Posted originally on the Archive_of_Our_Own at https://archiveofourown.org/
works/12704199.
  Rating:
      Explicit
  Archive Warning:
      Graphic_Depictions_Of_Violence, Rape/Non-Con, Underage
  Category:
      M/M
  Fandom:
      Final_Fantasy_XV
  Relationship:
      Prompto_Argentum/Noctis_Lucis_Caelum, Noctis_Lucis_Caelum/Ignis_Scientia,
      Gladiolus_Amicitia/Noctis_Lucis_Caelum, Gladiolus_Amicitia/Prompto
      Argentum/Noctis_Lucis_Caelum/Ignis_Scientia
  Character:
      Noctis_Lucis_Caelum, Prompto_Argentum, Ignis_Scientia, Gladiolus
      Amicitia, Regis_Lucis_Caelum_CXIII, Clarus_Amicitia, Titus_Drautos_|
      Glauca
  Additional Tags:
      Chocobros_-_Freeform, POV_Alternating, Alternate_Universe_-_Canon
      Divergence, Pre-Canon, Sex_Magic, Bonding, Implied/Referenced_Dubious
      Consent, Action_&_Romance, Angst, Daddy_Issues, Friendship_is_Magic,
      Friendship_is_literally_magic, Graphic_Violence, Explicit_Language,
      Kidnapping, Threats_of_Rape/Non-Con, Our_boys_just_need_a_hug, OT4, More
      Prompto_centric_than_the_prequel
  Series:
      Part 3 of The_Cost_of_Magic_and_the_Price_of_Duty
  Stats:
      Published: 2017-11-12 Updated: 2018-02-26 Chapters: 5/? Words: 38252
****** For Us ******
by Allubttoa
Summary
     Noctis has completed the ritual with Ignis and Gladio that grants his
     magic to his retainers; however, their problems are far from over. As
     their political rivals make their counter-move, Noctis will be faced
     with an impossible choice: his duty to the Crown or the lives of his
     dearest friends.
     "---The king said in a quiet voice, 'When one is first bonded through
     a Covenant, it’s wild and powerful before it stabilizes. Clarus and
     my other close retainers can sense when I am in danger or injured due
     to the sheer strength of our bond, but sometimes brand new
     Kingsglaive sense it as well in the first days after a bonding.'
     'I have to go to him,' Ignis said feverishly. 'He needs my help.'
     'I know,' replied the king.---"
Notes
     This is the second fic of a series. Of course, I recommend reading
     the previous entry, but if that's not your jam, here is a quick
     summary: Noctis is told he has to fuck his retainers to give them his
     power. Sneaky Drautos spends the fic trying to convince Regis to put
     him in charge of that process. However, in the end, Ignis, Gladio,
     and Noctis decide even though they may not have a choice in whether
     they *do* it, they can choose what it means to them. So they choose
     to to have a very loving and porny threesome. This fic follows
     directly after that.
     However, the tone of this fic, as I said at the end of previous
     installment, will be a bit darker. I do not make the same promise
     that every sexual encounter will be fully one hundred percent kosher
     and consensual. Still, I will always warn as appropriate so you can
     make informed choices for yourself. E.g. warning throughout the fic
     for graphic violence.
     With that out of the way, please enjoy. :)
***** Friendly Fire *****
Chapter Summary
     A plot is hatched.
Chapter Notes
See the end of the chapter for notes
                                   *For Us*
                     “The sea that is pure water for fish
                       will never satisfy human thirst.”
                                      ***
                                  **Noctis**
                                      ***
A Figure towered high above a dark haired teenager in a murky dreamscape. The
Figure had dozens of swords splayed at His back, and He exuded a sort of
pressure that pushed at the teen, making him long to cower and hide. Lifting a
hand, the Figure asked coldly, “What will you give me for their lives?”
The teenager turned around and saw his friends laying on the ground behind him,
bodies growing stiff and cold. “What do you want from me?” he shouted, voice
breaking. “Tell me what to do!”
“Submit,” said the Being, implacable.
The young teenager shook his head. “I did,” he cried. “I did!” He collapsed to
his knees, lifting his face toward the Being. “Please.”
The Being only repeated Himself. “Submit.”
“How!? Tell me how!”
“Submit.”
The teen cried out in frustration.
“Submit.” With suddenness, the Being rushed forward, his swords swirling around
himself in a tight pattern. He stopped right in front of the teenager and one
weapon lifted high above the others. In a high arc, it swung down and stabbed
the teen through the chest. The teen’s face stiffened in a silent rigor of
pain, his back arching wildly.
The Being shook his head sadly. “Submit,” He said.
                                      ***
Noctis Lucis Caelum awoke with a start. Leaning his head heavily against the
car window, he tried in vain to ignore his rolling nausea. He felt like shit.
Next to him, Gladiolus Amicitia, the future Shield to the King, was for all
intents and purposes dead to the world, head drooped against his seatbelt and
dripping drool onto his collar. He had been asleep like that for several hours
and showed no signs of awaking anytime soon. Noctis envied that sweet,
dreamless sleep.
The magic that connected Noctis’s family to the Crystal that protected all of
Lucis was incredibly powerful. The royal ability to grant that power further to
their retainers through the formation of a Covenant was even more amazing. But
the cost of that ability was the eventually deadly draw on his health. Every
time Noctis pushed himself magically, he paid for it later with incredible
fever-like fatigue. And last night, Noctis had pushed himself further than he
ever had before, creating two bonds with his closest retainers using an
enormous burst of magical energy.
From the driver’s seat, the Crownsguard tasked with taking the two fatigued men
back to Noct’s apartment lifted his eyes, meeting Noctis’s gaze through the
rearview mirror. “You okay back there, Prince Noctis?”
“Fine,” answered Noct stiffly.
“Ya’ sure? You were kind of twitching like a mad thing there for a minute.”
“I said I’m fine.” Noctis purposely ignored the look the Guard shot him and
stared out the window, only to jolt his head in surprise. “Wait, stop the car!”
“Prince Noct—?”
“Stop the fucking car, Adrian.”
The car screeched to a halt as Noctis hastily rolled down his window. He called
to the person obliviously jogging down the street. “Prompto!”
The blonde must have had his headphones in, because he gave no acknowledgement
and was already moving further away. Adrian began to roll the car forward
without being prompted, though Noctis could feel his resignation.
“Prompto!” he called even louder. At that, the blonde finally stopped and
jerked his head around. As he saw who was calling him, his face brightened
considerably and he waved with one hand, pulling his earbuds out with the
other. Adrian stopped the car again next to the teen.
“Noctis! What’s up?”
It wasn’t that Noctis had forgotten why exactly Gladio was passed out in the
seat next to him or thought that Prompto wouldn’t ask questions, but the sight
of his blonde friend had driven all other thoughts of consequences out of his
mind, and now it was too late to take it back.
The prince gestured to the car door, and Prompto didn’t need another
invitation. He peeked his head in the window, saw how Gladio was stretched out
over the back seat, barely leaving room for Noctis let alone another person,
and chose to climb in the front with the Crownsguard instead.
As Guard Adrian peeled away from the curb, Prompto turned around and asked,
“What’s up with Glad? Is he, like, drunk?” The blonde was covered in a slight
sheen of sweat from his jogging, his breathing heavy and quick.
“Magic stuff,” Noctis said tightly. It didn’t feel fair to let Prompto think
that Gladio had done something as unlike himself as getting drunk, and he
couldn’t think of another lie fast enough.
“Hmn. So does that mean you and Gladio made up?” Prompto asked as he considered
Noctis closely.
“What?”
“Well you normally only look that tired after he’s made you practice about a
thousand warps or whatever.”
“Oh.” Of course, that was what Prompto would assume. He had no reason to think
anything else. Noctis’s brain helpfully produced an image of Gladio with Ignis
in his lap last night, rolling his hips languidly. “Um, sort of. It’s a really
long story.”
Prompto nodded in acceptance.
With some hesitation, Noctis added, “I sort of did something stupid last night,
and I think Ignis is being punished for it right now. I’m kinda worried about
it.” To be honest, Noctis was more than a little worried, but to explain that
would require explaining the full situation, and he wasn’t sure he could do
that at the moment.
But ever the accepting friend, Prompto didn’t demand a further explanation,
choosing instead to focus on what Noctis had offered him. “Can you do anything
to help him right now?” the blonde asked seriously.
Noctis thought about it. “Probably by keeping my head down. It’s just hard to
wait and not know what’s going on, you know?”
“Yeah, I do,” agreed Prompto with a wry smile. “Well, I was hoping you wanted
to hang out today anyway, so why don’t we wait at the apartment together? Maybe
it’ll be easier that way. Is Gladio coming to the apartment too?”
With a grateful smile, Noctis nodded. “Yeah, I think we were just gonna dump
him on the couch till he comes back online. I’m so out of it though, I might
not be the best company,” he warned.
Prompto shrugged. “You’ve got that new game system don’t you? Who said I wanted
your company anyway?” he teased.
“Ha. So now I know the terrible truth.”
They teased back and forth like that as Adrian stopped at the school to let
Prompto grab his backpack from the track locker room, and then pulled into the
parking garage of Noct’s apartment building. The Crownsguard parked the car at
the elevator and turned around to face the two boys. “You two behave
yourselves, you hear. I’ll help you get this big guy up the stairs and then
I’ll leave you three alone.” He looked at Noctis significantly. “You’re not
supposed to go anywhere in your ‘condition.’ If you need anything, call me. I’m
on duty until eight tonight, then it’s Guard Claudius, okay?”
Noctis was eternally grateful that Adrian had picked up on his reticence of the
topic of the Covenant around Prompto. The blonde had no reason to think Noct’s
‘condition’ was related to anything other than his normal magical training.
“Yeah, yeah,” he replied, rolling his eyes. “I got it.”
Adrian shook his head. “I’m serious, Prince Noctis. You’re not to so much as
walk your friend to the bus stop.”
“I said I got it, Astrals.”
With that, the Guard and Prompto worked together to pull Gladio out of the car.
Noctis turned out to be less than helpful. He had to lean against the car to
fight the wave of dizziness that overcame him as he stood.
He might be better off than Gladio in that he was technically awake, but he
thought that if what had happened to jolt him into wakefulness when Ignis had
called the weapon to himself hadn’t happened, he’d be just as out of it as his
Shield.
He shivered to think about the thing with Ignis, the strange feeling of
possession that had overcome him to see Ignis using his magic. At least before
the sight of his dad had driven all that out of his mind. It wasn’t a paternal
feeling, this possessiveness. Nor was it quite sexual or romantic, though
Noctis was feeling plenty of that too. Ignis was his, bound forever to his
power. The feeling was . . . Noctis simply didn’t have a word, and he sighed in
frustration, letting his focus shift to making it to the elevator without
collapsing.
The Crownsguard and Prompto each had an arm under Gladio’s shoulder, and they
half dragged him to the elevator. As he was held upright, Gladio finally
shifted on his own, mumbling under his breath. “Quit hogging the bed, Noct,” he
slurred. The Shield got his legs under himself, and though he dragged them
slightly, he did help the other two move his body, like a sleepwalker. Noctis
had no idea if sleepwalking was something Gladio had ever done before.
At the Shield’s slurred words, Prompto turned back and quirked an eyebrow at
Noctis. The prince shrugged. Let Prompto draw his own conclusions there. It
wasn’t like he would jump to anything close to the truth anyway. Who would
assume that their three best friends had just engaged in a magic fueled
threesome?
Finally, all four of them made it to the elevator. Noctis had, in fact, not
collapsed, which he held as a major victory.
“So what exactly did you do anyway?” Prompto asked as the doors closed and the
elevator began to move, clearly unable to help himself any longer.
Noctis refused to look at the Crownsguard. “Stole my dad’s car, the Regalia.
Took it on a joy ride,” he admitted unwillingly.
“Seriously?” Prompto choked. “Gods, Noct.”
Noctis closed his eyes as his stomach did an uncomfortable, nauseated twist
with the movement of the elevator. They were all silent for a few seconds as
the floor numbers ticked up. The elevator lurched to a stop, and Noctis
manfully kept down the meager contents of his stomach.
The door opened. Prompto was standing closest to the exit, the Crownsguard in
the far back, holding up Gladio.
“Noct?” Uncertainty. Hesitation. Prompto did not exit the elevator.
The prince unwillingly opened his eyes. Strangely, the blonde teen stood
completely frozen. Noctis leaned over the taller boy’s shoulder, and his
meandering thoughts came to a roaring stop. “Get back, Prompto!” Noctis shoved
his friend behind himself, yanking on the blonde’s unresponsive body. There was
a man lying in a pool of blood in front of the elevator door.
There was a man lying in a pool of blood.
Oh Gods, there was a man lying in a pool of blood in front of the elevator
door.
There was a man lying in a pool of blood in front of the elevator door.
Not just a man. His name was Gregor, and he quite naively thought that Noct
believed the lie that he was normal civilian building security instead of a
Crownsguard member. He was thirty years old and recently divorced. He and
Noctis chatted sometimes while Noct was waiting on the elevator.
Except that he was dead, his insides spilling out all over the hallway.
A noise.
Noctis jerked his gaze away from the gruesome sight. Another man stood at the
end of the hallway, near the entrance to Noct’s apartment. He was dressed all
in black, his face hidden behind a mask. In the millisecond that Noctis allowed
himself to stare, he noted the military grade armored vest, the heavy gun slung
across his back, and the rifle in his hands. He had a walkie talkie on his
other hip.
The man silently raised his rifle as their eyes met. Then Guard Adrian was
somehow in front of the two teens, shouting. He pushed Noctis so hard that the
prince fell, landing in a pile on top of Gladio’s motionless body. The guard
opened his hands wide just as a spray of bullets hit the elevator. It was so
loud. The concussive force of lead slamming into the steel walls shook Noctis
to the bone and deadened his wits, making his thoughts formless, except for the
‘Oh God!’
Blood splattered against the walls. Guard Adrian’s body shook grotesquely, like
a ragdoll. He crumpled to the floor. Noctis saw, like in slow motion, the man
in black striding down the hall, gun held high.
Then the elevator door began to close.
As he looked up, Noctis saw that Prompto had his palm splayed against the
button for the basement garage, his face a white sheet. With willpower he
didn’t know he possessed, Noctis clambered to his feet again just as the doors
fully shut and the elevator groaned. In the deadened silence that followed, his
panicked thoughts cleared away, leaving a numb coldness behind.
They were under attack. This was real.Their lives were in danger. A pool of
blood was forming around Adrian, his body lying face down on the hard floor. He
was dead. He had been lecturing Noctis just five minutes ago on safety, and now
he was dead. But Noctis couldn’t think about that right now.
Prompto was still very much alive. He and Gladio were still very much alive.
But not for much longer if they didn’t do something.
                                      ***
                              **Ignis Scientia**
                                      ***
Ignis dropped off the Regalia in the royal parking garage underneath the
Citadel. He winced as he passed the destroyed levered gate that Noctis had
reduced to pieces during their wild escape. With as much dignity as he could
muster, he also ignored the curious look of the Crownsguard at the elevator,
pressing the button for the royal apartments with a sinking stomach.
Were Clarus and King Regis so angry with him that they would remove him from
his position, even though he had completed the ritual with Noct? Ignis knew
that Gladio had believed that forming a Covenant would go a long way towards
protecting Ignis. It was part of the reason he had fought so hard to get the
three of them to finally go for the threesome. The king himself did not seem
particularly angry with Ignis, but he was also notoriously difficult to read.
Clarus, on the other hand, had the famously hot Amicitia temper, but it wasn’t
his decision to make one way or the other.
Ignis just needed to approach this with a calm and logical mind, controlling
what he could and letting go of what he could not. He only had power over his
own behavior, and so all he could do was be polite and honest. Nothing more.
As he entered the King’s study, he saw that not only were Clarus and the King
already there, but Drautos, the Kingsglaive captain was as well.
Drautos was speaking, “Of course, while I’ve made it no secret that I don’t
think Gladiolus is mature enough for this, as long as the prince remains safe,
that’s all I care about.”
The King noticed Ignis’s arrival first. “Ah, Master Scientia. Please join us,”
he said with a wave of his hand.
Ignis bowed as he entered, and then stood at attention in front of them.
“Master Scientia,” began the King without preamble, dropping his earlier
conversation with Drautos, “You have always been admirable in your dedication
to Prince Noctis, and I am never more at ease than when I know he is in your
capable hands. There were many that questioned my decision to let him be
tutored by one nearly as young as himself, especially after some of your more .
. . youthful exploits.”
The King was referring to the times that Noctis and Ignis had snuck out of the
Citadel together when they had been much younger. Ignis had been given a room
very close to Noctis’s, and he could still remember the first time he had heard
clattering noises on the roof above him. Thinking that it must be a thief or
even an assassin, Ignis had climbed out of his window himself, only to be
confronted by a twelve-year-old Noctis. Oh, how the prince had begged Ignis not
to tell and threatened to never speak to him again if the advisor went to his
father. It wasn’t likely that the threat had ever possessed any merit. Noctis
didn’t have enough friends to let one go so easily, but still, Ignis had never
been able to bring himself to call that bluff. Besides, climbing the roof was
beyond dangerous. Better to have someone go with the errant prince, rather than
risk him falling to his death. Or so, Ignis had always justified it to himself.
The king continued, “However, you are at an age now where such exploits are not
so easily excused. No matter the reason, the bottom line is you put the prince
in danger last night.”
Ignis bowed his head in shame. “I know, Your Majesty.”
“You must be punished. Especially since it is well known throughout the Citadel
that you and Noctis stole the car last night. I think a week of third shift
guard duty within—.”
Ignis gasped loudly. He couldn’t help himself. There was a strange buzzing in
his head, and his heart stuttered unevenly. It came on him so suddenly. He let
out another gasping breath and clutched at his breast.
“Ignis!” Clarus was moving, his arm abruptly under Ignis’s shoulder, holding
him up. “Ignis, what’s going on?!”
“I—I don’t know.” Ignis truly had no idea. Was it a heart attack? People his
age didn’t really have those. Panic attacks sometimes felt like heart attacks
though, Ignis had once heard. Was he completely losing his composure?
Ignis’s heart was now racing a mile a minute. His breath came out in short,
heaving jerks.
“STOP!” The king’s voice had never sounded so powerful before. It hit Ignis
like a hammer, and his eyes fluttered into focus without his input, landing
back on his monarch. King Regis looked—frightened. His hands trembled on his
cane, his nostrils flared, and his mouth was drawn in a thin, almost non-
existent line.
“Close your eyes, Ignis,” he commanded. Next to him, Drautos frowned.
Ignis obeyed, fighting his rabbiting heartbeat. “Focus,” said the king. “Focus
on Noctis.”
The advisor cast his senses out as best he could. He still hadn’t quite gotten
the grasp of this. There was a shrieking hum in the back of his mind, like an
air raid siren. “I don’t understand,” he said.
“What do you feel?” King Regis’s voice was tightly controlled.
Ignis shook his head, his eyes still closed. The shrieking hum was twisting
itself through his mind, snagging at his thoughts. “I need to go to him,” Ignis
announced abruptly, his voice almost dreamlike. “Noct needs my help.” Yes,
Ignis suddenly saw, he must find Noctis and push his strength and health into
the prince. He could do things like that now that they were bonded, and Noct
called to him incessantly with his need. To that end, the magic twined them
together, trying to pull on and compel Ignis for its master.
The King’s voice was cold with fear. “Drautos, mobilize the Kingsglaive. Every
last one of them. Shut down the city gates and all the main streets. Send your
best Glaives to the penthouse.”
“Majesty,” replied the Drautos, and then he was pulling out a communication
device and speaking in quick decisive tones as he walked away. Clarus too,
spoke into a blocky phone.
Ignis raised his eyes to the king, feeling light headed and not understanding.
He felt desperately that he must do something, he just wasn’t sure how. The
king said in a quiet voice, “When one is first bonded through a Covenant, it’s
wild and powerful before it stabilizes. Clarus and my other close retainers can
sense when I am in danger or injured due to the sheer strength of our bond, but
sometimes brand new Kingsglaive sense it as well in the first days after a
bonding.”
Danger? Hurt? “I have to go to him,” Ignis groaned feverishly. "He needs me."
“I know,” replied the king.
Before he could speak again, Clarus said grimly, “The Crownsguard on duty today
aren’t answering their comms. Neither is Guard Adrian.”
“They were heading home. We will start there.” Both King Regis and Clarus began
to move away, the king ignoring his cane. Though he limped, his speed was
enough that Clarus had to take long strides to keep up with him.
Ignis startled as if he had been shoved. “You can't just leave me here.”
Clarus turned around, a look of impatience across his face. “Don’t be stupid.
You’re coming with us.”
                                      ***
                                  **Noctis**
                                      ***
Noctis’s thoughts swirled as the elevator descended. The masked man had
possessed a walkie talkie. That coupled with the fact that the clearly defeated
security of this building involved several plain-clothed Crownsguard members
suggested that there had to be multiple assailants. The man had seen them go
back into the elevator. All anyone had to do to stop the elevator before it got
back to the parking garage was press the request button on a different floor.
They weren’t making it to the garage like this. Would it be better to stop the
elevator now and go down the stairs?
Prompto had his cell phone out and was cursing. He looked at Noctis in despair,
“No signal in the elevator!”
They were trapped. All their options for escape depended on them having enough
time to get somewhere safe. Safe enough to call for help, safe enough to run
away. Cold calm settled over Noctis even more deeply. Neither he nor Prompto
were strong enough to carry the unconscious Gladio anywhere quickly. For a
millisecond, the thought came to Noctis that Gladio would tell him to abandon
both himself and Prompto. Noctis’s life and his singularly unique magic were
worth any sacrifice.
They were almost at the ground floor, and they hadn’t been stopped yet. But
they would be.
“Prompto,” Noctis said quickly. “Listen to me. Eleven, twenty-nine, sixteen!
Say it!” He shook the blonde.
“Eleven, twenty-nine, sixteen!” Prompto repeated shrilly.
“There’s a door next to the elevator in the parking garage. Looks like a
closet. That code opens the panel on the back wall. Leave Gladio in the
elevator, get there, and lock the door behind you. Got it? Say it again!” When
the blonde didn’t answer, Noctis demanded again, “Prompto!”
The elevator shuddered to a halt, the display showing they were at the ground
floor, the apartment lobby.
“Eleven, twenty-nine, sixteen, but Noct—!”
Noctis pushed himself harder in that moment than he had ever pushed himself
before, and he was rewarded when a shiny, metallic shield burst into existence
in his hand.
Prompto gasped. The doors started to open. “Get to the garage, Prom,” Noctis
commanded without looking back at his friend. He bent down and braced himself
behind the shield.
Six men stood in front of the opening of the elevator door, about ten feet
away. They were all dressed and armed similarly to the man upstairs. They
pointed their guns at the two teenagers, and one of them raised his hand,
demanding “Prince Noctis, surrender now or we will—.”
Noctis launched himself forward in a flurry of sparks, the shield already
disappearing and being replaced with the Engine Blade. He landed from his warp,
his sword deep in the chest of one of the men. The rest of them scattered with
mixed shouts, before turning back to converge on him. But he was already
yanking his weapon away from his victim with a sickening squelch.
No time to think about that. He blasted forward again, intending to warp to
somewhere safer. Though he intended to warp across the room, in actuality, he
made it about eight feet, stumbling and barely keeping his footing. He vaguely
noticed the sound of the elevator dinging closed again. So, at least he had
accomplished his goal of keeping Prompto safe. Now he just had to make it out
of this alive.
Noctis twisted back towards his attackers just in time to raise his weapon
defensively across his body. Electricity crackled up and down the blade of
Noct’s sword before disappearing into the hilt. The man attacking him lifted
his weapon, some sort of electricity producing club about two feet in length,
and slammed it into Noctis again as hard as possible. Once more, the Engine
Blade absorbed the shock.
Now the Engine Blade crackled with electricity all on its own. The elemental
energy looped around and coalesced into Noctis’s sword hand, before
disappearing under his skin. As the man raised his weapon yet again, Noctis
shouted with a feral cry and let loose a stream of violent, purple electricity
straight at the man’s chest. His attacker cried out and stumbled back, dropping
his weapon. Idiot.
But Noctis had no time to celebrate. That effort left him weak and dizzy, and
there were still four men fighting him. The next assailant that approached was
smarter. He had a similar Taser device, but it was turned off, and he swung it
like a club.
