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 10: A Tale of Lies and Broken Promises
Note: Ignis makes his debut.
The sudden appearance of Chancellor Izunia has proven to be a very different beast in and of itself. Within hours of this initial intelligence arriving before the king, a second startling report had been delivered to the Citadel, that the Norduscaean Blockade had quickly been reinstated by the empire. It only stood to reason, clearly, that the man's unannounced presence in Lucis was to further isolate those soldiers in service to the crown, and cut them off from assistance on both sides of the barrier.
Divide and conquer is, clearly, the strategy at play here, and yet, there is little for the kingdom to do but watch and wait.
Ignis knows quite well how startling the events of late have been to all employed unto His Highness, himself included, but his eyes remain unclouded and attention to detail unerring. The king himself, while certainly troubled by this unforeseen possibility of further political tension, has been noticeably less somber of late, often lingering the halls where the prince himself had once resided so very long ago. He expects that the monarch has been reminiscing, hopeful that, soon, those days past may serve to make themselves a lasting part of the future.
The king lingers in such halls even now, the young advisor having had the mind with which to locate him at the behest of his superiors.
"Your Majesty." His tone is even, respectful – not only of the man's status as king, but of that of a father given reason with which to hope, and a man who has been good to him. "The Marshal requests an audience within the Council Chambers."
The fondness in those faded blue eyes is stored away, the steely resolve of a man sworn to his people again replacing itself upon the weathered face. Ignis waits, intent on remaining at the king's back in the event of the unthinkable, and falls in behind him.
Ideally, the man before him would be Prince Noctis, now grown and preparing to take up his father's mantle as king and protector of the kingdom. Fate had clearly insisted otherwise, and so it is the back of an aging king that Ignis watches, as per his duty and promise.
Silence is all that passes between them, not a word exchanged, for the young advisor has neither place nor knowledge with which to converse with His Highness on the matter. What little information he had been given was for the purpose of seeking out the man and delivering the request, as he has so done.
There is a palpable unease as the doors to the council chambers part to grant them passage, and by the looks plastered on the faces of those in attendance, Ignis has a silent venture that the unknown matter is already in discussion. King Regis has not chance to take to the steps nor seat himself when both the Marshal and His Highness' Shield approach, the latter offering up a piece of parchment with a deep set scowl.
The page is observed in silence – once, twice, three times – before the king lifts his gaze to the pair of men before him.
"It is as written," Claurus Amicitia confirms, looking far more suspicious than per usual. "Chancellor Izunia seeks an audience with Your Majesty at the earliest available opportunity to discuss terms of peace."
Ignis feels his heart skip a beat. He's not had chance to meet the man, but his reputation certain precedes him, and in a most ominous way. Ardyn Izunia is known every bit for his cunning as he is his abysmal outerwear, but it is the former which has served to cast such great unease upon the room.
It had been the hands of Verstael Besithia spurred on by the workings of Ardyn Izunia's mind that the magitek infantry been brought to life to wreak havoc upon Eos. Such dark knowledge could only have come from within a monster presenting himself as a man.
It's certain that none present would trust the chancellor so far as they could throw him, but with daemonic experiments now cropping up in Leide – no doubt his doing – and the blockade reinstated, even Ignis knows better than to scoff at the unlikely chance that Chancellor Izunia truly seeks to discuss peace. His presence alone serves as but a small declaration of the Empire's power and carries much weight.
"What say you?"
Ignis takes pause, considering the options available to the kingdom, though they be but few. On the one hand, the discussion with the chancellor could well prove fruitful, perhaps staying the further spilling of blood and preserving the people of Lucis. On the other, it may well be a trap, a means with which to infiltrate Insomnia and further disrupt what order they've managed to maintain. Regardless, the answer is clear as day, and the kingdom cannot afford to take any chances.
"Certainly, the man is a frightful tactician, and in close proximity to the Emperor," Ignis says thoughtfully, chin in hand. "Regardless of his intentions, however, our safest option is to hear him out, and thus avoid the perception that Lucis is unreasonable."
