Chapter Text
year xx
“Shit,” Nyx said, staring as Pelna’s giantess of a wife mopped the floor with anyone stupid enough to walk into the ring with her. “Shit.”
He’d known she was a fighter, of course. Because he’d known of her, and of Pelna, and the role they played during the war, back in Galahd. He knew Pelna was not precisely gifted when it came to fighting, and he knew that Amira would have had to compensate, for them to have survived what they had. He’d known. He’d also known Amira had been working at the docks for decades now, hauling cargo, so of course he hadn’t thought her weak.
But he’d also known her for twenty years, now, and he always thought of her as… well, not the snickering lamppost stomping around the arena, swinging an ax he was pretty sure was heavier than he was.
“You asked for volunteers,” Pelna said, curled over the railing with a vaguely smitten smile on his face, “she volunteered.”
“I was expecting extra bodies to hold the outposts in Leide,” Nyx replied dryly, and winced when Sonitus ended up taking a hit that sent him flying thirty feet into the air. “She’s not even using magic, Pelna.”
Pelna snorted.
“Don’t worry,” he said, clearly amused at the stroke Nyx was trying very hard not to have, “she’ll get the hang of it soon enough.”
“Well,” Nyx said, closing his eyes and forcing himself to sigh loudly, “at least you’ll have good company down in Caem.”
“Leave it to us,” Pelna said, less teasing and more solemn, and Nyx was struck by the weight of that promise, “we’ve got your back, Commander.”
Nyx knew he meant it, that he trusted him with his life – with his family’s life. And that was what he’d become, wasn’t it? Nyx pondered the thought on his way back to his office, to review the deployment cycles to secure Leide and create a veritable wall of Kingsglaive forces set to fight off any potential advances from the MT forces consistently pouring into Lucis. He studied the map on the wall, territories sectioned off and marked for control – Aranea and her forces, at the frontlines in Cleigne, pushing back as hard as they could, Cor and himself, creating a buffer all across Duscae, and finally, his best Captains, scattered across Leide – and forced himself to see the settlements instead, to think of the individual people.
He’d survived the war, and he’d made sure as many of his men as possible had survived too. He would survive this too. They all would. They knew better now, what it meant to fail. They knew what was at stake. He couldn’t do any less than his best, not when he had so many lives in his hands, blindly trusting his judgment.
He looked at the clock, and wondered if it was too early, to sneak into the King’s office and politely ask him to let him get drunk.
It was shaping out to be one of those days.
Nyx leaned on the railing overlooking the training matts below and watched his son and the Prince tag-team the Prince’s Shield and Adviser in a friendly match that, knowing what he knew about his son, wasn’t going to stay friendly for long. Gladio and Ignis made for a very competent team, complementing each other’s openings and advancing forward as a single unit. They had technique and the ghost of years of training and countless drills echoing in every movement. The Prince was far less disciplined in comparison, and much more unpredictable in his responses to their attempts to corner him into yielding.
Prompto was just straight up an asshole.
Nyx resisted the urge to snicker as he watched his son duck under the Prince’s feint and kick Ignis’ legs from under him, causing him to tumble off into Gladio with a hiss that might or might not have been profanity. The fact he then high-fived the Prince was just the icing on the cake.
“Monica didn’t teach him that,” Nyx pointed out, eyes flicking to the side to catch Cor smirking as Gladio tried his honest best to run Prompto down with a shield.
“Probably not,” Cor replied, as Prompto cartwheeled out of the way with a fiendish laugh and then Prince warped behind Gladio to kick him straight on the center of his back. “They’re as ready as they’re going to get.”
Nyx made a soft noise in the back of his throat because… well, that was the crux of it, wasn’t it? They’d done all they could. They had taught all the lessons they had thought would help. They had given all the advice they felt appropriate. But now, with the date looming above their heads, the reality that the Prince’s Pilgrimage was due in scant weeks, all of it seemed woefully insufficient. Nyx thought he’d need another twenty years, minimum, to feel wholly comfortable with the idea of just… letting go. And maybe he would feel better about it, if the rotten, broken corpse of the Empire hadn’t spent the last year and change making a nuisance of itself, threatening with something even worse than war. They hadn’t even known there was anything worse than war, but a deranged, relentless swarm of MTs was apparently the answer to the one question Nyx dearly wished he’d never asked.