Though he normally faced no difficulty with attacks like that, Noctis’s magical
weakness proved to be his undoing. His attempt to phase through the club failed
miserably, and instead he was hit hard in the solar plexus. All the air went
out of him with a whoosh. He went down face first, his weapon scattering away
in a wave of sparks.
The man gave him no time to recover, bringing his club down on Noctis again.
Pain burst across his back and shoulders. Then again and again. Noctis
screamed. Finally, mercifully, the beating stopped.
Before he could take stock of the change in his situation, Noctis became aware
of the cold press of a gun barrel against the back of his head. “Move and I’ll
shoot you.”
Noctis held himself still. Then his world stopped as he heard a very, very
familiar ding.
The press of the gun against his head tightened, the man above him swearing,
“The hell?” Meanwhile, Noctis’s heart sank to the bottom of his stomach. He
twisted, heedless of the gun at his head, until he could see the elevator door
open yet again.
Prompto stepped out.
In his hand was a bright flask filled with messily swirling energy. For an
instant, their eyes met across the room. Noctis silently begged with everything
he had for Prompto to stop this, to run away while he still could. Why hadn’t
he gone for help? What was he planning on doing? And where the hell had he
gotten a magic flask?
Then Noctis remembered with a sickening shock of clarity, the flask full of
powerful elemental energies he had given Prompto for protection the day that
Niflheim had attacked the magical dome. “Prompto! No!”
Prompto ignored him, his face hardening in determination. He threw the flask in
a wide sailing arc, and it broke on the ground at Noctis’s feet.
All hell broke loose around Noctis and the four men still attacking him. A
fireball exploded out of the shards of glass, its force enough to push all of
them back, including the man with the gun against Noct’s head. The prince felt
it singe and burn his clothes as he curled in on himself, trying to protect his
neck and chest. The flame scorched his skin, faster than his body could absorb
it.
But what the magical fireball was doing to Noctis was nothing compared to what
it did to the others. They did not have elemental magic. They could not absorb
the virulent energies that Prompto had loosed upon everyone in the room. The
four men screamed in anguish as the flesh peeled off their limbs.
Another fireball detonated. Then another. The flask had been strong enough to
contain several bombs worth of elemental power. Noctis burned and choked on
heat. His ears rang, and his vision filled with bright, incomprehensible
flashes of light.
And then it was over. Noctis lay panting on the ground, his back burning in
agony. He could smell how his hair had cooked, and he could tell the remains of
his clothing were bubbling into the skin on his back.
Noctis knew he had to move. He drew his legs underneath himself, preparing to
clamber back to his feet, and raised his eyes. He ignored the pain in his back
and shoulders, the burning torture of his destroyed flesh, the fact that his
magic had nothing left to give. His magic would obey him.
However, as he tried to call another weapon, nothing happened. Not only did
nothing happen, but there was a sickening buzzing in Noctis’s head. His heart
raced faster and faster as a new panic replaced the overwhelming agony. Noctis
could not feel his magic. Not a drop, not the ocean of power that normally
answered his call in fight, not even the humming murmur that filled the back of
his mind at every minute of every day. Nothing.
When had he grown so used to the feel of his magic, that a lack thereof left
him feeling dead to the world, like he had been rendered deaf and blind? He
trembled. He didn’t think he could fight anyone right now unarmed. He needed
his magic.
Meanwhile, a man approached him, stepping over the bodies of his fallen
comrades. Something in the stranger’s eyes told Noctis that he was the same man
that had shot at them from the penthouse floor, killing Adrian. He must have
finally made it down the stairs. The man walked slowly and confidently towards
Noctis, his boots clacking loudly in the post explosion silence.
Then Noctis saw the reason for his confidence. The four men hit by the magic
bomb alongside Noctis were in various states of deadly injury on the floor.
There was the fifth that Noctis had killed coming out of the elevator, and the
sixth knocked out from Noct’s electrical attack. But there must have been more
in the building, perhaps with the man upstairs, because yet another man held a
rifle to Prompto’s head. The new man had his fist in the back of the blonde’s
shirt. Tears leaked down Prompto’s face, but he did not resist his captor.
Coming to stand before the prince, the first man peered down at him from behind
his mask. He smelled of cigarette smoke, and when he spoke, his voice had a
low, gravely quality. “You sure have made a fine mess of things, Highness.” His
voice was light, betraying no real emotion. “If you don’t cooperate, my man
here will shoot your friend in the head. Then we’ll still take you with us, but
we’ll tear your fingernails out one by one for the trouble. Got it?”
Noctis shook. He once again desperately called to his magic. Nothing.
The man stood, patiently waiting.
Finally, Noctis collapsed to his knees and hung his head. As the fight went out
of him, every grievous injury he had sustained in the past few minutes swelled
in his senses, and became unbearable. With a plaintive cry, Noctis fell into a
black void.
                                      ***
                              **Ignis Scientia**
                                      ***
They were silent as they climbed in the Regalia. Ignis was placed in the back
seat with the king, heedless of any potential breach in propriety. Clarus
drove.
Right in the beginning of the drive to the penthouse, the buzzing need that had
been boring into Ignis’s head suddenly stopped. From one second to the next, it
was just gone. He gasped and pressed his fingers into his temples.
The king glared at him tensely, eyes questioning. Ignis swallowed down his fear
for Noctis and said as steadily as he could, “It’s just gone. The—feeling of
him. It just stopped.”
For a second, the king remained frozen. His knuckles on his cane were taut and
white. Then he nodded, and Clarus drove with renewed urgency. They were all
three silent for the rest of the trip.
When they arrived, the apartment building was crawling with Kingsglaive.
Drautos stood slightly apart, directing activity. Clarus pulled the car next
him, and climbed out without even stopping the engine. The king did not wait
for someone to open the door for him. Ignis stumbled out and around the car.
Several bodies were piled up on the sidewalk, covered in rough blankets. Ignis
saw the king glance at them, then at Drautos. His stomach tightened. It
couldn’t be.
Drautos said, “Three dead Crownsguard, including Guard Adrian Somotas. They
found him in the elevator. The other two were dead at their posts, shot in the
head.”
Ignis let out a sigh of relief, then felt an immediate horror. Just because
they weren’t Noctis or Gladio, didn’t mean that they didn’t matter. Three
people were still dead.
Drautos continued, “They did a number on the attackers. Found six dead
assailants. The other attackers left their injured behind, but shot them in the
head before they left, probably to make sure they didn’t talk. All the dead,
except for Guard Gregor, were found on the lobby level. One was stabbed with a
sword. Probably by one of the Crownsguard before he fell. The others were
burned to crisp and then shot in the head. There was significant structural
damage in the lobby and the remains of a magic flask. We’ve seen no hide or
hair of Prince Noctis or Gladiolus. We don’t know how many assailants there are
all together, only that they were willing to leave these six behind. We also
don’t know how they prevented the Crownsguard from calling for help, nor how
they were able to subdue Prince Noctis. I don’t think they would go through all
of this trouble just to kill him somewhere else, but we don’t know that for
sure.”
With every word, Ignis’s heart sank deeper and deeper. Noctis and Gladio both
missing. Attacked while they were both weak from a magical ritual. Could it be
a coincidence?
“You’ve shut down the city?” asked the king. His voice was toneless, cold and
empty.
“Yes, Your Majesty,” confirmed Drautos.
The king betrayed himself with a shaky breath. “Do everything within your power
to find my son.” Regis turned away, but Ignis heard him murmur under his
breath, “Gods—Wise Bahamut and Gentle Shiva. Please.Not yet. You can't have him
yet--Not like this.”
Ignis jumped as King Regis turned back to him. “Do you feel anything, Ignis?”
Ignis dutifully closed his eyes, but it was just like it had been in the car.
Nothing. He shook his head.
He wanted to ask, did feeling nothing, did that mean Noctis was dead or dying?
What did it mean? Despite his misgivings, Ignis heard himself repeating his
king’s prayer, “Not like this. Please, Gods. Not like this.”
                                      ***
Chapter End Notes
     *I have been updating like a crazy person over the past two weeks,
     but expect that to stop as exam season rolls around, sadly.
     Kudos and Comments are love. <3
***** The Power of the Few *****
Chapter Summary
     Prompto realizes that magic flasks are not toys. Ignis becomes more
     and more desperate to find his friends.
Chapter Notes
     * I want to make a blanket warning about the violence in this fic. It
     is, especially here in the beginning, about the level of an R rated
     movie. There will be blood and bodies and pain. Not to titillate, but
     hopefully to create suspense. I'm only going to warn from here on out
     if it's particularly bad or if there is some other needed warning. I
     will always warn for anything sex, consent, or gendered violence
     related.
     **Two other warnings: there are some self-esteem issues with Prompto
     in this chapter. It is just a few mentions, but I want to be clear
     and open. Also, there is a threat of non-con in this chapter. More
     detail in the endnote.
See the end of the chapter for more notes
                                      ***
                             **Prompto Argentum**
                                      ***
Prompto always knew that Prince Noctis was different than everyone else around
him. Really it wasn’t that controversial of a thought. Of course, the prince
was different than everyone else. He was a prince, an heir to the line Lucis.
But what Prompto hadn’t realized was that his idea of different was not the
same as everyone else’s idea of different. When Prompto looked at Noctis and
thought different, what he meant was more. More worthy, more powerful, more
beautiful, and more important. However, when other people looked at Noctis and
thoughtdifferent, often what they meant was strange. Other.
The differences between Noctis and everyone else around him were in the small
things. They were in the sleek back cars that always came to pick him up from
school and the many excused absences for things like royal processions and
dinners. But the difference was also in his brilliant blue gaze. In how, when
his eyes met yours, they were always just a bit too much, too direct and
knowing.
And thus, perhaps the strangest thing that separated Noctis from his peers was
his magic. To have some magic wasn’t wholly uncommon in Lucis. People able to
wield the elements or heal or even spout uncanny truths about the future were
always cropping up here and there. But the difference between those people and
the Prince of Lucis was the difference between having magic and being magic.
Noctis seemed to exude magic from his very pores, and you couldn’t spend any
amount of time with him and completely forget that fact.
Knowing how different Noctis was from himself, Prompto had always despaired at
ever being able to walk up to the prince and name him a friend. Prompto was
awkward, fat, and ugly. And so many people already vied for the prince’s
attention. Prince Noctis was always being accosted by girls wanting to gift him
with some homemade present or boys demanding to play a ball game. Prompto knew
he had nothing to offer compared to them.
There was one moment in particular that would always stand out to the blonde
teen. One time that exemplified everything that made Prince Noctis special and
Prompto not. They were in middle school, both around twelve or thirteen. The
school was on lunch break, and Prompto sat at the edge of the courtyard,
flicking through the pictures he had taken that morning on his route to school.
He had begun his diet in the last year and was already beginning to see minor
improvements.
A large group of children, including the prince, played a game of ball,
shouting and shoving. Another group of children sat on the courtyard wall. The
wall began at a height of two feet close to the school building and slowly
increased until it was nearly eight feet tall by the school gate. It was a very
popular thing to do, to dare each other to climb up there or sit in a group and
share secrets at the top.
Prompto was minding his own business when a blood curling shriek rang out. The
shriek demanded attention, and he stood up, almost without meaning to. A girl
had fallen off of the courtyard wall and into a flower bed. The horrifying part
was that someone had left a small rake laying in the bed, and the force of her
fall drove the spokes straight into the meat of her leg.
A crowd quickly gathered around her. There were no teachers around, and
children shoved at each other, some crying, some shouting. Prompto stood at the
edge of the commotion. He felt frozen, unable to act. He could see the blood
welling, the sickening vision of the metal disappearing into her leg, and he
was simply frozen. As he watched, he had a stray thought. Someone should do
something, get a teacher or call for help. Yet he remained unable to move.
But then Prince Noctis pushed his way through. Others gave way to him as if he
radiated a force that demanded obedience. The delicately boned prince knelt
beside the sobbing girl and clasped her hand in his own. “Victoria, look at
me,” he said, with a voice that had the soft, ringing clarity of a bell. She
complied, and Prompto had no idea what she saw there, but even though her
sobbing didn’t slow down, she stilled. “You’re going to be okay, Victoria,” he
continued, “I promise you.”
She nodded, sniffling messily, and Prince Noctis reached into his own pocket,
withdrawing a cellphone. Not many children their age had them, and Prompto had
never seen him use one before. The prince handed it to one of the students
standing behind him. “Can you press #1 for me, please? Then tell the person who
answers that I’m gravely injured in the courtyard?”
The boy was an upperclassman. He trembled as he took the phone from the
prince’s hand and said, “But you’re not hurt—.”
“I know. But it’ll bring them here faster. Please just do it. You won’t get in
trouble.”
The boy nodded and did as the prince asked. The crowd had quieted down to a
murmur at that point, but the prince didn’t seem to notice. Prompto thought it
was all well and good that the boy Noctis had asked to make the call wouldn’t
get in trouble, but he wasn’t the one at risk for that.
“Aren’t you the one who’ll be punished though?” Prompto didn’t realize he said
the words out loud until the prince’s head jerked around and landed on him.
Prompto swallowed as the prince’s eyes narrowed. Noctis’s gaze remained locked
onto Prompto for several heart pounding seconds, but then the girl moaned and
whined pitifully, “Its hurts.”
Like that, the prince turned back around and smiled at her. “I know it does. I
think I can help though. At least until someone better than me gets here.” He
withdrew a tiny glass phial from his other pocket.
Later, much later, Prompto would learn exactly how difficult it had been for
the prince to attempt to do what he did next. The prince’s Elemancy magic was
difficult to control. He could either draw in magical elemental energies from
the environment around him into his body or expel them. What he could not do,
however, was hover somewhere in between, letting the elemental energy sit on
his skin, unabsorbed. So instead, what he attempted was to release the energy
from inside of himself and into the flask as slowly as possible, letting it sit
exposed and thus, producing cold for as long as possible.
After taking out the glass phial, the prince frowned, then quickly pulled off
his shirt. A pattering of gasps rang through the crowd, but no one asked him
what he was doing. Besides, it soon became clear. He wrapped the flask loosely
in his black shirt and then laid it gently above the girl’s injury. She
whimpered, but did not stop him.
Then the prince freed his magic. Despite himself, Prompto’s breath caught in
his throat. Prince Noctis was far more fit than he would have ever expected.
The blonde knew a bit about muscles and working out from his new diet regime,
and he could tell that these were not the vain muscles that one acquired from
hours spent with machines at the gym. These wiry cords of strength came from
some type of work, though what physical labor the prince could be doing,
Prompto had no idea. But the prince laid his bare hand over the flask and the
girl, and a moment later, a ripple of shining blue color crawled down his arm.
He pursed his lips in concentration, the ripple growing stronger.
It arced like lightening, then shot towards the flask. Cursing under his
breath, Noctis made the arc slow down into a slight but steady trickle. The
concentration this task required was clear. Sweat beaded on his forehead, and
his fingers shook. But it was working.
The arcing light glittered, a pool of frost that expanded further the longer he
was able to hold it in the open. The air around them began to steam with
dissolving frost and dissipating cold. Prompto could see ice crystals crawling
across the shirt wrapped flask. The girl, Victoria, watched the process with an
enraptured face. Prompto almost thought that the distraction of the sight of
the prince using his magic was as helpful as the actual numbing effect of the
cold on her injury.
The boy with the phone interrupted, “This guy Gladio says they’re on their
way.”
Prince Noctis nodded, but did not otherwise acknowledge him. Finally, he seemed
to run out of the strange blue energy. The flask remained glowing, the swirling
energies inside a sharp blue as he unwrapped it to look at his handiwork. It
still seemed to be producing cold as he laid it back down over her leg and
asked, voice almost formal, “Does that feel better, Victoria?”
Her face was bright red, but she nodded profusely. “Yes, Prince Noctis,” she
replied, using his title in a way not many of the students normally did. The
prince reached over and took her hand in his own. The sight of that did
something strange and painful to young Prompto’s stomach, and he swallowed
again. But the prince merely put her hand over the flask, clearly intending her
to hold it herself. “Don’t let it fall,” he warned. “If it breaks, it’ll hurt
you. Just give it back to me when the ambulance gets here.” With that, the
prince dragged his shirt back over his head, letting his eyes finally meet the
crowd that had gathered around them.
It was like a breaking spell. Whatever energy that had possessed the prince
shattered away, leaving an awkward child behind. Noctis’s face blossomed bright
red, and he seemed to curl in on himself.
The next person who pushed through the crowd was a teacher. She began to steer
the students away from the macabre scene, calling for order and obedience.
Prompto had no choice but to be led away, his last sight of Noctis, the prince
standing alone as the other retreating children gave him a wide berth.
                                      ***
Three years later, Prompto Argentum was still useless. Absolutely useless. He
had wanted so badly to be accepted by Noctis and his two closest friends, but
he had never really thought about what such acceptance might mean, or the true
price of being close to royalty.
Because he knew that Noctis was in no position to fight anyone right now. He
might not understand exactly how Noctis’s royal magic worked, but it seemed to
involve severe ups and downs, periods of strength and then debilitating
weakness. And the prince was clearly in the midst of one of his weaker periods.
Yet Noctis had thrust Prompto behind himself without a second thought, his
mouth bared in a battle rictus, the pressure of magic exuding from him like a
haze of smoke. The prince of Lucis had jumped forward to fight a battle alone,
one he was unlikely to win, all in order to give Prompto a chance to escape.
It wasn’t right. But still, Prompto complied with the instructions Noctis had
given him. He punched the elevator door, his last sight of Noctis the prince’s
weapon spearing a man through the chest, before Prompto was enveloped in the
silence of the descending metal box. Gladio remained slumped against the back
wall. As Prompto’s heart thundered in his chest, he heard the Shield muttering
under his breath. “Quit it, Noct. So fucking loud. Tryin’ to fuckin’ sleep.”
So, Gladio was still completely out of it, and thus, no help at all right now.
Well, it wasn’t like Prompto was any more useful than a passed out Gladio.
It was difficult to look towards the door. The Crownsguard was still laying
there in an ever growing puddle of blood, but Prompto made himself peer out as
the door opened to reveal the empty parking garage.
Gods, it was so hard to think. What should he do? He clutched his phone in his
trembling hands. He should call for help. That seemed like something helpful
and important. Squeezing his eyes briefly shut, he ignored the vision of the
dead Crownsguard and stepped out of the elevator. The doors began to close
behind him, and he swore, snapping slightly out of his daze as he rushed
backward to shove his hand in between the doors. Noctis had told him to abandon
Gladio, but that seemed unthinkable. The Shield was completely helpless right
now. Leaving him behind was as good as leaving him to die.
Instead, Prompto held his phone out as far away from the elevator as he could.
He almost dropped the damn thing. It was so hard to control his fingers and
press the right buttons. But he managed and waited on the dial tone.
Nothing. A message popped up: No signal.
Dammit, what was he supposed to do now? The lack of phone signal was probably
because he was in the basement. If he wanted to call for help, he’d have to
leave the building. But that would mean abandoning Gladio and Noctis. The
prince could already be gravely injured or even dead for all he knew. Noctis
had said there was some sort of safe room near the elevator. But Prompto
couldn’t go there without Gladio. Could he drag the Shield there? How long
would that take?
Suddenly, Gladio twitched behind him. He grunted, then shouted something
inarticulate. Meanwhile, the doors tried to close again, and Prompto stopped
them. He stared as the Shield seemed to gain some consciousness back for the
first time since the blonde had seen him in the back of the Crownsguard car.
Gladio’s limbs jerked, almost like he was having a seizure or perhaps a
terrible dream, then his eyes flashed open. “Noctis,” he gasped.
Prompto was ashamed at the wave of relief that washed over him at the sight of
the alert Shield. Gladio would know what to do.
But it turned out that Prompto had celebrated too early. As soon as the
Shield’s eyes fluttered open, they half closed, and his next words came out
slurred. “Noght,” he repeated. Gladio tried to gather his limbs underneath
himself, but he failed miserably and collapsed back down. “Wheresh’ Noct,” he
demanded.
Prompto stared at him with wide eyes. Gladio kicked out a leg, banging into
Prompto’s abandoned book bag.
You have to make a decision now , Prompto told himself sternly. Noctis, his
friend, his prince, was counting on him. He stared at Gladio, then at the book
bag.
He had an idea. It was a terrible idea. But it was better than abandoning the
most important person in the world and Prompto’s only friend. The blonde
gingerly stepped over the body in the elevator doorway, and pressed the button
for the lobby with trembling fingers.
When the doors opened again, Prompto stood holding the flask that Noctis had
given him last week. Gladio was behind him still trying to get his feet under
himself, demanding to be told what was going on, progressively becoming more
and more coherent.
And Noctis. Noctis lay facedown on the ground. A man held a gun to his head.
Prompto didn’t think any further about what he was doing. Noctis had told him
once that, unlike other people, he absorbed elemental energies as one of his
royal abilities. What he certainly didn’t absorb were bullets to the head.
To that end, Prompto didn’t actively decide to do it, but suddenly the flask
was sailing in an arc towards the group of people surrounding the prince. The
blonde had always had good aim, and that was true here too. The flask exploded
nearly on top of the prince.
Prompto had only ever seen Noct’s elemental magic in action one time, and that
was in middle school, when the Prince had used his otherworldly gift to create
a makeshift cooling pack. That gentle, slow arc of blue light disappearing into
the flask was all he had ever seen of his friend’s magic. And thus, when
Prompto saw the prince of Lucis lying on the ground with a gun pointed at his
head, it didn’t occur to him that the elemental flask could harm his friend
like it did other people. Noctis, after all, was different.
He was wrong.
The broken flask created a hellscape. Flames engulfed the seven people on the
lobby floor. They screamed bloodcurdling shrieks, noises that were inhuman in
their torment. The force of the fireball was enough to drive Prompto back into
the elevator. He stumbled into Gladio, who cursed and grabbed the back of his
shirt. Even as he could barely stand, Gladio tried to pull the blonde teen
behind himself and into relative safety.
But then another fireball ballooned out from the shattered flask, just as
powerful as the first, and they both fell, landing on top of each other in a
heap. Heat made it difficult to breath. The noise was louder than bullets,
enough to make Prompto’s eardrums feel like they were bursting.
Another fireball, then another. When it was finally over, Prompto could not
quite get his limbs to obey him. He shook, ears ringing. Every intake of breath
burned painfully. Gladio stood up first. The Shield grunted, yanking the blonde
up with himself, his grip on the back of Prompto’s shirt still tight. Prompto
almost wished he hadn’t. He did not want to see the damage his actions had
caused.
When things were still good at home, Prompto’s mother had once seared a full
pig for the family Christmas dinner. It took hours, and when it was done there
sat an entire pig, crisp with a pink and brown layer of cooked meat.
Cooked people looked remarkably like cooked pig. Prompto was going to be sick.
He could feel the bile rising in his throat. The sight was bad enough, but that
didn’t even begin to take into account the smell. Prince Noctis lay in the
middle of that, facedown. Prompto could see the same bubbling burns down his
back as everyone else in the room. What had he done?
“Prompto!” Gladio was suddenly pushing him, and Prompto stumbled forward, taken
completely unaware. He turned, only to see that Gladio had his hands up in
front of him, having taken the brunt of the swing of some sort of bat-like club
across the forearms. Three new people had joined the fray, the last one still
exiting the stairwell. Before he could decide what to do, the second attacker
swung the club thing at Prompto. It hit his jaw with a loud crack, and he went
down.
He could hear Gladio cursing and the distinct crackling sound of electricity,
then Gladio went down too.
Prompto was not allowed to lay on the ground for very long. In his numbed
shock, he did not protest as he was hauled up once again and marched over to
where Noctis lay. Somehow despite his injuries, the prince managed to rise up
on his own, though he swayed dangerously.
Prompto could only stand there as their attackers used him against his friend,
threatening to kill him if Noctis did not surrender. He could only stand there
as Noctis finally collapsed, and one of the men leveraged himself under the
prince’s shoulder, ignoring the teen’s massive burns. The man dragged Noctis to
the elevator, while Prompto was led, gun still pressed against the back of his
head. Another three men had appeared in the intervening time, bringing the
total up to six. With the six taken out by Prompto’s magic flask, that meant
there had been at least a dozen attackers altogether.
One man raised a gun to Gladio’s head, turning his questioning look towards the
man who had threatened Noctis. That man smelled strongly of cigarettes and
cologne. Cologne man pursed his lips and looked from the prince to his Shield.
“What a fucking mess,” he finally said. His deep voice had a strangely soothing
quality to it. “The prince is useless like this.” He turned to Prompto then,
making the blonde shrink back into the chest of the other man still holding him
at gunpoint. Cologne man let out an exasperated breath and added, “The hell,
were you trying to kill him?”