He needn't see the satisfaction on the king's face to know he's made the correct assessment. The Shield's growing unease is evidence enough.
"It shall be so," His Highness says, addressing the room this time. The tension's weight increases. He turns to a weathered man poised at the room's edge. "Commander Drautos, see to it that the chancellor and his retinue are granted safe passage into Insomnia at the earliest convenience."
It had been little surprise to the chancellor when messengers of the king – a small collection of armed Glaives – had presented themselves at the garrison gates, bearing a letter from the Lucian ruler himself. Ardyn had accepted the invitation personally, grazing the wax of the blackened seal and sigil with an unsettling smile that had seen his own mortal guard break out into a light sweat.
It was certain that the Glaives had come to scout out each face of the imperial guard in hopes of catching sight of Noctis again, and it was with such anticipation that the chancellor had instructed the boy to await his summons within the garrison.
"And if they seek your life?"
Ardyn had chuckled, mussing the boy's jet black hair. "Have you so little confidence in me, Noctis?"
He'd taken a great deal of pleasure in watching the Glaives' eyes grow wide with shock when their lost prince had at last filed into the vehicle beside the chancellor, unperturbed by their stares and focused solely upon the task at hand.
While the lengthy trek through Leide with an entourage of enemy soldiers had been tedious to say the least, a rush of adrenaline had filled the Accursed when the walls were at last breached and the miles-long bridge into the heart of the Crown City was laid bare before them. He'd been granted audience with King Regis but once prior, shortly after the passing of the previous monarch, albeit under the guise of a meager Lucian border patrol officer. How satisfying that, now, Ardyn had been delivered the chance to face His Highness as himself.
The vehicle comes to a stop at the steps of the Citadel, Noctis' unease palpable enough to slice clean with a blade, and a hand rests on the boy's shoulder as if to still his quivering heart. As the chancellor moves to step out and onto the flagstones of the courtyard, Noctis seizes him by the sleeve, fear brimming in the boy's wide gold eyes, and he looks very much like he had on the day Ardyn had explained to him the events of Tenebrae.
"Remember: They left you for dead," he says, and the boy breathes shakily, gives a curt nod and steps out of the car, looking none the worse for wear.
Good boy.
"Chancellor." Ardyn bites back a knowing smirk, recalling with great satisfaction the last time he'd heard that voice. The man himself – so much older than he ought to appear – had been sprawled out before him on the pavement, battered, bleeding, and near death as his ancestor had sought to put an end to the Accursed's wicked game. "You honor us."
While the king addresses him, his focus remains upon Noctis, looking him over head to toe with a familiarity that – had Ardyn any capacity for sympathy – may well have brought a tear to his eye.
He brushes past the boy, who takes several steps back with a slight bow of his head, and there's a flicker of rage in Regis' eyes at seeing his son beholden to an enemy nation.
Ardyn revels in it.
"I beg to differ, Your Majesty, for it is by your grace alone that these negotiations are to take place."
Regis lingers on the steps several moments longer, looking between Ardyn and the boy several times before he makes a vague gesture for them to follow, and the chancellor does so at a respectable distance, Noctis at his heels.
"I trust," the king begins, "that your journey from Niflheim has not been fraught with much trouble."
"None whatsoever, Majesty. It has been quite an enlightening little venture."
It is a game of words they play, and while it may appear to others present to be but polite pre-negotiation exchange between two conflicting nations, those astute enough to pay mind to the conversation are certain to know better. One man, roughly Noctis' own age with sharp, bespectacled green eyes, catches the chancellor's attention in particular.
The halls of the Citadel are truly a sight to behold, and one that sparks a smoldering irritation in Ardyn's chest. That Somnus – dear Somnus – would have achieved so very much in the wake of his underhanded betrayal is utterly infuriating. And it's too long that the past lingers at the forefront of his mind, blinding him to all else until Noctis wordlessly grounds him with a touch, now at the heart of the Council Chambers.
