Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

don’t you know too much already
i’ll only hurt you if you let me
call me a friend but keep me closer
and i’ll call you when the party’s over

billie eilish – when the party’s over

Noctis wakes to the taste of something foul in his mouth, to the wet stone and hum of a haven underneath him; he wakes with a shuddering gasp, fingers grasping at the area where his father’s sword pierced his chest, only to find the soft beams of sunlight washing over him, and his deathly injuries no longer there.

A boon, little king, Shiva had said, before she pressed a gentle kiss to his forehead, and the world had fallen into temporary darkness. Noctis assumed he had died, but, well, that doesn’t seem to be the case anymore.

Then, a few spaces away from him, Prompto sputters and coughs a raspy but undoubtedly heated, “WHAT THE FUCK?”

Privately, Noctis echoes the sentiment. What the fuck.

“N-Noct,” Prompto says after he scrambles into a sitting position, his voice dripping with something Noctis couldn’t really name, “You’re, like, an infant, what the hell?”

“What?” Noctis sits upright, and then wheezes as his midsection blooms with pain. Curling a protective arm around his stomach, Noctis blinks away the dark spots in his vision, and turns to see Prompto; bruised, and a little bloody, but his eyes were wide and the same cornflower blue that Noctis could drown in for days, and—

And he’s, like, ten fucking years old.

“If anyone’s an infant,” Noctis hears himself say (why the fuck is his voice so high?), “it’s you. You’re, literally, ten.”

Prompto squawks. “So are you!”

They both fall silent, staring at one another in awe and confusion and something that was a mix of both fear and hope. Then, their ears prickle at the sounds of a nearby stream, and they both unanimously decide to bolt in its’ direction. Everything else they needed to do (find better shelter, food, potions, and people) would come after they confirmed the truth that already sunk into their bones.

Branches and small stones bite under Noctis’ feet, and he realizes too late that he isn’t wearing shoes, but by the time he kneels by the riverbed, the crystal clear waters that marks the stream by the Malmalam Thicket, the tingling pain pales in comparison to the small face staring back at him. Next to him, Prompto sounds like he’s struggling to breathe.

“Holy shit,” Noctis breathes, and it’s a little disconcerting to hear such a curse slipping from the little boy in his reflection, from his high-pitched voice. “Holy shit, what the actual fuck? I’m fucking nine!”

Prompto’s a little quiet when he mutters, “I’m eight.”

“Same thing,” Noctis says, and pats his hand for comfort. Prompto was the youngest out of their little circle of four, and it sometimes made him insecure, as if he couldn’t compare to the others.

Nearby, a seadevil disturbs the water, and since Noctis and Prompto were now, well, itty-bitty and weaponless, they dash back to the safety of the haven (which they could now identify as Telghey Haven). As some of the panic recedes from his mind, Noctis observes the sparse items scattered on the haven’s floor.  

There are strips of cloth, one stained with blood and the others not, and the cloth makes Noctis stare at the one secured around Prompto’s ankle. His lips twist into a not-pout (he’s not pouting; he’s frowning) as he stares the small pile of gil, and minimal medical supplies (besides the cloth, they have three dirty Band-Aids, a single bottle of water that basically empty, and a tiny knife), and slowly comes to a plan.

“We can’t stay here,” he says, squinting up at the clouds. “We – we need more water, and food, and potions, and—.”

“Noct.” Prompto’s voice is soft. “We aren’t supposed to be here.”

Noctis nods his head in agreement. “Yeah, I know—.”

Prompto squeezes his hand. “Noct…we…we died.”

A ball grows in his throat, and Noctis attempts to swallow. “I – I know.”

“We died,” Prompto continues, mostly hysterical, “So, why are we here? Why – how –?”

“I don’t know,” Noctis interrupts. “Yet, at least, but we gotta…we gotta go somewhere safe now. We…let’s think about this when we’re safe, okay?”

Prompto breathes in a shuddering breath and nods. “Okay,” he says after a beat. “Freak out later. Safety, first.”

Noctis ruffles his hair. “We got this.”

There’s a small plastic bag they find smudged between two rocks that they use to put the makeshift first aid kit into, and Noctis is relieved that he is wearing pants with pockets, and shoves the half the gil into his pocket. The other half goes to Prompto.

“Just – just in case we get separated,” Noctis says when Prompto gives him a questioning look.

Prompto purses his lips, and clings to Noctis’s side. He doesn’t complain, since Prompto’s ankle is probably sprained (hopefully, not broken), and he wants to do everything he can to ease the others’ pain. They set off as fast of a pace as they physically could, sticking north without detours even though Noctis knows Insomnia is east of Cleigne, but Lestallum and other outposts are north (sort of), and that means people, and help.

Their journey is more difficult than Noctis would’ve liked, but he expected it given they had no chocobos, or a car, and had the physical capabilities (possibly mental and emotional) of the nine- and eight-year old’s that they were. Gods, that knowledge was still giving Noctis a headache.

“I’m so fucking hungry,” Prompto sighs, and then stares at a patch of vegetation almost forlornly. “It’s, like, a fifty percent chance I’ll die if I eat one of those mushrooms over there.”

“Too much of a chance,” Noctis says, and pulls him further along the road amidst Prompto’s whines. “Come on, we’re almost there.”

A few minutes of silence drifts between them before Prompto chews on his bottom lip. “How much do you think has changed?”

Noctis shrugs. “Honestly, who the hell knows? I do know that wherever we are, I haven’t been attacked by the Marilith yet.”

“Let’s hope that doesn’t happen this time,” says Prompto.

Noctis hums in agreement.

“Oh, my, gods,” Prompto says suddenly, and something fierce grips Noctis’ heart at the thought of something dangerous and deadly approaching them when they don’t have the means nor energy to protect themselves, “What if – what if Iggy and Gladdy are, like, tiny, too?”

Noctis knits his brows together in consideration. “It’s a possibility.”  

“Bet they were cute kids,” Prompto hums.

“They were brats,” Noctis mutters, and Prompto snickers.

The Astrals were on their side, though, as the only animals they had come across were harmless critters who scattered at the sight of humans. No cars passed them by either, peculiarly.

They pass by Tollhends Stronghold, and Prompto practically digs his nails in Noctis’s arm. Noctis is doing the same as they attempt to jog (it’s more of a hobble/frantic shuffle, really) until they reach the intersection that would take them to Old Lestallum. The sun, while still bright, looks lower in the sky, and since neither of them are fond of the idea of becoming daemon food, they make the silent decision to head to the outpost.

“I feel like we’re missing something,” Prompto says, and he’s jittery and nervous, glancing around them as if waiting of the punchline, for someone to pop out of nowhere with a laugh and a did ya have fun, boys? It’s time for the afterlife, now, or something like that. “Why is there no one here?”

Noctis’s mind whirls. He thinks back to awakening at the haven, so far away from Insomnia, and so young and little, and thinks of how they haven’t passed anyone by, not even those who deliver packages or even emergency vehicles, all day.

(noctis vaguely remembered the days after his grandmother died when he was five. the streets were empty and bereft of life, and he had asked ignis why, as insomnia looked like a picturesque abandoned city to his eyes, and ignis explained that it was lucian tradition for people to stay in their homes, out of respect, for fallen royalty.)

“Fuck,” says Noctis, something like that of horror and the ever-bitter taste of grief spilling out of his mouth. “Fuck, they think we’re dead, Prom.”

Prompto almost chokes on his spit. “Wha – how’d you come to that conclusion?”

“When Lucis mourns royalty,” Noctis explains, “people stay inside out of respect. They don’t leave their house unless, well, they’re like half-dead. It only lasts for a day though, which means…” He trails off.

Prompto goes quiet, and says nothing, his mind connecting the dots as well, and stays pensive until they see the familiar buildings and homes of Old Lestallum in the distance. They just have to cross the bridge, and their home free (sort of).

“Shit,” Prompto says. “I think we were, like, kidnapped when we, uh, awoke?”

They share a glance. Noctis doesn’t want to touch those implications with a ten-foot pole, much like how he doesn’t want to acknowledge that his father is alive and under the impression that his only child had been kidnapped and brutally murdered by said kidnappers.

He sighs. “What the fuck.”

“What the fuck,” Prompto echoes.

It’s becoming their catchphrase.

Old Lestallum is a ghost town when they reach the dredges of its’ property. Exhausted to the sinew of their bone, Noctis leans against the wall of the Crow’s Nest and attempts to regain his breath. Prompto scans the empty streets, and the new and old buildings at the Outpost that’s a little larger than in the future, and says, “I see a hospital…do you know if it’s, like, open?”

“Government buildings and hospitals are pretty much the only things’ that remain open on – on this day,” Noctis says. “So, it should be.”

It’s a tiny hospital, given that Old Lestallum is a tiny town, but before they could even move from their resting place, a voice, gentle but firm, behind them says, “You two shouldn’t be outside right now.”

They whirl around, and Prompto almost looses his footing, but manages to place himself in front of Noctis, old habits dying hard, but at this age, Noctis is taller than Prompto (always will be, irritatingly enough), and thus the person, the adult, is able to see Noctis’ face.

Please don’t be an enemy, please don’t be an enemy, please don’t—her intake of breath interrupts Noctis’ spiraled thoughts, and he almost thinks the worst until she whispers, “Highness?”

She walks out of the shadows cast from the trees, and something inside of Noctis loosens at the sight of Crowe Altius, albeit a much, much younger one. She looks like she’s only just started her occupation with the Kingsglaive, but Noctis knows her because at this age she had started teaching him spells once he’d accidentally shown a greater aptitude for magic by blasting Gladio halfway across the training grounds with ice magic.

“Crowe,” he nearly sobs (and he’s a little disturbed at how easily he’s able to tear up), and sniffles, “Please…please help.”

Crowe quickly gathers herself together. “You’re going to be alright, the two of you.” Her eyes roam their bedraggled appearance, and she quickly spots the cloth tied around Prompto’s ankle. She then kneels at their height, and smiles comfortingly. “Is it alright if I pick you up, um…”

“Prompto.”

“Prompto?” she finishes. “I don’t want you to aggravate your injuries further.”

Noctis squeezes his fingers, murmurs, “She’s safe,” in Prompto’s ears, and that’s enough for Prompto to nod, and then get swept up in Crowe’s arms. With her free hand, she holds Noctis’s after she taps her earpiece and says, “Code Cyan. Meet me at the hospital in five.” Then she steels herself, and says, “Let’s get going, yeah?”

She’s being so gentle and careful with them, it almost makes Noctis burst into tears.

 When they cross the threshold to the hospital, the world seems to still at the sight of them. Not only did people stay indoors, it was common, and expected, to watch the news for the day of mourning; which would be playing a slide show of sorts of pictures and videos of the deceased royal.

Meaning: everyone in Lucis would be almost intimately familiar with Noctis’ features.

Being covered in dirt, grime, and other questionable stains he doesn’t want to think about, changes nothing.

A nurse drops her clipboard and, in a shuddering breath, whispers, “Is that Prince N—.”

“Quiet.” Crowe’s voice cuts sharply in the air. “His captors might be around. For now, refer to him as Little Moon and,” her eyes drift to Prompto’s features before she continues, “and the blond as Starlight. Understood?”

The doctors and nurses agree, almost numbly, and their gazes stare after them as a flustered doctor brings them to one of the most private rooms they had. “There’s only one bed, I’m afraid,” he manages to say without stammering.

 Noctis tries to smile as they’re set on the uncomfortable bed. “It’s okay. I’m used to sleeping with Pro – uh, Starlight.”

Astrals, Noctis didn’t know how much he missed having a code name until Crowe spoke it.

“Let the other Glaives, Ulric and Ostium, know we are in this room,” Crowe instructs a hovering nurse, who nods and disappears out of the room, and then she looks at the doctor. “They are in need of medical assistance. Now.”

“O-Of course,” the doctor says.

They find out his name is Dr. Daverede, and the way Noctis’ tongue wraps around the pronunciation, distracts him from the poking and prodding from the doctor; but Noctis is coiled tightly under his skin, and he almost breaks Dr. Daverede’s nose when he pressed against Prompto’s side too sharply, causing him to yelp from pain.

“It’s okay,” Prompto soothes, arms curling around Noctis’ trembling figure; though, they both know how easily their reactions could’ve been reversed. “He isn’t – I’m okay.”

Noctis eyes the doctor and then, sullenly, says, “Sorry.”

He waves off Noctis’ apologies. “No, I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to startle you at all.”

Nyx and Libertus arrive the second Dr. Daverede and Crowe discover that Prompto and Noctis’s injuries weren’t healing from the potions. Crowe almost growls under breath. “Means the injuries are too old for the potion to set in.”

The door opens, almost harshly, and Nyx and Libertus stand in the threshold; their eyes wide and bright and emotional. “Highness,” they both murmur after they drop into a deep, deep bow. Noctis gets flustered by the mere sight.

“What’s the plan of action?” Crowe asks as Dr. Daverede leaves them after he hooks both Prompto and Noctis up to an IV machine, jotting many things down on his clipboard. “We need to get them to Insomnia as quickly as possible.”

“It’s too late to leave right now,” Nyx says. “So, we leave at early sunrise tomorrow. Stay here for the night.”

