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Noctis was listless at best and morose at worst, these days. During his time shadowing the council Ignis had seen firsthand how deeply his Majesty worried for his son, a concern that came to reflect in his own dealings with the crown prince.
His highness’ mood hadn’t improved much after completing his schooling- Ignis suspected that the ever-looming threat of his future responsibility was the culprit. Noctis spent most of his time in highly specialized training now, studying everything from combat to decorum to history to politics. It was a rigorous gauntlet, yes, but entirely necessary for the difficult job Noctis would one day carry out.
When Noctis turned twenty, however, everything changed. It seemed almost as though the preparations he had endured in order to defend his country from Nifleheim were in vain. The empire offered them, of all things, a peace treaty. Ignis may not trust their intentions, and was not dimwitted enough to let his guard down completely, but even he would admit that they would be fools not to accept.
Ignis only wished that the terms didn’t involve Noctis. Selfish as it may have been to view a future king so, Noctis still seemed too innocent, too delicate to be maneuvered as a political pawn. Ignis could hardly even fathom what the purpose of the marriage clause might be. It seemed so blisteringly unfair. Noctis deserved to lead his own life, one where he might choose his own partner freely.
At least, Ignis comforted himself, it was only Lunafreya. She was Noctis’ age, respectful and kind, and a good friend to him. The possibilities were far worse.
Ignis adjusted his spectacles, pushing them up the bridge of his nose slightly. Ultimately, despite his deep-seeded care for the future king, this was no concern of his. His role was merely to stand by Noctis’ side. He was to be reliable, dependable, and never anything more.
Noctis came into the ballroom haggard and worn, though in Ignis’ estimation, better than usual. He managed a smile when he saw Ignis, relief plain on his face.
“Iggy!” he said. “You’re my dancing instructor?”
“Indeed,” Ignis said with a crisp nod. Noctis’ smile bloomed into a grin.
Ignis cleared his throat, reaching out for the sure grip of propriety even as he longed to smile back at Noctis. “Your father and I thought it best for you to learn from a familiar face.”
It was the strategy they had been employing for most of Noctis’ lessons, with Ignis handling political history and strategy, and Gladio any physical skills. This, however, was the one athletic activity where Ignis’ ability far outstripped Gladio’s.
“Can’t believe I still have to learn how to dance,” Noctis groaned. Ignis sighed.
“You know full well, highness, that you only avoided it so long due to your back injury.” He didn’t want Noctis to live under any delusions of grandeur when it came to the effectiveness of his wide-eyed pleading. Ordinarily, royal children learned decorum young, but wheelchair-bound and frail, Noctis had avoided dancing lessons entirely. The matter had simply not come up urgently again until now.
And, well, if Ignis was perfectly honest with himself, he may have mildly exaggerated Noctis’ recurring back pain to excuse him from learning for a gala or two.
“Ugh,” Noctis said, bending backwards with an exaggerated groan. “Y’know, I think it might be coming back again. You don’t mind if I step outside, do you, Specs-“
“And,” Ignis said with a blessedly small roll of his eyes, “You are to be wed in one month.”
It seemed eerie that the date had crept up so. Noctis was still so young. It felt like a strange dream, even saying it aloud, like Noctis might frown and inform Ignis he’d imagined this all entirely.
Instead, Noctis’ shoulders simply dropped, truth well accepted. “No chance of getting out of this one, huh?”
Ignis’ lips pressed into a straight line. “None.”
Noctis devolved into another series of moans and groans as Ignis crossed the room to turn on the music.
“Come, highness. Dancing is a recreational activity. It’s meant to be fun.”
“You think crosswords are fun,” Noctis grumbled as Ignis came closer.
Ignis cleared his throat, eyes skirting elsewhere. He couldn’t lie to the prince, even by implication. “Well, I never claimed to find dancing fun, in any case.”
Noctis’ eyebrows shot up with excitement. “So we can ditch?”
Ignis didn’t even gratify that with a response. “Feet one shoulder’s width apart, your highness, if you will.”
Specific standing positions were nothing new to Noctis, who had been trained in combat for nearly as long as he could walk. He took well to Ignis’ instructions about where to place his feet, how to hold himself, the manner in which to lift his arms. His athletic expertise was a blessing, as he memorized the step pattern for a waltz quickly and painlessly. Hopefully this lesson would be as blissfully short as Noctis desired.
Now, however, that Noctis had grasped the theory, it was time for him to practice with a real partner. To that end, Ignis stepped in front of him.
“Imagine that I am Lady Lunafreya,” Ignis instructed him. Noctis was incomparably amused by that.
“Uhhh…” he said, eyeing Ignis up and down. He was likely searching for the funniest joke. Ignis was not in the mood.
“Noctis,” he sighed.
“You’re just a little tall,” Noctis said with a smirk. It was not the worst joke he could have made, and for that Ignis was grateful.
“One hand on my waist, Noctis.” Ignis said, striving for professionalism. It was difficult, when his heart stuttered at the very thought. He tried in vain to reassure himself that dancing was a platonic matter; an official, ceremonial act. It had nothing at all to do with the illicit feelings he harbored for the prince.
