Chapter Four: Shattered Remains

It was truly remarkable just how many times Ignis heard the same platitude: children were resilient. All the adults around the Citadel were of the mind that youth made a person more flexible, able to bounce back even in the face of the direst circumstances. They would breathe a sigh of relief, wave off a concern, and simply state that it was a matter of time before everything went back to normal. Children were miracles in more ways than one, and their propensity for recovery was their most admirable trait in the opinion of those who had long since lost the advantage.

If that were true, Ignis supposed Noct must be the exception to the rule.

The weeks that followed the prince's awakening were perhaps the most difficult Ignis had ever spent in the Citadel, and that was including those awkward first days when he had no idea where to find the restroom on each floor. Noctis had always been a lively child, prone to fits of boredom that usually ended in energetic adventures wherever and whenever he could manage them; more often than not, Ignis had to remind Noct that they both had obligations, none of which would be fulfilled if he kept talking in the middle of their studies. His pleas for silence frequently fell on deaf ears, though. It wasn't that Noct was malicious in his complete disregard for Ignis's wishes: he was simply bursting at the seams with spirit, something Ignis both admired and lamented multiple times throughout a given day.

Now, however, things were different. Noct didn't speak anymore. At all. He rarely made eye contact with anyone aside from King Regis, who was growing increasingly perplexed and anxious by the day at his son's radical change in behavior. At first, the doctors thought it was nothing more than an adjustment to being conscious again, not that it made much sense to Ignis. Noct had been comatose—he hardly would have noticed he wasn't awake, much less needed time to adjust to being so. It was difficult to tamp down his vindication when the days continued to pass with no improvement in Noct's demeanor, but his concern quickly eclipsed it as the silence within the prince's room stretched on.

It didn't help that, as the doctors had claimed what felt like ages before, Noct couldn't walk. He wasn't paralyzed the way they had originally feared he may be, but his legs weren't able to hold his weight regardless. He'd tried to stand only once, the day after he'd woken up, and found himself on the floor in a matter of seconds before anyone in the room could catch him.

For all his various forms of open expression, Noct had never been the crying kind. Not until that day.

Ever since, Ignis had been trying everything he could fathom to bring back the boy he called his friend. It was no easy task, especially when his instructors still expected him to attend his lessons—something Ignis simply couldn't comprehend. His job was to advise the future king; it was literally his duty to be there for Noct in the most trying of circumstances to see him through to whatever end he reached. Why, then, did the same instructors who had informed him of this insist on taking him from the one place where he was honor-bound to remain? Voicing that opinion, of course, was a recipe for disaster, so he spent his lessons in sullen silence and unloaded his frustrations on Gladio during their training sessions together whenever he could. The future Shield was a good listener, albeit a slightly less sympathetic one than Ignis would have hoped for, and kindly let him vent his aggressions in the safest environment possible. It didn't help, but it was a start.

Each day saw Ignis falling into something of a new routine: wake up, check on Noct, go to his lessons, check on Noct, attend his afternoon training, check on Noct, and go to bed only to repeat the process in the morning. As his schedule became standard, his heart fell even further in his chest to find that no amount of time with Noct ever made things better. They sat in strained stillness, the prince curled up beneath the covers while Ignis read to him or spoke in endless circles about his own day to fill the chasm so deep between them that it may have been carved by the gods.

The only thing that seemed to bridge the gap was the growing emergence of a strange and tenuous bond that they'd never had need of before, and communication—if not conversation—became easier. Over the course of a few days, he quickly began to understand the new language Noct was speaking, one that it appeared very few others were privy to:

Hiding his face beneath the covers so that only his eyes were visible—reluctance.

A blink—curiosity.

Turning his head into the pillow—amusement.

A frown—displeasure.

More and more nuances of his behavior formed as the days became weeks and rapidly approached a month since he'd returned to them. Despite his frequent absence and uneasiness with the sudden alteration of everything that had once been commonplace, Ignis savored each one: he'd gotten his wish in Noct's survival, so it wasn't his place to complain about the changes his friend's experience had wrought in him. Ignis knew his duty included understanding the future king even without words, and he would make good on that responsibility here and now.

That didn't make it any less heartbreaking to see King Regis's smile waver when his bedtime stories were met with timid, almost stony silence, though.