“Sounds like a plan,” Libertus nods.

Crowe agrees as well. “We’ll set up a rotation to guard them both inside the room and out.”

They hash out the patrol details quietly, but Noctis is already falling asleep on Prompto’s shoulder. He’s too tired to care for his fate at the moment.

When Noctis wakes again, he half expects to find the hilt of the Engine Blade buried in his chest, or to feel the grimy, cold and wet stone of the haven, but all he discovers is the steady hum of a car underneath him. He’s curled against Prompto’s side in the car, Libertus and Nyx in the front seat while Crowe is in the back with him and Prompto.

Prompto’s awake, staring at the bypassing scenery, a half-eaten bagel in his hands. They’re in Insomnia, and it looks like noon, but the slow traffic from the gates to the center where the Citadel looms is a familiar sight. Noctis, again, sort of wants to start crying. The last time he saw Insomnia, well, it was broken and trampled by Niflheim’s feet, and later Ifrit’s, and Noctis had walked its’ streets to walk to his death.

As if sensing his thoughts, Prompto squeezes his hands and offers him the rest of his bagel. He eats it quietly.

When they get closer to the Citadel, Nyx taps his earpiece four times, a pattern meant to connect the Glaive and Crownsguard to either Cor, his father, or Clarus. “Marshal,” Nyx greets as the other end picks up the call. “Please alert the Citadel infirmary, as we’ll be going there as soon as we pass the gates,” and then Nyx takes a fortifying breath: “Code Cyan, Marshal.” He’s quiet for a moment, no doubt listening to Cor, and then says, “Yes. We discovered them at Old Lestallum.”

They reach the Citadel infirmary, which was basically an in-house hospital, with little fanfare. Inside the infirmary, however, is a different story. What looks like majority of the Glaives and Guards are inside, along with the tear-stained and awed medical staff, and Noctis tightens his grip on Prompto’s hand in fear of them getting separated in the chaos.

For a good minute, everyone sort of stares at them in an awed, disbelieving quiet. Then, Crowe clears her throat, and the medical staff shakes off their awe and gets back to work.

“Please, follow me.” It’s Noctis’ old pediatrician, and the sight of her makes Noctis want to both smile and cry. She had been among the countless body count during the Fall of Insomnia. “Your, um, friend will be seen by—.”

“Prompto stays with me,” Noctis says, clinging tight to his best friend. His lips are pulled back into a snarl, and Noctis knows he looks like he’s three seconds away from biting and kicking and screaming and throwing some sort of tantrum people discuss in horrified murmurs. “We stay together.”

Prompto flushes at the attention, but Dr. Quinn is unfazed. “Right this way, then,” she says in a brisk and no-nonsense tone, leading them to a room guarded to the teeth by Glaives and Guards. She observes their injuries with a keen eye, and pursed lips. “I’m assuming a potion is unavailable?”

Crowe nods. “The injuries are – old.”

She hums and sets to work.

Noctis doesn’t remember falling asleep after the seemingly endless parade of tests and tests under the florescent lights of their room, but he does, and he wakes to Prompto’s nose pressed in the crevice of his neck, and a Crownsguard at the window in his room and at the door. It’s expected, but the sight of them makes Noctis’ heart stutter for he momentarily sees the red eyes that mark an MT. Then, he notices the figure at his bedside.

It’s Gentiana.

The guards don’t notice her presence, but it doesn’t bother Noctis. An Astral goes where it wishes, after all.

Shiva pats his head and smiles kindly; Noctis shivers a little at the slight drop in temperature. “The Accursed and the Blight upon this planet exists no more,” she murmurs, and Noctis is too sleep-addled to really understand the bombshell she just dropped like Tuesday’s pancakes. “This is a boon, little king. You have walked tall.”

Noctis hums in agreement, vaguely sees Shiva’s fingers brush over the inside of Prompto’s wrist and feels her fingers doing to the same to his, but he’s already falling back into sleep when she says her parting words:

“Live well, King of Light.”

Chapter Text

you keep me up with your silence

take me down with your quiet

of all the weapons you fight with

your silence is the most violent

paramore — tell me how

“—want every stone turned over, until those bastards are—.”

“—who the fuck marks fucking kids, what the fuck—?”

“—do we have any leads—?”

“—questioning them right now is not advisable until—.”

Voices rise outside their hospital room. Noctis plays Go Fish with Prompto, the only game he really knows how to play that isn’t, well, gambling-related or strip poker, partly to entertain himself, but also to distract them both from the storming, hushed argument taking place right outside their door. Prompto sends another fearful, nervous glance in its’ direction as they hear a spat of curses, and swallows.

“I think they’re arguing about me,” Prompto whispers.

“They aren’t,” says Noctis, and pats Prompto’s hand. “Now, give me that four.”

Pouting, Prompto hands over the card and takes another from the deck in between them. “No fair.”

“Everything’s fair in Go Fish,” Noctis says, in all the solemnity of the nine-year-old-that-he-currently-is-but-isn’t. Ah, there’s the headache.

Right as the door opens to reveal an impressive parade of adults, Prompto asks, “Can I have your nine’s?”

“Bullshit,” says Noctis.

Someone, his father probably, makes a choking sound at the curse word.

Prompto cackles, makes grabby hands, and says, mockingly, “Everything’s fair in Go Fish.”

Noctis would throw the cards at him, but he’s technically thirty albeit technically, also, nine, so he doesn’t, but he does snarl, “I’m going to punt you out the window.”

“Hah,” says Prompto, in an utterly bored tone of voice, “not if I jump out of it first.”

“You’re not allowed to die,” Noctis sniffs, “Not unless I’m going right after you.”

Someone, definitely his father, makes another noise at that.

Prompto narrows his eyes. “You’re definitely not allowed to do that.”

Noctis smiles, sugary sweet. “Then, I guess you’re stuck with me.”

Prompto mutters an insult too soft to hear, and Noctis gets revenge by tickling his feet. Prompto shrieks, yanking his foot away, and Noctis outright does that evil cackle one always hears a cartoonish villain do. Then, he sobers, and says, “I’d like your eights, please.”

Prompto gives him an evil eye, says, “I’m quitting,” and hands him three cards.

“You said that three rounds ago,” says Noctis.

Before they could spiral further, a cleared throat grasps their attention. They both turn, as one, and, from the corner of his eye, Noctis watches Prompto pale and look faint. He probably looks the same. Standing before them are men they have outlived and men they haven’t.

“Good morning, boys,” his father, young but clearly aged due to previous event, greets softly. “I see you’re settling in well?”

Neither speak. Noctis couldn’t even if he wanted to, which he does. They just look and stare, as if all they see in front of them are ghosts. In many, many ways, the men before them are ghosts.

Gladiolus and Ignis aren’t there, so it’s only Cor, his father, Gladio’s father, Clarus, and Ignis’s uncle, Ventus, but Noctis’s heart still squeezes in his chest as he breathes. Behind them, Nyx guards the door; face devoid of emotion unless he catches Prompto’s or Noctis’s gaze, and then sends them a smile of both comfort and support. Always cognizant of Noctis’s emotional state, Prompto shuffles a little closer, growing shy under their intensive gazes.

“Hi,” Noctis whispers, eyes dropping to stare at his father’s chin. He doesn’t think he can bear looking at his face right now. Next to him, Prompto mutters a similar greeting, though with an added “your majesty”.

Noctis has had ten years to get used to the fact that his father had been killed by Niflheim; he had ten years to ease the grief that builds in the center of his chest, but seeing his father now, young and whole and alive , brings those emotions rustling to the forefront of his mind.

His father settles in the armchair before their bed; the others at his side. “I know you’ve gone through quite a traumatic ordeal, and I don’t imagine being cooped up in this hospital is doing you any favors,” his father pauses, visibly gathering strength to continue, and breathes in sharply. “But I would like to personally welcome the both of you back to Insomnia, whole and safe.” Clarus rests his hand on his father’s shoulder, and his father’s face blooms with warmth and a smile. “Welcome home, Prompto. Noctis.”

For a moment, Noctis can’t breathe. Then, much to his consternation, he bursts into tears.

Noctis can’t really remember the last time he cried (he can, he can, he just doesn’t want to think about it or else it’ll make him cry harder), but these sobs are harsh and ugly, and they spill out of his throat, burning his lungs, making him heave his breaths, because it’s been a decade since he had heard his father say those words, seen his face.

Before he can calm himself, he and Prompto are both swept into his father’s arms.

“It’s alright, shh,” his father murmurs. “You’re both safe now. It’s alright.”

Prompto makes a choking noise in the back of his throat. Noctis thinks half of Prompto’s tears are hysterical due to the fact that he’s being hugged by the King of Lucis.

After they’ve both worked through two tissues boxes, and have calmed down, Noctis stares at his father and asks the question that’s been bugging him since he woke by the Malmalam Thicket:

“How long were we gone?”

His father shares a look with the other adults (and, gods, that makes Noctis’s head spin because, technically, he’s an adult but he also isn’t and) before he says, “You’ve both been missing for a year.”

His mouth dries. “Oh.”

Prompto breathes in sharply. “Wh – what about my p-parents, M-M-Majesty?”

His father pats Prompto’s hand. “Please, don’t stress yourself right now, little one. Focus on your recovery, okay?”

Prompto swallows, whispers, “Okay, sir.”

Noctis presses against Prompto’s side, eyeing his blank expression sharply, before he asks, “How long are we going to, to stay here?”

The adults share another look.

“Until you are both healthy enough to leave,” his father says, but means, until we know you’ll be safe leaving this room.

Meaning: it’ll be quite some time, probably, before they’re able to leave the hospital, let alone the Citadel.

(Noctis has the uncanny feeling he’s going to have much more difficulty convincing his father to let him move out of the Citadel before his freshman year of high school.

If he’ll even let him attend public school.)

“Okay,” Noctis says after a pause, and then tilts his head. “Can we, like, have a tablet to play some games? Go Fish is getting boring.”

“Because you cheat ,” Prompto mutters, and Noctis sticks his tongue out at him.

His father’s eyes crinkle in amusement. “I don’t know…”

“Majesty, if i may suggest, we can give them a tablet filled with games, but restricted internet access,” Ventus speaks. “So that the risk of them stumbling upon something they shouldn’t lessens.”

His father considers the idea, and then hums. “I’ll think it over,” he tells Noctis and Prompto, who both eagerly nod.

Oracle’s Oath, the child version of King’s Knight, in a way, was still a badass game Noctis thinks of when he’s feeling particularly nostalgic.

Prompto picks at a stray thread on the sheets and asks, quietly, “Are we going to be questioned now?”

“Not at the moment.” It’s Cor who speaks. “We’d like for you to have a, um, evaluation before that.”

Noctis shares another look with Prompto before he tilts his head. “Evaluation?”

“With the child psychologist,” says Cor, as no-nonsense as Noctis remembers. He almost starts crying again.

“Then, we get questioned?” Prompto asks.

Cor nods.

“It won’t be intensive, worry not,” says the king, misunderstanding the looks between Noctis and Prompto, and continues, firmly, “We are not here to make you more — troubled about your experiences, but it is imperative that we understand what happened to the two of you so that justice can be conducted.”

Noctis swallows, hopes they won’t pry too deep (who was he kidding?), and nods.

His father presses a kiss to his forehead, and Prompto’s (which he squeaks about), and says, “You two are safe here. You’re home .”

Noctis thinks no one can blame him for crying again.

The child psychologist, Dr. Rita Woole, is a kind, sweet woman. It was decided that Noctis and Prompto would have sessions with her together and separate, but everyone seemed to realize that separating them right now wasn’t the best idea. They had their first session after they showered, dressed, and ate a light lunch. They sit at the child-sized table in the middle of the room, crayons and coloring-book pages litter the wood.

“If you two don’t wish to talk, that’s understandable,” she says, tucking a piece of her hair behind her ear; she has features that makes Noctis think she’s a descendant of Luna. Something sharp pierces his lungs, and he shoves the observation to the back of his mind. Prompto squeezes his fingers. “We can color, if you want.”

And that’s what they do the entire session. Prompto is soon the proud owner of a bright blue and brown chocobo, and Noctis is a little proud of his fish.

“How was the session?” the nurse who guides them back to their room asks. “Did you like Dr. Woole?”

“Yeah,” says Noctis.

“She’s nice,” Prompto replies.

Cor waits for them in the room, with his father and Clarus.

“Prompto,” his father says, crouching to Prompto’s height, “is it alright if Clarus acts as standing guardian for you during the questioning?”

Prompto nods, though it’s clear to everyone that he has no idea what he’s agreeing to.

“Your parents are unavailable right now,” his father continues. “So, in place of them, is Clarus. Is that alright?”

“That’s fine, your Majesty,” Prompto says, shy under their scrutiny.

Noctis presses against his side.

“May I speak with you three before your questions, Majesty?” Dr. Woole asks, and she lifts a clipboard once she’s spoken.

His father nods, sharp and understanding. “We’ll be right back, okay?”

The door closes behind them, and Noctis waits two seconds before he slides near it and presses his ear against the wood.

