Noctis Lucis Caelum (![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
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childrenofbahamutlogs2025-02-01 06:49 pm
berriedmemories) wrote in childrenofbahamutlogs2025-02-01 06:49 pm
berriedmemories) wrote in childrenofbahamutlogs2025-02-01 06:49 pm
every move feels like a new beginning [all]
It's hard to say just who realizes it first. Gladio, with the absence of a warm body against his own, not even forewarned with the shift of an earlier riser going to get the house warm and ready? Noctis, lacking the sight of Ignis patiently stoking the hearth and wishing him well on whatever fishing he'd like to check out to see if the ice has thawed even a little bit again? Or even Prompto, forcing his way through the paths carved in the snow only to come home with no little plate of fruit set aside for him or a warm drink to cradle in cold hands.
Ravus may only realize after being contacted by one of the others, or noticing something is otherwise amiss in the belated smoke from the chimney.
Any inquiry in Town reveals that there's been no sign of Ignis stubbornly pushing out towards the morning market either, now resumed with the blizzard and danger of intellect devourers passed. The local bakery hasn't seen him step in for the usual morning snacks either, nor any fresh bread. For all intents and purposes...
It seems Ignis has disappeared.
At least from Town.
Yet if any worry has time to stoke further into panic, it isn't given such an allowance. While morning and noon both pass by without any sign of the man... It is sometime in the afternoon that four rocks all get warm with a message. Noctis, Gladio, Ravus, and Prompto all get the same thing, a mass-sent request written in a familiar script. Neat and clear, letting nothing be misunderstood.
I am at the summoning circle and making my way back home. Someone do bring me my furs. It's freezing.
...Which is how four men all go sprinting at full speed towards Ignis's location. Well. One man starts warping probably, one or even two of the other men manage to pull the foruth along, and maybe if that fourth hauls someone up to go faster so obey Ignis's wishes, well, who knows. It's probably all a blur. And it is a blur that Ignis is unaware of until it all hits him at full speed while he's in the middle of trudging through the snow, holding himself for warmth.
Noctis may not realize anything is off right off the back when he barrels into Ignis. Yes, he's rather dissheveled, and seems to have lost his jacket at one point, his hair is a bit of a mess.... But even at the start of their "roadtrip", they got into all sorts of ridiculous shenanigans, didn't they? Despite seeming rather desolate, Leide had a lot to poke around in. And if Ignis grabs him in return, looks at him for just a brief second with a blazing worried intensity before sinking back into quiet relief, well...
Maybe he can ask about that later. Or maybe he won't.
The rest of them, however? They'll realize it instantly what it means, to see Ignis with his hair messed up in such a way rather than carefully styled, the way his dark print shirt clings to his skin in a way once wet and now frozen somewhat rigid, the dirt and filth and bruises which can just be slightly seen on his arms as he holds Noctis close.
And they can understand what it means when Ignis manages to look at them - properly look at them, with eyes not yet scarred - and simply seems to hold a sort of knowing.
And then, of course, they're all in a pile, which may or may not include furs as much as it may nor may not eventually include Noctis in a giant fluffy form, so perhaps it's a point that they don't have time to dwell on immediately.
Still, furs and cuddling can only be so much for someone who has been pulled straight from a storm-and-Astral ravaged city in such a wet state. So there's not much time wasted before they finally all go back home. It only takes a step inside for Ignis to look around and immediately declare, "Not a one of you has had a proper breakfast or lunch, have you?"
He is fully running on reserves of adrenaline, and he plans to get as much done in the short amount of time he has access to that.
Despite this, well... There are a couple of times to get him alone in this time. The first is when he has someone fetch some of his warmer clothes. The good news is that, at the 19 years old he was here initially, there wasn't too much more room to actually grow. So everything still fits more or less than same, especially since there had been things tailored for flexibility in case of more dragon changes. While he's getting out of wet clothes, someone is more than free to be there to inquire about how he feels...
Another chance is of course down in the kitchen, where Ignis gets right back into the swing of things by ordering people around simply so that the house can be properly warmed up and no one is in his way in the kitchen. If people listen to that is another thing, or perhaps they get roped into helping retrieve things down from the cellar. If they want to talk with him as he cooks, perhaps catch the way he has to pause for a split second to stop adrenaline jitters...
