Memento Mori

by Alley Cat Sunflower

"There was something she still did not know about Ardyn and could not guess—the glister of something dark and ancient in his soul, flashing out of his eyes like dying sunlight." Even having known him for years, Luna has never been able to understand him… and now, at the Altar of the Tidemother, it is too late. For Lunardyn Week, Day 2: Niflheim Years. I do not own FFXV.

Lunafreya might never have realized that Ardyn Izunia has been one of the few constants in her life as part of the Empire, there at its painful beginning and here at its bitter end, if it wasn't flashing before her eyes.

His involvement was, as with all his doings, insidious. The more years passed, the less they saw one another, yet still he left a profound impression on her soul, too much like this ache of cold steel. One stab of an icy blade, literal this time—so like the chill that flooded Lunafreya just before their first meeting—and her sight flickers.

On second thought, you let him have it.

That voice, dark and silky like the shroud he had been weaving for her all along, was the first she heard of him. The sound of pelting water, salt mingling with fresh, magnifies in Lunafreya's mind, drowning out all else. The pain in her side dulls, her wrist throbbing as she hits the ground hard, unable to support her own weight. Yet, at the same time, she feels lighter now, smaller… younger.

The rain still raged, yet the ground felt suddenly dry beneath her hands; the only storm she had to weather indoors was General Ulldor. He'd told her to call him by his title alone, and delivered a warning in case she forgot: I eat little girls like you for breakfast.

Lunafreya scrambled backwards in short bursts, fear reigniting as he advanced. His pace was so menacingly leisurely that it seemed to Lunafreya that he had all the time in the world, and that hers was rapidly running out. She did not dare to think what he intended to do—beat her? Kill her? Worse? But a single word rumbled through the room like thunder, almost overwhelmed by the howling winds: "Enough."

Although Lunafreya's body twitched with the desire to turn and see who had spoken, she could not take her eyes off General Ulldor even as he stopped short. "Chancellor Izunia," he said, bowing hastily. "I was just—"

"If you're about to make some sort of excuse, I advise you to think better of it before you say something you might regret," interrupted Chancellor Izunia, sauntering forward to stand between predator and prey. His silhouette was not one of a soldier, with a long coat and an ordinary hat, yet his aura was one of unimaginable power and authority. "The future Oracle is a guest of Niflheim. As such, no harm is to befall her."

General Ulldor said nothing, but Lunafreya felt his scowl searing her as he sized her up: was she worth the price of insubordination? As she glanced uncertainly between the two men, another flash illuminated Chancellor Izunia's face, deadly serious. "Do I make myself clear?"

"Yes, sir," said General Ulldor, his voice edged with a resentful sigh, and bowed once more. Tossing Lunafreya one last glare, he departed with a clank of armor, turning to close the door none too softly behind him.

Lunafreya watched him go, focusing on his back so intently that she jumped as Chancellor Izunia crouched next to her. She had not noticed him draw any closer. "I understand that you are the lady Lunafreya Nox Fleuret?"

It took a moment for his words to sink in, but she nodded, examining his face by lightning-light. Her other senses told her little; his voice was deep and soft, like the night around them, and he smelled like things she couldn't identify. (Musky, musty, mint?) "It's a lovely name," remarked Chancellor Izunia. "You ought to be proud of it."

Lunafreya kept her mouth shut. Ravus had whispered an urgent warning not to trust anyone during their last embrace, just before they'd taken him away.

"Oh, but where are my manners?" continued Chancellor Izunia, undeterred by her silence. "Please, call me Ardyn. I'm sure you're wary of me—and with good reason, I assure you—but I am truly sorry our first meeting had to be like this." He settled further onto the ground, making it subtly clear that he would not be leaving. "Still, here we are. Why don't you tell me a little bit about yourself?"

Common sense and Ravus's warnings told Lunafreya to hold her tongue, but something in Ardyn's manner was compelling. Perhaps it was how openly he acknowledged her suspicion as reasonable. Furthermore, there was no hint of cruelty or falsehood in what little she could see of his countenance, unlike the permanent scowls and artificial smiles of most Empire officials.

The tiny spark of courage still lingering in Lunafreya's heart finally ignited enough for her to speak. "Wh-what do you want to know, sir?" she managed, peering up at him mistrustfully. She could not bring herself to use the name he had offered her; it felt too much like accepting a trade whose cost was still unknown.

"Your favorite flower, for instance."

Caught off-guard, Lunafreya blinked a few times. Whatever she had been expecting, it hadn't been that. "Sylleblossoms."

"Ah, how patriotic of you," remarked Ardyn. "They are beautiful, but… blue isn't really my color. I prefer the humble dandelion, personally."

Lunafreya had thought them mere weeds, but knew better than to say such a thing lest she offend her savior. Still, Ardyn looked at her expectantly as if sensing her unspoken words, and she dared to venture a response. "Why is that?"

Ardyn smiled. "Many think of dandelions as nothing more than a nuisance, but not all is as it seems," he said. "Every part of the plant is edible, bitter though it may be, and it can also be made into a fine wine. Why, it even has some medicinal properties." He paused thoughtfully. "Not to mention, I admire its tenacity. But then, I might feel differently if I took up gardening."