“I know you had concerns about their codependency, but as we don’t know the extent yet of what they experienced, it would likely harm them emotionally and mentally if they are separated at this time,” is what Dr, Woole is saying. “Right now, they only trust the other. They only feel safe when the other is around, and to remove that comfort and safety is detrimental to their recovery. If, when they’ve grown older, their codependency reveals a developmental stunt, like in cognitive or emotional growth, then a plan to separate them slowly should arise. Right now? I strongly advise against it.” There’s a pause. “Majesty.”

Noctis moves away from the door, already knowing the conclusion to their conversation, and joins Prompto on their bed.

“So…” says Prompto. “What the fuck are we gonna say?”

“Improvise, I guess,” says Noctis.

Prompto sputters. “Noct—“

“Fear not, Noctis, Prompto,” says Shiva. “There is a solution.”

Prompto would have screamed, from mere shock alone, but Noctis covers his mouth with both hands and breathes a little heavier than normal. “Please,” he croaks after a moment, “Please make noise when you’re near.”

Shiva inclines her head. “My apologies, Highness.”

“I-It’s fine,” Prompto stammers once he’s not likely to have an Astral-induced heart attack, removing Noctis’s hands from his mouth. “Um. What’s the solution?”

Shiva smiles. “The words and memories will come as you need it.”

“What,” says Noctis, flatly, but Shiva is gone. Like she hadn’t even appeared.

“Fucking astrals,” Prompto grumbles.

Noctis can’t help but agree.

The door opens a split second later, and the adults pile into the room. “Well then,” his father smiles, a little sad and soft, “Let us begin.”

Another Crownsguard is by Cor’s side, a small laptop and recorder in her lap. She gives Noctis a kind smile when he catches her eye. She flicks on the recorder, waits for a light to turn green, and holds it to Cor’s face.

Into the recorder, Cor says “Cor Leonis, Marshal of the Crownsguard, Member of King Regis Lucis Caelum’s Retinue, questioning Prince Noctis Lucis Caelum and Prompto Argentum on the case, Code Cyan. The time is 3:15 P.M., location is in their hospital room in the Citadel Infirmary, and the date is July 7th, M.E. 751.”

What , Noctis thinks. It’s WHAT.

Noctis was supposed to be fifteen at that year, not a nine year old. What.

What the fuck.

He shares a wide-eyed glance with Prompto.

At first, the questions aren’t difficult to answer; just simple things about their memory, if they knew their kidnappers names, if they knew where they had been held, and the like, and then Cor goes straight for the throat.

“Can you explain what your, ah, day was like there?”

Noctis grips Prompto’s hand tighter than strictly necessary, and finds himself saying, “When - when we were drugged or weren’t?”

For a moment, no one says anything. Noctis and Prompto are too stunned at the reveal. Cor’s face struggles to maintain a clear expression, but he’s failing. His father seems to slouch in his seat, a heavy weight on his shoulders.

“I — when you were not drugged,” Cor says as he gathers himself together. “Please tell us about what your day was like with your captors undrugged .”

“If, um, if we were on g-good behavior, um, they’d, um, let us out of our room f-for, um, the bathroom, uh, more than once?” Noctis says, sounding small, looking a little lost, though, internally, he’s screaming what the fuck what the fuck how is he saying this what WHAT.

Cor breathes through his nose. “Alright,” he says in a gentle tone. “Did they withhold food from you?”

“Uh huh,” Prompto answers. “All the time — but, we’d have, uh, chores and stuff.”

Cor raises an eyebrow. “Chores? Like what?”

Prompto nods. “Cooking, cleaning...”

“They made me make them potions and the like,” Noctis explains, shifting uncomfortably. His father rubs his thumb against the back of his hand. “Um. My magic’s really good with, um, that.”

“Did they do anything else with your magic?” Cor questions.

Noctis shares a longer, more panicked look with Prompto.

“It’s alright,” Cor soothes. “Neither of you will be in trouble. None of this is your fault.”

Noctis swallows. “Prompto has an Affinity.”

Cor nods, slow. “We are aware that your captors targeted children born with natural magic. May I ask what your type is, Prompto?”

“Earth,” says Prompto, and then he says, a little jokingly, “I can make a mean garden.”

They share another look. Since when could other people not connected to the crystal use magic?

Cor smiles a little. “I have no doubt that you do.”

“They kept, um, trying to get us to do stuff with our magic,” Noctis says, biting his bottom lip. “Like, syncing them together or something like that.” Then he shrugs. “Most of the time, it was painful. And we were, uh, drugged, too.”

“They weren’t always, um, mean,” says Prompto. “Only — only when we didn’t...do what they wanted.”

“I see,” says Cor. “Would you both like to take a break?”

“No,” says Noctis.

“I’m ok,” says Prompto, with a smile. “Let’s just get this over with.”

“How did you escape?” Cor asks. “Were you helped?”

“Uh,” says Noctis, and then words that aren’t really his own spills off his tongue. “So, um. Divine intervention.”

Cor blinks.

“Prompto shot Shiva in the face,” says Noctis.

“I didn’t know she was Shiva ,” Prompto sputters. “ You didn’t know she was Shiva either. You tried to roundhouse kick her!”

“Yeah,” says Noctis, “ but you shot her in the face.”

“You,” Cor starts, and then pauses. “You shot a goddess in the face?”

“By accident ,” Prompto almost wails.

“No, you meant it,” Noctis says like the ruthless little shit that he is, and then explains, “We got lucky, really. To be honest, the only reason we’re alive right now is because Prompto found a gun and was able to use it.”

“Shiva, um, brought us by the Malmalam Thicket,” Prompto mutters, staring at his socked feet. “She, uh, couldn’t take us further, so we, um, walked.”

“Once we woke up,” Noctis adds.

They share another look. How the fuck do we know this?

Cor and the others process this mutely. “And how,” Cor asks after a moment of consideration. “Do you know how to use a gun, Prompto?”

“I saw it on TV?” Prompto offers weakly, and when Cor raises an eyebrow, says, “I dunno, I just...pulled the, um, the thingy.”

“The trigger,” Clarus offers.

“Yes,” says Prompto. “That.”

Cor questions them a bit more, about how their days went, how they were punished and rewarded, if they were aware of what happened when they were drugged, until the nurse pops in the dinner cart, and the adults decide to end the questioning for the day.

“We might need to ask some more questions,” Cor warns them, right before he pulls them both into quick hugs. “I’ll see you both later.”

His father and Clarus stay throughout dinner, chatting idly about their meetings and the like. They haven’t mentioned Gladio or Ignis or Iris, even, and Noctis is too scared to think about what that means.

When they leave for the night, the guard ducks out for a change in the guarding shift and Noctis shares another look with Prompto. They will come as we need them, huh?

Prompto eyes his expression wearily. “Please don’t pick a fight with an Astral. Once was more than enough for me.”

Noctis pouts. “But—.”

“I won’t bake you blueberry muffins,” Prompto threatens. “Ever .”

“Fine,” Noctis grumbles, but he would literally fight the Niflheim Magitek Army by himself if it meant he could have unlimited access to Prompto’s legendary blueberry muffins. “No fighting Astrals.”

The entire country throws a week-long festival to celebrate his and Prompto’s survival. The Citadel informs the country a week after they were discovered, in case sinister adversaries lurked nearby. As Noctis and Prompto get moved to a newer room with better security, his father hosts a press conference, updating the nation with pictures of Noctis and Prompto in their hospital gowns; faded bruises and cuts and all.

“Wanna play a game?” Noctis asks Prompto, holding the shiny and thin tablet Clarus pressed into his hands a few days ago. “I think Oracle’s Oath updated.”

Prompto’s eyes sparkle. “Sure!”

It only takes Prompto seven minutes to hack into the tablet and override the child locks and restrictions without getting caught. “What do you wanna do first?”

Noctis takes a moment to think and then types niflheim into the search engine. There are many things that pop up once they press the search button, but the first and most obvious article title beams: Empress Stella Highwind Takes the Throne After Aldercapt’s End!

Prompto blinks. “Huh.”

Huh, indeed.

The next couple articles discuss trade routes and treaties, and how the Empire — now, the Niflheim Protectorate — gave heartfelt apologies and the like, removing influence and forces from Galahd, the Cavaugh Isles, and the regions in Lucis, and helped strengthen and legitimize Accordo’s government.

The next thing Noctis types is noctis and prompto kidnapping. The first article isn’t really an article, but a livestream about the press conference, so Noctis scrolls until he finds an article that’s looks both recent enough and informative.

According to the Insomnian Press , Noctis and Prompto were both, to put it lightly, grabbed about fifteen minutes into recess during their third year of elementary school, and it took forty minutes for anyone to realize they weren’t on school grounds anymore. There were small sightings of them over the months, other children taken as well, and then the critical observation that children with affinities (whatever that was) that weren’t yet under Citadel protection were being targeted.

“Okay,” Prompto says once he clicks out of the article. “The fuck is an Affinity.”

Noctis shrugs, types in the word, and blinks.

There are humans born blessed by the Six that manifest as what’s colloquially called an affinity —which, simply put, is natural magic unhinged by a conduit (i.e., Bahamut’s crystal, or the Oracle’s trident).

They are able to blend and “sync” with the natural magic the royal bloodlines of Lucis Caelum and Nox Fleuret possess, and are formidable —

“That, Highness, Mr. Argentum,” says Ignis, candidly, “does not look like Oracle’s Oath.”

Noctis blinks wide eyes up at Ignis and Gladio. “Uh,” he says, tongue dried at the sight of them, “We were curious.”

“I know,” Ignis says, a kind smile on his face as he takes the tablet, “but the orders in place are there to better protect you.”

Noctis nods.

Prompto looks like he isn’t even breathing when Ignis looks at him, fixes his glasses, and says, “Apologies for not coming to see either of you until now. Mr. Argentum, I am Ignis Scientia, his Highness’s advisor, and this,” he motions to Gladiolus, who’s almost hovering by Noctis’s side of the bed, “is Gladiolus Amicitia, his shield.”

(it's a little poetic, a little ironic, that noctis sacrificed his life for all, and prompto sacrificed his life for the men who stood in front of them.

it’s also really fucking funny that they are infants whereas ignis and gladio don’t look a day older than twenty .)

Noctis curls around Prompto a bit tighter. “Are we, um, in trouble?”

“No,” says Ignis. “We’ve expected this slight rebellion, but there is no harm done.” With that, he taps a few things on the screen and reinforces the restrictions.

Prompto looks a little wistful. Ignis always was a touch better than him at coding.

Noctis looks over to the deck of cards at the bedside table and says, “Wanna play Go Fish?”

And that’s how Noctis and Prompto re-meet, in a sense, Ignis and Gladio.

(if they cry about them not remembering their other life when visiting hours are over and Insomnia’s nightlife slumbers, well.

That’s Noctis’s and Prompto’s business, after all.)

Two weeks into their recovery, the question of Prompto’s guardianship arises from concerned parties. Before, Ignis had carefully sat Prompto down and explained that his adopted parents abandoned him (though, Ignis said it much, much nicer) once he’d been kidnapped. In fact, they were unaware he even was kidnapped until for months ago.

Prompto had only smiled. He was used to it.

(That didn’t mean it didn’t hurt less, of course, and Noctis curled around him and growled plans of retribution that he’d probably (hopefully) never do.)

After they had hacked through the restrictions on their tablet again, they discovered that people with magic, who weren’t born royal, were brought into the royal family.

Prompto had nearly gone into cardiac arrest, and Noctis laughed, partly delighted and partly hysterical.

He had half a mind to track Shiva down and demand answers as to what world she dropped them in. Because what. What.

Now, they had been led into a sitting room of sorts. Noctis squished between the arm rest and Prompto, on the couch, observing the conversation flying between the adults about who would adopt Prompto.

Prompto looks like he isn’t sure he’s alive.

“No,” he says after a moment, utterly done with everything, as they start arguing over what title to give him, gods help him. Noctis snickers at his expression. “Nope. I’m leaving.”

He stands, as if they’ll let him leave the hospital let alone the room.

“Going where?” asks Noctis. Not without me, fucker .

“I’m running away to become a carrot farmer in Alstor Slough,” Prompto says, and then Noctis digs his nails into Prompto’s wrist and drags him down, hissing, “Not without me, you’re fucking not; and we both know I’m never gonna be left alone again, so you’re stuck with me. Also, carrots are gross , why the fuck would you be a carrot farmer?”

Prompto gives Noctis a baleful glare, completely forgetting just who they were surrounded by. “Fuck you.”

“Later,” Noctis snarks back.

There’s a choking sound before them, and then it sinks in that, oh , they weren’t alone and, in fact, surrounded by not only his father, but Clarus, Cor, Gladiolus and Ignis, and a handful of security guards.

Prompto may or may not have gone into shock at that moment.

“So,” Noctis says, too loud and nonchalant, “I’m not leaving Prompto, and he’s not leaving me, and blah, blah, so, what’re you gonna do about it?”

The adults share looks with one another and start conversing in hushed whispers. Noctis is a little annoyed at being out of the loop, but he tempers his distaste by playing with Prompto’s fingers. They have their own silent conversation.

“I have a solution,” his father says, brightly, mischievously, “Prompto, how do you feel about becoming my ward?”

“Sorry,” Prompto laughs, very loudly, very panicky, “but wouldn’t that make me a, uh, a prince?”

“Yes,” says the king.

