.
He pauses to observe one of them. The man holds the sword firmly to his side and his stance is not offensive, but of someone who would counterattack with ease and face challenges with determination, and the look carved in his eyes mirrors unwavering confidence and resolution, He’s imposing, even if it’s all but stone.
Regis studies the statue’s stoic face and wonders how his own looks like right now.
He resumes his walk and thinks of how he could possibly muster that posture when he can feel his insides clench and his strength guttering when remembering the recent losses outside the wall and the ache in his temples increases with the thought of making choices that would just put the life of his Glaives even more at stake. He thinks of the perpetual look carved in that king’s statue and bitterly asks himself how he could bear that same look with that heavy burden on his shoulders. A burden passed by generations just like the ring that he carries with him, always so cold against the skin of his finger.
Oh, the ring…
Now his mind retorts to the Lucii Ring. It has been a constant in the kingdom and in the Caelum family for more than a century now, and in Regis eyes it always changes its image.
There are times that it feels somewhat lukewarm, gently glowing with its own light, giving him the power to run his kingdom and keep his people safe.
But then there are times that it feels cold to touch and seeming to only intensify the pain when there’s an attack; the explosions of Nielfheim’s missiles almost becoming a white noise as he feels his whole body hurting and his hand throbbing painfully, as if the ring was connected directly to his veins and was making its way to his heart. It seems like it’s always testing his strength, waiting for his downfall. And he knows it is. But he’d much rather bear that pain instead of letting his people fall in the hands of the enemy.
But then there are times that his mind is full of the most precious blessing that he has ever received from Her; one that he wished he could hold close and protect for his whole life.
But he cannot always be around; much less stop his child from growing up.
Thinking of him never fails to make his chest swell with happiness. His cheerful laughter and the timid, shy smiles that beam as bright as the sun are always so vivid in his mind that it immediately brings warmth to his heart and numbs the cold of the ring around his finger. Regis just loves him so dearly—
His steps falter and he grips the handle of the staircase tightly as a flood of thoughts suddenly invades his mind.
Regis couldn’t let the same happen to his son too; let him lose his glow to the crystal that resides in the heart of the palace where it shines and pulses intensely, keeping the kingdom safe as it saps his life force.
He couldn’t let his child grow to take the same burden he and a hundred others took as kings. He has to stop this war and the bloodshed. He has to bring his people peace again and give back the homes to the many refugees and let his boy live a longer, proper life as the ruler.
That was his goal, the sole mission he sought for, and yet there’s this terrible cold in his whole body wearing him out and making somewhere inside his chest hurt and cry.
He wonders if he can face the council again.
He wonders if he can muster the next steps for the upcoming battle.
He wonders if there’s enough in him to put an end to this war.
He wonders if he will fail and the crystal, deep within the palace, will take N—
He stops and pinches the bridge of his nose, too overwhelmed by the intrusive thoughts. He squeezes his eyes shut as he tries to calm down. None of this will happen. He will stop this before anything reaches his son and put an end to all of this before his fall— he just needs time.
Choosing to ignore the stinging in his finger, Regis raises his hand to pull the hair back again that insists on falling over his forehead, but a quick breeze brushes it away from his face. He frowns and looks up, shock showing on his face as he realizes that his meander took him to one of the many open hallways with tall archways that lead to the palace garden.
Umber eyes squint at the bright white sky, the somber weather still solid and cold. He’s even more far away from his chambers now and he can’t fathom how he came to this place, but this place—
He could turn around and climb up the stairs to head to his wing in the palace, but the sound of the rustle of the trees and leaves in the wind awakens a memory within him that is just too big and powerful to ignore.
So he keeps on moving forward, passing by tall bushes until he finds an opening, a small path that leads deep into the garden that the staff takes when managing the plants. Without a second thought he walks in, curious to take a look at the garden he hasn’t visited for so long.
And it still looks as wonderful as it did when she finished it, if not even more.
Some trees seem to be taller than the last time he saw them, their sturdy trunks looking healthy and well cared. The thick bushes are full of flowers of all shapes of colors. He didn’t know much about flowers or plants, but he still helped the lady make her dream garden.
Regis runs the trail patiently, looking at the plants around to see if he remembers any. There are no birds perched on the trees on that day, the weather probably too cold for them to linger outside and he almost misses the sound of their chirps if it weren’t for the soft sound of water running close by. Regis stops to listen to it, finding it strangely familiar but he can’t pierce together any clue for that so, curious, he follows the sound.
