childrenofbahamutlogs | 01 → anyway fuck ardyn izunia [closed]

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01 → anyway fuck ardyn izunia [closed]

WHO: Ignis Scientia, Ravus Fleuret, and Ardyn Izunia
WHAT: a lil murder
WHERE: A nice, secluded, forested area
WHEN: Late October
WARNINGS: Violence and Character Death

SUMMARY:

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It starts out, really, quite simple. Ignis is already quite well acquainted with the ladies who like to go to their regular bake sale. In fact, he, and Prompto, and a couple of other individuals have already assisted them in a couple of weeks prior, and they haven't forgotten this. It helps that he is a baker and chef himself, and so there was plenty to talk about with them on the long journey.

Unsurprisingly, because of this connection, he is actually requested to help them once again, and rather personally. Well, with how they benefited the last time, who is he to refuse?

And better yet, now that he has successfully hunted down convinced Ravus to live in a building, he knows the perfect companion for such a thing. For the best, really. Ravus needs to socialize more. Elderly old ladies will likely find him charming.

It all seems rather cut and dry... until Ardyn Izunia somehow gets involved in all of it.

When the chancellor's back is turned, Ignis doesn't say a word, but does raise his brows pointedly at Ravus. This is his fault, isn't it? Ignis knows it. But that is a talk they can have later. The talk in the present has to do with introductions being made to the elderly ladies, and then the three of them are on their way.

Considering the events of last time... Ignis keeps an eye out for suspicious activity, thing disturbed that weren't the last time he was here. The women had clearly been targeted as well-known weak targets.

In this regard, he isn't disappointed when he catches signs of familiar looking bootprints, and disturbances in the bushes and trees around the path. Fresh, too.

And at the first sign, an idea clicks rapidly into place.

It's a simple thing, really. All he needs to do is tell Ravus to continue escorting the women to their bake sale - because, really, do they expect Ardyn to make decent company? - and he and Ardyn shall clear out the bandits, along with getting further information. Ignis really would like to finish this once and for all, and track down their leader.

As he watches Ravus's broad back escort the women, Ignis makes sure his own daggers are still in fine shape. "I presume you have your own weapons for dealing with this?" he asks Ardyn patiently.

Ravus isn't entirely to blame for Ardyn's involvement in this little escapade. The man himself was insistent that he help out around the town more after being inspired by the events at the Town Town Hall meeting. If Regis, Cor, and others were so determined to make him out to be the villain, that was fine. He could easily be their martyr instead in that case.

After all, he may have been bad before but here? Here, he's a stand-up citizen. He's helping old ladies transport their baked goods across Town safely. What kind of nefarious man would go out of his way like that?

This one, as it turns out, because he's a manipulative bastard like that. Most don't seem much the wiser though so far. The old ladies certainly don't as he does his best to be charming, personable, and as good of company as anyone could be. There's giggles at the 'oh, she didn't' he offers up about the local Town gossip. It's all going quite swimmingly... until they separate from Ravus and the grandmothers. Ardyn waves them off, of course, before turning back to Ignis.

"Well, that depends on what exactly you have in mind for 'dealing' with it." The bandits, he knows. He saw the footprints, the obvious signs- They were sloppy about it, really. He can't blame them when their targets are usually average, vulnerable citizens they wouldn't need to worry about. But Ardyn and Ignis both aren't usual in a lot of ways.

"Ask a question or two, if I can manage it." Satisfied with the condition of his daggers, Ignis tucks them back away where they will reside neatly out of sight for a while longer. Best to let anyone else think that they're not about. "However, the last encounter we had with such cretins, they didn't know half as much as I would have preferred. Really little at all.

"So all that is left is to impart upon them the rather harsh lesson, since they haven't learned the kinder one first." How that will turn out... Well, they'll see.

"I imagine you have no objections."

"You imagine correctly," Ardyn replies. And who really is surprised? A chance to let out a little aggression might go a long way, he thinks. "Especially since I'm more a fan of teaching things the hard way." Perhaps a little too close to home for Ignis to be taken well, but... At least the other man can take comfort in that he's not the one on the receiving end of any such lesson this time.

"Either way, I've got a trick or two up my sleeve." Read: daggers, in this context. "I'll follow your lead."

Teaching lessons the hard way, is that so... Ignis says nothing on the matter, especially as he knows he's the one who made the comparison first. Yet still, he thinks of the way that Prompto had shook against him, recalling what had occurred for him, and which may occur in Ignis's own future.

The daggers are put away. He'll try not to use them when it really counts. What matters more, to him, are the gloves he has securely on his hands.

"Well then," he says. "Let's be off."