Although Lunafreya had little cause to relax, Ardyn's casual, matter-of-fact tone, calm humor, and respectful distance set her somewhat more at ease—enough so that she remembered with a jolt that she had not yet expressed gratitude. "Th-thank you very much for helping me, sir."

"Oh, don't mention it," said Ardyn, waving a hand. "I've been looking for a reason to tell off Caligo for ages. And since he apparently never learned to apologize, allow me to do so on his behalf." He rose with remarkable agility to stand before her, inclining his head in a bow, and extended a hand. "I know it's too little too late, but I'd still like to offer you some tea, if you don't mind."

The kindness of his gesture was made hollower by the fact that this was more an request than an invitation… and more an order than a request. Lunafreya could not bring herself to take his hand, and pushed herself unsteadily to her feet. "I would be honored."

Unperturbed by her subtle rebellion, Ardyn turned, beckoning her forward to lead her from the room. She knew she was meant to follow—even remembered, as if in a dream, the taste of sweet tea and empty pleasantries to come—but her strength gave out, and she toppled backwards instead.

Rain became silent snow as Lunafreya tumbled through the air, weightless, for a year or two. As she landed in her own bed, covers materialized over her frail body like straitjacket sleeves. She must have been dreaming, although why she should recall that day in particular, she hadn't the first idea.

Ardyn had not become an especially significant part of her life, but she did enjoy the few scattered times they had taken tea together since their first encounter. Each time, he recounted to her a different myth or legend she had never read in the Cosmogony, and paid uncommonly close attention to her reactions. However, if their visits were tests of some sort, he revealed neither their nature nor their results.

A knock sounded at the door, and Lunafreya cleared her throat in preparation to invite her visitor in, but someone admitted them before she could say anything. Ardyn swept in with a white porcelain vase of flowers, their petals ruffled like petticoats. They were gold like the dandelions he preferred, but parts of them were dyed a darker red—the color of the Empire. (And of spilt blood.)

"Prophetic marigolds," explained Ardyn, setting the vase down on her bedside table, and someone closed the door. "I thought it was only fitting, considering the occasion. Congratulations on your first covenant, my dear."

Trying to sit up, Lunafreya could only stir faintly. "Thank you, sir," she said. "I had just been dreaming about you." The words tumbled from her mouth before she could stop them, and her heart skipped a beat at the myriad possible misinterpretations. She had always been conscientious about propriety, but now she was of an age where it was crucial.

But Ardyn only raised his eyebrows, seating himself beside her on the bed. "Nothing bad, I hope?"

Lunafreya shook her head, relieved at his nonchalance. "More a memory than a dream," she said. "You'd just saved me from General Ulldor."

"You really don't have to keep calling him that, you know," said Ardyn. "I've taken great pains to ensure that you and Caligo never meet again. And speaking of titles," he added, "while you're reminiscing, you should remember that I've asked you to call me Ardyn every time we've met."

"I know," said Lunafreya, smiling wearily. "Sir."

Ardyn heaved an exaggerated sigh, but the twinkle in his eyes and the twitch of his mouth told Lunafreya that he was far more amused than annoyed. "I see you're feeling at least well enough to talk back."

"For now, yes," said Lunafreya. "But I only came to this morning. Maria says I've been asleep for several days."

"So you have," said Ardyn. "Once your brother heard you'd fallen unconscious, he came running and rarely left your side. He'll be furious to hear that he departed so soon before your awakening."

Sadness froze Lunafreya's heart. "Ravus was here?" It had been months since their last meeting, and it had been a very brief one then. She knew him well enough to understand that his coldness was born more of awkwardness than of any real resentment, but there was a veil behind his eyes she did not like. Ravus had never striven to conceal his feelings from Lunafreya before, but now, he was becoming so closed-off that she felt he might disappear altogether before long.

Ardyn inclined his head. "His Radiance summoned him to Gralea to undertake some sort of new assignment," he said. "Dear Ravus hasn't said anything to me, of course—he never does, if he can possibly help it—but I believe he's resolved to work all the harder to protect you."

"I can protect myself," said Lunafreya, concentrating her strength and pushing herself upright to prove it. She couldn't bear to think of Ravus throwing away everything that made him who he was, all for the sake of saving her from an inescapable destiny. Especially given his unrestrained hatred of Lucis… of Noctis. He was already well on his way to becoming indistinguishable from their imperial oppressors.

"I never doubted it," said Ardyn, smiling faintly. "Unfortunately, brothers will be brothers, and they don't tend to listen. Best not to give it too much thought."

Lunafreya glanced over at him. Those were no empty words of reassurance, but heavy with untold experience. "Do you have a brother, sir?"

"Had," said Ardyn shortly. "He's in the care of the Crystal now."

"I'm sorry to hear that."

"Don't be," said Ardyn. "I hated him."

"Oh."

"But," he continued, as though he had said nothing out of the ordinary, "if nothing else, I suppose he did give me lots of tales to tell. Though you may be a little old to listen to my stories anymore, now that you've begun living them yourself."

Lunafreya frowned. "I'm only fourteen."

"And already almost a woman," said Ardyn. "You'll officially become the Oracle sooner rather than later, and forge many more covenants to help the Chosen King. Such is your destiny, if the legends are to be believed." He looked Lunafreya up and down appraisingly. "Do you intend to follow it?"