Listen, keep it to yourself.
Despite all of that... A late lunch and perhaps early dinner is made, with plenty left behind so that can be heated up over the fire later for another meal if anyone is still peckish. But perhaps that late dinner will become a breakfast instead.
After all, when dinner is done and they've all settled in for Ignis to catch up on just how much time has passed and the others to confirm he's alright, well... The adrenaline could only ever last for so long. It's not a surprise to see that, even as he's trying to pay attention to everyone's words, he's starting to nod off. Yet at the suggestion that he retire to his and Gladio's room, there is just the slightest of hesitation, a glance back over towards Noct.
It goes without saying that the choice quickly becomes not just "retire to his and gladio's room" but what is now "everyone's room". Fortunate that Gladio long ago reinforced the bedframe so that it could withstand whatever draconic changes might have come. If Ravus decides to come with them (which funnily enough no one would probably protest), that might push it to its limits... but that's if Ravus can be convinced into coming into bed with them.
Certainly he won't necessarily be turned away...
And that seems to be it. A somewhat worrying day (even more worrying for those who know how close to something unchangeable Ignis seems to be), but resolved somewhat clearly.
...At least until the middle of the night. And it's a toss up on just who might notice the very subtle little jerk that Ignis makes, who might wake up at that little bit of movement, and notice him staring up at the ceiling, skin pale even while surrounded on all sides by other bodies.
He won't say anything if no one else does.
Our sky darkens, and the world appears.
Ravus wakes with the sun, as per usual, but on his morning patrol (one can never be too careful, especially after the walking, exploding brains incident) he notices something off. A man tuned to rigid routine like himself sees the lack of smoke plumes from the neighboring chimney as odd. Ignis rises at about the same time he does, and typically, by his first full loop of their area, it's billowing. Not today. Ravus stares at the empty space above the chimney spout with a strange sense of dread filling the space between his ribs. It's oppressive how quickly it weighs heavy, but he tells himself it's nothing. It's certainly not the familiar ache he might have once felt when he and Lunafreya occasionally shared the strange, disturbing sensations of fate weaving around them. He hasn't felt those pangs since he lived under his mother's roof, yet the eerie nostalgia remains. Something is amiss.
But this isn't their world. He's no longer steeped in the power of the Oracle's blood. It's just a late morning for his dear friend, that's all.
Until it isn't.
The blur of it all sweeps him up, and one moment he's tending to his stock of herbs, and the next they're all ushering an older, but so much more familiar to him, Ignis back home. Ravus knows exactly the moment he's been ripped from. It's all burned into his memory like a blazing brand. And he knows the haunted look Ignis wears. And he knows the bruises on his body. And he knows the salt-sting on his face from the whip of the wind and rain. He knows. And he wishes he could just keep the man still long enough to wipe the salt and sweat from his brow, and apologize for everything they have and would suffer that day. But he's furious as a blaze, always moving, unwilling to waste the adrenaline, shouldering his burdens and bowing his back over plates of food.
Ravus can only hover, and gingerly stroke his thumb over the gouge in his arm where Ignis’ knife had ended their fight.
So he waits, watches, does as he's told. He helps the others settle into bed. Brings furs and blankets, extra pillows and cups of water. He fusses over them all, but especially Ignis, until everything feels as settled as it can be. Which leaves him... Standing there. Ravus swallows hard, awkwardly backing away from the bed as the others shift and settle. This feels... So intimate. These people, they love Ignis so much, and he knows how much he loves them too. He shouldn't intrude. He's done his duty in being helpful and out of the way. There's little else to do now but let them rest. If anyone knows how exhausting that day in Altissia was, it's Ravus.
Yet his heart hurts too much to just leave. To go back to his empty home, to leave all those things unsaid. Well, maybe he can keep being useful. They're all exhausted, if not physically, then emotionally. It'd do them all well for someone to be on guard. Ravus is a perfect choice. So he's gone briefly to form a quick perimeter, then back again with one of the big, comfortable chairs from his home. He sets it down near enough to the bed to feel close, but not enough to be intrusive. Once he's double checked that all the doors are locked and no drafts come through the windows, he seats himself down, and simply guards them all. Like any attentive hound, he keeps his focus on his sleeping flock, but listens out for any disturbances.