It is a good chance to take a look at Ardyn's own abilities as well up close and personal, in his opinion. Ignis has been trained in how to make it through wilderness carefully, to take out his objectives neatly, although he knows that he undoubtedly can still improve and would hope his older self has done so. But as he tracks down the bandits' sloppy moves, he too tracks down just how Ardyn moves.

He's been relaxed and casual so far - both during their first meeting, and more recently with the elder ladies.

But surely that can't be the same when they're going on the attack.

While he may not have his ability to warp or illusions up his sleeve, he's not incapable by any means. His eyes track the bandits like a predator might potential prey once they're in sight. He's not careful, exactly, but certainly calculating in the way he does engage them when the time comes.

"Let's teach them a lesson they won't soon forget," he adds, all too eager to confront their target.

Yet, Ignis will be able to easily catch on to that undercurrent of recklessness. He takes hits he doesn't need to and he isn't worried about what his opponents might come at him with. While this is a byproduct of his inability to die desensitizing him to potential fatal blows, to someone who doesn't know that he can't... He just looks a little careless, maybe, whether due to pride or overinflated confidence.

There is indeed a great deal to observe about how Ardyn fights, even if Ignis cannot devote all of his attention completely to the man - not if he wants to hold his own in the fight as well as he dips in amidst the group of bandits. Although it certainly helps that they all focus on Ardyn's more...

...lively violence.

One down. Another as he's turning to to the sound of it. Still a few more left, converging on Ardyn. A quick fight - most fights actually are.

Especially in a match where the scales are far from balanced.

It all happens so quickly. One of the fallen bandits drops a sword, and it's in Ignis's hands in the blink of an eye. Ardyn has one of them cornered, at least so it seems, and so Ignis pushes forward. Grabs his chance. Takes out the last bandit from behind, twists lower, swings the sword. Aims for Ardyn's tendons as he takes out the last bandit.

If it hits, surely it will bring him to the ground... but it's fine.

Whether it hits or not, Ignis is right there at his back to keep him upright.

That, and the sword sinking back through that ragged coat of his, through skin, muscles, angled to where a man's heart should be.

Ignis does not press their bodies together completely; he doesn't want to get more blood than is necessary all over his clothes. But still he braces his shoulder against Ardyn's back, just enough, while his sword hand stays free where it is. The glove should keep away any blood from his skin or sleeve. "There we go," he murmurs, twisting the blade from where it presses straight in, straight through. Grind flesh against blade, even if the effort aches. His free hand digs past all the layers of cloth to find the closest to Ardyn's actual body, fingers pressing in to keep him in place. "You've done very good, I will admit. So lets put you to rest, now."

Permanently.

With the hit confirmed, he pulls the blade out, and makes to kick Ardyn down to the floor.

It's true that Ardyn gets a little carried away. Does he need to crush a bandit's skull beneath his heel after a swift fatal slice of a dagger across his neck already ensuring his demise? No. But what's the harm in being a little excess? It does determine him as the larger threat, naturally, and he enjoys the challenge of multiple enemies trying to take him down. Not even numbers is enough though to stop him from cutting through - sometimes literally - those facing him.

He does get a little too into it, unfortunately. His current prey is cowering and cornered; it calls to those predatory instincts in him to pursue. Make him hurt, make him scream and bleed- Ardyn is so focused on inflicting the other's pain that he hardly registers his own.

The blow alarms him initially but he realizes he isn't actually surprised when he sees who is on the end of the sword. If the roles were reversed, he's sure he would have done the same. He laughs, even, a sharp: "Ha!" at how predictable it is in hindsight. He doesn't even try to twist away from the sword skewering him to protect his heart. Blood and black viscous both bubble past his lips as he continues to laugh almost heartily. Oh, it hurts in all the most wonderful ways.

It always does.

Even with his regeneration nerfed, it's taking him too long to die than it should a normal man being run through by a sword. The tar mixed with crimson might be a reason for that as it takes longer to escape his body, seems to be trying to stay in or knit the wound back together in a futile fashion as the blade twists through skin and sinew. "If only," he utters, low and strangled with a mouthful of blood and black fuzzy edges from inky tears clouding his vision, "If only you could."

An ominous thing to say as he finally lets out his last damp, wheezy breaths from where he's now fallen to the earth. While he makes no move to get up and might appear as good as dead, there is no wonder those words might cause Ignis to doubt the job is truly done. To need to be sure. He'll find no resistance from Ardyn, still barely alive despite the man's best attempt.

He's so tired. It will be nice to rest for a while, he thinks, even if he is already convinced it will only be a while.

It is one thing to be aware of Ardyn's nature. It is another to see is burbling out of him, slow and noxious. Like an industrial accident, from the rusted sewer pipes which are his veins. Ignis wrinkles his nose, even as he tosses aside the blade.