“Yeah,” Nyx said eventually, as the sparring session below came to an end and the four young men – children, Nyx didn’t scream, even though every fiber of his being wanted to – walked together towards the door, “the problem is that we aren’t.”
“It’ll be alright,” Cor told him, tugging Nyx closer to press his lips against the crown of his head, with the resigned air of one who’s been repeating the same reassuring platitude to themselves, over and over again.
Nyx knew why. He knew. Cor had sat with him, with no other witness than the sky, and told him why he knew – hoped, so much hope, Nyx had never known hope could hurt as much as poison, until he learned the whole story of Lucis’ Queen – all he knew and did all he did. Nyx believed it, because he believed in Cor, and whatever Cor deemed worth believing was something Nyx was willing to support.
But it was still his son he was being asked to watch walk out into… not a war, not quite, but close enough. He wondered, with that uniquely masochistic edge he best knew how to conjure, if this was what his mother had felt, watching him come home with arrows at the corner of his eyes. It almost didn’t hurt, thinking of her. It had hurt for so long, buried in the back of his throat, like a sack of bile, growing and growing, waiting for the worst moment to burst open and choke him with it. The wedding had helped, of course; to speak of his family had lessened the pressure, allowed Cor to carry half his burden about it. But it wasn’t until a few months back, that Nyx had truly felt the edge of that knife blunt at long last. It hadn’t been anything he’d done. He’d just gone home one day and found Cor waiting for him, with a gift that made him nervous.
He was still trying to figure out words to properly explain what it had meant to him, that Cor had gone and tracked down the last remaining records of Nyx’s family and given them back to him. He’d given him their faces back, and in a way, a tacit support to the fact he still wanted to remember. That he wasn’t quite ready to let go just yet.
He leaned against Cor and sighed, because all the thoughts in the world would not change what needed to be done.
“I hope so,” Nyx said, offering a wry smile, “or your sister and I will have words.”
“Is it silly of me, if I hope they will enjoy themselves?”
Nyx tilted his head to the side, watching Sylva scatter fistfuls of seeds into the grass, her flock of vicious swans making soft snorting noises as they ate at her feet. He was always struck by how… small she looked, without the elaborate regalia of her station, without her crystal crown and the cape of feathers covering her shoulders. Not weak, no, but small. Less set to carry the weight of the world on her shoulders. Wearing only a pale blue sundress and her long hair pulled back into a single braid that trailed behind her, she didn’t look like the Oracle or a Queen or anything more significant than a mother of two.
“Not really,” Nyx said, leaning back to stare at the Wall glimmering high above their heads. “It’s going to be dangerous, and circumstances could certainly be better. But… they’re young. They deserve to have their fun.” He smiled. “Besides, they’re still kids. It’s us adults who don’t get to have fun while they’re out there.”
Sylva laughed, shaking her head.
“Careful, Commander,” she teased, eyes kind, “one might mistake you for a wise man when you speak in that tone.”
Nyx grinned and threw a handful of grass at her, barely resisting the urge to stick his tongue out at her. She was the Oracle, yes, and a Queen, besides. But she was also now one of his oldest friends, and for better or for worse, he refused to act like she wasn’t.
“Hey, you don’t get to call me wiseass and not acknowledge the wise bit,” he said, and then spluttered when she retaliated by throwing seeds his way, since her hissing pets threw themselves at him. “Sylva!”
Her eyes danced as she folded her hands in front of her, the very picture of demure.
“Whoops.”
Four days before Prince Noctis and Princess Lunafreya’s retinue was set to depart on their combined pilgrimage – him, to collect the Royal Arms of his ancestors and create an Armiger of his own, and her, to commune with the Astrals as part of her Ascension as the new Oracle – Nyx found himself following Cor through narrow, dark, damp concrete corridors, deep in the abandoned sewer station in Crestholm. Given the last time Nyx had followed Cor into sewers they had ended up fighting a dragon made of shit – not literally, mercifully – Nyx was understandably a little wary about the expedition. The presence of daemons crawling around the shadows, even if they weren’t exactly impressive, power-wise, was not doing his mood any favors.