It took Prompto a moment to realize the man was speaking to him, but when he
did, he shook his head profusely. His heart was beating out of his chest. The
man sighed again and looked back at Gladio. The Shield hung somewhere between
passed out and awake, breathing uneven, eyes dazed but open.
“We take them both with us,” the man finally said. “If the Amicitia heir is
already covenanted with the prince, which considering the shit fight they put
up, is likely, he might be useful. We take the blonde to control the prince.
Then we have one extra hostage to kill to ensure the prince’s cooperation.”
With that, he sent out one of the men into the lobby. “They knew the risks,
when they signed up for this,” he said. “Make sure they don’t talk, then met us
downstairs.”
The underling nodded and pulled out his gun. Another one kicked Adrian’s corpse
away from the elevator and then pressed the button for the garage.
The men were not gentle with Noctis’s injured body as they dragged him to a
waiting van. The prince was shoved in first, then the two hostages. They waited
another twenty or so seconds for the one who had been left upstairs to clean
up, but then he came racing out the stairwell. He had barely closed the van
door when the driver punched the gas, escaping the apartment complex with
squealing tires.
                                      ***
The group of men were silent for the first few minutes of the drive. Their
anxious desire to get clear of the rich part of town was clear. But eventually
as factories began to replace lattice work and skyscrapers, cologne man leaned
over Gladio. The Shield was silent, mouth a thin line, eyes never leaving the
passed out prince. Right in the beginning he had turned to cologne man and
demanded, “Don’t you have a potion or something? For god’s sake!”
He’d gotten a pop on the mouth for his outburst. Now the cologne man gave the
Shield an appraising look. “Your prince is dying, Mr. Amicitia. You do know
that, right?”
Prompto could barely get a breath through his mouth. Dying? It wasn’t possible.
How could he be responsible for such harm to his dearest friend? What sort of
monster was he, to cause such pain? He had ruined everything. Fresh tears
leaked down his cheeks, making his vision swim. But he didn’t miss the way
Gladio’s mouth twitched, how his fists clenched helplessly.
The cologne man cocked his head. “How long exactly have you been covenanted
with your prince?” When Gladio didn’t answer right away, the man added, “Well?”
Gladio’s eyes flickered to Prompto, then he said gruffly, “Last night.”
Allowing himself to speak seemed to break a dam within him. He inhaled a
painful breath and begged again, “Please, I don’t believe people as prepared as
you don’t have any potions. You wouldn’t have taken him if you wanted him dead.
Please.”
Prompto wondered was exactly they meant by being covenanted to the prince. He
thought about Noctis’s words, when asked about Gladio’s odd lethargy. Magic
stuff, he had said. Why hadn’t Prompto asked more questions then? What the hell
was going on?
The man only shook his head. “You know as well as I do that potions work best
on minor injuries and when used immediately. It would be a waste to use one on
him now.”
Gladio actually growled at that, a low noise in the back of his throat. The man
ignored him. “But I have heard of something else, something incredible that I
would like to see in action for myself.” His eyes glittered as they held
Gladio’s. It was as if the cologne man’s calm veneer was being peeled away to
reveal a man burned away from intense, deadly desire. “You could heal him,
could you not? I’ve heard that those with special relationships with the king
can save their comrades from near certain death.” At that, the man leaned back,
leaving a clear path from Gladio to the prince.
But Gladio hesitated. “I don’t—I don’t know how.”
The man shrugged, seemingly nonchalant, but he couldn’t hide the frightening
intensity of his eyes. “You certainly cannot make him any worse.”
That, at least, seemed true. Noctis’s breath was starting to whistle and wheeze
with effort. If Prompto’s lungs burned from his exposure to the flames from the
elevator, then it was a wonder that Noctis could breathe at all. Even worse,
where Noct’s oozing back pressed against the side of the van, it was starting
to make a mess, smearing blood and fluid against the harsh metal wall.
Gladio hesitated no longer. He only had eyes for Noct as he crawled to his
prince. Gently, like a man at an altar, he pulled the prince towards himself,
letting Noct’s lolling head rest against his shoulder. He wrapped his arms
around his prince and closed his eyes. The cologne man watched the display,
naked greed in his gaze.
Gladio narrowed his eyes in concentration. He spoke mostly to himself, “He
feels weird. Like I can barely reach him.” Prompto had no idea what that was
supposed to mean.
For a moment nothing happened. The Cologne man frowned, but did not interfere.
Then Prompto felt it. A strange pressure. It almost tickled. The pressure
pressed outward like a whoosh of air and subsequently faded away. Prompto could
not see the prince’s back from where he sat, but he saw one of the more minor
burns on his neck almost glow before fading to a dull red. It didn’t disappear
completely, but it closed up, protecting the prince’s raw skin from the open
air. Noctis coughed, once, twice, and then began to struggle in Gladio’s arms.
Gladio only clutched him tighter. For a second they fought, Noct’s resistance
clearly instinctual, Gladio’s soothing murmur flowing underneath, and then two
of the men were dragging the Shield off of Noctis. As he realized who had been
holding him, Noctis reached up and tried to clutch at his Shield, but it was
too late. They were separated again. Noctis blinked, looking around the cramped
van. His eyes widened when he noticed Prompto, then narrowed in unrestrained
hatred as he saw the cologne man.
Cologne man had his cool mask back in place. Almost disinterestedly, he reached
down and pulled out a cigarette, lighting it. Prompto coughed, the smoke
irritating his abused lungs. “Well, then,” said the cologne man. “Lover boy
fixed you right up didn’t he?”
Noctis bared his teeth. The man only laughed.
                                      ***
                              **Ignis Scientia**
                                      ***
Ignis leaned against the hood of the Regalia, his head in his hands. How was it
possible that he had formed a connection with his prince less than twenty-four
hours ago, and yet the absence thereof was like a stab wound to the heart? For
what felt like the thousandth time, he cast his senses out, not quite sure what
he was looking for, except that it was something.
A bit away from him, Clarus was in deep discussion with one of the Crownsguard.
“They’ve found the prince’s book bag in the elevator. Nothing but a change of
clothes and a camera.”
Ignis jerked his head up. He knew for a fact that Noctis had left the cabin
with nothing but the torn and muddy clothes on his back.
Could it be?
Like a dream, he walked over to the two men. Clarus raised his eyebrow as Ignis
approached and silently reached his hand out for the book bag. The backpack was
plain black in color, the straps worn and frayed. It could have belonged to any
teenager, but Ignis would have recognized the tiny yellow chocobo pin on the
shoulder anywhere. The young advisor’s hands trembled as he clutched the worn
fabric. “This is not Prince Noctis’s book bag,” he said numbly.
“Then whose is it?”
Ignis’s wide eyes met Clarus’s. “It’s Prompto’s.”
Clarus processed the implications of that information quickly. “Do you think
Prompto was with them? When would that have happened?” Clarus demanded.
Ignis shook his head. “I’m not sure.” He desperately cast his memory back. What
would Prompto have been doing on a Sunday morning? “He had track practice, I
believe.”
Ignis was left to his thoughts for a bit longer as Clarus sent someone to find
out the last known whereabouts of the blonde teenager. A parade of apartment
dwellers had been called down, each one being asked, did you see something,
hear something, anything?
A Crownsguard came up to them. “We haven’t been able to get in touch with his
parents, sir. The neighbors say that they travel quite often, however. It could
be that they’re not even in the country.”
Clarus frowned. “And they left a sixteen-year-old to fend for himself?”
Ignis vaguely knew about Prompto’s rather sorry home life. “That’s not
surprising.” No, what was surprising was that Noctis had picked the blonde up
on his way home. Noctis had been so tired. Would he really have chosen to hang
out?
The Crownsguard spoke again. “There also wasn’t a serial number on the magic
flask. It wasn’t one of the Crownsguard’s.”
Ignis and Clarus exchanged a glance. “Noctis?” suggested Ignis.
“Your guess is as good as mine, probably better.”
“Wait.” Ignis suddenly took a sharp breath.
“What?” Clarus’s voice was tight.
Smartphones were a growing industry in the Crown City. Extraordinarily
expensive, most people only had basic flip phones. But Prompto had a Crown cell
phone, due to his connection to Noctis. Which meant that his phone was able to
be tracked the same way that Noct’s could have been. Noctis had left his
cellphone in his room before escaping the Citadel, as had Ignis. It would have
been a poor escape had the Crownsguard been able to track them using GPS.
Gladio’s phone meanwhile, was still in his bag, which he had inadvertently left
with the rest of his stuff at the cabin. Ignis had grabbed it on his way out.
But Prompto . . .
“Where is Prompto’s cell phone?”
                                      ***
                             **Prompto Argentum**
                                      ***
They bound Gladio’s wrists and ankles together, but not Noctis’s. Even these
people knew there was no real point to that. Instead they assured the prince’s
cooperation with a gun to his friend’s head. So far, the tactic was proving
most effective.
“What do you want?” demanded Noctis with all the entitlement of his royal
birth. His kidnappers ignored him, and he kicked out a leg in frustration.
Prompto was still silently crying, despite himself. He hated that weakness.
Neither Gladio nor Noctis were sobbing, but he couldn’t make the tears stop.
Noctis looked at him after kicking his leg out again and said fiercely, “It’s
going to be okay, Prompto. I promise you, I’m going to get you out this.”
Gladio remained silent. Prompto could only shake his head and wipe his nose
piteously.
All the sudden, a ringtone began to play.
For a second, Prompto couldn’t comprehend. The sound of the chocobo song did
not belong in this van with these terrible people. But there it was. Then he
realized, watching the dawning horror on Noct’s face, that the noise was coming
from the blonde’s own pants. It was his ringtone.
A long pause, then everyone was moving at once. Someone shouted at Noctis to
remain where he was or the blonde was gonna get a bullet in the brain. The
cologne man lunged, rocking the van nauseatingly. He tackled Prompto, and the
blonde shrieked in terror.
“Well, well. Blondie’s got some guts after all,” the man said nastily, holding
up the cellphone. The number that flashed on the front was one Prompto did not
recognize. The gun against the back of his head tightened, and Prompto
whimpered. He could see Noctis, eyes shining with desperation behind the
cologne man. Was that going to be his last sight?
With surprising force, the man dashed Prompto’s phone against the side of the
van. The screen cracked. He took his gun and smashed the butt hard into the
increasingly damaged cellphone. It caved in against the force of his thrust
with a massive cracking noise. He did it again and again until there was
nothing left but a twisted heap of glass and metal. Then he opened the back
door to the whipping wind and tossed the offending item onto the road. Prompto
got a glimpse of the city turnpike before the door closed again.
The man took a deep breath. “Does anyone else have anything they want to give
up? This is your last chance.”
The three captives remained deathly silent.
“Right.” The cologne man picked up his discarded gun. He moved closer to
Prompto. The blonde tried to shrink away, but he had nowhere to go. Despite
himself he began to babble. “I forgot I had it, honest. Please.”
The man smiled genially. “I believe you,’ he said. “What’s your name again?”
Prompto barely got the words out. “Prompto. My name is Prompto.”
“Right, right. The prince said that earlier.” The man paused. He cocked his
head consideringly. Prompto remained frozen. Then the man raised his gun, and
shoved it abruptly into the blonde’s face.
Stars burst across his vision, and heat radiated from some point on his nose to
the rest of his face. All the sudden, it was almost impossible to breathe.
Noctis was shouting again, the van shaking from his struggling.
Prompto couldn’t stop his sobbing even though the heaving movement was sending
ringing stabs of pain through his head. He hiccupped and watched as the cologne
man turned back to face Noctis. The man didn’t try to speak over the shouting
prince, but his words were clear nonetheless. “Prince Noctis, I believe you
have come to understand that we require you for a purpose for which we need you
alive. This is true. But both of these men are more than expendable. So from
now on, think very, very carefully about your actions. Do you understand me?”
Noctis did not disguise his hatred. “Yes,” he spat. “I understand you
perfectly.”
“Good.” The man looked from one to the other. Prompto clutched at his bleeding
noise. One of his eyes was already starting to swell oddly. To Noctis, the man
added, “Would you like to heal him as well? I would allow it.”
Now wariness battled with confusion on Noctis’s face. “What?!” he demanded.
Gladio interrupted harshly. “Prompto isn’t a retainer to the Crown, you
monster! He’s a fucking teenager! He’s got nothing to do with any of this.”
The man considered this. “Well, I suppose that’s too bad. We’ll give him a
towel or something when we get back to base.”
The van once again sank into silence after that. At some point the driver
reached over and flicked on a small radio looking device. It was full of odd
wires and seemed homemade. However, the instant it was on, the clear commanding
voice of Clarus rang out. “Ten-four. Guard Florence, what’s the status on the
west barricade?”
Gladio jerked and hissed at the sound of his father’s voice. The cologne man
grinned a knowing grin at him.
Prompto wondered how long it had taken the Citadel to learn of their
kidnapping. It was almost too painful to hope for rescue. If he let himself
think too much, he was going to break down. His nose and cheek still throbbed
with hot, wet pain. The front of his shirt was soaked red from the nose bleed.
He tried not to look too closely at the blood stain, but it was difficult.
As the radio noise of the Crownsguard and Kingsglaive continued, it became
clear that these men had somehow found a way to hack the private Crown radio
channels. They used that information to cleverly avoid the barricades, driving
down side streets in a winding zigzagging path, until the van finally came to a
stop.
“Alright ladies,” said the cologne wearing man. “Rise and shine.”
They were inside of an abandoned factory building. The van had been driven into
a large open area, several stories tall with high arcing windows that let in
yellowed, greasy light. There were five or six door along the walls in every
direction. Dust and abandoned tools lay scattered.
One of the men kicked Prompto in the shins when he took too long to stare at
his surroundings. He glared at the man, but kept walking. Noctis and Gladio
followed, Gladio having to move in an awkward shuffling motion within his
restraints.
A few feet from the van, both Gladio and Prompto were shoved down to their
knees. Noctis tensed up, but kept his gaze on the man still holding a gun to
Prompto’s back. The cologne man pulled out another cigarette. “Prince Noctis,
if you would please come with me.”
Gladio tried to rise up, only to be roughly shoved back down with the butt of a
weapon. The Shield barely seemed to notice the assault, his eyes locked on his
prince. For the first time since he had healed his prince, he looked more
terrified than enraged. Prompto gulped.
“What do you want?” demanded Noctis, renewed wariness threading his words.
The man blew a puff of his cigarette. “Come with me and I’ll tell you.”
Noctis’s gaze slid to his Shield. “My ears work just fine right here.”
The man raised a brow. “Well, okay then.”
Noctis shifted uncomfortably, clearly surprised by how easily the man had given
in. “Look—,” he began.
“Call me Tom,” the man interrupted. “You asked me earlier what I wanted.”
“And that’s to call you Tom?”
Both Gladio and Prompto grimaced at the glib answer. But the cologne man didn’t
seem bothered. “Well yes,” he replied, letting out another large puff of smoke.
“But you know that’s not everything. I want what all men who are trapped in an
untenable position want.”
“And what’s that?”
The cologne man, Tom, almost seemed surprised. “The power to free myself, of
course.”
“You want power,” Noctis repeated flatly. “What exactly are you saying?”
“Exactly what I meant. You have power. Power hoarded among the few. I want it.”
Noctis suddenly turned and stared at Prompto for some reason. His gaze was
unreadable. Prompto tried to smile, but the effect must have been ruined by the
state of his face, because Noctis grimaced in dismay and swiveled back to Tom.
“The Covenant. You’re talking about the Covenant.”
Next to Prompto, Gladio let out a sharp breath. Prompto looked at him. The
Shield appeared horrified, his eyes wide, his mouth working up and down like he
was trying to speak and finding himself completely unable.
Noctis, in contrast, was a statue. Prompto had never seen him look so empty, so
far away. His eyes were a dull blue.
“You catch on quick, Prince Noctis,” the man replied with an unconcerned
chuckle. “You see; this doesn’t have to be a bad experience. I promised I
wasn’t here to hurt you, and I meant it. Form a Covenant with a few of my men.
Grant them your magic, and we will set you free. It’s that simple.”
Prompto knew he didn’t quite understand the context of what was happening. But
he knew it had to be bad to create that sort of response in Noctis and Gladio.
We have to do something, and it’s—complicated. Wasn’t that what Noctis had said
about him, Gladio, and Ignis? And then Gladio was sick with ‘magic stuff.’ Had
he been talking about forming these Covenants? Was that how the Kingsglaive and
Crownsguard received their powers? Prompto wondered why he had never thought
about it before, how the Kingsglaive actually got their magic powers. They
clearly came from the king. It wasn’t like they were born with it. Was it a
painful procedure? That would explain how exhausted Gladio had seemed. What did
it mean then, to grant these powers to strangers?
Wax would have looked more lifelike than Noctis’s face in that moment.
Gladio chose then to speak up, voice husky with barely contained emotion. “You
know what you have to do, Noct.”
The man who had been standing behind the Shield backhanded him hard across the
head. Gladio let out a pained grunt, but nothing more. Noctis did not even turn
to look at him, his dull eyes locked with the cologne man’s.
Prompto felt the tension like an oppressive blanket, smothering him and making
it impossible to think. There was obviously a conversation going on below the
surface with these men, but he didn’t have the skills to follow it. He could
only sit here, his life a weapon to use against his friends.
Noctis swallowed loudly, the sound echoing out in the apprehensive silence. His
fists clenched, then relaxed. He whispered his answer, so quiet that Prompto
barely caught it.
“No. I won’t do that.”
“Then I kill the blonde first."
                                      ***
                              **Ignis Scientia**
                                      ***
Ignis watched the computer screen with a pounding heart. He was back in the
Regalia, Clarus driving, and the king next to him. The king held a laptop, a
map and blinking dot pulled up on the screen. Prompto’s GPS signal.
It moved steadily for a while, but then it blinked out of existence. Now they
had its last location pulled up, somewhere on the city turnpike. That entire
section of the turnpike was already shut down, and Crownsguard had been sent to
comb the area.
Earlier, while they were waiting on the technical support to find Prompto’s GPS
location, Ignis had felt a sudden stirring in his stomach. It felt like the
drop of an adrenaline rush, but somehow cleaner. He blinked and closed his
eyes.
Noctis.
He didn’t know if he said something out loud or if the king had simply been
watching him, but suddenly there was a gnarled arm on his shoulder and
demanding eyes searching his own.
“I think—I feel him again.” Ignis kept his eyes closed, trying to concentrate.
He could feel the flickering thread again, but it wasn’t shrieking at him like
before. It wasn’t calling him. He said as much, and opened his eyes again.
“Earlier, I think I could have led you to him, but now—.”
The king dragged a hand over his eyes. “It is likely that Noct is no longer in
mortal peril. The magic of retainers will not call you to him unless that is
the case.”
It was both a good and a troubling thing. Without that sense, the had lost one
more way of finding the prince. But at least Ignis was sure he wasn’t lying
dead somewhere. He clutched tightly at the feeling of that pulsing thread of
connection at the thought.
They arrived at the last known location of the GPS, but what had happened was
already clear. A Kingsglaive grimly held the broken remains of a cellphone in
his hands.
Another dead end. The only thing they had learned with this was that Prompto
was most likely indeed with Noctis. It wasn’t as if the teenager would have
destroyed his cellphone of his own volition.
Where are you?
                                      ***
                                  **The Spy**
                                      ***
Two men stood off to the side of the crime scene investigation at the prince’s
apartment building. They were hidden by the curve of the alleyway. One had a
strong jaw line and brilliant blue eyes. The stars on his crisp uniform
suggested a high rank. The other man was smaller, both in stature and in
presence.
“That was a close one,” hissed the smaller man. “You said you had it under
control.”
“I tire of your blubbering, Glaive Constance,” replied the larger man. With a
sigh, he snapped the flip phone he had been holding shut. The phone was cheaply
made and clearly new. “They don’t need to escape the city, and the king wastes
his time trying to cut off their escape routes. They only need to hold the
prince long enough to complete their task.”
“What if the chamberlain is able to find them?”
“As long as they don’t harm the prince any further, that shouldn’t be a
problem. It’s a soul bond, not a trail of bread crumbs. And the longer this
takes, the more the bond settles and ultimately weakens.”
The smaller man nodded, seemingly satisfied. With that, the larger man dropped
the phone and proceeded to ground it into tiny pieces.
                                      ***
Chapter End Notes
     *Warning: The kidnappers in this chapter reveal that their plan is to
     force Noctis to Covenant with them so that they can have access to
     his power. Since this requires sex, the consent problems are clear. I
     want to treat this issue with respect and seriousness, just like i
     have tried to do in my previous fic. However, I understand that not
     everyone wants to read that sort of story, and I totally understand
     if this is not your cup of tea. Everyone has to take care of
     themselves.
     **On a lighter note, I loved the comments about the friendly fire in
     the previous chapter. You people have some serious unresolved issues
     with the magic system in this game. Though to be fair, after setting
     my party on fire for the eight time in a row, I really thought there
     should be a short dialogue scene where Ignis takes away all of my
     magic flasks for my own good.
     Thank you for all the comments and kudos. Ya'lls support makes my
     day. :)
***** Not For Ourselves Were We Born *****
Chapter Summary
     Noctis must choose between his friends and his duty.
Chapter Notes
     *Warning for explicit violence. There is a short torture scene and
     threats of non-con. The violence and non con are explained further in
     the end note if you feel like any of it may be a problem for you. If
     you don't want to read this chapter, I will write up a little summary
     and put it in the chapter note at the beginning of the next chapter
     when I post it.
     **Also I decided that Niflheim speaks German because the name sounds
     vaguely Germanic (I know it's Norse) and I speak German, so it's a
     win win to have them speaking another language.
     ***Overall, this is the most intense this story will get, violence
     wise. Enjoy.
See the end of the chapter for more notes
                                      ***
                            **Noctis Lucis Caelum**
                                      ***
Noctis was hollow, his mind as still and cold as the glass surface of a lake.
“Then I kill the blonde first,” said the man who called himself Tom. He said it
so calmly, like he was announcing his dinner plans.
And poor, brave Prompto. Noctis saw how the blonde teen’s face, still covered
in a dripping layer of blood, went white as a sheet where the skin was visible.
He didn’t shout or cry out, but he trembled ever so slightly.
You know what you have to do, Noct.
No one could force Noctis to give his magic where he did not wish. Not
physically at least. He had to choose to set it free, to let it suffuse his
body and weave a connection with another. Giving that magic to a stranger was
like pressing a knife against his own throat. Those bound to him had a sort of
power over him. They could sense him, read his physical state in battle, or
leech magic from him. Once created, such a connection could only be severed
through death.
You know what you have to do, Noct.
Prompto was one person. And Gladio had been born to give his life for his
prince. Noctis’s life did not have the same value as everyone else’s, and that
was not arrogance to say that. Let them die, said a voice in his head that
sounded like all the Lucian council members. It was his duty to let them die.
His duty to always choose the crown above anything else. It was what Gladio had
meant, when he said those words. Noct’s magic could not be allowed to fall into
enemy hands.
The cologne wearing man (Noctis struggled to think of him with as mundane of a
name as Tom) raised his gun and pointed it at Prompto. It was a bit pointless,
since another man had been holding a gun to the blonde’s back this entire time.
Prompto was silently crying again, tears leaking in streaks, turning the blood
on his face pink and washed out.
Noctis felt nothing. He was a hollow, broken thing, and this past hour had
carved away everything good inside of him. All that was left was a vision of
Guard Adrian, arms spread wide, knowing he was going to die. A corpse, laid out
at his post, his blood pooling, and burning flesh. The smell of it.
You know what you have to do, Noct.
The cologne man had his gun pointed at Prompto, but his eyes were on Noctis.
Without looking back, he said, “Hold him down.” Neither Noctis nor Gladio made
a noise as Prompto was forced down to his knees. Noctis did not move, but he
did not look away either. He could not believe what was happening, and thus,
couldn’t seem to make himself react.
Was he really going to let this man shoot his best friend?
No. He couldn’t. He had promised Prompto that he was going to get the blonde
out of this safely. But at the same time, he couldn’t seem to move or speak
either. He had to do something, not just stand there like an imbecile. Doing
nothing was as good as letting Prompto die.
But the man called Tom did not shoot Prompto while Noctis stood frozen.
Instead, one his lackeys handed him a pair of pliers. When Gladio saw this, his
expression grew queasy and horrified, and he turned his head slightly to the
side. Noctis still did not quite understand what was happening.
