[ Ignis denies him and Noctis says nothing, only curls up into him and closes his eyes, fighting tears -- he's a grown fucking man and this is a terrible showing. It's a terrible showing but in the same vein this is the love of his life, the first and the only, and perhaps the last. Octavia is a good woman, kind and clever and she deserves so much better than Noctis, wounded and too in love with someone else to be of much comfort.
He should go. He should leave instead of dragging this out, that it's better to just hurt all at once than to leave it limping, dragging. But he's always been the masochist, greedy for one last touch, one look. The way he breathes and the warmth of his hand. He says nothing, but he doesn't sleep, tucked in his arms. He wishes things were different too; he wishes for so many things, wants even more -- so much of it oriented around Ignis, and all of it now, finally, ended.
Noctis doesn't sleep. He stays in his arms quietly until the darkest hours pass, and he kisses his forehead and extricates himself from his arms. Goodbye, he wants to say, because he cannot pretend that this isn't an end. What he wants from Ignis, he can no longer have for both their sakes, and if Noctis had loved him any less he would have hated him for all of it.
He goes back to the royal bedchambers, climbs in next to Octavia. She takes him in her arms, sensing more than knowing-- the breadth of his hurt an open wound that calls to her. He lets her, and she tries not to think about how he smells like Ignis whenever they pass in the halls. She tries not to think about how his shoulders tremble, minute and barely noticeable in her arms, and how warm, wet tears that are not her own stain the fabric of the nightdress she wears. They don't talk about it -- in fact, they don't talk about anything at all. She holds him until she sleeps, and hours later, she has her answer.
Ignis Scientia is leaving Lucis, employed on a contract on an indefinite basis. She listens, and her husband is nowhere to be found when the adviser departs. There is a sense of defeat about it all, a sadness in the set of Ignis' shoulders that she's no stranger to, and she doesn't need Noctis to tell him anything to know, to understand. Ignis is leaving her husband, and, as the days become weeks to months, she realizes that he's taken her husband's heart with him, too. She does her best to mend what's left, but it's difficult to look upon him when he takes his own grief as a companion, when it stays with him and underscores all that he is. He's lonely again, isolated in ways she cannot reach, and there are days when she's furious that he would take her heart along with him, too.
Things would be so much easier if they weren't about love.
But she does her best. Fulfills her duties as Queen, bridging both countries and setting up foundations for a stronger, more lasting peace. They work well together, Noctis and her -- they share similar thoughts, similar passions; a drive to make things better for their people, with an eye for the big picture. She establishes more alliances together with him, and eventually, one day, she becomes pregnant. Noctis smiles for the first time in weeks, genuine and warm, and even if the sadness isn't driven completely from his eyes, she considers this an acceptable turn of events.
He's attentive with her, caring. He makes sure she has everything she needs, but Noctis doesn't love her. She understands this even when it hurts, especially when it hurts; that Noctis could never belong to her. He does right by her, even if whispers had reached her ears about her husband and a dalliance with another lover, a scholar; tall, smart, accomplished and handsome. When she sees him in court one day, green eyes warm behind his glasses, she finds her truth and his. But it's dispelled after that, like a dream -- she will never know that Noctis had said the wrong name in bed; and this man who had shared his bed with the king had swiftly, quietly removed himself from his side. Noctis does the best he can with what he has -- rules well and does what is best by his people. He works harder than anyone else, and even if he listens for news about Ignis, even if Octavia on the occasion provides him with updates, he doesn't allow himself to hope.
Something in his heart withers, heartache set deep in his bones and immovable, putting lie to the adage that time will mend all wounds. Time has mended nothing for Noctis, barely touched what festers, hidden away carefully. He misses him in all the great and small ways, in the way their touches had been so casual, how Ignis, ever at his side, had been more than just a lover. He was partner and soulmate, a companion that completed him.
In his absence, Noctis doesn't know what to do with himself but devote all that he is completely to the kingdom. He keeps little for himself -- and what little there is, he still doesn't quite know what to do with. The comic books in the library go unread; Ignis' last gift to him, steeped with too many memories. He drifts, unmoored when he isn't conducting royal duties or busying himself with their new child.
A girl, he is told, and in her he finds a measure of happiness.
Soon, Octavia gives birth, and it's one of the happiest days in his life; but the day draws near when Ignis is to return, and Noctis doesn't even begin to know what to feel about it -- anticipating and dreading it all the same; Ignis had left to get away from him, to end this thing between them. The number of times he had attempted to text him, to send him emails, or even the occasional greetins had gone aborted. They didn't talk about it, did they, the new parameters of whatever it's decided to be? Prompto and Gladio are good on their own, and he depends on them more than he would if Ignis had been around, but there's nothing to be done for that now. They don't talk about Ignis in front of Noctis -- and perhaps they'd known, too, why he had to leave.
The princess is three months old when Ignis returns, and Noctis keeps his distance when he pays a visit to the Queen and the baby, dark-haired with the bluest eyes. Noctis, who longs more than anything to see him, to hold him again, only offers a distant greeting before he's swept up by his ministers. He doesn't see him for longer than that, eschewing his presence at meetings. He's not ready, he thinks. He's not ready to see him again.
