nascere | LET'S PLAY {open post}

LET'S PLAY {open post}

[ open. texts, messages, rp prompts and starters. gen & nsfw. ]

[ He'd change a thousand things if he had the chance, but as fate would have it, he didn't. Noctis is absorbed into the crystal. The first few days are the worst; Ignis writes him letters that he'll get someday and tucks them away inside the pages of the cookbook he can't even read anymore. They're probably difficult to read, but he's careful with each word and knows that it doesn't matter; no one will ever see them, including himself. It's cathartic.

They fight daemons, they learn to live in the dark, and while he's been fighting at a disadvantage it was never too much until the moment that it was. The end comes and it's terribly anti-climatic, all things considered. A daemon cuts through him like he's paper; he's distantly aware of Gladiolus and Prompto screaming his name but it doesn't matter; he tumbles down the edge of a cliff, falls into the water and then: nothing.

Distantly, he can recall bits and pieces. Nothing about who he is, or what's happening, but there's a man who gives him orders and that's...familiar. He may not be able to see the enemies he fights but he doesn't need to. Ardyn gives him the power to defeat his enemies and bring back the light. Whoever these people are that want to keep the world plunged into darkness can't be permitted to stop Ardyn when he's the only one trying to fix it. There's...something off about all of it, of course, but it isn't as if he remembers and Ardyn seems to care, which is enough. Bits and pieces come to him here and there but none of them make sense and they wash away as easily as anything; it doesn't matter. Ardyn is the King who is supposed to bring back the dawn and that's what Ignis is supposed to help with.

The next time he wakes, Ardyn equips him with daggers that feel familiar in the oddest of ways and then he's out again, promised that when he wakes, he'll be able to fight the one who's threatening the rest of the world, he'll be able to fix this. It's probable he won't win, but it's been a long ten years and he's...tired. Ardyn's no doubt sensed it; he feels like he's fading with each fight and to know that win or lose, this one is just a step in the right direction is enough.

The man -- his enemy cuts him down and wakes him; Ignis can't tell who he is at first, disoriented and trying to claw his way up from the fuzziness that comes from being put under, being made to rest when he needs to. It's not Ardyn who's woken him, it's someone else and there's the oddest sense of magic at the edge of his senses. He's aware of not just his daggers, but a dozen other weapons and they're all at his fingertips, along with the flicker of magic that feels right but he can't recall ever using it with Ardyn ordering him about.

Him, Ardyn whispers in his ear and Ignis sits up, holding back the urge to summon his daggers, curious. What sort of man is fool enough to go against Ardyn - what sort of man wants to keep the world plunged into darkness? Talking was never part of the instructions, but he wants to know. ]

I do hope you know what you're getting into.

[ Noctis finally returns, and he comes back to a sea of devastation, hell on Eos wrought by Ardyn himself, bent on spreading the misery as far and as wide as possibly, blanketing the entire world in darkness and snuffing out what embers of hope are left. Ardyn doesn't get it all, but he's damn near close to it when Noctis finds only Gladio and Prompto there when he returns, older, holding more sorrow, and definitely far more exhausted than he's ever seen them.

Humanity, it seems, are far more resilient than they give themselves credit for. Even with daemons overrunning the entire damn place, there are still pockets of the resistance, of people fighting to survive in the decade that's passed.

But what Noctis hears from Gladio and Prompto breaks his heart -- Ignis, as they know him to be, is gone; a daemon had a pretty good day and Ignis had a bad, bad one, and for the past ten years, the two had been fighting to get him back, fighting against an approximation of him, a twisted version Ardyn had corrupted for himself in some sick game, and Noctis forgets to breathe. Ignis, his oldest, most loyal; the one man he loved above all else, and the one Ardyn chose to take and corrupt for himself.

Noctis doesn't wait. He cannot, not when he knows that Ignis, whatever's left of him, is waiting for him in the Citadel. Perhaps Ardyn had seen him as collateral, insurance to ensure his arrival, or perhaps Ardyn knew what Ignis had really meant to him, and simply sought to twist the knife -- enact some sort of dramatic tragedy for the final act, as it were.

He succeeds.

Noctis cuts him down and wakes him, staring in horror and heartbreak at what he's become. The letters Ignis wrote him is tucked inside his shirt, against his heart. Gladio had given them to him before they left, and Noctis had read each one of them so often and so thoroughly that he knows each one by heart.