Unlike Ignis, the king was rarely away from Noct's bedside. Now that the prince was awake, there were a few duties that could no longer be pushed aside, but otherwise, he was as constant a figure in Noct's room as he had been during his son's early convalescence. That, more than anything else, was one of the reasons Ignis didn't tell his instructors where they could stick their lessons (a phrase Gladio had taught him when they were supposed to be sparring): the king was with Noct when he couldn't be, and that was the next best thing.

The greatest comfort of his presence, however, stemmed from the fact that King Regis was the only one Noct would suffer to touch him. The prince who thrived on casual contact was long gone, leaving a frightened, distant boy in his place. Every time the doctors tried to examine his wounds, he would recoil to the furthest corner of the mattress and curl up beneath the covers as though they were nothing more than extensions of the daemon who had attacked him. Even Ignis, who had frequently served as his personal trampoline in addition to his future adviser, wasn't exempt. It took no time at all for him to notice the way the prince flinched away when Ignis would reach out to squeeze his good shoulder comfortingly. After the first few attempts, he'd abandoned the endeavor altogether.

King Regis, however, was the exception. Many a night found them in the same position as when Noct had awoken, the king propped up on pillows with the prince tucked against his chest. Neither of them got much sleep—Noct was plagued by nightmares and King Regis remained awake to watch over him—but the king was never absent in the dark hours of the night, regardless of what duty dictated he must do during the day. Relief always filled Ignis at the sight: when his father was present, the tense set of Noct's shoulders eased and his eyes weren't filled with the distant panic Ignis had watched become the new normal in quiet moments.

Thus, the days passed. Ignis maintained his routine because there was nothing else he could do, although the few moments of free time he had were now spent in adamant pursuance of answers—how could he ease the prince's recovery? Perhaps there was no bringing back the lively, smiling boy he'd been before his injury, but surely there was no harm in trying. It would have been easier if all his ideas weren't immediate and obvious failures, though.

Anything requiring movement was stricken from the list. Not only couldn't Noct so much as get out of bed on his own, but offering a literal helping hand wasn't likely to be met with an enthusiastic reception.

Reading hadn't worked. Ignis had severely downgraded his standards and taken to presenting Noct with the comics he so loved—then, when that didn't produce a response, picture books, as had always been the prince's preference—to no avail. If Noct was listening, he offered no sign of it as he stared into the distance in eerie blankness.

The only attempt that had garnered even the slightest reaction from Noct had been when Ignis brought one of the cats that frequently wandered around the Citadel to his room (after a rather ridiculous three-hour chase around the grounds in which the sharp-clawed little devil refused to be captured). His eyes had momentarily lit up from where they peeked out at him beneath the covers, just before the doctor indicated that no animals were allowed in the vicinity for fear that Noct's wounds were still susceptible to infection. Ignis wasn't sure the prince's spirit could have been dowsed any more effectively if it had been a flame under water.

With every failed attempt, Ignis could find very little in the way of things that could be done within the confines of the prince's bedroom. It was a stark reminder that, awake or not, Noct wasn't healthy. His injury caused him a great deal of pain, and Ignis had overheard the doctors whispering to each other on more than one occasion that they had expected the slices hidden beneath his bandages to have healed more quickly. Restless nights left him exhausted and pallid, but despite his former love of sleep, he fought his traitorous eyelids every time they drooped during one of his father's stories nonetheless. Every passing day was the same, and improvement was torturously slow if it came at all.

It was almost alarming just how frequently Ignis wondered if Noct hadn't been better off comatose.

"So, what are you gonna do about it?" inquired Gladio when Ignis was finished raining hell on him with a wooden sword. He had gotten better at weaponless combat, but his frustrations were better served when he had something to swing.

Huffing an angry breath, Ignis slid down to sit against the wall and pulled his knees up to his chest as he testily replied, "What makes you think there's anything I can do?"

Gladio raised an eyebrow but, rather than addressing his rudeness, came to sit beside him with a shrug. "You know 'im better than anyone, right?"

"I suppose. He's not the same Noct I know."

"Did'ja think he would be?"

Frowning, Ignis didn't bother to answer. It honestly hadn't crossed his mind. He'd been so busy worrying over whether the prince would survive at all that he hadn't considered how things would change if he did. Gladio seemed to understand without Ignis having to say a word, and he leaned his head back against the wall with a pondering expression.

"Maybe start with something small."

Ignis scoffed. "Such as?"

"I don't know—I've never met the guy. What's he like?"

"Video games." When Gladio opened his mouth, Ignis cut him off, "He won't play them."

