A/N: hey folks! There's not so much of my Batfam stuff these days, I've kind of wrote a whole wicked bunch of Final Fantasy stuff so here goes nothing. Sol Lucis Caelum and Adura Invalesca is my original character though not in my original world (but my ideal one). There are aesthetic boards for Sol and Adura on my pinterest account, /happyemobaby. If you really want to get a good look at them, check them out because aesthetics are fun. Enjoy this story, friends. 3

Sol Lucis Caelum

The snow is blinding, the wind whips through his hair and he blows it away with a smile. The hard wooden sword in his hand is damp with melted ice but it's better now, he knows. It's harder. Heavier, but harder. Uncle Gladio, halfway across the playing field in the backyard, is grinning at him like a cat. Waiting for him to move.

"Come on," Gladio laughs, tilting his head to crack his neck and grinning. "You can do it, little guy."

"Oh I know," Sol raises an eyebrow and gripping his prop sword with both hands. "But you're getting old, Uncle Gladio."

"Ha!" Gladio thunders and comes towards him on the offense, growling playfully, "think you're funny, do you?!"

The swords clash with successive thunks, wood against wood, and Sol shoves as hard as he can, doesn't give in, he can't give in now. He just gave it to Gladio and he's got to take it back, but not without a hard fight. Gladio combines his weight along with his sword's weight and it's cracking Sol under. But Sol relies on his speed, his resilience – and let's face it, Gladio would never hurt Sol. He's been keeping a sharp eye on him since he was a baby.

"You'll pay for that smart-alecky remark, kid!" Gladio groans, suddenly throwing himself against Sol, wrapping an arm around his leg and pulling him to the ground. Sol exclaims, snow scratching hard against his face and now it's just a mere wrestling match. Sol fights to pull his legs out from Gladio's hold, but the snow is slippery and scuffs up his hands. It's a whirl of his hair falling into his eyes, breathless laughs, Gladio's grip and wild tattoos. He doesn't know how it happens, but suddenly he's pinned and Gladio shouts, "Give up yet?!"

Sol gasps, pushing against Gladio's clasp around his wrists but it feels like a deja vu moment, like he's been here before. He looks up at Gladio, a purely friendly face, someone he knows would die for him in seconds – but there's something about the shape he's in. Forced, cornered, no way out.

"I give up," he pants, frowning. "I give up."

"You okay?" Uncle Gladio asks, giving him a hand up and steadying him. "Got winded?"

"Yeah, I must've," he breathes, running his gloved hands through his hair. His heart is racing and it's not because he's been playing around. He knows that.

Sol feels almost sick as Gladio picks up a sword and asks, "Another round?"

But he doesn't have to immediately accept because a familiar voice calls him from the palace doors behind him. "Heyo, Sol!"

Sol looks over his shoulder and smiles at Prompto, waves a hand. Prompto cups a hand near his mouth and shouts too loudly, "Your dad wants you in his office!"

Sol winces, that was rather soon, he didn't expect that. What could it mean that Dad would want him now right after that...that moment there? Where he got faced with-

"Go ahead, kid," Gladio smiles. "We got time."

He drops his sword, snaps his fingers at Lieca who barks and follows him into the palace. Snow slush leaves muddy puddles on the marble and he kicks off the boots at the door. His scarf is damp and he leaves that there too. He doesn't think on the way to his parents' office. He only knows that there's a rock in his stomach, he's sweating and his nose is running.

He pauses in front of their closed door. His eyes stare into the dark obsidian, his slow breathing echoes in the hall. The rising anxiety is closing in on him but all he has to do is turn the knob and walk in...it's not like he's awaiting execution.

But it feels like it. Like two pairs of piercing eyes will stare down into the depths of his soul and recoil in horror at what they see.

He closes his eyes and focuses on pushing it down further. Deeper.

Sol takes off his gloves, shoves them into his pocket. His cold hands press against the door, forcing himself to move forward and swallow the rock in the back of his throat. It's just his parents. It's just his parents and they just want to talk to him, they just want to be alone with him, he shouldn't look so nervous.

It shouldn't be this hard.