The king takes his seat, insisting with a hand that the chancellor be at his right. Ardyn complies, and the boy lingers at his back, surveying the room with a muted unease rivaling the quakes of the Archean.
"Forgive me being so forward," Regis says once the council members themselves, too, are seated, "but what are these terms that His Excellency sends to our door?"
To the point, as always. Ardyn lifts a hand, a young woman approaching to lay but a small stack of papers before the Lucian king. The last time he had entered into negotiations with a foreign land, things had not gone well for them, but the chancellor himself had come away from the table but a year later with a tremendous victory. One that he still holds.
"Lucis is to willingly surrender possession of all territories beyond the Crown City to Niflheim. In exchange, His Excellency will provide for those within as he would his own people, the blockades will disintegrate, and the old trade routes will again resume."
Perhaps he's too pleasant in the delivery, for the king fixes Ardyn with a look of open uncertainty.
"That is all?" Of course he is suspicious. Niflheim has not oft been so straightforward in their desires or dealings, playing quite the underhanded game at Ardyn's behest.
"Why, Your Majesty, I come to your Insomnia as but a messenger. The terms which I have presented you today are as per the entirety of my instruction from His Excellency alone." Ardyn smiles, sly and feigning warmth. He feels Noctis bristle behind him. "What further motivation could I possibly possess?"
Throughout the entirety of the discussion, Noctis had fought back the urge to scream. He'd sought to distract himself by evaluating the council members, to focus on his breathing, to understand precisely why the presence of the Kingsglaive commander filled him with such a strange sense of nostalgia, but nothing had worked. When the niceties had at last subsided, it was with great relief that he had fled from the room at Ardyn's behest — "pull it together" was what he'd said — and now finds himself wandering the courtyard of the Citadel feeling very much lost.
It had been explained to him many years ago, just after his seventeenth birthday, that he had been but a child battered and on the brink of death when the chancellor came across him. Yes, Ardyn had known of Noctis' standing as Prince of Lucis, and sought to repair the damage done to the boy's body by the invasion, but by the time he'd awakened from his coma, news had flooded the Star: The young prince was dead, his life lost in Tenebrae.
"And you didn't think to take me back?" Noctis scowls and can see the look of indignation on his own face. Ardyn's expression, of course, remains passive and unperturbed.
"Noctis, think on it: The chancellor of an enemy nation arrives at the gates of Insomnia bearing the broken body of the prince. What conclusion would you have drawn from that?"
The stunned silence that lingers between them in the vision serves only to twist his insides into knots, and he feels as though he may well retch across the flagstones. He sees Ardyn stand then, a strange look on his face — that of conflict — as he moves to sit beside Noctis, pulling him close. It's been so long, but he can still feel the way the man had stroked his hair as a boy, fearful of the dark and seeking protection from nightmares in his uncle's great arms.
It had angered him at the time, but Ardyn's words had rang true from the onset. Lucis would certainly have launched an assault upon the empire, questioned the chancellor ad infinitum, blamed him for the damage what had befallen their future king. He's unfamiliar with the methods of the Lucians, his own people, but Noctis has little doubt that, even had he been returned home as a gesture of faith and goodwill, Ardyn would have ultimately suffered the wrath of nations.
"My boy, they pronounced you dead not six weeks after the invasion. The rescue efforts ceased. His Majesty immortalized your grave himself."
Noctis?
"I had thought I might find you here."
He turns slowly, in time to see a black umbrella to pop open above his head. The man before him had been among the king's retainers — his father's retainers — and there's a lingering familiarity in his striking green eyes that he's not hidden well. Noctis eyes him up and down, brow drawn into a firm scowl, hands shoved deep into his pockets as he straightens, willing his unease into silence.
"Yeah?" he replies, facing the other man in full as if to challenge him. "And for what purpose, exactly?"
