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secret-engima · 4 years

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Braids questions! What do elders do when their hair falls out and they no longer have enough hair for their Clan braids? Do they tattoo the braid on their skin? Wear a wig? Wear a braid of leather/silk (like some padawans in sw do)? At what age do kids start wearing Clan braids regularly? And what happens if someone cuts off their/another’s braids? (What would cause someone to cut their own or another’s braids?)

Ohh good questions! When their hair starts falling out, they prepare an artificial braid made of silk dyed in their personal balance of the Clan colors, with all the beads they earned throughout their lives displayed on it/them (some elders/clans have more than one braid after all.) They start wearing those even before they’ve lost enough hair to not be able to have a “real” braid just to get everyone used to the idea. If I was more creative than I am atm I would probably talk about how the REALLY old elders get to have a fancy, if small, headdress thing out of like- bone and silk and leather braids hanging down that is like a silent display of all their accomplishments in life.

Kids start wearing the Clan braids as soon as they have enough hair to do so without hurting the scalp or whatever, their parent puts it in. As the kid gets older, they are taught by their parent/guardian how to do the braid themselves and what other types of braid there are.

Cutting braids is ... oh boy. OH BOY. *cracks knuckles* HERE WE GO.

The legal version of this is Exile. When someone in the Clan has committed a crime so horrible it will not be borne by other punishments, that member is dragged out before the entire village in undyed leathers (no more Clan colors, no NOTHING), and are both forcibly tattooed somewhere visible on their person with a mark of Exile + a symbol of their crime and then the braids are cut off and thrown into the fire to burn, beads and all. It’s ... it’s basically the most humiliating and horrifying thing that can happen in their culture, barring a few exceptions. Clan braids are, are nigh on sacred. Even ENEMY Clans, if they have any honor, will not try to harm the braids in battle and even when trying to break captives for info they Will. Not. Cut. The Braid.

The braids are ... they’re a symbol. Of family, of connection, of history. That braid is the same style of braid your parents wore, and their grandparents of the Clan wore and so on all the way back to the legendary chiefs and heroes and founders of Galahd (at least according to the story). That braid represents all you Clan history, all your family, all your memories and loved ones in the Clan. Other braids can be added for things like mourning or marriage, for positions like chieftain/chieftess or for special deeds done, but the Clan Braid is the first braid. It is Special. Cutting any braid is seen as assault tantamount to a war crime, but cutting the Clan Braid is cutting off someone from their family, their home, their history, their own NAME. It’s rendering them Nothing™. And yea from an outsider POV that seems very melodramatic but to a culture that is primarily Oral, where symbols are treasured and connections to family prized above all else ... it’s not. It’s really not.

Anyway, let me pause to clarify something that you didn’t: Galahdians know that accidents happen, they know that in a fight, or a hunt, or just a spar gone wrong the braids might get pulled or nicked. It’s horrible yes, but that’s- that’s not the same as CUTTING. Losing half a braid in the heat of battle will win some tears from the person who lost it, but the braid is still partly there, and a leather or silk replacement can be worn until the hair grows back. If the bead is pulled out and the braid comes loose, a replacement bead can be made and the braid woven back in, it’s okay.

Cutting a Braid in the Really Emotional Instances means pulling it tight and shearing it as close to the scalp as possible. It has to be very, very clearly intentional that way and that’s the heartbreaking one. Just getting nicked in battle is ... emotionally not fun, but not “I have been robbed of everything I am” kinda thing. Okay? Okay.

Moving on, to CUT one’s own braid is ... to intentionally exile oneself from the Clan. It’s an action that is usually done in front of witnesses to really count/make a point but can also be done without witnesses. Once it’s done however, it cannot be taken back. That’s it. The individual has cut themselves off from their family, their Clan, and their past. Some even abandon their first name, but all abandon their last name because it is no longer theirs. Reasons for this vary but it is NOT something to be done lightly. It’s ... usually either because the person believes they are no longer deserving of the Clan and are exiling themselves OR the person believes that the Clan itself has somehow betrayed them beyond all reconciliation and are cutting ties to the Clan very literally.

Note that a formally exiled individual (the one who got their braid cut by their Clan and a tattoo of their crime placed somewhere on their person), barring Very Unusual Circumstances, cannot be adopted into any other Clan. Most Clans won’t even talk to the exile of another clan, and even in war, if the Exile tries to sell information about their former Clan, they will be treated very warily and not allowed to join a new Clan.

Clan members who have had their braid cut by a dishonorable enemy as part of torture are not Exiles and will be welcomed back to the Clan with open arms and much mourning on their behalf.

Clan members who cut their own braid and self-exiled usually don’t WANT to join another Clan, at least for a while, but if they prove themselves to another Clan by intent or by accident then it is acceptable for the new Clan to offer to adopt them.

Fun Fact/HC: when Regis first founded the Kingsglaive it was, as a military branch, originally gonna have the “mandatory short haircut” thing. When the Galahdians discovered this, they freaked and were just about ready to RIOT. The recruits who hadn’t realized that “hair cut” meant “CUTTING OFF THE BRAIDS TOO” (they assumed the needed short hair with the EXCEPTION of braids because what are you a monster?) figured it out before any Braids were lost and immediately barricaded themselves in their barracks to Panic™. This caused a lot of annoyance with the sergeants who eventually had to call down the King to personally resolve the matter after more Galahdians heard about it and swarmed over the training grounds ready to Throw Hands.