“No dice,” Noctis says. “If you adopt Prompto, then I can’t marry him.”

The room descends into quiet. Prompto puts his head in his hands.

“What?” Noctis squints.

“Oh my gods,” says Prompto.

Noctis then says, dangerously, “You have a problem with me liking boys?”

“I don’t get paid enough for this,” says Prompto.

“You don’t get paid at all, dork,” Noctis replies, but no one can deny the fond affection dripping from his lips.

“I don’t get paid enough for this.”

In the end, it’s decided that Ventus was to have guardianship of Prompto, and while they would give him some sort of royal title, they sensed his anxiety over it and chose to talk about it on another day.

Ignis smiles at the news. “Well, I always did want a younger sibling.”

Prompto’s lip wobbles.

Noctis places another tissue box into his lap and pats his hand. Then, he looks at his father and asks, “Can the guards be outside from now on?”

The king blinks at the question, and then frowns. “Noctis, the Crownsguard and Kingsglaive soldiers are there for your protection as we do not know your kidnappers whereabouts.”

Noctis lips twist. “I know, but…”

“But…?” His father prompts.

Noctis breathes around what feels like a hole his chest, and words pry his mouth open. “I-It’s just...they, those men, they...they watched us, too...while we slept…”

For a moment, no one dares to speak. Prompto squeezes Noctis’s fingers, and then his father says, “Okay,” and they both release the breaths they had no idea they held.

They eat lunch and talk about things that don’t revolve around the case, or about when Noctis and Prompto will leave the medical wing, and when they start talking about tutors for their missed education, Noctis finds himself falling asleep on Prompto’s shoulder.

Shiva’s voice floats to the forefront of his mind as he drifts.

Live well. You have earned your peace.

Chapter Text

hold onto hope if you’ve got it
don’t let it go for nobody
and they say dreamin’ is free
but i wouldn’t care what it cost me

paramore — 26

“I’m a what,” says Prompto, for the twentieth time that day.

“The Duke of Cape Caem,” Noctis answers, again, and then throws an M&M at Prompto’s face. He doesn’t react to the assault. “Apparently, no one inherited the title because the last Duchess died during the Rogue Queen’s era, and she didn’t have children or siblings et cetera, so it’s just been floating around for someone to claim it, I guess.”

“Why?” Prompto sputters. “Why me?”

“You said you wanted to be a carrot farmer in Duscae,” Noctis responds, wryly, and snickers at the disgruntled noise of despair Prompto makes in the back of his throat. “You should’ve known my dad would’ve taken you seriously.”

“Oh my gods,” says Prompto.

Noctis pats his shoulder. “You’ll get used to it, Your Grace.”

When the guardianship papers are processed and finalized a few days ago, it was deemed safe enough for them to move into the Citadel residential suites. Noctis had all but demanded Prompto live in his suite, unwilling to be separated from him for long. Heeding the advice from Dr. Woole, Prompto was told that while he could stay in Noctis’s suite if he’d like, he had his own rooms in the Citadel that were, coincidentally, just around the corner.

Noctis is just happy to no longer be wearing a hospital gown.

“Your despair aside,” says Noctis, and points the remote at the impressive shelf of DVDs. “Wanna watch a movie?”

Prompto sniffles. “The chocobo hotel or I’m quitting.”

Noctis rolls his eyes but agrees.

Halfway through the movie, Noctis’s eyes drift to the elephant in the room. He rolls up the sleeve of his shirt, and stares.

There’s—

There is a barcode printed neatly on the small of Noctis’s left wrist. It matches Prompto’s. It isn’t really a barcode, not traditionally at least, but there was something odd about it in that one couldn’t just call it a simple tattoo. The first half is a triangle, with neat, crisp lines, a stark black on pale skin, and the latter half is an infinity symbol, snug under the triangles base.

Prompto’s fingers gently brush against the tattoo, and his face twists in fury.

(“I have a theory,” Noctis murmurs one night. Rain pitter-patters in a quiet tune against the window pane. Prompto makes a curious hum in the back of his throat. “About why Shiva dropped us off here. In this universe.”

“Lay it on me,” says Prompto.

Noctis plays with their fingers. “I think – I think that this universe’s Noctis and Prompto didn’t make it through the night, at the haven, and I think that’s why we’re here. We, like, infused with them, or something like that.”

Prompto swallows, hard. Noctis curls around him tighter. “Makes sense,” he says after a moment. “Sometimes, I dream about memories, and things, that didn’t happen to me – before.”

“Yeah,” Noctis echoes.

He doesn’t really like to think about the pain in those dreams. “We walked tall,” Noctis says around the lump in his throat; his eyes are burning. “And so did they.”

Prompto presses his nose against the crevice of Noctis’s neck, and they both breathe in sync.)

“I think,” Prompto begins, “that whoever marked us like this—,”

“Tried to create an MT out of us,” Noctis finishes.

Prompto nods. “But...the starscourge is gone so…”

“They tried to use our innate magic,” Noctis says.

They both make a face and fall silent. The Chobo Hotel continues to play, the two main characters having been discovered by the local police, and, for a moment, Noctis thinks Prompto fell asleep until he says:

“I wanna do magic.”

Noctis blinks and sits upright. “Right now?”

Prompto grins, light and mischievous. It sort of makes Noctis fall in love with him all over again. “Why not?”

And that’s how they end up on the living room, sitting across from one another. “Uh,” says Noctis, after a moment. “How’re we going this?”

“I didn’t think that far,” Prompto admits, and Noctis snorts.

Then he tilts his head, an idea — or, perhaps, a memory — sparking in his mind, and he says, “Close your eyes and, uh, make a flower.”

“Gods, never be a teacher, Noct, this is horrible instruction.”

Noctis throws a pillow at him, and the air fills with their laughter. At the very least, the sound of their mirth would make others more hesitant to barge into the suite.

“Okay, okay.” Prompto steels himself, straightening into perfect posture. His eyes close and he cups his hands together in front of him, and takes long, deep breaths.

And —

Noctis sucks in a breath.

Their tattoos glow in the dimly lit room; Noctis, a cerulean blue, and Prompto, the prettiest of golds.

“Um,” says Prompto, blinking slowly. In his palms rests a flower without its’ stem; an orange blossom. It looks healthy, and it’s a vibrant splash of color. “Uh. Wow. Wasn’t expecting that.”

Noctis eyes their glowing wrists with intrigue and concern. He has an urge to poke it, but he has the feeling something unpleasant would happen if he did.

“What the fuck,” Prompto breathes.

“What the fuck,” says Noctis.

“Noct,” Prompto says, slowly, “I’m doing magic .”

Noctis laughs. It’s a little fond, but mostly hysterical (because Shiva still needs to tell them what kind of fucking world she dropped them in). “Looks like you’ll be joining me in magic lessons with Crowe.”

Prompto bounces in place. “This is so exciting...ooh, I wonder if I can, like, make a tree!”

“Please don’t make a tree in the middle of the Citadel,” Noctis deadpans.

Prompto rolls his eyes. “Don’t sorry,” Prompto soothes, “I won’t destroy your man cave.”

Noctis sputters and throws the remote at Prompto’s head, who cackles.

Everyone collectively decides to propel Noctis and Prompto into something resembling a normal routine, taking into account their ordeals of course, which means, to Noctis’s ever-present dismay: lessons both in academics but in other fields, such as etiquette and training (both magical and physical). Noctis wanted to do neither.

“Come one,” Prompto nudges his foot. “I’m gonna be with Iggy this morning, for some etiquette stuff since I’m, well,” he makes a face as he finishes, “a duke .”

“Poor baby,” Noctis says into his pillow and then yelps when Prompto pokes his side without abandon. “Prom!”

He snickers. “Let’s go! Gladdy said he’d throw water over you if you weren’t in the dining hall in, like, fifteen-ish minutes.”

“Gladio can suck my dick.”

“Yeah, yeah.” Prompto then grabs a hold of Noctis’s ankle and drags him out of the bed, ignoring his whines and complaints about leaving the warmth of his cocoon. “The sooner we get this done with, the sooner we can pretend to play Oracle’s Oath but, in reality, am hacking into the tablet again.”

Noctis squints. “Morning person.”

“Insomniac,” says Prompto in the same tone.

“Ugh .” With the threat of Gladio over his head, Noctis showered and dressed with ample time to spare. He walked into the sitting/living room of his suite to find Prompto waiting for him, legs swinging back and forth as he sat in one of the armchairs. “This is treason.”

Prompto snorts. “I don’t think you’re dad’ll consider waking up at nine treasonous.”

Noctis groans again, but sets off to the dining hall with Prompto and two other guards trailing after them. After breakfast, Noctis follows Gladio to the training grounds; they end up in one of the smaller areas, probably for Noctis’s sake than Gladio’s. Despite that, there’s still a few Guards and Glaives roaming around.

“We’re going to start simple,” says Gladio. “You haven’t been active much, so I’m going to ease you into things.” With that, Gladio hands Noctis a small and thin sword, and then gives him a stern look. “And I need you to promise me that if it becomes too much for you, let me know and we’ll take a break.”

Noctis swallows a little and nods. “Okay.”

Gladio leads him through some stretches, and then instructs him on things Noctis already knows. Of course, he technically isn’t supposed to know as he’s a nine-year-old, not a thirty-year-old, so Noctis is a little restless at the pace Gladio sets.

Gladio mistakes his restless energy as something else, though, and they take a break. During this, Noctis hesitantly asks questions about miscellaneous things that happened at the Citadel during his year long absence. Gladio answers him patiently, but there are some things he remains vague about or doesn’t touch, and Noctis understands that his Shield is attempting to protect him.

(Although it makes him bristle at being treated like he’s, well, a child, he’s warm all over. Noctis hadn’t really known how much he missed Gladio until --)

And then, Gladio laughingly starts talking about Iris, and something in his lungs tightens. Ask him! Ask him!  “You, uh, have a sister?” Noctis questions hesitantly, and his mouth dries when Gladio gives him a weird look.

“Noct, you’ve met my sister before,” Gladio replies, slowly, and Noctis barely has the time to breathe in relief before Gladio continues, “I know Iris’s, like, fifteen, now, and granted you were a bit young when you first met but — what, don’t tell me you’ve also forgot Talcott?” Gladio‘s grin is teasing, but there’s a hint of concern.

“How old is Talcott?” Noctis asks quietly.

The concerned look is much, much deeper. “He’s twelve, Noct.” Gladio frowns and lightly palms Noctis’s forehead. “You feelin’ okay?”

A part of Noctis debates crying. “Oh.”

Gladio puts his practice sword down. “What’s on that mind of yours, kid?”

“Oh, it’s — it’s nothing,” Noctis says, failing to make Gladio less concerned, and adds, in his mind, I’m going to fist fight Shiva at dawn, no biggie.

To Prompto, an hour or so later, once he’s dodged all sorts of questions from Gladio, Noctis says, “I’m going to drop kick Gentiana.”

Prompto chokes on his apple juice, and — fuck, he really needs to see who’s around them before he opens his fucking mouth — Nyx and Crowe give him bewildered, concerned looks. His father sets his report down on the table and asks, “Who?”

“Your Highness,” Crowe begins slowly, “Why are you going to fight this, uh, Gentiana? Did they do something to you?”

Noctis takes a sip of his apple juice and doesn’t respond.

“No,” Prompto says once he’s done choking, and points a finger accusingly at Noctis. “ We said no more fighting.”

“You can’t stop me,” Noctis replies. He sets his juice box down with purpose. “And I didn’t promise you shit.”

His father makes another noise.

Oops , Noctis thinks.

“I’ll tickle you,” Prompto says and then adds, even more threateningly, “I’ll force feed you broccoli.”

Noctis’s face spasms before he hisses, “I’ll throw up on your shoes.”

“Like that’s ever stopped me before?”

Noctis pauses. True, it hadn’t. “Then…then, I’ll show you videos of abandoned chocobo chicks.”

Prompto gasps, strangled and dismayed. He’s already in tears. “You would not!”

“I would,” Noctis says, though they both know he wouldn’t.

“Noctis.” His father’s voice rises a little, grows more stern and protective. “May I ask why you are in the mood to exchange violence with this Gentiana?”

Noctis takes another sip and says, “Uh.”

His father narrows his eyes, and Noctis finds his mahogany table quite interesting.

“Okay, rewind,” Prompto pinches the bridge of his nose. “ Why do you want to fight Gentiana?”

“I found out some things,” Noctis replies, ever so vague as he’s aware of just who’s around them. To Prompto’s amounting horror, adds, “Did you know, as of right now, we are the youngest royals in the Citadel.” Then, he adds, “And, technically, Lucis.”

Prompto says nothing, pensive, and he says, almost hysterically, “Even so, you can’t just — it’s Gentiana!”

“That’s exactly why,” Noctis insists, and points his juice box in Prompto’s direction. “You already shot her in the face!”

“Stop,” Prompto moans. “Stop bringing that up! I keep having nightmares Ifrit’s gonna, like, eat me.”

Noctis sniffs and bares his teeth. “He wouldn’t dare.”

He killed Ifrit once, and he’ll damn well do it again.

Prompto throws the straw wrapper at him. “No more fighting!”

“Okay, but what if — ?”

