"You should have told me!" The king slammed a hand down on the desk as he levered himself to his feet. "This was not your decision to make, Marshal."
"Sire, it was not." Cor Leonis, commander of the Crownsguard stood, hands crossed behind his back, in the king's study. "Is not," he amended. "Which is why I am coming to you now. I believe it is time the two of you met."
"You'll integrate this boy into the Kingsglaive and he will continue to serve in Insomnia. I'm certain you can concoct a reason as to why he was trained independently."
"Yes, your Highness, I could," the marshal's gaze remained steadfastly forward, "but I won't. I would suggest instead you do him the honor of speaking to him now. Before he leaves."
"Are you defying a command from your king?"
"No, I am not. What I am doing," Cor looked his king now in the eyes, "is ensuring the safety of the royal family. I am, as I have ever been, your loyal servant. Which you know. Just as you know that I will order him to go, on a timetable planned meticulously in conjunction with Prince Noctis' departure from the crown city, with or without your blessing. What I am asking," the marshal paused and took a deep breath before continuing, "is that you acknowledge the King's Burden as a ruler must."
It was the king who broke eye contact first. "My words will not succor him if..."
"They may." When King Regis Lucis Caelum looked back up, his oldest friend was holding out his cane. "Come. He will be training, even as we speak."
The walk to the ludus was a long one and the two men strode in silence, past guards stationed and attentive, through the hallways and up the staircase leading to the gallery. No one was on duty here; Cor ensured the rotation gapped at regular intervals during the day so his tutelage could be held without interruption, taking no chances on prying eyes.
Once they found a suitable viewpoint, the commander produced a spyglass and offered it to his king. The king extended it and directed it to the lone figure on the training ground below.
The leader of the Crownsguard knew what he saw. A man with features so much like the king's son they might have been brothers. It was possible they were even distantly related, through bastard blood so diluted the old records were unable to trace it. If the marshal were less cautious, he might have asked Ignis to further research the family tree; the retainer from House Scientia had a prodigious memory and was tenacious when given a task. However, the line of succession needed to remain untarnished and blurring the lines so close to the summit was unwise. Still, although it was styled differently, he had the same dark hair, the same blue eyes, the same general build and facial structure – there were still times Cor caught himself with another name on his lips when providing instruction, a reprimand or praise.
"Where…?" the king finally asked.
"A hospital," the commander interrupted before the sentence could be finished. "There was, understandably, confusion about his lineage. He was deposited," 'left to die' Cor's mind filled in, "in the hospital's emergency admitting area, injured and incoherent. I was contacted to ascertain his identity by the facility's administrator."
Cor saw no reason to share further details: the number of illicit drugs in the boy's system, how he had been beaten nearly to death, sitting vigil at his bedside through his detoxification, the multiple operations and skin grafts it took to repair the physical damage and finally, the patient explanation of who he was and why the Kingsglaive wanted to recruit him.
"Who else knows about him?"
"A handful of the Glaive. Clarus, of course. Nyx and Libertus. Crowe was essential in helping him develop his warping techniques; he doesn't have her raw skill but makes up for it with finesse. Not Prince Noctis or his friends if you're asking although it was a close thing a few times, young Prompto being as eager as he was for his self-defense classes."
The king continued to watch the exercise yard. "Noctis cannot know."
"No sir."
"He would never forgive me."
Cor considered his next words for a few moments before speaking them aloud. "I think he would come to understand, in time, if the ceasefire holds and the treaty is signed. The overtures from the Empire seem genuine enough and the meeting has been months in the making, as have the wedding preparations. This," he said, with forced conviction, "is just a precaution."
"By the Six!" the King threw aside the spyglass. It bounced, then rolled over to hit the wall with a faint metallic ting. "We are using this boy as bait! And may the Gods forgive me for condoning it, but I would do anything to see my son safe! I do not need you lying to me on top of everything else!"
Cor glanced down at the figure below. It was unlikely their voices carried far and there was no outward indication the other man heard the exchange. He progressed through his drills as though unobserved, still expecting his teacher's presence at their appointed time and aware of the consequences if he was found lax or lazy. Then, retrieving the spyglass, he held it out for the king. "You're acting as if we're sending a raw recruit and he isn't. Will he be in danger? Potentially. Will he be able to handle anything short of an imperial battalion? I would ask you to watch and judge for yourself."