His Ignis, he thinks. His Ignis is here. He can feel the trickle of magic, a flutter of connection, faint but present, like butterfly's wings. His blade dissipates as he walks over to Ignis, crouches before him and tries to bite back a swell of emotion, intense and overwhelming. He won't raise his blade to him; he cannot. Maybe Ardyn knew exactly what the fuck he intended to do, after all. ]

Iggy. [ He says quietly, because he knows what the hell he's getting into. ] It's me, Noct.

[ Gladio and Prompto said there's little more that can be done for Ignis now, who had slaughtered so many in Ardyn's name, who had displayed no signs of recognition no matter how they tried. He has to try. He has to, because the alternative is unthinkable. ] You know me. You've known me all your life.

[ It is, as it turns out, a flawless plan.

Ardyn knows how to bend them against each other to the point of breaking. Prompto and Gladiolus are unwilling to kill him which results in them wounding each other numerous times but always ending in a draw. When Noctis shows up, Ignis spends extra time at his king's side, accepting the influx of power, listening to the instructions. A false king - someone showing up to try and wrest the throne away from the one who would bring back the sunlight. It can't be allowed to pass and Ignis is one of the last lines of defense.

He's cut down and while he can't see, there's...something there. He can reach out and feel the thread connecting them; Ardyn had warned him that whatever he was doing would give him a connection to the False King and it's all he can do to resist cutting that thread. He needs it, needs to win to protect Ardyn, but first he needs to figure out what their plan is. If he can figure that out, he can report back to Ardyn, if he's not able to thwart it himself.

Of course, he's prepared for an attack, but when the false king cuts him down and doesn't attack, and then -- then dares to call him a nickname as if they're familiar? No, it's too much. Bad enough he'd try to manipulate Ignis after trying to ruin the whole world. It can't be allowed. On top of that, he's lying blatantly. Ignis laughs, and reaches, curling his fingers around the daggers, lashing out. He may not be able to see him but there's a connection there that he doesn't understand; it lets him lash out with a dagger, the weapon exploding into sparks a moment later as he rolls to his knees, staring at the space where Noctis is. ]

You will have to do better than that, I'm afraid.

[ Terrible showing for the Chosen King in all senses of the word, because it is a perfect plan, and all Noctis can do is defend himself, unwilling right down to his soul to raise a hand to him. He cannot, he won't, even if the magic is sparking underneath his skin, imbued with the power of the kings of old. Worthless, it seems, when confronted with Ignis himself.

Ignis laughs, and it's a cruel, awful sound. Noctis remembers all the days, the years when he'd laughed, smiled, told terrible jokes on the occasion -- and they were so precious because they were so rare, and here he is now, an awful, terrible shadow of what he used to be. ]

I could have done better. [ Noctis admits, unable to quell the ache in his heart, the desperate longing to reach him. Can he hear him, is there enough of Ignis left to remember. ] I'm sorry I failed you. [ He crosses the space between them again. ] I'm sorry I wasn't there to catch you when you fell. But dig deep. [ He comes to his knees before him as well, two, three steps away. ] Can you feel it? That magic -- the one that isn't Ardyn's. That is what you were meant to have, not that garbage he's feeding you with.

[ He'd gone into this battle expecting that he'd fight to his death. His or the false King's, and it would be worth it, because regardless of how things ended up, he'd have contributed to the sun returning. He may not be able to see to appreciate it but it didn't matter.

Of course, nothing goes how he expects. Noctis, the false king, sounds-- he's not sure but if he had to pin an emotion to it, he'd say gutted instead of anything else.

Ignis draws the daggers to him and feels them slide into his hands easier than when he draws weapons from his arsenal from Ardyn but it doesn't matter. He's not a fool to be easily manipulated and Ardyn had warned him that this man would try to convince him to deviate from his path. Ignis slides to his feet and grips both daggers tightly, perplexed by how they feel so much more...right than the weapon that Ardyn had provided him with, but that doesn't matter either. Not when the man is talking to him, like they're...familiar, like he should feel something regarding all of this. ]

Do you think that I wasn't warned you would try something like this?

[ Do you think that I'm a fool? That Ardyn is? he wants to say, but holds back, swallowing it down into himself. Rather than waiting for a response, he latches onto the feeling of Ardyn's magic coursing through him and lights up his daggers with fire and rage and rushes forward toward the false king, using his voice, the flicker of magic to see. ]

[ Gutted is a kind way of putting it.