“I’m not complaining,” Nyx said, even though it was eminently a lie, “I just want to point out, that if you really, really wanted to keep something safe, you could have stashed it in the Armiger. And not… y’know. This.”
Cor gave him a look. It was not a very flattering look, but to be fair, Cor had muddled water up to his thighs and a smear of something dubious down his chin. Nyx shrugged effusively and then threw a dagger at the lumbering imp aiming to slash Cor’s back open.
“Regis has access to the Armiger,” Cor said, once the scuffle with the daemons was over, starting down the corridor again. “This is not meant for him.”
Nyx told himself he found Cor’s determined stride reassuring and refused to contemplate the fact he had absolutely no idea how the hell to navigate the ridiculous maze of corridors on his own. Cor probably knew the way out. Hopefully. Maybe. Nyx was not exactly enthused at the prospect of spending the rest of his life figuring out a way out.
It was about three hours and about as many levels down, before Cor guided him into an old storage room full of angry, chittering imps, and declared their trip a success when he unearthed a metal box from behind some cabinets, once the daemon nuisances had been dealt with. It wasn’t a terribly impressive box, Nyx resisted the urge to point out, and the contents weren’t any more dazzling. Just a handful of old notebooks, paper gone pale yellow with age.
“I hope she knew,” Nyx said, watching Cor carefully page through them, doublechecking that they were all intact and accounted for. When Cor didn’t look up and merely offered a soft, questioning grunt, Nyx sighed. “That you loved her. I hope she knew.”
Cor snorted.
“She did.”
“Be good for Iris, both of you,” Prompto said, bent down at the waist to properly give Lucky – alias dumb horse dog baby – a good snuggle. “Gotta be on your very best behavior!”
Iris, cradling Mr. Sassy Pants On Fire, the shapeless blob of fur that Nyx was almost sure was actually a cat despite it all, smiled.
“Don’t worry,” she said brightly as Prompto stood up and rubbed his hands on his thighs, leaving streaks of bright white fur that stood in stark contrast to the black of his pants. “I’ve got this! Besides, you’ll be back before you know it.”
“Yup,” Prompto agreed, and then reached out to hug her tightly. “I know you’re gonna be there tomorrow, but still. Thank you for looking after them, Iris.”
“Don’t thank me,” she said, one eyebrow arched teasingly, “you’ve got a list of souvenirs to get through. And don’t think I’ll forgive you if you go and forget something.”
“Yes, ma’am!” Prompto replied, saluting with a laugh.
Nyx watched the exchange with a little smile of his own. He turned to face Anemone, hands stuck in the pockets of his pants and eyebrows arched.
“Thanks,” he said, “you know. For everything.”
“It’s quite alright, dear,” Anemone replied, eyes warm, and reached a hand to squeeze his shoulder. “That’s what friends are for. I’ll keep an eye on the house, too. Make sure you and your family have somewhere to come back to.”
“That would be ideal, yes,” Nyx pointed out a little dryly, and then snorted when it made her laugh. “Turns out house ownership is not very conducive for long term deployment. Who knew?”
“Who indeed,” she replied, shaking her head, “I know Cor is a lost cause at this point, so do remember that means you have to be sensible enough for both of you.”
“Wow, me, sensible,” Nyx laughed, “now that’s a stretch.”
Anemone rolled her eyes.
“Then stretch harder.”
The night before their departure, Nyx found himself sitting on the garden steps next to Prompto and Cor. Most of the house had been packed already, what with all of them set to be gone for a few months at the very least. In the morning, Prompto would join the others and set out for Lestallum, where the King’s pilgrimage to regain the eleven Royal Arms was set to begin at the Disc of Cauthess. There were tombs much closer to Insomnia than that, but these things had to be done properly, with all due pomp and ceremony. Nyx had spent the last six months studying the route and swallowing back the urge to point out there were better ways to go about it. Instead, he focused on preparing and staffing outposts of the Kingsglaive along the way, ready to support their Prince should the need arise. Considering the Angelus was still stomping around in Duscae – the primary reason why Cor and Nyx themselves had been nominated to hold the region, all on their own – and given the increase of daemon and monster activity all over the lands beyond the Wall, Nyx felt no precaution was too much, in preparation for the journey.
“So?” Nyx asked, as Cor sat down at Prompto’s right and passed Nyx an opened beer bottle. “How are you feeling?”