Until he did.
The cologne man undid Prompto’s restraints and grabbed his hand roughly,
forcing him to splay his palm out. The man took the blonde teen’s smallest
finger and then held the pliers to his nail. At that, Noctis finally broke free
of his stupor and rushed forward. However, the men were expecting it, and two
of them grabbed him by the arms, holding him back. He tried to call his magic,
yet it was still dead to him. Instead, he struggled like a mad thing, howling
and kicking and biting. He was too weak and exhausted to do any damage.
The sound Prompto made when the cologne man pulled off his fingernail was
unearthly. It did not belong to a human being. It was not even the sound a
dying creature makes, because Prompto was not dying. Rather, it spoke to
unceasing and inescapable pain, the tune of torture.
Noctis screamed vile things at the man called Tom, cursing and threatening. It
had no effect.
The man took a long time to turn back to Noctis, but when he did, he raised his
brow as if to challenge Noctis, holding the bloody fingernail in his hand.
“Please stop this,” Noctis begged, heedless of anything else. Meanwhile,
Prompto was making awful, wretched noises.
“Only you have the power to stop this,” said the man pitilessly, and he turned
back to Prompto. Despite his helplessness, the blonde began to struggle again,
unable to stop himself from attempting to escape his fate.
“I’ll do it,” Noctis shouted, refusing to look at Gladio. In the end, what he
must do and what he could do were two very different things.
The man grabbed Prompto’s bleeding, jerking hand. He raised the pliers. “I said
I’ll do it. Stop it!” Noctis grew louder and more emphatic as he was ignored.
“Just stop it! I’ll do! I’ll do it!”
Prompto screamed again as the cologne man tore off a second fingernail.
Noctis, who had at one point in his life been paralyzed from the waist down,
had never felt more helpless than he did in that moment. Which he suspected was
the point Tom was trying to make. “Please! Just—stop hurting him.”
The man tossed the second finger nail to the floor. He turned and walked back
to stand in front of Noctis. “Cooperate, and I won’t have to. Remember that.”
“I’m trying to cooperate!”
“No, you were trying to be a hero. Now that you’ve realized what you’re able to
bear and what you’re not, now you’re cooperating.” The man cocked his head
consideringly. “I was going to set up a nice room for you. But I think at this
point I don’t trust you to behave without a couple of guns pointed at your
friends.”
Noctis struggled to comprehend, his thoughts still stuck on the sound of
Prompto screaming. The man continued speaking. “Really I don’t see how this is
any different from how you were expecting to use your magic through the Crown.
You were always going to whore yourself out, don’t kid yourself. Unless you
were planning on choosing every Kingsglaive recruit yourself?”
“The Kingsglaive use their power to protect people. It couldn’t be more
different,” snarled Gladio from where he was still pressed on his knees.
Tom’s voice curled mockingly. “Couldn’t it,” he replied, and it wasn’t a
question.
Noctis interrupted suddenly. “Set Prompto free. Set him free and I’ll do
whatever you want.” He tried to ignore how the man’s words had made shame curl
through his stomach, despite his knowledge that they had been designed to do
that, designed to hurt. Words are weapons, his father had told him once, but
even knowing that purpose didn’t mitigate their damage.
“Don’t make me pull out more fingernails. You’ll form a Covenant with whom I
tell you to, then I’ll set you all free. Just like I promised.”
Noctis couldn’t tear his gaze away from his two friends, both on their knees
with guns pressed to the back of their heads. Prompto’s face was mottled and
swollen with bruises from where Tom had beaten him with the butt of the gun,
and the raw skin under his missing nails glistened sickeningly. “It’s not that
easy,” Noctis hesitantly started, praying that the cologne man would not take
his words as resistance. “It takes a lot of magical energy for me to form a
Covenant, energy I don’t exactly have right now.”
He was disrupted by the sound of squealing metal on metal and the bang of a
door. He watched as two of the men came through one of the side doors, carrying
a metal cot. They dragged it across the vast floor, finally coming to rest
beside Noctis and the others.
Tom waved at an underling. “Get the supplies.” He turned back to Noct, saying
unconcernedly, “We thought about that. Don’t worry about the logistics. All you
have to do is form the actual Covenant.”
When the underling came back, he was carrying a nondescript duffle bag. He
dumped it upside down at their feet, and several glass phials of various
medical remedies rolled out.
“Those came from the Citadel.” Gladio glared at the pile. Peering closer,
Noctis realized he was right. There were the little serial numbers that all
citadel approved magical flasks and phials carried. These were magic
replenishing ethers specially made for the Kingsglaive.
“Drink,” commanded Tom, and so Noctis did. There didn’t seem to be any point in
telling the man that the ether would help him regain his magic back, true
enough, but it would do little for the Crystal induced exhaustion that plagued
Noctis afterwards. That was why Gladio never used them when they were training.
Better to let Noctis’s body naturally tell them when he was done as opposed to
pushing him unsustainably. These people did not seem to have the same concerns,
however.
Noctis sensed the connection between himself and the Crystal strengthen almost
instantaneously as he swallowed the ether down in one gulp. It felt like the
reaching of an old friend, like someone saying, oh there you are. Despite the
context, Noctis leaned into the feeling, savoring it. Gladio lifted his eyes
from the floor and watched Noctis, eyes piercing and hard. With the return of
his magic, Noctis could once again feel the threads twisting through each of
his retainers, the feeling of Gladio particularly strong, probably because he
was right there.
“Woman or man?” Tom demanded brusquely, tearing Noctis’s attention back to
himself. The man’s grip on the gun tightened, making Noctis realize that these
people weren’t quite sure how much power the ether had given him back. They
were nervous.
“What?” Noctis asked.
Tom’s voice remained terse. “Do you want a woman or a man? We have both.”
Noctis just stared at him blankly. This couldn’t actually be real. Gladio and
Prompto were next to him, both with a man at their back. Two more people stood
next to the bed, one by the van, and then Tom in front of Noctis. Did he really
expect Noctis to do this with all of these people watching?
“I—.”
“Oh, by the Six. You’re going to make every bit of this difficult aren’t you?”
“I don’t—.” Noctis still had not found his words. He felt sick to his stomach.
Numb and empty.
Tom shook his head, and motioned one of the men forward. No, Noctis saw as she
removed her mask. A woman. Probably in her twenties, brown eyes and a
smattering of freckles. Noctis noticed all of this in a faraway sort of manner.
“Well,” said Tom, “If you won’t pick, we’ll go with a woman first, shall we?
Less prep to worry about.” He chuckled at that.
The woman seemed less amused. She looked Noctis up and down with cold eyes.
“Tom,” she said, and the emphasis she put on the name suggested that it wasn’t
what she normally called the cologne man. “I understand the necessity of how
this Covenant is formed. You’ve explained it well enough. But must we do it
like dogs out in the open? I’m not here to put a show on for these bastards,”
she said, pointing at the other men around her. Several shifted uncomfortably.
Tom frowned sympathetically. “I understand it’s uncomfortable, Sylvia, truly.
It’s not my first choice either. But we only have rumors and vague ideas of how
exactly this covenant is formed. I’ve heard it’s an incredible burst of magic.
With no idea what to expect, I want everyone available to control the situation
if necessary.” With those words, he held out his hand to her.
She looked at it, then his face, and said bluntly, “So I’m to be lab rat and a
show, then?”
He was equally blunt. “Yes.”
Another long breath passed, then she shook her commander’s hand. “Enjoy the
show, you Fucks,” she said as she faced her companions again, refusing to be
cowed or shamed. “But don’t forget, I’ll enjoy myself equally well watching
you.”
At another time and place, Noctis might have enjoyed and admired her tenacity.
But right now all he could feel was a pooling dread than began in the pit of
his stomach and radiated outwards.
Behind Noctis, Prompto’s voice was quiet, but the prince still caught his words
to Gladio. “What’s going on, Glad? I don’t understand. If I didn’t know
better—.”
Noctis’s stomach curled in on itself. He refused to look back at his friend’s
faces. He didn’t want to know what he would find on Gladio’s face. Still, he
heard Gladio’s gruff reply. “I’m so sorry, Prompto.” Gladio said each word
clearly, giving each syllable time to settle before the next. “Forgive us.”
“What?” asked the blonde, but Gladio didn’t give a further reply, or at least,
Noctis didn’t hear it.
Without further prompting, the woman, Sylvia, began to undress. She left her
bra on, but everything else went to a pile next to the cot. Noctis felt nothing
as he watched her. Tom did not watch her, but rather Noctis, his expression
avid. When she was done, Sylvia sat on the edge of the cot. “How do you want
me?” She asked the question without emotion, her eyes unflinching.
Noctis remained mute and unmoving. There was a roaring in his ears, and
everything felt gray and far away. Any minute now, he was going to wake up. Any
minute now, his father would burst through the door in a swirl of magic and
descend upon these people with the fury of the twelve ancient Lucian Kings at
his back. It wasn’t real. It wasn’t real. It wasn’t real.
Tom sighed. “I think you’re going to have to help him, Syl. Poor thing doesn’t
know what to do with himself.” Several snickers rang out from the gathered men.
Noctis saw Gladio clench his fists from the corner of his eye.
The cologne man motioned toward Noctis as if to reach for the prince’s pants.
Before the man could reach him, Noctis flinched away, his body moving almost
without input from his brain. He felt his heart rate increase dramatically.
No! Some powerful part of his mind rebelled. “No,” he repeated out loud, his
breath hitching.
Tom narrowed his eyes. “You’re making this far more difficult than it needs to
be, and it’s starting to get old. Just tell me what you need to do to get in
the mood. As long as it’s reasonable we have no problem accommodating you.”
Before Noctis could reply to that, Gladio spoke. “Let me,” he said, boldly
raising his head to meet Tom’s eyes. “Please.” He swallowed and added in a
strained voice, “I—know him. I can—get him—just let me. Please.”
Noctis was going to cry. “Gladio,” he said dumbly. It wasn’t enough.
Gladio kept his eyes on the cologne man, ignoring his prince. “Please,” he
repeated. On his knees, he was the perfect image of sublimation.
Tom chuckled, and Noctis was struck by the revelation that this man wanted more
than simple power, despite his words. He liked watching them suffer, and he
reveled in their humiliation. Every act he had committed so far had that aspect
twisted through it, torturing Prompto, demanding that Noctis perform the ritual
in front of all the gathered men. Despite his placating words to Sylvia, it all
spoke to his need to break his captives. Noctis wondered if Gladio had sensed
that in their captor as well.
“I suppose you do have—experience,” Tom said eventually. He waved his hand, and
the man behind Gladio backed up a few steps, lifting his gun. As he undid
Gladio’s restraints, he warned, “Of course, any funny business, and your friend
over there goes poof. You understand me?”
“I understand you,” Gladio affirmed in a voice shaped like the pure
distillation of hatred. As Tom backed away, the Shield clambered stiffly to his
feet. Walking to his prince, his gait was ginger and uncertain. Had they harmed
him more than Noctis had realized? Or was he still so weak from the ritual?
Noctis stood trembling as Gladio came to a halt in front of him. The Shield
left almost no space in between their bodies, torso to torso. Everyone, even
Tom, kept silent as Gladio took a moment to stare searchingly into Noct’s eyes.
Noctis did not want to be touched by Gladio. Not here, not like this. He didn’t
think he wanted to be touched by anyone ever again. But Gladio did not reach
for his pants like Tom had. Instead, he wrapped his arms around Noctis tightly
and squeezed. Gladio lowered his face into the crook of Noct’s neck, taking a
deep lungful of air. Noct’s hair lifted briefly, tickling him.
His face hidden, Gladio murmured, “I’m so sorry, Noct. I’m so fucking sorry.”
His arms tightened even further with his words, like he could squeeze the truth
of them into his charge with his sheer force of will.
“This isn’t your fault, Gladio. You didn’t do this.”
Gladio did not answer him, and with that silence, some instinct worked its way
through the back of Noct’s mind. It was like the whisper of the Crystal in the
depths of his thoughts, just as subtle. But this was not magic. This instinct
came from eight years of friendship with a man whose most enduring quality was
in how predictable he was.
Noctis stiffened and tried to push Gladio off of himself, but it was already
too late. He felt it, like the pull of a fish hook on his senses. Noctis was
aware of Gladio using his magic in the same way he was aware of himself. He
could even distinguish which weapon the Shield yanked out of the arsenal, a
huge greatsword that both of their practice weapons were based on and thus, one
Gladio was intimately familiar with.
“You can't,” Noctis shouted even as sparks coalesced around Gladio’s sword
hand, tumbling and swirling into the shape of a weapon. How could Gladio risk
Prompto like that?! But even as he thought it, Noctis knew the answer. Gladio
saw his duty to Noctis as above anything else. He’d be sorry for it later, but
he’d still do what he thought he must.
Gladio ignored him. “Go!” he commanded with all the force that came from eight
years of being Noct’s instructor.
Noctis heard gunfire, but he was already swinging around, intent on getting to
Prompto. A man held a gun to the blonde’s head, fist in the back of the
blonde’s shirt, and his eyes were wildly darting towards his leader. He was
clearly afraid to do anything without the say so of the cologne man.
Prompto started to climb to his feet, struggling with the shackles on his
ankles, but the man behind him shoved at him. The blonde twisted around as he
was pushed back down, hands clasping the man’s grip on his gun.
“Shoot the spare!” The deep sound of Tom’s voice was unmistakable. Noctis saw
the man’s eyes meet Prompto’s from behind his gun, and then with heart stopping
horror, he saw the man squeeze the trigger.
                                      ***
                             **Prompto Argentum**
                                      ***
Whatever was going on with this covenant stuff Prompto was beginning to think
despite his better judgement, that it had to be sexual. This wasn’t the best
time to be pervy, but it was the only explanation his mind could come up with
as the woman stripped and sat at the edge of the cot. Gladio had not answered
his questions earlier, choosing instead to apologize for some reason, and so
Prompto was left with nothing but his wild conjectures.
As the Shield offered himself and stood in front of Noctis, Prompto could only
watch and wonder just what the hell all of this meant. It was truly beginning
to feel like the prelude to a rape, despite all of his better sensibilities
saying there was no way that magic powers could be granted through sex. That
literally made no sense.
Gladio buried his face in Noctis’s neck and whispered something Prompto
couldn’t hear. Then he raised his head and stared at Prompto. For one of the
longest seconds of his life, Prompto was aware that Gladio was desperately
trying to tell him something with his eyes, something that Prompto could not
read, and then everything turned to chaos.
It took Prompt far too long to realize that Gladio had decided to resist their
captors despite the threat against Prompto and himself. Then, once he
understood what was going on, he also realized that the man holding him hostage
was going to have to shoot him if these people wanted to gain any sort of
control back.
The blonde teen twisted quickly, trying to get to his feet, feeling any second
that he was going hear the blast of a gunshot before entering enteral oblivion.
The man struggled with him for a second, but then they all heard the command of
the man in charge.
“Shoot the spare!”
Prompto faced his captor, and he saw how the command traveled across the man’s
countenance and how his eyes hardened into action. With the thoughtless
strength of a man battling for his life, Prompto gripped and yanked on the
man’s gun.
The sound of the gun going off deafened him. He felt the bullet ripple through
the air, its radiating force a physical thing. All his thoughts died from the
sheer, rattling power of the blast so close to his ears.
I’ve been shot!
But he hadn’t. There was no accompanying pain. The bullet must have gone past
his ear. His opponent blinked, recovering from the shot far faster than
Prompto. He renewed his struggle with the teen, trying to get another shot off.
The gun rang out again, and again it missed the teen.
It was an accident more than anything when Prompto lost his balance from his
shackled ankles and collapsed to the floor. However, with his death grip on the
man’s gun still strong, he dragged the man down with him. The man tried to stop
his fall, probably on instinct. Bracing himself with his palms, he lost his
grip on the gun. Prompto too, let the weapon clatter away from his hands, the
sudden lack of tension from the other man’s grip breaking his own hold.
Wasting no time, Prompto’s opponent cocked a fist back and slammed it into
Prompto’s face. White light swam across the blonde’s vision. The punch
compounded with his earlier injury to form an almost unbearable pain. It
stunned him, leaving him helpless.
But then the man cried out, blood spattering across Prompto’s face and shirt
front. Noctis stood above them, his sword dug deeply into the man’s backside.
The prince’s face was flecked with blood, his eyes gone nearly purple in his
rage. He didn’t stop to speak to Prompto, instead raising his eyes and stepping
over his prone friend. Faster than the blonde could comprehend, a shield formed
in Noctis’s hand, bigger and heavier than the one he had earlier produced in
the elevator.
Noctis crouched and raised the shield just as a spray of bullets hit them. The
prince braced himself, barely holding the shield steady.
As they were peppered with gunfire, Prompto stared out across the open floor at
the chaos all around them. About fifteen feet away, Gladio battled three men.
One of them shot at him with a rifle, but he raised his broadsword across his
body defensively, and the bullets glanced off. Then Gladio lunged forward while
man tried to reload, spearing his body like a meat cleaver.
Away from the four battling opponents, Tom stood next to Sylvia. They were the
ones who had been shooting at Prompto and Noctis. Together the three groups of
combatants formed a loose triangle in the open factory floor.
The mostly naked woman held a gun against her shoulder. She also paused to
reload, but Tom put his arm in front of her, stopping her in her tracks.
While Prompto had been watching Tom and Sylvia, Gladio killed another man and
was competently battering away at the third. “Gladio!” shouted Noctis.
Prompto changed his gaze again, only to see Noctis racing forward. Another
second, and he understood. Gladio had his back turned from Tom and Sylvia, and
so they had decided to stop shooting at Noctis and Prompto and focus on the
Shield instead.
Noctis threw his sword, disappearing in an implosion of sparks just as the
woman took aim at Gladio. Her shot rang out. One of Gladio’s knees crumpled
underneath himself as Noctis reappeared. The prince stumbled forward,
screaming, “Noo!”
She shot again, but this time it grazed just past the prince. A warning. He
stopped dead a few feet in front of his Shield. Turning back to face Tom and
Sylvia, he snarled, brandishing his sword impotently. Gladio crouched, hissing
but otherwise silent, clearly trying to gather his wits back together again.
The man Gladio had been fighting raised his gun as well, and together, he and
Sylvia encircled the prince and his Shield, closing in the distance. Tom
followed behind his subordinate, Prompto apparently forgotten.
Tom pulled out a strange device from his belt. With a long suffering sigh, he
pressed a button. All around them, the high windows and loading dock doors
began to groan, metal bars descending with screeching and whining complaints.
After the noise of the closing doors ceased, Tom spoke. “This is pointless. You
waste your energy and all of my good will. These doors won’t open without the
correct code now. You have nowhere to go, no options.” He kicked at the body of
one of Gladio’s victims. “And now I have to find more allies. What a waste.”
Prompto flicked his gaze around. Hs legs still shackled, he lay nearly on top
of the body of the man who had been holding him hostage. The gun they had
struggled over rested less than a foot away.
“Put the sword away, son,” Tom said to Noctis.
The prince scowled. “I am not your son. Don’t you dare call me that.”
Prompto stared at the gun on the floor. It was smaller than the rifle Sylvia
held, some sort of pistol. A strange feeling of recognition raced through him,
like a half forgotten dream. Prompto Argentum had never held a gun in his life.
But he looked at this pistol and thought, it’s a 9 millimeter. Seven rounds. If
it had been fully loaded, then the other guy only got off two rounds. That left
five.
Prompto had never thought about difference between different guns before. But
still, he could almost see the individual parts that made up the gun lying next
to him, and thought if he were told to do so right now, he could take it apart
and put it back together again. It didn’t make any sense, but the thought would
not go away. It pounded at him, making his head buzz.
“I won’t ask you again. You’re not as unexpendable as you seem to think. If you
won’t help us, then you may as well be dead for all I care, especially after
this mess.”
Prompto’s wrist itched, and he rubbed it absently. He had already caused enough
problems for his friends today. He had no business attempting anything else. He
was a civilian for gods’ sakes. Whatever trauma induced delusions of grandeur
he was currently experiencing aside; he, Prompto Argentum, did not know how to
fight or shoot a gun.
He stared at the gleaming silver.
Tom readied his own gun, joining his comrades. “Fine then,” he said. “Be that
way.”
Prompto picked up the 9 millimeter. It felt strangely familiar in his hands. He
hefted it, taking into account the potential kickback, the angle of the shot,
and the curvature of the path of the bullet. The calculation took him less than
a second.
Then he shot the cologne man.
                                      ***
The man who called himself Tom crumpled with a nearly silent oomph. For all the
destruction he had caused, his death was almost anticlimactic. Blood splattered
from his skull as he sank down, first to his knees, then sideways.
The two remaining kidnappers briefly wore identical expressions of shock, but
Gladio reacted instantly, summoning his sword and running the man behind him
through the stomach. It clearly took all of his effort to do that, as he failed
to stop his momentum and tumbled in a tangle of limbs after his victim.
Meanwhile, Noctis twisted around, ready to attack the woman, but she dropped
her weapon, backing up, her hands raised.
For a second, it looked like Noctis would attack her anyway. He began the
swing, though he checked himself at the last second. His weapon raised, he
panted and trembled, glaring at the naked woman.
A rush of exhaustion hit Prompto, and he collapsed to his knees, the gun
clattering away. He had shot a man, and the strangest part was how numb he
felt. He should be horrified, but he couldn’t seem to summon a single emotion
one way or the other.
Noctis shoved at the woman. “Get dressed,” he commanded her harshly. She
scrambled away from him, but it wasn’t like there was anywhere for any of them
to go. With that done, Noctis bent down over his Shield, the gentleness of his
movement a juxtaposition to his earlier treatment of the woman.
Gladio groaned and swatted Noctis’s hand away. “Don’t bother,” he began, but it
was too late. Noctis did the same thing to his Shield that Gladio had done to
him in the van. There was that same feeling of pressure, strange and alien.
Shuffling awkwardly as he made himself get back up, Prompto’s limbs carried him
to where the other two were. He passed by the body of the cologne man. There
was now a coin sized, oozing hole dead center in the back of his head.
Prompto was going to be sick. He couldn’t make himself stop staring at it.
Gladio followed his gaze, then bent down to examine the dead man. “What a shot,
Prom. Didn’t know you had something like that in you. When did you take
firearms training?”
A warning prickled up the back of Prompto’s neck. Instinct told him that Gladio
would not accept the truth, which was that he had no fucking clue how he had
done what he did. “My parents don’t know,” he said hesitantly. A sliver of
truth.
Guilt curled in his belly as Gladio accepted that with a nod. “Well, damn if
I’m not glad you did. You saved us.”
Prompto shook his head. Even when he closed his eyes, the vision of the hole in
the back of the man’s head would not leave him. Gods, that man had been evil.
He had wanted nothing but to hurt Prompto’s friends. It was so confusing. One
moment Prompto felt as empty as a mannequin, and the next he was sure he was
going to puke from the horror of it.
Noctis interrupted them from across the room. “It’s not over yet. That fuck
wasn’t lying about the doors. They won’t open.” He stood by the door closest to
the van. A heavy metal gate had descended on their side of the door.
Gladio sighed and then limped, not to Noctis, but first to woman. The Shield
bent down and rummaged around near the bag of supplies until he found the
shackles that Tom had removed from him earlier, then he went to the woman. She
had dressed herself while they had been talking, and she accepted the
restraints without complaint.
Prompto leaned over the body of the man he had killed. He tried not to think as
he searched for the device that the man had used to close the doors in the
first place. When he found it, he held it up, examining it closely. It only had
three buttons, an up arrow, down arrow, and a square, blue button. Prompto
pressed the up arrow. Nothing happened.
Gladio saw his helpless shrug and sighed. Noctis meanwhile, was examining the
wall next to the main loading dock door. “There’s a panel here with a number
pad,” he called back.
Gladio immediately went to the woman, but she anticipated his question. “I
don’t know it,” she said quickly. “Only ah, Tom, and his second in command knew
the security codes for this building.”
“Which one is the second in command?” Gladio demanded.
She pointed to one of the men Gladio had killed. “His name was Cassius.” There
was no accusation in her voice, just calm acceptance.
“I don’t believe that only those two could lock the damn building,” Gladio
threatened, drawing himself up to his full and substantial height.
She didn’t look impressed. “I don’t much care what you believe,” she retorted.
“It won’t change what I know and what I don’t.
As the adrenalin faded from his system, Prompto was becoming more and more
aware of the ache in his face and the throbbing of his missing fingernails.