There is always a touch of curiosity whenever Sol enters one of the royal rooms. Everything is so big and the ancient walls tell stories of the kings of old, foretell the future ones. He can't help but smile a little; it's so beautiful. The lighting is nearly pure white, it's heightened by the snow glistening outside. The office is gleaming and quiet except for the gentle hiss of papers sliding against each other, the sunlight falling softly against the marble columns. It glitters in the chandelier above the desks facing one another. Sol's eyes are naturally attracted to it first, even before his mother and father standing behind the king's desk.

"Sol," Queen Lunafreya says in greeting, a smile touching her face. She motions to the chair before the desk. "Please, sit."

Sol approaches slowly, looking into his father's face as if gauging his feelings right now. Sol has seen King Noctis go from happiness and peace - lounging back in his throne as if he was no more than his own age – to a darkness in his eyes that betrays a fear in his heart. Occasionally a limp comes to his frame, he leans over as if in pain, goes quiet with thought. He's older now. Things are changing.

That's when Sol works especially hard to keep his thoughts in order. Put more veils over his heart.

He sits down, almost hesitantly, and he rubs his hands on his pants. Smiles like he should.

Noctis smiles back, folds and unfolds his hands on the desk, leaning forward in a careless slouch. But there's light in his eyes, that blue is sparkling, but his voice is slow. Careful. "As you know...the latest discussions between the Crown City and Niflheim have been successful and beneficial for both countries."

Sol nods; he's seen his father meet with ambassadors, he has gone out to the once enemy country a few times in his life. Even Sol has seen the war-weary, revolution torn Gralea once or twice. The factories bombed by the people, ashes where the Imperial buildings once stood. With the government demolished, the people took back their land. Defeated their demons, inner and outer. Niflheim was essentially destroyed by itself in every way possible.

"We want you to know that an official alliance will soon be announced," Noctis continues quietly, jolting Sol out of his reverie.

And then there's a pause.

Sol takes a sudden deep breath and looks at his mother as if for a cue, "Um...that's...that's good. That's wonderful. A new era."

"It certainly is," Lunafreya nods. Her voice so soft, so gentle. "Niflheim has seen decades of tyranny, darkness and hatred. Since the revolution, they've been struggling to heal and this alliance will aid that process."

Sol nods again, unable to keep her eyes for very long. Continues rubbing his palms together, hunches in on himself.

"We want you to read the treaty papers," Noctis says, handing him a folded sheet of paper, almost blinding in the sunlight.

"Oh, okay," Sol says, taking it and staring at it, noting the careful folds (done by his mother) and curled edges (done by his father). His own fingers open one flap, closes it again.

"Please read it," Luna says and Sol looks up, it all comes together like pieces of the puzzles he loves to play with Aunt Iris. It clicks together in a magnificent symphony of the way things should naturally be. The look in his mother's eyes, how Noctis glances down at his desk, trying to look busy. The gaping silence and Sol inhales.

He already knows what's written in that treaty. But his trembling fingers open it anyway.

He clears his throat, studies the carefully written words, graceful and gracious. It's a big deal, he knows it is, that his father would be so merciful to the country that betrayed him, killed his father, defeated his mother and covered the world in darkness.

Sol knows that Noctis is taking a chance on Niflheim and the words he knows he's going to read should not be taken as a curse.

But nonetheless, he swallows, bites his lip when the words, "symbol of this alliance shall be manifested by the marriage of-"

"Th-the symbol of this alliance shall be manifested by the marriage of Prince Sol Lucis Caelum of Lucis to Adura Invalesca of Niflheim."

It sounds so monotone. So Sol looks up at them and there's no smile to be found within the lie factory in his heart.

"I'm going to be married?" he finally chokes.

Noctis returns the smile. "Your mother and I were in an arranged marriage for the good of our nations when we were very young. And though I wouldn't change a thing about it, it complicated matters that we were so young and so much was expected of us. We didn't want that kind of pressure on you which is why we have never planned something like this a long time ago with any other nations. But you and Adura are both of age. It will be different for you."

"You and Adura are the future," Luna says, coming around the desk and kneeling next to Sol, her hands clasping his. "It will be different and maybe difficult, but you honor your father and I by this. You honor the line of Lucis by granting this mercy and grace."

Mercy and grace, mercy and grace. Words like that, it's like rain falling on a forest fire. Sol leans back, the ache in his stomach subsiding a little.

