[All the stories that exist in this town are fairy tales. It seems sort of fitting, in a way that he can't quite name, but lately it's just seemed mocking — every page filled with handsome princes and princesses in despair, with destinies at play and happy endings waiting at the turn of the last page. It's hard not to wonder if someday the tale of Prince Noctis won't end up being a story told to children and children's children in Insomnia, in its own right. All the trappings are already there, frankly, just waiting for someone to spin it.
(He wonders who he would be, in the telling of that story. He's a side character, that's for certain, and he suspects the adjective most attached to his role would end up being "helpless".)
The one that sticks with him in the book, however, is Sleeping Beauty. It's not hard to see why: a cruel destiny meted out at birth, a young royal fated to die, a king who wished it weren't so but proved helpless to act against it. And there, then, the three good fairies who accompany the royal, who want the best and want to help, the one remaining one who hadn't granted her gift yet —
She wasn't able to spare the babe its curse. She could only make it so it wouldn't claim the child with death.
Those are the motifs whirling around and around in his head when he eventually falls asleep, uncomfortable on the couch because he's abandoned the bedroom for the sake of giving Noct his space. He's the one who'd walked away, and as far as Ignis is concerned, until he comes back on his own, he's entitled to all the space Ignis can give him.
It hurts, the separation, but he's used to this sort of sacrifice.
So he sleeps on the couch, dreaming fitfully at best and shallowly at worst, and so it's no real surprise that when something starts to move the book left resting on his chest, he rouses from the motion, stirred out of sleep by it.]
[ He says softly, and if there is ever a time where Noctis looks like he has his tail between his legs, this is it. Thankfully, Ignis looks like he's too groggy to really register that -- or maybe he isn't, Noctis doesn't know. Ignis is lovely in the dim light, vivid green eyes fogged with sleep, and there is something so very innocent about that.
Noctis very rarely gets to see him asleep and wake, and he bites his lip. The desire for space is over -- now, there's too much space and too little people, and Noctis hates being separated from Ignis, from Prompto, left all by himself to field his own whirling thoughts.
So Noctis gently moves the book, leaning over to see just what he's reading before closing it, catching some brief words like fairies and spindles and sleeping before he carefully sets it aside. ]
Bed's too empty.
[ He says softly, quietly apprehensive. I missed you. He doesn't want to wake him, because that will lead to far too many more conversations he's not ready for at this time of night -- it's selfish, surely it must be, how Noctis is seeking out comfort from him all the same, wanting to be close. ]
[Even half-asleep, Ignis is still attuned enough to Noctis to be able to pick up on what he's being asked for. It's not altogether unusual, this little exchange between the two of them; there were plenty of nights as children when Noct would turn up in his little bedroom, shake him awake, and seek him out in one way or another for comfort. Sometimes that meant creeping back down the corridors to Noct's room and crawling back under his mess of comforters together. Other times it meant pulling the blankets off Ignis's bed and crossing over to the window seat, and tucking in together so that they could count the stars together before drifting off.
Noct is twenty years old now, and a king. He's no longer a child, like they were back then. But the dance is still the same, and the nature of the request hasn't changed, and there isn't enough room on the couch for two, really, but that's hardly going to stop them, either, is it?
Vaguely, he starts to feel the nebulous sensation that Noct isn't supposed to be here, somehow, and it takes another minute before it occurs to him that the reason he's even on the couch to begin with is because he's been leaving Noct alone, giving him his space.
But now Noct is the one bridging the chasm between them, and Ignis looks up at him with sleepy eyes.]
It'll be snug.
[Which isn't a no. Quite the contrary, he's shifting his legs to make room for Noct to climb up on the couch between them, to help ensure that nobody gets a knee or an elbow in a bit of tender flesh while they try to make this work out.
He doesn't speak his invitation. He simply makes the space for Noct to fill, and his reply of come along, then might as well have been audible, for all that it's unmistakably there.]
[ Noctis doesn't hesitate -- he climbs in the very moment Ignis makes space for him, crawling atop him and bringing the blanket along. It'll be snug, but when has it ever stopped them?
Noctis rarely does it now, but oh, how comfortable they were when they were growing up, when seeking Ignis out is second nature until greater responsibilities kicked in. Now, he seeks him out in different ways, more attuned to how Ignis seems perfectly made for him to slot in, the warmth he craves that only he's able to offer.
Noctis buries his head under his chin, reaching out to delicately pluck Ignis' glasses from his nose -- the way he always did when Ignis falls asleep under books. He's setting it aside, dislodging his book from its pride of place and settling against his chest. Ignis is sleepy-eyed and soft, and he can't help but think that he's more gorgeous than he's ever seen him.
He's tugging the blankets over them both, getting comfortable. ]
You're out here without covers.
[ Not that they haven't roughed it out before, but they usually aren't alone. ]
[It's like a thick knot of concealed tension has suddenly eased free, when Noct crawls up onto the couch and drapes down over him. Like the comforting security of a weighted blanket, his body presses Ignis down into the cushions of the couch; his head comes to fit neatly against the underside of his chin, with the tips of Noct's sleep-tousled hair tickling at the sensitive skin there. Giving Noct his space had been an ordeal he'd endured through an adherence to duty alone. Now, at last, those iron bonds are snapping, and he's free to feel again.
But despite this, he still doesn't know where they stand. Seeking him out like this doesn't inherently mean it comes with forgiveness. More likely than not, there are still jagged edges to smooth down, between them.
He reaches up to help Noct arrange the blankets, using his better angle to make sure they come up all the way to the back of Noct's neck, instinctively helping to keep him snug and tucked in.]