With a groan he let himself collapse back to the floor, drawing his knees up
under himself as best he could. Gladio only spared him a quick glance, then
went back to his interrogation.
“If you don’t talk, maybe I’ll see how many fingernails I can remove from your
damn hands,” the Shield threatened, but it was ruined by how his voice wavered
on the words.
Even Prompto didn’t believe that threat. The woman didn’t even bother to react.
Gladio growled, but before he could keep threatening her, Noctis came back and
crouched in front of Prompto.
The prince, squeezed his eyes shut, then opened them again. He hesitated, bit
his lip, then reached over and grasped Prompto’s hand. Both of their hands were
stained with blood, not bright red, but a dirty mix of brown and pink.
Prompto’s fingertips were black from the gun. The prince squeezed his fingers
tightly and asked, “Are you okay, Prom?”
Prompto laughed shakily. It was all so ridiculous. “No, not really.” He tried
for a wry grin though it made his nose and mouth ache. “I think I will be
though.”
Sylvia interrupted them suddenly. “His real name was Viktor. Viktor Cosvisch.”
“That’s a Niflheimian name,” Gladio observed. Noctis twisted and watched their
exchange in silence.
“Yes,” she agreed.
When she didn’t elaborate on her own, Gladio asked, “Why?”
She shrugged. “Like Viktor said, power.” Her eyes suddenly burned. “You have no
idea. No idea. My family was taken, taken to one of the Versuchsanstalten as
payment for a debt. What they do there, you people safe in your damned Crown
City, you have no idea.” She released a sobbing breath, and then for some
reason looked at Prompto. She stared, then her eyes lowered as if there was
something on Prompto’s side or arm. He turned to follow her gaze but saw
nothing.
“No I don’t,” agreed Gladio evenly, bringing all their attentions back to him.
“You don’t support Aldercapt?”
In answer, she spat fiercely.
Gladio narrowed his eyes, just as fierce. “You got those flasks from someone in
the Lucian military. Tell me, who’s supporting you?”
She blinked, suddenly hesitant. For all that she had seemed willing to give
them information, this was crossing a new line and she knew it. Her next words
were for Noctis. “I am sorry. We truly did not wish to harm you. But you’ve
seen the skill of the MT’s for yourself, even one unfinished and untrained. Our
resistance was a crumbling thing. And now it is truly finished.”
“Who was supporting you?” Gladio insisted.
She opened her mouth. Then a shot rang out. It was louder somehow than the
noise of the previous gunfire, booming and echoing across the empty factory
floor. The bullet went cleanly through her head and out the other side.
Gladio was already up and moving, dragging Prompto by the arm. He pulled them
behind the van, pressing Noctis half underneath himself and cursing.
Prompto caught a glimpse of a small, shattered hole in one of the high windows
before he was shoved down as well.
“Fuck, Fuck,” Gladio cursed. He shook Noctis. “Can you do what you did before,
when you called to me?”
“What?” Noctis’s eyes were wild and unfocused.
“When you called to me in the apartment lobby. It was like a fucking beacon,
screaming ‘come get me!’ Can you do it again?”
Noctis shook his head. “I didn’t do that on purpose. I think it happened
because I was hurt so badly.”
Prompto swallowed at the reminder of what he had accidently done. Gladio swore
again. “What you did with your magic to fix my leg up only stabilized it. It
won't hold, and we’re like sitting ducks here. God dammit.”
The factory was silent. The sniper had not tried to shoot at them, but that
didn’t mean much. The windows went all around the room, as Gladio was surely
aware of. They were on the opposite side of the van from the sniper right now,
but that didn’t mean that would remain true, or that there wasn’t another one
lining up a shot from one of the other windows right now.
Prompto thought about Noctis’s powers. “Can you get away?” he asked. “Like
phase though the door or something?”
“No. I have to see where I’m going. And it works at lot better on moving
things. It’s more for dodging hits or people.”
Gladio growled, “We need back up. We’ve got nothing left.” His eyes flicked to
Noctis and they seemed to have the same thought because Gladio then said
harshly, “No way. No fucking way.”
“We don’t know if he would feel you,” Noctis said insistently.
“We also don’t know how bad it has to be to set off that sense or beacon or
whatever you want to call it.”
Noctis glared. “Yes, we do. Don’t be stupid. You would know if it was working.”
“I’m not doing it. There has to be another way.” Gladio remained stubborn.
Prompto had no idea what they were arguing about, but he could feel the
importance of it in their desperation.
“I’m not asking for your fucking permission.” And with that, Noctis summoned a
short knife to his hand.
“Stop!” Gladio held Noct’s hand firmly. “Gods, fine. I’ll fucking do it, you
asshole. I can at least make sure not to hit a fucking artery and kill you
instantly.”
Prompto gulped. “What are you doing?”
Gladio ignored him, taking the knife from Noctis’s hand. “This is the worst
idea you’ve ever fucking had.”
“Don’t let me die,” said Noctis tightly.
“What the hell are you doing?” demanded Prompto, his alarm growing.
There was a sudden clattering noise from where the shot had come through the
window. They all hunched down lower. “Fuck,” repeated Gladio.
Prompto demanded again, “What are you doing?”
“Calling for help,” Gladio replied grimly. “In the dumbest fucking way
possible. Astrals help me.” With that, Gladio raised the knife. “Hold still,”
he commanded.
Noctis nodded. “Do it.”
Gladio stabbed his prince in the side.
The blade entered Noctis like butter, all the way down to the hilt. Prompto
gasped, but Gladio reached back and kept him from moving. “Don’t,” he ordered.
Noctis took in air with quick, shaking pants. The skin around his eyes and
mouth pulled back in a grotesque grimace that gave him a skull-like pallor. His
words came out in a trembling stammer. “Is—is it—is it working?”
Gladio groaned like he was the one in pain. “It’s fucking working alright. Like
it’s fucking screaming in my head, demanding I help you.”
“Well don’t!”
Gladio ignored that. “Quit moving Noct. I’m gonna leave it in for now to slow
down the bleeding, but don’t fucking move.”
“You stabbed him,” Prompto said stupidly. Had he finally lost his mind from the
stress? This had to be a dream, right? Gladio could not have just stabbed the
person he had sworn his life to protect.
Gladio ignored that too. “Keep him talking,” he told the blonde. “If he starts
to pass out, I’ll stabilize him with magic again.”
“You stabbed him!” Prompto repeated, voice going a lot shriller.
Gladio’s voice was unamused and curt. “I know, I was there.”
Tears built in Noct’s eyes. Prompto leaned over him. Blood was pooling around
where Gladio’s hand still held the knife. “Oh Gods, Noct.”
Noctis tried to smile at his friend. “Hurts like a bitch, I won't lie. Bet
you’re wishing you’d never wanted to try that new game system right about now,
aren’t you?”
Prompto shook his head, wiping away his own tears. “No. Never. I only wish I
had been more useful. I’m the reason—I’m the reason.” He stopped, unable to
finish his thought.
Noctis’s next words were fierce. “This wasn’t your fault, Prom. Not a fucking
thing, you hear me?” When Prompto didn’t answer he repeated louder, “Say it!”
“It wasn’t my fault,” Prompto repeated quickly. But it was a lie. So much of
this had been his fault. Of course, these had been shitty people. But Prompto
had thrown the magic flask. He had been the first taken hostage and used
against Noctis. He’d been defenseless when his friends had needed him.
But you killed the cologne man , whispered a voice in his head. Tom or Viktor
or whatever his real name had been. Shot him straight though the head, with no
more thought to the morality of it than a machine would have given. Prompto
shuddered at the memory.
Gladio was muttering under his breath, praying. “Come on, Iggy, you bastard.
Please. Please, Iggy. Ignis. Hear your prince calling you. Please.”
                                      ***
                              **Ignis Scientia**
                                      ***
It hit Ignis like a mallet. One moment he was pacing back and forth next to the
Regalia, trying desperately to calm his thoughts, and the next his heart was
stuttering, a jolt of adrenalin shooting through his limbs. He stopped, every
muscle tensing like a pointing dog.
It was the same sense that had assaulted him in the king’s study, but it was
weaker. He closed his eyes. No that wasn’t it. The sense was not weaker.
Rather, Ignis was further away from it, harder to reach.
He suddenly remembered the king’s words. The bond between king and retainer was
strongest in the moments and days after its formation. But then it stabilized
and weakened.
No. that could not be. Not now, when Ignis needed it most.
Even weaker, it shrieked at him, a dull thudding of go to him, find him, heal
him. He turned around. Could he follow it?
He took a hesitant step forward, but the feeling did not change. Another few
steps. Nothing.
Ignis stopped with a huff. This could not be. He could not be so close, only to
be foiled like this. With a deep breath, he tried again. Still nothing. Another
direction then—there! His heart stuttered again. It was a tiny feeling, but he
latched on to it and took another few running steps. There again, he felt
something like the pull of a sting.
Go to him.
I’m trying, he thought furiously.
“Ignis! What the hell are you doing?” Clarus called to him suddenly.
Ignis hummed with the importance of his discovery. “Get the Regalia and all
your men together,” he ordered. “I can find him.”
He climbed into the backseat, expecting Clarus to get in the driver’s, but he
was surprised as the king slid heavily into the driver’s side and turned
around. Clarus got in the front, next to his king. At Ignis’s shocked look,
King Regis explained, “Clarus will instruct the Crownsguard based on your
directions. Now, which way?”
                                      ***
The process was far slower than Ignis liked. Every moment that dragged out made
Ignis more and more aware of the fact that the sense he was following was a
mechanism that only engaged when Noctis was in mortal peril. They could not
follow Ignis’s directions in a straight line, instead having to turn down wrong
streets and go out of their way. It was beyond frustrating.
It felt like hours, but in reality it was close to ten or fifteen minutes when
they came to the isolated factory building. It was long abandoned, tufts of
grass growing high in the spaces between the parking spots.
“This has to be it,” Ignis breathed out.
How long had he been feeling Noctis’s life ebb away now? Please let it not be
too late.
“Look there!” Clarus pointed, even as he drew a weapon, sliding out of the car.
Ignis and the King followed him. More Crownsguard and Kingsglaive cars pulled
up behind them as Clarus raced towards the building.
There had been a man on the roof. All dressed in back. He disappeared to the
other side as they approached, but not before they all got a glimpse of the
long rifle in his hands. Sniper.
Ignis could barely breathe at the thought. Then the worst thing happened. His
sense of Noctis’s peril simply vanished again as if it had never been there.
“NO!” he shouted. He stopped in his tracks.
The King turned back to look at him questioningly. Ignis could not speak, but
Regis’s eyes still widened in understanding. The air around him seemed to swell
with terrible pressure so strong that Ignis took another step back.
The King of Lucis strode forward, his limp barely noticeable. He walked up to
the front door. One of the Glaives tried to stop him. “Your Majesty, there’s
some sort of gate barring the entry. We’re looking for another way in right
now—.”
“Move.”
The Glaive jerked back, giving the king a wide berth. Regis then took a deep
breath. His face was a dreadful thing, menacing and alien. The pressure around
him built and built as the others shifted uneasily. In a swell of blue and
purple light, twelve swords burst all at once from his back, shining with power
and magic. The king did not direct them with his hand, but rather his eyes.
Those closest to him saw how his gaze lasered in on the door that stood between
him and his son, then all twelve weapons converged. They tore through the metal
bars like paper, shredding the gate in faster and faster motions until the
weapons all blurred together. When they were finished, they swooshed together
and as quickly as they had been summoned, disappeared in a pattering of sparks.
Inside the abandoned factory was pure carnage. For a second, all Ignis could
see were dead bodies. Not Noctis. Not Gladio. Not his friends. Please. But then
he saw them, Prompto included, all hunched by a parked van.
He didn’t register himself running, but suddenly he was by their side. “Noctis!
Thank the Six, are you alright?”
Gladio had his hand tightly pressed on the prince’s shoulder, and his grip
seemed to be exuding a strange sort of pressure, like the pressure of the
King’s magic, but also somehow not. The Shield followed his gaze, then said, “I
stabilized him after he started to pass out, but he needs a real doctor.”
Noctis wasn’t the only one. They were all covered in blood and bruises.
Prompto’s fingers were a raw mess.
“But you’re alive,” Ignis said, trying to make himself feel it. “You’re alive.”
Gladio sagged down. “We’re alive,” he confirmed wearily.
                                      ***
Chapter End Notes
     Warnings:
     Violence: There are some descriptions of dead bodies and people being
     shot and stabbed. The characters react to this with shock and disgust
     at various points and those reactions are described.
     Torture: The main baddy pulls off two of Prompto's fingernails when
     Noctis tells him he won't comply. Prompto's reaction is described
     more than the actual fingernailing. Personally, I had a toenail
     pulled off once (though it was an accident) and it was not a pleasant
     experience.
     NonCon: The threat is the same level as the last chapter. One of the
     OC's undresses themselves and offers herself to Noctis, and Tom
     reaches for Noctis at one point, but it never goes further than that.
     Gladio stops it before it goes anywhere.
     Thank you as always for all the love and support. Y'all feed my soul.
     <3
***** Do MT's Dream of Electric Sheep? *****
Chapter Summary
     In which we discover that Clarus does not have trauma informed
     interrogation techniques, and Noctis sleeps through all of the drama.
Chapter Notes
     *This chapter originally had a little opener about Prompto's
     childhood that grew to be not very little. If you would like to read
     it, as it still works as an opener to this chapter, it is now posted
     as a one shot, part 2 of the series. The Tin Soldier. Its certainly
     not necessary, but I figured I'd put it out there. https://
     archiveofourown.org/works/13371129 Otherwise, the only thing you
     really need from it to understand this chapter is that Prompto's dad
     keeps a gun in his desk drawer.
     **Warning for dealing with the aftermath of trauma. Nothing terrible,
     but I wanted it to be clear in case anyone didn't want to read about
     that.
     ***Finally, as promised, a summary of the last chapter for those who
     didn't want to read it. The kidnappers try to force Noctis to comply
     with their demands by torturing Prompto. Noctis gives in, but before
     they can get started, Gladio suddenly decides to fight back. There is
     some action, then Prompto ends the whole thing by shooting the main
     kidnapper in the head. One of the kidnappers tells them that they are
     from Niflheim, and they just wanted the power to fight back against
     their government. A unknown sniper kills that kidnapper, and then the
     boys are finally rescued by Ignis and King Regis. Noctis is badly
     injured, Gladio has been shot in the leg, and Prompto has been beaten
     up and is missing some fingernails.
     ***Otherwise, I hope y'all enjoy this slower paced chapter.
See the end of the chapter for more notes
                                      ***
                             **Prompto Argentum**
                                      ***
After their rescue, Prompto followed Gladio and Ignis through the Citadel to
some sort of hospital type area. When the doctors tried to separate the Shield
and his prince, Gladio put up such a fight that it nearly turned violent. Even
Gladio’s father couldn’t talk sense into him, and finally, Ignis snapped at
them that they were all wasting time, and wasn't it less difficult for both
them and Noctis if they didn’t fight about such things right now?
Gladio grinned savagely at Ignis, and then forced his way into the room they
had set up for the prince, leaving Ignis and Prompto outside the doorway. At
that point, an annoyed looking Clarus instead grabbed Prompto’s arm and drew
him aside.
Swinging around and staring plaintively at Ignis, Prompto begged his friend
with his eyes, but the advisor just shook his head. “It’ll be alright, Prompto.
They just want to ask you a few questions.” To the Crownsguard leader, Ignis
demanded, “Prompto is injured. Must you do this right now?”
Clarus responded gruffly, “We should to talk to him while the memories are
fresh. There’s a doctor ready to look at him while we’re talking, don’t worry.”
And with that, Clarus led Prompto away.
The blonde teen tried not to panic as he was separated from his friends. After
all, he was safe now. They all were.
The room they took him to was small and narrow. It immediately made Prompto
feel trapped and claustrophobic. As promised, a doctor was already waiting for
him, directing him to sit on the cot and hold out his bloody hand. Prompto
stared at the walls pressing in, ignoring the roaring in his ears as the doctor
tisked over his nails and made unintelligible comments. Men filed into the
cramped room. First, a weathered looking man with bright blue eyes and a lot of
stripes on his uniform, then another wearing the black Kingsglaive costume, and
finally Clarus again.
Clarus introduced the others. “Prompto, this is Captain Drautos and Glaive
Constance. They just want to ask you a few questions about what happened to
you, if that’s alright.” The Shield to the King smiled encouragingly.
Prompto wished desperately that Gladio or Ignis were still here. He had no idea
who any of these people were or if he could truly trust them, but eventually he
nodded hesitantly. “Okay.”
It started simple enough. They asked him to recount everything that had led to
the attack. Why was he with the Prince in the first place? Had they planned to
meet up? At what point had he first realized that something was wrong? When he
got to the man at the end of the hall, they stopped and made him go over and
over everything he had noticed about the man who called himself Tom. Yes, he
had been wearing a mask, but what color was his hair? Had Prompto been able to
see his eyes? Would he recognize that cologne if he smelled it again?
Prompto could tell they were disappointed in his vague answers. But it was hard
to get past that roaring in his ears, the shaking of his hands, and the vision
of the dead Crownsguard on the floor. Guard Adrian and the blood spraying from
his outstretched hands.
All three of the men frowned when he got to the part with the magical flask.
Clarus blinked and asked incredulously, “Why would you throw a magic flask as
your prince? How was that supposed to help anyone?”
Something like shame or embarrassment clenched Prompto’s stomach tightly. He
lowered his eyes and replied, “I didn’t think it would hurt him . . . I didn’t
know.”
Captain Drautos, who had so far mostly been silent, asked, “You didn’t think
throwing a magical bomb at your Prince would harm him?”
Oh Gods. Were they going to punish him? Was what Prompto had done considered
treason? What did they do to people who had nearly killed their monarch? The
blonde trembled as he did his best to answer, fighting through the sludge his
thoughts had become. He protested, “I didn’t know it was a bomb, not like
that.”
“Then how did you expect it to help him?” This came from Clarus, his tone much
softer than his counterpart. “Help me understand it.”
What had Prompto expected to happen? It was hard to pinpoint his exact
thoughts. He had been so panicked at the time. “They had a gun pointed at his
head,” replied Prompto. “I thought it would at least distract them.” He
shrugged and looked down again. The doctor had finished with his hand was busy
pressing fingers against the bruises on the blonde’s face. Prompto tried not to
flinch.
“Right,” said Clarus a long moment, “Let’s move on then.” And they did, making
him go over everything that had happened in the truck and beyond. When he told
them what the cologne man had truly wanted, or at least what he understood of
it, all three blanched.
Drautos’s voice grew even harsher, demanding, “Are you sure that’s exactly what
he said? Form a Covenant with a few of my men? He used the word Covenant?”
Prompto feared the aggressive tone they were beginning to use with him. He
desperately just wanted this nightmare to be over. “I don’t remember,” he said
suddenly, glancing away from the thunderous faces. “It might have been.”
Outside the room, through the closed door, Prompto could hear voices shouting,
some kind of commotion. Clarus glanced at the Kingsglaive, then motioned the
man out. “See what that is.” Then, he turned back to Prompto and put a patient
look on his face. Still, he couldn’t hide his underlying tension. “Prompto, we
need you to be very clear now. You’re not any trouble. I just want to know
exactly what you remember your attacker saying, to the best of your knowledge.
Please, this could be really helpful for us.”
The shouting in the hall was becoming louder rather than quieter. Clarus swore
under his breath and pulled the door open. Prompto was so distracted by his
buzzing thoughts that it took him a moment to recognize the voices and figures
at the end of the hall.
But eventually comprehension slammed into him, and he jerked his head up just
as his mother’s gaze zeroed in on him. She was arguing with an exasperated
looking Crownsguard and the Kingsglaive Clarus had sent out. With a triumphant
sneer at the guards, she said, “There he is. My son! You have no right to keep
him here.”
“Ma’am,” the guard protested. But Prompto’s mother was a force of be reckoned
with. She strode down the hallway, imperiously ignoring him until she came to
the small room.
She took a moment to absorb in the sight of her son, then she was clasping him
in a tight hug. “Prom, my baby,” she murmured. Despite himself, Prompto felt
tears pricking the corners of his eyes. He wasn’t a child anymore, but he would
never not feel the rush of security and warmth that only his mother could
bring. “I’m taking him home now,” she announced, daring anyone to contradict.
Clarus, braver than the others, put on a soothing air. “Ma’am, I understand how
upset you must be. Your son has endured a great trauma, but I feel it really
would be better were he treated here with all the resources of the Citadel at
our disposal. Perhaps you’d like to sit with him?”
“No, I’m taking him home. Now. If he needs any further treatment, our family
doctor will suffice, just as he always has. Thank you for what you’ve already
done for my son,” she said, not an ounce of gratitude in her voice, “But we’re
leaving.” Just like that, she steered Prompto away, a firm hand on his shoulder
as she pulled him off the cot and down the hallway.
He could hear Clarus arguing with the Kingsglaive Captain behind them as they
turned the corner, but apparently Prompto’s mother was going to get her way,
because they weren’t stopped as they walked out of the Citadel and climbed in
their car. His mother never let up her grip on his shoulder, not until they
were driving away.
They were both silent as Prompto’s mother drove away from the Citadel. Finally,
Prompto, not able to stand the silence anymore, said, “You’re back from your
trip then?”
Her reply was curt. “Yes.”
She didn’t elaborate, so Prompto sighed and leaned his head against the window.
Surprisingly, she was the one that broke the next silence. “Did they see?”
Prompto didn’t need to ask what she referred to. “No,” he replied quietly. He
thought about the way Sylvia had stared at him, like she could see through him.
It hadn’t occurred to him at the time, but now he wondered. It was almost like
she had been staring at his wrist band. He absently rubbed at it. The band had
been a part of him for so long, he hardly thought about it anymore.
“Stop that,” his mother hissed with a quick side glance at him. Prompto
guiltily stopped playing with the band and went back to looking out the window.
Hs mother pulled into their apartment complex parking lot, then turned off the
ignition, but she didn’t exit the car.
“What does the barcode really mean?” Prompto demanded, seizing his chance. “I
think I have a right to know.”
She stared out the window at nothing, finally replying, “You know everything
you need to know. It marks you as different than your friends.”
“It marks me as being from Niflheim,” Prompto guessed with more confidence than
he actually possessed. A thousand clues from his childhood formed together like
puzzle pieces. His parents’ constant trips, arguments in other languages, his
strange familiarity with Niflheimian, the gun in the hidden in his father’s
desk drawer, the constant secrecy.
She closed her eyes like words pained her. “Yes,” she admitted. “It does.”
“Like you,” Prompto pressed, ignoring her apparent discomfort. He wondered if
all Niflheimian babies were marked with the same tattoo. It would have to be a
fairly recent invention, since his mother didn’t have the same tattoo. He
thought about the way that Sylvia had stared at him, the recognition in her
eyes. She had seen him for the outsider that he was. He had one microsecond of
relief that she was dead and unable to betray him, before he felt sick at
himself. Gods, what the hell was wrong with him?
His mother shook her head. “No. But my mother was. She raised me alone in the
slums of Tenebrae, as a part of a Niflheimian immigrant community. There, I saw
the destruction of the Niflheimian military for myself.”
This was the most Prompto had ever heard of his family’s history in all sixteen
years of his life. He stared at his mother with wide eyes.
She sighed. “I was a bright child, you see, much like you. But I’ve always been
especially talented when it comes to languages. I speak Tenebraen, Niflheimian,
and Lucian all without an accent, or with one if I choose to. Few can say the
same.” As she spoke, she demonstrated her talent, her normal Crown City accent
falling to something similar to Ignis’s, then rougher, like the Gralean
immigrants Prompto had met.
He stared at her in wonder, and she blushed, pink spreading across her cheeks.
Prompto wondered how often she got to show off her talent. Unable to rein in
his curiosity, he dared to asked her more questions. “But how did you end up in
the Crown City? And with dad and me?”
He had been too greedy.
Her face closed off. “That is a long and complicated story for another day,
Prompto,” she said, ignoring his disappointed look. “You—you were something
different anyway. We were together your father and I, doing—important work, and
we saw you, and we couldn’t—I couldn’t just leave you there. You were so
vulnerable, so innocent and in terrible danger.”
She swore under her breath and finally said, “It’s hard to explain, and even
harder to understand, I know. But everything I’ve done since we found you,
Prompto, has been for you. I know we haven’t always been the best parents, and
I’m sorry for that, I truly am. But you have to trust that what I’ve done, it’s
all been to protect you.” With that, she fell silent.
