takingaim | And Then He Falls [for regalblaze]

Entry tags:

ten years later

And Then He Falls [for regalblaze]

Of everything that have ever been asked of him, of everything that the last thirty some odd years of his life has demanded of him, nothing has ever been harder than requiring him to stand there and watch his best friend start the long walk up those stairs into the Citadel, knowing that Noctis is going to his death. It's a thousand times harder than having to turn around and look to the massive Giants coming out of the ground, knowing all too well that they might be dying here in giving Noctis enough time to save the damn world. Whatever world might come out of this. What will it matter when Noctis is dead? Maybe this is just a final stand, enough time to live to see the dawn. Somehow, he's both the most afraid and the most determined he's ever been, leaving him in some horrible emotional flux that might almost come across as calm if it wasn't for the tears streaking down his cheeks.

But he holds his gun at the ready, looking solidly forward.

"Last one to kill their giant buys the first round," he calls out, a half-hearted joke as the ground finishes ripping open and the giants stand there.

"Deal," Gladio replies, bringing the massive great sword around in front of him, his eyes more determined than Prompto had ever seen him, but only the faint light shining gave away the tears.

Prompto looks over at Ignis, steeling himself, prepared to do everything to help protect Ignis and without a doubt that Gladio would do the same. He feared for Ignis, really for both of his friends, because with Noctis gone... he is, was, their lives. His, too.

Maybe it's just the death of all of them, no matter what outcome befalls them.

Flat | Top-Level Comments Only

If Ignis hadn't physically stopped him, Prompto wouldn't even have noticed. In preparing to meet whatever horror is within, whatever is about to be branded on his soul for the rest of whatever life is there to live, he is blind to nearly everything, like a chocobo with blinders on. He lifts his gaze, lips parted to ask what Ignis meant-

Then those words. ...Move him? Why? Prompto's brows come together, looking to Ignis with confusion before looking back to Gladio. It's difficult to read Gladio's face in that moment. Confusion? Surprise? Anger? He isn't sure what he sees in the momentary widening of Gladio's eyes, then how they closed, but it all ends in the vivid moment of pained sorrow that gets shut down behind a mask of emotionless. Prompto wishes, with everything in him, he could do that so easily.

"...I did."

Move him? "...Why?" Prompto barely recognizes his voice in the broken sound that is far too loud in the hall.

He hasn't told them and he doesn't intend to. There are some things that his friends are better off not knowing, sights better off not seeing. He wishes he knew a way to not let Gladio see the scene of Noctis on his throne... in a way that none of them wanted.

"The Ring's full power is at the throne. It was for King Regis when he held up the Wall. I suspected that this... ritual," Ignis grit his teeth just thinking about it, "might've transpired there."

And only after Gladio's confirmation, he let's go of Prompto's uniform. He's not sure if the Shield believes a single word he uttered right now but it didn't matter. Ignis didn't want to subject Prompto to the horrific sight that was in the room.

"If that was the case then the sight of it... I wish Gladio didn't have to witness it either." Don't take your dreams for granted. Ignis had no single night of peaceful sleep ever since Altissia.

Ignis can't see the looks he's getting from Gladio, but he might sense it. A look of questioning how Ignis could have known that Noctis had been in a terrible position when he'd found him, pinned to the throne like a butterfly. They will have a talk later about this. It isn't going to be pretty.

Ritual. The word almost makes Prompto want to laugh, some sickly angry laugh, because it had been nothing less than a sacrifice. Noctis had been laid upon an altar and slaughtered, the sunrise as crimson as the blood he spilled. Whatever Gladio had seen when he first came up here, Prompto almost wants to shout that he shouldn't have moved him, that he wants to know the truth. They've gone through all of these hells together and there's no protecting him from that truth anymore!

Gladio doesn't believe a lick of Ignis' words. Something's settled badly in his gut with those words out of his friend's lips and it's sinking further and further.