Prompto snorted.
“Honestly?” He looked from side to side at them both and then laughed awkwardly. “Fucking terrified.” Nyx couldn’t help but laugh along with him, as Cor shook his head. “None of them have ever been outside the Wall, none of them have ever fought or even seen MTs or daemons from up close, and our route is a logistical nightmare.”
“Good to know you’re in high spirits,” Cor muttered wryly, one eyebrow arched as Prompto rubbed his face with the back of his hand.
“The weirdest thing is that I am,” he said, shrugging. “Yeah, it’s gonna be dangerous, but all exciting things are. And it means a lot to me, that Noct wants me there with him for this. I guess all I can do is try hard and hope for the best.”
Nyx reached out to clink his bottle with Prompto’s can of soda, grinning.
“To trying hard and hoping for the best, then,” he said, and then repeated the gesture with Cor.
At that point, it was all they could do.
Nyx stood beside Cor the next morning, atop the Citadel’s steps, along with the King, Clarus, Anemone and Sylva, as they saw the group off. The entirety of Insomnia seemed to be out in the streets, crowds amassing at either side of the route leading off towards the bridge into Leide. There was a festive spirit in the air, with the Regalia, hood down and flanked by Prompto’s bike, slowly making its way down the road. The Prince and the Princess waved the crowd as they passed, raising cheers as they went.
Eventually, the crowd dissolved, and Nyx found himself offering his own goodbyes, before climbing onto his own bike, Cor clinging not quite subtly to his back as they made their way out of the city on their own. No one stopped to wave them off, no one offered them congratulations or wished them a safe journey. It suited Nyx just fine, honestly, and given the fact he was grumping about their choice of transportation, it probably suited Cor too. They made good time, reaching Galdin with still about an hour of sunlight left in the day. Cor busied himself refilling the tank and getting them dinner, while Nyx checked in on the hunter’s base that was now jointly staffed by a skeleton crew of Kingsglaive forces.
They had just finished eating, sitting in the plastic table outside the caravan they had rented for the night, when their phones pinged them with an incoming message into the family chat.
For good luck , Prompto wrote, along with a string of cheerful emojis that Nyx found unspeakably comforting, and then a moment after, sent over a picture.
“Yeah,” Nyx said, smiling as he reached out a hand to hold Cor’s, “it’s going to be alright.”
The End.
? ? ?
Ardyn ignored the faint tingle of the Wall’s concentrated magic against his skin as he walked down the brightly lit streets of Insomnia. A faint glamour, just the barest push of will, was all that was required to ensue no one gave him a second look. He found himself whistling, as he was wont to do, hands inside the pockets of his coat. He had no trouble navigating the way to the small, almost abandoned cemetery. It had been a day of endless jubilation for Insomnia, after all, no one had bothered to spare a thought for the dead. He came to a stop before a simple grave, unremarkable but for the fact someone had gone and stuck a sword into it as decoration.
“Well then,” Ardyn said, reaching to pet the fox perched on his shoulders before he stretched out his hand towards the grave. The fox slithered down his arm, fur melting into smoke-like wisps of darkness, and jumped onto the grave, leaning in to press the glowing red horn on its forehead against the sword. “Rise and shine, Your Majesty. It is time.”
Deep beneath the earth, beyond the slab of concrete marking the place, Ardyn felt a spark of magic echo, and stepped back as the light rose through the slab, condensing like drops of dew into a single glowing orb above the gravestone. Ardyn watched the light reshape and take form, and then fade, leaving behind a woman sitting on the edge of the tombstone in a rather unladylike fashion.
“You,” she hissed, as soon as she opened her eyes and saw him. She stepped forward, reaching a hand to grab the handle of the sword in a way that clearly threatened violence. She yelped when the sword remained, predictably, stuck on the slab and nearly caused her to lose her balance. “Oh, for fuck’s sake, Regis.”
“Now, now,” Ardyn said, stepping back, hands raised placatingly and fox once more wrapped around his shoulders, “do play nice, my dear. You’ve much to do and hardly any time to do it all!”
Aulea Lucis Caelum let go of the sword just long enough to force it free of her own grave by summoning it into her hand.
She snorted.
“Go fuck yourself, Ardyn.”