Author's Note: All characters belong to SquareEnix. Written for fun.
They found him on the throne, just as the horizon showed the first signs of light. Ignis had to take his friends' word for it. Like all Eos for the past ten years, he'd felt its lack. Though dawn was committed to Ignis's memories now, the world would see it come again, all thanks to one man. A man whose death left a deeper scar than the loss of his sight.
He was not alone in his grief. As he stood at the base of the throne, keenly aware of Prompto's muffled sobs, Gladio ascended the stairs, his footsteps echoed in sharp relief throughout the chamber. Heard the soft sound he made, part grunt, part sob, once he reached the throne. What came next was a sound Ignis knew well. Prompto's choked gasp revealed he, too, understood it. Battle tested as they were, there was no denying the sound of a sword drawn from flesh. Nothing else made that low, slick sound. Nothing else cut into Ignis's heart quite like it, either.
No one spoke. The moment was too great for words. Prompto gripped Ignis's shoulder, then drifted away. Ignis needed no visuals to understand what was happening. He pictured the moment: Gladio and Prompto, gently cradling Noctis, their friend, their king, their savior, as they slowly made their way to Ignis. And, as so often during these long years, Ignis slipped into memories. Scenes too numerous to count, of an association made through duty and transcending into the deepest of friendships. Of love.
His chest tightened. The back of his throat seemed to collapse on itself. Had he the power or the will to speak, the sound he'd make would be as harrowing as the sword pulled from Noctis's body. Recalling it, alongside other instances of Noctis smiling, laughing, sad, or scowling at one admonishment or another, impacted Ignis with the force of a blow. He staggered, nearly went to a knee. Caught himself midway to avoid alerting the others. Gladio's soft inquiry revealed it did not go unnoticed. Almost nothing did among three who had such a rapport, thoughts and actions were often anticipated.
Which is why, shortly after laying Noctis down on his old bed, Gladio's hand fell upon Ignis's shoulder in silent understanding. Ignis gave a brief nod, all he could summon in the moment. Prompto murmured something indistinct, possibly to Noctis, before stepping out of the room. The door clasped shut behind Ignis, leaving him alone.
He approached his friend, his king, on what now was his deathbed. When he settled beside him, he did so carefully, as if he wished not to disturb him. The reaction, ingrained in him from their earliest days, tore at his hard-fought resolve. His hand shook as Ignis removed first his glove, finger by finger, then his glasses. He pressed his palm over Noctis's brow. The absence of warmth, of life, was so absolute, Ignis's eyes watered.
Sobs gathered in his throat as he touched his friend's face, noting the stubble along his chin, the sharpened features brought on by adulthood: the exasperating, sometimes petulant, and moody young man, coming into his own at last. Though unable to see this face as he had its younger version, Ignis heard the maturity of his words, first at their reunion in Hammerhead, and again at the palace steps.
"I leave it to you," he'd said. Overcome by pride not the least bit tinged by regret, Ignis saluted him as king first.
Ignis's hand drifted to Noctis's shoulder, almost a mirror image of how Noctis had greeted him at Hammerhead. So much had been conveyed in the gesture. So much left unsaid. All Ignis and the others could do was ensure Noctis's sacrifice was not in vain. That somewhere, he'd look down at them, Lunafreya at his side, and smile to see Lucis restored. Where the country went from here was something Ignis knew fell to him. For now, as Ignis pressed his brow to Noctis's and memories shuffled between past and present, all gave way to the emotional tempest within, and he wept.