Regis looked between the commander of his Kingsglaive and the object before taking it back with a tired sigh and Cor knew his king saw through his defense of their actions. It was ironic the prince, however ill-prepared he was now to rule his people, would have been the one to reject this plan if he'd been made aware. The marshal supposed he had Noctis' friends to thank for that. Every life was valuable and for them to be putting one life above another, even knowing the celestials envisioned Insomnia's prince as their chosen one, sacrificed part of their humanity. Were men who made this sort of choice worth saving? What sort of penance would they need to pay in the afterlife?
These were thoughts Cor mulled over at dusk, watching the days grow shorter and the nights longer. For all his doubts though, he committed to this path years ago and prepared the man below as well as he was able, short of requiring him to undergo the Blademaster's trial as a last test of his skill. The Burden was no Shield though, as he intended to demonstrate for his king.
Cor leaned over the stone railing, watching his student's movements until he saw the opening he was looking for. Without preamble, he engaged, warping to his intended spot, readying his summoned blade for a downward swing that would – if it connected – cleave the other man's skull.
It didn't, however, because his pupil was no longer there. He was crouched, balanced on the balls of his feet, on the head of one of the training dummies.
"You're late, sir."
The two regarded one another. "What have I told you about showing off, Cerran?" Cor said.
"Not to, Marshal. But I was bored and you are late, sir. If you want to cut off my head, we should try training at night for a change."
"You have your orders, Glaive. Or do I need you to write them on a blackboard one hundred times to ensure you know them by heart?"
The younger man grimaced. "No sir. I know. I'm sorry." He bowed his head in contrition.
"Well, then." Cor nodded in approval. "Since I'm late, as you said, perhaps we should see about giving you a real workout?"
Their match was less a fight and more of an artful ballet of skilled acrobatics. Cerran possessed a gift for reading motion and anticipating their kinetics. Rather than warping from a distance which telegraphed the opponent's intent, he moved in close quarter, short bursts that conserved his stamina. Unlike most Glaives, he also preferred vertical rather than lateral movement and utilized of his surroundings to warp above, or behind while Cor still faced forward. It was dangerous but advantageous; Cerran favored daggers and bo-shuriken which allowed for both attacks and misdirection. In a decade – if the treaty held and the dark was banished – the marshal predicted Cerran would have the discipline to be one of the best fighters, if not the best, in Lucis.
For now, he retained the hubris of youth and often tried to best his teacher with reckless moves that worked less often than the other man hoped. When these gambits failed, he overcompensated with aggression rather than retreat to re-think his strategy. On his good days, he could leave Cor fatigued and impressed. On his bad, Cerran left the arena with bruises and some measure of humility – until the next session, of course. Most were a mix of both; Cor still won their matches consistently but it was becoming more and more difficult to do so.
Today, luckily, was one of Cerran's best performances and it made the commander wonder briefly if his pupil was finally realizing the importance of what he was tasked with rather than treating every day like another training exercise. Cor also breathed a quiet sigh of relief. He meant what he said to his King, but there was no changing the fact they were sending a boy only a few years older than Noctis into a situation fraught with peril. In the time allotted, though, Cor and the few Glaives he trusted with the knowledge of Cerran's existence had done the best they could. Better, in fact, since – unlike the crown prince – he would be alone.
Either that, or he realized the marshal's attention was divided. The younger man lunged; Cor pulled back just in time and his katana's tsuba blocked Cerran's attempt to reach him. If his student could score enough tiny slices or cuts, the blood would make his grip slippery, potentially disarm him and win the match.
Cerran slid back out of his failed engage, then whipped out his arm. The marshal ducked to avoid the imminent projectiles, realizing too late his student hadn't actually thrown anything and that the gesture was a feint. Playing off of his teacher's expectations, Cerran utilized the momentum of the empty throw to warp past and above the commander's position. Cor dropped and rolled to his left, catching a glimpse of his student before he disappeared again. Cor pivoted for another dodge, but instead of a flurry of sharpened spikes raining down upon him, Cor saw the boy's head turn towards the balcony and an expression of alarm flit across his face. This time, Cor knew Cerran's attack would be in earnest as he drew his arm back.
The paranoia and hyper-awareness of his surroundings Cor instilled in his student were working against them both; there wasn't even time for a mental curse for not mentioning the king's visit to him beforehand. With a strangled cry, the Marshal shouted, "No!" as the shuriken were released and sped at their target.