Without another word, Prompto moves forward, fists clenched at his side. He needs to see. He's supposed to be a photographer, a naked eye to capture the world, even if it's something he hasn't done in years now. If the sun is Noctis' last legacy, to have banished the darkness, Prompto wants people to know, wants to know himself, the price that had to be paid in order to do it.

Yes, he can sense the tension that appeared in the air between them. Gladio probably has a handful of questions, even more yelling in his pocket for him later. Ignis should care about this, he should feel bad for not telling his friends, his brothers, everything he saw. But, right now, he's too numb from the pain to think about it and what kind of consequences it might bring.

Ignis exhales softly when he hears Prompto's footsteps and that he's headed inside of the Throne room. The blond can be angry with them for moving Noct from where he was killed. But Ignis doesn't feel bad that Gladio did what he did. If he could spare at least one of his friends from witnessing that sight, it doesn't matter if they get angry with him. If Prompto gets angry with him.

The sight won't haunt him in his days and nights.

Ignis lingers in the hallway of the Throne room as they enter, waiting for Gladio to tell him what he did and where their King was moved.

"...how did you know he needed to be moved?" Gladio's voice is a rough echo in the hallway, his eyes piercing as they stare at Ignis with intense focus. He could find everything down unusually, he'd been the one who kept going on their path even when the three of them had lost Noctis originally, but even his strength couldn't hold everything out of his voice now. Had he screamed? Cried? It was hard to say; they had all been screaming during that final battle.

Inside the throne room, Prompto just fell to his knees beside Noctis' corpse, covered by a banner Gladio had ripped down from the wall. Slowly, he reached out and pulled it back, showing a face slack in death, holding none of the horror of those last moments. So pale, in the throne room filled with light from the new day, it still almost looked like maybe he would wake up. That handsome face that Prompto had wanted to befriend, love, from the first moment they met, but when his fingertips touched Noctis' cheek, it was too cold already.

The image blurred as the tears started to come.

Ignis is silent as he listens to the rustle Prompto makes as he crouches and moves the banner out of the way. Whether the other knew what will happen or no, it wouldn't change a thing. Ignis knew that because he tried. He tried so hard to find a hole, a way to pull this off without sacrificing their King and beloved friend. The hopelessness he lived with of knowing but not being able to do anything about it was and still is, slowly killing him. Ripping his heart and soul to shreds, a reminder of what this world truly is.

After few silent moments, he just shakes his head and walks over to Prompto. Is it a curse or a blessing that he can't see his dead childhood friend? Placing his hands on Prompto's back as he crouches, he could feel the shaking from the sobs he's holding back.

For Prompto, it might be a curse. The last image in his head he'll ever have is of Noctis lying there, cold and gone, even if the millions on millions of images of Noctis vibrant and alive try to crowd it out. Right now, here, kneeling on the throne room floor, it doesn't matter. Nothing matters. Noctis is dead. They might have saved the world and brought back the light and all of that other high fluting stuff but it doesn't matter.

He wants to scream, shout, shake the body under his hands, but even as his heart cries out, his mind knows it will do no good. It leaves him shaking, torn and frozen in place in his indecision, his fingers slowly clenching until they grasp material tightly between them.

"Noct," he manages to get out, choked until it feels like he can't breathe. It's not fair, why- why!? Ten years of lingering over this, of knowing it was coming, hadn't been long enough to come to grips with what would be. A thousand years wouldn't have been.

Ignis stands close to Prompto, hearing from where his voice comes. His throat is all closed up, knowing Noctis' unmoving body is laying just a foot away from him. It's rendering him speechless, immovable, wishing he could take his King's place ten times over.

He doesn't have the heart to pull Prompto away from him. But he also can't let Prompto sit like that. With a shaky exhale, he crouches down, hand on Prompto's back. The reason is supplying him with what they need to do after all of this, but he can't bring himself to voice any of it.

"Prom..." turn away. This is not how you should remember Noctis.

