Disclaimer: I own nothing. I'm just a fucking nerd trying to calm my nerves during this trash fire of a year. So, y'know, don't sue me. I don't have any money.
Ashes of Lucis
Chapter 8: A Game of Teeth
Even without consulting a map or an atlas, it is well known that Tenebrae and Leide are several days' journey from one another, and thus had his skepticism begun to form. The MT carrier was, as stated in the transparency of the name, designed for the long-distance transport of magitek infantry units and armors, not for passengers seeking to travel from place to place. The ship's appearance had been less of a surprise than Ardyn's insistence that they bypass the tedium of the train, for, while Niflheim was not well known for its comforts, the chancellor himself was a man who settled for no less than what he thought he deserved.
It seemed odd to Noctis that his uncle would be so easily satisfied with the stiff, uncomfortable innards of a military transport.
But the skepticism is short-lived, and they make it as far as Cartanica before a proper airship intercepts the pair to carry them across the sea and the remainder of the way to Leide.
The interior of the ship itself is nothing new to Noctis, the majority of the empire's aircraft bearing the same basic color scheme – white and red and grey and gold – and layout. All the same, an attendant heavily insists on showing them to the journey's living space, and Ardyn is happy to accept the offer while Noctis himself finds it rather unnecessary.
Bags fall to the floor in the front room, and Noctis is quick to remove his boots and kick them off into a corner as the attendant requests that they inform her if she can be of assistance, the double doors shutting behind her with a click. The older man takes to tossing his hat on the nearby coffee table, sinking dramatically into one of the gaudy red velvet chairs that, Noctis thinks, suit him rather well. His head falls against the back, and Ardyn's tired sigh is one that has been ingrained into his memory as too familiar a sound, one he had most often heard as a boy at the end of days during which the chancellor had been made to sit in meetings for hours on end.
The one thing that he loathed about the position, he said, was the obligation of listening to other people talk. Said it made him antsy.
Noctis is quick to grin, settling himself on the matching sofa. Knees spread apart, he bends at the waist to rest his forearms on them, fingers loosely intertwined as he muses.
While not directly involved in military affairs, Ardyn certainly has an impressive amount of influence on their operations, what with being so close to the emperor. It goes without saying that he's worked long and hard to ensure that innumerable politicians within the empire are wary of him, if not outright afraid. Noctis has seen it in the eyes of governors and councilmen and senators alike, their own apprehension and the man's ruthless reputation serving to do the bulk of the work so that he need not lift a finger. It can't hurt, either, that he seeks to put forth such a startlingly jovial facade.
Really, it's all a bit off-putting when he thinks about it.
Golden eyes shift to one side, surveying the other man with a quiet reverence. For all his flaws – he regards the cruel underhandedness of his dealings with the havocfang first and foremost – Ardyn has been good to him, and Noctis isn't quite able to picture his life without the man.
"Are you asleep?" he ventures, tenting his fingers.
"No, not yet." A stifled yawn follows and Noctis smiles faintly, swallowing the need to poke fun at him for sounding like such an old man. "Perhaps you need something?"
Dark hair tickles the end of his nose with a shake of his head. "No, nothing in particular comes to mind."
He recalls then the notebook gifted him by Lady Lunafreya, crossing to dig through his things to fetch it and find a pen. He's careful as it opens, skipping the first page so that the sylleblossom stays where he pressed it.
"Now, when did you find time to sneak off to the station giftshop?"
Ardyn's cracked an eye at him, looking as though he may drift off to sleep at any moment.
"I didn't," Noctis says, careful to mask his jitters. "It was a gift from Lady Lunafreya. A journal."
"Hm."
The tip of the pen presses to paper, a faint dot left behind as he lifts it, suddenly unsure as to what he ought to write. She had asked that he take the book, keep it with him, fill its pages and send it back to Tenebrae as a means of correspondence between them, but it occurs to Noctis then that the lady had not provided him with any further specifics. What did she want him to write in it? His travel ledgers? Exercise routines? Meal plans? It's all so strange to him now, for he has never bothered to keep a journal of any kind, let alone write letters to anyone. There had never been any need. The people he knew and needed to know were, for the most part, present in Gralea and throughout Niflheim, if not frequent visitors.