Octavia prompts, one night. Tells him that it's obvious that he's pining. Go and say hello, properly. Noctis only smiles that sad smile, and puts Luna to bed. Octavia, dissatisfied and displeased, informs him that she would prefer to sleep alone for the night. Noctis says nothing, but uses the spare bedroom he does when there's too much work and heading back to the royal chambers is too far a walk. They don't sleep in the same bed for days, and Ignis' presence back at the Citadel becomes something resembling normal again. They need him, Octavia knows. They need him more than anything. Noctis is never seen in the vicinity when Ignis is around, and Octavia wonders if the man's developed some sort of ability to slip out seconds before Ignis enters; or enter just after he leaves.
She decides that she doesn't want to know, but she cannot help the anger that stirs in the pit of her stomach. She tends to her daughter, and Ignis assists, rendering impeccable aid and providing even better company. To think that she had once envied him his position -- how she wanted what he had, how much she desired Noctis' love the way he so easily claimed his. Now, it seems like too much of a mess, and she tires of it. Ignis is pleasant to talk to, and as days go by she understands why Noctis would love him to the exclusion to all else. Ignis, too, is easy to love. He charms, his thoughtfulness second to none, and that warm, low voice speaks volumes. If she had not loved Noctis so, perhaps she would have fallen for him, too.
But tonight, she summons Ignis, a sheaf of papers laid out neatly on the coffeetable before him. She had acquired these in secret three months before the birth of Luna, had wavered -- had thought that she could be used to this, that as long as she had her husband by her side, she wouldn't need his heart, his love. But things don't work that way, do they? She's seen the way he looks at Ignis when he thinks nobody's looking -- those eyes full of painful, awful longing, filled with a depth of emotion Octavia knew she could never have.
And she is nothing if not a practical woman -- it's pointless to hold on what can never be yours. Cracking open an expensive bottle of wine, she pours just a glass for herself, shelving her own heartache to prepare for this inevitable talk. They had loved each other since the beginning, Octavia knows -- they had loved each other since they were children, and while Ignis was the affair, the dirty little secret, she knows better than anyone else that the story isn't all that simple. In this story, she's the interloper even if neither one of them saw it that way. Their duty to their people had broken them apart, and Noctis doesn't seem to be able to know how to repair himself despite best attempts. Octavia, the Queen, now understands that she wants no further part in this. Better one gets hurt than all three -- better her husband finds his moorings; Octavia isn't too far gone that she would allow her heart to be crippled the way his has, the way Ignis has.
Men, she thinks, are more fragile than they often let on; and for all their preening, they fall quite short of so much.
So she waits for Ignis, and nods when he has leave to enter. ] Chamberlain. Sit.
no subject
He should go. He should leave instead of dragging this out, that it's better to just hurt all at once than to leave it limping, dragging. But he's always been the masochist, greedy for one last touch, one look. The way he breathes and the warmth of his hand. He says nothing, but he doesn't sleep, tucked in his arms. He wishes things were different too; he wishes for so many things, wants even more -- so much of it oriented around Ignis, and all of it now, finally, ended.
Noctis doesn't sleep. He stays in his arms quietly until the darkest hours pass, and he kisses his forehead and extricates himself from his arms. Goodbye, he wants to say, because he cannot pretend that this isn't an end. What he wants from Ignis, he can no longer have for both their sakes, and if Noctis had loved him any less he would have hated him for all of it.
He goes back to the royal bedchambers, climbs in next to Octavia. She takes him in her arms, sensing more than knowing-- the breadth of his hurt an open wound that calls to her. He lets her, and she tries not to think about how he smells like Ignis whenever they pass in the halls. She tries not to think about how his shoulders tremble, minute and barely noticeable in her arms, and how warm, wet tears that are not her own stain the fabric of the nightdress she wears. They don't talk about it -- in fact, they don't talk about anything at all. She holds him until she sleeps, and hours later, she has her answer.
Ignis Scientia is leaving Lucis, employed on a contract on an indefinite basis. She listens, and her husband is nowhere to be found when the adviser departs. There is a sense of defeat about it all, a sadness in the set of Ignis' shoulders that she's no stranger to, and she doesn't need Noctis to tell him anything to know, to understand. Ignis is leaving her husband, and, as the days become weeks to months, she realizes that he's taken her husband's heart with him, too. She does her best to mend what's left, but it's difficult to look upon him when he takes his own grief as a companion, when it stays with him and underscores all that he is. He's lonely again, isolated in ways she cannot reach, and there are days when she's furious that he would take her heart along with him, too.
Things would be so much easier if they weren't about love.
But she does her best. Fulfills her duties as Queen, bridging both countries and setting up foundations for a stronger, more lasting peace. They work well together, Noctis and her -- they share similar thoughts, similar passions; a drive to make things better for their people, with an eye for the big picture. She establishes more alliances together with him, and eventually, one day, she becomes pregnant. Noctis smiles for the first time in weeks, genuine and warm, and even if the sadness isn't driven completely from his eyes, she considers this an acceptable turn of events.