Regis came down and politely tried to ask the nearest Galahdian why this was such a problem, the Galahdians were all too freaked out and angry to really answer (BECAUSE WHY EVEN ASK, IT’S OBVIOUS??? they think to themselves) and, in a rare moment of Social Awareness, Cor stepped in and gruffly (loudly) stated that FOR INSOMNIANS, hair and braids had no particular cultural meaning, IF THIS WAS NOT THE CASE for Galahdians, SOMEONE please step forward and SAY SO.

After about five minutes of horrified realization from the Galahdians (because oh yeah, they knew mainlanders didn’t have Clans but- but somehow they hadn’t expected braids to Not Be A Thing™), one of the recruits poked his head out of the barracks and then shakily came over to the King. Kneeling, the recruit haltingly explained that braids were sacred to Galahdians, a sign of family and home and belonging and to cut it off ... the recruit shuddered and visibly blanched at just the thought and wouldn’t go on, but by this point Regis got the point and firmly announced that the Kingsglaive would be allowed to keep their braids and hair the way they wished so long as they could prove that their hair would not be a hindrance in battle. Being Galahdians used to handling the Jungle, this was easily proven and the regulation was removed by Royal Order and all the Galahdians collectively breathed a sobbing sigh of relief.

#SE asks #a-world-in-grey asks #Secret Engima Rambles #galahd culture #Stand Strong Verse #Thrown to Wolves verse

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chocobostrinket · 7 years

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A Dark Game

Prince Prompto and Assassin Prince Noctis

Prompto Week Day 4 (10/22): Alternate Universe

Mildly went overboard on today’s prompt. Kind of has a plot, but is also kind of wordy. Just to let you know. Didn’t have time to edit this one as much as I wanted, but I didn’t want to fall behind on days. I cut it really close though. Warning the POV kind of alternates.