Ardyn's done a number of him, that much is clear. Gone is the tenderness with which Ignis has always approached him -- and Noctis in all of his years had never dreamed of the day when Ignis would turn on him, that those daggers would be used against him. His mind is not his own, corrupted beyond measure, and Noctis is torn between striking at Ardyn himself instead of him; but it won't work. If Ardyn had turned Ignis' loyalty to him, then he would die before Noctis would get to the man himself, laying his life on the line, and it's Ignis' life that Noctis will not take.

It hurts to see him this way, when his daggers light up with fire and rage and Noctis summons his own sword at the last moment, parrying his daggers; he's fought alongside him long enough to know how to fight him, but he doesn't retaliate. No, he has to get to him, he has to drag him out from Ardyn's thrall no matter what it takes. ]

Iggy, he's lying to you! You were never his, he took you against your will! [ He catches those daggers on a downward swing, hooks them so that Ignis can't pull away from him easily. Urgently, he presses onwards, desperate, aching to have him hear reason. ] Listen to me, please. We grew up together, remember? We used to sneak out of the Citadel, and you took the fall for me every time. What do you remember of Ardyn?

[ He doesn't anticipate that he'll actually be able to kill the false king, of course. Ardyn had warned him that there was very little chance of that but his job was to try, to weaken him until he was less of a fight for Ardyn to worry about. That had been a touch perplexing since Ardyn was essentially immortal - how much help did he need, with the Astrals on his side? But it wasn't his duty to question, was it.

No matter how quickly he moves, Noctis parries each strike. He's at a disadvantage, being blind but thankfully he keeps talking, keeps alerting Noctis to his position and while it feels like cheating, it isn't as if he's asking the other man to be so obvious. ]

I remember enough -- [ It's snarled into Noctis' face when he's forced in close so he releases both daggers and strikes out with fists instead. It's said the false king has a pretty enough face; Ardyn had laughed and told him that if he had a guess, he'd say that he was Ignis' type, maybe, but it doesn't matter. ] Ardyn saved me after everything and I won't let you hurt him. The rest of the world can burn so far as I care but not him.

[ Ignis might not have landed a hit with his daggers, but his fists do when Noctis is too stunned to react, knocking the young king back. It's careless, but when Ignis says the one thing he's once said of Noctis himself, it, more than the punch, sends him reeling. ]

Ignis...

[ No. No, he has to keep it together. He'll get him back, he has to -- he's seen what happened to the people Ardyn uses like toys, Ravus the most vivid example, and the thought of Ignis becoming like him one day is something too terrible to contemplate. His heart clenching painfully as he staggers back, he keeps talking.

Who cares if he ends up marking his position for Ignis to follow and strike? Who cares when the person he loves most in the world is ensnared in his enemy's grip? His love for Noctis, manipulated and redirected, stolen by Ardyn. He grits his teeth and lunges towards him, hand to hand this time. ]

He's the one who will destroy the world. [ Plaintive, beseeching, because his heart is breaking and Ignis is everything, and he has to restore him if that's the last thing he does. ] Iggy, please. Please, you need to wake up. Come back to me.

[ The punch lands, connects and Ignis' hand aches with it. He might not be able to see as well, but Noctis is a fool and telegraphs himself too loudly for someone fighting a blind opponent. If Ignis didn't know any better, he'd say that he actually doesn't want to fight, but that makes even less sense.

Noctis' feet slam against the ground and Ignis shifts his own weight to adjust, taking the weight of him in the hand to hand attack, feinting low and trying to shove his shoulder into Noct's stomach to get him on the ground.

This shouldn't be so easy, he thinks, frowning. Noctis should be fighting him - if he wants to actually win, he needs to fight so this lack of effort and the soft words are at odds with what he's been preparing for this whole time. Worse, is when Ignis dares to listen despite what Ardyn told him to do. Come back to me. As if he'd ever--

I told you he would try, Ardyn whispers and Ignis strikes out again, daggers ripped from where they vanish from but instead of a wash of purple magic, it's blue. He might not be able to see it, but he feels the difference, the way the magic licks at his fingers, familiar and warm rather than the red-hot heat and anger of Ardyn's own. It doesn't matter.

