Chapter Three: Growing Pains

"I don't get how you put up with his shit."

Ignis raised his eyes from the pastry dough he was currently rolling out evenly along the countertop just long enough to shoot Gladio a warning glare that went unheeded. The latter instead took his terse silence as a form of agreement.

"All he does is brood. You'd think I killed his puppy."

"His Highness does not have a dog."

Snorting, Gladio rolled his eyes and pressed on, "You know what I mean. Every time I knock him on his ass, he just pouts like a little baby and finds some excuse to skive off early."

"Did it ever occur to you," Ignis sighed distractedly as he quadruple-checked the height of the dough, "that being, as you so delicately put it, knocked on his ass repeatedly might grow tiring?"

"Ain't that the point, though? To get better? That won't happen if he can't even make it through a whole training session!" exclaimed Gladio, leaning against the counter across from him and muttering under his breath about royal pains in the neck. The impact of his muscular frame shook Ignis's workspace ever so slightly, but it was enough to earn him yet another threatening glance as Ignis held the round cutter stable just above his perfectly-rolled pastry. When Gladio ignored his irritation and it became obvious that the conversation would take precedence over his next attempt at concocting the same dessert he always did, Ignis set the metal ring aside and exhaled sharply.

"Gladio, I feel it is my duty to remind you that that pain in the neck is our prince, as well as the fact that you are fifteen while he has only just turned twelve." Gladio appeared unaffected by his logic, so Ignis pointedly suggested, "Perhaps some patience would be wise."

"I've got plenty of patience."

"We both know that is a gross miscalculation."

"Shove it, Iggy," grumbled Gladio, rolling his eyes.

Smirking, Ignis took his cutter in hand and pressed it into the dough to allow Gladio some time to mull over what he'd said. If Ignis was being honest, this conversation was neither a surprise nor a new occurrence. It seemed like every week brought a novel complaint from the prince's sworn Shield, and as one of his closest friends, it fell to Ignis to hear his grievances against their shared charge. Most of his aggravation had very little merit outside of simple character incompatibilities between Noctis and Gladio: while the latter was sociable yet tough, the former was the exact opposite. Gladio enjoyed conversation and taunting during his training sessions; Noct had grown, if it were possible, even more introverted over the last four years than he'd been following the occupation of Tenebrae. Where Gladio sought to instruct, the prince saw only his own failure. Was it any wonder, then, that his repeated inability to best his Shield in battle would end in dismayed avoidance?

Unfortunately, Ignis knew it wasn't his place to confide in Gladio when it came to Noct's innermost thoughts, especially when the prince rarely disclosed them to Ignis anymore and frequently left him to guess. He was positive that his assumptions were correct, however—he did, after all, know Noct better than he knew himself at times. Regardless, even if he could find the words to describe the lack of confidence Noct suffered from, he very much doubted Gladio would deem them a good enough justification for the prince's behavior.

Sure enough, it only took until Ignis had finished layering six round cutouts in his baking sheet for Gladio to grunt, "He'll never be king if he can't pull his shit together."

The spoon in Ignis's hand made a loud clunking sound where it slammed down against the counter alongside his fist. When Gladio turned to survey him with wide, cautious eyes, Ignis hoped that his own gaze was full of all the fire he could muster—enough for him and the prince both.

"Noctis will take the throne one day," he asserted, his voice low and firm. "Until that day comes, it is the duty of his Shield to lift him up, not tear him down."

A spark of anger erupted behind Gladio's amber eyes as they narrowed dangerously. "I know my duty, and it's not to coddle him. That's apparently your job."

"My job is to guide him along his path, but only when he is ready."

"It'll be a long time comin'."

"If that is what it takes."

Shaking his head, Gladio snorted derisively and practically spat, "If that's how you feel, you've got no business being his advisor. He needs someone pushing him forward, not holding him back."

Ignis felt like he'd been slapped in the face. It was only with the utmost self-control that he kept his jaw from dropping and his breathing even. They had bickered before over Noct's progress toward his eventual destiny and traded insults at their own brands of fraternizing with the prince, but never like this. In the blink of an eye, their conversation had turned cruel and become a competition for who could damage the other more thoroughly. If it weren't for the spoon hanging limply from his fingers, the smell of ulwaat berries wafting from the bowl on the counter, the beeping of the oven to let him know it had reached the appropriate temperature—if not for their surroundings, Ignis would have thought they were in the training room, wooden swords grinding against each other as they fought for dominance over the field of battle.