Summary: Prompto is the Prince of Niflheim. Once, he was a beacon of hope to the people of Niflheim for a brighter future. Unfortunately, things change. Everything in his daily life is now dictated by the emperor and has been for the past five years. He has no freedom, and as much as he wants to be the person who inspired hope in the people again, he doesn’t dare to. Enter Noctis. Prince of Assassins and heir to the now non-existent Insomnian throne. Sent on an assassination mission to take out the Prince of Niflheim by a twist of fate, he’s not expecting to find someone who ALSO wants the emperor dead.

~~~~

When Noctis was selected for this, he had been proud.

Being fresh out of his training and chosen for such a high-grade mission was an honor. The king himself had picked him in a blind selection, not aware he’d chosen his own son. So, yes, the fact that his skills were substantial enough to be recognized by his father was the best thing that had happened to him in a while.

Though, killing the Niflheim prince didn’t sit right with him.

It was supposed to be a blow to their morale. He was the only heir to the throne, which since the Emperor was a bit older than his own dad, there wasn’t likely to have another. So, if he died, and when the Emperor died, the political environment might be destabilized. He was also the easiest to target, with little to no guards. Not to mention, like Noctis, he was beloved by his people. Supposedly.

From where Noct was sitting, that didn’t look like it was true.

The Nif prince sat in a chair by the window with a blank expression. Sometimes, he was reading. Other times, like now, he had nothing to do but stare outside. It wasn’t much of a view, but Noctis figured he’d managed to find something to watch. And he wouldn’t move for hours. Not until someone came and told him to get up and get ready for bed, or training, or any other thing they needed him for. If it wasn’t time for bed, then he was returned to his chair. Like a doll almost.

It gave him the chills honestly.

Everything about this prince screamed being controlled. Noctis almost felt like he was doing him a favor. And soon, it would be his time to strike. He dropped down from the tree he was hiding in, and threw a knife up toward the Prince’s window as he fell. Soon enough, he warped after it, hanging off the handle before swinging up and grabbing the window seal. He closed his eyes to wait for his signal. The Prince had just gone to bed, so it would be soon.

There was a knock on the door and one of his attendants stepped into his room. “It’s time for bed your highness.”

The Prince rose from his chair, his face neutral. “Alright.”

He followed his attendant over to his closet and allowed him to undress and redress him into his night clothes. The attendant then helped him into bed and brought the covers up to his chin. Every movement was mechanical and well-practiced. It only took three minutes.

“That will be all your highness.” The attendants voice was about as dull as Prompto felt.

“Of course,” He closed his eyes. “Good night.”

With that small exchange, the man left without replying and Prompto was left alone in his bed. As soon as the door was closed his eyes opened and he stared up at the ceiling. Like most nights, he began to regulate his breathing as much as he could. He’d found that if he held still and breathed steadily, he could fall asleep in about 15 minutes. He had it down to a science almost, considering sleep was the only place he wasn’t so tightly controlled.

It wasn’t always like this.

Prompto remembered before, when he was younger. He had been the one to dictate his schedule mostly. He still had to be tutored and learn the politics of the empire. Combat training as well. But he’d had freedom. He could stroll among the garden, or play in the unused wings of their home. If he truly wished to, he could stay up all night reading.

But then he got older, and he had been allowed to go out among the people to talk to them. To bring their complaints to the emperor as their prince. He hadn’t realized that his father hadn’t really wanted to hear their complaints, but had only sent him out to placate them. So, when he had gotten a chance to speak with his father at one of their rare dinners and brought it up, it hadn’t ended well.

No, his father had essentially ordered him to shut his mouth, in which Prompto had retaliated by shouting at him and standing up. Standing before the emperor had stood, what had he been thinking? A display of disobedience and major disrespect. One his father had not tolerated.

He had worked quickly. Dizzyingly so. One moment Prompto had been standing before his father. The next he had been dragged back to his quarters, and locked in for the night, with a promise of him not being allowed to leave his room for a week. But that hadn’t stopped Prompto.

Originally, he had only paced around the room, broke things, and shouted out the windows. Then, he started to escape his rooms and went back among the people, helping as much as he could where he could before the MTs found him and dragged him back. It was on these outings that he’d learned all his father had hid from him. The war on Insomnia being unjustified. Whole villages disappearing. The experimentation on humans. Infants even.

Then, one night, there was a small uprising. It hadn’t been huge, only a few brave souls really. Rallying behind him of all things. They’d claimed he’d be a better ruler than his father, and wanted his father removed so he could take his throne early. Prompto had been dragged out to the throne room when they had been caught and watched them die, one by one. But not before they had been tortured for their information. Like why they had done it. If there were more of them. And who their families were.

His father made him watch and the memory haunted him to this day.

But that wasn’t the worst part. His father brought the families in next. Twisted the children into Daemons to serve in his experiments. Killed the remaining adults in vicious ways.

“Let them serve as a lesson.” He had said. “You are just as expendable as them. Never forget that.”

Then he had been punished for inspiring them. He still couldn’t remember that part. And the thought of remembering made him sick with fear.

After all that, his father had staged a public appearance. They had never fought they told the media. Prompto would rule in his own time. He had to state that he never supported the rebel’s efforts, and that they had been misguided. They’d be rehabilitated and then returned to the public. He had to lie to his people. Put on a good show. Make them believe that the royal family was united and that they’d heard the people’s complaints and were working on fixing them. There was no need to worry, and that Prompto was now going to be focusing on learning how to rule effectively by observing his father.

