[ the thing about nightmares was that people were meant to wake up from them. the brain would initiate a sequence that was tailor made to utterly devastate the dreamer, making those pressure points in the waking world something to be guarded. waking up would reset the nightmare and the person would go on about their life, thanking the stars that said things had not happened, relieved that none of it had been real.
this nightmare is real. no amount of pinching himself allows ignis to wake up and escape this turn of events. noct was dead and there was no sudden and magical turn of events to fix that, no way to cheat it in any shape or form. the reality of it had finally begun to sunk in once they had set noct to rest in his father's tomb, each of them helping to carry the young king's prone form to his final resting place. a small part of ignis had been affronted that it was all they could do for him in the end, that noct didn't have his own tomb like the others. he had done just as much, if not more and there would be nothing to mark it to the rest of the world. before leaving ignis glanced down and noticed the crimson stains on his gloves from their efforts. it wouldn't do and ignis quietly removed them, leaving them neatly by noct's side as he whispered a final goodbye and left.
the silence was deafening on the way to the hotel. there had been a small worry that gladio would simply walk away and refuse to get into the car, a niggling thought that briefly cut through the haze of grieving anxiety before vanishing. in a way it would be something ignis would understand, a sense of duty suddenly lost in one fell swoop, their largest purpose on life quickly and violently removed. prompto grieved in his own way, but for him it would be different. prompto had lost a best friend, ignis and gladiolus had lost their reasons for living. every so often ignis had checked the rear view mirror as if expecting noct to suddenly be there in the back seat, bemoaning the lack of food and complaining about not getting enough sleep. he doesn't materialize though and by the time they finally pull up outside the hotel, ignis is clutching the steering wheel hard enough to turn his knuckles white. the gil feels odd in his bare hands as ignis hands it over at the hotel, watching silently as prompto quickly excuses himself into his own room.
the first day had been the worst, though if pushed on it ignis wouldn't be able to describe most of it. he'd gone onto autopilot, continuing in his routine of royal duties and making sure that everything and anything prompto or gladio needed was seen to. he had to, what else was there? there was an underlying fear that if he stopped for long enough everything would go to pieces and he wouldn't be able to fix it, let alone recover. ignis knows on some deep down level that it's not healthy, but what was the alternative? there were no contingency plans on this kind of thing; he knows that he should have died with the king, it was his job was it not? now he simply moves from place to place, keeping his hands busy and trying not to remember where his gloves are. there's a lunch made and brought to both prompto and gladio before cleaning up, ingredients sorted into alphabetical order then rearranged into expiry date order. coffee is made and taken to the other two, lunch cleared away before ignis sets to work cleaning the regalia. it feels like a betrayal, the lump in his throat tightening ever so slightly when he finds noct's baseball cap under one of the seats and he runs a hand over it. would it be as if he was washing away what was left of noct? it felt so, though ignis knows they can't drive in a car that still has the king's blood on parts of it.
dammit. the regalia is abandoned, cap set neatly on the driver's seat as ignis goes to pick the coffee cups back up, noting absently that prompto and gladio have neither spoken, eaten or touched their coffee. nothing to complain about. ignis simply makes fresh coffee, sets up the ingredients for dinner, speaks briefly with the hotel owner in low tones that don't even hint at the turmoil churning through him before he takes gladio another coffee. it's gladiolus he's more concerned about at the moment. prompto's crying is like a knife to the heart, but gladio's silence is like nails down a chalkboard. still, ignis says nothing but continues in his routine as efficiently as he can, focusing on making dinner, clearing it away and setting down for the evening. sleep was impossible and all the retainer manages to do is map where the ceiling needs cleaning for tomorrow before he starts the routine all over again. food, coffee, cleaning, repeat. there's nothing else left in this etro-forsaken world and ignis isn't going to let his friends leave him, not if he can help it...
it's halfway through the day when ignis finally speaks up, placing another coffee on the windowsill next to gladio. he's equal parts concerned and annoyed at the shield, knowing that the silence isn't healthy yet somehow envying gladiolus' ability to just sit and ignore everything that's going on. the tremor of hands gives away the emotions running through the larger male, but ignis can't help but count inwardly to three before he speaks, trying to keep his tone as even as possible.]