Perhaps they had simply found a new battlefield, made of words rather than actions with a prince's fate hanging in the balance. Friends or not, it was a battle Ignis would never allow himself to lose.

So, steeling himself, he straightened to his full height and plastered a detached expression over the hurt he knew he wasn't quick enough to hide. He looked Gladio straight in the eye, ignoring the regret staring back at him, and said, "My loyalty lies with the prince. My duty lies in determining what is best for him and supporting him to that end in any way I can every day I walk this earth. How I choose to perform my duties is neither within your purview nor any of your business. Now get out."

"I… Iggy, I—"

"Leave."

Gladio's mouth snapped shut, and just like that, their argument was over. With a curt nod of understanding, he shot Ignis one last remorseful look before shuffling out the door and vanishing down the corridor.

As soon as he was gone, Ignis dropped the spoon and leaned his hands forward on the counter, hanging his head. That was not a conversation he'd ever wanted to have with Gladio, and yet…he couldn't force himself to feel bad about it. The last few months since Noct began his weapons training had been punctuated with snide remarks, rude observations, and condescension bordering on treasonous. Never in his wildest imaginings would Ignis believe that Gladio could ever truly betray Noct, no matter how vocal he was about his disdain for the prince's demeanor, but that level of insubordination could not be tolerated if they were to be Noct's closest allies in his ascension to the throne.

Was Noct the same as his father? Not at all. King Regis was grace, intelligence, and wisdom; he was compassion and rationality, empathy and astuteness. His light shone so bright that it was no wonder Noct was constantly hidden by the long shadows he cast. However, no one could ignore that Noct was still young. He hadn't been trained to rule the way Ignis had been raised to wait on him or Gladio had been brought up to protect him. Much of his role in the governing of Lucis would come with age and experience, as it had for his predecessors. Ignis was well read on the history of the Lucian kings, and they all had their shortcomings. Not all of them had seemed to him like they would grow to be effective leaders, yet that was exactly what they had done—grown.

"A king's duty is to his people," King Regis had once said to him only a few years ago, although it felt like much longer. "He must know what his subjects need, and in turn, he requires an honest assessment of his own actions as he seeks to fulfill those needs. It is a thing many take for granted—honesty—and yet it is the most valuable gift a king can receive. It helps you to grow and learn how to be a better leader for your people, whether that means your court promoting a legal amendment or just Captain Drautos calling you a fool for wearing an unflattering tie."

Despite the laughter they had shared by the end of his tale over Noct's sickbed, Ignis had never forgotten the gravity of the king's words that day and had taken them to heart in his own duties ever since. He did offer honest assessments of Noct's behavior, contrary to what Gladio obviously believed, and his guidance was firm while delivered without the harsh blow the prince's Shield would be more comfortable with. How could anyone expect Noct to grow if they were unforgiving towards his failings? How could any living thing in this world grow without being given adequate time to flourish?

Was Noct the same as his father? Not at all. But Ignis had never once doubted that he would one day come into his own and ascend the throne as a worthy successor to the line of Lucis. If he tripped on his path, Ignis would be there to help him up, dust him off, and send him onward.

He would never force him.

He would never degrade him.

He would never leave him. The rest of the world be damned.

His resolve didn't waver once as he finished the pastries and carefully settled them in the oven to bake. His discomfort over fighting with Gladio didn't darken his perspective in the time it took the dough to rise up in fluffy, golden perfection. His spirit didn't flag as he dusted the dessert with powdered sugar and set it aside to cool. It echoed in the clanging of the pans and bowls as he washed them, in the sound of his footsteps against the marble floor as he departed to meet Noct in the antechamber right outside the throne room.

And then it sighed in exasperation when it caught sight of what the prince was up to this time—or maybe that was just him.

"Noct, how many times have I told you not to deface artifacts of significant historical import?"

The way that Noct failed to jump a foot in the air told Ignis that the prince had already been aware of his presence, although he did at least have the grace to turn around with a guilty half-smile.

"I got bored," Noct murmured with a seemingly careless shrug. Ignis knew better, though. It was immediately apparent that there was something wrong—Noct's slightly slumped posture gave it away.