Hesitating, Lunafreya studied Ardyn's expression. What did he want her to say? Should she admit that someday her own interests would conflict with those of the Empire, or pretend herself too weak to follow her destined path…?

After a short pause, she settled on the truth; at least then he would approve or disapprove of her real self. "Of course," said Lunafreya, and something like relief flickered across Ardyn's countenance: she had chosen correctly. "I thought you said you never doubted me."

"I never doubted your ability," said Ardyn. "But your will is another matter. You must admit it's unusual for a young lady such as yourself to embrace her fate so readily." His gaze sharpened. "The High Messenger has informed you of the longer-term effects on your body, has she not?"

Lunafreya bowed her head. She would be lying if she said she was not troubled by the knowledge Gentiana had imparted, but… "If I can save so many others, my life is a small price to pay." It had started out as a rehearsed sentiment, an endless mantra to grant her comfort, but the more she considered it, the more she came to believe it. Now, she was almost entirely convinced.

Unfathomable bitterness twisted the corner of Ardyn's mouth, the closest to anger she had seen him in broad daylight, and he shook his head. "And did she tell you that salvation is a lie?" he asked. "Even the greatest of sacrifices can only postpone the inevitable—nothing more."

A pang shot across Lunafreya's heart. Ardyn spoke the truth, but if she prioritized her own life, there was no telling how many others would succumb to the disease before their time. She could never live with herself, knowing that she had been granted the power to relieve their suffering, and had done nothing.

"Maybe so," said Lunafreya. "But each life touches many others, and I know what it's like to lose a loved one too soon. If I can give everyone a chance to say their goodbyes peacefully, at another time, then any sacrifice will have been worth it."

Ardyn looked at her for a long time, his expression unreadable, before letting out a short sigh. "I shouldn't have expected any less of someone so pure of heart," he said, his tone lightening again, but there was still an inexplicable edge to his voice. "A little innocence goes a long way. Do be careful not to misplace it."

Lunafreya looked back at Ardyn in some confusion, trying to perceive his motivation. Given that he had seemed pleased with her resolution not a minute before, he must be playing the devil's advocate to test her resolve. "You don't have to worry about me, sir," she said. "I will do what I must to protect our star and its people. The Six will watch over me."

Ardyn let out a short, laughlike breath. "You're nothing if not determined, my lady," he said, getting to his feet. Though his gaze lingered on her face, he did not quite meet her eyes; it felt almost as though he were seeing someone else. "I'm sure the afflicted will be in good hands."

"I hope so," said Lunafreya. "Are you… all right, sir?" She couldn't help voicing her unease. Ardyn was acting oddly, even by his eccentric standards—and even more so, as her question seemed to startle him.

Rather than respond immediately, he focused intently on her face, his brow twitching in a frown of genuine confusion and surprise at her concern. His aura of agitation intensified before vanishing suddenly as he spoke. "Yes, thank you," said Ardyn, letting out a long breath. "Worry about yourself first, Lady Lunafreya. I am not one of those you must save."

But as he took his leave without any further farewells, she thought she heard him mutter something under his breath. It might have been they grow up so fast.

As the door closed behind Ardyn, a sharp clink of china startled Lunafreya, and she glanced around to find herself sitting at a table. She really had matured so quickly, hadn't she? Here she sat, the youngest Oracle in history, newly anointed at the tender age of sixteen. She must have been lost in thought, reliving her first covenant… and the moment she had first expressed her conviction.

"I've never been one for religion, really," mused Ardyn, sitting across from her now. The noise must have been him setting down his teacup, Lunafreya realized, coming fully back to herself. "But as you took up the Trident, for a moment, I thought I might understand the appeal."

Lunafreya had long since learned to take Ardyn's backhanded compliments in full. "You honor me, sir," she told him, giving a small smile. Her ascension was in no small part his doing, given that he had been the one to deem her ready to take up such a mantle, and recommended the ritual accordingly. Yet he had also helped her prepare for the occasion in more ways than she'd have thought possible.

Although they did not meet often, their visits—usually over tea, as had become tradition—provided immense insight into her duties and expectations. For someone who referred to himself as a 'shameless heretic', Ardyn had surprisingly comprehensive knowledge of the Hexatheon and their traditions. In fact, in the absence of any former Oracles to aid Lunafreya, he had turned out to be the only one capable of walking her through her part of the initiation ceremony.

"The honor is mine," said Ardyn. "Imagine—an ordinary man drinking tea with the Oracle of the Six! I can think of several others who would kill for such a privilege, if only for the view." The corners of his lips curled upward in unknown mirth, and he raised his cup to them, perhaps to hide his smile.

Lunafreya's heart skipped a bewildering beat, but she only raised her eyebrows, choosing to disregard his addition. "You are far from ordinary," she said instead, taking a sip of her own tea. "I think you know that."

Ardyn's smile widened. "What gave me away?"

"Where shall I begin?" asked Lunafreya. There was little about Ardyn or his background that was not shrouded in mystery, but there was much that stood out as extraordinary in various ways. During their every meeting, she noticed more about him that she did not understand, and the infrequency of their visits only exacerbated her curiosity. "Your title as chancellor, first of all."