It should, maybe. Ignis grits his teeth and slices out in a wide arc. Ardyn is the one who saved him, Ardyn is the one who pulled him from the crumpled heap at the bottom of a cliff, but before? He'd never questioned it, never thought to try and examine what happened before and Ardyn, the one time that he was asked, had brushed it aside.

It doesn't matter. Fight him. It's loud enough even Noctis might hear it, Ignis flinching at the strength behind the order. ]

[ The punch lands, and Noctis is hard-pressed to believe that he doesn't deserve it. He does, and then some -- the tip of the iceberg for failing Ignis, for letting him fall into Ardyn's hands, for not being able to save him before he became... whatever this is. His jaw clenches as he engages, every move quick but defensive, never raising a hand against him to strike. He can't, he won't; this is Ignis he's fighting and it's breaking his heart every moment this drags on.

He's seeing it more clearly now, the depths of which the poison went, and his head snaps up when he hears it now, that guttural issued command that seems to surge through invisible strings that keep his lover tethered to Ardyn.

No. ] No. [ He breathes, because he can see it now, the glimpse of Ignis, a shimmer of the man he loves, the man he had been before all this had come crashing down, and Noctis' heart tightens so very painfully in his chest. Oh, my love, what have they done to you? ]

I won't fight you, Iggy. [ Noctis' words are thick, rough, but firm as he moves towards him, barely ducking that reckless arc. His words, becoming just a touch more plaintive, more desperate and urgent as he holds his hands up. He knows Ignis can't quite see it, but he can sense it, can't he? Noctis doesn't want to fight him. ]

I love you. And you -- you loved me, too. Please! Please, you have to remember. You have to fight back. Ardyn, he stole your life, he stole who you were -- this is not what you are. You know it, don't you? You know whose magic flows better in your veins!

[ Do it. Draw from Noctis again. ] Fight back, Iggy! Come back to me, please. Come home.

[ He ought to be fighting.

That's the part that fucks with him the most. Ardyn had warned him that it would be a fight, that it may very well steal his life, but he'd be sacrificing it for the greater good. To bring dawn back to the world, and isn't that what every good soldier wants? To see things bettered by their sacrifices? He'd agreed and they had gone to work.

It was different, fighting this man as opposed to fighting the other two. They tried the same things, of course, trying to appeal to his better nature, trying to tell him that they were friends, but they'd actually fought back. Gladiolus, the brutish man the other side used, had nearly cleaved him in half at one point until Ardyn had healed him. Prompto had fired until his gun was empty and only later had Ignis discovered the neat, aching hole in his thigh later on. This one, though. This one takes the hits and keeps talking, and for a moment Ignis is so fucking furious he wants to make it stop in whatever way he can. He can't be twisted around like this, can't be turned into something he's not. He won't be swayed from his path.

It's one thing for an enemy to shout fury across the field but it's something else entirely to fight a man who doesn't want to fight, whose voice goes soft and aching, who says I love you, like it's the only thing that matters in the world. Ignis dispels his daggers and stalks forward, tracking him by voice and then twists, pulls at the weight of his weapons again and it's so, so familiar that it aches. There's a moment of something, of clarity, of memory.

( you must protect him when he cannot protect himself. you'll have access to the armory; gladiolus will keep training you in its weapons and you need to fight him, kill him, Ignis, kill him-- )

The memory goes sour in a heartbeat, but it's enough that Ignis is left standing, trembling with his daggers in hand again, head aching fiercely. He dispels them once more and then pulls, the flicker of blue magic lighting up his hands, warm and familiar and right in a way that nothing has been for ten years. It burns through the blackness surrounding him, white-hot and unyielding, and for a moment, Ingis resurfaces, panting. Noct's-- Noct's dead, or asleep, trapped in the crystal, isn't he? He's not there.

Come back to me, please. Come home. ]

Noct?

[ How can he fight against him, how can he bring himself to do it? But even in Ardyn's masterful plan to wreak havoc and drive a schism between them, he hasn't accounted for one thing: love. Love that is stronger than self-interest, than survival. Noctis doesn't fight him, doesn't believe that his love is lost to him. He's in there, he's in there and he's fighting, and Noctis doesn't hesitate.