Nodding slowly, Gladio thought for a moment before suggesting, "Why don't you play 'em and he can watch? Show him what he's missing out on."

"You've obviously never seen me try to play a video game." The handful of times he'd attempted to had ended in disaster for him and endless hours of amusement for Noct.

On second thought, perhaps that's not such a bad idea… He would log it away to try later.

"And the cat thing didn't work?"

"The doctors made me shower twice before they were sufficiently satisfied that I wasn't carrying unnecessary germs."

"Ouch."

"Indeed."

They both fell silent after that, and Ignis sighed heavily. He knew taking care of Noct was unlikely to be an easy job—he'd been prepared for that from the very first day of his tutelage—but he hadn't anticipated that it would be so difficult to determine what he needed. Wasn't that supposed to be simple?

"My old man said nothing's ever simple when you're dealing with royalty," answered Gladio, alerting Ignis to the fact that he'd unintentionally voiced his thoughts aloud.

Grimacing through his embarrassment, he remarked, "Master Clarus would know better than anyone."

"You're damn right."

With that, Gladio rose to his feet and held out a hand to help Ignis do the same. As he moved to grab his change of clothing, he casually commented, "You could always try Cup Noodles. That always cheers me right up."

Ignis froze in place, eyes wide. It took one second—two—

"That's it!"

Whirling around, he grabbed Gladio by the shoulders and shook him in excitement, the latter staring at him as though he'd grown three spare heads. "Uh…I was joking, but…"

"You're still a genius!" exclaimed Ignis, giving him one last shake before grabbing his things and sprinting out the door. He heard Gladio shout something after him, but he didn't pause to listen. He had an idea!

The Citadel was crowded this time of day on average, but space was definitely limited today since the king was holding court in the throne room. That wasn't enough to stop Ignis, however, and he ducked through the throng of Kingsglaive guards and council members and press representatives and all the people who stood between him and his plan as he dashed through the halls toward the kitchens.

Unlike the areas open to the public, he found himself alone when he arrived at his destination. Lunch had been hours ago and there was still plenty of time left before the chefs would start preparing dinner, which meant Ignis had the entire place at his disposal. That was probably for the best: if an actual chef spotted him, he would undoubtedly be in a world of trouble.

Ignis unceremoniously dumped his bag and spare clothes on the floor by the first work station and hurried to the refrigerator without bothering to change out of his slightly sweaty training gear. He paused for the briefest second, wondering if maybe it would be best to take a shower first, but he banished the thought almost as soon as it occurred to him. There was only a very short span of time available to him, and he wasn't about to waste a moment—washing his hands would be sufficient.

One of the amazing things about living in the Citadel during his training was that he had full access to an impressively stocked kitchen. Oftentimes, it never made much of a difference to him; he would eat whatever was placed in front of him gratefully, whether he liked it or not. Having a million different things to choose from was ideal for his task, however, and that was what mattered.

As his brain worked in overdrive to create the perfect dish, Ignis dug through the endless possibilities with only one parameter in mind: no vegetables. He was trying to cheer Noct up, not send him running for the proverbial hills. Tomatoes, beans, and peppers all got shifted to the side—potatoes were okay—meat was fine, but fish was better.

The sun was beginning to set by the time Ignis had decided and managed to put the ingredients together into something edible. At least, he sincerely hoped it was edible; he was positive that he had forgotten every rule of cooking his uncle had ever taught him, and he'd definitely neglected to obey the First Commandment of the Kitchen—clean as you go. Instead, there were eggshells piled up in the sink, pans scattered over every surface, dried rice littering the countertops… And that was just the kitchen.

If his workspace was a mess, the dish was hardly any better. In his haste, mistakes had been made and adjustments were necessary, but they were less than attractive. He'd used too much water in steaming the rice, which turned it into more of a soggy mush than anything else, and it wasn't helped by the fact that his fried eggs had somehow turned into scrambled eggs. Curry had seemed like a good idea to add some flavor at the time, but the result was too spicy for the prince's sensitive palate, so Ignis had brilliantly deemed garula broth as the solution. By the time he was finished, what had started out as a rice bowl turned into some kind of strange curry soup concoction Ignis was too afraid to try.

But try it he did—because he wasn't a heathen who would feed something to his prince without testing it first—and it was…okay. Better than okay, really. In fact, it was rather…good. Ignis could only stare at the dish for a moment, utterly thunderstruck, before he was able to shake himself from his surprise.