He would no longer be among them. And that was supposed to satisfy their people.

It had worked was the sad part.

That was when he’d been locked away. Strict rules put in place. He wasn’t allowed to so much as move without someone telling him to. He slept when he was told to. Only spoke when allowed, and even then, it was only small phrases. Sometimes there were public appearances, with written speeches and cues for his emotions. He no longer belonged to himself. And if he stepped out of line he’d be killed. His father had let him know that in no uncertain terms.

It was hell to be so controlled, but soon enough five years had passed. Five years of being an emotionless puppet. Of unwavering obedience. Of being locked in his own mind.

Of the punishments that occurred when he couldn’t play the part.

But it was paying off finally. Slowly, his father had been letting him resume his combat lessons. If he was especially good, and did well in training, he was allowed on 5 minute walks in the garden. (Supervised of course, but just being outside was nice.) And soon, if he was excelling at an acceptable rate, his father hinted at eating dinner together again. With these small allowances, he was waking up after a five-year stupor. He began to pay attention to his surroundings again. After not being present in his own body for so long, it was somewhat maddening. He wanted his freedom back.

But…he knew that getting it back might be harder than he’d expected. Lately, he’d heard the servants whispering. The emperor was getting more ruthless. And he was worried that this change was a result of that. Which meant his father had something planned. So, he needed to play along a little longer. A little longer and he’d…

Well, he hadn’t quite decided if he was going to try and escape (to Altissia maybe?) or to attempt to finish what those rebels started. But that was a worry for another day. He could feel his eyes begin to drift close and nearly dropped off to sleep.

Thump.

His eyes slowly opened again, this time he was listening intently. That was out of place. His cycle of breathing was broken and he was immediately awake again. He listened for a little longer and upon hearing nothing, mentally settled.

But then the alarms went off in the distance. It sounded like it was somewhere outside his window…Which honestly could be any of the western sector of the fortress. But it was enough to warrant turning his head. Once he did he quickly closed his eyes and started to regulate his breathing as much as he could.

He had caught a glimpse of someone coming in the window. Which was pretty horrifying in any situation. But his mind was racing. The alarms going off were clearly a distraction. His mind immediately jumped to his father staging an attempt. Which meant he needed to make his move now. Leave. Something! But first the matter of the intruder. He had hoped he was just passing through, but nope. He was coming right over to the bed. Prompto counted his footsteps as he moved, and listened to how close he was.

There was an odd crystalline sound and a flash of blue above him. He heard the person’s clothes shift, and opened his eyes.

His eyes met surprised ones and he launched out of bed at him, tackling the man in a tangle of blankets, wrapping his arms around his chest at they hit the floor. He was fully aware that the man could still stab his back, but he was hoping that he’d be too off guard to realize it for the moment. But it was better than he hoped, as he heard the blade fall on the floor somewhere to the left of them.

This was probably not going according to plan for him.

Prompto grunted as the man started grappling with him. He was a little surprised that he didn’t try to hurt him. He didn’t even try punching him. He was just currently trying to pry him off. But Prompto had the upper hand, by way of being on top of him. But then as he was getting up to try and run for the window he felt the man hit his inner arm, which caused him to collapse back on top of him. The man then rolled them over, probably to pin him.

But like HELL was Prompto going to just let him.

They eventually ended up wrestling on the floor like two school kids. It would have been fun if it wasn’t for that fact that this man had just literally tried to kill him. Speaking of which, if this was an assassination attempt, this man was doing a poor job of it.

“Will- you- just- STOP.” The man said in Lucian accent.

Prompto froze for a moment, which obviously surprised the man as well considering they both froze. He was sitting on the man’s legs, one of his attacker’s wrists in his hand while the other was pushing on his face. There was a buzzing in Prompto’s ears. He had spoken like a Lucian. A LUCIAN. Not a Gralean. This wasn’t an attempt by his father. Which was both a relief and a disappointment. He couldn’t figure out why it was a disappointment, so he wasn’t going to think about it.

“Holy shit you’re from Insomnia.” He said breathlessly. Both their eyes were wide as they stared at each other.

But then Prompto heard heavy footsteps coming down the hall and immediately became panicked.

“Sorry.” He hissed, and used his free hand the punch the man as hard as he could.

Now. It was by no means hard-enough to knock him out, but it damn well stunned him. And while he was stunned Prompto used the grip he had on the man’s wrist to pull him up into a sitting position. After which he hurriedly dove behind him and hooked his arms under his shoulders and practically dragged him across the room. The man then realized that the blonde had him in a hold and was clearly taking him somewhere so he started kicking his legs.

“Let go! What do you think you’re doing?” He began to call out.

“If you don’t shut up we’ll both be killed.” Prompto muttered into his ear.

That shocked the man into silence, which Prompto used to his advantage by heaving him into the closet and shutting the door. He looked on the floor for the blade the man had, and thanked his lucky stars that it wasn’t very far. He darted over and back before the man had gotten back to his feet inside the closet and stabbed the knife into the bottom of the door seal, effectively preventing the man from opening the door.

“Just shut up and be quiet please.” Prompto begged through the door. “They’re coming.”

With that, Prompto scooped the blankets off the floor and jumped back into bed. Thankfully, he managed to arrange himself as he normally lay before the door to his room opened, and he closed his eyes, pretending to sleep.