"Ah, but I can." He is doing that just now, in fact, as he picks up another pair of smaller blades from the ground. Another poor bloodied soul who couldn't land the killing blood on the monster tearing through their ranks... but Ignis could, and has, and will continue on. So he wastes no time in striding close, mindful of his legs' positioning as one braces on Ardyn's least bloody side.

The other digs down into his back, pins him there even for all that it seems that he isn't moving any further. Perhaps some would think it extravagant, how he brushes the blades' pinpoints against Ardyn's wrists before sinking them down into his hands, past flesh and bone, back into the earth where they can keep him pinned.

Sunk so deeply that hilt kisses skin, and nearly too do Ignis's hands brush against Ardyn's as he guides metal down.

"You've lost so much power here, Ardyn Izunia," he informs him quietly. "You and many others. I'm surprised you haven't noticed it... but that includes what has kept your pathetic heart beating still."

Still.

There's always room for insurance, now, isn't there?

Rising up, with all the effort in his legs, Ignis sweeps his gaze over the area quickly. He had seen it before - ah, there. Some try-hard fool had brought a large axe, with a handily long handle. Perhaps it had served some mundane purpose initially. Yet until but a few minutes ago, someone had taken it with no doubt the idea that it would be more intimidating, and cause more damage. In the hands of someone more talented, maybe. Now, its owner lies dead nearby.

Ignis takes it, and tries out its weight in his hands, eyes the sharpness of its blade. The cut will not be sweet and clean, it may very well take another chop to firmly sever through if he doesn't use enough force...

Returning to Ardyn's body, he surveys him. Gets himself into proper position, and adjusts his grip on the axe.

"But there's no need for your heart to beat any longer. I'll take care of that."

And he swings the axe down as hard as he can.

It's putrid and noxious, he knows, though poisons and heals him in equal measure both. Once just a festering disease, it's now an almost comforting sludge that slinks through his body. He feeds it and it rewards him in kind. And although it's trying, like it always does, to keep Ardyn alive against his best wishes- Maybe, just maybe, it's giving him the ultimate gift instead and letting him go. With no Bahamut, no prophecy, no anything- Why would it, after all?

He's died before though. Repeatedly, continuously, for eons. He died in that damp, dark cave only briefly before awakening again to pain and nothing. Just the same as now, he knows: Even if does die, he'll come back. "Just for now," he manages, a sardonic whimper of a sound pulled from him as those daggers pierce his wrists.

He knows he isn't as strong as he used to be. He felt it immediately, told on himself even by admitting his inability to warp. Yet, he still hasn't needed to eat. Sleep. Even if not as strong as he was, The Scourge ensured he yet lived. Even now, it's a smart thing that Ignis pinned his wrists since he can feel it doing its best to keep air in his lungs and blood running through his veins even as it sluices out of his wound to water the earth below. "Weakened, but still there. As long as..." A wheeze, his vision blurring to the point he can only make out vague blocks of color. He can hear Ignis move and feel the air move with the weight of what he picks up.

"... it's still part of me, you'll see. You'll see."

That's all Ardyn has the strength for though. He feels the searing pain of the axe contacting his neck, severing nerve and tendon and vertebrae with a sickening sound- And then he feels no more. He dies, truly, and despite his words will have wished he hadn't uttered them at all once he is brought back not by The Scourge but Charlie's own hand.

But for now, he rests. Still and silent and head severed from his body with another axe swing or so.

When Ravus finally deliver the ladies to their destination, no doubt he doubles back to hunt down Ignis and Ardyn. Perhaps out of concern of the two of them being left together alone. Perhaps to help with the battle against the bandits.

The battle, however, is quite done, by the time he manages to find its location within the woods.

So is Ardyn Izunia, considering the decapitated corpse set neatly out of the way.

As for Ignis? He himself seems perfectly fine, although there is sweat along his throat and over his forehead, where he's swept sticky bangs out of the way. He's in the process of trying to dig out a grave with an axe, and doesn't seem wholly surprised at Ravus's arrival. "Well, that was quicker than I thought it would be," he comments mildly, inspecting the callouses on his own hand. A pair of bloodied gloves are away to the side. "I hope the women are well?"

Miss Brigsby bids her new oh-so-serious knight goodbye after a mission successfully completed in escorting her and her fellow grandmas to their stall. Ravus is a touch flushed about being waved off with hand-knitted handkerchiefs, but he bids them all a polite farewell, and goes back to look for Ignis and Ardyn.

It's not precisely easy to find them either. The path is devoid of any signs, but a bit of lucky tracking takes him into the underbrush. Blood wetting the leaves is the first sign he properly catches, and it makes him pick up his pace.