Ravus’ vision has fully adjusted to the dark by the time Ignis twitches, and the silver raises his head slightly. For a long moment, he waits to see if he will simply drift back to sleep, but no, Ravus senses that same leaded weight in his gut again.
“I did not have the chance to speak with you about it that day... I felt Pryna there. I felt her die. But she... She showed you, didn't she? How much did she impart you with?” His voice is a whisper. Half to not disturb the others, but more so in sympathetic anguish. Fate is a cruel thing to carry.
What terrible burden did she lay on your head like a crown of thorns?
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Or perhaps, at least not hear right now, with the answer still tight around his throat like a vice.
Slowly, delicately, the figure in the midst of the pile begins to push himself upwards, but just a bit. Ignis takes care first to pull Noctis and Prompto closer together, bends close over Gladio. Even with the words whispered against the man's ear, Ravus my overhear them regardless: "I'm just getting up for a bit of tea, love, and to pour Ravus a cup as well. I'll be back to bed soon. I won't leave you."
Not without his hands made bloody from the effort of trying to stay.
From there, he carefully extracts himself from the pile, going over Gladio through the blankets rather than navigating the mess which is Noctis and Prompto tangled together. When he finally pulls out, he takes a moment to adjust the blankets. Make sure the warmth doesn't leave them, even if he must just for a moment.
And with that.... A short, quick, commanding gesture to Ravus to follow him out of the room, his own steps dead silent against the wood as he pads over to the door.
He may as well make this not quite a lie, and so Ignis heads back downstairs. Doesn't speak a single thing until they've made it to the bottom, where he can stoke the hearth back into something once more, and fetch the teapot. With so much time passed, it might almost seem like he won't answer Ravus's question...
But he does. Quiet, and coiled tight in his throat. "The end of the prophecy."
Just what it means to be a chosen king.
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So he doesn't push. He simply obeys that beckoning gesture, and sticks close. Close enough to be near enough to brush if Ignis wants to take solace in that, but Ravus keeps the space carefully measured until he's ready.
Ignis is warming the kettle, and Ravus is bringing over the stock of tea leaves and herbs. Many of them he's brought from his foraging, and he's picking through chamomile and lavender when finally he's deigned with an answer. His fingers stop their slow movements over the dried sprigs, and his gaze falls on the steep shadows cast by the fire along Ignis' face. The dancing light need not show him anything. He can hear it all in the tightness of the other's voice.
"I could never wish that burden on anyone else; not on my worst enemies, but least of all on a dear, beloved friend," Ravus says quietly, and comes to sit before the fire with his jars of herbs and a pair of cups. He sits beside Ignis, this time close enough to brush him as he settles. "Though my sympathy could never ease the pain, I am sorry it has been etched into your heart all the same."
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Dark. Like that room. A room lit only by Noctis's own brilliance and the glow of those damned weapons as they hovered, and then plunged -
And then it was only darkness.
Darkness far worse than what he's had to walk through in this simple little house, far worse than a simple lack of electricity or even fire. The kind of darkness that exists only when the world has been robbed of something precious beyond words. Something that has made up all of Ignis's existence. Worse, not a one of them was there. Not a single one of them could be there to hold his hand, or try to stop it, it was only a horde of worthless ghosts who would not do a thing - or was it could not from a spectre whose sword he knew well?
Ignis does not reach out to hold Ravus. All he does is grind his own hands together, fingers pressing down so hard into his knuckles as though he can somehow find some measure of ways to take it all in hand and make it stop.
But he doesn't chase away that pressure against him, either.
Perhaps Ravus may find it an unsettling sort of reflection, to sit besides Ignis as he stares into the flames. The quiet terror and despair which pulls taut all the muscles in his jaw, how his gaze looks straight through the flames as though they and the rest of the world don't matter an ounce - even if they were to leap forward and consume all else around him. As though if he only looks hard enough, digs violently enough until his fingers are bloody...
And yet something digs at him. A question that he did not get an answer to, did not have the time nor opportunity to get an answer to - and never would, from what little he can make out of Gladio's memories.
A breath, to steady himself, through the nose. Held deep in his chest until he can feel some measure of steady.