The circular blast of light was so bright, he had to shield his eyes. Cerran was knocked back into the wall and his head hit the marble with a crack. Cor leapt to catch his student around the waist and warp him to the ground. Unconscious, but breathing, thankfully, and his pupils were responsive when Cor checked. As a precaution, he rolled the other man onto his side and tilted his head back gently to ensure his airway remained clear in case the injury was worse than it seemed.
A voice called down from above. "An imperial battalion you said." Cor looked up at Regis, who was leaning over the railing. The king shook, then rubbed his hand where the royal seal resided. "It's good to see you weren't exaggerating. I believe he intended to kill me. I don't envy the soul who lurks in his shadow."
"I try to keep my lies to the royal personage to a bare minimum. You're unharmed, your Majesty?"
"Nothing that an extra hour's worth of sleep won't cure, although I don't know when I'll be able to fit that into my schedule. The boy?"
"He'll have a headache, which I have a feeling will intensify once he realizes who it was he attacked."
"I'm afraid his weapons were… hm… vaporized."
"They can be replaced. The same cannot be said of my king."
"If only that were true, old friend." The two men looked at each other for a few moments before the king's gaze went to the unconscious Glaive at Cor's side. "I hesitated. When he turned on me. The likeness. His fluidity, his grace. It makes me ache for what Noctis might have been if not for the Marilith."
The intimacy of the confession made the two men's formality slip away. "That wasn't your fault, Regis. And this wasn't either," he tacked on. "I should have told him you would be coming."
"There were many things you should have done, Marshal. Telling me about him sooner being first and foremost." Cor watched as Regis' expressions transformed him from his lifelong companion and best friend back to the ruler of his kingdom in the space of a few breaths. "I sanction this and do so to protect my son, not because of any prophesy. But I will not speak to him. I do not want to know this man; he is a pawn, nothing more." The king turned his back on the pair on the floor below him. "Get his hair cut. Get him out of my palace. I never want to see his face or speak about this ever again."
"Sire!" Cor gasped.
"Do not make me repeat myself, Grand Marshal. You will do as I command. And if he returns to us, unharmed, and my son does not… kill him."
The idea for this came to me when playing through the FFXV Comrades expansion. After doing the quest 'Departures' you can receive Noctis' facial structure for your character creation. I got to thinking about what would happen if Noctis had a doppelgänger and what role he might play through the storyline's conflict. If you're interested in such things, I highly recommend the book 'I was Monty's Double' or for something a bit more easily digestible, the Kurosawa movie 'Kagemusha' (a term which might or might not get used later). Yes, I do weird bits of research that don't amount to much of anything at all. Anyhow, a whole lot of plot tumbled around in my head as a result and this is the first chapter. Brainworms are real, people, and it managed to sidetrack me from not one but two separate stories I've been working on for Star Wars: The Old Repubic and Dragon Age: Origins. And Noctis isn't even my favorite character. He's like third! Curse you, Square Enix! There's also a dash of what I'd roughly classify as "Do the ends justify the means?" inspiration - people in power using others for both right and wrong reasons.
Speaking of Square Enix, the universe and most characters that are prominently mentioned like Regis and Cor (with more to come) belongs to them. Cerran is a character of mine (looks nothing like Noctis, by the way), who tends to pop up when I don't feel it's appropriate to use my main muse, Sandor.
Thank you for taking the time to read it. I've done my best to proofread and check for errors (hurray for slowly reading aloud). If you're so inclined, please feel free to review; a critique is as valued as praise.
PS. I am aware that there might be an issue with the idea that a Glaive could warp or use the Armiger arsenal without having, in some way, been appointed directly by the King. I searched high and low for some sort of explanation of how it was done without spoiling too much of FFXV for myself (which I still haven't completed and I haven't watched 'Kinsglaive' for fear of said spoilers): Does he have to touch them? Do something with the Ring of Lucii? Maybe it was just an oath or, what I opted for, being inducted by one of the Glaive with their weapon. I imagined it something like this: If we start with one of the original Kingsglaive, like Cor, he in turn could "pass" the weapon to those he deemed worthy. They might both grip his katana, but once the ceremony is complete, the magic allows them to "draw" the weaponry they're most suited to and can now warp as well. So, Cerran was trained first with "normal" weapons and only once Cor decided he was sufficiently committed and trustworthy, did he actually allow Cerran to become a Glaive with access to their powers. TLDR: magic stuff happens that is magical, but it felt like a plot point I wanted to assure my readers I had considered and my story's premise might require some suspension of disbelief as a result that I hope you'll find worth it.