As if he will ever, ever be able to forget the sight he's already seen. It feels burned into his mind's eye, the epitome of their failure to truly protect him in the end laid out at his feet. None of this is right. Not Noctis looking like his father in this outfit, not him being here on this cold marble floor, not him being dead.

"...Iggy, take Prom out. ...Gonna take Noct down to the tomb." Somewhere where, for now, they could leave his body safely where the magics of the place would keep the body from rotting away.

Gladio's slow words brought out a keen of sound from Prompto and a matching flinch only Ignis would be able to feel.

A cold wave goes down Ignis' back when Gladio says 'tomb', breathing stopping for a moment. He's... never imagined that he will witness Noctis' body down in the tombs. His hand moves from Prompto's back around his shoulders and slowly moving him away from the body.

"Come."

There is a pleading tone in Ignis' voice as he urges Prompto to get up and head out of the Throne Room. He's not sure in what state is the break room, but there should be a place to sit down or lie down.

"We will change the guard with Gladio later," he adds, in case Prompto protests and wants to go with Gladio.

"No," comes the weak whisper as Prompto finally looks away from the body to Ignis, guided into standing up and pulled a step away before he realizes he's being guided at all, away from his friend who his mind all but screams shouldn't be alone. Logic knows this faulty, foolish, but his head spins with the idea until he stares helplessly at Gladio.

The bigger man nods gesturing with his chin to follow Ignis. "I won't leave him," as if he understands exactly what's going on in Prompto's head. It's both a relief and a punch in the gut, causing Prompto to bend slightly over as if it physically dealt a blow, but he does follow along with Ignis.

Ignis will get a brief squeeze on the shoulder from Gladio before the click of the Shield's boots indicates he's gone to kneel beside the body.

The break room is dusty both otherwise untouched from the years of chaos, like the majority of the Citadel has proven to be. It seems the daemons had never roamed this halls, only one man whose footprints can be seen in the dust in certain areas. Prompto doesn't know where he's being taken, doesn't care, a numbness spreading throughout his mind but not his heart.

Ignis gives Gladio a nod of thanks for helping him persuade Prompto. Sometimes he's better at reading people than Ignis is, even when it is someone close to him like Prompto. With a hand wrapped around his waist, he guides him out of the Throne Room and to the Break Room that's just across the hall.

Whatever the state of the room is it doesn't matter in the hindsight. Ignis doesn't care, Prompto probably cares even less. He helps him sit down on the sofa he knows it's aligned next to one of the tall windows and then sits down himself next to him.

Silence.

It is more suffocating that the dust that is floating in the room. Ignis feels exhausted- body and mind and heart. Ignis takes off his visors to properly bury his face in his hands, a violent shudder going through him.

Dust slowly floats across the room in the delicate shafts of light penetrating the gloom for the first time in many years, kicked up from the door opening, from them sitting on the seat, but neither man seems to notice. With Ignis right there beside him, Prompto couldn't miss the shudder that ran through Ignis.

A pale hand slowly creeps over and settles on Ignis' back without a word, giving what little bit of support he can possible manage when it feels like everything has been drained from him. I'm still here, the hand tries to say, without adding the even if I don't know how much longer that wants to follow.

Noctis has been his hope for most of his life, now. Now it's gone. How can he live without hope? Everyone's always expected him to be the lively one, the one with the energy and excitement and...

His hand slowly tightens on the back of Ignis' jacket.

Without having to think about the body lying in the throne room, all the pain starts crashing down, taking with it everything in its path. The hand on his back only serves to send more shivers through him- the warmth of it clashing with the cold of the pain coursing through his brain.

What now?

For the first time, Ignis has no answers. The people will return, rebuild, continue with their lives. But what are they going to do? Their life has been tied and so closely entwined with Noct's that he doesn't know how he should continue without him, despite what he previously told Prompto.

What now...