"...Lady Lunafreya, to my understanding, has always been kind."
He never met the woman herself properly, granted. Lunafreya was always Noctis's dear friend, long before there was any talk of engagement or marriage from twisted political workings of an enemy nation. In truth, perhaps she was one of the few people in the world who could truly understand his situation in a way that even Ignis couldn't ever match despite his best efforts. Royalty, leaders of a nation, burdened with great and terrible things.
Wretched things.
Of course, there were numerous tales of the Oracle's kindness - both Lunafreya's and those of past generations, grand gestures and little efforts alike. Radio stories, newspaper articles, gossip filtered through the masses in various degrees of truth and intensity...
But mostly, he knew she was kind through Noctis. Knew of her spirit, her reassurances, her hope, through what of her letters Noct ever bothered to share with him, especially when they were younger.
And for that...
"Why would she pass it on to me?" To anyone, that terrible black hole of a future, but to him especially.
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"I am not my sister. I am not her grace, her kindness, or her powers. I am merely her shadow, and so what you may glean from me is only the outline of who she was." Ravus speaks it as a warning. All he can offer is his thoughts on the matter, offer insight as only an older brother can. But he can't speak for her. He never could, no matter how much he wished to.
"But," he says, the word heavier on his tongue than a single syllable should be. This isn't what he wants to tell Ignis, but it is the more practical explanation. "I think the most likely answer is that she showed you the truth as an act of mercy. To prepare you for the loss, to brace you for the worst pain imaginable. To make you cherish the life you have with him, and no longer will love when he is gone."
Still, even when if he finally agreed to let Lunafreya make her choice to die, the hope in him could never follow her so willingly. And so another answer remains. This time, Ravus sets his hand over Ignis' tightly clasped ones. Gentle, not prying, but there and warm in the dark din of the firelight.
"Or perhaps, even more graciously, she gave it to you with hope. Hope that perhaps you could do what I could not, and subvert even gods."
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Ignis feels the bile on the back of his throat, and worst besides.
There is nothing merciful in the idea of showing him Noctis's death. Every single blasted second he has ever been with Noctis, he has been glad for such small things, even when it drove him half mad. What other life would he ever desire? To know he was safe after every battle, to see his smile at his favorite dish, to lay besides him as they took a rest after a long day of travel and battle and survival....
Ignis has never had to be reminded to treasure his days with Noctis. He felt it the first time they ever met, and Noctis held on tight to his hand with both of his own.
But with this vision, even just the thought of Noctis walking into that consuming dark all on his own because- because -
A power greater than even that of the six, purifying all by the Light of the crystal and the glaives of rulers past. The King of Kings shall be granted the power to banish the Darkness, but the blood price must be paid. To cast out the Usurper and usher in dawn's light will cost the life of the Chosen. Many sacrificed all for the King, so must the King sacrifice himself for all.
Beneath Ravus's gentle pressure, he can feel the way Ignis's hands tremble again - but not in fear this time. Now, the look in his eyes has gained not only focus but a focus, and, for all the greenery in his irises, his eyes burn harder than the flames they reflect.
"Then I hope she may forgive me," he murmurs, low tone already so set that it is clear he will push forward regardless of forgiveness, "but for my own selfishness, it is the latter that I will choose to believe."
Because no. No. He refuses to live a life of surrender, of letting Noctis simply slip from his fingertips, and those of all others who love him so dearly and even now rest in bed with him. How dare anyone to say otherwise, to believe they can take him away.
With the fear no longer so sharp and painful as it had been fresh from his awakening, clarity feels as though it returns to him. Clarity, and outrage.
What grand claims that blasted prophecy had made! For Noctis to be stronger than all of the Six - there is no doubt in Ignis's breast just how incredible his Noct is. And yet he can remember how desperate all of them were in Altissa - it was only yesterday for him. Not even that long. That arrogant, feckless, wretch of a snake -
Perhaps Ignis should hold more respect for the gods. He doesn't think he shall.
Power is not necessarily worthy of respect, after all, and if Noctis were truly more powerful than all of the Six combined... But no, it's in connection with something else as well, isn't it? The Crystal, and the ring... But why now? Why should he sacrifice his life? Did even a single one of the Six ponder why his life was worth both more and less than them trying with their own?