“Your highness, wake up.”

It was easy to slip back into the calm and controlled personal he used to deal with this man. His eyes fluttered open in a perfect pantomime of his usual wake up routine.

“There was an attack in the western hall, where the researchers are stationed. Was there anything of note here?”

Prompto shook his head and dared a glance at the man. “No. Everything is fine.”

The man glanced around the room while Prompto was thanking the six that it was so dark by the closet. When he saw nothing out of place, he nodded his head in approval.

“Alright Highness. Please return to sleep.”

“Of course. Good night.” He said, and the attendant left.

He waited until his foot-steps faded from the hall and then leapt back out of bed and crossed the room to his closet. Now that he was at this point, he wasn’t quite sure what to do. So, he decided to go with what he’d been good at before being isolated.

Talking.

With a timid knock on the closet door he asked, “If I let you out of there would you try to kill me again?”

There was a pause, and he could hear the man shifting around in his closet, most likely to face to door.

“Well…I mean, that’s kind of the only reason I’m here?”

Prompto bit his lip thinking, “O-oh…that’s…”

“Yeah.” The man sounded like he settled against the doors. “Sorry.”

He in turn also settled against the closet. “Guess…I can’t let you out yet then.”

“I guess.” They sat in silence for a moment before the man spoke again. “Earlier you said…they’d kill us both if they found me. Was that true?”

He nodded his head though the man couldn’t see it. “Yeah. They’d do it in a heartbeat.”

“That’s…wrong. On so many levels. They’d kill you because an assassin came through your window?” The man sounded shocked. Good. Prompto could work with shocked.

“Again, yes.”

“But why? Not that I’m eager to die or anything, but why wouldn’t they just save you?”

Prompto leaned his head back against the wood of the door. “What do you know of me?”

“Uh…how is that…?” The mans sounded a bit confused, so there must not be much out there about him.

Pity.

“Just answer the question.” A deep sigh left him.

The man was silent for a few moments, and Prompto wondered if he was going to ignore him. But then he spoke. “Well…From our intel, you’re beloved by your people.”

The surprised him enough to say, “Still?”

“Should you not be?” The man’s voice turned slightly confrontational, as if daring him to tell him why he shouldn’t be loved.

They didn’t have time for all that.

“Depends on who you’re asking.” He left it at that and said nothing more.

The man then changed the topic slightly. “…If you don’t mind me asking…Why would they kill their prince?”

“I think…dad’s been looking for an excuse to…get rid of me lately.” He inhaled slowly and then exhaled at the same rate. “Anything out of the ordinary would be enough. Including an assassin coming in the window. Easy to make it look like you did your job before they could save me.”

Now that he was talking with someone, it was easier to put together. Obvious almost. The temptation of freedom by allowing him to walk in the gardens. Learning how to fight again. Tastes of the life he used to have. Either he was trying to provoke Prompto into running away, effectively removing him as his heir, or he wanted Prompto to snap and attack him. Which would also remove him as heir because he’d be dead. He could also be trying to frame him later. Honestly, there were many things his father could be planning.

“Get rid of you?”

“Kill. You know. One shot to the head. Or a dagger to the heart... I originally thought you were one of his honestly.” Prompto said with just a hint of bitterness.

“If it’s so bad, why didn’t you run?” The man spoke softly, as if he feared Prompto stopping. But that only served to exasperate him.

“And leave my people without a ruler when my dad passes?” Prompto glanced at the doors of the closet in irritation. “Never.”

The man remained silent, so Prompto, after curling his knees to his chest and wrapping his arms around himself, continued.

“…My father is not a kind person. I’ve seen what he does to those beneath him.” A shiver ran down his spine as he added on in a whisper, “I’ve experienced it.”

“I can’t allow him to continue,” he said a bit firmer, “but the only hope I have of stopping him is to outlive him.”

“You want to stop him?” The surprise in his voice only drew Prompto into speaking more.

“I’d give anything to.” He said softly.

“Let me explain,” He then began, “When…When I was younger, I used to go outside the fortress. Among the people we’re supposed to serve. And the people told me of his deeds. Of people disappearing into the night. The unjust war against your people.” He took a steadying breath. “Of experiments that shouldn’t see the light of day. Upon our own people. Children even.”

“That…Lead to a small uprising of people. In my name. They wanted me to rule. But it failed. And I’ve been locked away ever since.” Prompto buried his head in his knees.

“We’ve…Never heard of this. The people were willing to fight behind you?” The man sounded like he was getting to his feet, so Prompto did the same, leaning against the doors to reinforce them in case he was trying to get out.

“They were. It’s been five years since then. I... I doubt they’d do it now. I’ve been nothing more than my father’s puppet for the same length of time.” A bit of panic entered his voice as he felt the man push against the doors. “Please don’t break the doors, someone might come!”

“I’m not.” The man said, “Just let me out, I swear on the six I’m not going to attack you.”

He continued leaning against the door, “Sorry to say buddy, but swears don’t mean much around here in case you haven’t noticed.”

But the man kept pressing outward, so with a groan, Prompto stepped out of the way and jerked out the dagger. Once it was gone, the doors burst open and the man tumbled to the floor. While he was getting up Prompto leveled the dagger at him, even though his hands shook.

“Please, I don’t want to fight.”

“Then don’t.” The man stood up and removed the mask he was wearing, revealing someone around the same age as him. “I’m not going to try anything. If I was, you’d already be dead.”

At that, Prompto snorted. “No offense, but you kind of botched your first go at me. What’s to stop you from messing up the second?”

The man glowered at him. “Shut it.”

When the man stayed true to his word and made no move to attack, Prompto lowered the dagger and then went back to sit on his bed. Wordlessly, the man went over to the chair Prompto spent most of his day in, and sat down as well.