When he does find Ignis, his heart is beating a touch too quick to attribute it to just his concerned gait. The tang of blood and sweat itch along the back of his throat as he breathes in a worried sound, and he's quickly by Ignis' side. A gentle, concerned hand settles against the side of his neck, immediately looking for the source of the blood on the other. If he's heard Ignis at all, it's not until he's sure there's no terrible wounds that he even acknowledges it.

"They are fine, I would not let harm befall them. But you- what happ-" That's about when he realizes there's a third figure. Except, well... he's a corpse. A headless corpse. Ravus' eyes go wide, and stares at the fact that is most certainly one Ardyn Izunia, sans head. "What in all the hells is going on?"

Really... He would think that Ravus would know his own ability. And yet, he cannot deny that some sort of tender feeling blooms in his chest when the man goes straight for him to inspect his condition. Ignis doesn't quite smile, but his gaze does seem a bit more fond for just a split second.

And then Ravus is looking about with an almost comic expression on his face, and he sighs.

"I'm digging unmarked graves, of course," he says flatly. "I didn't get more information from the bandits' own mouths as I would like, but I think I understand enough to pursue some other things." But that's not really what Ravus is asking about, and they both know it. "As for Ardyn... Well. He's quieter this way, I will give him that. He'll be quieter six feet under."

Ravus has seen firsthand Ignis' abilities. It could never stop him from wanting to assure he is safe. Which is... a strange thought, he realizes. It's been a long while since he's found someone else that evokes his protective nature. But that's thought for later. Right now there's the concern of digging graves. With an axe.

The hand along Ignis' neck slides to his shoulder, patting him as if clearing him of inspection before he steps back. Just enough so that he can kneel down beside Ardyn's body. While he could never begin to untangle why, he does feel some sort of pang of loss in his chest. A familiar thing suddenly not in its place.

"I am glad to see you unscathed, despite the gruesome task. And while I admit, there is little quieter than a dead man, I meant more how did this occur? Were you ambushed?" While their powers have been vastly diminished, he has to hope not by that much that a few brigands can be such a threat.

"No, we rather did the ambushing. With our level of skill, bandits of that caliber did absolutely nothing." Frankly speaking, if given a bit of time, Ignis suspects that he could have taken them all out on his own. Even with his skill level, which he's sure is unpolished compared to what Ravus is unused to. Well, he will have plenty of time to practice, he supposes.

In the meanwhile... He pauses, looking at the line of Ravus's shoulders as he crouches there besides the chancellor's corpse. It is going to have to be said upfront, isn't it?

"...Ravus, I killed him," he says quietly. "Frankly speaking, I saw an opportunity, and devoted myself to it."

He doesn't regret it, either.

He knows as much. He's seen and felt exactly what the both of them are capable of, even in the weakened states they are all in. He knows, and yet, it's easier to find a quieter explanation than the sudden burst of violence that he knows must have caused this. Decapitation isn't precisely Ignis' usual combat style, from what Ravus has observed.

So, still knelt beside Ardyn's body, Ravus heaves a great sigh, and nods. It's strange really. He's not upset with Ignis per se, not even disappointed. But there is an ache that persists within him. One that doesn't quite mourn, but does recognize the loss of life in what feels like a cold, yawning chasm of unending death. Maybe he's just tired of the people around him dying. Maybe there's something else, but he doesn't sink deeper into that thought.

"I appreciate the honesty," he says after a long moment. "And I would be a hypocrite to say that I don't understand that feeling of seizing the chance. Sometimes, for people like you and me, that's all there is. Consequences be damned." Finally, he turns his head to look fully at Ignis, the blood and sweat on him, and has to know. "Why though? I know you not to be shy of violence for a cause, but what drove this? Surely his usual antics didn't grate your nerves that much... or have I built too much a tolerance to it?"

To be fair, the decapitation was not the first blow. There are other signs of violence done upon his body, things done while blood still pumped healthily through him and which no doubt helped get him down to the dirt. To the position in which he would die before Ignis moved him aside.

Decapitation was merely... insurance.

Insurance for Ardyn's death, but not the questions which he is being asked now with those mismatched eyes focused on him. Ignis meets them squarely, no flinching. He has nothing to feel guilty of.

This might have always been necessary, after all, and he long ago settled into the idea of doing dirty but necessary work.

His hands grind down a bit on the filthy of the axe before he hefts it up again. It is not a proper shovel, and there is still so much digging to do. "One - could argue that I would have just cause no matter what," he forces out. "It is through Councilor Ardyn Izunia's hand that the Empire has become even worse and more aggressive than ever before, and it lacked no small amount of such beforehand. I have read all the reports of his improvements to magitek troopers, after all. The hand he has played."

A huff, a wipe of sweat away from his brow. "...But I am no mindless beast. Before leaving Insomnia in the way I have experienced through situations such as this, I would have been willing to understand things are... more complicated than one could realize."