“I’m going to rearrange your sock drawer,” Prompto sniffs and takes a delicate sip of his juice box.

“No, you won’t,” says Noctis.

Prompto sighs. “No, I won’t.”

“Boys.” His father stands and there’s a calculated look of fury and calmness in his expression, and Noctis swallows. “Answer my questions, please. Who is Gentiana and why are you fighting her?”

Noctis shares a long, long look with Prompto. “Are we, like, allowed to say it?”

“Uh,” says Prompto.

His father narrows his eyes and says, softly, “Allowed?”

Fuck , Noctis thinks, but says, “Yeah, I don’t think we’re, like, allowed to uh. Talk about...her.”

“Oh my god,” Prompto whispers into his juice box. “We’re gonna die.”

“No one’s dying,” his father says firmly before he tilts his head, pensive, and then asks, quietly, “Was Gentiana one of your captors?”

“Um,” says Prompto.

“It’s, um, hard to explain?” Noctis tries.

In a way, Shiva sort of could be considered a captor of Noctis by not allowing him the freedom to carve his own path the way he wished.

But.

“I’m a little confused,” his father says, before there’s a soft look in his eyes. “I just want you both safe, okay? And if this Gentiana is compromising that safety — .”

“She...she isn’t,” Noctis rushes to assure, but by the looks on his father’s and the Glaives faces, he probably did the opposite.

“Gentiana’s... Gentiana ,” Prompto tries to explain. “She just...does what she wants, I guess?”

“Right,” says his father.

Noctis shares another look with Prompto and thinks, uh...did I just accidentally make Shiva a wanted woman?

“I need a drink.”

“Yeah,” says Prompto, though he looks more engrossed in the chocobo documentary than with what Noctis is moaning about.

“Prom.” Noctis pokes his side. “Prom, are you listening to me?”

“No,” says Prompto. “There are babies , Noct.”

“Ugh.” Noctis flops back onto the bed and sighs. “I really, really want something strong.”

“Too bad,” Prompto replies. “We’re literally infants, so good luck finding anything.”

Noctis makes a protesting noise in the back of his throat. Comfortable silence floats between them for a moment before Noctis asks, quiet, “Prom...do you...regret...all of this?”

Prompto looks at him, chocobo documentary abandoned. “What d’ya mean?”

“Like….” Noctis sits upright, but he doesn’t look at Prompto; instead, his eyes are trained on the moogle-patterned duvet. “Like, being my best friend and, and getting involved in that clusterfuck that was — was that entire road trip to Altissia, and —.”

Prompto cuts him off by pulling Noctis into his arms. “I don’t regret any of it,” Prompto says after a moment, and Noctis sniffles into the collar of his pajamas.

“You sure?” Noctis asks, aware of how vulnerable and shy he sounds.

“Absolutely,” Prompto replies, and then pulls back to give him a soft smile that doesn’t negate the brightness of it. “Look, when I said, ever at your side in that bunker...I meant it, okay?” Prompto nudges him, teasing, and says, “Not even death kept us apart for long, buddy. Face it, you’re stuck with me.”

Noctis laughs, a quiet sound that trickles in the air and makes Prompto smile brighter. “Yeah,” he says once he pulls himself together. “And you’re stuck with me, too.”

“Wouldn’t have it any other way.”

Chapter Text

my, my name was safest in your mouth
and why’d you have to go and spit it out?
oh, your voice, it was the most familiar sound
but it sounds so dangerous to me now.

camilla cabella - i have questions

The day they were to begin magic lessons with Crowe, they huddled under the blankets in Noctis’s bed and hacked into the tablet once more. It was a morning routine by now, perusing news sites and social media outlets to find some sort of normalcy they were used to, and discover just what had changed and what stayed the same.

“Let’s look at the whole...magic thing,” Noctis tells Prompto, who hums in agreement and types in non-royal magic .

Like before, various websites popped up. Most of them said the same as that first article they’d read in the hospital: people unrelated to royal families could wield magic, but they were few and far in between; a dwindling number so miniscule, governments had various resources to protect them and keep them safe.

“Wait,” Noctis says slowly. “Go back and read that again?”

Prompto raises an eyebrow, but acquiesces. “People with magic, unrelated to royal blood or occupation, in Lucis are immediately brought into either the royal family or nobility upon discovering their powers. In most cases, the person in question has a loving, supportive family, and therefore would receive a title and a security detail…”

“I’m literally losing my mind,” says Noctis. “What the fuck.”

“What the fuck,” Prompto agrees.

Someone raps on their door three times, and Prompto shoves the tablet under his pillow right as the door opens, and Crowe pops her head inside and smiles. “Good morning, your Highness, your Grace,” she says, and Prompto barely has time to make a face at the title before she continues: “It’s time for your lessons.”

“Where are we going?” Noctis asks as he slides off the bed.

Crowe winks. “Guess you’ll find out, huh?”  

They end up in a secluded-enough section of the royal gardens, the space cleared of furniture and the like. It wasn’t truly secluded as they were below his father’s office, and Noctis knows the man is peering out at them rather than working through his mountain of papers. The window is open, his father not being subtle at all. He can also spot the tell-tale shadow of a Glaive or Guard on patrol, shrouded to surprise any enemies. Crowe instructs them to sit down, which they do, and she sits across from them.

“Can you try and explain to me what sort of, ah, magical training you had to do — with those men?” she asks.

Noctis shares a look with Prompto. “Um,” said Noctis. Words failed him.

“It’s okay,” Crowe assures them in a soft tone, under the impression that their hesitance was from fear rather than ignorance. “Those — those people can not hurt you anymore, especially not here. You’re safe.”

“It’s, um, it’s not something that’s easy to explain,” Prompto begins, wringing his wrists anxiously before he reaches for Noctis’s and they entwines fingers. “But we can show you, if you want?”

Noctis barely has to panic because what before Crowe gives a decisive nod and says, “Alright then, let’s see.”

Prompto squeezes his fingers and says, lowly, only for Noctis to hear, “Breathe — we got this.”

They shift to face one another; the air tensing in anticipation.

It will come when you need them , Shiva’s voice murmurs in his mind, and Noctis breathes, relaxes his posture, and closes his eyes. They breathe in sync and, for a moment, nothing happens.

And then a tingling spirals up his arm from his wrist, bursting with vibrancy and warmth, and Noctis can only breathe in sharply before he hears Crowe murmur, “What the fuck?”

He opens his eyes.

Prompto stares back at him with the same look of shock.

(noctis always adored ice magic in his previous life. there was something breaktaking and beautiful about it, the spirals and sharp edges of something so deadly yet not.

it is no surprise, then, that shiva is his favorite astral.)

They are surrounded — encased, really, by a tree created entirely of ice. It’s warm to the touch, instead of cold, and Noctis sort of feels more safe there than he’s ever felt before.

Prompto whistles and then says, gleefully, “Told you I was gonna grow a tree in the Citadel!”

Noctis is too shocked to say anything that resembles words.

A glow catches his attention, and he blinks down at their wrists, hands still linked with one another, to find that the eerie tattoo glows.

“Prompto,” says Noctis. “What the fuck.”

“What the fuck,” Prompto echoes, though his is far more jubilant than Noctis’s.

“I want a drink,” Noctis says.

“We’re legitimately infants,” says Prompto, ever the one to bring Noctis down to reality. “Not happening.”

“Okay,” he says after a moment, “how the hell do we get rid of this?”

“That’s a good question,” Prompto smiles. “I have no idea!”

Noctis hums and stares at their glowing wrists. An idea forms slowly as does the smile on his face. Outside of the ice tree, they’ve gathered quite the crowd. The adults’ voices float above them, muffled as if Prompto and Noctis were under water instead of encased in magical ice.

“Uh, buddy?” Prompto gives him a nervous look. “What’s with that face?”

“Wanna press our tattoos together?” Noctis tilts his head with a narrow-eyed gaze. Prompto blinks at the idea. “The worst thing that happens is that, well, we die.”

“I’ve died too many times already,” says Prompto.

Noctis nods. “Same.”

“But…” Prompto begins, a gleam in his eyes that makes Noctis want to fist-pump the air in victory. “But I am curious.”

They share a mischievous grin (a chaotic one, really), and throw caution into the wind as they press their marks against one another. For a few seconds, nothing comes to pass and disappointment gurgles forth and spills into Noctis’s lungs. He sighs.

“Well, that was a w—,” he cuts himself off, words dispersing from his tongue, at the overwhelming warmth that curls around him; it feels like a blanket, an embrace from a loved one you haven’t seen in decades.

The warmth isn’t malicious; in fact, it’s kind and gentle, and Prompto’s look of amazement mirrors his own. They don’t speak, only breathe in sync, as words would shatter the serene atmosphere. Noctis doesn’t think he’s ever felt so at peace, so in tune with himself, than at that moment.

(it feels like coming home)

And then, quiet and gentle like the sunrise, soft wisps of gold and blue spill out of their markings and float in the air; they curl around them, protectively, friendly, almost like some sentient being. Which makes sense, in a way; magic was something that breathed and cried and lived, but many were willing to write it off as a tool, as a means of the end. The Lucis Caelum lines were intimately familiar with the designs of magic, so it always made Noctis a little bewildered whenever he overheard someone discuss magic with a sort of clinical detachment.

Spurred on by instinct, Noctis leans forward and presses his forehead against Prompto’s. They both exhale, relaxing their postures; possibly looking more peaceful than anyone has ever seen them.

They breathe together, wrists flush against one another, and emotions flutter over Noctis’s skin. Some of them are his — a quiet, sunny warmth that reminds him of days spent fishing — but there are a few that he can only discern to be Prompto’s — something soft and benign, a little cold to the touch but undoubtedly peaceful; days spent at Wiz’s Chocobo Ranch, racing through the chilly spring air when they, technically, had other important things to do.

Noctis almost forgets where they are and what they were doing, until Prompto murmurs, “We should get out of here, huh?”

He pouts, but agrees. “Yeah, everyone’s probably freaking out.”

The wisps are still there, entangled with one another, gently brushing against their skin. Noctis doesn’t want to leave, but he knows he must. Prompto presses a hand against the tree’s side and Noctis barely has the time to mutter his discontent at the disappearing warmth of Prompto’s hand when the ice shivers and a Noctis-and-Prompto sized hole is made.

Despite the mutinous scowl on his face, Noctis feels at ease when he and Prompto leave their masterpiece.

“Well then,” says his father.

“Sorry, your Majesty,” Prompto starts, eyes trained on his feet. “I, um, I don’t know how to remove all of it.”

His father waves a hand in the air and smiles. “That’s quite alright, Prompto. Now, then,” his father clasps his hands, “how about a lunch break?”

Noctis feels liberated, as though a weight he hadn’t known existed lifted off his shoulders. It’s like something shattered — a wall or binding of some sort. He breathes easier.

Because, suddenly, merely a few hours after their magic session — which ended after they dissolved the tree because Crowe was too flummoxed at their prowess and the council wanted to have an emergency discussion about it (which, honestly, made Noctis a little nervous and squish himself closer to Prompto), so they were then ushered to lessons guided by Ignis — Noctis notices emotions that are not his own.

All of them were distracted by the current events, and Ignis soon gave up trying to teach them the proper seating arrangements for a state dinner and set up a puzzle before them.

“Perhaps this may ease your restlessness,” he says before he settles in front of them and aids them in the puzzle.

It’s one of those one hundred pieces, depicting a fishing spot he recognizes as the Forgotten Pool near Costlemark Tower, and soon Noctis loses himself in the slightly numbing task that is solving a puzzle. Therefore, it takes him a while to notice that the sweet taste of satisfaction and peace pooling in his mouth wasn’t, well, his .

As he doesn’t want to alarm anyone or bring them under even more scrutiny, Noctis stays quiet about his newfound abilities. He goes through the motions of the day quietly, pensively, but not so introspective that it causes concern from the adults. Still, though, Noctis feels Prompto’s worry, a sharp, buttery taste on the tip of his tongue up until they are dressed in warm and silky-soft pajamas, a child’s show playing on the TV a few minutes before one of their handlers (a nanny, really, which makes Noctis bristle because he hasn’t had a nanny since —

Yeah, Noctis doesn’t really like to think about the last nanny he had. In his other life, at least.)

“Noct?” Prompto touches his wrist, just short of plastering himself completely against Noctis’s side. “What’s up?”

“Prompto,” Noctis says faintly, barely registering the sound of his own voice, and Prompto stares back at him with the same perplexed, wide-eyed recognition. “Why can I feel your emotions?”

Prompto opens his mouth, closes it, and then opens it again to ask, in a soft and slightly terrified whisper, “Why am I hearing your thoughts?”

Poignant silence floats in between them.

Outside their door, they hear the sounds of a Glaive changing their shifts with another. They chat about going out for drinks once their shifts are complete for the day (gods, what Noctis would give to have a taste of some whiskey). From the window, two birds begin chirping at one another and there’s the distant clang of swords from the Crownsguard training grounds. Prompto’s hesitation and apprehension curl snugly against Noctis’s ankle. It tastes a bit like salted green beans.

“I,” says Noctis, a bit too calm for the situation, “am five seconds away from losing my mind.”

