A/N: Hiyo folks! Enjoy the new chapter. Happy New Year everybody! If you likey, please review. It's super encouraging. 3
Sol Lucis Caelum
It's the big day.
He has spent most of it outside in the cold, working out and getting sweaty with it, practicing fight sequences with Uncle Gladio until he successfully wore him out. He practiced alone, he ran with Lieca, he sat down with her in a spacious place surrounded by trees and snow and sunlight. His eyes burned and his nose turned scarlet. He shoved off the feeling of impending doom and pretended it wasn't there. There was a voice howling on the wind, a premonition that this is where it ends, this is the day everything dies. The peace would break and Sol's mind would go with it, but he ran. Sol Lucis Caelum ran from it and even though he knew it was still chasing after him, he didn't look back. If it was going to swallow him alive now, it might as well because Sol wouldn't acknowledge it. He's always known that it would happen. Sooner or later.
Just why, why, he wonders as he tramps in snow and mud and blistering anger at himself, why today? When the treaty is going to be signed by tonight and his parents will be so proud and he will meet the woman he's supposed to marry in a few weeks? Why did he wake up this way, staring up at the ceiling and knowing the sinking, devastating feeling in his whole body said Here lies Crown Prince Sol Lucis Caelum: a monster took his place?
And that's why he's exhausted now. It's been too much all day and if he's barely going to make it out of this day without doing something...horrible (he doesn't know what that something would be, but if that one accidental slip in the backyard that left a rather large area of snow into sopping clear puddles –), he needs to get his adrenaline down. He needs to calm down. The heat needs to cool off.
They got him all dressed up to the nines so at least he looks the title of a prince. His signature color has always been silver, a mix of his parents' colors, and they've even laced his crown into his hair. There's a cape that goes with the whole thing but it's too heavy to wear just a few hours before the ceremony.
He comes downstairs, crown weighing heavy and heart heavier, he walks into the kitchens and finds it busy with life. Steam rising from a pot in the sink, the pungent scent of onions being sauteed, the constant chopping of vegetables that will probably not be on his father's plate. Sol walks to the end of the room until he sees Ignis, stirring some sort of batter, and unless Ignis has been a bad teacher, Sol can swear that it's rosemary bread.
"Prince Sol," Ignis says, already recognizing his presence before a word is said. Sol has never figured that out; how Ignis can know even though he can't see.
"Hey," he says sitting down on the counter and tapping his fingernails on the metal surface. "Do you need any help? 'Cause I can help. Let me help."
"Nervous, young prince?" Ignis chuckles, but motions behind him. "I believe there are some apples to be peeled here for the dessert."
Sol jumps off and picks up a knife from the set hanging on the wall, picks up a clean apple and immediately starts to work, forcing himself to focus on the curve of the peeling, to leave as much apple as he can. Curve and cut, dangerously too close to his thumb, but it doesn't matter. Curve and cut. Curve and cut.
The crown slips to an angle, pulling a few strands of hair.
"You didn't answer my question though," Ignis says. "Are you nervous?"
Sol grunts silently, filling his mind with the color red, the red of the apple he's gripping so tightly. "Yes."
"What about? Your fiancee?"
"...I guess she would be my fiancee already."
"It has moved rather quickly, don't you think?"
"Of course it has," Sol starts, a little sharper than he meant. "I only found out a few days ago."
"It's natural that you should feel some anxiety."
Sol grits his teeth, feeling a coldness come over his chest, enclosing around his heart. His knife slips, cuts into his thumb. Blood, a little darker than a shallow wound would have, a drop slides down and penetrates the grey of his cuff.
It's got to be an omen.
"Are you truly alright, Sol?" Ignis asks, softly, carefully.
Sol exhales, grimaces with pain and fear crowding in around him. "I cut myself."
"Badly?"
"I need to throw this apple away. Disinfect the area."
"Are you hurt, Sol?" A deeper insistence in Ignis's voice, his spoon falling against the steel bowl. Sol won't look back, he's just got to move, got to keep moving.
"I need to-" he starts, but then he feels Ignis's arm clasp around him from behind, covering his chest and shoulders. His breathing quickens, his hands shake, another drop of blood falls and red on white again.
Somehow, Sol can't grip three facts at once: blood in a sterile area, Uncle Ignis half-hugging him, and a tsunami of Darkness coming his way.
"I've learned that young princes sometimes just need a bit more support than people telling him what to do," Ignis says. "I believe your father taught me that. The student taught his teacher."
It's not coming through, it's kindness but it's not coming through. Sol grips Ignis's arm with a free hand, as if trying to reach for him as the world beneath him quakes and opens.