The man lifts a hand to straighten the glasses upon his nose, returns Noctis' investigative glance with one of his own, and the seriousness of his face seems to lapse into something more akin to regret and longing. All the same, he clears his throat, offering a hand.
"Ignis Scientia," the man says simply. "Advisor to the Crown."
Noctis cocks his head, eyeing the gloved hand for but a moment before taking it in his own. "Noctis... of Niflheim."
There's a noticeable pain in Ignis' eyes as the words leave him, a subtle twitch of his lips, but neither of them seek to address it. They stand there in the infant rain under the shelter of the umbrella, hands clasped in a moment of mutual understanding that makes Noctis feel as though the entire world has fallen out from beneath him. This man, from his genuine propriety to the mature firmness of his grip, has Noctis feeling abruptly on edge. Nostalgic, even, as though he's spent his whole life missing out on something he can't quite name.
"Noctis... A pleasure." In that moment, he sounds an awful lot like Ardyn, and Noctis flinches. "I had wondered if perhaps you would care for a brief tour of the Citadel, but you left the council chambers before I had chance to ask."
How strange. While Lucian by blood, Noctis is in service to both chancellor and emperor of a foreign nation, and one with whom the people of Lucis are currently embroiled in a bitter, centuries-old war. There's little reason for this man to seek his companionship, let alone offer to show him around the most secure building in the whole of Insomnia. Even knowing this, Noctis finds that there is a nagging caught tight in his chest, like a powerful magnet pulling him toward this Ignis, toward the Citadel.
You must go.
"Suppose there's not much else for me to do," he replies with a shrug, hand dropping back to his side to be placed in a pocket. "At least not until Ardyn decides to find something."
Ignis' expression hasn't changed much, though a modicum of curiosity does go flitting across his face at the mention of the chancellor's name. It's a bad habit he's developed, calling his uncle by name rather than title while out on official business, but it serves to both amuse the older man and unnerve those with whom he has audience.
"I take it the pair of you are close."
"Guess so, yeah." Noctis shrugs again, a bit irked by the fact that the king's advisor follows behind him rather than at his side, still holding the umbrella above their heads. "I mean, he's my uncle, y'know? He raised me."
The other man makes no reply as they ascend the steps of the Citadel, and it is only when they cross the guarded threshold that Ignis makes move to step in front of him. While expected much sooner, it's still sudden, and the advisor does not face Noctis as they stand in the entry, people dressed for business — all bearing the Lucian crest — milling about the wide space as though the pair of them aren't even present.
Noctis, come. We must have words.
It has gone ignored until now, dismissed as but a figment of his imagination, but now within the towering Citadel walls, the sound of the voice unknown — the pull in the core of his gut — grows louder, stronger, harder for him to dismiss. It's but a quiet voice, barely above a whisper, beckoning him to parts unknown. He fixes Ignis with a look, discerning but a moment later that the other man hears nothing but the atmospheric noise surrounding them.
"...and the council chambers are stationed upstairs next to the— Noct? Is something the matter?"
The prince — is he really even a prince anymore? — turns to the other man, an expression of distinct worry on his face as Noctis steadies himself against the wall. He feels dizzy, lightheaded, colder than he's perhaps ever felt before, beginning at the ends of his fingers. Hands clench, but the chill grows, sweeping up one arm and down the other until he's little recourse left but to grip himself around the middle as his limbs fall numb.
Noctis.
It's Ignis' warm hands lifting him to his feet, pulling him across the floor and around the corner into a small office just beyond one of the check-in desks. As feeling slowly begins to return, he looks to the king's advisor with wide eyes, swallowing the urge to curl into himself and just cry. Far worse than that, though, is the breaking of his own voice as he seeks so speak.
"Tell me, please: What's wrong?"
"Why...?" he says, suddenly breathless, and Ignis' face twists in a confused frown. "Why do I feel... like I know her voice?"