“You haven’t lost it already?” Prompto asks. He sounds honestly surprised, and Noctis can’t help but snort.

“I’m going to do something drastic,” Noctis states after a moment of consideration.

“Please don’t do something drastic,” says Prompto, and then points his fingers. “No fighting!”

The edges of Noctis’s lips twitch. “I’m going to Ravatogh and I’m gonna —.”

“No,” Prompto sputters. “At least fight Leviathan!”

“You think anyone’ll let me on a boat to Altissia?”

“But you think they’d let you climb Ravatogh?”

“You’re right, but you shouldn’t say it.”

Prompto presses a hand over his forehead. “I’ve literally been fighting nonstop for a decade, okay? I’m tired .”

Noctis all-but wraps around Prompto like an octopus. “Yeah, I am too.” He sighs against the curve of Prompto’s neck, causing him to do that adorable giggle-snort of his, and mutters, “I still wanna have an all out brawl with Shiva, though.”

Prompto snorts, amused and fond. “She’d decimate you before you’d even raise your hand.”

Noctis laughs because, well, he’s not entirely wrong.

Once their handlers bustle in and settle them into bed after they completed their night routine (if he has to hear one more person ask him if he’s brushed his “pearly whites” one more time he was gonna set someone’s hair on fire), they lay there for fifteen minutes in silence before Prompto reaches for the tablet under his pillow and asks, “What do we wanna look at?”

Noctis takes a moment to think. “Let’s...let’s see if anyone else with, uh, magic manifested anything like...empathy and telepathy.”

Besides a plethora of fanfiction, there’s nothing. Only speculation and conspiracy theories, but there’s nothing concrete enough that could help them. Noctis belatedly wonders why there haven’t been any non-royal magic users besides Prompto until he spies an article title that they’re all, well —

Not there anymore.

“Well, that was educational,” Prompto murmurs before he says, “Wanna see if there’s any new evidence with our case?”

Noctis nods. “Yeah, why not? S’not like anyone here will tell us what’s going on.”

Prompto types in case cyan new evidence , and they both stare at the first article.

 New Evidence Suggests Marilith Coven Responsible for Serial Kidnappings Across Lucis.

Prompto sets down the tablet, the article they had just finished reading blinking almost mockingly at them.

“It’s always the Marilith, huh?” Noctis sighs.

And—

They look at the second article, and Noctis entwines his fingers with Prompto’s, shuffling closer for comfort. His unease and fear is an acrid taste in Noctis’s mouth.

Leader Vestael Besithia Disappears As Coven Members Are Brought In For Questioning.

Prompto stares at title. “It’s always gonna be him, isn’t it?”

They share a look, and Prompto bookmarks the articles for later before switching over to King’s Knight. Technically, they were only allowed to play Oracle’s Oath, but Noctis could only have tea parties with tonberry’s for so long before he breaks the damn thing out of frustration.

“Okay, but what the fuck is a coven?”

“It is three in the morning, Noctis.”

“I mean, yeah, but —.”

“Go. To. Bed.”

“I’m breaking into the Citadel’s liquor cabinet,” Noctis says after he finishes the practice problem.

Prompto sighs and puts his pencil down. Thankfully, Ignis had stepped out a few minutes ago to settle something with a frazzled intern. “Please don’t become an alcoholic at age nine.”

“With the way things are looking, I’m not making any promises.”

Prompto sighs again and gives him a stern look. Noctis pouts.

Today was decided to be solely for academic things. After breakfast, Ignis put them through the paces with etiquette lessons until lunch and, afterwards, a focus on guiding them through their missed curriculum so that they would be able to be at the level they were supposed to by next school year.

Noctis really wanted to tell Ignis that he already knew long division and, therefore, didn’t need twenty questions plus a lecture about it. At least , he thinks, Prompto is suffering right with me.

“Speak for yourself,” says Prompto; he looks far too delighted as he double-checks his work. “I love math.”

“Nerd,” Noctis says.

Prompto pinches his side. “Says the guy who can recite King’s Knight’s plot and main story lines from memory.”

Noctis sniffs. “That’s just class, sweetie.”

Prompto rolls his eyes. His fondness tickles it’s way across Noctis’s forehead, a taste not-so-dissimilar to chocolate.

After an intense discussion before their handlers woke them up for the day, they decided to keep quiet about their newly discovered abilities. It probably wasn’t the best of their ideas, but Noctis would rather stay quiet about it as it wasn’t harming them than risk it being seen an an abnormality.

(privately, he thought that they both had enough of human experimentation to last them more than a lifetime.)

It was, however, proving to be difficult.

To Prompto, Noctis’s thoughts sounded as though he were actually speaking, and he had to visibly stop himself from responding as, technically, Noctis hasn’t said anything aloud. Noctis, on the other hand, struggled with the sudden appearance of foreign emotions, trying to pick apart what was his and what was Prompto’s. It made him much quieter, more cautious of his word choice and actions.

In other words, they were a trainwreck waiting to happen.

(ardyn would have a field day, if he were to see them now.)

“My apologies.” Ignis walks back inside of the room, a spacious place with windows and bookshelves and comfortable couches Noctis is trying very, very hard not to fall asleep in. Ignis frowns when he sees the lack of pencils in their hands. “Are you both stuck?”

“No,” says Noctis. “We’re finished.”

Ignis blinks and then compares their answers. After a moment, he sets the papers down and regards them with quiet interest. “Is it alright if I quiz you both? Do not feel ashamed should you not know the answer or get it wrong.”

“That’s fine with me,” Prompto says.

“Sure,” says Noctis.

Underneath the table, they squeeze each other’s hands.

Ignis nods. He starts off with simple (in Noctis’s opinion, at least) questions that an average child their age would have some difficulty answering. Then, as they continue to answer correctly, Ignis begins to increase the difficulty of the questions he asks. He also throws in questions that aren’t math related, but science, and history, and, at times, psychology related questions.

They answer majority of them correctly.

Some of them, Noctis had no idea about the correct answer; others, he did know, but he had some self-preservation left and didn’t want to make himself seem too suspicious.

Once the impromptu quiz ended, Ignis stares at them for a moment before stands. “One moment, please.” With that, Ignis pulls his phone out and steps into the hall. They’re too far away to hear anything except for murmurs.

Prompto chews on his bottom lip; his unease spills into Noctis’s tongue. “Won’t they, like, be suspicious that we’re suddenly geniuses?”

“Not really,” Noctis replies, patting his hand. “Everyone was aware that I was, uh, kinda bored with school and a little lazy, not wanting to ‘show my true potential’,” he quotes his old tutor, “and I know you like to deny it, but you deliberately made yourself seem average in school, right? I overheard some teachers lamenting about it.”

A bright blush paints Prompto’s cheeks red. “You know I don’t like attention, good or bad,” Prompto all but whines.

Noctis huffs a quiet laugh. “I know.”

They sit quietly, listening to Ignis’s muffled voice, before Ignis reenters the room with a small smile on his lips.

“Tomorrow,” he tells them, “the two of you will be taking a test to see where your abilities lay so that I can better adjust your tutoring schedule. Please,” Ignis stares them in the eyes, “do your absolute best on the material, but should you find yourselves unable to answer some of the questions, do not fret.”

Noctis shares a look with Prompto, the same quiet resignation floating in his eyes.

They always did have trouble saying no to Ignis, after all.

“Thanks.”

Noctis quirks an eyebrow. “What for?”

Prompto’s smile is sad, and Noctis doesn’t like it. “For — for not giving up on me, you know? And I’m not just talking about — about Zegnautus Keep, but — but for, well, everything, I guess? Just...thanks.”

Noctis pulls Prompto into a tight, almost bone-breaking, hug. “I’m never gonna give up on you, okay?”

Prompto’s voice is shaky when he asks, “Promise?”

“Yeah,” Noctis breathes out, and presses their foreheads together. “Promise.”

Chapter Text

“I’m going to do something,” Noctis says around two p.m., when they’re given an early afternoon snack, and waits until Prompto blinks at him over his tuna sandwich to add, “Something that will, probably, give everyone a heart attack.” He smiles when Prompto makes a face. “And you’re coming with me.”

“I’m not,” Prompto says, as if he’d let Noctis leave without him. “And you’re not going to do anything . . . reckless or whatever.”

His smile grows.

Prompto gives his tuna sandwich a dismayed glance. “Can I at least finish my sandwich? Before you unleash whatever hell you’re planning?”

Noctis sniffs, imperious. “Very well.”

Prompto pinches his side, and he sputters in response. Near the door, the Kingsglaive stationed in front of it smiles a little before continues a blank expression.

Earlier that morning, he received a phone call. The cell phone was new, a gift from his father who worried about Noctis and Prompto getting, well, kidnapped again. The device was practically drowned in parental controls and apps for children--games, and learning things. Noctis had strict rules that he wasn’t to download any sort of social media until high school which, to be honest, with how chaotic social media could be to an average person, never mind the sole heir to an entire kingdom, never mind the sole heir everyone assumes was kidnapped and tortured for an entire year, Noctis understood the caution, and gladly agreed to the conditions.

That, of course, didn’t mean he didn’t ask Prompto to override the controls a mere hour later.

In a welcome change, his phone number is the same as it was before. In his other life. Shiva probably had something to do with that.

Anyway.

There was a phone call. At five in the morning.

Noctis might’ve assumed it to be a telemarketer, but due to his precarious position as the crown prince of Lucis, he’s well aware that he and his father’s numbers are not in that system. Only a select few have his phone number -- and if he ever wanted to give his number out, the recipients would have had to go through a six-month background check first. And that’s not counting a personal visit via Cor or his retinue.

Yeah, so. Noctis didn’t get those calls from random numbers. It wasn’t a thing. The security breach for that alone would’ve had the Glaives and the Guards comb through every security measure they employed. Even ones they hadn’t used in since the Rogue Queen.

The number wasn’t one he recognized, but he answered it regardless because he was curious . Also, Prompto, once described to be his impulse control, was dead asleep. There was no one to stop him from pressing the green answer button.

Meet me at Longwythe, the caller demanded. The Rest Area, not the Peak. Tonight--and don’t be late.

And then they hung up the phone. It left Noctis with burning questions because . . . because that was Aranea Highwind on the other end, what the fuck.

So.

He now had a few hours left to think about how he was going to get to Longwythe, but first he had to plan how he’d be able to leave both his room and the Citadel unnoticed. The Wall wasn’t at thing, but there were still checkpoints. Patrol schedules and the like. Noctis still had to bypass Hammerhead.

He had no means to a car.

It wasn’t like he could just. Ask Ignis for a joyride to the middle of fucking Leide. He was, also, nine years old.

His bedtime was at eight o fucking clock.

(Not that he actually went to bed at that time, but, still. Still. )

Noctis couldn’t just waltz out of Insomnia like he was going on a nightly stroll. He’d give Cor a heart attack, and then be known as the prince who killed Cor the Immortal.

That’s not a title he wants, thank you.

“I have a plan,” he tells Prompto, with all the solemnity and severeness of a nine-year-old who currently has peanut butter and jelly on the corner of his lip. And his cheek. Listen. Noctis was a messy eater when it came to PB&J, alright?

Prompto looks ready to cry. Or throw Noctis out the window. “No.”

“Yes.”

“No.”

“Yes.”

“No.”

“Boys?” They turn, in tandem, to stare at Ignis, who’s frowning at them in concern, drawn away from where he was to their little table. “Is everything alright? What’s the matter?”

Noctis’s left eye twitches. Prompto shoves his entire tuna sandwich in his mouth.

Ignis quirks an eyebrow, waits.

“I’m going to go fight Gentiana,” Noctis says instead because he’s still not over it. He can’t believe he’s the youngest--technically, the second youngest because Prompto’s the youngest--bloody noble in Insomnia. He switched ages with Iris and Talcott, it wasn’t fair.

His lunchbox was cool, though. Carbuncle-Themed and all that.

But still.

Did he have to be a goddamn nine year old?

Prompto, although his mouth his full, is able to perfectly say, “Please don’t fight Gentiana—she’ll kill you before you blink.”

“I’ll take my chances,” says Noctis.

Ignis makes a noise, shares a look with the Glaive by the door, before he sits beside their little table. “Noctis, Prompto,” he starts quietly, and Noctis nearly impulsively shoves his entire PB&J sandwich in his mouth. “Please, do not be afraid to let me know—but is this . . . Gentiana in contact with you? Has she made any threats?”

“No,” says Noctis

“Um,” says Prompto, and Noctis whips around so fast his neck hurts and he hisses out, “What’d she do?” so vehemently he sounds like an enraged coeurl.

“It’s nothing bad,” Prompto assures, and Noctis is ready to start a brawl . He’s ready to fucking go , consequences of killing an Astral be damned . He killed Titan, and Leviathan, and Ifrit. He technically killed Bahamut during that Final Battle with Ardyn. The only Astral he never really touched was Ramuh, and that’s because Ramuh stayed in his fucking lane.

“You just say things aren’t bad when they are,” he says instead, and Prompto pouts into his juice box. “Seriously,” He continues, much more gently, but still heated, “but what happened?”

Am I going to Niflheim , is what he’s basically saying. Do I need to go batshit on Shiva’s corpse.

