Chapter Three: The Royals' Keeper

Honestly, Ignis would never know what persuaded him to do it—what made him think he had the right. There were, of course, far better and more talented retainers who were trained in the art, yet he took it upon himself to see to the task. It was beyond arrogant, beyond idiotic—

And, surprisingly, rather delicious.

Ignis plated his dish with the same care and attention to detail that he had created it with. Admittedly, it was rather different than anything he'd seen served in the Citadel before, and far simpler than the spectacular meals he'd watched being prepared on a daily basis. That didn't make it any less decent in terms of taste, however, and he thought perhaps the nature of the situation would lend his attempt some leeway.

Not that there was anything at all amiss regarding how his mystery meat sushi had turned out. Quite the contrary: it had just the right balance of ingredients. Given that it was literally rice, cheese, and whatever the meat was on the lowest shelf (hence: mystery) wrapped in seaweed, it was rather difficult to mess up.

With that comforting thought in mind, Ignis carried his precious creation out of the kitchens toward the elevator, careful to avoid anyone who might bump into him and ruin the entire endeavor. The ride up to his floor was long, but he didn't allow his confidence to be shaken by the stretch of time. When the door slid open, he strode out with his head held high and made his way directly for Noct's room.

King Regis sat in the chair beside the prince's bed, per usual, his eyes dim with exhaustion as he watched his son sleep on. It had been over two weeks, and still there was no sign of improvement. What had once been whispers about Noct's condition had grown louder; word around the Citadel had it that he was past all hope and the king should prepare himself for the inevitable. Ignis, however, was unconvinced. Although Noct hadn't woken, he also hadn't regressed, and that was something. Besides, what cruelty must there be in a person's heart to so callously indicate that a father should simply move on? What darkness must a person harbor to believe that such a thing was likely—nay, possible? The only comfort in the matter was that for as many who said King Regis needed to let go, even more sympathized with his plight. Ignis's own uncle, also a retainer in the Citadel, had stated it plainly mere days earlier:

No parent should have to bury their child.

He won't have to, Ignis told himself firmly, straightening his shoulders against the weight of the atmosphere in the prince's room. Noct was strong—amongst other things—and wouldn't succumb to this fate so easily, not when there were people waiting for him. Of that, Ignis was positive.

So, he cleared his throat courageously, and King Regis took a deep breath as he turned to grace Ignis with a smile. It was a brittle, frail thing, but it was also a step in the right direction.

"Forgive me for intruding, Your Majesty," apologized Ignis with a bow, balancing the plate between his hands so the meal didn't end up on the floor.

"It is never an intrusion," the king reassured him. Once Ignis straightened his posture, he gestured toward the usual chair on the other side of the bed, although his eyes caught on Ignis's burden. He raised an eyebrow in silent question.

All of a sudden, Ignis's concerns from earlier plowed to the forefront of his mind with renewed vigor. What if the king was insulted by his offering? What if it wasn't good enough for his royal palate? What if he rebuked him for eavesdropping? What if, what if, what if—

"What is that you have there, Ignis?"

Blinking, he forced his gaze up to meet King Regis's eyes and swallowed hard, but there was no derision in the king's tone. Not an ounce of reproach stared back at him, and although it did nothing to assuage all of his fears, it did give him the strength to venture forward into uncharted territory.

"I-if Your Majesty will p-permit me…" Ignis hesitated, clearing the fear from his throat and trying again. "W-when I came earlier, I couldn't help but overhear Master Clarus saying that…that Your Majesty hadn't eaten today. I… I know it's not much, but—"

"Come here, Ignis."

It was all he could do not to flinch at the king's interruption, though his shoulders raised a few protective inches toward his ears regardless. It was rather silly: he knew the king was an understanding, kind man. He knew that if he was going to be rebuked, it would not be detrimental to his station. He knew that.

Then why did his steps falter?

Come on, now. There's no need for that.