"Come now; titles aren't everything," returned Ardyn. "Mine certainly shouldn't mean anything to you. After all, an infidel is nothing to an icon."

"Yet still you stood with your hat off and your head bowed during the mass prayer," countered Lunafreya. "I saw you." And there had been plenty of other people who hadn't, even if they had been a minority compared to the faithful masses, so he couldn't use camouflage as an excuse.

Ardyn pursed his lips. "Call it a diplomatic gesture," he said. "No living thing can afford to offend the gods. Myself least of all."

"Then you do at least believe in the Astrals." Judging by his stories, Ardyn actually knew more about the Hexatheon than most others could boast. She supposed there was an off chance that he had simply taken an interest in mythology, but his tales always seemed so realistic.

"That all depends on what you mean by 'believe', my lady," said Ardyn, giving her a tense smile.

"You do not deny that they slumber among us."

"They can slumber wherever they like," said Ardyn bitterly, his smile becoming a grimace. "But I am no more obligated to worship them than you are to worship me. It's all a matter of perspective—and I'm sure you've noticed that mine is somewhat different from most others'."

"Yes," said Lunafreya, taking a sip of tea to warm herself from the coldness in his expression. "I confess I haven't encountered many men like you before."

She chose her words deliberately, careful to leave no room for misinterpretation, but Ardyn still leaned forward with a knowing smile that did not reach his eyes. "I'm glad to hear it," he said. "But unfortunately, it seems you'll be encountering me a good deal less in the coming days. It's been fun, but your duties are your own, and mine are mine."

Ardyn drained his cup and set it in its saucer with a strange sense of finality, and Lunafreya felt a twinge of profound disappointment she could not trace. They met seldom enough already, and the duration of each separation had always passed without any such advance notice. If he had seen fit to warn her like this, then… "You talk as though we'll never meet again."

Ardyn deflected Lunafreya's unspoken question with a shrug. "I suppose we'll have to see what fate has in store," he said, but the possibility rang hollow, a polite evasion of an overt negative. "In the meantime, I prefer not to make promises I can't keep."

"Even as regards something as formless as the future?" pressed Lunafreya. A yes-or-no answer didn't seem too much to ask, and receiving one meant more than she understood. "Forever is… quite a long time."

At her words, anger sparked in Ardyn's eyes, but he smothered it before she could get a good look. "I am your ally only for as long as your interests align with mine and those of the Empire," he said, his voice carefully measured. "It would be unwise to count on my friendship in future. But then, you would be unwise to count on anything." He rose. "I trust you know that."

As he spoke, Ardyn's eyes pierced through to Lunafreya's soul, and she shivered in their unseasonable chill. His words felt so pointed; could it be that he knew about her correspondence with Noctis…? Fraternizing with such a meaningful enemy, even if on a purely personal level, was nothing less than treason. And Ardyn was certainly high-ranking enough to bring down the full wrath of Niflheim on her head, if he so chose.

Yet, upon closer investigation, there was no hint of a genuine threat in his eyes. More likely, he was simply reminding Lunafreya that her very life was forfeit for as long as she walked this path, as was everything in it, with no further specifications. But no matter what she lost along the way, she had no choice but to keep moving forward.

"I understand," said Lunafreya, dipping her head, and her hands curled around her teacup as she stared into it. "As I have understood. I have never once taken our relationship—such as it is—for granted." It felt important, somehow, that Ardyn think well of her; she could not bear the idea of being dismissed as naïve or childlike. "But please, permit me to ask why."

"You mean to ask why I bothered saying anything?" asked Ardyn. "It seems only polite to give you some warning before I disappear, and in fact, I've been meaning to do so for some time. But, given your attachment to our conversations, I thought it might be easier to hear in a familiar environment." He gestured to the shop around them. "Hence, tea."

Lunafreya shook her head. "I meant why you must distance yourself to begin with," she said. "And why now. Our meetings are short and infrequent as it is; I don't understand why it is so imperative to end them altogether."

Ardyn let out a sigh, as if having expected the question, but predictably did not offer a direct answer. "My mission ends where yours begins," he said, crossing his arms. "You've heard all my stories, and learned all their lessons. What more can you hope to gain from our continued association?"

"What do you fear losing?"

Impertinent words wrenched themselves from Lunafreya's mouth before she could swallow them, and she pressed a few fingers to her lips, but the damage was done. Brought up short, Ardyn he gazed at her through suspiciously narrowed eyes, perhaps seeking some sort of ulterior motive. She colored slightly under his stare, but managed to meet his searching eyes. It had been an innocent enough question.

"My mystique, for one," said Ardyn finally, smiling again… but for all his levity, Lunafreya felt certain those words were among the truest he had ever spoken. So that was it: she had grown too inquisitive of late. Or perhaps he had grown too wary of her natural ability to open others' hearts, if he sought to conceal his own. "As of now, you and I no longer have anything to offer one another, and I haven't the time for idle visits," continued Ardyn, when Lunafreya could say nothing. "I bear you no ill will, but priorities do change, and I'm afraid you are no longer quite so high on my list. Nor should I be on yours."