Prompto, after nervously glancing at Ignis and the Glaive, leans close to Noctis, and murmurs in his ear: “So, that telepathic-empathic bond we’ve got? Yeah. We were experimented on.”

For a moment, Noctis says nothing. He stares, blankly, at the second sandwich on his plate. “Iggy?” He says after a moment.

“Yes, Noct?”

Noctis says, the most prim and proper he has ever been in either life, “I would like to request access to the Citadel’s artillery and obtain a knife.”

Prompto groans like he’s been skewered by a behemoth. “ No! No knives!”

“I’m going to slit her neck and no one will stop me ,” Noctis quite-literally snarls out. He’s acting rash. He’s acting irrational. He is not acting like a normal, emotionally-healthy nine-year-old, but everyone is already under the impression that his behavior is due to his trauma and lovely time spent with his captors. He doesn’t care.

“If I may interrupt?”

Noctis blinks at Ignis.

“Would you mind explaining to me why you would like a weapon, Prince Noctis?”

Fuck. Iggy was getting protective now, and Noctis needs to step carefully. He chews on his bottom lip. “Okay . . . but tell me this first—what’s the general consensus over our treatment when, when we were gone?”

Noctis is probably using words a normal nine year old wouldn’t, but he’s already taken all those tests and exams tutors worldwide threw at him to see where his level was, and thus it was no secret that Noctis had a vocabulary of, well, a twenty-year-old.

Ignis frowns. “The two of you were treated horrifically by your captors, and everyone in the Citadel are well aware you are both still learning how to heal and cope from this ordeal.”

Hence why his cursing habit was half-heartedly scolded.

“Wait,” Prompto hisses from the corner of his mouth, but Ignis hears him perfectly. “Wait, did we tell them?”

“Tell us what , Prompto?”

They share a look. Well. They already surpassed the point of no return back at the haven. Noctis has half a plan and various contingency plans to commit blasphemy against Shiva. But Gods is the upcoming conversations gonna be a headache .

“So . . .,” he starts calmly, like he wasn’t just thinking about going out and murdering a goddess. “What are your thoughts about human experimentation.”

Apparently, admitting that they were experimented on during their captivity means another trip to the hospital wing. Yay. Noctis regrets opening his mouth, but unfortunately words cannot be unspoken once said. The investigation on their case, which wasn’t really closed yet, is tackled with renewed vigor. There’s a bloodthirsty aura surrounding the Citadel, and Noctis is partly terrified and partly ecstatic to see the chaos.

“I can see where you get your dramatics from,” Prompto mutters at his thoughts, and Noctis makes a face.

He glances at the time. It’s thirty minutes to dinner, and they’re stuck in a hospital bed. Gladio’s channel surfing, and there’s a Crownsguard by the door, standing attentive. Ignis is on Prompto’s side of the bed, filling something out on a clipboard. Outside, Noctis hears the muffled voices of his father, Clarus, Ventus, and Cor. And the doctor.

Noctis half-heartedly shuffles the deck of cards in his hands. “Aranea returned.”

Prompto spews his drink onto the comforter. “The fuck do you mean ‘Aranea’s returned’?”

Noctis winces. He forgot just how loud Prompto could scream. “I said what I said!”

“Who’s Aranea?” Ignis questions. Gladio flicks to another channel, but by the way he’s tense and angled towards them makes it clear he’s listening. The Guard has two fingers pressed against his earpiece. “One of your . . . captors?”

Noctis opens his mouth, and then closes it, and then says, “No . . . she was kidnapped with us, but . . ..”

What.

“We got separated from her and Loqi,” Prompto finishes. They share another look because, um, hello, Loqi? “But . . . I thought they . . ..”

“She wants to meet us at Longwythe,” says Noctis

“ The Peak?” Prompto squeaks, and, honestly, Noctis can relate because he does not want to deal with a fucking adamantoise at the fresh age of nine and a half.

“It’s the Rest Area,” Noctis assures.

“And how does she expect us to get there?” Prompto questions, almost incredulously, and Noctis shrugs because, honestly, he was gonna find a way to sneak out. Maybe bribe a Crownsguard to take him. Though that avenue would’ve ended in a complete and utter disaster because then said Guard would have undoubtedly been accused of kidnapping the Crown Prince and -

Yeah, that’s a headache Noctis doesn’t want right now.

And then there’s a bark from Gladio’s feet. Noctis turns to see Pryna sitting there, tail wagging, tongue lolling out of her mouth. She looks absolutely delighted to see them. “Tiny?” Prompto all but squeals out. “OMG, Tiny! You’re here!”

Pryna barks again.

Prompto narrows his eyes. “Wait . . . you’re gonna help us?”

She barks.

“How?”

Another bark mixed with a whine, and that’s when Noctis notices that the goddamn room is -- frozen in time. He, Prompto, and Pryna are the only ones who are moving, blinking, talking. “Can we make a trip to, like, an alcohol store before we go,” Noctis asks, only half-joking. Pryna gives him a disappointed look.

“No alcohol,” Prompto says and then swings his legs off the bed. “Guess we’re going to Longwythe.”

Pryna’s tail is wagging so hard, Noctis thinks it’s going to make her float in the air. He slides off the bed and starts petting her as Prompto goes around the bed to where they are. “Okay,” Noctis says, “how’re we going to do this?”

Pryna barks, three times, and Noctis blinks, and suddenly he’s no longer in a hospital, but on the roof of one of Longwythe’s various apartment buildings. There’s a crash and a litany of curses from Loqi at their sudden appearance, and Aranea only raises an unimpressed eyebrow at them.

“How the fuck did you get here?” Loqi nearly screams, and Prompto curls a loose arm around Pryna.

“Divine intervention,” he replies.

Aranea snorts, and then eyes them. “This is ridiculous , how old are you? Seven?”

“We’re nine,” Noctis squawks. “How old are you!”

Aranea, undeniably younger, less muscled, softer , scowls in irritation. “I’m eleven, and Loqi’s, what, six?”

“I hate you all,” says Loqi, in the highest pitch Noctis has ever heard him use. He’s . . . tiny. Noctis doesn’t even think Loqi reaches his hip , and Noctis isn’t exactly a tall nine-year-old either. “I should’ve killed you at that Assassin’s Festival all those years ago.”

Noctis stares.

Six, is this how his father feels when he hears Noctis’s morbid humor? Hearing curses and worrisome jokes about death and whatnot from a baby faced child?

“Oh my god,” Noctis whispers as he stares at two people who once tried to kill him (and he them, at some point). “You’re infants.”

Loqi’s expression twists in fury. He looks like a six-year-old about to have a tantrum. Noctis is too sober to deal with this.

“We’re all infants,” says Aranea, and she crosses her arms. “Do we know why?”

“From what Shiva told us, and what we’ve inferred . . . it’s because it’s a parallel world,” Noctis explains as he pulls himself together. “And . . . whoever we were in this world probably didn’t survive, and that’s how we were able to . . . infuse with them like this.”

Loqi makes a noise in the back of his throat. “I’m going to kill Shiva’s corpse again.”

“Join the fucking club,” Noctis mutters under his breath.

“We’re not doing that,” Prompto all-but snarls from where he’s happily lavishing Pryna in all the attention she deserves. He then trains his gaze on Aranea. “What do you know so far?”

“We were kidnapped, obviously, and experimented on,” Aranea explains in a deadpan, blase way, and honestly, Noctis can relate. “Blah, blah, I can use fire magic, and Loqi uses air. Apparently, my little sister is now my big sister and the current Empress of Niflheim, and Loqi’s the cousin of the Nox Fleuret family.”

Noctis and Prompto both stare this time.

Loqi bristles. “Don’t look at me like that, you cockwit of a Gerula pack!”

“What,” says Noctis.

Prompto snorts.

“Ardyn came back with us,” Aranea says, calmly, like she’s not dropping a fucking bombshell on their laps. “But he’s not immortal, or the adagium . . .”

“I’m sorry,” says Noctis. “What?”

Prompto worries his bottom lip. “Is he . . . dangerous?”

“I hardly think I am in this form,” says the fucking devil himself as he steps out from behind Aranea and waves hello like this is normal.

“I’m going to faint,” whispers Noctis.

“Please don’t,” says Loqi, in that aggressive way of his. “Wouldn’t want to pick your brain matter off the concrete.”

Prompto starts laughing, gaining a hysterical edge, at the sight of Ardyn in grimy cactuar pajama bottoms and a bomber jacket. Because Ardyn looks like a small, spindly, twelve-year-old. There’s a pimple on his forehead. “How old are you? Ten?”

Ardyn sniffs. “I’m thirteen , dear Prompto.”

Noctis sits down on the concrete. It’s damp. “What the fuck.”

Loqi throws his hands in the air. “That’s what I’ve been saying! We’re all fucking dead, and yet here we are!”

Prompto stops laughing and snaps his head in their direction. “You - You both died?”

Aranea nods. “Lights around Hammerhead stopped a few hours after you and prince charmless over there left for Insomnia. They turned back on, but Loqi and I . . . didn’t make it, obviously.”

“You know how I died, my little nephew,” says Ardyn.

“Shut the fuck up,” Noctis spits in his direction. “If anything, you’re the annoying cousin no one likes.”

Ardyn pouts. It’s . . . an oddly endearing sight.

Prompto sighs, heavily, and pinches the bridge of his nose. “Listen. . . we gotta think of a plan. Because when Noct and I go back, we obviously can’t return with you considering we’re in the hospital.”

Noctis tilts his head. “Before Pryna stopped time, we were discussing going to Longwythe with Ignis.”

“Discussing?” Prompto snorts. Noctis makes another face.

“Tell them where we are,” Aranea says after a moment of thought. “Let them, ah . . . ‘rescue’ us or whatever.”

“Aren’t they going to interrogate us, then?” Loqi asks. “What if our stories don’t match up?”

“They will,” Ardyn says, almost dismissively.

Loqi turns on him. “And how do you know, esteemed Chancellor? You’ve been with us the entire time!”

“The memory will come should you need it,” Noctis echoes and, when they all stare at him, elaborates. “It’s what Shiva said. When we need it, the memories of . . . this life will come. So, it’ll match up.”

They talk for a bit longer, a discussion on how to act along with various plans and contingency plans about how to approach them ‘getting rescued’ by the Crownsguard or Kingsglaive. And then, Pryna whines and tugs on their shirts. It’s time to go back.

“Well,” says Noctis as he reaches for Pryna. “See you . . .in a bit, I guess.”

Aranea snorts, and teases, “As eloquent as ever, prince.”

“Yeah, yeah.”

And then they’re back in the hospital bed, and Pryna is nowhere to be found. Noctis turns to Prompto and says, “I’m going to drown myself in a vat of whiskey.”

“I beg your pardon?” says Ignis, utterly baffled by the direction of their conversation.

“No.” Prompto starts viciously poking Noctis’s side. “You’re not gonna be an alcoholic at nine!”

Noctis unsuccessfully wiggles away from Prompto’s relentless attack, and the deck of cards scatters to the floor. It’s almost worth Ignis’s and Gladio’s befuddlement and ever-increasing concern.

Chapter Text

well, now im living in the shade of my mind

i just stop for a second, i reason

i move forward like the seasons

seasons - greyson chance 

Noctis’s budding alcohol tendencies aside, the ‘rescue’ of Aranea, Loqi, and Ardyn goes remarkably well. He overhears a few of the Glaives discussing it, those who were involved in the search and rescue, and listens to their horror at the state they were found in. 

Which, fair.

They were living in the streets of Longwythe, dealing with the whiplash and perplexion of finding themselves in the past, in another world, in an age they can barely remember living in. 

But damn, does he wish he were a fly on the wall for that rescue. 

It’s agreed that the trio isn’t separated from one another, and are given the room beside Noctis’s and Prompto’s. 

It’s kind of amazing. All of this has happened within three hours.

It’s barely sunset.

Noctis hasn’t even eaten dinner yet. 

“They’re okay, though, right?” Prompto questions, nervously wringing his hands as Ignis informs them of the successful rescue. Even though they saw the trio themselves just a few short hours ago, Prompto will always be a worrier. “Like . . . they know they’re safe?”

It’s Gladio who speaks next. “Right now, they’re defensive and tense—much like you two were when you were first rescued—but they do know that we aren’t going to hurt them.”

Prompto eyes them, as if to see how truthful the adults are being, and then nods. “Good.”

For all his snark, Noctis . . . doesn’t hate Loqi or Aranea. Hell, for everything the man put him through, Noctis doesn’t even hate Ardyn. Mostly because he understands their intentions. He understands their actions. Hell, during the war, Noctis himself was a little hellion. They all have mistakes. They all have regrets. 

This world is a clean slate. A gift from Shiva. Noctis knows it would do him well to leave their past life . . . in the past.

“So.” Noctis swings his legs as he sits on the edge of the bed. “How long will we be here?”

“You’re being discharged sometime tomorrow,” says Ignis as he scrolls through something on his phone. “But I would like to discuss something with you first.” 

Noctis shares a look with Prompto. That’s Ignis’s we’re going to have a Discussion voice. Gladio’s arms are crossed over his chest, and Noctis swallows audibly.

“About what?” He asks, nervously playing with the threads of the knitted quilt Talcott gifted him. Apparently, Talcott knits now. Who knew? “Am . . . Am I in trouble?”