He unconsciously walks faster as it grows louder and by the end of the trail Regis sees himself in the center of the garden, where a white fountain resides with some sets of dining tables surrounding it. Water flows from the basin and into pathways carved into the ground that spread to all corners of the garden and the small table in front of it.
Slowly, Regis approaches the dining sets made of riven stone, which gleams beautifully but looks extremely lonely and tries to not think of the wistful afternoons where they sat at those tables together in the rare moments they could be by themselves and not surrounded by the cold walls of the palace. There isn’t much he can remember from that time, which he thinks he is glad for, but the memory of her big blue eyes is still etched in his mind, clear and vivid. They were always casted to the skies, observing the shapes of the clouds when she thought he was occupied reading, not minding the tea getting cold as it rested on the riven stone of the small table.
A quiver goes down his body but Regis ignores it and walks up to a thick bush in that he does not remember from that time. The bush itself is short but the flowers that blossom from it are of a delicate pink and their petals soft to the touch.
Her lips were of the same color and texture.
He chooses one and plucks it out, muttering an apology as he remembers of the mouthfuls he used to receive whenever he did that to her flowers and stands up, carefully placing the flower in the intern pocket of his suit, making sure it won’t be squeezed and have its petals wrinkled.
But before he can turn around a strong, clear voice reaches his ears.
“What are you doing here, your Majesty?”
The Marshall is always direct to the point.
He’s careful to not let show his surprise to see Cor Leonis there, and the look he sees on his face tells Regis he won’t evade from him as easily as he did with Clarus. Nothing is ever easy with Cor.
“Marshall Leonis” Regis greets him and Cor nods curtly, still looking at him with studying eyes. “I could ask the same. Finished earlier today?” he inquires, glancing at the sweaty sleeveless shirt the Marshall wears and the jacket under his left arm.
“Yes.” Cor says, his blue eyes unwavering from the king’s face. “The new recruits are learning fast. Today none broke down the posture as I tested them, so I decided to dispense them.” He watches Regis switch the weight of his body to another leg. “I also see potential in a few to become Glaives, but I will put more work on them before going to the next step.”
At that he sees a shadow cross the king’s umber eyes, but it’s too fast and then Regis rolls his shoulders carefully, seeming to be trying to smooth a knot somewhere in his back. Cor frowns.
“How are you faring, sire? Did something happen?” his voice is calm but he watches intently for any signs of something amiss.
Regis curls his lips in a smile that doesn’t reach his eyes— Cor sees it.
“I just thought some fresh air would do well after so long in between those walls.”
They fall in silence as Cor stands his ground and Regis waits.
The Marshall tries as best as he can but eventually he drops out his attempts. He cannot read the inscrutable umber eyes that made the king sink in this uncommon demeanor. It bothers him, to see how tense his friend is, but now is not the right time.
“I see.” is his answer as well.
At that Regis straightens up his back and takes a small breath that barely fills his lungs. “I must head back now for there is still work to be done, so if you excuse me.” He says with care to not show his urgency.
Cor says nothing and bows respectfully as Regis walks past without another word.
This time he goes straight to the nearest exit but just when he’s a few steps from crossing the archways he hears Cor voice again.
“Get some rest, Regis.”
He puts an arm around his chest, around the flower in his pocket, and climbs up the stairs.
It’s been a long time since he’s been in the last floor in the wing of the royal chambers.
Unlike the other hallways in that palace this one has clear colored vases along it where white flowers rest inside and paintings instead of statues. The flowers are small and the paintings are mostly of beaches and oceans. Nothing really remarkable but he still prefers them over the unwavering stone eyes looking down on him as he walks down the hallway.
He stops when he reaches the last door, looking at it with uncertainty. He doesn’t know if walking in would be of any help or just make the ache worse, but the flower inside his pocket can’t wait much longer if he wastes just another second.
He touches the golden handles of the double doors with his fingertips first, pressing his lips tightly before pushing the doors open slowly and quietly.