Ardyn's civil reassurance meant more to Lunafreya than she expected, and she felt herself relaxing. However shallow his reasoning may have been, and however bittersweet his smile, they were intended as peace offerings. In all likelihood, he was only being considerate of her own feelings, but he had at least seen fit to extend the opportunity to make their parting an amicable one.

Lunafreya took a deep breath. There was nothing to be done except to say her goodbyes, and be grateful for all he had taught her. "Thank you for everything, sir," she said, getting to her feet and curtsying. "I wish you all the best in days to come. And…" She hesitated, picking up her teacup and raising it in a toast. "I pray the Six bring our paths together again someday."

"Oh, my dear Lady Lunafreya," chuckled Ardyn, bowing his farewell, though his eyes did not leave her face. "No, you don't."

As he turned away, Lunafreya frowned, but something stirred in her peripheral vision, and her attention was drawn to the window. The sky outside darkened to night, distant lights forming the constellation of the imperial capital, and the teacup in her hand lightened and lengthened into a half-empty champagne flute. Her hair twisted itself up and her dress shortened as the room expanded, brightening all around her.

Yet, despite of the jovial atmosphere of her coming-of-age party, Lunafreya stood alone in a corner, deep in thought. That day had crossed her mind quite a few times since its passing—perhaps due to Ardyn's ominous words of parting. Far from deterring her as he had undoubtedly intended, his sudden withdrawal from her life left more of a gap than she had expected. She had not realized it at first, but his unscheduled visits had always come as half-pleasant surprises, giving her something to look forward to. Now, without even the hope of those encounters, Lunafreya found herself… lonely.

Her communication with Noctis was reliable, but still sporadic at best. She and Ravus had not grown any closer over the years, and may in fact have become more distant (although she had managed to make him smile a few times this evening). The other imperial officers were just as aloof, even if for different reasons. Lunafreya's only constant companions were the Messengers, assisting her along her journey, but as much as she loved them, they were no substitute for human interaction.

Come to think of it, Ardyn had been one of the few people to address her as her own person, rather than as a mere commodity or a symbolic entity. The enigmatic unconventionality of his perspective had been at the least a welcome distraction, a breath of fresh air. For that reason alone, as foolish and irrational as it was, Lunafreya found herself missing his flippant observations now and again.

Of course, they'd seen one another a few times within the four years since their last real meeting… but, true to his implications, Ardyn had not visited Lunafreya personally since her ascension as Oracle. She had tried to change that tonight, but he had never responded to her invitation, and now the gathering was almost at its appointed end. Still, at least she had tried to reach out to him; she supposed that was all she could do.

"Lady Lunafreya."

Starting, she turned to find Ardyn approaching, breezy as ever, and couldn't help but stare. Previously, she had assumed that he simply aged well, but he looked exactly the same as the last time she had seen him up close—his hair no more silver, his face no more lined. Yet, as eerie as his unchanged appearance may have been, it also gave Lunafreya a strange sort of comfort. Here was one constant, ironically unpredictable, in her life of variables.

"My sincerest apologies for arriving so late," continued Ardyn, smiling, and lifted the back of her hand to his mouth, pressing a quick and prickly kiss to her skin. Many others had done the same over the years, but this was the first time he had touched her. And the gesture felt… disarmingly genuine, rather than performative as usual.

Perhaps it was Ardyn's casual attitude and relaxed demeanor, as though they had never been apart, but Lunafreya found herself at a complete loss as to how to react. Had his presence always flustered her this much? Or was it the champagne…?

"It seems you've become a fine young woman in my absence," remarked Ardyn, his eyes twinkling in irrepressible amusement as he observed her astonishment.

"Th-thank you, sir," said Lunafreya, remembering to curtsy, and sent a quick and instinctive prayer to Shiva that she had not spent too long frozen. "And… you look the same as ever."

Ardyn laughed. "I shall take that as a compliment," he said, and Lunafreya smiled a tentative affirmative. His aesthetic was hardly what one might call fashion-forward, but it was undeniably suited to his character, an eternal patchwork of patterns and layers—one she wished to remove, despite her better judgment.

That was the champagne. Lunafreya colored slightly. "I can't help but wonder at your agelessness," she confessed, glancing aside to compose herself. "All these years, and you still appear exactly as I remember you. You always have."

"Are you envious, my lady?" asked Ardyn, tilting his head, and a smile still played about his lips. "No need. I'm certain your beauty will last a lifetime." It was the closest to a direct compliment he had ever paid Lunafreya, and she found herself taken aback, uncertain of his sincerity and his motivation. But then, he had always been adept at derailing her train of thought and evading lines of questioning he found irrelevant or uncomfortable. This was no exception.

Lunafreya cleared her throat. "If I might ask, what are you doing here?"

"Why, you invited me," said Ardyn, raising his eyebrows. "Having second thoughts already? I don't blame you."

"Of course not," said Lunafreya, shaking her head. "But last time we met, you led me to believe you'd have nothing further to do with me."

"And you led me to believe that you'd prefer that not be the case," said Ardyn, leading her a verbal dance as usual. "Thus, I bring to you my presence in lieu of presents. Many happy returns of the day, Lady Lunafreya."

Raising his glass, Ardyn drained Lunafreya's health in a few rapid swallows, clearly more interested in the effects of alcohol than the taste. Lunafreya mirrored his toast out of politeness, but could only bring herself to take one more sip of her own drink. She was already as tipsy as she wanted to get, and Ardyn's company bewildered her senses besides.