"Did you," murmured Ignis, not really asking as he took a moment to survey Noct more closely.

How many days had passed now since the last time he saw a smile light up that face? Certainly no less than a week, if not more. Inside or outside the Citadel, it didn't much matter. Now that Ignis was older and his lessons structured differently, he had the time to accompany Noct's chauffeur when he picked the prince up from school. It wasn't strictly necessary, per se, but Ignis was painfully aware of Noct's somewhat self-imposed exile from the rest of his classmates and liked to make sure he saw a friendly face when he finished for the day. The effect was always the same: a tiny, weary smile briefly emerging to greet him before Noct slipped back into his general moodiness. That, unfortunately, was something Gladio hadn't lied about.

The circular reasoning behind Noct's existence was rather ridiculous, and Ignis found himself more frequently sympathetic to Noct's bouts of the doldrums than annoyed by them. After all, Ignis would never know what it was like to wonder if everyone around him truly cared or if they only sought his friendship for the position he held in society. He would never understand what it felt like to walk amongst the people of Lucis and know that he would never be one of them, instead raised up on a pedestal for the family he was born into. His would never be the lonely existence of a royal constantly surrounded by people while simultaneously separated from each and every one of them.

The thought alone was positively maddening. Living it had to be a nightmare.

Sending Noct to a public school had been King Regis's way of combatting those feelings of inequity and inadequacy. Ignis had overheard him saying so to Master Clarus one day when they thought they were alone. (It wasn't that he'd tried to eavesdrop, but honestly, they really should have checked to make sure the library was clear of prying ears hidden behind stacks of leather-bound books.) Most days, Ignis longed to find the king and tell him just how badly that had backfired. If anything, Noct appeared to grow more withdrawn from his classmates with each passing day, and even Ignis found it difficult to wrest a few words from him recently.

Particularly honest words.

"I apologize for keeping you waiting," Ignis continued without commenting on Noct's obvious lie, "but I was preparing a special treat for dessert tonight."

Noct's shoulders dropped a few inches when he realized Ignis wasn't going to force the truth from him, and he quirked an eyebrow at the rather glaring hint. "You tried it again?"

"Indeed. I added cornstarch to the berry mixture to thicken the sauce and keep it from spilling out. Hopefully, that will address the problems with the last batch."

"The last ones weren't that bad…"

"Tell that to the laundress who had to remove the blue stains from your shirt."

"It was black anyway."

"It was still noticeable."

Rolling his eyes, Noct abandoned the argument he clearly wasn't about to win. He rarely held his ground during a disagreement anymore, and Ignis had a hard time deciding whether he was simply growing too mature for petty bickering or if he just lacked the motivation. Most days, it was a tossup.

Ignis was about to suggest they head to the kitchens for a taste test when he caught a glimpse of just what Noct had been doing when he'd arrived and groaned aloud.

For a second, Noct actually looked remorseful.

"Noct."

"…Y-yeah?"

"I do not remember there being a likeness of Carbuncle in the portrait of the prophecy." Especially one so poorly drawn.

For all of his many talents, Noct was by no means an artist. Not even as a young child had he harbored much interest in the visual arts, and Ignis couldn't remember him so much as touching a crayon or pencil for the purposes of drawing. While most children developed dexterity and motor skills from learning to color inside a set of lines, Noct played video games and toyed with small plastic soldiers. As such, his attempt at a drawing of Carbuncle was…unshapely, to say the least.

If the prince noticed his ineptitude, however, he didn't care enough to be embarrassed by it. Instead he glanced between Ignis and his handiwork a few times before bashfully replying, "Carbuncle's never in paintings with the other Astrals. And I got—"

"Bored. Yes. You said."

"Are you mad?"

Ignis should have said yes. He should have told Noct that he was infuriated (even though he wasn't) and that the prince would have to clean up his mess (even though he wouldn't). He should have wagged a finger in his face and sent him to his room without getting to sample Ignis's latest culinary concoction.

He did none of those things. How could he when those big blue eyes were staring tearfully up at him and that lower lip was pushed out like it could hold the weight of Ignis's disapproval all by itself? It was becoming frustratingly obvious that no matter how old he got, Noct would never lose his ability to break through someone's defenses with just the flash of a pout.