He's attentive with her, caring. He makes sure she has everything she needs, but Noctis doesn't love her. She understands this even when it hurts, especially when it hurts; that Noctis could never belong to her. He does right by her, even if whispers had reached her ears about her husband and a dalliance with another lover, a scholar; tall, smart, accomplished and handsome. When she sees him in court one day, green eyes warm behind his glasses, she finds her truth and his. But it's dispelled after that, like a dream -- she will never know that Noctis had said the wrong name in bed; and this man who had shared his bed with the king had swiftly, quietly removed himself from his side. Noctis does the best he can with what he has -- rules well and does what is best by his people. He works harder than anyone else, and even if he listens for news about Ignis, even if Octavia on the occasion provides him with updates, he doesn't allow himself to hope.
Something in his heart withers, heartache set deep in his bones and immovable, putting lie to the adage that time will mend all wounds. Time has mended nothing for Noctis, barely touched what festers, hidden away carefully. He misses him in all the great and small ways, in the way their touches had been so casual, how Ignis, ever at his side, had been more than just a lover. He was partner and soulmate, a companion that completed him.
In his absence, Noctis doesn't know what to do with himself but devote all that he is completely to the kingdom. He keeps little for himself -- and what little there is, he still doesn't quite know what to do with. The comic books in the library go unread; Ignis' last gift to him, steeped with too many memories. He drifts, unmoored when he isn't conducting royal duties or busying himself with their new child.
A girl, he is told, and in her he finds a measure of happiness.
Soon, Octavia gives birth, and it's one of the happiest days in his life; but the day draws near when Ignis is to return, and Noctis doesn't even begin to know what to feel about it -- anticipating and dreading it all the same; Ignis had left to get away from him, to end this thing between them. The number of times he had attempted to text him, to send him emails, or even the occasional greetins had gone aborted. They didn't talk about it, did they, the new parameters of whatever it's decided to be? Prompto and Gladio are good on their own, and he depends on them more than he would if Ignis had been around, but there's nothing to be done for that now. They don't talk about Ignis in front of Noctis -- and perhaps they'd known, too, why he had to leave.
The princess is three months old when Ignis returns, and Noctis keeps his distance when he pays a visit to the Queen and the baby, dark-haired with the bluest eyes. Noctis, who longs more than anything to see him, to hold him again, only offers a distant greeting before he's swept up by his ministers. He doesn't see him for longer than that, eschewing his presence at meetings. He's not ready, he thinks. He's not ready to see him again.
Octavia prompts, one night. Tells him that it's obvious that he's pining. Go and say hello, properly. Noctis only smiles that sad smile, and puts Luna to bed. Octavia, dissatisfied and displeased, informs him that she would prefer to sleep alone for the night. Noctis says nothing, but uses the spare bedroom he does when there's too much work and heading back to the royal chambers is too far a walk. They don't sleep in the same bed for days, and Ignis' presence back at the Citadel becomes something resembling normal again. They need him, Octavia knows. They need him more than anything. Noctis is never seen in the vicinity when Ignis is around, and Octavia wonders if the man's developed some sort of ability to slip out seconds before Ignis enters; or enter just after he leaves.
She decides that she doesn't want to know, but she cannot help the anger that stirs in the pit of her stomach. She tends to her daughter, and Ignis assists, rendering impeccable aid and providing even better company. To think that she had once envied him his position -- how she wanted what he had, how much she desired Noctis' love the way he so easily claimed his. Now, it seems like too much of a mess, and she tires of it. Ignis is pleasant to talk to, and as days go by she understands why Noctis would love him to the exclusion to all else. Ignis, too, is easy to love. He charms, his thoughtfulness second to none, and that warm, low voice speaks volumes. If she had not loved Noctis so, perhaps she would have fallen for him, too.
But tonight, she summons Ignis, a sheaf of papers laid out neatly on the coffeetable before him. She had acquired these in secret three months before the birth of Luna, had wavered -- had thought that she could be used to this, that as long as she had her husband by her side, she wouldn't need his heart, his love. But things don't work that way, do they? She's seen the way he looks at Ignis when he thinks nobody's looking -- those eyes full of painful, awful longing, filled with a depth of emotion Octavia knew she could never have.
And she is nothing if not a practical woman -- it's pointless to hold on what can never be yours. Cracking open an expensive bottle of wine, she pours just a glass for herself, shelving her own heartache to prepare for this inevitable talk. They had loved each other since the beginning, Octavia knows -- they had loved each other since they were children, and while Ignis was the affair, the dirty little secret, she knows better than anyone else that the story isn't all that simple. In this story, she's the interloper even if neither one of them saw it that way. Their duty to their people had broken them apart, and Noctis doesn't seem to be able to know how to repair himself despite best attempts. Octavia, the Queen, now understands that she wants no further part in this. Better one gets hurt than all three -- better her husband finds his moorings; Octavia isn't too far gone that she would allow her heart to be crippled the way his has, the way Ignis has.
Men, she thinks, are more fragile than they often let on; and for all their preening, they fall quite short of so much.
So she waits for Ignis, and nods when he has leave to enter. ] Chamberlain. Sit.