"The treaty will be signed in a few days," Noctis says. "There will be a ceremony and Adura will be there. You will be able to know her before the wedding, I assure you."

Wedding. Ceremony. Adura will be there. The ache comes back. Sol nods for what seems like the four thousandth time in the space of a few minutes because there's just nothing to say. There's nothing malicious or cruel in what they are saying to him. But what's important is that he should be able to see this "alliance symbol" as good a thing as they do. He should be able to think in the best interest of Lucis and Niflheim.

Not his.

"Is this a copy?" he asks, fingering the paper.

"Yes," Noctis answers. "You can keep it."

Sol stands up and Luna stands with him, and he's looking for what exactly to say. He mouths some expressions as if testing them, blinks at his father, wonders what protocol would say right now.

It doesn't matter, because Noctis stands and comes around the desk, wraps his arms around him and kisses the top of his head. "I know," he whispers. "You need time to think."

Sol catches his breath, smelling the spice of his father's cologne, something like outside air caught in his cape. A touch of his mother's instinctive soft scent. It's dark and close in his father's arms. He can even feel Mom's fingers smoothing out his hair.

He just needs to hold on to this. He just needs to grip it and remember it when he's alone in the darkness.

It's that simple.

When Noctis pulls back only slightly, it's just to cup his face in his hands and say, "I'm proud of you."

Look, I'll marry anybody you want me to marry.

He almost stumbles out of the room, a backward too-short glance over his shoulder to see his parents smile at him. The hallway is big and empty, curving over him and echoing with the cold breeze through the windows.

He grips the treaty copy in his pocket, crumpling the smooth surface, twisting it over and over again. It's what I do; take beautiful things and ruin them.

As he comes down the stairs in a daze, he focuses on the sight of Lieca at the floor below. The white of her face, borrowed from her grand-dame Pryna, is stained with mud, her paws making dark tracks across the floor.

Sol sits down at the last step and runs his fingers through Lieca's rumpled hair (she looks like chocolate and vanilla swirled together in a big cuddly bowl). He lets her lick his face, noticing the blur of her bluest eyes. "Hey, Lieca. Hey, girl."

He picks her up and puts her in his lap, holds her close to his chest and ignores her wriggling and damp fur. She eventually settles down and gets quiet, aside from her occasional lick on his neck.

Sol sits there, alone and silent in the big room. He looks up and watches the shadows in the ceiling. The wintry day outside isn't so comforting and fun anymore. It's icy and hard and cruel.

The blue skies are garish and the sunlight is berating and the ache has moved from his stomach to his chest. Sol could never be completely alone, not with parents who love him and three adopted uncles who would protect him with their lives and a kingdom to inherit. A dog to love.

And soon a wife.

But there's so much no one knows about him.

Who knows about the way he keeps his lights on at night? How he can't sleep because darkness gets caught in his lungs and he can't breathe?

(Betcha no one knows that the real reason he would come into his parents' bedroom, crawl into bed with them, was that the shadows got too much for him to handle alone. That Mom glows in the dark and Dad is like a star in the velvet sky.)

No one does. Because how could the King and Queen of Light have a son who knows that he could command pure Darkness if he wanted to? And how could he marry someone from a country that's just recovering from a history of evil and not say something about his own hideous truth? How could he do that to his mother and father, how could he do it to a stranger?

How could he live with himself, how can he live with himself now?

He's supposed to be grown up now, being scared of the dark is for little kids, he's supposed to have it together by now.

Sol bends, holds Lieca tighter, screws his eyes shut to keep tears from slipping out, but it burns them, stings them like flames-

Please, no flames –

He gasps a sob. The palms of his hands are warming, the enclosing strangling world is pressing in on him, something is telling him to scream, scream as loud as he can.

Lieca yelps, jumps out his arms and runs out of the room.

Sol isn't surprised. It's as he always thought it would happen. It must be an omen.

He wraps his arms around himself now, presses the heel of his hand to his forehead. Wills it to go away, no, not today, I can't. I can't afford it.

He'll just do as he always has. Give it a harder push again, pretend it isn't there, he's as pure as snow.

And if he can do it long enough, convince himself that he's convincing, he can actually walk out of here on his own legs and breathing his own air. He can be Prince Sol Lucis Caelum for a little while longer.

He won't think about what happens after.