He stares at the blank page for several minutes, instrument poised to write a number of times before gently closing the cover. It would be a waste to write something of no importance and have to tear pieces from such a beautiful book. No, more than that, he wants their first written correspondence to have real meaning, and he's unsure as to why. They've only just met.
Noctis leans into the back of the sofa, swimming somewhere between confusion and a strange sense of longing he can't place. He looks to Ardyn, now asleep, observing the steady rise and fall of the man's chest for a moment before deciding that he himself could do with a good nap, for travel is hard on the body.
The notebook is left on the table beside Ardyn's hat, hands shoved lazily into the pockets of his trousers as he relaxes, spine curving in a visible slouch. He regards one of the doors that leads to the hallway and their rooms. A glance is spared to the dozing chancellor, and Noctis smirks.
"Crazy old man."
As Noctis quietly closes the door behind him, he doesn't see Ardyn grin.
Cor's revelation had been nothing short of miraculous, but there is still the matter of determining the validity of the statement, however reliable the Marshal himself may be. With news so startling and hopeful, Regis finds himself immeasurably grateful that the man had elected to return to Insomnia himself to deliver it in person. All the same, he's sworn Cor to secrecy – not that he needed to – until further evidence of the claim has opportunity to come to light.
Regis has spent several days now questioning himself, wondering if – were they to meet – he would be able to recognize his son, now a grown man. The king takes pieces of himself, his wife, their parents, in his mind in an effort to puzzle together the face of his only son. Would he be as tall and lean as his father? Would he bear the gentle eyes and disposition of dear Aulea? He hopes so, prays to the gods on end that Noctis is indeed alive and well, healthy and safe.
Pleasurable and haunting as his thoughts have been, Regis is made to stop himself short before his mind can get too far ahead. He would be loathe to discover this to be but a case of mistaken identity, forced to mourn his dear Noctis yet again.
But by the Six, he has so much for which he must apologize. So much time that needs recovering, though the king's own is growing terribly short.
Even now, plagued by printed reports of skirmishes against the empire cropping up throughout Leide and Cleigne, the king marches himself through the day of Tenebrae's fall, forward and back, as if seeking to uncover something that he may have missed. His duty, truly, had been to his only heir, his beloved son. But, being an honorable man, he could not find it in himself to turn his back on Queen Sylva and her own children, and so he had fought, eager to repay the kindness and loyalty of Lucis' closest friend and political ally.
The troopers had stormed the manor much like a great flood, glass sprinkling as rain across the floors as they sought after the royals, cutting down all who barred their path. The attack had been expected far sooner following Sylva's refusal to agree to the emperor's terms the year prior, and perhaps they had all grown rather complacent in believing that retribution would not follow. They had been so very wrong.
The king lingers as but a ghost over his own shoulder as he runs, catching sight of a tuft of unruly hair, small hands seeking secure purchase in his cloak. Amidst the taste of smoke and the screams, there is a moment of fleeting peace as he looks upon his boy, gentle and kind, blocking out the rest of the world as though the invasion were but a bad dream. But the magitek troopers are uncanny and swift, their weapons nearly upon the pair as they reach the open manor doors. It is with little hesitation that Regis turns then, believing himself to have warped his young son to safety as he returns to fell the daemonic machines.
In urgency, he seeks out the Fleuret family when the immediate danger has passed, urged by the queen to return home to Lucis, protect himself, his son, and his nation. Her children are adamant in remaining at her side, and Regis tastes guilt and smoke on his tongue as she insists once again, promising him that all will be done in accordance with the gods' design. As more magitek carriers dot the distant sky behind the great window of Sylva's throne, Regis flees in search of his son.
There is little time to search, anxiety spiking the longer his hands remain empty, devoid of the warmth of Noctis' small form. Regis cannot find him, his son – his son – and guilt swallows him whole as the Crownsguard are made to peel him from the bridge where the prince had last been seen. They are swift to depart Tenebrae as the carriers land and the fires rage on, the king left abruptly empty and cold without his son sleeping soundly in his arms.