"How have you been these four years, sir?" asked Lunafreya. She knew better than to ask where he had been, or what he had been doing. In all likelihood, it was classified information. "That is, are you well?"

"Ah," said Ardyn. "About as well as can be expected; no better, but certainly no worse. And how are your duties as Oracle coming along?" He told her next to nothing of his personal situation, moving on too quickly for her to ask more questions, but that much was customary.

Recognizing her minor defeat, Lunafreya bowed her head in contemplation. How could she describe the suffering she witnessed almost daily, the exhaustion that seeped deep into her bones—the euphoria, easily as infectious as Starscourge? "They can be taxing," said Lunafreya eventually, looking up again, "but it brings me great joy to serve. I am… content… with my situation in life."

Ardyn twirled his empty flute by the stem, but though Lunafreya twitched forward in preparation to catch it, his fingers were deft and strong enough not to lose their grasp. "Is that so."

It was not quite a question, and Ardyn's tone was skeptical, almost sarcastic: as usual, he did not believe her. Despite his apparent approval of Lunafreya's position, his demeanor had still been tinged with a subtle kind of cynicism ever since his long-ago assertion that salvation was a myth. She intended to prove him wrong, but in the meantime…

"No, perhaps not," agreed Lunafreya, letting out a short breath. "I would be happier if you paid me the occasional visit. I've missed our conversations, however sparse."

Ardyn smiled, but something about it seemed sad. "My dear lady, you are admired and adored the world over," he said. "You have a brother who will do anything for you, an army of loyal servants, and a childhood friend with whom not all contact has been ceased. I fail to see what charm you find in my company."

Lunafreya's stomach lurched uncomfortably at his oblique mention of Noctis. So Ardyn did know, after all. She had kept their communication as surreptitious as possible, and their exchanges were rare, but she supposed she had been naïve to suppose no one would notice.

"I suppose… I feel that I still have much to learn from you," said Lunafreya. There was something she still did not know about Ardyn and could not guess—the glister of something dark and ancient in his soul, flashing out of his eyes like dying sunlight. Sometimes she wondered whether he was one of the Six, adopting the guise of a human as they had in some of his stories. Yet Gentiana had said nothing, and his aura was nothing like hers.

Ardyn shook his head, stirring Lunafreya out of her thoughts again. "All the more reason for me to keep my distance," he said. "As the day of prophecy draws ever nearer, our interests diverge all the more rapidly. Better to ease into enmity, don't you think?"

"Enmity?" echoed Luna, frowning. That seemed harsh, considering that the Empire had annexed her country and forcibly adopted her—and that her brother had risen to the rank of commander in their military. Did they really intend to turn against her after all that?

Ardyn laughed. "How could it be otherwise?" he asked. "Sooner or later the Chosen King will rise, and you must awaken the Six on his behalf. But I am bound to oppose him, and by extension, you." He examined his glass idly. "And there's no telling to what measures I may have to resort. So, if it's all the same to you—"

"It isn't all the same to me," interrupted Lunafreya, the words spilling like fire from her mouth, and Ardyn's eyes widened at her boldness. "I have known for years that you and I are not, and can never be, friends, but friendship is not what I ask. Surely you can spare an hour or two for tea and talking every once in a while." Like he used to. Anything that might tell her more about him, and give her something to work with.

Her words must have struck a nerve, because Ardyn straightened up with a sudden scowl. "And what would be the point of that, my lady?" he asked. "Allegiance aside, you and I both know the story of the Oracle does not end happily. I am better off without you in my life, and you are far better off without me in yours." He gave a lopsided smile. "It is my greatest hope that you can find it in your heart to despise me sometime before I must betray you. I can't abide tenderness."

Lunafreya narrowed her eyes. She had never quite learned to discern Ardyn's jesting from his sincerity, but for all his self-effacing talk, she couldn't help but feel that it was almost defensive in its nature. Perhaps his attempts to distance himself, and encourage her to hate him, stemmed from her mandatory sacrifice as much as their necessary opposition. Did he shun attachment for fear of inevitable parting…?

"You've lost people before," said Lunafreya, choosing her words carefully. His brother, at the very least, even if Ardyn had insisted he hated him. "But their lives still affect you, even now that their souls have departed. And your life touched and shaped theirs, too." She looked him full in the face. "Isn't that enough?"

Rather than meet Lunafreya's searching eyes, Ardyn closed his own, muttering something under his breath that sounded suspiciously like that is precisely what I'm worried about.

"I beg your pardon?"

Looking down at Lunafreya again, Ardyn didn't miss a beat. "I haven't the faintest idea what you're talking about."

"Lying is unbecoming of a gentleman, sir."

"And passing such decisive judgment is unbecoming of a lady," returned Ardyn. "I am not a gentleman, and you'd be a fool to believe otherwise. And in any case, the truth is always worse, though it seems you never listen to that either." He bowed, somewhat more stiffly than usual. "Now, if you'll excuse me…"

Frustration gripped Lunafreya's heart as Ardyn shut down, but she harbored no regrets. She had finally spoken her mind, and there was little she could do to entice him to speak his. "I take it this is farewell, then," she said, barely biting back one more word: again. Could she trust that this would truly be the last?