The walls inside the chamber are the color of a soft white and the smell of flowers is strong and sweet, impregnated deep in the silk golden-and-pink fabrics hanging from the bed’s canopy in the center. His breath immediately hitches as he walks into the bedroom, feeling like he’s an invader in the bright place, his presence covered in black and dark silver. Umber eyes roam from corner to corner until he spots the big vase resting on the nightstand, where a few white flowers rest, looking terribly forlorn. He approaches and takes a look at them before sliding his hand inside his suit and taking the flower. He checks to see if any of its petals wrinkled during the short trip inside his pocket. One of the petals seems to be out of place and when he tries to smooth it back, it falls on his palm.
As gently as possible, Regis places the flower among the others in the vase, careful to not hurt the poor thing any longer, and then places its fallen petal in the nightstand. He steps back to look at the vase again. The pink flower looks out of the place among the white ones.
“You always liked the pinks better.” a small smile gracing his lips but quickly averts his eyes to the bed right next to him. The silk drapes drop beautifully to the mattress where a few pillows and cushions lie on it, as white as the walls.
He reaches down to touch them and the pang in his chest comes back stronger than before, just like the memories of running his hand across those same pillows and duvets to find soft tresses of ash blonde hair. He would intertwine the wavy curls around his fingers like rings before reaching for her pale neck, where the pulse was slow and steady under his fingers as she slept next to him.
The memories are still vivid and his heart writhes as they remind him of how he would cup her face in one hand, rubbing circles in her rosy cheeks with his thumb until he earned a soft sigh and watched his queen pull the hand resting on her cheek to her lips, placing a kiss in his palm before mumbling a good morning in a sleepy smile.
His hands are shaking and the cold in his bones grow harsher. He ponders on sitting on bench at the foot of her bed but decided against it, afraid that he wouldn’t be able to stand up later.
Regis still remembers how she could tell what he was thinking just with a mere look, her blue eyes studying him with scrutiny before she pulled him in an embrace, letting his tired body find rest in her arms and comfort for his perturbed mind when he buried his face in the crook of her neck to breath in the smell of her skin.
Regis squeezes his eyes tightly shut, afraid of the heat beneath his eyelids and not minding that his hair falls over his face again. He cannot remember the smell of her anymore or the touch of her hair in his fingers, much less the weight of her hands on his back as she embraced him. He can’t remember anymore, and yet, it is the only thing he had whenever he was hurting and bad thoughts swarmed his mind.
He shakes his head weakly as he sees himself standing in her chambers trying to grasp onto broken memories.
“I miss you so much,” Regis mumbles, his voice shaking. “I miss you so much, Aulea—” he feels his voice crack and his brings up a hand to squeeze his eyes with his fingertips, his hair brushing against the back of his hand, disheveled.
The throbbing pain in his heart is getting stronger and he has to leave.
Regis turns back, eyes cast to the ground as to avoid looking at the poignant pink and gold and glittering of the queen’s favorite silks and drapes that decorate the room. He steps outside and doesn’t look back when he shuts the doors close, leaving behind the flower and his hope to find consolation in what was left of his wife in the living world.
He wishes he could bury his memories and heart seven foot under just like they did with—
He closed the double doors upon arriving in his bedchambers, a sign that he was to not be bothered if his sullen expression wasn’t enough. Not caring to properly undress – barely taking off his long coat and throwing it over a chair – he walked up to his bed, seeking for the warmth and comfort of thick duvets and the soft mattress against his aching body. There was a momentary relief when he lay down with silence ringing in his ears as he finally found himself far away from the outside world. In his room he hoped to fall in blissful unconsciousness, but soon he the thoughts infiltrated in his mind, flashing like lightening.
He saw the looks of the council members expectantly waiting for his answers. He heard the sound of water running just next to his feet and the sight of forgotten dining tables. Then he remembered the feel of warm of the sun, the vastness blue of the skies and the sound of her laughter, fleeting and low.
The distraught thoughts kept him in a fitful sleep where he keeps on rolling in bed and at some point when he can’t stop thinking about the looks that Clarus and Cor gave him he opens his bleary eyes, blinking a few time to find his reflection in the mirror on the wall facing him. His skin is as ashen as the ghosts that haunt his mind and Regis quickly turned away from it.
He hurdled under his covers, trying to stop the cold from seeping into his body, and pressed his face against the pillow and waited for everything to end soon.
Time flies and he doesn’t keep track of it, but at some point the silence enveloping him is disrupted by a low thud, just next to his him. He thinks he imagined it but then a low gasp quickly followed by a gasp and he frowns.