A memory stirs in his mind. It has been many years since he once sat down with Elidibus within the Hall of Rhetoric, explained a great deal about Insomnia and so much about the city. The Crystal. The Six.
Your Astrals are a curious group. Willing enough to involve themselves in the affairs of man as they deem it to be just, but not so much as to provide further succor to those who look to them for comfort. Of them all, if the Crystal indeed possesses a will of its own, it seems the most benevolent of them all.
Would it be a blaspheme of me to wish you and your world see a time that you are rid of them?
Back then, he had mentioned to Elidibus that the old tales claimed the Astrals bestowed the Crystal upon the Lucis lineage. What truly is stopping them from sweeping clean the Starscourge? What would hold them back from bringing back the dawn themselves?
A furious emotion, almost physical, burns in his throat again. Many sacrificed all for the King, so must the King sacrifice himself for all. Is that so? And yet it seems as though so much more have sacrificed themselves for the gods, who have yet to so much as grace them with anything but earthquakes and floods and a blasted temper tantrum. A disgraceful way to refer to the divine, perhaps, but he is far past the brink of caring. Still, if that is the way the gods deign to frame it -
So lost in his own head, the sound of the kettle whistling outright startles him, and Ignis blinks, pulled back into reality. He seems off-kilter, in fact, coming back into his own self awkwardly.
"Ah, my apologies," he murmurs, reaching forth with one hand to take it away from the flames. The heat licks at his skin, just enough to warn of pain. It helps, if one could believe it. Almost as much as Ravus's hand still laid over his own helps a bit. "Allow me to make you a cup. And... thank you for your words, Ravus." Ignis closes his eyes for just a brief moment, eyelashes resting along skin long since warmed with their proximity to the hearth, and his gaze focuses on his companion when he opens them again. "Perhaps you are not Lady Lunafreya, but there is a beautiful grace and kindness within you regardless."
Not to mention... "If we are to believe the gracious option, then perhaps your paths were more parallel than you would have known."
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Iron Chef (XV spoilers)
(All losses that bleed deep - all people he
doubtswonders if he'll ever see again. With Cor, at least, Cor seems to have thought he had died or was dying in his own time, which is years away yet from Gladio's perspective...but it frightens him, all the same. Cor's not meant to die - and not because he's called the Immortal. Simply because Gladio can't imagine - doesn't want to imagine - a world without him.)Iggy...he's not going back to his own death, wherever and whenever he's been sent back home. It's just the thought of being without him again that feels like dying.
But he holds it together, as best he can. The memory of how badly he'd fallen short the last time he grieved over Iggy is etched too firmly in his mind. This time he resolves to do better. Has to do better - he's got three people who can't hold as strong as he can. What else is a Shield for? And, to his own bittersweet relief...he acquits himself. Proves he's not the same fuck-up he used to be. Not perfect, not yet - he snaps at the others a few times when his attention lapses, knows he isn't hiding the stress and fear as well as he ought to - but no longer a disgrace.
A partner Iggy could be proud of, if he were still there.
He'd given up all hope practically from the moment he'd woken up to an empty bed, a house that was emptier than it should be. (Not empty, not with Prom and Noct, but the loss was still palpable from the first.) So Iggy's return, only a few hours later...Ravus throwing him into the Regalia hadn't knocked as much wind out of him. He's stunned nearly to silence, scarcely able to believe it's real.
And it isn't the same Iggy who left, either. An older Iggy, still not his Iggy but so much closer. An Iggy who remembers their road trip, remembers so many things...and, judging by that look he gives Gladio, an Iggy who remembers things that haven't even happened yet.
It's a guilty weight off his mind. Gladio had never known how he was supposed to tell the younger Ignis about the prophecy - about the idea that Noct would have to die to save the world. He'd shrunk from doing so; not just because it would distress Iggy, but because he'd felt that an Iggy who knew that fact while being stuck in a place where he couldn't work to try to avert Noct's fate would potentially tear himself apart. But it had never felt right keeping such important information from him, either.
Now...it seems it's not his decision to have to make anymore.
