Shhh. One breath at a time, Noct. Go slowly, I've got you.
[Still holding him tight, Ignis finds himself suddenly reminded of a time when they were younger, when Noct would sometimes run to him like this after nightmares, and how after the marilith he wasn't able to run anymore but he would still seek out comfort like this if Ignis moved to him to offer it. He rocks back and forth, slow and easy, mostly silent but with the occasional soothing nonsense sound escaping his throat as he tries to console Noct as best he can.]
I know it hurts, darling.
[It hurts him, too. He doesn't try to hide it, or to rationalize the hurt away. Not this time. Not when the both of them have raw wounds reopened by this.]
It wasn't your fault. None of us knew — Clarus, the Marshal. No one suspected, none of us.
[ Could they have stopped it? Any of it? In this moment Noctis understands the horror of being wholly, entirely outclassed. They wouldn't have made a difference even if they were there -- and he wonders what his father felt, in those final moments. Was he afraid? Did he already know?
His grip tightens in Ignis' shirt, anger and frustration and grief welling. It should choke him, all of it, and he finally looks up, reminded that he's not the only one grieving, that this was Ignis' home, too. The people he loved, the life he's lived. ]
You must be hurting, too.
[ Noctis is not the only one suffering, he has to keep telling himself that. ]
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[Still holding him tight, Ignis finds himself suddenly reminded of a time when they were younger, when Noct would sometimes run to him like this after nightmares, and how after the marilith he wasn't able to run anymore but he would still seek out comfort like this if Ignis moved to him to offer it. He rocks back and forth, slow and easy, mostly silent but with the occasional soothing nonsense sound escaping his throat as he tries to console Noct as best he can.]
I know it hurts, darling.
[It hurts him, too. He doesn't try to hide it, or to rationalize the hurt away. Not this time. Not when the both of them have raw wounds reopened by this.]
It wasn't your fault. None of us knew — Clarus, the Marshal. No one suspected, none of us.
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His grip tightens in Ignis' shirt, anger and frustration and grief welling. It should choke him, all of it, and he finally looks up, reminded that he's not the only one grieving, that this was Ignis' home, too. The people he loved, the life he's lived. ]
You must be hurting, too.
[ Noctis is not the only one suffering, he has to keep telling himself that. ]