They're almost soft, for all that he makes sure to enunciate clearly and audibly. Makes sure they can't be missed.

But then his jaw tightens and his eyes harden as he forces the axe right back into the earth. "Yet I hard to learn something, coming here. Something that is not wholly my story to tell, Ravus. All I can tell you, Ravus, is that he took a good man who could offer him no information which he did not already know, and tortured him." His lips curl in disgust. Something deeper than that, perhaps.

"No rhyme, nor reason. Torture for torture's sake, as far as anyone could tell. And I am to trust such a man would not act on such impulses again? That my own would be safe from that?"

The violent thrust of the axe downwards says his answer.

No. He wasn't.

He wouldn't.

There's no accusation, no judgement, in the way Ravus takes in that answer. At least, towards Ignis. Ravus doesn't interrupt, doesn't bother making a case of his own defense of being amidst the Empire's rank, the spearhead of multiple campaigns and base establishments in conquered Lucian lands. His only claim to anything less is that he never much cared for using the MTs, or their production. Though, like all the high ranking of the army, he'd been complicit in knowing the horrors of Verstael's work, and not raising a hand to stop it. Not that he could, even if he had.

Yet there is one wholly true thing, no caveats attached, that Ravus does stand on. Not once has he enjoyed the suffering of those he's been against without it being a repayment. No torture, no cruel force or punishment. Occasionally, justice, but not else. Something in his conscience had held fast to that. As callous as he's made himself, Ravus could never find it within him to sink low enough to pull apart another human being like a pinned, squirming animal on a vivisection table.

And if he were In Ignis' place, if he were the one with that axe and graves to dig, Ravus knows he'd feel the same as him. He's killed lesser threats for lesser crimes in Lunafreya's defense. In every downward cut, Ravus knows the weight of the axe, and what it means.

"I understand," he says at last. It's plain in his eyes that he means it, and doesn't demand more justification than that. "I don't rightly know what drives men to such cruelty. I suppose I would have liked to find out, to see where the path diverged. Not to walk it, but to map it. To see if a better course could be charted... but I suppose dead men don't speak much." With a sharp exhale, Ravus stands, and offers out a hand to Ignis.

"Would you prefer I dig, or shall I be the one to perform graveside rites?"

Ignis doesn't regret what he did.

If it is in Noctis's name, in Prompto's, in Gladio's, there is little he ever would regret, really. For them, he will set the world alight, started right there at his own feet if need must.

...Still. Still, as Ravus says he understands and holds one hand out to him so simply, Ignis is glad that he stays here at his side regardless. He says nothing for a brief second. Only allows his expression to softly ease up, a relief in his eyes as he looks into that mismatched gaze. He hopes, he so hopes, that Ravus can understand the depth of his relieved gratitude that lays in his breast for this.

The words will come for him later. Right now, there is a job to do.

"...I shall dig." With a faintly self-depriciating smile, Ignis holds one hand in front of his chest, over his heart. Still wearing the gloves as he is, they're quite filthy from the general wear of life, but also with the deep stain of blood and where dirt clings. Covers over it. It will cover over more spilled blood before the afternoon is done. "Already unclean as I am from all this dirty work, it is only appropriate that I keep to it until the deed is at its completion. There is no need for you to join me in that."

A pause, as he looks to Ravus, and his voice grows tender. "Allow yourself to stay clean and sweet, my dear. Permit yourself that, now. It suits you more than blood and metal."

To do something kind, even for someone who doesn't truly deserve it, and make the world perhaps better.

Noct is similar in that respect, and Ignis cannot help but love it in both men.

That's something they share. The willingness to light the match, the resolve to always carry the tinderbox with them, in every choice. Love like theirs is an undoing thing, isn't it?

Ravus understands. He doesn't say it, but doesn't think he needs to either. Instead, he is left breathing out a soft sound that is a bit self-conscious, but the warmth blooming in his chest like a rosy dawn finds itself in his voice too.

"Me? Sweet?" Oh, why does his heart act out like this? Jumping into his throat like it has something to say about those gentle words. That tender look and sweet relief of the burden of bloodied hands has it in such a tizzy. Ravus has to swallow it back down, and pretend his cheeks don't color with heat. "I think you mistake me for a better man. But, just know that I do not mind the tack of blood and grit under my nails if it is for you."

Still, it reminds him there is a task at hand. Ravus only looks away from Ignis when he must, and lets odd eyes drift to the corpse beside him. There is that measure of sadness again. Lost potential and a familiar connection severed. At least he is also familiar with loss. Knows the weight of its hand on his shoulder like an old friend's touch.

