[ It ends, and Noctis dies for the sake of his loved ones, the world. He dies only for a couple of minutes, pinned to his throne in sacrifice, and he obliterates Ardyn, fulfilling the prophecy and bringing the dawn.
What Noctis doesn't expect is to wake to Gladio and Prompto's worried faces hovering over his, tucked into a wide warm bed in one of the undamaged parts of the Citadel. He remembers Ignis, how Ardyn had taken him out of the game before it ends, and Noctis, enraged and out for blood, and gone at him with all that he had. And he had won, even though it felt nothing like a victory and like everything had been taken from him -- but at least Gladio and Prompto are safe. He carried Ignis and laid him down in a safe spot, out of the way of whatever may come next, and prepared himself to die.
It's only through death that he can defeat the scourge, and the last thing he sees when his father drives the last sword through his chest is his father -- and Ignis.
And then he's here, back where the sun is rising at last, daybreak falling over all the world, and Noctis spends his first waking moments staring at the light that suffuses everything else, with Gladio and Prompto, his heart aching for the one person who's not here to share it with them, even though Noctis knows he's the reason why he's still alive. Prompto and Gladio tell him everything with shadows in their eyes, regret and grief mixed with anger -- after all, Ignis is dear to them, too, and they had been forced to make a whole host of difficult choices that Noctis wishes he could alleviate. They did the best they could. He tells them that, he's just not sure that they believe it.
But he does, and together they begin to rebuild the Citadel, Insomnia, and Lucis. Word had flown as quickly as the breaking dawn, the Chosen King had fulfilled the age-old prophecy and banished the darkness, scrubbing the scourge from the world. And surely but steadily, his people returned to what was left of their homes. The faithful, the loyal, the ones who only seek to have their lives back -- Noctis owes them all, and he had plunged himself to their service. To be king is to serve, and for the few months after that he had pulled teams and teams together to rebuild, putting forth an immense effort to do what they can to heal, to recover and bring back what they've lost.
Noctis restores running water and power first, and Cor, Gladio, Prompto, and all that's left of the Kingsglaive do the rest, tireless and unrelenting. It's a massive undertaking, but people are resilient, resourceful, and Noctis doesn't forget Ignis at all. He thinks of him in the spaces that he's allowed time to breathe, he thinks of him when he ascends as king and sees the space where his love ought to be, standing there proudly with him. He endures dreamless sleep however he can grab them, tirelessly searching for Ignis. He catches news of him one day, of a handsome blind young man, exceptionally skilled and mysterious -- and he sets out to find him.
He leaves the rest to Cor and the rest, because Ignis matters more than so much else, and when he finally locates the apartment he lets himself in. It's quiet and sparse, and looks barely lived in. It's a little messier than the Ignis of old would have preferred it, but things change. He looks through the notes left on the dining table, fingers tracing over the familiar writing and feeling the full weight of his longing, the emptiness in his chest at Ignis' absence. He saved him, he knows this -- he ought to have been dead, but Ignis had perhaps found a piece of himself after all. In these scattered notes he sees glimpses of Ignis, of the life he now leads, quiet and unobtrusive, and more than anything he misses him, yearning to have him back by his side.
After all, had they not fought for this day, had Ignis not sacrificed more than any of them?
It's this hope that he still clings to, when the sun begins to go down for the day, and Noctis chooses to wait. He's not sure what time Ignis will be back, if he'll even return at all, but he will not let Ignis slip through his fingers after finally having a real, solid shot at getting him back. And so when he hears the key turn in the lock, Noctis stiffens and forgets to breathe. Is it him after all, has he perhaps gotten the wrong person?
But he sees it, the unmistakable lines of him, tall and lean and elegant and impossibly gorgeous even when worn down and tired, and Noctis swallows hard. ]
no subject
What Noctis doesn't expect is to wake to Gladio and Prompto's worried faces hovering over his, tucked into a wide warm bed in one of the undamaged parts of the Citadel. He remembers Ignis, how Ardyn had taken him out of the game before it ends, and Noctis, enraged and out for blood, and gone at him with all that he had. And he had won, even though it felt nothing like a victory and like everything had been taken from him -- but at least Gladio and Prompto are safe. He carried Ignis and laid him down in a safe spot, out of the way of whatever may come next, and prepared himself to die.
It's only through death that he can defeat the scourge, and the last thing he sees when his father drives the last sword through his chest is his father -- and Ignis.
And then he's here, back where the sun is rising at last, daybreak falling over all the world, and Noctis spends his first waking moments staring at the light that suffuses everything else, with Gladio and Prompto, his heart aching for the one person who's not here to share it with them, even though Noctis knows he's the reason why he's still alive. Prompto and Gladio tell him everything with shadows in their eyes, regret and grief mixed with anger -- after all, Ignis is dear to them, too, and they had been forced to make a whole host of difficult choices that Noctis wishes he could alleviate. They did the best they could. He tells them that, he's just not sure that they believe it.
But he does, and together they begin to rebuild the Citadel, Insomnia, and Lucis. Word had flown as quickly as the breaking dawn, the Chosen King had fulfilled the age-old prophecy and banished the darkness, scrubbing the scourge from the world. And surely but steadily, his people returned to what was left of their homes. The faithful, the loyal, the ones who only seek to have their lives back -- Noctis owes them all, and he had plunged himself to their service. To be king is to serve, and for the few months after that he had pulled teams and teams together to rebuild, putting forth an immense effort to do what they can to heal, to recover and bring back what they've lost.
Noctis restores running water and power first, and Cor, Gladio, Prompto, and all that's left of the Kingsglaive do the rest, tireless and unrelenting. It's a massive undertaking, but people are resilient, resourceful, and Noctis doesn't forget Ignis at all. He thinks of him in the spaces that he's allowed time to breathe, he thinks of him when he ascends as king and sees the space where his love ought to be, standing there proudly with him. He endures dreamless sleep however he can grab them, tirelessly searching for Ignis. He catches news of him one day, of a handsome blind young man, exceptionally skilled and mysterious -- and he sets out to find him.
He leaves the rest to Cor and the rest, because Ignis matters more than so much else, and when he finally locates the apartment he lets himself in. It's quiet and sparse, and looks barely lived in. It's a little messier than the Ignis of old would have preferred it, but things change. He looks through the notes left on the dining table, fingers tracing over the familiar writing and feeling the full weight of his longing, the emptiness in his chest at Ignis' absence. He saved him, he knows this -- he ought to have been dead, but Ignis had perhaps found a piece of himself after all. In these scattered notes he sees glimpses of Ignis, of the life he now leads, quiet and unobtrusive, and more than anything he misses him, yearning to have him back by his side.
After all, had they not fought for this day, had Ignis not sacrificed more than any of them?
It's this hope that he still clings to, when the sun begins to go down for the day, and Noctis chooses to wait. He's not sure what time Ignis will be back, if he'll even return at all, but he will not let Ignis slip through his fingers after finally having a real, solid shot at getting him back. And so when he hears the key turn in the lock, Noctis stiffens and forgets to breathe. Is it him after all, has he perhaps gotten the wrong person?
But he sees it, the unmistakable lines of him, tall and lean and elegant and impossibly gorgeous even when worn down and tired, and Noctis swallows hard. ]
Ignis.
[ It's time for him to come home. ]