He can't have a panic attack here. Not here.
"Clean up your hand, I'll take care of the rest," Ignis says, reaching for the apple by instinct. "If you go and find an interesting book, I'm sure you'll calm down. I'm very thankful that trick has always worked on you because it didn't on your father."
Sol forces a small laugh, but everything in him says, No, no, I need to be with you, I need to be with someone. If I'm with you, I won't go crazy, I promise. Please, let me be with you.
"Okay," he says. "Okay."
Adura Invalesca
It's the big day.
She's spent most of it in one of the royal escort cars, the wind whipping her hair back and forth. Here's the breeze and the healing world beyond Niflheim so the foreboding isn't so strong as it was when she woke this morning. Snow covers the mountains and valleys alike, deer skip across the road and chocobos are seen in the far distance. The trees reach bony fingers to the wide and open sky and snow cleans the old spaces where evil had been created. The cold stings her cheeks and makes her eyes water, but it reminds her of freedom, hope, rebirth. She grips it, makes it the center focus: this whole ceremony thing, it'll all be about Niflheim's freedom. It will all be for her country. It'll be for the new age, no more the Dark Ages. But the New Day.
The escort includes her father Oculus, mother Artemis, herself. Two of Leader Oculus's right hand men, Aeneas and Lexus. Adura leans back in her seat, her father by her side, silent and still. He stares at the landscapes, a frown coming over his haggard face. The old and faded suit he's wearing sags on his frame, new streaks of white in his hair catch her eye. Adura's hand moves toward his, but stops before contact; the thoughts have to be racing in his mind, things of hope and regret intertwining constantly. So many factors have to work out and Adura winces when she realizes that one of them is the marriage contract.
Adura takes a deep breath, promises herself that she won't let Niflheim down. She can do this. She can do this, even if she has to wear a dress (and not a very impressive one either, Niflheim's not been one for developing fashion these days), makeup and worst of all, these high heeled shoes. Her mom said that it would be best, she has to look formal. It's been easier to run through the deserted Gralea streets in boots and pants, never mind makeup.
But this isn't about the pain of Gralea or the wreckage of the past. It's about making the future beautiful.
A beautiful future, huh, she thinks as the outline of Insomnia appears on the horizon. A beautiful future for Niflheim, and I'm sorry, but how about me?
It's only a thought, a brief one, but it flows back on the waves of her mind the closer they get to the Citadel. The silvery grace of the columns, the powerful width of the staircase with red carpet flowing down, gigantic statues of the kings of Lucis, all overwhelming. As the envoy stops and Adura is escorted out, she stares in awe.
It's supposed to be hers. She will marry the young man in this castle and she will call this place home. Thinking about it, it's like hitting a wall. It's barely real, it's unfathomable. She was a revolutionary yesterday, she'll be a princess in a matter of days.
They ascend the staircase in silence and Adura chooses not to look at the crowds of people behind her, the clicking of cameras and held out cell phones recording. They stare at the small group as memories and history flood the atmosphere. The last time a government of Niflheim came to the Citadel, it ended with lies, death, ruin. She has to walk tall. She has to represent the new face of Niflheim.
The amount of protocol is starting to weigh heavy. Adura's dress flutters like a deep red piece of paper mache wrapped around her shoulders, tight around the waist but flowing loose the rest of the way down. Strands of hair catch in her eyes, she blows them away with a huff. Ignores the doubtful eyes of a royal guard.
The silent marble foyer is cold, reflections of the snow outside shining softly in the ceiling and in the far corners. Candles flicker sweetly, Adura's eyes catch towards them. They are pure light, steady and strong. She can't remember the last time she saw light like that. Lit for no reason at all, not for a desperate grab for good or a starvation for light because not even the sun could stay – but these candles were lit because it would be beautiful.
She was told that the Citadel used to hold guided tours, more than thirty years ago. There used to be signs, great flags to educate children on the past kings. But her father had smiled, said, "King Noctis didn't want the crowds hanging around and making his son nervous."
Adura swallows as the escort leads them to the elevator, feels her stomach knotting as it rises. There are no working elevators in Niflheim.
No technology, it was all eradicated by the revolution. A small smile touches her lips just slightly; she and her friends, Di included, had cut the cords with butcher knives and giggled as the elevator clattered and smashed useless to the ground floor. It felt good. A tiny offering.
A twisting hallway and then huge solid doors, the guards hesitate before opening them, creaking against the floor. A drop of sweat slides down Adura's back, she twitches without thinking. The doors reveal the council room, the winter sky almost blinding through the domed windows. Gothic spires decorate the walls, torches with flames burning bright warm the room and a huge table is laid out with chairs lining each side before it. Adura hears something like announcement of their arrival, but her eyes are focused on the three figures at the end: a king dressed in velvet-like black, a queen like an angel in purest white, and the third –
Sol Lucis Caelum
"The leaders of the New Order of Niflheim, Your Majesty."