Ravus lays a palm over Ardyn's still heart, then traces his fingers to the center of his torso, to the highest arch of his sternum, and begins to murmur an old graveside prayer in Tenebraen. One he'd heard his mother recite at dozens of funerals for the sick that could not always be saved, too late to receive the oracle's blessing. The wish that to golden fields one's soul may go in the Beyond. A quiet rest from the cacophony of life. Deserved or undeserved, Ravus had never heard judgement in the way Queen Sylva had said her prayers, so he places only a simple kindness in his own words. Find peace in death.

"My eyes make no mistake in what they see, Ravus." Because what else but a sweet man would say so readily that he would take the blood beneath his nails and dirt up to his knuckles, if he asked it?

Ignis is unsure of there is anything sweeter than such devotion. At least, he hopes it is as sweet to others as it tastes on his tongue, for he too knows no other way to be. Nothing but the willingness to leave ashes in his footsteps, and never-ending bloodstains beneath his fingertips.

And yet there is a task at hand. So as Ravus turns back to the corpse, Ignis turns back to its hole, and continues to push past the stubbornness of earth. In truth, it is not so bad as it could be. It gives way to his blade even more gently than Ardyn's flesh had, soft and fertile, waiting for the last stage of life to be buried beneath is to that the first could begin anew.

Because of this, he is able to pay some mind to what Ravus does. Not enough to get an exact idea of what exactly he is doing with his hands, certainly, but enough to hear the words. To understand a bit of the Tenebraen he says.

It really is a beautiful language. In another life, perhaps he would have had the chance to hear it more often - bonds between Lucis and Tenebrae kept strong, visits allowed to happen freely, friendships to flourish. In another life, the Empire never would have attacked it, and he could have seen a place only known through pictures and Noctis's stories.

In another life, would he have been able to hear these words said quietly in more peaceful deaths, and understand them more fully?

In another life, would he have gotten to know Ravus sooner?

Just idle ponderings. What's more important is that he does not interrupt Ravus, save for the repeated thunk and shift of his axe into the dirt. Ignis keeps working even long after Ravus has fallen silent, just to make sure that he isn't interrupting any particularly important pauses.

"...I feel my Tenebraen is lacking, especially with less time to keep up on my studies in recent months due to circumstances, but... The sentiment was beautiful, Ravus."

There's a surge of aching want in him that's so hard to swallow down that he's glad he's turned away from Ignis to pray. Those eyes see him all too well, do they?

His conversation with Gladio comes to mind in the worst ways. How Ravus was only moments from knowing the sacrifice Ignis will make in Altissia. And all of him screams to reach for Ignis as he does, to lay his palms, clean and free of blood and grave dirt, on his skin. To let the pads of his fingers trace the delicate skin of his eyelids, and the soft rings beneath his eyes. To tell him to cherish that belief so deeply. To tell him that he's right before he can never truly know again.

But he can't. He doesn't. He swallows down the fervent desire, and keeps to his task. One that evokes more painful memories, more dull yearning aches. Missing home. Missing his mother's voice. Even missing the somber air of a funeral. A proper one. Maybe one day he'll give Ardyn more than just the blessing of a leftover heir to the Oracle's line. Perhaps he'll need to ask Charlie about the customs of the dead in this land.

But that's a task for later. Right now, he's done about all he can. Glancing back at Ignis, Ravus makes to stand. He really should gather Ardyn's missing head for burial too. But before that, he comes up beside Ignis, and waits for a natural pause in the digging. While he does, he gives a thoughtful hum.

"That you know Tenebraen at all is surprising. Well, rather, given it's you, it's less so. But in the general sense. The language isn't common at all outside of our borders... It does my heart no small joy to know another might speak it with me again." The few he might have ever had the chance are dead or gone now.

"Death should be tender," Ravus says, glancing to Ardyn's body. "To ease the path of life. My mother used to say that. I think because as the Oracle, she saw the endless suffering of all who begged her aid. But even so, I find it a sentiment worth continuing. It's the same prayer she would give to those she couldn't save."

"I thought it would be useful, once upon a time." Because Noctis was to go to Tenebrae. Noctis would need to know the language better, use it to communicate with new friends, and wasn't that what he was there for? Wouldn't that make Noctis so happy, if he had someone who could translate for him anything that would need translating?

That was why he picked up the lessons for Tenebrae in addition to everything else, always hungry to learn more and add to himself. It was the argument he had tried to use with his teachers, and then with Glaives, His Majesty, when the date of the visit drew near. Anything to come with Noctis.

But he'd been let down, sometimes gently, sometimes more blunt. His education needed him there in the crown city, and his Tenebraen was still very new and clumsy then. Better for others more skilled to help if need-be, and, besides, the Tenebraen royal family knew Lucian as well. Best for him to stay behind. Less people to watch over, when His Majesty and Noctis were the ones who needed all of that as it was. They'd been inconsolable at the time, of course, but... There was nothing to be done for it.