It's not surprising that Iggy gets cooking almost as soon as they get back to the cottage after fetching him. Never mind the fact that of course he'd fuss over all of them not eating properly(as though they could have, under the circumstances, as though Iggy would have eaten if any of them had vanished), but Gladio knows his partner, and he knows displacement activity when he sees it. So he follows him into the kitchen, lurking silently nearby, doing little but occasionally handing things as Iggy asks for them...until he sees what he's expecting to see. The tremors of those hands.
Then he steps up behind Ignis, pressing up against his back, his hands moving to gently bracelet Iggy's wrists. "Pushing too hard," he murmurs in his ear.
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He knows - they know - that Gladio will step forward when he needs to.
Like now.
Ignis breathes out, tries to keep it as steady as that pressure against his spine, and doesn't pull his hands away from Gladio. For once, he allows the reassurance of their pressure, their grip. "Just a bit of adrenaline," he says quietly, staring down at where their hands are connected. The knife he still holds in his hand, and the grip that he has to remember to keep as a proper cooking hold rather than... anything else. It's not needed, here. There are no enemies to tear through. Just vegetables and chicken which needs to be cut and cooked.
"...I worried you dearly, didn't I?"
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He rubs his thumbs along Iggy's wrists. "As for the shakes - doesn't matter why you have them. What matters is you're pushing yourself too much. You haven't even settled down to breathe since you got back...or the adrenaline would have worn off."
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"If I settle down, I don't think I'll quite wake up," he admits quietly, turning his head to return the soft nuzzling he's being given. Just having the weight of Gladio back with him is reassuring, and every other little detail only adds to the blanket over his heart. A feeling of ease. Different from the pure numbing relief of having Noctis in his grasp, of knowing he was safe and alive and well, but...
Important, still, in a different way.
"It's just as when we finally pulled ourselves out from the depths of Costlemark. I can still do this much." Even if he'd go through Costlemark a million times and more, if to never have Noctis in that kind of situation ever again.
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His breath is slow and warm against Ignis' ear. There's a feeling that Gladio is somehow trying to pass his own steadiness into Iggy to stabilize him - through his touch, through his breathing, through his presence. Trying to get Iggy to harmonize his body with Gladio's, wordlessly. "You pushed yourself too hard after Costlemark, too, not that anyone's counting. But that wasn't as bad." Costlemark had been a whole ordeal, sure, but that had just been tiring. This...this is Iggy rattled down to his bones. No mere gauntlet could do that.
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But they were all still together, in the end.
And he always thought that they could keep each other safe from all else.
The weight of the prophecy weighs at the back of his neck again, something unbearable and asphyxiating. Only Gladio's presence there against him, solid as a rock, keeps it from getting any worse, and Ignis finally relents in setting the knife down on the counter. "Perhaps it's both," he admits softly, the truth coming out easier for him than it would have in a time that is both only the other day and also many years ago. "If you won't let me chop things like this... Can I at least have my hand free for something else I would like to try?"
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All of my memories keep you near.
Noct is still shifted strangely, portions of him thickly furred, soft and warm where he's been wrapped around Iggy the entire trek back. But as they step into the bedroom the fur finally begins to recede. The claws follow in short order so Noctis can start undoing the buttons of Iggy's shirt.
They need to get him out of the stiff wet clothes but Noct can't bring himself to keep going past those first few buttons. Just enough that he can put warm hands inside the damp fabric, settle them on Iggy's skin. Then he leans forward to press his forehead just below the other man's collarbones and lets out a breath far more shaky than he wants to admit. He'll get back to helping Ignis peel off the half frozen clothes but he needs to just... feel him, real and solid and present.
"I thought you were gone." Fingers curling, gripping tight to his sides, a sniffle Noct tries to pretend isn't there. "Like Dad."
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But he's clung here. He's held close to Noctis here, all the long way back to the home they've made in this place, his fingers buried deep into thick fur and breathing in Noctis's scent from where he's put his face close to his hair.
There's no argument when Noctis pulls him along at the request of new clothes. No chiding that he can undress himself when those fingers carefully undo the first few buttons.
All Ignis does is raise his hand and cradle the back of Noctis's head as he buries himself against him, the two of them folding into each other like a car crash, metal twisting into itself to make extraction impossible.