Well. I suppose I've come up with a new recipe.

Humming thoughtfully, Ignis set the bowl of pseudo-soup on a tray and cast only a momentary glance over his shoulder at the mess he'd left in his wake. Dinner service was rapidly approaching, but he was sure he'd have enough time to return everything to its spotless state beforehand. There were more important things right now.

When Ignis reached Noct's room, the prince was alone. It was a rare thing these days, so Ignis was unspeakably glad that he hadn't dawdled. Despite his distance, it was very clear that Noct was uncomfortable in solitude, and there was something akin to relief on his face upon seeing Ignis standing in the doorway.

"Sorry I'm late," Ignis apologized with a meek smile. He lifted the bowl a little higher, catching Noct's attention. "I brought you something to eat."

His face turned a sallow shade of green almost immediately, and Ignis felt his heart crack down the middle in disappointment he had no right to feel. Among the many other changes, Noct hadn't eaten much since waking up. Ignis wasn't sure if it was that he had no appetite or if he simply couldn't stomach heavier foods after being unconscious for so long; either way, mealtimes were some of the most trying.

Perhaps it's a good thing I made soup, then. Sort of.

Clearing his throat, Ignis tried not to let his smile falter as he approached the bed and set the tray beside Noct. The prince stared at it as though he wasn't quite sure what was expected of him before glancing up and blinking hesitant blue eyes at Ignis.

Right.

"It's…curry. In a sense," he hastened to indicate, frowning at his own description. Could it really be called that when he'd had to cover it up with broth? Twisting his face in disdain, Ignis waved off the explanation altogether and assured him, "It's good. Trust me."

Noct didn't move for a long moment, continuing to stare at him and looking like he might have ducked back under the covers if it weren't for the bowl of very hot soup balanced on his mattress. Then, just when Ignis had resigned himself to the fact that he would be eating his own invention for dinner, Noct slowly reached out a shaky hand and picked up the spoon as though it might bite him. (Of course, it could have been that he had to use his left hand rather than his dominant, injured right, but Ignis would be lying if he said his confidence wasn't shaken.)

Whatever it was, his fingers trembled slightly around the utensil as he dipped it into the broth and brought what had to be the most pitifully tiny excuse for a spoonful up to his lips. Ignis wasn't sure when he'd started holding his breath, but he was helpless to ease the pressure in his chest from lack of oxygen when he couldn't see Noct's expression.

It's terrible. He hates it. I should have just tried Cup Noodles…

Ignis opened his mouth to apologize and beg forgiveness for tormenting his already tortured friend when Noct lifted his head and met Ignis's eyes. The slightest ghost of a smile turned up one side of his lips as he sniffled and proceeded to eat the whole bowl, Ignis staring openmouthed the entire time.

He didn't even care that he was scolded and tasked with mopping the floors in the kitchens every day for the next month. It was worth it.

"I don't think we have another option, Clarus."

"Your Majesty knows the risks involved. If you venture into Tenebrae and the Empire realizes you are there…"

"I recognize that, as does the Oracle."

"And she is satisfied that the arrangement will be safe?"

"She has promised the highest level of security they can provide. The rest is in the hands of the gods."

"I don't like it."

"You don't have to like it, Cor. You need only see it done."

"…Yes, Your Majesty."

Ignis dove away from the door to Noct's room just in time to avoid the appearance of eavesdropping as the Marshal strode past toward the elevators, his expression stormy and footsteps clipped in disapproval. Exchanging a quick glance with Noct, he settled back into his usual seat and retrieved the book he'd abandoned on the corner of Noct's bed when they heard his father's retinue approaching in the corridor. Ignis had never been one to pry, particularly within the Citadel when there were so many things he wasn't meant to hear in the air, but Noct had. Part of Ignis's duty was to do for the prince what he was unable to do for himself, however, so he gladly made the sacrifice until Noct was back on his feet.

It had absolutely nothing to do with his own curiosity. Nothing whatsoever.

He'd only just commenced reading from where he left off when King Regis entered the room, Master Clarus hovering on the threshold as the former moved into the other chair. Ignis couldn't help noticing that while his expression indicated that nothing was wrong, his eyes told a different story. With a warm smile, the king leaned forward to press a kiss to Noct's forehead and ruffle his hair affectionately.

"How are you feeling today?"

"Okay," lied Noct quietly through his royal teeth.