So, sighing in as exasperated a fashion as he could manage, Ignis spent the next half hour dutifully erasing all traces of Carbuncle from the prophetic painting outside the throne room. All the while, he kept one eye and ear on the door just to make sure no one noticed the two of them where they were huddled behind the frosted glass. If the king came out of his conference and caught sight of what Noct had done before Ignis had properly finished cleaning it up… Better yet, if he saw Ignis messing with the portrait and jumped to conclusions… Well, after his fight with Gladio, that was really all he needed to make this a perfect mess of a day.

It took far longer than Ignis had originally anticipated to return the painting to its former state, and he was practically going cross-eyed with how closely he searched for even the slightest bit of evidence that it had been tampered with. Noct, of course, had repeatedly told him how fine it looked and that you'd never know, but Ignis wasn't satisfied until he'd checked it over one last time. He considered it a favorable turn of events that the prince had only used pencil. Difficult as it was to get the graphite off the paint without the ancient portrait chipping under the pressure, marker or pen would have been absolutely disastrous.

By the time Ignis led Noct away from the scene of the crime and headed back towards the kitchens, his heart was beating wildly in his chest from the adrenaline-inducing prospect of being caught. They'd been lucky this time, though, and were spared the lecture. Ignis had a few choice words he would have liked to share with Noct about his irresponsibility, but they caught in his throat at the look of guilt that crossed the prince's face a few times as he watched Ignis scrubbing away his graffiti. Remorse wouldn't be enough to keep him from doing it again, but he knew he shouldn't have and apologized with his eyes, so Ignis would give him a pass this time.

Who are you kidding? a voice that sounded disturbingly similar to Gladio's sneered. You'll always give him a pass.

Ignis couldn't bring himself to feel bad about it, though. Noct had always been remarkably stubborn and adventurous; it was in his nature. Although it had taken a different form after his injury, that spirit remained and was growing more restless by the year, it seemed. There was simply no reconciling the prince's personality with the expectations that were already heaped upon his narrow shoulders even at such a young age. Weapons training, attending public school, attending private lessons after school, weekly meetings with his father—all of it was in direct contrast to Noct's desire for solitary exploration of the world around him. Perhaps, had his upbringing been different, there would have been more opportunity for him to achieve the freedom he so desired. Being a prince, however, had its disadvantages.

If anything, Ignis was convinced that that was precisely what had caused today's silent (and fortunately less destructive) outburst. Noct generally avoided making a mess unless he was in poor spirits, and based on the forlorn expression he wore every time Ignis furtively glanced sidelong at him, it was clear that something had upset him. Ignis sighed internally at the thought; if he was lucky, he would only have to pull a couple of teeth in order to determine the cause.

First things first. Dessert, then prying. Sugar would help to put the prince into a more receptive state of mind, right?

"They look…just like all the others," commented Noct flatly when they reached the kitchens and he caught a glimpse of the cooling pastries.

Oh, yes. He's certainly in a mood today.

It was with as much patience as he could muster that Ignis replied, "Well, as I only have your description of their appearance as my guide, I would assume that they should be identical."

He hadn't meant to say it quite as sharply as he did, and Noct's eyes hit the floor as he nodded apologetically. This wasn't exactly going to plan. Forcing down his irritation, Ignis struggled to remind himself of his new purpose—to discern what was bothering his charge for the purposes of remedying any ills—before he tried again.

"I believe you'll find that the taste is quite different from the last batch," he wheedled with a small, albeit strained smile. "Would you care to test one?"

Noct shrugged a shoulder listlessly without returning Ignis's gaze or making a move towards the plate waiting for him on the counter. It was difficult for Ignis not to sigh at the setback he'd caused.

Very well. If the chocobo will not go to the water…

It appeared that they would both be standing there for the rest of the evening if Ignis didn't make the first move. So, he crossed the distance between where Noct stood rooted to the spot and the nearest cabinet, reaching up to pull down two small dessert plates and pointedly setting them on the counter. He tried not to look up at Noct, especially when he spied the prince watching from the corner of his eye, and focused all of his attention instead on settling one pastry on each plate. His hand hovered over the bag of confectioner's sugar he'd left out, and he wondered momentarily if adding more would make it too sweet before deciding that he may as well go all out. Noct liked sweet things, after all. And pretty much any other form of food that contained no nutritional value whatsoever.