"Ravus!"
His name upon her lips is far more forceful than she cares for, but they've not spoken in days now, and her brother has been as easy to pin down as smoke. The man moves like wildfire, blends into the stark white walls of the manor as though he is a coeurl masked by deep green foliage. Lunafreya is a patient woman – be it as Oracle or princess or simply herself – but seeking to speak with her brother these last several days has proven a nuisance, and she's come to the steadfast conclusion that he is avoiding her.
It may well be but the echo of the structure itself amplifying her voice so, but she knows better. Patience has waned, snapped like a thin bit of elastic, and she has shouted him down, sending his usually tight knit brows soaring toward his hairline. In that moment, he looks so very much like their father, and Lunafreya aches.
He rights himself quickly, ever a man unwilling to allow himself to be easily read, even by his own flesh and blood. With his lean figure casting a faint shadow across the wall – he is by one of the windows, gloved left hand lingering on the glass but a moment before it falls flush again to his side – Ravus remains rooted in place, fixing Lunafreya with a set of mismatched eyes that betray him more than she has ever seen.
The leather of his glove is cool against the pads of her fingers, and while a slight scowl buries itself in the sharp lines of his face, her free hand rises to touch his cheek, her own expression that of regret for having raised her voice at him. She's never been good at staying angry for very long.
"Ravus," she says, gently this time, leaning close to press an ear flush to the front of his button-down coat. The steady beating of his heart does her good, and the Oracle imagines that the pair of them, close as they are as brother and sister, exist along the same wavelength, not quite matched but never too far apart. His right hand presses into her hair, his touch warm and welcome. "Ravus... Brother, I must know, what –"
"You need not concern yourself with my affairs, Lunafreya." The words are sharp, intended to ward her away like hazardous thorns on the stem of a rose. The hand falls away and she hears his heartbeat stall a moment, pulling away to stare up into his eyes. "You would do well to focus on your responsibilities as Oracle and leave all else in my hands."
"Responsibilities?" Lunafreya parrots, and feels yet another twinge of frustration begin to build within her. It is as she thought. He is keeping secrets from her out of some misplaced sense of obligation, overlooking her as little more than a figurehead to be protected and preserved. As if she cannot bear the weight of both her duties and Ravus' own apparent turmoil. "If you recall..." She begins carefully but elects to abandon caution as the words have passed her lips. The Oracle refuses to be play the role of the unseeing. "It was Mother who bid us work together for the good of Tenebrae. You cannot shoulder the responsibility of a nation on your own."
While he does not force her away, it is certain that he wishes to, if only to keep from being subjected to further talk of the late queen and Oracle. The day of their mother's passing had been almost too much for him to bear, and it is with the furrowing of her own brow that Lunafreya herself sinks back into that feeling of utter helplessness, uncertain as to whether or not he would make it through another night with his injuries.
The grip she has on his left hand remains firm as before, and it is with great care that she takes to peeling away the glove, soft white leather too easily giving way to the cold, unfeeling metal of Ravus' artificial arm. From her peripheral, she can see the disdain on his face as he turns to look elsewhere.
"Brother, I know that you had audience with the chancellor. And I believe I know... why you have been keeping it from me."
Ardyn had managed to both frighten and puzzle her, and she expects – no, she knows – that Ravus had taken careful notice of her distress in the aftermath and sought to confront the man as to the precise nature of their discussion. A risky move on his part, for Tenebrae is no more to the empire than a trinket to be toyed with and discarded at will, and upsetting the chancellor too grievously could very well come at the cost of more bloodshed.
"I shall depart on the morrow. I know not when I may return."
His lack of outright denial wholly confirms her suspicions, head bowed between them with an air of mourning. He had certainly gone to Ardyn in her defense, likely threatened him with something of great importance, and now the pair of them were to be separated as punishment.
"How–?" Lunafreya stops herself, still clutching his cold hand. She shakes. There is little to be said now. It is done. The chancellor has made his decision, and their fates now take them in opposite directions: The Oracle will stand tall against the empire, and her beloved brother – her lifelong protector – will be made hound to serve them.