After a few aborted attempts to approach King Regis, he was finally able to make his feet cooperate with the rest of his body and was soon standing before the latter, who had yet to say a word all the while. Ignis could do nothing more than stare down at his pitiful offering, suddenly realizing just how ridiculous it looked when the king was used to all manner of sophisticated and enticing meals.

You're a fool, Ignis.

He expected to hear it or one of many variations any moment now. If he were standing beside one of his instructors, it undoubtedly would have happened before he'd entered the room. King Regis was too kind for that, but even he had his limits. Surely, he would reach it any second.

At that moment, when Ignis was quite sure that nothing more than terror and obedience to his king kept him rooted to the spot, a hand reached out and plucked one of the sushi rolls from the plate. Ignis's head shot up, and he stared openmouthed as King Regis held the bundle of eatables between his thumb and forefinger, examining it the way a jeweler might a diamond.

"Garula sirloin?" he inquired curiously, not a shred of disdain coloring his tone.

Taken aback, Ignis stammered, "The con-consistency would suggest s-so, Your Majesty."

King Regis hummed thoughtfully before downing the sushi in one go. Ignis's eyes went wide and he quite nearly dropped the plate in surprise. The king had actually eaten it! And he didn't immediately spit it out!

That was what Ignis called a win.

"Is… Is it all right, Your Majesty?" he inquired meekly after receiving no reaction from the king but a pensive look of concentration. Blinking, the latter glanced back at him and swallowed his mouthful.

"Far better than all right," confirmed King Regis with a grin brighter than any Ignis had seen from him in days. "There was salt in the rice?"

What strange alternate reality had he entered for the king to be impressed by his cooking? Wherever it was, he hardly wanted to leave anytime soon.

"It gave more flavor to the seaweed."

"Inventive."

Hazarding a smile, Ignis inclined his head so far he may as well have bowed. "Thank you, Your Majesty."

"I must admit, I was unaware that cooking was a part of your current field of study," the king commented, waving a hand toward Ignis's usual chair. He hastened to accept the silent invitation before he answered.

"It isn't. My uncle taught me, Your Majesty."

That appeared to intrigue King Regis, and he nodded in approval. "Is that so? It is quite a feat for one so young. Your uncle must be quite the instructor." Ignis nodded his agreement, a smile again twitching in the corner of his lips as the king chuckled under his breath and added, "I do not believe my son can manage a sandwich on his own."

Ignis tried very hard to school the grimace that twisted his features into something more neutral but evidently didn't do an immaculate job of it if the king's wry expression was any indication. With as much tact as he could muster, he ventured, "He can…with debatable results."

For the first time in weeks, the king truly laughed. It wasn't a halfhearted show of humor, either, but the kind of amusement that started from the stomach and reverberated out from there. Ignis couldn't and wouldn't repress the surge of pride he felt for having been the one to give him that.

As the king regained his composure (and gently took Noct's limp hand in his, Ignis didn't fail to observe), he fondly sighed, "Then let us be grateful that you have such talent in the kitchen. His very life may one day depend on your ability to conjure a decent meal."

That, oddly enough, had crossed Ignis's mind on approximately zero occasions. The prince would have an entire staff of professional chefs to cook anything his heart desired; his need for Ignis in that regard would be unlikely at best, although it certainly couldn't hurt to know a thing or two just in case.

It wasn't as though he would be telling King Regis that, however, so he nodded and promised, "I shall do my best to accommodate him, Majesty."

The smile the king leveled at him was warm and proud, though not without a hint of mischief just beneath the surface that Ignis wasn't used to seeing. He wasn't quite sure what it was hiding until—

"Perhaps…there might be a way to slip a few vegetables between the layers of this sushi unnoticed?"

Ignis was neck deep in an essay on the proper storage of magic flasks when the messenger came. Well, in a sense—in reality, he had been staring out the window for much of the last hour, pondering whether the chill in the air was a sign of coming autumn or simply a divine reaction to what was happening inside the Citadel. As the days marched on with no relief from their endless vigil over the prince, Ignis was becoming increasingly unsure of which was more likely.