Noctis obeyed, placing one of his hands on Ignis’ waist. Ignis clasped his shoulder in turn, and their remaining hands met in midair.
“Excellent form, highness,” Ignis commented. Noctis responded well to praise and encouragement, so he was mindful to offer it whenever possible.
It was a genuine compliment, too, loathe as Ignis was to admit it to himself. Noctis had grown handsome, and Ignis could feel the practiced strength in his shoulder and hand even relaxed as they were now. Noctis cut an impressive form nowadays, every bit a dashing prince in Ignis’ eyes.
Noctis tilted his head, a grin playing on his lips. “Not so shabby yourself, Specs- I mean, Lady Lunafreya.”
Ignis sighed. He fought not to hang his head.
“Please promise me you will not speak to the Oracle in such a manner,” he pleaded. Noctis’ grin did not disappear. That meant trouble.
“Well, I’m hardly a poet, but I can try.” Before Ignis could plead for him not to, he did, clearing his throat dramatically. “O, love is the sweetest joy and the wildest woe. Never again will I pare from thee. Pray, my love, make me thy canary to keep forever in the cage of thy bosom!”
“Highness, you’ve merely quoted Lord Avon.” Ignis observed, deadpan. It was still a romantic gesture, at least. He wondered when Noctis had memorized the lines. “That’s not even to mention how glaringly inappropriate your choice of subject matter is, for Lady Lunafreya.”
Noctis couldn’t be unaware of the plot to I Want to Be Your Canary, which centered foremost around a royal shirking arranged marriage in favor of pursing a commoner- hardly topical material for romancing one’s arranged bride.
“Who said it was for Luna?” Noctis asked with a knowing smirk. Ignis fought the rising flush in his cheeks.
“Perhaps you would be better served remaining quiet and focusing on your footwork.” He suggested, not defensively, never defensively. The jokes, however, had begun to grate on his nerves. He and Noctis might have been sharing this dance now, yes, but it was practice and nothing more.
Ignis was simply a stand-in. There was nothing more to it. He was merely a necessary teacher so that Noctis was prepared to be wed. They could dance here, in an empty ballroom with only a speaker as their witness, dressed in the usual work clothes and half-exhausted after a busy day, but this was all they would ever have. Lunafreya would be the one to dance with Noctis before a crowd, with a lavish orchestra and beautiful decorations, and Ignis would merely watch, reserved and proud.
She was a kind-hearted woman, Ignis reminded himself, to quell the unfair emotions welling up within him. She was mature, and intelligent, and perfectly suited to Noctis.
Ignis savored this moment guiltily. It was something he should not have, and yet he loved the way Noctis moved in time with him, graceful and light. He loved their closeness, the way they stepped and spun the ballroom into an extraneous blur, focused only on one another. He loved the rare bright shine in Noctis’ shining blue eyes, the softness that had not yet faded from his face even as he quickly matured.
“This isn’t so bad,” Noctis finally admitted as they whirled around again. He looked almost thoughtful as they continued, just long enough to ensure he had memorized the step pattern- and for no other reason, Ignis hatefully told himself.
“Well, that, or maybe you’re just good at it.” Noctis gave Ignis a meaningful smile. It made him feel cold.
“Lady Lunafreya will be as adept as I, of that I’ve no doubt.” Ignis said.
Noctis laughed. “Take the compliment, Iggy.”
Ignis didn’t want to. He was hopelessly aware that his time with Noctis was coming to a swift end, that he would cease to be companion and remain only advisor. In the future, he expected that Lady Lunafreya would look after Noctis’ emotional state, and Ignis would remain only a professional friend.
He would miss Noctis, though, dearly. Ignis couldn’t imagine a world bereft of him, forced to move on without his center. Ignis hardly knew how he would occupy himself. He had dedicated himself to Noctis for so long, the only outlet he knew for the feelings beating at his heart.
“Ignis?” Noctis’ mouth had pulled into a pout. “You’re quiet.”
Ignis drew away, letting his arms drop back to his side. Noctis’ fell limp as well. “My apologies, highness.”
His hands stung at the lack of contact, suddenly cold without Noctis. Ignis couldn’t bear to reach back out, however, no matter how dearly he wished to.
He was in no position to trouble Noctis with his own emotions, particularly not in such a delicate time of the prince’s life. Ignis was meant to be supporting Noctis.
Noctis wrestled with whatever he intended to say next, mouth shifting across his face.
“I’m nervous too,” he finally decided to say. “I don’t want things to change.”
Ignis offered up his best smile, a fitting sacrifice.
“There’s no need to be,” he said, “Anyone would be lucky indeed to have you, Noct.”
“Do you remember when you taught me how to dance?”
It was an innocent question, a callback to a more innocent time. Ignis struggled with the memory- crisp and clear in his mind, of course, but so embarrassing. He had been so concerned at the thought of losing Noctis to marriage, completely distraught that they might be separated. That Ignis could never have imagined what this one knew now, the dark truth that he and Noctis would ultimately be wrenched apart more completely, more permanently.