Sol grips the arms of his chair, the words ringing in his ears. He can feel his father's fingers graze his as he stands in respect, Sol follows quickly. He thought maybe he could see her – Adura Invalesca – behind one of them, it had to be her father. It's Leader Oculus Invalesca and as he approaches, Sol focuses on his face, notices similar lines on his father. Oculus is a few years older than Noctis and it shows but there's a strength and dignity about the sharpness of his jaw, the clear grey of his eyes, the broad but old shoulders.
Sol tilts his head ever so slightly, trying to see Adura, only her eyes are visible from behind her father and Sol's view. Her dark hair sways in front of her eyes, her forehead drawn in concentration with eyes on the floor. Eyelids glittering gold, long eyelashes and then her eyes suddenly come up to him, flaming dark brown. Sol blinks away.
Adura Invalesca
"- there are no words to describe the gratitude we feel or the hope we have in building a new future.
Dad says good words, right words, Adura thinks, but she takes the small silence to look up once, just once at Prince Sol. He's not looking at her, but keeps his eyes on the ground. Yet in the light reflecting from off the table, his soft youthful face is visible, electric blue eyes shadowed by curved eyelashes. He isn't of bold posture like his father, resembles more of his mother's svelte structure, but there are well-toned muscles underneath. He's in a silvery gray, a cape attached by gold chain sparkles in the sunlight. It's appropriate, it's perfect; Sol Lucis Caelum is presented idealistically, especially considering the concept of rebirth and purity that has always followed him. His hair is nearly white, tossed freely about like Noctis's, but a sparkling twisted crown is visible through the wisps.
It isn't polite to stare.
Adura stares at him.
Sol Lucis Caelum
She's staring at him. Sol can feel her penetrating eyes focused intently on him and who cares about what's being said or about protocol? This woman is making him nervous, she's reading into him like a book. And he doesn't blame her, he is strange; this mix of night and moonlight and presented as sunlight. Not only that but she's going to marry him. Might as well take a good look at him because she's stuck with him and maybe, just maybe she'll see something she likes.
His father is speaking, beckoning the emissaries to approach, to sit down to discuss the matters of the treaty. Eventually they will come to talk about him, about Adura, about the two of them. As they come to the table and sit down, Adura is clearly seen from where he is sitting.
A thought touches him. It's the same game for him. He can look at her too.
Her face is touched with a flush of windburn, those golden flickering eyes darting all over from the table, to the room, to Noctis, to him. The dress she's wearing bares her shoulders a little, sweeping across her chest, the color of embers. Her back is straight, his pose is strongly confident, she doesn't cower or seem distracted. And Sol swallows; she has a beautiful frame. The dress is very becoming.
Very becoming. The back of his neck is burning.
Adura Invalesca
He looks good. That outfit, the grip of his hands on the arms of the chair, the deep breaths he takes (Adura's been counting), there's an inner strength and unknown power deep within him. But there's something about Prince Sol that belies everything he shows. It might all be in her mind and it might just be her hopes that she's not marrying some ditz or narcissist, but there's something about him that whispers in her mind. Something that keeps her eyes on him and fascinates her like he's some precious stone or ancient treasure at the bottom of the deepest ocean.
It hits her loud and clear.
There's a storm going on in Prince Sol and no one knows it.
The treaty is being discussed, movements made toward unification and peace and Adura wishes she could read his mind and ask, What do you think? Why? What do you think about politics and reality and love? What do you think about me?
What's going on?
Who are you?
Sol Lucis Caelum
He already told himself he couldn't have a panic attack in the kitchen. He can't have one here. Scenarios replay themselves over and over again, but Adura is watching him and he needs to look brave, at least look like the son of King Noctis. That's who he is, right? If only he could close his eyes, focus on saying no, no to the blur in his eyes, the racing of his heart. The Darkness isn't far away now. There's no one to tell, no time to tell it, no way to be alone and scream at it until it leaves for now.
If only he could look at Adura in the eye and say, What do you think about me?
Because there would be no way for her to know the real truth. No way for her to see that the ache will turn to agony and agony to rage just as the world moves through stages. There's no way for her to see that he's inches away from destroying himself and the world he knows. He's known that this would someday happen – that he wouldn't be able to hold back his Darkness anymore.
This is destiny. Horrifying, cruel, ugly destiny.
He won't have time to ask her, Who are you?