She had not given Prompto all the answers he had wanted. But it was the most
honest she had ever been with him, even if it had taken him nearly dying to get
her to open up. “I love you,” he said softly.
She smiled gratefully. “And I you.”
Still, she didn't exit the car. Prompto waited, wondering if she were going to
add more to her story. Finally, she said, “We can't stay here Prompto. I know
you didn’t mean any harm by it, but your friendship with the Prince is too
dangerous. I’m sorry.”
That wasn’t at all what he had expected to hear from her. “What?!”
She didn't look at him. “When your father returns, we’re moving, leaving the
Crown City.”
He blinked in disbelief, struggling to process. He had never, not once in his
sixteen years of life, left the city of Insomnia. “You can't do that!”
Her voice was hard and monotone. “It’s already been decided, Prompto. This is
for your own good.”
It was all too much. Prompto slammed open his car door, hands trembling. “This
is bullshit,” he hissed, not caring how childish the words sounded.
His mother gave no response, simply watching him stalk up the steps to their
apartment.
                                      ***
That night, he locked himself in his room. His faced ached and itched, but the
doctor had warned him that the elixir they had given him would cause that. He
sat in front of his computer, just staring at a blank screen. Usually he would
work on his photographs, but his camera had been in his book bag, and he had no
idea where that was.
Nothing felt real. It wasn’t possible that this morning he had been at track
club, only to be attacked and nearly die several times over. And now, despite
all odds, he was sitting in the dark, staring a bluish screen, trying not to
scratch at the new skin on his face.
He had murdered a man this afternoon. Nothing should feel the same, and yet it
did.
What did that make him?
Prompto’s sleep that night was restless and full of formless dreams. He woke
constantly, drenched in sweat, out of breath, and shaking.
Finally, he gave up and got back on his computer. He had an email from Ignis,
asking if he was alright. For a moment, he stared at it, dumbfounded as to why
Ignis would email him instead of just sending a text, but then he remembered
with a sick jolt that their kidnappers had destroyed his phone. Noctis and the
others had no easy way to contact him right now.
He emailed back, saying he was as fine as could be expected, knowing full well
that Ignis would probably grasp a lot by the fact that his reply had been sent
at 3 in the morning. He had no idea how to say, my mom is some sort of secret
agent, spy person and she thinks we’re too vulnerable in Insomnia, so she wants
to make us move away. Guess I’ll never see you again, but thanks for the
rescue. Also, I shot and killed a guy this afternoon and no one seems disturbed
or upset by that.
He didn’t expect to get a reply back. After all, it was 3 in the morning. But
Ignis surprised him by immediately replying back that he was glad Prompto was
doing all right. Noctis was still asleep and drugged, and likely would be until
tomorrow, but Ignis would let him know when the prince awoke if he wanted.
Prompto replied that he was grateful, and he would like that very much.
There wasn’t a real trigger for what happened next as Prompto hit the send
button. But suddenly, Prompto was shutting his computer off with shaking hands.
He curled up in his chair and drew his knees under himself. Then he cried with
stifled whimpers and hiccupping breaths. It was as if he didn’t have the energy
for a bigger breakdown. But tears still blurred his vision long into the
morning.
                                      ***
The next morning, Prompto’s mother said to him, “I’m going out. I’ll be back
tonight. I expect you to stay in the house today, do you understand?”
Prompto protested, “It’s Monday. I have school!”
She remained firm. “I’ve already called the office. You have the flu. They
won’t expect to see you for the next few days at least. Stay home Prompto. I’ll
see you tonight.”
Prompto deflated, accepting his defeat. He wondered if she wanted to keep him
away from Noctis and the others. It wasn’t like Noctis would have gone to
school today anyway. Even with all the healing magic of the Citadel, he had
still been stabbed in the chest and nearly burned to a crisp.
Prompto’s nails and face continued to itch as he sat home alone. It should have
been nice to have the time to do nothing, but being stuck in the house by
himself left him with far too much time to think, his thoughts racing in all
sorts of directions he didn’t want them to go. Like the hole he had put in the
back of a man’s head.
There were, of course, all the revelations from his mother to sort through. Her
insistence that they flee the Crown City as soon as his father returned. He
told himself that she hadn’t meant it, that she couldn’t mean it. She was just
frightened and lashing out, but once things calmed down she would see reason.
She had to.
But even with that on his mind, mostly he couldn’t stop thinking about what he
had done. In particular, how it had felt to hold the gun in his hand.
His wrist itched, and he rubbed at it, only to realize what he was doing and
then shove his hands under his lap where they couldn’t betray him.
Was there even such thing as being a natural gunman? The ability to shoot
straight was a skill, something that had to be honed, wasn’t it? It didn’t make
sense. Running was another thing he was good at, and that too had needed to be
honed. People usually didn’t begin competitive running with the correct stride
or the most efficient movements. It had to be taught and practiced. And yet
shooting was an even less natural activity than running.
Prompto drummed his fingers against his thigh, feeling like a stranger in his
own skin. What did it all mean?
Still trapped within his circling thoughts, he drummed his fingers some more.
His knee bounced up and down. Then he stood up in a fit of sudden resolution.
Making a decision seemed to lift a heavy weight off of his chest, and so with
confidence he didn’t actually feel, he walked across the hall to his father’s
study. The door was locked. But it was a simple lock, one a child could
overcome with a coat hanger. His father had never suspected that Prompto would
ever do what he was about to do, and so he had never bothered to truly secure
his things.
Prompto straightened a wire coat hanger and went to work, taking less than ten
seconds to undo the lock. Then he was inside. The drawer where he had once seen
his father hide a gun years ago wasn’t locked, and for a second Prompto was
afraid he had risked his father’s wrath for nothing. But no, there was the gun,
years later in the same place. It was some sort of large pistol, silver and
gleaming. Prompto hesitated before delicately picking it up, holding it like
the thing could go off in his hands at any second.
What he was about to do was insane. His mother was going to kill him. But even
that thought couldn’t stop him. After all, what could his mother do to him that
the cologne man hadn’t already done?
Probably a lot, actually, but he wasn’t going to dwell on that.
Prompto took the gun back to his room. His speaker was cheap, yet loud. He
connected it to his computer, put on some screaming, head bashing music, then
raised the volume until the walls were literally vibrating. He wasn’t sure how
well blasting metal music could cover up the sound of a gun shot, but it was
the best idea he could come up with. Prompto’s family lived in a lower middle
class, blue collar apartment complex, and there were plenty of third shift
workers sleeping right now who would be furious, with no qualms about letting
him know.
Having made his cover noise, he pulled up a stool, placed it at one end of the
room, and put a used can of green beans on top of that.
This had to be the stupidest plan he had ever come up with. He didn’t even know
if the gun was loaded, and he had no idea how to check. Yesterday he hadn’t had
to think about it. The strange and terrifying knowledge of how to use the tool
made for killing had simply come to him, uninvited.
Prompto backed up until he was as far away from the can as possible, about ten
feet. Far less distance than he shot the cologne man from yesterday. He raised
the gun with trembling hands, taking a deep breath to steady himself.
When he pulled the trigger, nothing happened.
He had to laugh at himself then. This was ridiculous. There was a little button
next to the trigger, clearly in the ‘on’ position. Trying to get his heartbeat
back under control, Prompto turned off the safety, then pointed the gun once
more.
Again, he pulled the trigger, not giving himself any more time to hesitate. The
gun blasted out with far more force than he had been expecting. It recoiled,
jerking his arms up roughly and painfully. The pushback was so much that he
narrowly avoided hitting himself in the nose. Even having experienced it
yesterday, he felt his ears ringing from the impact.
There was no way his metal music was going to cover that up.
Arms stinging, he ignored his ringing ears, leaning forward to inspect the
green bean can on the stool. It sat there innocently, completely unharmed. With
a frown, Prompto stared around, trying to see where the stray bullet had
actually gone.
There, by his bed, a hole in the wall. Great.
His whole body still shook with adrenalin as he glared at the gun, feeling
irrationally like the thing had betrayed him. How had he managed to put a hole
in a man’s head from twenty feet away yesterday, yet could not put a scratch in
a green bean can a day later?
He stared at the gun. It was larger and heavier than the pistol he had used
yesterday, and thus needed to be held and aimed with that in mind. Somewhere in
the back of his thoughts, a calculation ran. He should have held the gun with
two hands, his dominant hand first and the other tight over it to help
stabilize his grip and avoid that recoil that had nearly taken off his arm.
Arms not locked, but not too bent either.
He suddenly realized that he had backed up and was once again pointing the gun
at the green bean can. His heart raced. There was a rectangular notch on the
barrel to help his aim, but he had no need for such things. This time when he
squeezed the trigger, he was prepared for the incredible force that jarred his
arms and the noise shook the room. The can toppled from its place on the stool,
a smoking hole dead center in the aluminum.
Prompto slowly lowered the gun.
Well, Shit.
                                      ***
                            **Gladiolus Amicitia**
                                      ***
Gladio knew that when Kingsglaive bonded with the king, they were usually
allowed to sleep off the strain of their new bond for several days. They were
considered useless during that time, and that was taking into account the
experience the king had in creating bonds. Noctis was much newer at the
process, clearly, and just as Noctis tended to use far too much wasted energy
in warping, Gladio suspected that he used far too much energy in creating his
covenants.
Which all was to say that Gladio really should be recuperating for the
foreseeable future, rather than what he was actually doing, which was keeping
vigil over Noctis’s sick bed.
Noctis was deeply asleep, dragged into unconsciousness by some sort of
concoction the doctors had given him. They had been worried about how hard he
had pushed himself with his magic, coupled with his injuries, and had decided a
drug enforced rest would be best. The King had sat with Gladio for the first
few hours in silence, but finally his duty had called him away. Ignis had been
the same. A page had come at some point to summon the advisor to Clarus’s side,
and he followed with a heavy look at Gladio. And still Gladio remained, sitting
on the cot next to Noctis’s bed.
Gladio knew that his father would want to talk to him the way they had talked
to Prompto, but he didn’t trust Noctis to be alone. Not now, while the prince
was asleep and vulnerable. Not after seeing everything he had witnessed about
their attackers. The kidnappers’ information and aid had come from within the
Citadel, and until Gladio could discover who exactly had betrayed them, Noctis
was not safe.
Noctis’s cot was far larger than the one Gladio was perched on, so when Gladio
finally couldn’t take it anymore, he gently pressed Noctis closer to the edge
of his bed and then curled himself around the teenager. It was stupid and
probably overdone, but there was no way he could relax after everything that
had happened. If someone attacked again, the seconds it would take to move from
one bed to the other were too many to contemplate.
Noctis’s usual scent was hidden under the acrid smell of old blood and sweat.
Gladio sighed, and did his best to ignore it as he shifted next to the smaller
teenager. Finally settled around his prince, Gladio let himself sleep.
                                      ***
Sometime later, Gladio suddenly awoke to shadows and lights flickering above
him. He snarled, raising a fist defensively.
“Whoa there, big guy. It’s just me.”
Gladio blinked. Then Ignis’s bespectacled face swam into focus. The frantic
looking advisor was waving at him and whispering, “Hurry up. Your father is
about to walk in. You don’t want him to find you like this, do you?”
“Huh?” It took Gladio a moment longer to grasp what Ignis was talking about,
but then he remembered how he had fallen asleep. He scrambled to get off the
bed, barely managing before Clarus pushed the door open.
The older Shield took in the sight of Ignis and Gladio standing guiltily next
to Noctis’s bed and let out a slow sigh. “Leave us,” he said with a curt wave
to Ignis. The advisor’s gaze flickered hesitantly to Gladio, but he obeyed.
Gladio stood at attention despite the strain it put on his injured leg. “Would
you like me to report, sir?” he asked, scrambling to collect his wits.
Clarus didn’t answer, instead choosing to look at the sleeping prince. Finally,
he asked his son, “Do you remember the conversation we had when you first
joined the Crownsguard? It was under rather similar circumstances.”
Of course Gladio remembered. Standing over the sleeping prince, his father had
told Gladio that his sole purpose in life was to protect Noctis. That any of
Gladio’s needs, whether they be romantic or otherwise, would always come second
to his prince.
“Yes,” replied Gladio, holding himself stiffly. He had thought that his father
wanted to hear the details of what they had experienced while it was still
fresh in his memory. But now he wondered if his father had a secondary purpose
in coming here. After all, Gladio had directly disobeyed his father and
facilitated Noctis and Ignis’s ill-advised escape from the Citadel. Maybe he
was about to get the chewing out of a lifetime.
Gladio could only grit his teeth and wait.
The older Shield took a deep breath, then spoke, keeping his eyes on Noctis.
“You cannot be both lover and Shield, Gladiolus.”
This was literally the last conversation Gladio wanted to have with his father.
It was up there with the ‘how to use a condom and avoid STDs’ demonstration
they’d had when he was fourteen. “I know that,” he said, trying and failing to
clamp down on his defensiveness.
Clarus’s gaze was fierce as he turned back to face his son. “Do you?” he
demanded. “I’m beginning to have my doubts. Twice now, I’ve seen you in bed
with your prince--.”
So he had noticed them in the hospital bed just now.
“Fucking Six, dad. Don’t you know anything about me?” Gladio interrupted, “I’m
straight. Straight! If you’re angry that I didn’t do my best to traumatize him
while I was taking his fucking virginity--.”
“Enough!” Clarus hissed. He glared at his son, raising his fist aggressively.
He took a deep breath and forcibly lowered his arms. “You will not speak about
your prince that way.”
“What way?” jeered Gladio, “The truth?” he glared at his father and wondered
why the older Shield was so incredibly concerned about his relationship with
Noctis. Concerned enough to have this discussion right after they had been
viciously attacked, before even getting Gladio’s statement.
Then he realized. It had to be. Clarus knew about, or at least suspected
Noctis’s feelings for his Shield. The ones that Ignis had told Gladio about
last night. It seemed literally everyone had known except for him. “I can
handle a teenage crush,” he added for good measure.
Clarus shook his head. “That’s where you’re making a mistake. Prince Noctis
Lucis Caelum will never be just a teenager, and you cannot treat him as such.”
“I know—.”
“Let me finish!” thundered the older Shield. “The Kings of Lucis are different
than the rest of us. They live magic, breathe it. Now that he is awakened to
his magic and his connection to the Crystal, you cannot expect Prince Noctis to
act as rationally as you or I. His magic will call to him in ways we cannot
begin to understand.”
Gladio wanted to say that he knew that as well, thank you very much. But since
he had been yelled at before, he held his silence. Clarus continued, “The
Amicitia have been protecting our Kings for centuries, and in that time we’ve
learned a few --trends that have proven fairly reliable. For example, the
effect that the crystal magic has on its users.”
“That it steals their physical energy and weakens them? Everyone knows that.”
Clarus ignored his son’s hostile tone. “And yet, they continue to use it.
Despite the damage the Crystal does to their bodies.”
“They have to,” said Gladio with a frown. “Lucis would fall without a king.”
“And yet, no king has ever in a thousand years shirked his or her duty to that
end.”
“What are you saying?”
“I’m saying that once an heir to the royal magic begins to use his connection
to the Crystal, he does not stop. Again, it’s no guarantee, but it is a trend
that’s proven reliable in the past. Though Prince Noctis complains bitterly of
the lengths you push him to, he would eventually find an excuse to use his
magic on his own, whether or not you were there. His magic calls to him,
begging to be unleashed.”
Still, Gladio did not understand his father’s point. “Why are you telling me
this?”
“Because, Gladio, think! In what ways do you expect a hormonal teenager will be
driven to use his magic now that he had begun? You’re his Shield. You must
protect him, even if it’s from himself. And you can't do that if you cannot
decide what you are to him.”
Gladio stared at his father. Could it be true? He thought about the events of
the past week, their fight in the bunker. Within days of not training with
Gladio, the prince had come to him, saying that he was ready to perform the
ritual. What it that simple? No. That was ridiculous. Noctis came to Gladio
because the teenager had caved under all the pressure surrounding himself, not
because of some unfulfilled need to use his magic.
“I’ve never heard that before,” Gladio said suspiciously.
“You’re hearing it now,” replied Clarus. Then he said, “Now can I, or can I
not, trust you to do your duty?”
Gladio snarled at the judgment in his father’s voice, but he answered,
“Always.”
Clarus nodded. “Good.” Just like that, he accepted his son’s words and was
ready to move on with the conversation. “Now, tell me everything that happened
this afternoon.”
And so Gladio did. He didn’t have to explain to his father what the duffle bag
of elixirs and potions meant, or the radio that picked up the official Crown
channel. He told Clarus about how, in his disorientation, he had been defeated
by two of their attackers. How he had used magic he didn’t yet understand to
heal his prince. Gladio spoke succinctly about his realization of what the
kidnappers were after and the numbed, cold calculation that had led him to
fight back, despite the danger that action posed to Prompto.
When he was finished, Clarus said, “Even though I don’t agree with how you
chose to fulfill the Covenant with Prince Noctis, you did well, Gladio, with
the tools that you had. No one could say differently.”
Gladio swallowed uncomfortably. He wasn’t used to direct praise from his
father, nor was he that sure that his decisions had been the right ones.
Everyone was alive and safe, but that was due mostly to blind luck. And they
had little to no information on their attackers.
Clarus added, “As to your suspicions of help from inside the Citadel, I hope I
don’t need to tell you to keep that to yourself for now. I’ll speak to the King
personally about this and talk to Drautos about which guards he trusts the
most. Together we will get to the bottom of this.”
Gladio nodded, and with that, his father left.
                                      ***
                              **Ignis Scientia**
                                      ***
Ignis was concerned for Prompto. Of course, you couldn’t really get tone out of
an email, but still, Ignis knew the blonde well enough to know that his
responses to Ignis’s queries had been out of character. Not that they shouldn’t
be. After all, he had been incredibly traumatized. Perhaps it would have been
stranger if he had replied normally.
But still.
After being dismissed from the room for Gladio and Clarus to have their
conversation, Ignis had left to run some errands, speaking to a Kingsglaive
about the investigation into the attack. Later that night, he came back to
Noct’s room to find Gladio still there. The two of them finally sat down, and
Gladio detailed the events of their kidnapping. That was the first time that
Ignis realized the role that Prompto had played in ending the threat.
“He shot this Viktor person? Actually shot him with an actual gun? Prompto?”
“Yeah,” replied Gladio. “It was pretty incredible. Got him in the back of the
head from like twenty feet away.” Gladio blinked tiredly at Ignis through the
dark circles under his eyes. “Why?”
Ignis didn’t answer right away, his thoughts circling. Finally, he asked,
“Where is he now?”
“Who, Prompto? I heard his mom came to pick him up. Heard she was pretty
terrifying too. Walked right up to both my dad and Drautos and told them she
was taking him home and they could suck a dick if they didn’t like it.”
Ignis narrowed his eyes. “Both your father and Captain Drautos were questioning
Prompto? Why both of them?”
At that, Gladio looked down at his lap. His voice grew harsher. “The king put
my dad in charge of the investigation, true. But Drautos personally asked to be
involved.” He looked back up at Ignis. “Guard Adrian was with the Kingsglaive
before Drautos transferred him to the Crownsguard. It isn’t supposed to work
like that, but they made a special exception.” Gladio paused again and took
another deep breath. “He was supporting two kids and pregnant wife, Ignis. They
took him off the frontlines to keep him safe!”
“I know,” Ignis replied quietly. “I’ve trained with him before. He spoke of his
family quite often.”
“Astrals.”
After that, Ignis insisted that Gladio get some actual rest, saying that he
would watch over Noctis for a while. Gladio seemed to struggle with that, but
eventually he nodded. “Just—don’t leave him alone, okay?”
“I won't,” Ignis promised. And he didn’t. He sat there all night, emailing
Prompto and doing what work he could from his laptop. Noctis never woke up and
was still unconscious when Gladio came back early the next morning.
“Now it’s your turn,” Gladio said, hauling Ignis bodily up from his perch. “Get
some sleep, Specs.”
He complied, choosing to stay in his room at the Citadel rather than go to
apartment alone. Ignis slept barely three hours, but what Gladio didn’t know
about wouldn’t hurt him. After it had been long enough, he texted the Shield.
I: Noct awake?
G: No.
G: Doc said they’re taking him off the sedative this afternoon or evening
though.
I: Understood.
With that, Ignis went to the Citadel IT department and requested a cellphone.
He had to use his special clearance as the prince’s aid to get one, but
eventually they relented. Then he headed towards a part of the city filled with
rows and rows of small apartments.
When he knocked on the front door of Prompto’s apartment, no one answered, and
for a moment he thought he had driven over here for nothing. But then just as
he was about to leave, the blonde teen answered the door.
Ignis took a moment to take in the sight of his young friend. Prompto looked
like he had gotten about as much sleep as Ignis had. His nose was still a
sickly yellow color from the remnants of his magically healed bruising, and his
eyes were narrowed in suspicion. “Ignis?”
Ignis smiled disarmingly and asked, “May I come in, Prom?”
He wasn’t surprised when Prompto hesitated at those words. After all, not a
single one of them had yet to be invited to Prompto’s house. There had to be a
reason for that, but Ignis ignored that suspicion in favor of smiling brighter
and pretending not to see Prompto’s hesitation. It was all very Gladio of him.
As Ignis pushed his way inside, he said, “I wanted to check up on you, see how
you were doing. Also, I’ve brought you a little something.” Ignis stopped
inside the entryway and waited patiently for Prompto to catch up and lead him
somewhere else, such as the kitchen.
Instead, Prompto said, “My mom’s not home.”
Ignis raised an eyebrow. “Are you not allowed guests when your parents aren’t
home? I was under the impression that they’re away rather often.”
“It’s not that,” replied Prompto, hesitating again. “Never mind. Do you want
something to drink?”
Ignis nodded and then followed Prompto into the small kitchen. “A glass of
water would be fine. Or coffee, if you have it.”
“We do,” Prompto replied without looking at him.
Ignis hadn’t expected this to be as awkward as it was, but he soldiered on,
watching as Prompto set up the percolator with familiar movements. “I heard
your mother came to pick you up.”
“She did.”
Ignis sighed inwardly. “Well, I--.”
Prompto interrupted him suddenly, “What does it mean, to covenant with the
prince?” He jerked back around from the coffee maker, eyes desperate and wide.
Ignis should have seen this coming, but he didn’t, and now he floundered.
“Prompto . . .” he began, unable to figure how to end that sentence. He didn’t
feel like it was his place to tell that truth since Noctis had clearly
purposefully kept it from Prompto, but at the same time, this had affected
Prompto to the point where he deserved to know at least something.
As Ignis’s silence stretched too long, the blonde sagged, his face falling.
Turning back to the bubbling coffee, he muttered, “Never mind. I’d rather not
know than see you lie to my face.” With those words, he shrank into himself
defensively.
It was times like this where Ignis was struck by the differences in his two
younger friends. Noctis would have been just as angry if he felt Ignis were
hiding something from him, but where Prompto lacked the confidence to demand
answers, Noctis possessed the entitlement of his birth, the belief that he
deserved certain truths.
“It isn’t that I don't want to talk to you about that, Prompto,” Ignis said
gently, “But I’m honestly not sure it’s my place. I think this is a
conversation better had with Noctis.” Of course, Noctis would likely never be
willing talk about the covenant with anyone, but Ignis couldn’t control that.
Prompto did not look at Ignis. “Yeah,” he agreed noncommittally.
Ignis sighed again, then made a decision despite his reservations. “To covenant
with the prince, or any royal Lucian really, is to form a magical bond with him
or her.” The advisor waited as Prompto turned back around slowly, his
expression wary, but avid. Then he continued, “It’s what lets the royal
retainers use magic.”
“So those people wanted access to Noct’s magic?” asked Prompto.
“Yes,” Ignis confirmed.
Prompto’s eyes narrowed. “What part of making this Covenant requires you to get
naked?”
Ignis really should have prepared for this sort of conversation before going to
visit Prompto. “It’s a rather intimate . . . procedure,” he replied. “Look,
Prompto—.”
The blonde interrupted before Ignis could deflect him, “Are you covenanted with
Noctis?”
Ignis stared at him. Finally, he answered in a slightly strangled voice, “Yes.”
Prompto didn’t pause, firing off his questions now. “With the king too?”
“No. Just Noctis.”
“And Gladio?”
“Gladio is as well.”
Prompto seemed to process that for a moment, then he said, “He talked to me
about it, you know.”
“I’m sure he did. He values your opinion very much.”