Shifting the arm he’s covering his face with Regis finds this little boy frantically looking around, his black hair fluttering like feathers.
Regis frowns even deeper, both confused and surprised.
“Noctis?”
His voice comes out hoarse and slurred and it makes Noctis jolt, his thin shoulders going rigid. Regis blinks away the bleary vision to better look at him.
“I…” Noctis starts tentatively, his head down and his voice stilted, still nervous that he had woken up his father. “The Glaives reported that you were in your bedroom and didn’t want to be bothered, but the handmaiden said that you didn’t have lunch today…” he stops and takes a small intake of breath. “So I…”
Regis doesn’t say anything, waiting for him to continue.
“So I thought… of bringing some tea in case you were a bit hungry.” He finishes in a shy whisper that barely escapes from his tiny lips; eyeing the thermal he holds close to his chest and the lid that he had accidently dropped before tentatively glancing at Regis through the hair of his fringe.
For the first time that day there’s a wave of warmth flowing through his chest and swelling in his heart.
He holds the boy’s gaze longer before a cracking a small smile. “That’s very kind. Thank you so much, Noct.”
The grin that he earns from Noctis is warmer than the sun.
“Would you like some now?” Noctis asks lively, his smile widening and showing tiny pearly teeth. “It’s warm and freshly brewed! Just how you like it!”
Regis sighs softly, bracing himself for the next words.
“Thank you Noct but I’ll have to refuse this time.”
He knew what was coming but seeing Noct’s smile falter so quickly stills sends a pang of guilt to his heart.
“Ah,” Noctis says, pulling the bottle closer to his chest again. “That’s all right.”
Then he glances at his father and how tightly tucked they are around his body, just like a cocoon. He cocks his head and asks.
“Are you still sleepy?”
Regis lets his eyes fall shut again at the question, grimacing as he realizes of how much time he spent uselessly trying to escape from his worries through sleep but only wasting his time.
“I wasn’t sleeping, son” he starts slowly, “I was… thinking. About various things. I couldn’t sleep even if I tried.” He finishes with a heavy sigh at how weak his voice sounds and brings up his hand from under the covers to pinch the bridge of his nose. If only his mind stopped from swirling around bad thoughts and his heart writhing over sorrowful memories so he could rest.
Noctis listens closely, frowning slightly at the words. He places the bottle in the nightstand next to him – careful to not make the aluminum thud noisily against the wood again – and takes a small step forward.
“Dad?” he calls softly and just receives a grunt as a response. “Is everything fine with you?”
The question comes out quietly but the words are loud with concern. Regis has the answer on the tip of his tongue by this point but he can physically feel how painful it will be to say it again. He decides to merely give Noctis a dismissive smile and a white lie so the boy will leave as well and let him crumble down.
But when Regis raises his head again, trying to force his lips curl into another smile, he meets Noctis’s eyes and it dawns on him that he just can’t and doesn’t want to keep his façade any further. How could he look at those beady eyes and lie to them when they’re so exasperated and with such clear concern as Noctis waits anxiously.
Regis could never lie to his son, but he still inhales deeply before muttering.
“No.” He admits, giving in and openly showing how distresses he is. His body sinks down in the mattress even more. “I’m afraid that I’m not fine.”
“But what is it?” Noctis asks quickly, his fingers twitching anxiously as he steps a bit closer now. He’s attentive. His eyes roam freely his father’s face, noticing signs that weren’t there before. The deep eye bags in downcast eyes, the disheveled hair that’s always so neatly combed and the slightly trembling shoulders. Noctis notices it all, but especially the downward curve on his father’s mouth. “What’s wrong, dad?” he asks more insistently.
He doesn’t know what to say, how to say. He thinks of a way to say half the truth, but the thought alone is too tiring for him so he simply gives up. He wants to be honest to him.
“I am hurting.” Regis says after a few more seconds. His words drawl out of his mouth – he doesn’t know if it’s the fatigue in his body or the lump in his throat, everything too merged for him to tell – and he squeezes his eyes shut, trying to fight back the heat that gathers behind his eyelids. He doesn’t want Noctis to see him like that.