Ignis refrained from sighing with great difficulty. The last couple of weeks had seen Noct emerging from his shell somewhat, at least enough to make eye contact with most visitors and say a few words every hour or so. It was a slow start, but it was progress. Every day, the king asked how he was feeling; every day, Noct said he was okay. They all knew it was a false sentiment by now, more wishful thinking than reality. Physically, his limbs were stiff and aching more than he cared to let on; the only reason Ignis knew was because he frequently noticed the prince's ill-concealed grimaces when he shifted beneath his covers. Besides that, he was still getting less sleep than was desirable, and Ignis constantly woke in the night to hear his screams of terror alongside his father's soothing reassurances that he was all right. Everyone with access to Noct knew he was anything but okay, yet until they had a viable solution to ease his suffering, no one would be cruel enough to rob the prince of his attempts at normality.

As it happened, they didn't get much opportunity to do so today. Noct's eyes flashed with something wary and anxious Ignis had never seen before as he blurted out, "You're leaving?"

The king blinked, frowning. "Of course not. What makes you think that?"

When Noct didn't answer, his store of verbal communication apparently exhausted for today, Ignis tentatively explained, "My apologies, Majesty, but…w-we couldn't help overhearing…" He gestured vaguely towards the door, where Master Clarus shook his head in thinly veiled amusement. The king, too, was unable to restrain his smile.

"I'm sure you couldn't. No need for apologies," King Regis interrupted when Ignis began to apologize again, his eyes kind and forgiving. "We were not aiming for secrecy. And in answer to your question," he remarked, turning back to Noct and taking his hand, "I'm not leaving—we are."

Noct frowned in confusion, and Ignis found himself carefully closing the book in his lap. There was no need to maintain appearances anymore.

The king smiled at both of them before continuing, "I have an old acquaintance who lives in Tenebrae. She is the Oracle—do you remember, I told you about her?"

Slowly, Noct nodded, although Ignis could tell the gravity of the Oracle's position was lost on him. Meanwhile, Ignis felt as though someone had just dug a knife between his ribs and twisted it. He found it impossible not to recognize the implications of the king's plan.

They thought Noct wouldn't get better. Perhaps they even believed he would get worse.

That was the only reason Ignis could see for visiting the Oracle when she resided on what was essentially an island in the middle of enemy territory. It was the only reason Ignis could see for visiting the Oracle at all, regardless of her situation. In his studies, he had learned much about the Oracle's role as not only one who communed with the gods on humanity's behalf, but also as a healer of ailments impervious to mortal remedies. People from all over Eos made pilgrimages to Fenestala Manor to be cured of impossible illnesses.

And now, it appeared that the king and prince of Lucis would be amongst their ranks.

"Everything has already been arranged," King Regis was telling Noct when Ignis tuned back in to the conversation. "We leave the day after tomorrow."

Noct shifted uncomfortably, wincing slightly when his stitches pulled. "How long're we gonna be gone?"

"I expect no more than two weeks." The king paused, seeming to notice his son's discomfort, and added, "You will have no shortage of company while we are there. The Oracle has a young daughter only a few years older than you."

Which meant Ignis would be staying at the Citadel. A spark of cold fire erupted in his chest, and it was all he could do not to request leave to join them. The king had already offered him a great deal of latitude ever since Noct's injury and had allowed Ignis every opportunity to remain by the prince's side; if he hadn't made arrangements for Ignis to accompany them, there must have been a reason. Still, that didn't mean Ignis had to like it, and the unfairness welled up in his chest like a beast desperate to escape. Ignis bit the inside of his cheek, forcing himself to remember his place: he wasn't the prince, nor did he have a right to resent the king's actions. His job was to listen, to learn—not to demand. That was the royal burden placed upon him, the burden he had agreed to shoulder.

So, when Noct appeared to finally reach the same conclusion and whipped his head around to stare at Ignis with wide, upset eyes, Ignis did his duty: he smiled over the bitterness in his very soul and promised to have a new recipe prepared for when the prince returned.

On the day of their departure, Ignis did his duty: he pushed Noct's wheelchair down to the doors of the Citadel, where the Kingsglaive and King Regis were waiting.

When Noct took his hand and graced him with their first touch since before his injury, Ignis did his duty: he squeezed those tiny fingers in his own and wished him a speedy recovery.

As King Regis carried Noct down the stairs to the car, the prince's eyes lingering on Ignis even as the tinted windows obscured his face from view, Ignis did his duty: he smiled, he waved, and he prepared to wait for his prince to return.