Prompto acted like he hadn’t heard Ignis. “He didn’t call it what it was. But
he said he had to do something with you, something he was afraid would ruin
your whole friendship.”
At that, Ignis’s chest clenched tightly, though he tried not to show it. But
Prompto was watching his reactions closely, and Ignis saw the blonde pick up on
his discomfort.
The percolator beeped, and Prompto poured the coffee, setting it on the table
in front of Ignis. “You said you brought me something?” he asked, suddenly
changing the topic. And there was another difference. Prompto was far more
giving in some ways than his prince, particularly in social situations. Of
course, Prompto hadn’t been asked to give nearly to the extent that Noct had in
his short life.
Taking the offered reprieve, Ignis held up the package in his hand. “Your book
bag and camera are still in evidence lockup, unfortunately, but I’ll bring that
by as soon as I can. Meanwhile, here’s a new cellphone. I took the liberty to
program mine and Noct’s number, though you’ll have put in any others you’d
like.”
“You didn’t have to do that,” Prompto said, even as he reached for the box.
Ignis raised an eyebrow wryly. “I think it was the least we could do, actually.
Don’t worry, I didn't pay for it. These are the same ones they give Kingsglaive
and Crownsguard.”
Prompto looked at the phone, then back at Ignis. “Thank you,” he said.
“You are very welcome.” Ignis watched as Prompto slid the phone from its
plastic wrappings, examining it. “I was worried, you know,” Ignis said after a
moment.
Prompto looked up. “Worried about what?”
“That you wouldn’t want anything to do with us after what happened. That you
were rethinking your friendship with Noctis.”
With a frown, Prompto paused his examination and asked, “That’s not why you
brought me this, is it?”
Ignis shook his head. “No. I brought you that because I wanted to. And it was
an excuse to see if you were doing okay, since you left the Citadel rather
abruptly.”
“Yeah, my mom is –something else.”
Ignis snorted. “Gladio seemed very impressed with how she spoke to his father.”
“He would be.” Prompto rolled his eyes. Then he said earnestly, “Iggy, I would
never leave Noctis. Not willingly anyway. You have to believe that.”
Ignis looked at his friend. Out of all of them, Prompto was the one that Ignis
knew the least about and was probably the least close to. “I do believe you,
Prompto,” he replied, “I very much do.” But there was something there,
something in Prompto’s expression that set Ignis’s hackles up.
The blonde was hiding something.
Ignis thought about how this teenager had shot a man in cold blood yesterday,
saving his and his friends’ lives in the process of course. But still, that had
to be a hard thing to live with. Was it as simple as Prompto not having any
idea of how to deal with the aftermath of what happened? Or was there more
going on?
                                      ***
Chapter End Notes
     Thank you again for all the support. Y'all are the best and I adore
     every comment and kudo. :)
***** The Fight, Flight, or Freeze Response *****
Chapter Summary
     Prompto continues to have an existential crisis, Noctis and Gladio
     pull each other's pigtails, and Ignis fights a one-man crusade
     against the overwhelming force of government bureaucracy.
Chapter Notes
     *Warning for trauma dream that involves some triggering thoughts/
     fears of sexual assault. If you want to skip it, skip the first
     Noctis section.
See the end of the chapter for more notes
                                      ***
                             **Prompto Argentum**
                                      ***
After Ignis left, Prompto went back to experimenting with the gun. He didn’t
try to shoot it again, too afraid that someone would wonder what the hell was
going on. But he laid the weapon down on the kitchen table and stared at it.
Then he pulled out a few pins, twisting pieces apart until the gun was
disassembled. He picked up each part and felt its weight in his hand and the
cool touch of metal. Then he put the weapon back together again, sans bullets.
When he finished, he pulled the trigger and heard the satisfying click of a
correctly assembled handgun. Then he did it all over again, but faster.
He found that he was far quicker and more successful when he didn’t give
himself time to think about what he was doing. It was like he had some sort of
muscle memory begging to be unleashed if only his waking brain would cease
interfering long enough to let it happen. When had he learned this? How? And if
this had been inside of him all this time, what else was lurking in his
subconscious?
He thought about how easy it had been to shoot the cologne man. How numb he had
felt. Like a machine.
With a sick feeling, Prompto finally picked up the gun and took it back to his
father’s study. There, he realized that he had made a glaring mistake. All he’d
had to do to unlock his father’s study was push a wire coat hanger into the
hole in the doorknob until it clicked. The lock was simple, as was the key, but
Prompto didn’t have the key. He had no way to relock the door from the outside.
His parents would know he had been in the study, but would they suspect he had
taken the gun? There were two bullets missing from it now, but did his father
know offhand how many had been in the weapon to start with? How often did he
use the gun? Prompto had no way of knowing.
The blonde took a deep breath and decided that there was nothing he could do
about it now. He would just have to keep his cool, feign ignorance, and hope
his parents didn’t notice. There wasn’t really anything else.
                                      ***
Later that night, Prompto’s mother came home, dragging two suitcases. She
seemed haggard and tired, but she smiled at him and asked, “How are you
feeling, Prom? Your bruises doing any better?”
He nodded mutely, then raised his eyebrows at the suitcases. Following his
gaze, she explained, “These are for you, Prom. We won't be able to take
everything with us, so I need you to decide what you think is most important to
you. Everything you’re taking needs to fit in these two suitcases.”
It wasn’t that Prompto had forgotten her sudden plan to make them leave the
country. It was rather impossible to forget. But it hadn’t felt real, and he
had been so consumed with his gun experiments. He opened his mouth to argue,
but something in her face stopped him. Despite her earlier warm words, there
was no emotion in her expression, her eyes steely and hard. She added, “You’re
not to leave this house until you’ve done what I’ve asked you to do.”
Silently, he took the two suitcases from her and walked to his room, shutting
the door behind him. In his room, he wondered what would happen if he ‘lost’
the suitcases. Likely his mother would still make him move to Tenebrae or
wherever it was that they were truly going, but without his clothing or things.
It wasn’t fair.
As he was brooding, his new phone dinged, showing a text from Noctis. N: Hey.
Prompto stared at it. Just one word, and it left him with no clue as to
Noctis’s true feelings or mood. Was the prince struggling as much as Prompto
was? Was he angry? Did he feel abandoned because Prompto had left the Citadel
before he had awoken? Finally, Prompto replied: Hi.
The squiggle line that said Noct was typing displayed for a moment, then went
away, but no text came through. Prompto frowned as the squiggle line came back,
disappeared, then reappeared again. He was about to brave sending another text
when his phone dinged again. N: You okay?
How to answer that? Ignis had asked him the same question, and the blonde
hadn’t trusted him with anything close to the truth. Could Prompto tell Noctis
about his newfound firearms talent? No. Prompto couldn’t tell anyone, not until
he understood himself where it had come from. What if he were some deep-state
sleeper agent sent from Niflheim to hurt Noctis? How would he be able to tell?
His mother had said, I know you mean well, but your friendship with the prince
is too dangerous. Dangerous because Prompto himself was dangerous? But when he
had held the gun, even in the throes of his panic and lacking all self-control,
he had turned the weapon on Noct’s enemy, not the prince himself. That hadto
count for something.
Could he tell Noctis about his parents’ plan to flee the country? That would
require some sort of explanation as to why, and if Prompto wasn’t careful he
would edge somewhere too close to the truth. Eventually, he replied: I’ve been
better. But I’m doing okay.
N: Same. They won't let me out of this fucking hospital room and I’m going
crazy.
Prompto felt something loosen in his chest. He grinned at the phone and typed
out his response. P: Going?
N: Har, har. N: You should come over here tom.
Noctis had never invited Prompto to the Citadel before. They always hung out at
the apartment. He wondered if Noctis would ever go back to that apartment
again. If it had been his home that had been attacked like that, Prompto wasn’t
sure he could ever feel safe there again. P: I’ll try. My mom is pissed tho.
N: Gladio told me. I’m sorry you have to deal with that.
P: She’ll get over it.
N: Yeah.
That ended their conversation. Prompto stared at the suitcases and tried to
make himself open one up and start on his mother’s appointed task. He couldn’t.
Instead, he decided to go to bed early, but found that sleep was as elusive as
the answers to his burning questions.
Finally, around midnight, Prompto stood up, intent on getting a glass of water.
He walked silently through the dark apartment. But when he got to the kitchen,
he found his mother still awake.
Prompto could only make out her outline as she hadn’t bothered to turn on a
light either. She sat alone at the kitchen table, silent as he was. He could
smell the faint scent of peppermint from the mug in her hands. She didn’t
acknowledge him, so Prompto followed her lead, ignoring her as well. Instead,
he walked passed her, felt around for the cabinet handle above the sink, then
withdrew a glass. As he turned on the sink, the sound of rushing water seemed
to echo out, breaking something fragile about the silence between Prompto’s
mother and himself.
“I killed someone,” Prompto exclaimed suddenly, the words just slipping out as
if they had been summoned from a void. He couldn’t see his mother’s face,
shrouded in the darkness. He had no idea if she was surprised or horrified or
even unimpressed.
The ticking of the hall clock filled the space between them for a long moment
before she replied, “I know.” Her words were even, telling Prompto nothing
about how she truly felt.
How did she know? Prompto had not told her any details. Had someone at the
Citadel explained the kidnapping to her? His hands shook around his glass of
water. “Does that make me a monster?”
“No, Prompto,” she sighed, clinking the mug of tea on the table. “It makes you
human. And only as monstrous as all the rest of us.”
Prompto allowed himself to gulp his water. It felt like ash in his mouth.
                                      ***
                              **Ignis Scientia**
                                      ***
Meanwhile, at the Citadel, Ignis was trying to convince himself that he would
not slap this random administrator.
He stood in front of a counter within the Crownsguard headquarters, glaring at
the man behind it. Clarus had asked him to begin the process of tracing back
exactly where the duffel bag of potions and ethers had come from. “I was told
by Councilor and Shield Amicitia himself to make an inventory of the evidence
collected yesterday afternoon,” he explained for the umpteenth time.
The man shook his stubbornly. “And I’m telling you. You’re not on the file as
an approved person. Get the correct form filled out by the lead investigator
and come back.”
“I’m the personal aid to Prince Noctis. I am not some random Crownsguard.”
“Sir,” the administrator repeated, “I’m sorry. But Captain Drautos himself gave
everything related to the kidnapping incident a level five security clearance.
I cannot just let you in there because you want it. Come back with the correct
security clearance form.”
Ignis would not slap this man who was just trying to do his job. He wouldn’t.
Instead, the advisor gave the man one last mutinous glare, and then said
stiffly, “I thank you for your time. I will be back shortly.”
                                      ***
                            **Noctis Lucis Caelum**
                                      ***
Noctis was walking in a dark and murky place, full of shifting smoke but
otherwise featureless. He traveled through the empty plain with purpose, even
though there was no difference between the ground and the air, no shadow behind
him or light above him. In the dream, it didn’t occur to him to wonder where he
was going or why, just that he had to get there.
“Noctis Lucis Caelum.” The words echoed everywhere and nowhere. They boomed and
whirled through him, stopping him dead in his tracks. He could not so much as
lift a foot.
Unwillingly, he turned around. He saw that a Figure had appeared far in the
distance. It stood so far away that he could barely make out its humanoid
shape, but still, he could feel its eyes on him, ancient and implacable. If he
squinted, he thought he could see wings at its back and the shine of armor on
its chest.
This distant Figure was the one who had called his name. He didn’t wonder at
how he knew that, just that he did. And he knew also that he had no desire to
go towards the Figure.
With a jerk of his head, he turned back around and continued walking, suddenly
able to move as if he had never stood frozen in the first place. He could feel
its eyes boring into back of his head, but he did his best to ignore the
prickling sensation.
A different voice, a smaller one, whispered urgently in the recesses of his
mind as he walked. Not that way. It’s not safe!
But Noctis did not have any other way to go. To turn around would mean facing
the Figure in the distance, and he couldn’t bear to do that. So he walked, and
as he did so, the smoke fell away. Colors swirled around Noct, and then he was
falling, wind rushing past him. In the way of dreams, it didn’t occur to him to
panic until he was already standing on his feet again.
He landed somewhere more solid than the smoky plain he had left. Abandoned
tools and dust littered the ground around him, and with a swell of horror, he
realized he was back in the abandoned factory his kidnappers had taken him to.
Tom, no, Viktor stood in front of him, puffing on a cigarette and grinning
smugly.
Once again, Noctis stood frozen, his body refusing to obey the shrieking
commands of his mind. As he stood there, the sickly scent of the man’s cologne
washed over Noctis. “You were always going to whore yourself out, Son of Lucis.
Don’t kid yourself,” the cologne man said cruelly.
Noctis tried to back away, to make his limbs work, but then the man was on him,
pushing Noctis down, trapping him, suffocating him. The prince felt the man’s
heavy erection pressed against his thigh, and he finally thrashed, struggling
with all of his might. “Help me!” shrieked Noctis. His attacker rutted into his
thigh, the man’s putrid breath pulsing against his face. Noctis twisted his
head, trying desperately to get away.
As Viktor continued to hold him down, Noctis pushed against him with everything
he had. A mix of fire, ice, and electricity exploded out of him, blasting the
man off of his body. Wild elements raged around Noctis with horrifying,
destructive power as the teen struggled back to his feet.
“You will have nothing of me,” he spat fiercely.
Before Noct could gather his wits again, smoke swirled. He blinked. Then
suddenly, the Being from earlier in the dream stood before him, close enough
that Noctis could see the vastness behind its eyes. It cocked its head, seeming
to consider Noctis, and then it swept its hands sideways. The visage of the
factory disappeared, leaving only the emptiness of the dreamscape behind.
Noctis stared up at the Figure. Something terrible was about to happen. Noctis
could taste it in his mouth and feel it in the shivers racing up and down his
arms. The murky landscape remained silent as the Figure stood there waiting. It
was giving him a chance to surrender himself.
The teen did not. And so, the Figure called out a final time, “Noctis. Lucis.
Caelum.”
Noctis’s name surged around him, trapping him within its shape, binding him
deeper, hooking under his skin and defining him. Finally, after what seemed
like an endless moment, he was able to look up. The Figure still stood above
him, its face a white mask, eyes black and soulless. Not wings, but a dozen
swords swirled around the Being, circling behind its back as its words blasted
across Noctis. “Will you deny your name, Son of Lucis?”
Noctis’s name was a gift from his father. It connected him to a thousand years
of men and women who had sacrificed everything they held dear for the love and
safety of their people. His name was terrible and powerful, and it belonged to
him in a way nothing else in this world ever would.
“No,” he said, the words heavy on his tongue. “I will not deny it.”
“Then submit,” commanded the Being.
Before he could reply, they were interrupted. “Not yet,” came a new voice,
older and harsher than Noctis’s own. The prince turned around, already knowing
who he would see. His father had appeared behind him, tall and proud. The
Being’s expression did not change, but its annoyance was palpable.
“You have no place here,” It said.
King Regis’s lips twitched. He walked forward a few steps until he stood next
to his son, and then he placed his hand on the prince’s shoulder. “Neither do
you. Not yet. You promised me time for my child to become a man, and time is
what I will have from you,” the king said, his voice as regal and commanding as
the Being that faced him. “Now. Please, stop tormenting my son.”
Noctis frowned and looked up at his father. “Dad, are you a part of my dream?”
The question seemed a perfectly natural one to ask in this strange dreamscape,
but his father laughed at him kindly. “It’s time to wake up now, Noct.”
Noctis shook his head quickly and fearfully. “It’s not safe,” he whispered.
At that, King Regis’s smile broke away. He seemed to age before the prince’s
eyes. “Fear not, my son,” he said, “I promise you no harm will come to you
while I’m watching over you. Now wake up!”
                                      ***
Noctis snapped his eyes open suddenly, a knife in his hand, his heart beating
out a pounding rhythm. He was braced against another weapon, held diagonally
above him. For a second, he thought he was being attacked, but as he prepared
to swipe his knife against his attacker, his brain caught up to his reflexes.
He was in a bed, stiff white sheets and a mild antiseptic smell. His attacker
was no attacker at all, but rather his father, standing above Noctis, sword
held defensively across his chest.
“Dad?” Noctis asked stupidly.
The king grimaced. “Son,” he said with a nod.
Letting his knife disappear was as easy as a stray thought. After a moment’s
hesitation, his father followed Noctis’s lead with a quick ripple of sparks.
“Why—?” began Noctis, but then he finally noticed the state of the room behind
his father. The machines around him smoked and sparked wildly. Lines of fire
trailed out away from his bed in a spiraling pattern that he was all too
familiar with, and a large sheet of ice covered the bed next to him. Gladio was
crouched beside it, posture tense. Noctis got the feeling that the Shield had
narrowly avoided the blast.
“You were having a nightmare,” King Regis said quietly. “When we tried to wake
you, you grew . . . combative.”
“Oh.” Noctis swallowed heavily. This was the first time he had seen his father
since leaving the Amicitia family’s cabin. The last thing he could remember was
lying beside the van in the factory, Gladio’s hand on his stomach. He trembled.
“Dad.”
With that word, an odd expression passed over the king’s face, and then he was
like a wild creature released from a leash. He bounded forward, scooped up his
son, and crushed him in a tight hug.
It didn’t even occur to Noctis that he was too old for such things, or that he
was currently angry with his father. All of that fell away as silent sobs
racked his body. Safe. He was safe. “Dad,” he repeated.
His father shushed him. “You’re okay now, Noct. You’re okay,” he said and then
repeated it as if he needed to convince himself, “You’re okay.” As Noctis
continued to tremble, his father murmured, “I’m watching over you now, Noctis.
I promise I’ll keep you safe.”
Noctis let his father hold him for a long time.
                                      ***
                              **Ignis Scientia**
                                      ***
Ignis once more strode up to the front desk of the evidence lock up. The same
man he had argued with yesterday was on duty once more. Ignis held up a stamped
form. “This is signed by both the King and his councilor. Surely that’s
enough.”
The man took several agonizingly long seconds to read over the form. “Looks
good,” he agreed.
“Then the key please.”
After being handed the key, Ignis hurried into the evidence lockup. He had
already wasted plenty of time with this. The fact that Clarus was having him
investigate and not one of the Crownsguard was telling in and of itself.
Because Gladio had recognized the ethers in the kidnapper’s duffel bag as
belonging to the Citadel, they knew that there had to be a connection somehow
within the Citadel itself. That couldn’t be more troubling. Yet ethers,
potions, and magical flasks produced by the Citadel were tracked. They were
given serial numbers and inventoried. If Ignis was clever, he would be able to
track back to when these ones had gone missing.
Ignis found the locker the duffel bag had been placed into, locker 243, and
turned the lock. He opened the stiff metal door.
It was empty.
Locker 243 was empty. Ignis frowned to himself and checked the file made by the
Crownsguard who had dropped off the bag. No, locker 243 was what the original
Crownsguard had written down. Ignis blinked at the empty space for a moment
longer, then turned around and stalked back up to the front desk attendant.
“Are you absolutely sure the bag of potions and ethers was placed in evidence
locker 243?”
The administrator shrugged nonchalantly. “S’what the file says. Don’t know what
else you want me to say.”
Ignis took a deep breath. He asked very, very slowly, “Well, they are not in
locker 243, so where else could they be?”
“Maybe they were put in the wrong locker?”
“There are over four-hundred lockers down there,” replied Ignis. The man just
looked at him. Ignis sighed. “Do you have some sort of skeleton key?”
“Why?”
Ignis raised an eyebrow, until finally the man said, “Ohh, you want to check
all the lockers.”
“Want is perhaps a strong word.”
The administrator seemed immune to his sarcasm. “No skeleton key, but I got a
copy of each one in this drawer here.” He blinked at Ignis’s unmoving form and
then asked, “You want me to give ‘em to you?”
Ignis didn’t quite trust himself to speak, so he nodded.
“Well, you’ll need to file the right form for that, like you did for this one.
Can't just be handing these to anyone that asks.”
“That would be tragic.”
“Exactly.” The administrator smiled benignly at him.
This was perhaps going to take longer than Ignis had anticipated. As the
administrator handed the form to him, Ignis added, “I’ll need the security
footage from the past few days as well to determine everyone who’s been in
here.”
“That’s a different form.”
“Yes, I suspected that.”
                                      ***
                            **Noctis Lucis Caelum**
                                      ***
Noctis was going to kill Gladio. He was.
“I’m not going to break,” he hissed at the Shield. The doctors had set him free
that morning, but he still was supposed to take it easy for a couple of days.
He and Gladio were in one of the Citadel’s many gardens. Noctis had been
itching for something to do, anything that wasn’t sitting around in his room.
Prompto was apparently grounded in some way, though the details weren’t clear.
Ignis remained busy with Citadel stuff, and so finally, Gladio had offered to
do a light workout with Noctis, emphasis on the light.
Gladio just snorted. “You also aren’t going to break my guard with that
stance.” He pressed down on the prince’s shoulders. “Widen your hips. Lower. .
. Not that low!”
Noctis snarled at the Shield and swiped sideways with a half shove, half punch.
No matter how hard he tried, he couldn’t seem to let go of his deep tension and
irritated, nervous energy. The shove/punch glanced off Gladio, but then the
Shield retaliated with a swift movement. He slid his arm up Noct’s, gripping
the prince firmly. Competently, he twisted Noct’s arm sideways while also
pushing his leg in between them, and then Noctis went down hard, all of the
breath going out of him as he hit the dirt.
“Ummphh.” Noctis glared up at Gladio’s smirking face.
“If your stance had been right, I wouldn’t have been able to do that.”
“Yeah, yeah,” Noctis groaned. His side, though it had magically healed, still
ached dully. Sometimes with bad injuries, the body remembered a trace of the
hurt for a little while. He ignored the discomfort, not wanting Gladio to
realize it and have a fit. But of course, he should have known that Gladio’s
nearly sixth sense for those sorts of things couldn’t be overcome.
Suddenly Gladio was crouched over Noctis, his concern evident in his dark eyes.
“Why didn’t you say anything earlier? I told you I didn’t want to push you.”
Noctis swallowed but didn’t answer. Strangely, the only thing his brain seemed
capable of processing was the faint smell of the Shield’s sweat, overlying
something cleaner that was still distinctly Gladio. His mind flashed a helpful
image of a different version of Gladio leaning over Noctis, glistening black
ink crawling up his biceps, the burn of his hands pressed against Noct’s
wrists.
Gladio frowned above him, almost like he could sense where Noctis’s traitorous
thoughts had gone, and then he reached down, hauling Noctis bodily back up.
“Maybe we should just stick to stretches and core today. Your focus is total
shit.” With those words, Gladio reached over and maneuvered Noctis, paying
special attention to how he moved his still sore ab muscles.
Noctis found himself just as distracted as before, but at least the
consequences were less dire with the simple stretching. Gladio had always been
a very touchy person, far more than anyone else in Noctis’s life. And Noctis
had always noticed and always craved it in an embarrassingly sexual way. Yet
this was different now, even if Gladio were pretending otherwise.
I’ve seen your soul, Gladio. For the tiniest, briefest moment, sure, but still.
Some things you can't take back.
“Are we going to talk about it?” Noctis demanded suddenly as he reached down to
touch his toes, feeling the pull on his hamstrings and barely getting his
fingertips to connect.
Gladio looked rather annoyed. He huffed, “Depends on what you mean by ‘it’ . .
. seriously, do you only stretch when I make you? That’s pathetic.”
Noctis nearly swatted at him once more, but stopped himself just in time. He
didn’t want to end up in the dirt again. “You were the one just talking about
how I had been injured. Come on, gimme a break!”
“I didn’t realize you’d been stabbed in the hamstring too, Noct,” the Shield
snorted. “I’ve seen how you can bend those hips when you’re really motivated.”
Gladio seemed to realize what he’d said at the same time as Noctis because they
had an awkward moment where their eyes met, and then Gladio was looking away,
lips pursed and cheeks growing steadily redder.
“Are we going to talk about it?” Noctis repeated.
“Don’t see the need,” Gladio said gruffly, rubbing the back of his neck.
“Thought we were all on the same page about—that.”
“Yeah,” replied Noctis slowly, “Guess so.”
Gladio’s eyes flickered back up to the prince. He looked like he might say
something else, but then he visibly changed his mind. “Let’s do a jog around
the garden. Three laps and then you’re done for the day.”
Noctis nodded and without another glance at his Shield, took off running,
letting the soft beat of his sneakers on the dirt trail drive away all of his
thoughts.