Noctis quickly grabs onto the duvets, knitting his eyebrows together. “Then tell me what I can do!” Noctis says as he leans in, examining his father’s face but still mindful to keep his distance, afraid of causing more pain. “Where is it hurting? I can get some band-aids!”
The sweet innocence and honesty in those words make Regis blows softly through his nose in an almost a chuckle.
“This is not something that band-aids can help, son.” He explains gently, looking into the big blue eyes that no more wave away from his. “It’s deep inside, somewhere around my heart, and I can’t make it go away.” he mutters weakly and shifts in his pillows, not meeting Noctis’s eyes and another strand of hair fall over his face. He no longer can bother about it and instead hides behind it.
Silence falls in the room and Regis thinks again. Is he doing something bad right now? He wants to be sincere with Noctis, he doesn’t want to lie to him like he did to everybody else because Noctis is special, he’s not like them, but… He doesn’t want to make his child be concerned about him, have his head full of worries because of him.
“Disappointing” Regis tells himself as his qualm already eats him away. He curls an apology in his tongue but as he opens his mouth a small hand brushes off the unruly strands of his hair away from his face and smoothing them back, and the words die in his lips.
“Is there anything I can I do to make you happy again?” Noctis asks again and his voice carries a weight to it. Regis looks up and his breath gets stuck in his throat when his eyes meet Noctis’s and the images and memories come flooding back when he finds those big blues looking at him with intent gleaming in them just like hers did back then did when he desperately needed a safe-haven and the reassurance of her presence.
Noctis pulls his hand away from the soft hair to tentatively touch Regis’s scratchy beard. “Let me help, dad.” He pleads and there’s a crease between his eyebrows but his gaze is still firm on the umber eyes. “Please. I don’t want to see you sad…”
Regis can feel bottom lip trembling but his hands are steady when he reaches his arms out from under the duvets to rest in each side of Noctis’s thin torso, a touch so light that it’s barely there – for he wants to give his son the chance to pull away if he wishes to.
His next words come out in a shaky breath.
“Can you come lay here with me for a bit?”
Noctis’s eyes widen at the question, quite taken aback, but then he’s quickly grabbing onto the arms around him, using them to support himself as he climbs with certain difficulty on the bed that is still too tall for his short legs. Regis immediately aids him, lifting him up just enough so the boy can place his knees on the soft mattress and then pulling the covers away to give Noctis a spot next to him when the boy crawls closer.
Regis’s so occupied making sure that his son is comfy and properly tucked in – an act that comes as a natural instinct for him – that he just notices the light squeeze around his body when Noctis rubs his head against his chest.
“Don’t worry, dad” he says gently, one hand holding onto his father’s shirt while the other reaches around the sturdy body to rests on the wide back. “I’ll make sure your heart will be alright again.”
And as if to prove his point Noctis presses his face on his chest as he listens to his father’s heart, feeling it beat against his ear.
Usually a king always has his words ready, on the tip of the tongue, something that at a point comes naturally. That’s how kings must carry themselves, but today he certainly did not feel like one and now he finds himself speechless at his son’s gentle words, his mind suddenly blank as he feels the light squeeze of Noctis’s hug around him. He looks down momentarily and sees the blues fluttering shut.
Deciding to remain silent, he finishes arranging the duvets back to cover the two of them before settling back on the mattress and letting out a soft breath through his nose. He turns to look at Noctis again, his umber eyes studying the little boy lying so peacefully next to him and reaches a hand to Noctis’s head, touching the inky strands with his fingertips. He’s careful to not interrupt the boy’s slumber but he can’t help but notice how long his hair has grown and he smiles, remembering how his own hair looked so alike his at this age.
Regis keeps on playing with the tresses, mindlessly rolling them around his fingertips and trying to curl them but watching as the hair swiftly flow back to place, too straight and soft to properly mold around his fingers.
His hand stops. It comes to him slowly, this sensation. It’s a genuinely feeling but hardly big enough to pin point.
Regis blinks slowly and his eyes start to travel around his room, roaming from corner to corner, taking the shapes of the lavish furniture and rich decorations hanging on the walls as he tries to wrap his mind around this feeling but he finds his mind empty and he just cannot really think about—
His eyes go wide for a moment, still lost in some part of his silent room.
It’s silent. Finally, it’s silent.