When everything was set and Noct still hadn't moved to join him, Ignis tutted teasingly. "Well, come on, then. If we're going to ruin your appetite for dinner and incur the disapproval of your father, we may as well do it sooner rather than later," he mused with a long-suffering sigh. It wasn't until he leveled a calm and slightly mischievous smirk at the prince that the latter broke free of his invisible restraints, replying with a shy smile as he padded closer. Ignis immediately pushed a plate toward him, waiting with bated breath while Noct inspected the perfectly rounded pastry with a careful eye. He was never this scrutinizing, generally believing that anything edible would do (if it wasn't vegetables, of course), so Ignis knew he'd finally brought down some of the prince's defenses. If he had any luck at all, the rest would collapse with the first bite…

The first long, painfully slow bite.

Now Noct was just taunting him, chewing with the slow deliberation of the shrewdest culinary critic the way he always did when Ignis presented him with a new recipe he'd crafted. Ignis was well aware that Noct was too good a friend to ever tell him he didn't like something, as he'd found out the fun way when the prince valiantly soldiered through an entire bowl of chocobo-garula stew only to be reintroduced to it ten minutes later on its way back up; it simply wasn't in the prince's nature to be cruel when Ignis made a mistake. Certainly, he would rib him for a few days about a wayward ingredient or charred edge, but it was all in good fun and served as a reminder for Ignis in the process of learning his way around a kitchen.

So, when Noct grinned at him through blue-stained teeth and said, "Not quite," Ignis didn't take it to heart. Much.

"I see…"

"The berries're too thick."

"Perhaps I added too much cornstarch."

"And it's kinda sour."

"…I definitely added too much cornstarch."

"But it's still really good," Noct reassured him, taking another big bite for good measure. Ignis couldn't help but smile at the way his cheeks puffed out like a chipmunk's around the botched mixture.

"I'm glad you're enjoying it," he replied wryly, chuckling when Noct nodded emphatically. Watching closely for another moment, Ignis waited until he was positive that Noct was finally in better spirits before casually inquiring, "How did your meeting with your father go?"

Just like that, the smile melted off Noct's face faster than he'd inhaled the already extinct pastry, only it left no residue the way his dessert had on his fingers.

Aha. So that's it.

Oblivious to Ignis's realization, Noct swallowed his mouthful and mumbled, "Went fine."

"It certainly doesn't sound like it went fine," prodded Ignis gently. If he pushed too far, Noct would shut down; being best friends did not exempt Ignis from the prince's frequent sullen silences, especially when dealing with difficult situations the latter was already reluctant to discuss.

Very helpfully, Noct simply shrugged again.

Ignis sighed. Apparently, he would be doing all the work in this conversation. "What did he wish to discuss?"

Incoherent muttering.

"Pardon?"

Grunting in muted frustration, Noct repeated, "How training's going."

"Ah. And was he satisfied with your progress?"

That earned Ignis a snort. "He's never satisfied with my progress," echoed Noct mockingly, rolling his eyes. "He said I'm not trying hard enough and I'm way behind."

Nodding slowly, Ignis hesitantly inquired, "Are you?"

"What?"

"Trying."

Noct offered him a deadpan expression that answered the question for him, but he still replied, "Duh, Specs. It's just really hard."

Ah. I seem to have struck a nerve. A bit more caution from here, then.

"Did you tell him that?" prompted Ignis. It was a simple question, one he wouldn't have asked most other people in the same situation, but given Noct's penchant for closing off rather than divulging the full extent of his efforts to those who criticized him, it was fitting enough.

Indeed, the way the tips of his ears reddened in response told Ignis all he needed to know.

"You realize that if you don't tell your father that you're trying, he won't believe that you are?"

"Not like it matters," Noct immediately shot back, collapsing onto one of the stools across the counter and staring dejectedly down at the floor. "He only listens to Gladio."

And there it was—Ignis's day had finally come full circle. His mind automatically darted back to their earlier argument, drudging up memories of Gladio's accusations regarding Noct's inability and lack of motivation. Hearing him tell it, one would believe that the prince fought him tooth and nail not to have to do anything in their training sessions. Ignis, however, knew at least a bit better. He'd dropped in unexpectedly enough times to know that Noct simply couldn't keep up with Gladio at this stage. Not only was he still new to swordplay, but his small stature compared with Gladio's muscular build was a recipe for failure and the prince had very little patience for such things as it was when it came to his own performance. If Gladio intimated half of what he did to Ignis in his updates to the king… Well, there would be no question as to why King Regis had berated Noct so thoroughly.