“Not quite,” Ignis tells him, gently, and slips his phone into his pocket. “I am simply concerned about your . . . coping habits.”

“I don’t really wanna become an alcoholic,” Noctis squeaks out because fuck , it’s gonna be that conversation. Prompto’s hand is over his mouth as he attempts (read: fails) to smother his laughter. “I’m just joking! Honest! I don’t like the taste of vodka.”

“When did you have vodka?” Prompto sputters, laughter abandoned. “And you had it without me ?”

“ Shut the fuck up ,” Noctis hisses under his breath and Prompto snorts and spirals back into laughter. He’s cackling, the asshole , and Noctis dares to peek back at Ignis and Gladio. He’s not gonna escape this conversation. “Anyway . . . I’m not gonna . . . drink.”

“Nonetheless, I would still like to pursue this conversation, your Highness,” says Ignis. 

“Prompto,” Gladio then says, “How about we head to the cafeteria for a snack?”

It’s not a suggestion.

“If you say so,” Prompto murmurs, and then, before he hops off the bed, presses his cheek against Noctis’s. Prompto’s calmness curls around Noctis’s wrist, a pressing, grounding moment that lets him breathe around the knots in his chest. “See you in a few!”

Please don’t leave me, Noctis thinks.

Prompto’s face spasms. It’s clear neither of them want to be left alone with the men they once considered their comrades, their brothers in arms. Their family .

But Gladio is clearly unrelenting in his decision to remove Prompto from the room, and thus Prompto slides off the bed and takes Gladio’s offered hand. The door clicks behind them with an air of finality.

“Noct.”

He almost makes a godsawful sound in response, but doesn’t. “. . . yes?”

The next twenty minutes are spent in a conversation that’s akin to pulling teeth out with toothpicks and no anesthetics. 

Somehow—and he’s not sure how, really—Noctis manages to convince Ignis that really , he didn’t want to drink alcohol (he charmingly called it ‘adult stuff’), but was simply repeating a phrase he’d heard from his kidnappers whenever they were stressed or something didn’t go the way they wanted.

When Prompto reentered the room, he barely resists a cackle at Noctis’ expression.

Love of my life, Noctis thinks, fond and exasperated. Always ready for a laugh.

Prompto’s smile becomes cheeky as he murmurs, “You know it.” 

At Gladio’s and Ignis’ raised eyebrows, Prompto shares a panicked look with Noctis and says, “Oops.”

Gladio’s lips twitched. “Alright—what’re us old men missing?”

Ignis snorts. “Speak for yourself, Gladiolus. I’m not off the calendar as of yet.”

When Gladio sputters, Noctis giggles—honest to god giggles —but then tilts his head in Prompto’s direction and thinks, did anyone even ask why they experimented on us? 

Prompto hums and gives him a look that clearly stated we literally just got to this hospital room which, fair, they did. Technically. But last couple of hours are more of a blur to Noctis’ memory crumbled beneath the heavy realization and hysteria over the knowledge that Aranea and Loqi and fucking Ardyn had been dropped into this world alongside them. 

(Just what had Shiva been thinking?)

Cor strolls inside the room after a short rap on the door. Noctis shares another look with Prompto. Are they going to get questioned now? He hoped so--the sooner they completed the investigation, the sooner Noctis could actually sleep in his own bed. 

Feigning obliviousness, Noctis raises his hand, as if he’s attending class , and asks, “Can we leave now? Prompto and I aren’t, like, injured.” 

Ignis only gives him a look. “No, but you were . . . experimented on, Noctis.” 

“Yeah, but . . . that happened months ago,” Noctis replies. “I think we’re doing fine.” 

Prompto snorts at the way Gladio looks wholly unimpressed at Noctis’ attempt to wheedle Cor in allowing them early leave from the hospital. After a moment of amusement, though, he stares at Cor through his eyelashes and asks, “Are, um, the doctors going to, like . . . poke us with needles?” 

An involuntary shudder crawls over Noctis’ spine at the thought. 

Prompto grips Noctis’ hand. 

“No one will be poking anyone with needles,” Ignis informs them, backed up by Cor and Gladio’s affirming nod. 

“While the doctors are adamant they do a few scans - nothing too serious, we simply want to make sure those . . . people didn’t implant anything inside of you,” Cor explains in that quiet, solemn tone of his that makes everyone stop and listen. “And I know that this is uncomfortable and traumatizing for you both . . . but all we would like to be aware of is if you know there will be any . . . adverse side effects to what they had done to you.” 

“We can’t be away from one another for too long,” Prompto says, almost immediately, and then shrugs a little. “It’s our bond - and it, like, is healthier the more we’re around each other.” 

“What happens if you aren’t together?” Ignis asks quietly. “And are you aware of the . . . distance limitations?” 

“I think the longest we can be apart is like . . . ten days,” Noctis takes over the explanation then, even though he’s internally shrieking because since when did it physically hurt them to be apart? Shiva, please answer the phone, Noctis has left various angry voicemails. “It’ll start with a . . . really bad heachache, you know? And it’ll like . . . increase.”

“Until we can’t move,” adds Prompto. 

Noctis nearly snorts. Only Prompto would talk about a debilitating headache with a bright, sunny smile on his lips. “But like . . . the distance is more of, um, I guess . . . miles? Like, if Prompto wants to sleep in his suite, it won’t be a problem - but if he wants to, say, go to, like, Hammerhead without me . . . um . . . I wouldn’t recommend it.” 

“It’s just a side effect of our bond,” Prompto says and then, at Ignis’ expression, reaches over and pats the royal advisor on the hand for comfort. “Really, it’s not that bad.” 

“Right,” says Cor, clearly out of his depth with what’s going on. Noctis is out of his depth, and this is his life . “Now . . . do you know what type of bond this is?” 

Noctis shares a look with Prompto. How would they explain this? 

“Um . . .,” he says after a moment, tilting his head in thought. “I guess you could call it a, um, telepathic-empathic bond.” 

Gladio’s eyebrows raise to his hairline. “A what?”

Noctis looks unimpressed. “I said what I said.” 

Prompto rolls his eyes. “So . . . Noctis can feel my emotions, and I can hear Noctis’ thoughts. I think . . . no, I’m pretty sure we’re the only ones with this type of bond.” 

“The others didn’t survive . . . the ones in our, um, group,” Noctis adds, much quieter than before. “We . . . Prompto and I were the only . . ..” 

“Stable experiments,” Prompto finishes blankly. Though he stares at the adults, everyone is keenly aware of his distant gaze. 

Bile curls in the pit of Noctis’ throat. He squeezes Prompto’s fingers.

“You two are not experiments,” Cor informs them in a firm and brisk tone. “Neither are those other kids we rescued—you are all children .” 

“Who, unfortunately, have gone through a traumatic ordeal that should’ve never occurred,” Ignis adds, much softer and gentler than Cor but no less firm. 

After a beat of silence, Gladio takes a seat with a heavy sigh. “None of this is making sense . Why did they . . . do this to you kids?” 

“We may never know,” says Ignis. 

Prompto and Noctis share another look. The answer bubbles forth like soda froth, the blessing from Shiva making it easier for them to understand what they had gone through in this world. Originally, they assumed that the adults who kidnapped them wished to recreate (or, well, create ) an MT—and, well, they were half-right. 

What those adults wanted wasn’t an MT . . . but it was a team of assassins perfectly obedient to their cause (or, well, coven , technically—and Noctis still doesn’t ducking know what a coven even is, 1-1-SHIVA please answer your phone and explain ).

Noctis doesn’t think the rest of the world is ready just yet for that information. 

Once they had gone through various medical scans and the like—Noctis feels like he should know the names of these scans, but, honestly, he’s been practically strapped down to a metal table and then shoved in a whirring, metal tunnel for a good ten minutes.

He’s not having a good time.

Neither is Prompto, for that matter.

The adults sense that they aren’t having the best time with the exams, and do their best to shuffle them through it quickly. But even as the hour ticks by, Noctis can’t shake off the foreboding claw that’s deep in his lungs.

Ever since he laid on that cold table, he’s fallen silent. There’s a noose around his throat; a scratchy rope that digs and digs and digs. He doesn’t even think he’s breathing. 

Prompto has a vicious grip on his forearm as they’re plopped back in their room. Noctis thinks he might break skin, if it gets any tighter. Acrid emotions—all negative, all panic, all fear —foam over his tongue like a rising tide crashing against the shore. 

They share a look that’s missed by the other adults—considering they’re all talking to one another quietly, most likely discussing the way Noctis and Prompto have become ghosts in the aftermath of the exams. 

“That was. . .,” Noctis starts and then pauses. He’s still floating through a dark, internal miasma. The words aren’t forming quite right. 

Prompto relaxes his grip. They breathe in sync. After a pause, he murmurs, “Yeah. It really was.”

They share another look.

Shiva really needed to answer their questions. 

“King of Stone.” 

Noctis doesn’t scream. He doesn’t--but it’s close. Heart swallowed by the floor, he whirls around to see Gentiana giving him her standard closed mouth, closed eyes smile. They’re in a field, but it’s not one of sylleblossoms (which, thank fuck, because he’s probably going to cry since the last time he was in a field of sylleblossoms, Luna had--).

Anyway. 

While they are in a field of flowers, the scenery reminds him of southern Cleigne. He doesn’t know why that particular region comes to mind, but he’ll stick with it. 

“I apologize for my absence,” Gentiana says after a pause. “Bahamut was most displeased with my previous arrangements.” 

Noctis blinks. “What? Does he not like that . . . that you did this?”

“Bahamut is often displeased by any actions other than his own,” Gentiana says. 

Noctis senses a lot of hidden history and sass that all the cosmology books in the Citadel library did not touch upon. He smiles, though, because yeah , Bahamut can be a real asshole. 

“I bring news, my Liege,” Gentiana says. Her expression, while normally otherworldly, settles into something much . . . colder (yes, the pun is intended). “Shall you Listen, o King of Kings?” 

Thunder clouds roll above. 

“I’m not going to like this,” Noctis says, to no one in particular. 

Gentiana’s smile turns a little sorrowful at the end, and she dips her head into a nod. “No, King of Kings,” she says. “I do not think you will.” 

“Alright,” Noctis sighs. “Hit me, I guess.” 

Gentiana opens her mouth and starts talking. 

Noctis fucking hates it. 

The next morning dawned bright, but Noctis is boiling for a fight. He gets one--a verbal one, at least--in the form of Loqi Tummult. One of the adults decided it’d be a wonderful idea for the “kids to reunite with one another after their traumatic experiences”. Thus, Noctis had been roused from his game of tag with Carbuncle and herded into a makeshift playroom with Prompto. 

“Ugh.” Loqi makes a face at Noctis’s entrance. “It’s you.”

Noctis sniffs. “I see you’re still a midget.”

“I see you still want me to kick your ass.”

“Can you even reach my neck,” Noctis says, lips tilted into half a smile, half a snarl. Who knew bantering with Loqi would be so much fun?

“No, but I sure as fuck can reach your—.”

“Such violence from small beings,” Ardyn comments. He’s watching them as if they were the most fascinating things in the room. 

Both Noctis and Loqi whirl in his direction. “Shut up , Ardyn!”

From Aranea’s side, Prompto says, half-jokingly, “Can I have some pancakes? May I please have some pancakes?”

The Glaive only looks hopelessly lost as to what to do. Noctis can relate.

“Maybe we should separate you two. . .,” one of their minders say.

Loqi practically clings to Noctis’s side and glowers in their direction. If Loqi weren’t so small, the sight might’ve been a little unsettling. Sadly, the ex-General just looks adorable. Like a disgruntled kitten. “Touch him and die.”

Noctis snickers. “It’s okay—this is just how we talk to one another.” 

Loqi wrinkles his nose. “Have you brushed your teeth? I feel like you swallowed raw tuna for a week.” 

Noctis sputters in response. His expression sends Prompto into a spiral of giggles. 

Lunch rolls around and they’re given delicious mini sandwiches and some small cupcakes. Noctis has no idea why he nor Prompto haven’t been brought back to their suite but, honestly, Noctis isn’t complaining. The less he has to “learn” about royal etiquette when he, technically, already knows everything, the better. 

He’s sitting on one of the couches, a napkin spread out over his lap, when Prompto settles beside him. He’s been getting thoroughly trounced in a board game by Loqi. The six-year-old is oddly vicious when it comes to board games. 

“Are you going to tell me?” 

Noctis turns his head toward Prompto, who is focused on picking his way through a vanilla cupcake. “What?” 

The corners of Prompto’s lips tilt. “Are you going to tell me what’s got you so upset?” 

His mood, while not good but was relatively alright, threatens to plummet. He listens to Loqi verbally ream Ardyn over a game of checkers (Noctis should honestly take notes on what’s coming out of his mouth because wow ) while Aranea drops hints to another adults about when they’d be able to be discharged. 

“I will,” Noctis says after a moment. “It’s probably going to make you upset.” 

Prompto wastes little time in looping their arm together. “Haven’t we talked about this before? Ever by your side, Majesty.” 

Noctis smiles, eyes crinkling. “Always?” 

“You know it, sweetheart.” 

Yeah. They’re gonna be just fine.