He closes the distance between them recklessly when he hears his name, so soft and so wounded that his heart breaks all over again. He throws his arms around him and pulls him into an embrace, tight. ]

It's me. Really me. [ He says quietly, heatedly. Come home. He doesn't care if Ignis stabs him from this angle -- he doesn't care; he's getting through to him, and he squeezes tight, voice cracking despite himself. ] I know you can't see me right now, but you will. Ignis, you will. Remember that night in Duscae, when you and I went to see the stars? Do you remember when I took your hand? I messed up telling you I loved you.

[ But you knew. You looked at me like you knew it anyway. ]

[ It's wrong - everything is wrong in a way he can't describe, can't articulate into any sort of words. Ardyn's presence in his head is dimmed faintly, burned away by Noctis' magic, leaving the briefest moment of clarity where he stares at the other man in disbelief. He can't remember what's happened, can't figure out where everything went wrong, why they're here, but Noctis closes the distance, warm and solid and hugs him so fiercely that he doesn't know what to do.

Do you remember Noctis asks, and Ignis tries, Six, he tries, but the moment slips away each time he tries to reach for it, muddied and fuzzy around the edges.

( it was colder than he expected, Noctis wearing cutoffs and shorter sleeves than Ignis would have liked, but he shrugs off his jacket and wraps it around his prince's shoulders, opening his mouth to say something in return and kill him kill him kill him-- )

It's deafening, so strong and fierce that Ignis can't hold back the choked noise at it, his head aching as Ardyn surges back and swallows all of it up in a rush. He'd almost failed -- almost been tricked by the false king. Snarling, Ignis gropes for his daggers again and strikes up, tries to sink them into the soft flesh of Noctis' belly while he's this close and fails, shuddering, jerking to the side at the last minute.

A shame. Some things are just done better by yourself, I suppose.

He's failed; Ardyn's displeasure radiates through him, a physical thing, so sharp that it makes his teeth ache and he makes a terrible, pained noise through clenched teeth, holding his head. The daggers fall, the sound of them hitting the ground suddenly deafening and then -- nothing. Ignis is aware one moment: the next, collapsed on the ground. ]

Edited 2017-12-27 00:58 (UTC)

[ He wakes with a shudder, a gasp of air, pulling himself up into a sitting position unsteadily, disoriented. The hall is quiet, but when he focuses, he finds that he can hear something. Water dripping, maybe, a steady, slow pat, pat, pat sounding as if it's coming from somewhere above him. The presence in his mind is gone as if it were never there, but it leaves his mind in patchwork pieces. He knows who he is, his name, but can't remember anything but the last ten years in flickers.

It takes ages to get his legs under himself, to rise up and grope for his daggers, panting with the effort. Through all of it, the sound never stops, steady and unsettling for some reason. Everything is still dark, but after a few moments of steadying himself, something feels...different. There are windows in the massive room, floor to wall windows but it never mattered until this very moment, when he turns, the blackness in front of him shifting to a dull, dark gray and then bleeding brighter bit by bit. He staggers his way over to them and presses a hand there, holding his other hand in front of his eyes to test it, but there's nothing else it could be. It's the sun, filling the room slowly but steadily, brought back, warming the glass under his hand. It's so jarring he doesn't know what to do at first.

Ardyn's...gone. He can tell, somehow, whatever connection binding them together severed into ragged edges. Slowly, he makes his way to the massive stairs on either side of the throne they'd fought in front of and climbs toward the source of the dripping, groping a hand out. It meets cold metal first, sliding over and then hits what he realizes is a shoulder. It's too slender to be Ardyn and when his hand travels further into the center of his chest, he presses against cold metal again, realizing. It's not a shock to come to the conclusion that Ardyn had lied; without his presence in his mind, will overwhelming Ignis' own, the truth is laid bare. He'd nearly killed the true king, the chosen king, and it's that man in front of him right now. Delicately, he feels around the source of the injury, fingers slick with blood - the source of the dripping, he realizes. The armiger is still active; Ignis pulls a potion from it and crushes it, then another, another, until the dripping stops and only then does he curl his hand around the sword in Noctis' chest and heave. It takes two attempts, buried so deeply into the throne, but when it releases it's with a slick, wet noise and a scream of metal on metal before it drops, vanishing.

He can't see the damage, but he can certainly feel it. Noctis' chest is soaked with blood and his pulse is thready under the cool line of his throat. Operating on instinct, he pulls from the armiger again and crushes the remaining potions until he can press against Noctis' chest and feels scabbing rather than raw edges. It'll have to be enough.