A small grunt reaches his ears and Regis looks down at Noctis again, seeing that small crease forming in between the boy’s eyebrows again. He lightly presses his thumb on it, rubbing and smoothing it out until Noctis’s expression is serene again. Tiny lips part just enough for a sleepy sigh to escape from them and he smiles, running his thumb across the still small bridge of Noctis’s nose and then down his cheeks, the skin soft under his calloused digit but it doesn’t seem to bother the boy as he’s keeps on dozing off next to him. Regis watches his sleeping face for a moment and then reaches for the black tresses again, running his fingers through them until his palm is on the back of Noctis’s head. He carefully positions his arms and brings his son higher to his chest, returning the embrace and hearing another grunt which is then quickly followed by a sleepy, intelligible mumble. Regis takes in Noctis’s warmth as he sleeps in his arms and he can feel his own body stopping from shaking and trembling, his rigid shoulders finally slouching comfortably, but when he buries his nose in the tousled hair the smell that fills his senses finally makes the scattered pieces in his mind connect.
He smiles shakily and brings Noctis closer to him if it’s even possible, cradling him fondly as his eyes fall shut.
The whole day he chased for comfort in the old, fleeting memories of his queen, oblivious to how he just wore himself out. His mind was clouded like the skies today, and just when he thought crumbling down to the empty space in his chest was all he had left, those big blues looked into his eyes again and he realized how foolish and how blind he was this entire time.
He barely remembers the cold he had in his core from earlier as he as he squeezes Noctis in his arms, letting his heavy eyelids fall shut as he plants a kiss on top of his head.
“Thank you so much, my little prince.”
It took him a painful long time, but he had finally found his peace.
Blissful sleeps comes to him as he barely registers the small hand in his back patting him softly, Noctis sleepily calling him.
Heavy voices whispering just outside of his chambers slowly brings him back from his slumber. He grunts and reaches a hand to the space next to him, patting the mattress but when he only finds an empty space he opens his eyes and blinks a couple of times to get rid of the haze in his vision and he pats the duvets, noticing the spot next to him is still quite warm. He frowns but then turns to the double doors, where the voices keep on spilling inside through the gap. Seems like he isn’t quite alone.
He gives a long exhale, his own kind of yawn, and rubs his hands over his face before standing up and making his way out.
Clarus and Cor halt on their words when Regis steps through the double doors, their postures going rigid as the king merely runs a hand across his dark hair, which stays in place this time.
“You two are awful at whispering.” Regis mumbles. His voice is hoarse but clear, carrying humor to it.
“Pardon us for that.” Clarus says softly as Cor remains silent. “We also know that you wished to not be perturbed but new reports came from the troops announcing a fall back from the enemy that you must read.” Clarus explains and darts his eyes to the file in his hands.
Regis nods in knowledge but then turns to face the two of them, his eyes squinting just so.
“Where has Noctis gone?”
His question is firm and the two men don’t respond right away.
“He is sparing with Gladiolus right now.” Clarus says then. “His return is due in a few hours, around dinner time.”
Regis listens closely and turns his attention to the windows in the far right, seeing the night approaching behind the clouds that grow darker. He nods again.
“Good.” He simply comments and then notices the thermal bottle lying on the tea table. He walks around them and grabs it, feeling the warmth of the tea against his palm. He gives a small smile and takes the cup from the top to pour him some. Aware that his friends are still eyeing him, he adds. “You can leave the reports in my desk. I will stay here until dinner.” He says and takes a sip from the golden warm liquid. He hums. “I am also calling the second turn of the meeting for tomorrow, so kindly notify the council members.” He finishes, turning to face them again.
He sees something change in Clarus’s expression, his eyes softening just a bit, and maybe there’s a thug in the corner of his mouth but his attention averts to Cor when the man finally speaks.
“You look better.”
He smiles. Straightforward as always.
“That is because I am.” He simply says. There’s an exchange of looks between his friends that don’t go unnoticed but he just takes another sip of the hot tea.
Clarus leaves the folder on the desk, apologizing again for waking him up and merely receiving a dismissive wave of hands from Regis. Clarus he makes his way to the golden double doors of the king’s chambers, where Cor is already waiting for the two of them to leave.
He walks through but before they go, both men glance again at their long-time friend who still stands in the middle of the room, quietly watching the sky grow darker outside the tall windows.
There's a subtle curve in the corner of their lips as they leave the king to bask in his deserved peace.