"I apologize for the worry," he whispers, his other arm folding over Noctis's back. "If I had my way, I would never leave your side for a moment, Noct." Gently, reassuringly, his fingers stroke through messy black hair. "But when I do... I return to you always, as soon as I am able. I promise you that. I am here now."
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"I know... I just.... if we're in different worlds ASAP could be-" A shake of his head, brief and small so as to not disturb where they're leaned into one another. It could be a long time is the implication. Too long is what he doesn't say.
Finally, Noct shifts a half step closer, arms finally wrapping around Ignis in return. It's awful, the wet fabric of Ignis' shirt dragging over his fur but Iggy is so cold he doesn't dare shift back to being fully human just yet. No he just tucks his arms under that shirt, pressed tight to his boyfriend's back, and clings. Maybe unbecoming for a prince but... who the fuck cares.
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"Perhaps. And yet..." His fingers stroke through Noctis's hair. "All the worlds one could think of, and many more besides... Yet we are all here together, aren't we?"
In fact, him, Prompto, Gladio... they all managed to stick together, from their world to another to this one here as well.
What are the odds?
Beautiful fortunate ones, to Ignis's eye. So... "I dare say that such a situation is enough to make a man feel lucky." Lucky enough to say he'll always return to Noctis's side, no matter what may happen.
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His claws fumble on the last few buttons but he does manage to finally get that half frozen shirt off his boyfriend. The slightly more challenging buttons on Ignis' pants he will have to do himself, his claws too thick and clumsy to combat how snug Ignis' pants are. "I'll get you something cozy... yeah?"
He's hesitant to step away entirely. Doesn't want to take his hands away, as though Iggy might just disappear if he turns his back. In the end he only does let go because Ignis needs room to take his pants off and he can't do that with Noct hovering so damn close. It's all of 5 steps to the wardrobe where Noct can collect one of Iggy's heavier sweaters.
And if Ignis needs to sit down to pry off frozen socks and shoes, to shimmy out of stiff fabric, he may just notice something new on his nightstand.
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Other things, as well. Things that Ignis dreads to think about right now, and yet which won't stop haunting him.
And maybe Ignis needs this as well, to hold onto Noctis and feel the warmth of his body that is only made a touch wet from tromping through the snow holding onto Ignis. He might not be as obvioux, but he needs it too, and indeed only pulls away from Noctis when his prince does. "It would help a good bit with this weather," he agrees. Fortunately, foresight even as a teenager had ensured he had plenty of large and thick sweaters to put on - something to take into consideration the bulk of his wings in case he couldn't put them back.
Obviously not a problem now, but... that just will help make him feel a bit warmer and more snug.
In the meanwhile, indeed, he has to sit down if only so that he can force off his socks and shoes. Yet he barely even gets that far before he notes something on his nightstand. That endeavor is abandoned swiftly enough, and Noctis will find Ignis with the card in hand, a soft look on his face.
"...My neediness as a teenager really did make you fuss, didn't it?" he murmurs, as though he didn't admit this under great pain while wings ripped out of his back.
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Your eyes that have seen something faraway and dark
Thank whatever powers are out there, then, when the message pings. Proof positive that Ignis was safe, and making his way home. The rest, of course, is history...High speed, rushing history. The blond is most definitely going to talk to Ravus about being picked up like some sort of sports ball at a later date. At least it kept them moving fast.
Once everyone is back at the house, Prompto tries to make a point to stay out of the way. For as much as he is just as worried about Ignis as the rest of them, he also knows he has a tendency of getting...Underfoot, and doesn't exactly want to do that with emotions running high. The last thing he desires is to be a nuisance among so many people he loves. Yes, all he wants in his heart of hearts is to go and wrap his arms around his boyfriend, but he also senses an unspoken energy crackling around Ignis like static. Familiar in ways that make the flighty boy hesitant, make him surprisingly slow down and wait. He focuses on simply following whatever is demanded of him instead, hovering uncertainly and worriedly in adjacent rooms, and ultimately running supplies from the cellar up to the kitchen with dutiful swiftness when the time for food prep comes. All the while, he's trying to piece everything together and figure out what he can even do to help.