Niflheim forces have been spotted approximately five miles away. We will need to move soon.
no subject
this nightmare is real. no amount of pinching himself allows ignis to wake up and escape this turn of events. noct was dead and there was no sudden and magical turn of events to fix that, no way to cheat it in any shape or form. the reality of it had finally begun to sunk in once they had set noct to rest in his father's tomb, each of them helping to carry the young king's prone form to his final resting place. a small part of ignis had been affronted that it was all they could do for him in the end, that noct didn't have his own tomb like the others. he had done just as much, if not more and there would be nothing to mark it to the rest of the world. before leaving ignis glanced down and noticed the crimson stains on his gloves from their efforts. it wouldn't do and ignis quietly removed them, leaving them neatly by noct's side as he whispered a final goodbye and left.
the silence was deafening on the way to the hotel. there had been a small worry that gladio would simply walk away and refuse to get into the car, a niggling thought that briefly cut through the haze of grieving anxiety before vanishing. in a way it would be something ignis would understand, a sense of duty suddenly lost in one fell swoop, their largest purpose on life quickly and violently removed. prompto grieved in his own way, but for him it would be different. prompto had lost a best friend, ignis and gladiolus had lost their reasons for living. every so often ignis had checked the rear view mirror as if expecting noct to suddenly be there in the back seat, bemoaning the lack of food and complaining about not getting enough sleep. he doesn't materialize though and by the time they finally pull up outside the hotel, ignis is clutching the steering wheel hard enough to turn his knuckles white. the gil feels odd in his bare hands as ignis hands it over at the hotel, watching silently as prompto quickly excuses himself into his own room.
the first day had been the worst, though if pushed on it ignis wouldn't be able to describe most of it. he'd gone onto autopilot, continuing in his routine of royal duties and making sure that everything and anything prompto or gladio needed was seen to. he had to, what else was there? there was an underlying fear that if he stopped for long enough everything would go to pieces and he wouldn't be able to fix it, let alone recover. ignis knows on some deep down level that it's not healthy, but what was the alternative? there were no contingency plans on this kind of thing; he knows that he should have died with the king, it was his job was it not? now he simply moves from place to place, keeping his hands busy and trying not to remember where his gloves are. there's a lunch made and brought to both prompto and gladio before cleaning up, ingredients sorted into alphabetical order then rearranged into expiry date order. coffee is made and taken to the other two, lunch cleared away before ignis sets to work cleaning the regalia. it feels like a betrayal, the lump in his throat tightening ever so slightly when he finds noct's baseball cap under one of the seats and he runs a hand over it. would it be as if he was washing away what was left of noct? it felt so, though ignis knows they can't drive in a car that still has the king's blood on parts of it.
dammit. the regalia is abandoned, cap set neatly on the driver's seat as ignis goes to pick the coffee cups back up, noting absently that prompto and gladio have neither spoken, eaten or touched their coffee. nothing to complain about. ignis simply makes fresh coffee, sets up the ingredients for dinner, speaks briefly with the hotel owner in low tones that don't even hint at the turmoil churning through him before he takes gladio another coffee. it's gladiolus he's more concerned about at the moment. prompto's crying is like a knife to the heart, but gladio's silence is like nails down a chalkboard. still, ignis says nothing but continues in his routine as efficiently as he can, focusing on making dinner, clearing it away and setting down for the evening. sleep was impossible and all the retainer manages to do is map where the ceiling needs cleaning for tomorrow before he starts the routine all over again. food, coffee, cleaning, repeat. there's nothing else left in this etro-forsaken world and ignis isn't going to let his friends leave him, not if he can help it...
it's halfway through the day when ignis finally speaks up, placing another coffee on the windowsill next to gladio. he's equal parts concerned and annoyed at the shield, knowing that the silence isn't healthy yet somehow envying gladiolus' ability to just sit and ignore everything that's going on. the tremor of hands gives away the emotions running through the larger male, but ignis can't help but count inwardly to three before he speaks, trying to keep his tone as even as possible.]
Niflheim forces have been spotted approximately five miles away. We will need to move soon.