It takes too long to get down the stairs and longer still to get down to the bottom floor of the Citadel while holding Noctis like so much dead weight, but he knows he's found them when he hears strangled shouts of Noctis' name, feels the rising sun on his face.

Prompto and Gladiolus want to bring him in too, but he gives them a choice: they can try to save their king or they can argue. It's not much of a choice at all, but they agree to it just as he knew they would.

In the new world that Noctis has brought about, Ignis drifts. His memories are still uneven, ragged tatters, surfacing mostly in dreams that he can't recall when he wakes up the next morning. He takes a job hunting since it's something he's good at, killing pests and saving money that way. A woman at the coffee shop he frequents tells him that the prince survived, somehow. That he's ascended the throne and things will finally get back to normal. Ignis smiles thinly and takes his coffee out the door, back to the tiny, sparse apartment he's been living in. There are notebooks scattered along the table there, filled with the bits and pieces he scrawls from what he remembers. He can't reread them, of course, but he needs to do something to get it out of his head and he isn't going to record it on his phone; that feels too strange. Life settles into an odd sort of rhythm, hunting, avoiding large crowds and people who may know him, keeping to himself. ]

[ 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. ]

Ignis.

[ It's time for him to come home. ]

[ He's not so stupid as to think he can avoid being detected for forever. Moving constantly is out of the question; he's unable to do it without being able to see and relying on the kindness of others isn't quite what he wants to do. No, he settles at an outpost in a border city and keeps to himself. There aren't many men with scars like his, and a blind man performing hunts isn't exactly something that is normal, but it isn't as if he can hold a normal job, either.

In a way, it's just a countdown until one of them finds him. He remembers enough to know that they'll try; there's memories that he hasn't been able to latch onto but knows are there. Moments where he'll take a drink of Ebony and remember the wind on his face, or telling Prompto to keep his eyes on the road. Moments where it's all the more clear Ardyn was a liar and a manipulator, not worthy of the air he used to speak his lies. Moments where he's fighting and for a moment, it feels as if others should be there and he feels lacking, like he's missing something huge and important while alone. The memories coalesce into something sturdy enough for him to realize that Noctis spoke the truth, that they were all a team, back in the years before and that meant Ignis had spent ten long years trying to kill the very people he'd loved.

It's an impossible pill to swallow. He distracts himself when he's not hunting, listening to audio books on politics, on a thousand subjects that he knew intimately and now feels like he's relearning. He cooks, nothing fancy but remembers testing new recipes out, remembers the warmth of a campfire and loud laughter as they sat around it.

He waits.

Eventually, the day comes. He lets himself into the apartment and stills in an instant, knowing someone's there. That flicker of something, of magic, of connection flares bright inside his chest and for a moment everything is in reach - his mind knows Noctis, knows the feel of that magic and he aches for it, almost. The ring he'd worn had burned scars into his body and while he didn't remember how he got them, he remembered enough to ache for the loss of the power, the connection to the king-to-be.

Nonchalant, or as close as he can come to it with his chest tight, stomach twisting into knots, Ignis walks into his kitchen and slides his jacket off. ]

Breaking and entering. Not terribly regal behavior.

I didn't break anything, technically. And you're still within the confines of my kingdom.

[ Noctis points out, quite unfazed as his gaze follows every movement the other man makes. He's been starved of him for too long; the sight of Ignis one for terribly sore eyes. His movements are almost as smooth as when he could see -- still so innately graceful and efficient, and he doesn't move from where he's seated, not sure if Ignis would bolt if he so much as made an unwelcome move.

He looks him over, taking in the scars in the evening light, bittersweet heartache echoing in his heart. Oh, he's missed him so. His next words are gentler, even as he's acutely aware that he's coming closer. He's acutely aware of him, the warmth that barely reaches Noctis, the warmth he's missed for so many months. Ignis is irreplaceable, the memory of him haunts them all even in their most busy days, and his fingers curl, just a little.

What does he say now? He's prepared a whole host of things, but when faced with the actual man himself, finds himself tongue-tied. Where does he start? ]

Thank you for saving me.

[ This, let's start with this. ]

I wasn't aware being royalty meant you were entitled to let yourself into the homes of your subjects.

[ He's being snippy and he knows it, but there's a part of him that is unsettled with Noctis being in his apartment, in finding him so easily. Being found (if they were looking for him) was an eventuality, of course, but he also had always sort of regarded it as something later.