Neither does Prompto. No answers, no idea of what to even do. He leaves his hand there on Ignis' back, saying nothing as his head hung, staring down at the floor as they wait in silence. The dawn has come for the world, and yet for them, the darkness has come. He wants to do something, but every attempt to think of what to even do, beyond sitting there broken and taking his next breath, falls apart in his mental hands, fraying.

Then, quietly, "...I want to find chocobos."

That's it. Five quiet words into the silence, with Prompto still staring down at the floor. Where those words come from, Prompto isn't even sure. He has no clue. They just... came.

Ignis can feel the warmth of the sun beating against his back through the window, but compared to the others, it doesn't offer much comfort to the Hand of the King. It is just an eternal reminder of what transpired on this day. It is the hand that offers the solace at this moment, a hand of the person that is going through the same thing as he is, and nothing else.

His head turns towards Prompto as he mentions chocobos and it somehow manages to get his lip to twitch. "...the sneaky, black one too."

There's silent, solemn understanding between them. Or, at least, Ignis understands. Prompto doesn't have to give him any explanations.

The hand slowly moves away from Ignis' back, but not far away. Instead, it falls to lay by Ignis' side, as if wanting to keep offering what little he can but completely uncertain of what to do. It doesn't feel like there's anything to give, but he has to, somehow, for his friend. For the two people he had left that he cared about in this world.

"Black, yeah. Royal color and all that, right?" His voice cracks, terribly, but he keeps right to the end of the sentence. His other hand clenches in the material of his uniform, holding tight to it so he doesn't just fall apart with his own words echoing in the room. "They're super smart, so... there has to be some chocobos out there." Though, in his heart, he knows that's probably not true. IF a chocobo somehow manages to live with nearly all plant life dead and IF a chocobo manages not to get killed by daemons and IF a chocobo manages not to be changed into a monster...

But he needs to believe in something. Anything. Otherwise, he's going to drown.

Ignis is not sure if this will offer any sort of comfort, but it keeps Ignis' mind from wandering too far off and falling into despair. He has to remind himself to take it slowly, yet the searing pain of this moment plants rather pessimistic thoughts in his mind's eye.

Chocobos, huh? Black Royal. The one that stole his specs a long time ago and Ignis had Noct... help him retrieve them. "I am sure some of the chocobos found refuge in Lestallum. The people there have been growing food using the energy of the meteor. I am sure- there will be some there." He tries to sound as confident as he can but the truth is that he won't be sure until the go and witness it themselves.

It would mean leaving the Citadel but, without Noct, this place is hollow. Ignis wouldn't mind leaving it behind.

Insomnia's past holds good, important memories for Prompto, things that he wants to hold near and dear to heart, but just as much, he doesn't want to taint them with blood and rot and destruction of so many years of this city being abandoned, the lack of who would be here to rebuild it with them. They've done so much; isn't it enough? Can't someone else take on the burden, even if for only a little while?

Prompto knows it might not be the right thing to do, but on the heels of the loss of the most important thing in his life? He doesn't know if he cares so much about the 'right thing to do'. That's what got them here, broken into pieces on the floor of the Citadel even if it also saved the world.

"It's a place to start." Go to Lestallum, somewhere he hasn't been in... how long? Prompto can't even remember. Everywhere has too many memories for him to be comfortable, but at least Cindy had been willing to offer him a place to turn into a room, a place to live from while he fought away his anger and pain and fears.

"Come with me?"

The two of them might be having the same train of thought. Ignis wants to stay here and help rebuild, guide others and help them out to have a better future. But... the Citadel keeps giving him only bittersweet memories. Of his childhood, of happiness that now turned into pain at the mere thought of it. In the end, Ignis never felt tied to this place, only to the Prince that resided here. The King that just gave his life for them.

Going to Lestallum. With Prompto. It... doesn't sound so bad. He doesn't know what they could do there but the state of the town probably isn't too well, since everyone ran to hide there.

Ignis nods. "Gladly." He is quiet for a few moments before adding, "Noct would be annoyed if we don't name one chocobo after him." If one of those black chocobos survived, it would be nice to raise one with Noct's name.