There was one thing that had never come up in Ignis's conversations with either Noct or Gladio, however, and he found himself querying, "Have you spoken to Gladio about the situation? Let him know that you are having difficulty?"

Noct's face scrunched up in a sour expression. "No."

"Have you ever consi—"

"No," he interrupted, folding his arms defensively over his chest. "He doesn't listen anyway."

That was one thing Ignis was unable to argue with. There was no doubt in his mind that Gladio meant well, but there was quite a sizable disconnect between the future Shield's intentions and his actions. What he thought was firm generally tended to be more abrasive than he probably realized; his matter-of-fact, rather abrupt approach to just about everything was just as likely to engender ire as it was respect. Noct, who was far more sensitive than he cared to admit, never stood a chance.

"If you like," Ignis offered, already knowing the answer, "I can always speak with him on your behalf."

Groaning, Noct shook his head vehemently. "No way. He'll just think I came whining to you like a big baby."

"Well…" Ignis blocked the bit of crust that Noct threw at his face with a smirk and placed a second pastry on his plate as a peace offering. Noct did little more than pick at it, his expression morose, and Ignis sighed internally. Something had to give, and he was growing rather concerned that it would be Noct if they didn't act soon. He understood the prince's reticence to share his thoughts with his father and Gladio, but that was the only way Ignis could see for the issue to be resolved besides doing it himself. As it was quite obvious that Noct would rather sink into the floor than have Ignis speak in his favor, however, Ignis's hands were tied on the matter.

It was difficult not to be a bit put out with Noct for rendering him so helpless when the former was struggling—wasn't it Ignis's job to help him through the hard times? Wasn't it his duty to make things as simple for Noct as they could be, not just as his advisor but as his friend? At what point did the prince's needs outweigh his stubbornness and allow Ignis to do whatever the bloody hell he wanted, Noct's refusal be damned?

Not at this particular point, Ignis rebuked himself. One wrong step, and he'll never trust you again.

There was already enough of that in the prince's life. The last thing he needed was for his closest friend and future advisor to betray his trust when it was fragile to begin with.

Perhaps that was why an alternative occurred to him—a terrible, awful, unbelievably stupid alternative. Anymore, Ignis wasn't sure there was any other kind.

"You know…" he began slowly, not sure how to proceed. Well, that was a bit of a lie: he knew exactly how to proceed, but once he did, there was no turning back. Unfortunately, he'd already chosen his path, and Noct was staring at him quizzically.

"What?"

It's a fine mess you'll be getting yourself into, but go on, then.

Nervously clearing his throat, Ignis pressed on, "I was just going to recommend that…maybe you need to take some time to…decompress?" At Noct's uncomprehending expression, he explained, "I mean, you have been rather busy between school and your various lessons here. It may be beneficial for you to…take an evening to yourself. If you understand my meaning."

A second passed—and another—then understanding dawned on Noct's face as it split into a wide grin. "Really?"

"Yes."

"You'd be okay with it?"

"Would I have recommended it otherwise?"

"Probably."

Ignis rolled his eyes. There was no denying that Noct had a point. In the last four years, they had slipped out of the Citadel more times than Ignis could count, and not all of those occasions were exclusively Noct's ideas. It wasn't that Ignis had somehow abandoned his senses—far from it. With every passing year, he hoped that Noct would grow tired of these risky escapades and that they would slowly taper off on their own. With every passing year, his hopes were dashed. No, it wasn't a matter of Ignis conducting the same sort of rebellious streak that he was almost fearful of witnessing in Noct when he was older; rather, he merely didn't want to see the prince sneak out on his own in the belief that Ignis wouldn't go with him for fear of being caught. It had been a while since their last outing, and every now and then, Noct needed a moment of freedom. He required time to breathe where he didn't have to be the crown prince of Lucis, at least not in his own mind. In a sense, it was Ignis's job to see to it that Noct had that opportunity, and he was worried enough to accompany him every time. If the only way he could win was to lose, then so be it.

If the relief and gratitude staring back at him from those blue eyes were any indication, Ignis was going to be…winning again very soon.