To be found so quickly either meant that he'd been even worse than he thought at maintaining a low profile and word got back, or, Noctis had actively spent a great period of time looking for him. The latter was scarier than the former. The latter was another reminder that they had something, back then. Enough that Ardyn used him against Noctis and that Noctis would break into a potential stranger's house to confirm this.

Noct's in the chair he hangs his jacket on, and for a moment he pauses. He's never hung it on the other chair before, never needed to count that number of steps to make sure he didn't run into anything. Irrationally, he's angry at Noctis for the disruption, the sudden uncertainty. That's swallowed down a moment later and he uses his hand to guide him to the other chair, settling his jacket down delicately with minimal struggling. ]

You're welcome. I'm sorry for trying to kill you.

[ That...seems inadequate, but it's reflexive. It's a peace offering, maybe. ]

[ He sees the peace offering for what it is, accepts it and hopes it does some good for Ignis, too. It's awkward and strained with too much left unspoken, too much left behind but not forgotten. He notices the hesitation, wonders if perhaps the chair he's sitting in is Ignis' favorite, if he's taking kindly to the disruption.

Perhaps not, even if he doesn't let on; but it's between this and leaving Ignis on his own, and Noctis will have none of it. Ignis has been such a fundamental part of his life, the one thing that keeps him moored, the one person who Noctis always looks towards because that's how they've come to fit together, as friends, brothers, partners and lovers. How can he let him go like this?

He doesn't respond to the snippy retort, but he does nod lightly even if Ignis can't quite perceive it. ]

I'm sorry I failed you.

[ Since they're in the mood for apologies, and Noctis has always detested beating around the bush. ] You've protected me all your life, and when the time came for me to finally get to protect you, I wasn't there.

[ He's quiet for a moment, his next words almost inaudible, words he had thought to himself over and over ever since he returned. ] You would've been fully within your rights to kill me.

Edited 2017-12-27 05:34 (UTC)

[ Noctis' promise earlier comes to the front of his mind, the words meaning so much that they'd stuck with him. I know you can't see me right now, but you will. Ignis, you will.

For him to have said that, and meant it -- they were something to each other. Who else would so upset over the idea of him coming out of whatever haze Ardyn put him in and not being able to see? Maybe advancements in magitek eyes will suddenly spring forward and he'll be able to see Noctis and that will resolve everything simply. The memories he was missing would slot into place one by one and they could work through this together.

If that didn't happen, then he was stuck hoping his own mind could unlock all the memories he had of Noctis. Given the generally unsteady state of his memory, he didn't have the highest of hopes for this option; whatever Ardyn had done to him wouldn't so easily be fixed. It also meant he was hesitant to give Noctis any hope that his Noctis was ever going to be entirely back. ]

I don't know if I remember enough of your Ignis to say this with any surety, but I don't feel it's a stretch to say he would never want you to think you deserve that, for something you weren't responsible for.

[ He's going to have to find out what Noctis is willing to deal with sooner or later, may as well be now. ]

I don't remember enough of you to be him. Before you get your hopes up.

[ They were everything to each other.

At least, Ignis still is, right now. Which is why what he says pierces his heart. It's true, all things considered, that Ardyn has succeeded in taking away what Noctis treasures the most. He had brought back the sun but lost Ignis in the process, and in his most honest moments he wonders if it's worth it. Ignis is here, right in front of him, and there is nothing that hurts more than the fact that he's now a stranger.

They're both strangers to each other now, and the thought of it is difficult to bear.

Your Ignis, he says, like this one doesn't want to be his anymore -- and Noctis can't blame him -- and there is no worse feeling in the world than missing someone when they're right there. Ignis' words, while kind, is cold comfort, a whisper of a shadow of Ignis, the man Noctis would do absolutely anything to have back. He doesn't belabour the point: Noctis' sins are his own to bear. ]

Yeah. [ He says softly. ] I got that. [ And how he wishes things hadn't turned out that way. How he wishes things could fall together neatly; but that wouldn't be life, would it? Nothing worth having comes easy, and Ignis is worth all the heartache in the world. ]

But I want to help. Let me make things right. There are doctors, treatments. You can take your pick of the top physicians in Lucis. And if you still... if you want to find your own way after that, I won't stop you.