"Yeah, you're probably right." Prompto stares across the room, not at anything in particular, just feeling a strange sort of numbness creeping into his whole body, like something is draining out of him. "...We'll find the sleepiest, laziest black chick possible and name him Noct." Then, after a pause, "or, Nocta, I guess, if it turns out to be a girl."

There's an almost smile that tries to touch his lips, thinking about the look on Noctis' face if he found out they accidentally named a girl chocobo after him. It dies, though, and instead threatens to become tears. At least it's a feeling he's familiar with, forcing those down as hard as possible, when he needs to do anything else but that. In the last ten years, there's been far too many times for him to have to deal with something on his own - a threat or his own emotions.

He's gotten better at it then he would have ever liked.

"The strongest one can be Shield, for Gladio, and the smartest one Iggy. I guess mine would be the scrawniest or something." Though years have put muscles into his chest and arms that twenty year old him had never had.

"He would be really happy about it..." Ignis says slowly, leaning back in his seat and just sinking into it. All the things that Noct enjoyed and fought for and now not being able to witness them. Ignis' mind easily supplied him with an image of Noct leaning on one of the rental chocobos, napping next to the fire.

Ignis sighs shakily but decides to focus on what Prompto was saying. Scrawniest? Well, Prompto was a bit on the scrawny side- ten years ago. He wonders if he stayed that way. But that was beside the point. Scrawny wasn't the defining trait of Prompto, it was-

"How about the fastest? You've always been quick on your feet," he offers gently.

"You think so?" It is so much easier to talk about this than the lingering thoughts of now what. Everything they had fought for had come to light, literally and figuratively, but the cost... the cost had not only been Noctis, but a part of their own souls in the process. The long night had left scars behind, but one last night of Noctis had been somehow a thousand times more scarring than anything else had been. The last memories before a corpse was under his hands.

Walk tall, my friends.

"...Gladio's down there... do- do we go down there with him?" Would Noctis be buried in that tomb? "I think... Noct would be happier elsewhere, honestly." Even if he thinks that he might get in trouble for daring to admit that feeling.

"Of course."

It is a temporary distraction. Nothing in this world will be able to lessen the weight of the loss they suffered. And the World might never know the extent to which their King went to bring them the light back.

Perhaps... after the wounds heal up a bit, he could ask Prompto to help him write the book about what happened. The man had already documented everything with his photos, it only needs words that Ignis will more than gladly provide. People forgetting what Noctis did for them would be the biggest crime of all.

"We will join him in guarding the place later. As for... the final resting place- I agree. Noct never liked the Citadel, despite it being his home." It only gave him bad memories. The council is gone as is most of their superiors. It leaves them to decide where they want to bury their King.

"Perhaps we could look into building The Royal Tomb somewhere where it overlooks the ocean. Noct did like his fishing," Ignis says with a small smile.

To have the camera as an eye witness of what happened, spoken in the words of the three who had lived through it at its closet, to have them still here to speak of it and be reminders of the truth... perhaps it would not all be lost. The more who knew of what happened meant the more that would pass it on to their children, their children's children. Word would spread and, with some hope, the word would remain true with the book there to guide its course. History is always skewed, written in the eye of those who lived through it, the winners, but this would be as close to what actually happened as they could manage.

For a flawed hero, even a hero who liked to fish and who was lazy and stubborn and who feared responsibility but took it anyway... was a hero that could relate to the people.

"The ocean... yeah. Yeah, he'd like that, or even up at the Vesperpool, or near Gladin Quin..." Different locations, the things they did at them, flicker through his head and pull hard at his heart, but he means his words. "I don't exactly know how you go around and get a tomb made or anything, though."

Question: ...did Ignis ever TELL Gladio about the vision?

I've been wondering that ever since Ignis' DLC. From the way he reacted around crystal I doubt

*nodnod*

well from the looks of it he'll end up telling him!

XD

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

nodnod