Tomorrow, Ignis reminded himself. That was tomorrow. Tonight, they had each other, in the grassy knoll close by the campsite.
“You took to it quickly,” he said neutrally. Noctis laughed.
“Yeah, and I was a brat the whole time.” He heard Noctis scratch at his head. “Sorry.”
“Nonsense. I would be remiss to say so at the time, but it was…” Ignis sucked his breath in. “…charming.”
Even at his worst, Noctis had always carried a strength, in his youth. His rebellion was captivating, like a force of nature. Irritating and destructive, yes, but also demanding of admiration and respect.
Ignis could imagine Noctis’ smile, remaining yet on his face. “Yeah, good you didn’t tell me that. I’d have been insufferable.”
Ignis tilted his head. “Why do you ask, though, highness?”
It seemed such a specific thing to reminisce on, even if Ignis was guilty of doing so as well.
“I was just thinking about it. I never did get to dance at my wedding.” Noctis’ sigh was short. “Turns out I never actually had to learn it after all. I was right all along.”
Ignis cleared his throat, defensive. “Well, I- I daresay we enjoyed ourselves regardless.”
He savored the memory, even now. He was glad to have spent that time with Noctis, shamefully as he had enjoyed it.
“Oh, yeah.” Noctis laughed, again. “I certainly did. I’m almost glad I never had that wedding. Now our dance is the only one I remember.”
The wind blew across their faces, gentle, yet insistent. Ignis could hear how it rustled through the grass, like a delicate song.
“I was frustrated.” Noctis admitted. “That’s why I was acting up. I always thought I’d tell you after I became king, when I had the power to keep us together. Then there was the treaty, and the engagement, and the invasion, and there was just never a good time…”
Ignis felt weak, feeble, like the wind, soft as it was, might blow him over entirely. “Noct…”
He couldn’t possibly be suggesting what Ignis thought. It seemed too convenient, too outlandish, too good to be true, and yet…
“Now’s not a good time either, I know.” Noctis was just as tender as the breath of air on Ignis’ skin, a spring breeze in his own right. “I just… dance with me, Iggy?”
It was the most uncertain Ignis had heard him after exiting the crystal. Noctis had been so mature, so strong, so king-like. This pause felt more like the Noctis Ignis had always known.
“Of course,” Ignis said, ever compliant, ever indulgent. As they approached one another this time, however, Noctis’ hand wove all the way around his waist, bringing Ignis close, holding him chest-to-chest.
Their dance now was far less dignified than their practice all those years ago, more of a sway back and forth than a proper waltz. There was no music, save for the whispers of the wind in the nature all around, and their combat-worn shoes stuck in the mud rather than gliding cleanly over polished marble. Ignis, however, wouldn’t have it any other way.
He’d always known that he and Noctis would never dance before a crowd, in a ballroom, with all the usual trappings of royalty. This was more than he ever thought they’d have.
“You’re still good,” Noctis observed, voice low. “Should’ve known. There’s nothing you can’t do, even now.”
Melancholy rushed over Ignis. He had missed Noctis so much. Soon, it was all he would ever do. The hand around Noctis’ shoulder clutched more tightly.
“I’m so proud of you, Noct,” Ignis said, only barely managing to hold back the tears. Crying now simply wouldn’t do. Noctis deserved better, deserved Ignis’ poise and grace for what little time he had left. Ignis would save the mourning for after, for the great, murky beyond.
For now, he had Noctis still. For this brief moment, he could play at happiness. Ignis would savor this, luxuriating in Noctis while he still could.
Noctis’ touch on Ignis’ face was tentative and gentle, as he brushed away tears. Ignis hoped Noctis wasn’t crying as well. It was shameful enough for him to have succumbed.
“C’mon, Iggy,” he heard Noctis say, “Dancing’s supposed to be fun. A recreational activity.”
Ignis broke down laughing at Noctis’ poor attempt at his accent. It was a mildly hysterical sort of laugh, one which teetered on a cliffside’s edge.
“Might I say my farewell,” he asked, “your highness?”
“’course.”
Noctis didn’t seem surprised as Ignis’ hands reached for his face, exploratory. His thumbs smoothed across Noctis’ cheeks, cupping them gently, holding his face firmly in place. Noctis held still as Ignis neared, pressing their lips together.
Noctis’ skin was weathered, now, and Ignis could feel stubble pricking his fingers. Even so, he couldn’t bring himself to care. Noctis’ lips were still soft. He smelled as ironically lively as he always did, like the crisp scent of a storm just before lightning struck.
Ignis loved him for it.
When Ignis stopped to take a breath, he didn’t pull away. He spoke to Noctis even there, as close as he dared remain.
"All my fortunes at thy foot, I lay, and I shall follow thee throughout the world,” he whispered.
“Ah,” Noctis said, and Ignis could feel his smile, pressed to his own lips, “Lord Avon, again.”
Ignis couldn’t help but smile in turn, even as tears beaded at his eyes. “Well. I’m no poet.”