The terror and grief he'd felt when he'd heard of what happened in Tenebrae, eavesdropping on those older than him, had been... indescribable.

And Ravus, having been there to experience it all firsthand, him and Noctis and Lady Lunafreya...

He won't pretend his feelings were more intense.

So he doesn't say much more on the matter, besides a simple, "I simply kept up with the studies. I'm glad that they will be of use to you, in that case, although I hardly call myself an expert." His gaze follows Ravus's back to the corpse waiting behind them. "So best that you are here to pass along such kind wishes along best." Both in the case of speaking Tenebraen fluently, and also because Ignis would just kick Ardyn's corpse into the hole and be done with it.

Alas.

....He supposes he could still do it. "Do Tenebraen funerals involve flowers...? I do not know the rites properly, I am afraid, but perhaps you could gather a few to put with him while I lay him to rest within the grave."

"It's never without use, even if there are more practical things one could apply themselves too." Ravus glances off, perhaps touched by the idea there's someone else to share something so deeply personal with him. "If you wish to persist in said studies, you do now have a native speaker to assist you."

At the mention of flowers, Ravus laughs. Short, more of a bark of a sound than anything too hearty, but an actual amused sound nonetheless.

"Do they ever. The mountains practically burst into color along their faces come the warm months. No event in Tenebrae can proceed without every surface being decorated in them. In great joy or deep sorrow." Ravus swivels his head to look about for any sign of such vibrancy, and does spot a few blooms leading back towards the road. Good, he'll head that way. But first...

First, he brushes his hand along Ignis' forearm, fingers squeezing down in a gentle, but firm hold.

"Don't press yourself merely because you will be out of my sight. You've done enough work as is, though I know you will persist further still. You will worry our elderly escorteds if I must carry you back in my arms." Already, he's going to have to figure out an explanation for them and Charlie. That said, he brushes past Ignis on the trail of those flowers, and takes to gathering what he can find along the road.

To even earn the smallest idea of a laugh, one not even negative either, is surprisingly enough to alleviate some of the weight in his heart. Surely, if Ignis can have him laughing like this at a makeshift funeral, then there is hope for - something. He's not wholly sure what. It's simply a good sign.

And best a good sign before that hand squeezes down on him, the Oracle's blood prevalent even here as he feels that carefully reined strength in such a grasp. "I will do more than is necessary," he promises Ravus quietly, although, of course, he knows that what he thinks of as such may be something they disagree on. It doesn't really matter, in the end. All that matters is waiting for Ravus to disappear somewhat slightly down the road.

And then he casts an unimpressed look upon Ardyn's corpse.

Really, such a troublesome man. Now he's going to have to do some effort for his burial. Ah well. There is no helping it. All Ignis can do is reach down to grab the pathetic corpse by its ankles, and drag it over to deposit it.

When Ravus returns, Ignis has Ardyn's head dangling by the hair as he tries to lower it to some place vaguely balanced by his neck. "This will have to do," he says, when its still a bit of a lopsided placement. In fact, one might almost say that Ardyn's face is purposefully set to the side, so no one has to see his particular expression before it's all buried in the dirt. Pushing himself up onto his feet, Ignis claps dusted hands together. "Do the flowers go with the body, or atop the grave? Once I know which, I can begin the burial."

Ravus comes back with an abundance of wild flowers in his arms. To most, it'd probably seem excessive, but Ravus wears an expression that suggests he feels they are not nearly enough. Or maybe it's that he is focused, eyes trained on a few particular ones he keeps gingerly pinched between his fingers. While the rest are more or less bundled in his arms.

"Admittedly, I do not know the local flora quite as well as I might Tenebrae's, yet I've found some similarities. Enough that I think I have the right of the art." Because flowers, their meanings, and their purposes, are certainly an art form. Ravus is terribly uncreative, but he's observant enough to recall the meanings he's seen over the years.

He sets down most of them at the side of the crudely dug pit, but keeps the specific ones he has been frowning over. They're not quite right, but the color is there. So he turns to Ignis, and tucks a few into his hand. On short stems are bright orange blooms, round and bursting from the center with tiny petals. The others Ignis will likely recognize as wild gladiolus stems, the flowers only just starting to unfurl. Likely the last before the frosts set in.

"It is customary to give particular flowers to those at the graveside. I know you will not mourn, and do not expect you to, so I forwent the usual gift of grace lilies. Instead, these are for strength, and the will to carry forward always." The look he flashes Ignis before he turns away isn't quite sheepish, but it is... something. A mix of emotions, perhaps. It's hard to tell what he's meant to feel at any given point, let alone a makeshift funeral. So he puts his attention to the physical task of plucking the petals of some of the other flowers, and scattering them over Ardyn's body.