"I'm afraid so," said Ardyn dispassionately. "All things considered, I don't think it would benefit anyone for me to stay much longer. I came only because you wished it—and because of the complimentary champagne." He shifted his stance, more authoritative now. "But if I may ask one favor in return, before I depart, allow me to offer a word of advice."

"Please do."

An unidentifiable shadow passed over Ardyn's face. "Let the past blind you to the present, and you lose sight of your future as well," he said. "But the fate of this star rests on the clarity of your vision. I once mentored you, yes, but when next we meet, it will be on the battlefield." He took Lunafreya's hand in his. "Open your eyes, my dear."

Ardyn's term of endearment sounded so warm that Lunafreya could barely comprehend the colder message he had tried to deliver. Perhaps it was her hearing more than her sight that needed correction. "I—I will."

As Ardyn lifted her hand to his mouth again, his eyes remained fixed on hers as she froze. His lips remained ever-so-slightly parted instead of puckered this time, curling into a slight smile against her skin and sending a shiver through her body. He was toying with her, Lunafreya realized, gauging her reaction, but she could not bring herself to be angry with him.

"Good," murmured Ardyn, his touch lingering long after he released her, and turned away without any further goodbyes.

As he picked his way through the remainder of her guests to the bar, a shooting star glimmered in the sky outside, and Lunafreya turned to watch it die. But by the time she turned back to look for Ardyn, he had vanished. Weakening suddenly, she sank down—but a sofa rose to catch her.

The room shifted around her again, the sky lightening to a deep and mournful gray, and Lunafreya blinked a few times as her eyes adjusted to the light. The rain must have put her to sleep, she thought, if she had been dreaming of Ardyn for the first time in another four years. She had put him from her mind, more firmly this time, once she had finally forced herself to recognize that he was less than a stranger to her.

And really, he always had been; Ardyn had never given her more information than absolutely necessary, least of all about him. Yet it was that very evasiveness that had always enticed her, and it felt as though there was still some unfinished business between them. Her desire to understand him conflicted with her instinct to distrust him, and ironically, his assertion that she should distrust him was what prevented her from fully doing so.

The contradictions in Ardyn's nature, and in his manner of address, still lingered in the back of her subconscious mind as dandelions scattered throughout an otherwise perfect field of sylleblossoms. But Lunafreya had long since learned to ignore the yellow among the blue; to try and dig them all up would destroy her garden. More practical concerns took precedence, thanks to her duties as Oracle, and she had reconciled herself to her solitude.

Or so she thought. A knock at the door sounded to tell Lunafreya that she was not alone anymore, and she jumped, but did not have the chance to say anything before the door swung open to admit the very man on her mind.

Lunafreya's breath caught briefly, her heart palpitating, as Ardyn strode forward with jaunty steps—still unchanged, after all these years. But what was he doing here? He had claimed that the next time they met would be on a battlefield. At a loss for what to do or say, she struggled to regain her head, but the few thoughts she managed to gather dispersed again upon the instant as Ardyn sank to one knee before her.

Feeling herself turn faint and pale, Lunafreya stared at him helplessly. He couldn't possibly intend to propose to her… could he…?

"Lunafreya Nox Fleuret," murmured Ardyn, gazing up at her through glinting tawny eyes. Taking out a red velvet box from a pouch at his side, he opened it to reveal a simple band of gold—an engagement ring. (She swallowed convulsively, bracing herself.) "Will you marry the crown prince of Lucis?"

It took a moment for his words to sink in. "N-Noctis?"

"But of course," said Ardyn, barely managing to mask his amusement beneath artificial surprise. "Surely you don't want to marry the likes of me."

"I…" There was no right answer. "I assume this is not a request?"

"Why, my lady," said Ardyn, eyes wide as if in innocence. "I know you've been pining for your childhood friend all these years, so I went out of my way to give you his hand in marriage." He tilted his head. "Aren't you even a little bit pleased? I could just as easily have made you his stepmother, you know."

"I… thank you, yes," said Lunafreya, flushing. "You must forgive my shock. Your approach was misleading." To say the least. She had never expected to be able to marry when and whom she chose, but she had always assumed that her husband-to-be would at least be present to inform her of the wedding. But she supposed it could easily have been worse, given her bridegroom.

Still, Lunafreya could not suppress a grim sense of foreboding, a nagging feeling that not everything would go as planned. Although Noctis was the man she had always hoped to marry, this betrothal was no selfless favor. Someday, he would inherit his father's ring, and it was no secret that Niflheim sought the power of the Crystal. The Empire undoubtedly intended to use Lunafreya to retrieve it.

Ardyn laughed, straightening up, and sat beside her. "The prince is of an age where he bends the knee to no one, not even his destiny—let alone the Empire," he said. "You represent both. I took it upon myself to kneel on his behalf."

"Then our union is meant to represent the peace?" And to unite the opposition. If Lunafreya married Noctis, the Empire could more easily isolate and reject her, declaring her an enemy of the state as soon as she obeyed the powers higher than its own. Perhaps this room qualified as a battlefield after all, or the precursor to one: Ardyn had, as usual, spoken truth.