“So…how are you going to get out? I’m assuming you can’t leave unless you…well, you know.” Prompto once again curled up, hugging himself.

“No, I’m not supposed to. But I mean… What you’ve told me changes things in my opinion. So killing you isn’t an option.” The man shrugged, at loss for what he should do. The right thing, though it didn’t feel like the right thing, would to be kill the prince and get back to Insomnia without looking back.

But then the prince spoke again. “My death wouldn’t hurt anything, as I’ve said, you’d be doing my dad a favor… And he’s planning something. I know it. Things are changing around here after years of being the same… I want to stop him. It. Whatever he’s doing.”

Prompto suddenly came to a decision, and got up from his chair before he could talk himself out of it.

The man glanced out the window, the rendezvous signal catching his eye. But then he turned his attention back to the prince, who to his surprise was approaching him. There was determination and desperation in his eyes in equal measure. And normally, he’d have panicked seeing someone walking toward him with a dagger in hand. But he didn’t feel like he was going to be attacked.

True to his intuition, the prince pointed the dagger at him, handle first. “You’re an assassin, right? Then teach me. You can’t get near the emperor. But I can.”

“You want to kill your father?” The man’s jaw dropped. This was… a lot. Too much. The mission has changed too much. The prince himself was offering to commit regicide. He needed to report in. NOW.

“He has to die. And soon.” Then one of the saddest face the man had ever seen crossed the prince’s face. “I don’t want to, but it must be done. Look how many people have died because of him. Yours and mine.”

“I’ll…see what I can do.” The man took the blade back from him, holding it with the blade pointed downward, and not at the prince. “I have to go for now. But I will come back. I promise.”

The prince laughed as he stood and went to the window. “Even if you don’t, thank you. For my life.”

He then gave a small bow to the man in gratitude. Considering he was a royal, it was one of the highest honors he could give just as himself. And upon straightening, the man’s face had softened.

“Prince Prompto?” He said, making a choice.

“Yes?”

“My name is Noctis.”

Before Prompto could ask anything about his name, which might have clued him in to just who he was, Noctis disappeared in a flash of light after throwing the dagger he’d given back to him.

#promptoweek #writings #AU #FFXV AU #ffxv #ff15 #final fantasy xv #final fantasy 15 #Prompto #prompto argentum #noctis #Noctis Lucis Caelum #one shot #maybe #I might keep writing in this au.#I kind of like it but eh...could also use some work.#the au nobody asked for

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liberifatalis · 6 years

Text

Firsts (Noctis Lucis Caelum x Ignis Scientia)

WORDS: 3026 RATING: SFW PAIRING: Noctis Lucis Caelum/Ignis Scientia SUMMARY: He remembers the first time he met him, the first time he held him…the first time he kissed him. Ignis remembers a lot of their firsts, but he never thought there would be a first time where he had to say goodbye. NOTES: Ignis POV (third person), Heavy Angst, Major Character Death, Friends to Lovers, slight Episode Ignis spoilers.

[read on Ao3 here]

PREVIEW:

A Crownsguard should not be doing this. He was the royal advisor to the Prince; his job was to look over and care after him, and not to litter chaste kisses down his neck and all the way to his collarbone.

|one| the first time green eyes gazed into blue

He was not dressed like a Prince, that was certainly evident.

Although he was donned in the Royal colours, he almost looked like an Insomnian citizen. His father, on the other hand, was quite the opposite; he exuded regality, and he looked exactly like Ignis had pictured him (minus the angry glare and extremely arched eyebrows).

Outstretching his hand towards the Prince, he met his eyes for the first time. Bright, and blue. They were much more childlike compared to his own green eyes, which were slightly hardened from all the strenuous training and skill-building he had gone through growing up.

The Prince looked hesitant at first, but he smiles and takes Ignis’ hand in both his smaller palms.

“I’m Noctis,” he said. I know. “What’s your name?”

“Ignis Scientia. It is a pleasure to finally meet you, Prince Noctis.”

|two| the first time he showed him how to be a child

“Prince Noctis, you must be careful.”

Even though he was facing Noctis’ back, he knew he was rolling his eyes at him. He understands. He is ten, and will only grow more rebellious as he ages. Being the Prince of Lucis definitely adds more fuel to the fire.

Noctis stops, and turns slightly, balancing on the railing beneath the soles of his feet. “I’ll try…” he says, walking towards the direction of Ignis, ignoring his worried look. “…Mom.”

Ah, His Highness’ sarcasm is finally making an appearance for today. Ignis had thought that today must have been an awfully lucky day, blessed by the Six themselves, if the Prince wasn’t speaking back as usual. He did enjoy the sarcasm, though, for whatever reason, and he supposes it could be worse; he had heard stories of the lives of other royal advisors, and they were not something he liked to think about. He thought that maybe they were just stories, told to people like himself to scare them into always being prim and proper, but that was something he would never truly know.

“If you scrape your knees again, I’ll have to use that ointment that you loathe.”

That seemed to work. Noctis stood still on the railing, looking towards Ignis with curious eyes. He was weighing the options over, it seemed. And with a shrug of his shoulders, it seemed that the short-lived fun outweighed the inevitable tear stained cheeks and bloody knees.

Walking closer to Ignis with cautious steps, Noctis began to hum a tune that Ignis recognised instantly. It was one of his favourite piano pieces, and he played it on the grand piano in the Citadel’s music room various times throughout his stay there. Was the Prince sneaking around, watching him in secret?

“Y’know, you’re a lot older than you look,” Noctis says.

“How so?”

“You just…you’re meant to be a kid. I thought I could have fun with you, or somethin’.”

You could—can—but other, less dangerous kinds of fun. “Well, I am your advisor. My job is to take care of you, and look over you. I was told nothing of your ideas of fun.”

“Oh. I didn’t know there was a how-to-be-an-advisor booklet,” he retorts.

“There is not.” Ignis walks over to the railing and leans against it, looking up to Noctis with narrowed eyes. “It’s just…an unspoken rule, followed by all.”