                                      ***
                              **Ignis Scientia**
                                      ***
Once again, Ignis stood in front of the front desk attendant at the Citadel
evidence lock up. Earlier, he had tracked down the Crownsguard who had signed
off on the duffel bag. The man had been baffled, insisting up and down that he
had done his job as faithfully as possible. The duffel bag and its contents
were in locker 243. Or at least they had been a few days ago. He had not
touched them since.
Ignis slapped down not one form, but several, one after the other. “Here is the
clearance giving me the same access that Councilor Amicitia would have. Here it
is signed by the king.” The first time he had gone to Clarus, the Shield had
only signed the form in relation to the locker that was supposed to contain the
duffel bag. They had not made that mistake again.
After reading the forms over, the administrator bent down and rummaged in the
desk next to him. With a groan, he lifted a large metal container up and placed
it on the desk. Then he turned the computer around to show Ignis and together
they watched a sped up run of the security footage of the past few days. The
duffel bag of potions and flasks had been brought in by the Crownsguard the day
of the kidnapping. The administrator on duty that night and the next day had
gone in and out of the lockup a few times, as did one or two Crownsguard. No
one had carried anything remotely large enough to hold the potions. So the
duffel bag had entered the evidence lock up and seemingly not left. Ignis
cursed that the only camera covered the entrance and not the actual room with
the lockers.
“You’re not really going to go through every single locker in there are you?”
the administrator suddenly asked.
Ignis gave him a withering look. “You’re welcome to help me.” The duffel bag
had entered the lockup and seemingly not left. It wasn’t in the locker it was
supposed to be in. Logically, the simplest answer was that the duffel bag was
still in that room somewhere. Thus, Ignis would have to search for it.
The man said with an affronted air, “I can't just leave my post.”
“Of course not,” Ignis agreed. With that, he levered himself under the box of
keys and ponderously carried it into the evidence lock up.
                                      ***
                            **Noctis Lucis Caelum**
                                      ***
Noctis was still not allowed to leave the Citadel the next day. He had briefly
seen Ignis the night before, but the advisor had looked harried and distracted.
Noctis missed Prompto like an ache in his side, but the blonde had rejected his
invitation to come to the Citadel, and somehow, trying to talk on the phone
after everything that happened seemed strange.
As for the Shield, Noct didn’t think Gladio would pester him again about
training for a little while after that awkward encounter, but the Shield
surprised him by showing up that morning, decked out in sweatpants and ready to
go.
“You said you were bored,” Gladio said mercilessly to Noctis’s whining. Noctis
glared at the Shield for that, but he still put on his own sneakers and
followed the older man down the hall and towards the gardens. “You haven’t been
sleeping well, have you?” Gladio asked as they walked, keeping his eyes
straight ahead.
Noctis could only shrug. Of course Gladio had noticed. “It’s been hard to
relax. And when I do sleep . . . nightmares.”
“’Bout what?”
Noctis almost didn’t answer him, but then he changed his mind. “In my dreams,
you don’t volunteer,” he replied in a low voice, also choosing to keep his eyes
focused ahead. “And he touches me instead. Or sometimes you do, but
it’s—awful.”
“He’s dead,” said Gladio harshly. “He’s never touching you again.”
Noctis didn’t answer him. The question ‘Will you?’ rose in the back of his
throat, but he resolutely held it in.
They stopped in a large grassy area of the garden. It was warm, the morning air
carrying the promising scent of newly budding spring flowers. After a few warm
up exercises and some more comments about Noct’s stretching, Gladio stood in
front of the prince. With a shimmer of silver sparks, the Shield manifested his
large practice sword. Noctis felt it tug on him like a fishhook under his skin,
and he shivered.
“We start slow,” Gladio said in a tone that allowed for no argument. “You can
cycle your weapons and phase, but no warping. Got it?”
Like Noctis had any desire to feel the aching tiredness that came from an
intense warping session anyway. He had only just now started to feel normal
again after the strain of the two new Covenants and his injuries. He rolled his
eyes. “Yes, mother.”
Gladio ignored his jab, and so Noctis called his own weapon, choosing a long
spear. Against Gladio’s incredible sword strength, distance was a vitally
important strategy. The Shield didn’t give his prince any sort of warning
before attacking, but Noctis was ready for that. Gladio rarely announced the
beginning of a battle fairly. They spent a few minutes teasing each other, with
Gladio stopping the fight often to correct something about Noctis’s stance or
movement. However, soon they fell into the rhythm of the battle.
At one point, Gladio feinted, but the motion was unusually sloppy. Noctis
easily sensed the Shield’s true intention, and the teen reacted accordingly,
switching to a heavier weapon and punishing Gladio with hearty whack to the
solar plexus.
The Shield coughed and stumbled back as Noctis crowed his victory at him
shamelessly.
Gladio narrowed his eyes. Rather than coming back for a counterattack, he
pressed his sword into the ground and leaned on it, signaling that the fight
was done. Noctis let his own weapon ripple away and waited. Gladio seemed to be
considering something. Finally, he said, “I want to try something. Stand still,
okay?”
“--Okay?”
“Seriously, just stand still.”
Noctis nodded as Gladio ripped his sword back out of the ground and faced
Noctis squarely. With a sudden movement, Gladio came up on the prince, swinging
the sword in a wide overhand motion. But once again, Noctis could see the
little tells that said Gladio had no intention of hitting him, and so he didn’t
so much as flinch as the sword came within an inch of his ribs.
Gladio withdrew his sword once more, and Noctis raised his eyebrows. “Did you
have a reason for that?” The Shield didn’t answer. Instead, with a grunt,
Gladio tried to cuff Noctis on the side of the head, but the teen easily phased
around it. “Seriously?” Noctis demanded.
Gladio was once again giving him a considering look. “You’re reading me way too
easily. I noticed it yesterday too.”
“Maybe you’re just being really obvious,” Noctis jeered.
Gladio shook his head slowly. “No. I don’t think so.” The Shield stared a
moment longer as Noctis crossed his arms uncomfortably. Then Gladio announced,
“Let’s experiment.”
“Urgh, do we have to?”
“Don’t be obnoxious,” Gladio barreled right over the prince’s objection.
“Remember when your dad was having you meditate on your magic or whatever?”
“Yeah,” Noctis replied suspiciously. “If you also remember, it didn't go super
well.”
Gladio waved that away. “Well, now you know how to find your magic. Just try it
will you?” He collapsed into a half lotus. “Here, I’ll do it too.”
Noctis sensed this wasn’t something Gladio would easily let go. The man was
like a terrier once he got an idea in his head. With another sigh to let the
Shield know just what Noct thought of this plan, he sat down too, drawing his
legs underneath himself. Noctis closed his eyes. He almost didn’t try, but
after a long, boring moment, his curiously got the better of him, and he sought
out his magic.
How had this ever been hard? The crystal’s magic was right there, roiling and
churning under his skin and in his veins. Power flowed steadily between himself
and the Crystal in a constant, whispering exchange.
As if it sensed his attention, the magic steadily grew—louder the longer he
focused, until he was practically humming with it. It drenched him, and even
though his eyes were closed, he felt the world brighten around him, all of his
senses suddenly oversaturated.
Gladio shattered the moment. His words seemed too loud, echoing through Noct’s
skull. “What do you feel?”
Noctis let his frustration lace his response. “Well I was feeling my magic, you
know, that thing you told me to do.” To his eternal mortification, Noctis
abruptly realized that with that over-bright feeling of his magic and Gladio so
close by, he was steadily growing harder. His body remembered all the things
that could be done with this flowing energy. Despite himself, he squirmed, his
pants feeling tighter and tighter.
“Describe it for me.”
Noctis didn’t want to. He didn’t know how. “It feels like magic.”
“Your eloquence never ceases to amaze me.”
Trying to pull himself together, Noctis focused on Gladio. The connection was
there, bright and potent. It had changed since the last time Noctis had tried
to observe it, become more—stable, though the prince would never have been able
to say why exactly that was so or what that meant. He just knew instinctively
that it was true. If he had been forced to explain it, he would have said
something like the connection felt less raw, or that it tugged on him less than
before.
When Noctis had first imagined this, he had pictured the Covenant as a gift or
more accurately, a taking. Through sex, he would sever a bit of his magic away
from himself to give to another. But the Covenant of the Crystal had always
been talked about by others as a joining, an act of creation, and now Noctis
understood why. He had not severed any part of himself to give to Gladio.
Rather, like a sprouting seed, the roots of Noct’s magic had tangled themselves
throughout Gladio’s being, binding them together permanently. Now that he was
focusing, Noctis could identify that tangling of essences, could feel Gladio
intimately.
Gladio’s heartrate was slightly elevated from their fight, though it was
rapidly slowing as they both sat. The Shield’s leg ached a bit, but physically
he felt good, wide awake and full of life. His attention was fully on Noctis,
rather than on any meditation of his own. All of this, Noctis sensed about his
Shield as he explored their connection.
Suddenly, Gladio recalled his weapon back to himself. Now that he was giving it
his full attention, Noctis detected not just the slight tug at his magic, but
felt every bit of the path it traveled from him to his Shield. Once again, he
shivered at the sense of possession that overcame him. Gods, he wanted nothing
more than to leap up and tackle the Shield, devour him. The need ate at Noctis,
burning a hole somewhere deep in his chest.
Noctis snapped his eyes open and met Gladio’s over the top of the broadsword.
He watched Gladio swallow. Neither one blinked.
Gladio broke first, turning his head away to stare at something in his lap. His
voice was deceptively light as he said, “I think we should explore this more in
the future. I bet there are things we could do together now that we couldn’t
before. Things that would give us the edge in a fight.” The Shield looked back
up at Noctis. “We should maybe do some warping after all before we stop for the
day. Tire you out.”
“What?” Noctis struggled to corral his thoughts.
Gladio looked him up and down, lingering at Noct’s unfortunate state of
affairs. “Help you get rid of that,’ he said bluntly.
Noctis would not let his embarrassment get the better of him. He would not. He
refused to let Gladio intimidate him. In truth, the concentration that warping
required would distract him from his arousal momentarily, but the full use of
his magic would bring this issue rushing back just as powerfully as soon he
paused. The only difference being Noctis would also be tired afterwards.
Despite his resolution, Noctis felt the heat creeping up the back of his neck.
He snapped, “I don’t need help with that. Especially from you.”
Not like that, anyway.
Gladio frowned. “My dad said you might—.”
“Your dad said what? That it was your job to help me? Fuck off, Gladio.”
“Dude, don’t do that, please. I don't wanna to fight with you.”
“And I don't want your help.” Noctis stood up with that, knowing full well he
was putting his situation on full display.
“Is this because of your—thing for me? Because that’s not my fault, and it’s
not fair for you to take it out on me. You know exactly where we stand with
each other.”
Noctis indeed knew. But still, Gladio didn’t have to say it, and he definitely
didn't have to say it so cruelly. The prince hid behind formality as he backed
away from Gladio. “I’m not in the mood to practice warping today, Shield
Amicitia,” he said coolly. “I need to do my make-up work from school. We’re
done for today.”
It seemed he still hadn’t learned how to solve his problems without running
away from them. Maybe someone as noble as his father or Ignis would have stood
and faced Gladio, but Noctis was not his father. He was not Ignis, and he could
not bear to look the Shield in the eyes and see pity there.
He fled.
                                      ***
                              **Ignis Scientia**
                                      ***
Ignis stalked across the Citadel carrying a drill and heavy bolt cutters. He
was so focused on own thoughts that he almost didn’t hear his name being
called. But suddenly there was a hand on his shoulder. He spun around, ready to
launch into a verbal assault on his attacker, only to realize that Gladio stood
behind him.
“Iggy?” asked Gladio. “What the hell are you doing?”
Ignis thought about how he must look. He had not bothered to muss his hair over
the past few days, and his clothes were grimy with dust from where he had been
nose deep in the lockers, many of which had not been opened in years. He looked
up at Gladio’s face and then back down at his tools. “Planning the murder of
whoever designed the Citadel evidence lockup,” he answered acerbically.
“Might not want to announce that so loudly if that’s the case,” Gladio replied,
looking unphased. He added, “Mind if I walk with you?”
Ignis started forward again without waiting to see if he would be followed.
“Don't you have tasks or something to be doing?” Gladio was the sort of person
who liked people and company, but Ignis could smell a mile away that he had a
greater purpose in seeking the advisor out.
Gladio only shrugged as he kept pace. “You never said what you were doing with
a pair of bolt cutters the size of the moon.”
Ignis let himself be deflected. Perhaps whatever it was that was bothering
Gladio wasn’t something he wanted to discuss in the open. He answered in a
deceptively even tone, “Did you know that there are four-hundred and eighty-
five climate controlled storage lockers in the Citadel evidence lockup?”
“Nope.”
“Each one with its own personal key.”
“Okay?”
Ignis smiled a bitter smile. “And yet somehow, there are only four-hundred and
twenty-two keys at the storage unit.”
“Huh?” frowned Gladio. “How the hell does that work? Shouldn’t they have some
sort of skeleton key or something?”
Ignis snorted. “Oh no. When I asked how that was possible, I was told that
perhaps individual investigators had taken the keys to the lockers they were
using.”
“That’s seems a bit counterintuitive.”
As they spoke, Ignis and Gladio arrived at the lockup and approached the
administrator sitting at the desk. Once again, it was the same person on duty,
Ignis’s fast growing favorite person. The man saw the tools in Ignis’s hands
and then with a gasp of comprehension, stood up. “You can't do that! There are
potentially delicate items in those lockers!”
Ignis had had enough.
He smiled sweetly at the man as he barreled past the little wooden gate before
he could be stopped. “If you have a problem with my methods, you are welcome to
file an official complaint.” Then, he added in his sweetest, most accommodating
voice, “I’m sure there is a form for that.” With that, Ignis and Gladio strode
into the lockup, ignoring the wide-eyed look of the desk attendant.
The Shield snorted once they were alone, “Remind me never to get on your bad
side, Specs.”
“I’m sure I have no idea what you’re talking about,” Ignis replied primly as he
retrieved the paper where he had checked off all the lockers that he had
already opened.
“Sure you don’t.”
Ignis didn’t bother to answer again, instead choosing to get to work
positioning the bolt cutter by the first unopened locker on his list. Gladio
watched him work for a few minutes. The lockers held all sorts of things.
Various papers, bloody clothing, drugs, and in one memorable instance, what
looked like a carved up femur bone. The longer Gladio stared at the back of his
head, the more uncomfortable Ignis became, until finally he snapped, “Did you
actually have something you wanted to talk about or were you really just that
bored?”
Gladio leaned back against the wall and crossed his arms. “Worried about Noct,”
he finally replied.
Despite himself, Ignis felt his stomach clench in fear. He stilled in his task.
“What do you mean?” he asked carefully.
Gladio jerked his head to the side. “He’s been too pissy, even for him. Did his
best to start a fight with me.”
Of all the things Ignis expected Gladio to say, concern over Noctis starting a
fight with him wasn’t one of them. It wasn’t like constant bickering was a new
thing for them. “Well, he has been through a lot this past week,” Ignis said.
“And after what we did together, it makes sense that he has to find his place
with you again.”
“Don't see why anything has to change,” complained Gladio, his arms still tight
across his chest.
“Don’t you?”
At that, Gladio blew out an annoyed huff of air. “We did it just like we said
we would. It was fun and safe and all that stuff, at least until everything
went to shit.”
Gods, Gladio really was thick sometimes. Ignis sighed, “Just give it time,
Gladio. Sometimes you just have to let people find their own way.”
“I’m worried he’s going to do something stupid again while we’re waiting on
that.”
Ignis shrugged as he opened what felt like the thousandth locker full of random
papers. “I doubt he’s reckless enough to run off a second time. What kind of
trouble could he even get into?”
Gladio made a helpless noise. “Don’t know, Specs. Just got a bad feeling, you
know?”
Gladio was a creature of instinct, and his instinct was usually uncannily
accurate. If he truly was worried, then Ignis would believe him. “I’ll find
Noct tonight and talk to him, alright?” Ignis replied with a placating gesture.
“He’ll probably be more open with me anyway.”
“Yeah,” replied Gladio unhappily. He moved from his slouch against the wall and
said, “I’ll go find myself my own bolt cutters. At this rate, you’ll be here
‘till fucking midnight.”
“That would be much appreciated,” agreed Ignis, giving his friend a wry grin.
                                      ***
                             **Prompto Argentum**
                                      ***
Prompto still had not packed his bags. His mother hadn’t scolded him for it,
but she also hadn’t let him leave the house. Meanwhile, Noctis’s text messages
to him were short and awkward, and Prompto felt like everything good about his
life was slipping through his fingers. The only positive thing right now was
that at least his mother hadn’t said anything to him about the unlocked study.
He wasn’t sure if she hadn’t noticed or simply didn’t care, but either way,
that was one thing he wasn’t in trouble for. Yet.
He still had no idea what exactly he was going to do about all the changes in
his life. Without Noctis to talk to about it, Prompto felt the stranglehold of
his childhood loneliness creeping back up on him. He just wanted things to go
back to the way they had been last week, before the realities of being friends
with the most important political figure in Lucis had bitten him in the ass.
That morning, Prompto was in his room when he heard the click of the front door
and the sound of dress shoes on laminate. He froze in recognition. That was the
sound of his father coming home. With a gulp, the blonde stopped what he was
doing and strained his ears, but he couldn’t make out his parents’ words, just
the muffled sounds of their voices.
With a sigh, he turned back to his computer. He tried to make himself take a
deep breath, but found he couldn’t shake loose the tension threading through
his back. A few minutes later, he heard the sound of his father’s commanding
shout. “Prompto!”
Prompto had not seen his father in nearly a month, but he recognized the anger
in that shout. He was definitely in trouble for something, he just wasn’t sure
of the details yet. Swallowing down his trepidation, the blonde made the
gallows walk to the kitchen. He thought his father’s anger must have something
to do with how lacklusterly he had obeyed his mother’s orders to pack. But when
Prompto got to the kitchen, the sight that greeted him stopped him cold. His
mother stood near the oven and his father sat at the table, the handgun laid
out on display.
Prompto looked from the gun to his father. “Dad, I—.”
His father did not let him finish speaking. “Where are the missing bullets?” he
demanded. Prompto hesitated, and his father repeated himself with an even more
curt tone. “Where. Are. The. Bullets?”
“My room,” squeaked Prompto, shrinking back.
His father leveled a stare at him. “I told you that my study was off limits. It
was locked. And yet, you ignored all of that, putting yourself and everyone
around you in danger.”
“Dad—.”
“Guns are not toys, Prompto!!”
They stared at each other as his mother remained silent. Prompto’s heart
thundered in his chest. He realized he had been waiting these past few days for
the other shoe to drop, and now it was finally happening.
His father seemed to gather himself up. “You will go to your room. You will
pack the suitcase your mother has been asking you to for the past three days.
And then you will come back out here ready to leave.”
Prompto’s parents had never been particularly stern. They weren’t home often
enough to be. But when they did issue a proclamation, Prompto had never in his
life confronted one of them about it. It was far easier just to wait until they
had left again and then simply do what he was going to do anyway. Prompto hated
confrontation. He feared it.
“No.”
His father blinked. “Excuse me?”
Prompto trembled. He was surprised at his own outburst. It was like another
entity had taken control of his mouth, spilling things that had been buried
deeply inside of him for years. He chewed his lip for half a second, then
repeated, “No. I won't.”
“This isn’t a democracy, Prompto. And that wasn’t a request.”
Now that he had begun, Prompto couldn’t easily back down. The blonde teen
walked forward until he stood uncomfortably close to his father. He kept his
eyes on the man as he reached down and picked up the gun. His father’s eyes
tightened. “What are you do--?” he began, but then stopped. Without looking
down, Prompto made quick work of the gun parts, sliding and twisting pieces
apart until it lay disassembled on the table. Afterwards, he stepped back and
waited on his father. Prompto’s father glanced sideways at the gun, then back
at his son.
Prompto felt hot tears prickle his eyes. “What am I?”
His father didn’t even blink. “My very disobedient son,” he replied smoothly.
“Don’t do that!” Prompto demanded with a long, ragged breath. “Don’t pretend
like you don’t know what I’m asking you.” With that, Prompto swept his hand
across the table, clattering the gun parts to the ground. All three of them
flinched at the sound of metal rattling against laminate.
His father’s eyes followed the movement and then landed back on Prompto. He
tightened his lips. “You’re being childish, Prompto. And I’m beginning to lose
my patience with it.”
Childish. He was being childish. Prompto trembled with the injustice of those
words. “I’m being childish?” he gasped. “Childish? Since when have I been
childish? You left me! Both of you left me to practically raise myself. And now
you have the gall to call me childish—.”
“Stop!” his father roared. It was the loudest and angriest Prompto had ever
seen his father become. The man took a deep breath, but seemed to gain no
composure from it. “How dare you? There are children starving in the streets.
Children being used as experiments and turned into child soldiers and Gods know
what else, and you have the audacity to complain about what? That you’ve always
had a roof over your head? Food in your stomach? Comfort and safety?”
His mother interrupted with a warning tone, “Markus.”
“No, I won't have that sort of disrespect in my own home.”
Her eyes glinted. “He doesn’t understand, Markus. How could he?”
Prompto balled his fists. “Maybe I’d understand if you would just explain
things to me! How hard is that?!”
His father slammed his fist on the table, silencing the others with the
suddenness of his action. He shouted, “You weren’t born, but made, Prompto! Is
that what you wanted to hear?!” He shook his head as Prompto’s eyes grew wider
and wider. “And if you keep being this stupid, someone in the Citadel will
discover you! Every moment you spend with the prince is one more chance for you
to slip up, for someone to see your tattoo, to know what that means. For
someone who’s fought the clone iteration of MTs to mark your facial structures,
or to ask how a sixteen-year-old shot a man with the accuracy of a soldier.
Gods, you were about to let them examine you, Prompto! Think!
“That’s quite enough,” commanded Prompto’s mother, and this time her tone
brooked no argument. She had drawn herself up and was glaring venomously at her
husband.
Child soldiers. Clones. A tattoo that marked him as being from Niflheim. As an
MT. A tattoo that neither of his parents shared. His mother had said that they
rescued Prompto from a terrible fate. Made, not born. Prompto couldn’t breathe.
Without meaning to, he backed away from his parents. “I can't—that’s
not—children aren’t made. It doesn’t work that way. And Noctis is my friend.
Gladio and Ignis are my friends!”
His mother shot another hot look at his father. She made a soothing hand motion
and said in a low, conciliatory voice, “Prompto, it doesn’t matter how you came
into this world. What matters is that you’re here now, just as much as much our
son as if you had come from me.”
Prompto shook his head. “I don’t understand—I—am I dangerous?”
She gave his father another angry glare, then looked at the blonde teen
fiercely. “You’re not any more dangerous than any other person with abilities.”
Abilities. Prompto suddenly thought about Noctis, about the prince’s strange
magical powers, the powers that separated him from everyone else around him.
Abilities that everyone else seemed so afraid of.
His mother added, “Please, tell me you understand now. The anti-Niflheim
hysteria is only going to become more dangerous, and the situation between the
two countries is only going to get worse. Lucis is not a safe place for someone
like you.”
Prompto was clueless. He didn’t even know what he was, let alone the finer
points of Lucian politics. If his parents said it was safer to run away, who
was he to disagree? But he had promised Ignis he would stay, that he would stay
with Noctis. He thought about his even greater promise to his youthful pen pal,
Lunafreya, the first real promise he had ever made. He had promised her that he
would befriend Noctis. That he would be brave enough see past the prince to the
lonely boy beneath.
Did Noctis even need him? Yes, Prompto was good for a laugh or for a chill
hang-out session, but what else? Would he truly be missed?
“It doesn’t matter,” he said, finally looking up and into his parents’ eyes. He
wasn’t sure exactly where his newfound bravery was coming from. Maybe it had to
do with his recent near death experience. “It doesn’t matter whether staying
here puts me in danger or not. I won't leave.”
“You don't have a choice,” his father replied firmly.
Prompto was outside of himself, watching this situation unfold. He couldn’t
think. He felt himself back up even further, until he stood in the overhang of
the kitchen doorway. His father was still sitting at the table, but he tensed
in a way that told Prompto he would be able to leap up within a heartbeat. The
gun parts still lay on the floor where Prompto had thrown them.
Prompto’s own heart beat once. Twice. Then he said, “Yes. I do.”
He turned and fled.
                                      ***
Chapter End Notes
     Thank you all again for the comments and kudos. They're like drugs
     for the soul. :)
Please drop_by_the_archive_and_comment to let the author know if you enjoyed
their work!