"Oh, it's far more than that," said Ardyn, waving a hand. "Call it a rite of passage. By all accounts, the prince is still a boy—but you, my dear, shall make him the man he is meant to be." He peered at her closely. "Unless you have objections?"

Lunafreya shook her head. "None whatsoever," she said, braving a smile. If her only choice was to lead Noctis into the vipers' den, she could at least hold onto the vain hope of guiding him safely through. "When will we be wed?"

"That is yet to be determined," said Ardyn, taking Lunafreya's right hand in his, and she tensed. Eyeing her curiously, he slid the ring onto her ring finger, and she trembled at his touch, senses heightening. His caress was warmer, and his grasp more powerful, than she remembered—body and soul. "Are you quite well, my lady?"

"Y-yes, sir," said Lunafreya, but could not meet his eyes. "Merely coming to terms with… everything. I can hardly believe that a childhood fantasy of mine is going to come true, after all these years." As Ardyn finally released her, she raised her trembling hand to admire the ring, gleaming gold in a reflection of silver light. It was beautiful in its simplicity.

"Do you like it?" asked Ardyn, studying her expression.

He seemed on the verge of saying something else, but kept quiet, so Lunafreya nodded. "Of course."

Ardyn smiled, a little more sharply than usual. He seemed distinctly on edge, far more restless than his usual maddeningly unruffled self. "I'm glad to hear it."

There was a long, strangely airless silence. It felt as though there was something left unsaid, and Ardyn evidently sensed it too, though he did not speak. He merely looked at Lunafreya, so intently—almost hungrily—that she blushed, lowering her eyes. It seemed to her that he was in search of a specific reaction, but she could not for the life of her imagine what it was.

Eventually, she clasped her hands in her lap, looking back up at Ardyn again with an effort. "I know I haven't the right to ask," said Lunafreya, "but… why didn't you send an envoy?" It would have been far easier, and more sensible, than coming all this way himself. Especially if it meant going to such unseemly lengths to inform her of her engagement.

Ardyn pursed his lips as if debating whether to say anything, but at length, let out a long sigh. "I simply had to see you once more before your marriage," he said, and Lunafreya's heart swelled and shrank all at once. "If only to see how far you've come, and how the world has changed you. Besides, this happiness makes the sorrow to come all the sweeter, and there is so little time left to us."

"What do you intend to do with it, sir?" asked Lunafreya. She could not help but think he had expressed the previous sentiment backwards, but did not dare correct him. Everything Ardyn ever said or did was deliberate in some way.

Besides, truth be told, something in his behavior today frightened her. As long a time as he had spent gazing at her, it almost felt as though he was gazing straight through her through a dark veil that had been lowered over ordinarily clear eyes. To him, Lunafreya was more than the Oracle, yet less than an individual. Who, or what, did Ardyn see when he looked at her?

"Oh, nothing at all," said Ardyn, perhaps a little sadly, and Lunafreya almost started, heart quickening. It felt almost as though he had answered her thoughts, rather than her question, and a chill flooded her body at the implications. "I've seen all there is to see, I think."

"You've only just arrived."

"And now I must away."

"How is this parting different from all the others?" asked Lunafreya, more and more perplexed, and they both got to their feet. "Twice you have warned me that I may not see you again, yet twice you have returned." And each time Ardyn's appearance remained unchanged, yet his manner had shifted, too subtly for her to pinpoint. Something was coming; his calm was beginning to ebb into a storm.

"Believe it or not, I prefer to stay out of trouble until the reward is worth the risk," said Ardyn. "But I think I've bided my time long enough, and so have you. It's about time someone gave the prophecy of legend a little extra incentive to unfold, don't you think?"

Lunafreya frowned. "No mortal has control over that."

Ardyn chuckled. "Indeed not," he said, though he did not seem perturbed in the least. "But in any case, I shall return for you once more, when the time is right, and not before." He took Lunafreya's hand in his, again not moving his eyes from her face, and she shuddered despite herself, a wave of dark foreboding washing over her.

"Not before," she repeated, frowning. "What about after?" Would next time be the very last time they met? Lunafreya's premonition grew stronger, but she could not see into the heart of the matter: perhaps next time would offer her the answers she needed.

"Oh, after our next meeting, you won't have any more questions for me," said Ardyn, and kissed the back of her hand, closing his eyes as if savoring the sensation. Lunafreya's breath caught as a light exhalation brushed her skin, her heart skipping a final bewildering beat in time with his goodbye. "Farewell, my lady. I'm sure you'll be a worthy companion to the Chosen King."

Oh, prince! Your bride awaits!

Lunafreya struggles to inhale again amid the roaring winds, whipping her thoughts out of shock. Regret and anguish spill out of the hole in her side, fatalistic determination growing stronger with every weakening pulse. Her heartbeat is painful now, irregular, her head light and spinning with revelations. His approval, his cynicism, his persistent attempts to push her away. What he saw when he looked at her—the lamb before the slaughter.

Yet, even now, all Lunafreya feels is fear for Noctis and for Eos. Her own fate has always been inescapable; she cannot bring herself to hate Ardyn for hastening it. And he was wrong about one thing, she thought, beginning to push herself upright again. She still has one last question after all. But there is neither time nor breath to ask what had hurt him.