He jumps off the railing, much more reckless than Ignis appreciates, and points to his knees. “See!” He says with a grin. “I didn’t fall this time.”

Yes, but he had fallen more than ten times before that, and that left some fairly noticeable scars. The blood was not fun to clean up, and Ignis could not for the life of him understand why the Prince kept balancing on the railings. He knew he would keep falling, hurting himself, and the tears had shown that he did not enjoy being hurt. So why?

Ignis clears his throat, and cocks his head to the side in confusion. “That was the first time you have not hurt yourself. Why do you continue to do this?”

Noctis shrugs his shoulders again, and leans against the railing beside Ignis. “I dunno.” He leans his head back and looks up towards the sky, glancing at the various shapes of the clouds above and humming in contentment. “Hey, look!” Noctis says, pointing towards a particularly odd-shaped cloud, one that looked almost like a—“It looks like a fat chocobo.”

“Yes, indeed. It, uh…” He clears his throat. He isn’t good at this, this…spontaneous rambling of sorts. It seemed so informal, not something you would engage in with a Prince. “It looks like a rotund chocobo has just finished eating its fifth meal of the day.”

Noctis laughs at that, eyes shut and mouth wide. His laugh suits him, it is joyous and pure and spontaneous. He turns to the advisor, and glances at him, smile still evident. They give each other a slight nod.

Friends? Friends.

|three| the first time he actually talks to him

Walking into his apartment, he noticed the blazer thrown nonchalantly on the floor and Noctis’ bag draped on the arm of the couch. He sighed, and walked over to where he was lounging and sat across him.

The Prince still had his eyes shut and arms behind his head, head facing the ceiling. Ignis could see he was in deep thought from the slight furrowing of his brow and clenching jaw. “Everything alright?” He asks, leaning back against the couch and getting comfortable.

He was expecting a groan, but he did not receive one. Noctis lifts himself up and replicates his position, albeit a lot more comfortably. “I guess,” he says, resting an arm loosely on his thigh and chewing at his bottom lip. “School is just…I dunno , worse, somehow.”

“Are you still friends with Prompto?”

He nods, eyes downcast. “He’s my best friend, it’s just that…” he trails off, hand lifting up to rest behind his neck. “Nobody else is my friend, at least not in the way he is. And Prompto is enough, he’s more than I could ever ask for. I just don’t understand why he’s the only one to treat me so normally.”

“I see.” He brings up his index finger and pushes his glasses higher up the bridge of his nose. He expected this, of course. Even though his father had enrolled him in a public school, nothing could change the fact that Noctis was the Prince of Lucis. Everyone would have seen him at least once in the papers, on the television, or online. Everyone knew what he looked like, and where he resided, and his birth date. Privacy and normalcy would be considered a privilege for somebody like Noctis, and unfortunately, he did not have that privilege.

Before he could continue on—give some words of consolation—he was cut off. “Do you like being my advisor, Specs?” Noctis asks, looking at him directly now, with hardened eyes.

“It can be difficult at times…” He exhales, crossing one leg over the other. “But I thoroughly enjoy it.”

|four| the first time his lips graced his own

He found him, in his room, feet tucked underneath his arms and tears staining his cheeks. He was trying to muffle the sounds of his cries by biting the inside of his cheek with his teeth. It did not work. Ignis could hear his cries as soon as he opened the front door.

Walking towards him with cautious steps, he sat next to him. The mattress shifted with his weight and Noctis turned around to face him with wide eyes, not realising that he had walked into the room. He couldn’t cover up that he was upset, and just lowered his eyes to his feet, fiddling with his fingers.

“I, uh—” his voice cracks. “Did you hear?”

Ignis nods. He did hear. Of course he did. It wasn’t pleasant news; no one would like to be informed that they were to be married for politics. Not only that, but to be told you could not even choose who you were to marry was not something anyone, especially a young man, would want to hear.

“I can’t believe this is happening to me, and Luna. She’s my friend, Ignis. I don’t see her in that way at all. I just—”

Ignis places a firm hand on his shoulder, turning him towards his own frame and looking at him in the eye. “It will be fine, Noctis.” His thumb rubs circles over the Prince’s clothed shoulder in comfort. “Things can still change. When will the wedding take place?”

“In two years.”

“When you are twenty, then.”

In all his years of being an advisor, Ignis had never acted out of impulse. Never. Until today. All he had to do was look into his blue eyes—that used to be so bright and full of life—which were now holding hundreds of untold emotions and pain, and he felt his resolve crumble into tiny, little pieces. He hated seeing Noctis like this…so fragile, and lacking hope. Pulling the Prince into his embrace, he wrapped his arms around his shoulders tightly, not wanting to let go.

He could feel his heartbeat against his chest, rapidly increasing and unsteady. His hands traveled up to the soft, black locks he had always wanted to touch, but never dared to, and lightly caressed the strands between his fingertips. He felt the younger man nuzzle into his neck, and his heartbeat had slowed down just slightly.

“I am sorry, Noct,” he whispers into his ear.

Noctis pulls away from him and looks up into his green eyes, face now confused. The corners of his mouth rise slightly, and he leans in—too close for comfort—inches away from Ignis’ lips. “Don’t be.” Before was able to voice his concern on what he was sure was going to happen, it happened.

Noctis pressed his lips onto his own, and his palms cupped Ignis’ face, tracing his thumbs over the line of his jaw; relishing the way his skin felt under his own fingertips.

Graceful hands trailed to the Prince’s chin, tilting his head upwards so he could taste more of him—kiss him deeper. He tasted unbelievably sweet, even sweeter than anything he had concocted before. But he wished he wouldn’t have tasted so sweet, so much like he imagined he would taste. Because a Crownsguard should not be doing this. He was the royal advisor to the Prince; his job was to look over and care after him, and not to litter chaste kisses down his neck and all the way to his collarbone.

|five| the first time he lied to him