"I'm not going to ask why his severed head has that sort of expression." Because even with Ardyn's head askew, Ravus doesn't miss the... concerning, frozen look there. "But as to your question: both. A scattering of petals to guide the soul to the Beyond. And flowers atop the grave to encourage new life to follow in place of the loss."

Indeed, while he may not be as familiar with the language of flowers as any Tenebraen, sometimes the visuals tell a man all he needs to know, and grace lilies would be a beautiful but unfitting sight in Ignis's hands considering the situation as it is. Still, to see gladiolus instead...

It's apparent, for just a moment. A soft fond little smile down to the famous sword lilies, and the brilliance of their petals.

He had to do this without Gladio by his side. Considering this was a rather spur of the moment sort of thing, an opportunity he hadn't foreseen, it couldn't be helped. Still, with the flowers in his hand... While he knows it's just a sentimental trick of the mind, he does feel indeed a little stronger.

Perhaps just a tad.

"...No, I won't mourn," he says, that brief soft moment gone as he glances down back to the corpse. He really should have put the head fully backwards. "However, while I have no such feelings for the man who lays here now, I will admit that it is still the taking of a life that has occurred today. Whatever the reason may be, there is no denying that simple fact. I was told to keep this in mind, during my training, and it is a lesson I do try to always remember. So, I will follow your example as best I can. And who knows? Perhaps it will have an effect."

And he can stop being such a pain in the ass motherfucker in the afterlife. Ignis has his doubts on that.

"Let me assist in spreading the flower petals. Perhaps a few tucked into that embarrassing coat of his, if only to keep from getting lost in the dirt." And, guided by Ravus on what flowers would perhaps be best or most suitable for this task, that is exactly what he does. For this, he even removes his filth-encrusted gloves so that delicate assassin fingers can pluck the petals neatly from their homes without ruining their delicate beauty. Scattered, tucked away... With his head placed like it is, he still makes a bewildering picture, but the petals class it up at least a tad, he supposes.

After that, there's nothing more he can do but layer the dirt over him. It's not easy with the axe being what it is, but a good bit of it can be resolved just by pushing the dirt along with the blade. It takes time, and perhaps it's not neat, but... Ignis manages.

And more flowers continues to make it look just a tiny little bit better as well.

Maybe it's a only a superifical thing, merely a sentiment, but the strength that comes of being reminded of a loved one isn't something Ravus can ever disregard. He's glad to witness that fond smile, before it's back to business.

"It's not a choice to be made lightly. One bears the weight of it the rest of their lives. Until another must take the burden up," Ravus says, as he carefully looks over which flowers to give Ignis to pluck. "Terribly cyclical, but that is the natural order of things."

They lay the petals out, pressed into hands and pockets and folds of cloth. Until the burial must be finished, and Ignis takes up the axe again. Ravus helps as he can, nudging the turned earth back into place, until there's only the remaining flowers to place.

It's as he's arranging them, knelt there on the ground, that he glances over his shoulder. The emotion he wears is carefully controlled, but the sincerity softens his gaze regardless.

"Thank you for humoring me in all of this. I don't know why I feel so sentimental about something that may not ultimately matter. I don't even know if the Beyond exists in this world... But I feel as though I must at least try to hold onto what I have left of my home." The why of it all, he says he doesn't know, but there's more than one side of him that offers insight. Grief, the desperation to cling to the dwindling foundation of everything he's ever loved fading away. But also the low roll of thunder in his mind, dark clouds cresting a hill. The storm isn't so ominous as it is inevitable and sure. The dragon sharing his soul seems to approve too.

"Though it does leave us with the aftermath... What are we to do now? I have a distinct feeling our hosts here will not be pleased."

Indeed, Ravus may say he doesn't know, but Ignis is kind enough to not call him out on it. He can't say he understands the feelings completely just yet. All he can say is that... He knows that one day - sooner than later, to the ache of his heart - his hometown will fall, and he will be left adrift.

Ravus has been left adrift for much longer than he. If he can even have this small bit of debris to cling to...

"You needn't worry about our host," Ignis reassures him. While this may have been a crime of convenience in some ways - mostly that it was convenient for him to get Ardyn alone - Ignis is always thinking. He's also had a lot of training and done his own personal research. This means, with all the time he had to hunt down bandits, kill Ardyn, and then start digging a grave, well... He's thought of a decent enough explanation for this.

It's also a complete lie.

With that in mind, he looks over Ravus. "I will be the one to pass along the news of Ardyn's death. I think I may be better suited for it, truth be told." Ravus doesn't seem as though he's built for telling falsehoods. "Why don't you go back to my home, and I will see you there? I can fix us some tea to thank you for coming to look for me, and help with the funeral preparations."

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