[ He needs to make sure that Noctis fully understands what he's getting into. I remember enough to want you but not enough to know if it's worthwhile to want me. He couldn't say it out loud, unwilling to bare that much to someone but the thought made his stomach flip.

Part of the reason he was so worried about Noctis ever coming looking for him is how did he answer to how much he recalled? The truth, obviously, he didn't think he was the kind of man who would be dishonest. He was, apparently, the kind of man who would make it difficult to have to deliver the message, to avoid ever finding out if he was wanted in return.

It was one thing to remember flickers, impulses, desires; it was something else entirely for it to be reciprocated when he was this...inefficient. He was supposed to protect Noctis; he could remember enough to feel certain in that. He'd failed in that job miserably. If Ardyn hadn't taken him out when he did, he's not entirely sure he would have stopped himself. If he was that weak, then he could be a risk to Noctis until he was fully back to himself. ]

This isn't a matter of making things right, Noctis. [ This wasn't Noct's fault, by any means. Ardyn was the one who had orchestrated everything. Secondary to that, he was the one who was too weak to resist whatever had twisted him up so much that he'd turned against them. The fault stopped there. ] You are the least to blame in all of this nightmare.

[ Ah, so that's what it's about.

Noctis straightens when it finally falls into place; Ignis has never needed to spell things out for him to be able to read between the lines. He might take a little while, but eventually he gets there, and Noctis realizes that the problem spans a lot deeper than what he'd initially imagined. There's guilt, there's a whole sea of pain that Ignis quietly, gracefully endures all on his own.

And it's the fact that he's all on his own that makes it all difficult to bear. Ignis has friends, he has people who love him no matter what happened, and Noctis swallows hard. ]

So are you.

[ He says after a moment. Gladio and Prompto had not blamed him once for how this entire thing went down -- they knew, as much as Noctis does, that he's also another victim in this, bent to Ardyn's will, corrupted against his own will to serve the great evil. ] None of it was your fault either -- he took you, and he forced you to serve him; none of what you were made to do under his influence is on you. You can't take that on yourself.

[ The mastermind behind all the misery; the blame lies squarely on Ardyn, and he leans towards him, closer. Ignis is wanted, Ignis is loved; and by none more than Noctis, who is willing to go to the ends of the earth for him. ] And it's time for you to step out of this nightmare, too. With me, with Gladio and Prompto, they both miss you, too -- Iggy, come home.

[ Truth be told, he doesn't like this tiny apartment and its uncomfortable bed. It isn't as if he lived in the cradle of comfort in his time with Ardyn, but every so often he gets flickers, memories of a time in the Citadel, of waking in a ridiculously plush bed in an enormous room. He remembers bits of his schedule - waking, preparing breakfast, going to wake Noctis.

There are a thousand little moments that never made full sense until he put them together and realized that everything he had before revolved around Noctis, around protecting him. That was a defining trait in his life, in his actions.

It would have been easier were Noctis cruel, or unkind. He could have said no, then, could have told him to leave, could have been strong enough to resist. But he's not cruel or unkind. He's talking soft and gentle, making sure that Ignis knows that it isn't his fault, more faith than he deserves. Noctis comes closer and Ignis barely holds back the shiver; he can smell him and it's familiar. Everything in Ignis is screaming to reach out to him, to go. ]

Ten years is a long time to fight against people you cared for, Noctis.

And ten years is a long time to spend away from the people you love.

[ Guilt is an insidious thing, Noctis knows that better than anyone else, and it chafes to see Ignis almost swallowed up by it. Ignis, who needs them, who has spent so many months out here on his own. Noctis doesn't doubt his capabilities, but no man is an island, and he can only imagine the monsters that haunt his dreams at night. Monsters that Noctis itches to quell, to vanquish if only for his sake.

He reaches out to him, gently, lightly, resting a hand on his as his heart flutters in his chest, hopeful and wanting. Ignis is skittish, he notes, and he doesn't want him to flee further away from him -- but Noctis cannot let him go. He can't; it feels too much like carving out half of his soul, a violent and bloody thing. He will try, if that's what Ignis wants. Above all else, it's about what Ignis wants -- he's spent too long with his will taken away from him, the last thing Noctis wants to do is impose his own for him. ]

I made you a promise, do you remember? That you'll see again. [ That I love you, that I'll bring you home. ] Will you allow me this chance to fulfill my promise?

ws!AU

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