The Regalia sees them through most of their journey. It was a gift, custom made so that Noct could drive without using his feet. It can also be driven in the usual manner, and Ignis generally serves as pilot with Prompto as navigator. From the back seat, Gladiolus reads and Noctis sleeps. The plush leather upholstery reminds him of the armchairs in his father's study. He would do his homework there sometimes, or read. It makes it easy to fall asleep, feeling safe and protected by his friends and his father's ghost. No one chides him about it. People sometimes describe sleeping children as "recharging". It isn't a joke with Noctis.
It seems their fear about Noctis and Prompto's magitek implants being traceable is unfounded. If it were true, they'd have had a drop ship descending on them before they crossed the border. As it is, it's proven...not easy, exactly, but far less arduous than anyone had imagined to dodge imperial attention. Noctis can walk well enough to handle sight-seeing, or trekking a few miles when the Regalia unexpectedly breaks down or runs out of gas. He has enough balance and leg strength to ride a chocobo, provided it isn't too spirited. Stairs are something against which he harbors a personal grudge. Running is out of the question. Regis never tried to make him learn to dance. There are a pair of well-worn crutches floating in the Armiger among all the weapons that he occasionally pulls out. He avoids summoning the wheelchair if he can.
Hunts...take some ingenuity. Normally, he hangs back with Prompto, casting offensive or defensive spells as needed while Prompto picks off enemies from a distance with a gun. If he cannot manage the terrain, or something decides to chase them, it's either Gladio or, oddly, little Prompto who boosts him onto their back. Gladio is huge. Riding piggyback on him is much like clinging for dear life to the back of an unbroken chocobo. Prompto is closer to Noctis' height, but his more extensive implants make him freakishly strong for his size. Noct sometimes sits on his shoulders just for the amusement value. Stacked one on top of the other, they're more than a head taller than Gladio. Ignis has carried him, but less gracefully and for shorter distances. Despite his height, he's not made of cast iron the way Gladio is, or titanium like Prompto, and Noctis' implants make him heavier than he looks. It's a shortcoming Ignis takes personally.
Prompto also serves as medic, his electrical bits enable him to monitor Noctis' health in a way that a thermometer and blood pressure cuff cannot. He's the only one with any knowledge of magitek, specialized though it is. More than once he's repaired the delicate receptors that connect the machinery to Noct's muscle, bone, and nerves. In the tent, they sleep side by side with Ignis and Gladio hemming them in. In a caravan, they get the bed, with Ignis on the sofa and Gladio stretched out on the floor. On the rare occasions they can afford a hotel, Prompto and Noctis share the bed farthest from the door. Gladio and Ignis occupy the other, putting themselves between their prince and danger even while they sleep.
It's almost like a vacation, or would be if not for the constant gnawing worry, the sense of urgency running in the background. Like a thing alive it lurks among them; the shadow of their mission looming over all and sucking the happiness from moments that should be full of joy. Noct does not dread marrying Luna, he likes her well enough, it could definitely be worse. What he dreads is what comes after. Not the wedding night- though that is its own set of worries- but the sacrifice he must make. It seems pointless, really. Why marry Luna just to leave her a widow? Possibly with a small child? It seems a cruel thing to do. As for sacrificing himself...some nights it bothers him more than others, and Carbuncle is exhausted by the time dawn comes from chasing away so many nightmares.
Mostly it doesn't bother him. Dying is something everyone does eventually. The only thing different is Noctis knows more or less when and how his death will happen. At least he'll have a reason aside from old age, the injustice of an injury, or unfairness of an attack or random flicker of fate for leaving this life. He doesn't mind for himself so much. His body has always been more of a burden; something he drags around as opposed to something that conveys him. Even now, while he's still alive and among them, he feels guilty for having to leave his friends. They'll miss him, they will mourn, and he wishes he could spare them that. For now, he tries to smile, to live in the moment, and capture every instance in his memory like one of Prompto's countless snapshots. This much he can take with him.