“You alright, Specs?”

No.

He nods at the concerned Prince, avoiding eye contact.

He cannot bear to say it out loud. He saw it. Everything. What was going to happen to Noctis. And he should tell him, but he can’t. If he tells him—says it out loud—then that makes it real. And he does not want it to be real. It cannot be real, it should not be. But Ignis knows that it is inevitable, as Noctis is a good man…and a good King, just like his father.

Ignis hopes, silently, in the darkness of the night, that it will not happen.

|six| the first time he said ‘I love you’ without actually saying it

He knew he would awake from his decade long slumber, but he wished he didn’t—that meant that he would soon leave, for eternity.

But he couldn’t think about that, at least not focus on it, as he was finally back, within arms reach. Ignis could finally hear him again, smell him. He wishes he could see him. But hearing him, feeling the warmth of his skin is more than enough.

The smell of the salty water beneath the cliffside, and Noctis’ finely tailored suit engulf his senses. He can hear the fire crackling behind him, and the waves softly hitting against the rocky shores. He loves this sound, and the smell. It always calmed him, somehow. It felt homely, and warm, and safe. Sometimes, it made everything feel normal—as if his dear friend wasn’t going to pass shortly. It made him forget. Only sometimes.

“No,” Ignis says. “You won’t be going alone, I’ll—”

“No, you’re right.” He can hear Noctis turning towards him, leather shoes slightly scraping against the rocks beneath their feet. “I mean, I wouldn’t have made it all this way without you guys. Why stop now?” He can hear him walking closer to him now, and a warm hand is placed gently on his shoulder. “In the end, I might not have you at my side, but I’ll always have you in my heart.”

I love you.

Noctis’ hands trail down his arm and make their way to his gloved palms, and intertwines his fingers loosely in his own. Ignis can feel him leaning closer, just like before, and a chaste kiss is placed just underneath his most prominent scar. “Thanks…” Noctis says, lingering, breath fluttering against his cheek. “Thanks for everything, Iggy.”

The Prince looked hesitant at first, but he smiled and took Ignis’ hand in both his smaller palms.

“I’m Noctis,” he said. “What’s your name?”

“Ignis Scientia. It is a pleasure to finally meet you, Prince Noctis.”

Before he can stop himself, and not that he wanted to, a tear ran down his cheek, and he hears Noctis chuckle slightly, bringing his hand up and wiping away the tear with his thumb. He wishes this moment could last forever. He wishes it was ten years ago, when he had to wake up a grumpy Prince in the tent, or lecture him to eat more of his vegetables.

No. Thank you for everything, Noct.

|seven| the first time he said goodbye

When he sat on the throne—his throne—matured and ready, ready to enact his fate and save his people, Ignis was proud. So, so proud. Although Noctis had awoken from his decade-long slumber with a very similar attitude to his younger self, there were things that had changed; he was quieter, much more solemn. His appearance had changed, too, of course. From what he could feel beneath the tips of his fingers, he now had a beard, one that Ignis would have never believed he was capable of growing, and his hair was styled in a more suitable fashion for a thirty-year-old King.

Noctis had grown up.

Truthfully, Ignis had waited for this day. It was not that he disliked Noctis before, no, quite the contrary—it was just that Ignis had always believed that Noctis could become someone that was fit to rule over his people, and to see that now he had believed in himself, too, made the royal advisor feel a range of things that could not be described with words.

And Ignis thought that he was part of the reason for that, and that made him happy, but he was even happier knowing that most of it was because of Noctis himself.

But when Ignis walked up to the throne one last time, just feel His Highness’ decaying body and somehow comprehend and accept that he was really gone, he found himself struggling to do just that. He didn’t want to. He couldn’t. The world took away his best friend, his would-have-been lover, his King.

It was stupid, he knew that. He knows that if Noctis was here, and he was telling him how he felt, he would shake his head and tell him to snap out of it. But he couldn’t help it. He felt as if he had no purpose. Without Noctis, what was there left for him?

Without Noctis…

…without Noctis.

|eight| the first time he is without him

He has lived for longer than half a century now.

It should not have turned out like this, he thinks to himself every day. But thinking about it brings back the pain. He supposes he should have moved on by now, but how can he? He knows the others haven’t, either. The Shield is all smiles and laughter with his wife and three children, now making their way into adulthood, and he hasn’t heard from the blonde in a while, either; probably out on some hike again, with his camera and some friends, a companion, too, most likely. But he knows that they still think about him, and everything that happened once they rest for the night. And he knows that they are hurting just like he is.

It has been more than twenty years since the world took Noctis away, and every day, Ignis thinks of the years he spent beside him. The awkward first encounter, scolding him almost constantly for not eating his vegetables, the road trip which turned out to be their last moments together, and all the tiny things that happened in-between.

He hates that he has forgotten what he looks like. He can only remember tiny details, like how his hair was dark and had an almost-sapphire tint, and his bright, blue eyes. And the tiny mole on the right side of his face. He remembers the sound of his voice, the lilt in his tone whenever he talked about the constellations or pastimes. He remembers the words of affection spoken to him, and the saccharine taste of his lips.

He remembers the way it felt to have a hand on his shoulder, his thumb rubbing soothing circles across his soft skin. He remembers the first time he told him he loved him, without actually saying the words. And he remembers the first time he cried for him.

Most of all, he remembers that he didn’t die with him. And that above all else, that he wished he had gone instead.

#ignoct #episode ignis #noctis lucis caelum #ignis scientia #noctis x ignis #ffxv scenario #ffxv fanfiction #ffxv imagines #i feel like crying again ahhhh #mine #the formatting on tumblr is shite

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