Something has shifted, of that much Prompto is certain. This is not too much unlike some past experiences he's seen others go through back in the simulation- disappearing after going into a slumber, only to return from a further time in their place of origin. Ignis is clearly older, has clearly aged, but the certainty of exactly when he has caught up to is less than easy to glean. Especially when things don't entirely add up. They found him with his hair mussed up in a specific way that sets the gears turning. There's that distant look that sometimes enters his striking green eyes. How he pauses erratically during cooking, something very much unusual to see. For someone as emotionally intelligent and empathetic as Prompto, he can tell there is worry involved.
Every part of him says it has to be Altissia. But if that was right, how Prompto recalls it, Ignis wouldn't have his vision anymore. What does that mean, then? The questions become so many and so loud in his head that Prompto finds himself stopped in the entryway of the kitchen, a sack of potatoes in his arms, frozen.
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How Prompto is sticking close to him, with Noctis having been given a bit of reassurance now.
Ignis understands the worry. He would have understood even back in Altissa, memories of this place dreamlike and strange, and he understands now with everything in stark relief again.
Memories within memories.
Ignis looks up when Prompto comes to an immediate stop, the potatoes clutched to like a lifeline, and he understands. Setting his knife down, he abandons his place at the kitchen counters to go straight to the blond. There's no words. Just a simple taking of the potato sack, set to the side on a table... before he does just what he had done for Noctis. He wraps his arms around the blond, one hand gently cradling his head, and he holds him tight.
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Prompto holds him back. He channels every ounce of worry, love, and care for Ignis he's feeling, and tries to express it in the way he circles his own arms around the man's midsection to cling tightly. The world settles back to where it needs to be once more, the rising panic within Prompto that his time is up and his second chance with his loved ones over subsides.
If Ignis is anywhere near from the when it seems he is (despite the contradiction of his eyesight), he's been through more than enough. He needs the steadiness of his loved ones just as much as they always need his own.
"You're back, Iggy. We're all here. Together." It is equal parts reassuring to Prompto himself as it is meant to be towards Ignis. "What happened? Were you in Altissia...?"
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The question that comes.. It's not a surprise. Someone had to ask, sooner or later. Ignis takes a breath, fingers still sliding through Prompto's hair.
"Indeed... Altissa. Ravus and I had made the decision, then, to partner together in order to find Noct, and Lady Lunafreya. We'd managed to make it across the city, to the altar... But I had not been able to see Noct just yet before I found myself here once more."
Well. That. And a prophecy given to him which has him by the back of the neck still.
Yet Ignis doesn't mention it yet. Where could he even begin to start? For Ignis, that prophecy has only just now been received, save for an hour or so in the time it took for them to make it here, to home. He hardly even knows where to begin with it... besides that he cannot bear to let it come to pass.
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As Prompto looks up, his heart soothed by his boyfriend's closeness, he listens to Ignis' every word with rapt attention. His expression shifts to something sad, then...Confused. At least he's confused until Ignis mentions that he hadn't yet seen Noctis by the time he was returned here to Town. That means he's more or less just before losing his eyesight in Altissa.
He chews on his lower lip and shakes his head, focusing on Ignis. Trying to fully parse out the whens will come with time, he figures. Right now, what matters most is...
"Yeah. Altissa was...Bad. You're ok. You're here. Noct's here. Just ..." Why is it that Ignis looks so haunted? "We're all safe, now."
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He remembers seeing this expression as a youth. He remembers seeing this expression in a vision. Ignis does not care for it either way.
Still, he keeps that to himself for now, and instead continues to slowly stroke Prompto's hair. "An understatement," he agrees quietly, knowing what Prompto is referring to and not bringing it up for now. His eyes. But they can discuss that at a later date. Ignis knows that he has to move forward with what energy he has for right now, or else, well. Nothing terrible, but he's committed to it now. He won't accept anything less. "And we are all safe for now."
But only for now. Only in this place, and even then, that isn't a guarantee.
He has to make it so.
Ignis pulls Prompto along, back to the table where he set down the potatoes. "So you needn't worry any longer," he assures the blond, tugging open the bag. The apple inside is still in good condition, he's glad to see. "Now, lets get back to work. And you can tell me what nonsense you all got up to in the time I was gone." Lets not talk about how he could become blind at any second, or how that's looming in his future, it's fine.
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