For his part, he had tried to remain positive and productive. There was plenty to keep him occupied: training with Gladio at least twice a week, standard lessons each day, and cooking sessions with his uncle were but a few of the duties that filled so many of the interminable hours. He had even left the Citadel for a day to accompany his uncle to a few of the shops in town. The fresh air had done him good, especially since he hadn't been able to remember the last time he'd smelled it before misfortune had befallen the prince. There was still the nagging, gnawing guilt, however, that he wasn't where he was supposed to be all the while. So much of his time was spent within the walls of the Citadel, in the vicinity of his charge and friend should the unimaginable occur. To have left for even a few hours left a bad taste in his mouth and an urgency in his steps.

Nothing had gone awry in his absence, however. Noct was as he had been for weeks now when they returned, as was the king. If the prince did pass on—not that Ignis thought he would, but in the hypothetical event that he did—he expected someone would have the scene immortalized in a portrait or slab of marble: a father watching over his child, still as the stone they were carved out of. The thought occurred to him so frequently that he couldn't help but picture it in his mind's eye every time he passed the antechamber to the throne room, where so many works of art were already on display. They were old masterpieces, foretelling of doom and suffering descending upon them as often as they depicted peace amongst their people. How fitting, then, for such a tragic scene to be displayed alongside the rest.

But it wasn't going to happen. At least, that was what Ignis kept telling himself right up until the moment that the king's messenger announced that King Regis had need of his presence.

The moment he heard those words, Ignis felt his heart fall from its perch in his chest down into the boiling inferno his stomach had erupted into even as he stood steadily and moved toward the door. All he could think was that this was it: the king was beckoning to him so that he could say his final goodbyes to the friend whose life and destiny had been extinguished far too soon. What other use could the king have for him? If anything, he was surprised to be allowed to join in the king's grief so soon. He'd only just checked in two hours prior, and at that time, the prince was still breathing. That the end could have arrived in such a short spell was… There were simply no words.

Ignis felt like he was gliding through a dream as he entered the elevator and pressed the button that would take him to a residential hall bereft of the light that had once illuminated its greatness. Nothing felt real—not the cool plastic beneath his finger or the air filtering into and out of his lungs—and for the briefest moment, Ignis wondered if perhaps he was the one who no longer existed. Such a thing would be far preferable to the dreadful end that Noctis had come to. Such a thing would have been his job.

If he could save Noct's life—if he could trade his life for the prince's…

There was no use entertaining the notion. There was no magic that could turn back the clock and allow him to change what had happened, nor were there any guarantees that he could have done it at all. If he'd agreed to go with Noct that day, been there when the daemon had attacked… Maybe things would be different, but they may very well have ended up exactly the same.

His duty to the prince wasn't over just yet, though, he realized as he stopped mere feet from the open door to the prince's temporary sepulcher. Noct's disbelief in his father's affection notwithstanding, he wouldn't have wanted the king to suffer upon his death. He was too kind for such hateful thoughts, and Ignis's duty now was to see to it that the king could grieve his son in peace. Perhaps it was an arrogant idea to think that it was his job when King Regis had so many loyal retainers and friends to do the same for him, but if Ignis's charge had passed from this world, he would do his damnedest to see to it that he stayed strong for those who were left behind—including himself.

So, with straight shoulders and a heavy heart, Ignis bravely took those final steps towards the end of all things.

The scene he found was laid out exactly as he'd expected: King Regis had abandoned his chair in favor of a seat on the bed, leaning against the headboard with Noct held tightly in his arms. Tears ran uninhibited down his cheeks for the first time Ignis had ever seen, and that was how he knew it was truly over. The droplets of grief dripped from the end of the king's chin, catching in Noct's hair and sparkling like diamonds against his black locks. Eyes closed like those of his son, the king didn't appear to realize that Ignis had entered the room. The latter hardly blamed him: something far more important was at hand.

Noctis… It was so difficult to believe that he was gone. His pallid complexion was tinged with color in places, and the dark rings around his eyes had faded a bit to leave him looking healthier than he had since his injury. His hair hung lank for lack of a bath, but it made him no less beautiful in death. What cruel irony were the gods capable of to allow him to appear healthy and whole when nothing could be further from the truth?

Ignis let out a sharp, angry exhale at the unfairness of it all, and the king opened his eyes to survey him where he remained in the doorway. For an instant, Ignis had no idea what he would say. Should he offer his condolences? Should he say nothing lest he overstep a boundary King Regis had been far too lax on in the face of recent events?

The decision was taken out of his hands when, upon closer inspection, he realized the eyes gazing back at him weren't those of a grieving father—far from it. They were calm and clear despite the tears making them glisten in the slowly fading sunlight filtering in through the window. There was hope in their depths.

Ignis felt his breath catch in his throat as King Regis blinked back his tears, the task of speaking appearing to be nearly too much for him in that moment.

"I must apologize," he eventually managed, his lower lip trembling as he fought to control his emotions. "I had hoped he would still be awake when you arrived."

…Awake?!

Indeed, as his eyes fell back to the prince where he was curled up in the king's arms, he noticed the one thing he hadn't when he'd been too busy surveying Noct's face: his left hand rested on King Regis's chest, clutching the fabric of his suit jacket tightly in his tiny fist.

"He…woke up?" Ignis heard himself asking as if from the other end of a long tunnel. His voice echoed off the cavernously empty walls of his mind and bounced back at him in a million different tones—despair, elation, trepidation, excitement, concern, contentment, apprehension, relief. King Regis seemed to hear them all.

"He woke up," he confirmed. His relief was palpable, and yet he sounded as though he could hardly believe the words even as he spoke them. Ignis could understand the sentiment: it had been so long, and many had resigned themselves to the worst. Much as Ignis had tried to keep his thoughts in check—much as the king had spoken of hope and healing—there was still a sense of unreality about the situation. Until Noct's eyes were open once more, Ignis could scarcely allow himself to believe it.

Which was why he didn't return to his studies that day. He assumed that the king must have sent word to his instructors at the same time he'd called for Ignis, because he received no summons or scolding for his truancy. It wouldn't have mattered even if he had: his place was beside the prince, so he was simply fulfilling that duty.

That was what he told himself, anyway.

The day stretched on until evening fell to night's embrace, the darkness outside doing nothing to quell the way Ignis's muscles twitched with anticipation. Unlike the king, he was unable to sit in silent stillness as he usually could, and his leg bounced up and down as he waited for something—anything that would tell him Noct truly was past the worst of things.

King Regis, on the other hand, was a statue weathering the storm of emotions that had thrown Ignis into the maelstrom. Despite how uncomfortable the position must have grown over the passing hours, he remained where he'd been sitting since Ignis arrived, holding Noct as though the gods themselves might seek to snatch his son from his arms. Now and again, he would vacillate between running a hand through Noct's raven hair and rocking him back and forth, looking for all the world like a man who had just recently stepped away from the edge.

Ignis envied the king's composure. He was still hovering over the void.

Midnight had long since come and gone before Noct finally stirred, snuggling deeper into King Regis's chest and whimpering in pain. It took a moment for Ignis to realize that he had shifted his legs beneath the covers, one of which was still bandaged and stitched together, and he flinched at the notion that Noct should wake up after so long only to feel the discomfort he'd been avoiding all this time.

The thought fled his mind half a second later, however, when the blue eyes he thought he'd never see again drifted open. They were disoriented and bleary, but they were there, and Ignis felt…he felt…

"Dad?" Noct whispered, his voice hoarse from disuse. "Why's Specs crying?"

King Regis had no answer to give through his own tears.