[ Very comfortable -- Ignis is likely the sexiest pillow in the universe. And no, they have too much still to sort out, but this is some kind of blessed reprieve, perhaps, something that they both need from each other without words. Noctis slots back in where he belongs, wiggling so that the covers close over Ignis as well. It might be a warm night, but it's not so warm that he gets to go without a light blanket.
His hand resting on his chest, Noctis is too tired to put up a fight, resting and feeling the beat of his heart. ]
Sorry. You were just doing what you had to.
[ It might possibly be the first time ever that Noctis has actually apologised, but cut him some slack -- he got reamed by Prompto, which isn't a thing his best friend usually does, anyway. He sighs softly, an arm coming to wrap around him. ]
[His hand works its way up Noct's back, following the length of his spine, studiously avoiding his lower back where Ignis knows he's sensitive about being touched. Slowly, like petting a finnicky cat, he traces his fingers up to the nape of Noct's neck, weaving gently through the strands he finds there.]
I was trying to do the right thing...in a situation where there are no good answers.
[He falls silent, then, just holding him for a little while, feeling the way the rise and fall of his own chest causes Noct to raise and lower with every breath as a result.]
And you were trying to do the same, weren't you...
[ Noctis isn't sure what he was doing anymore -- by all rights he should depend on them, share the burden; but how much is too much for them, how can Noctis bear to break their hearts? He swallows hard, listening to the smooth tenor of his voice, the way it vibrates from his throat.
Ignis is always kind, he thinks. The man might be witty and sharp-tongued and vicious at times, but at his heart he is always very kind. He's settling into the petting like a cat that's found its favorite spot, savoring the feeling of his fingers over his neck, in his hair. ]
Yeah.
[ He says softly, closing his eyes and thinking of those words, the things Ignis would do for him -- does he understand that Noctis would do the same for him, for any of them too? ]
Just fairy stories. There's one about a young and beautiful princess who sleeps for a thousand years.
[It's undignified, and he'd never permit it in a million years if he were awake enough to appreciate it, but he yawns quietly before relaxing back down into a lull again, eyes closed and breathing evening out.]
Her true love wakes her up with a kiss, unsurprisingly.
[ It must be nice, sleeping for a thousand years. Noctis is drowsy, pleasantly so, tracing idle patterns over his chest as he contemplates the logistics of sleeping for a thousand years. ]
So her true love is way younger than her? Did she turn into some weird skeleton?
[ Because a thousand years, dude. ] Why was she sleeping?
[ Clearly, despite glaring plot holes, a certain young king finds himself interested, reminded of the many nights they'd spent together like this when they were children. ]
No, no. She was cursed into that sleep, and because it was a magical slumber, it kept her as young and pure as the day she entered it.
[Still. He doesn't really want to get into the particulars of why that story has been holding his attention — not when Noct is already vulnerable, and this moment between them is fragile.]
Let me tell you a different one. A proper bedtime story; I think you'll like this one better.
[ Noctis muses quietly, thinking about the curse, strangely uncomfortable at the parallels -- was Ignis thinking about it, too? Did he wonder about the same thing? Maybe he did. It's why he changed the subject, right?
He's settling on the comforting rise and fall of his chest, an arm around his waist almost possessively, breathing him in.
He's listening, of course. He's always listening, wanting to know just what he has in mind. ]
Mmmm. This story begins with a king. A wise, good king who had two sons, one elder and one younger.
[He pauses a minute, closing his eyes, knowing already that when Noct does the same, it's the visage of his father that will come to mind.]
And one day, a wicked witch came to the king's court, seeking a boon for some nefarious aim or another. But the king would have none of it, and sent her away.
[He strokes his hand over Noct's back, lulling him in time with the cadence of his words.]
Well, the witch decided to seek her revenge on the king, and knew that there was no better way to do it than through his sons. And so she crafted a spell, and wove an evil magic into a cloth, and returned to the castle grounds where the two boys were playing. But they were...
[He pauses, thinking, and then continues with a wry sort of amusement: ]
— flying kites, and it was the younger's turn to run free across the courtyards with it. So the witch thought the king had just one son, so she conjured a wind to blow the kite away, and when the young princeling chased after it, it drew him close enough to where she was hiding for her to throw the cloth over to him, changing him instantly into a cat.
[ Noctis lifts his head, immediately caught by the story, and also having the good grace to flush, embarrassed because flying kites, Six, he's never going to live this shitty lie down, ever. It's horrible and yet Ignis somehow weaves it in so beautifully.
It's a story of his own, and Noctis has always loved when Ignis cooks up something of his own. ]
So changing the princeling into a cat is evil?
[ Hmmm. Noctis is mulling it over in his head -- it wouldn't be so bad to be a cat, at least he'll get to laze around all day and take naps and boss people around with no consequence. And have plenty of fish. But they digress. ]
Well, she did that because she thought it'd be easier to catch him and skin him that way.
[He cracks his eyes open halfway, smiling warmly at him before letting them fall closed again.]
She began chasing him, and quite unsurprisingly, the prince-cat ran. But being a cat, he got mixed-up about which way was the right way to go, and so he ended up running into the forest surrounding the castle instead.
The witch chased after him. But the prince's elder brother, who had been nearby all along, overheard the commotion, and ran after them as well.
Noctis grimaces, curling up against Ignis as he noses at his jawline, tentatively nuzzling against it. He's not entirely sure if they can do this again -- he did just get pissed at Ignis and walked out, after all, and this thing is so new, so delicate, but he supposes he can test the waters anyway.
Also, Noctis is pretty sure the cat's supposed to be him -- he does get lost from time to time, but he's warmed by that smile so he gently nudges at him. ]
What did the prince's elder brother do? Did he kick her ass?
Alas, that privilege will be left to the king their father, when he finds out what happened. But no, what happens is that the two of them end up getting horribly lost in the woods — the cat and his brother both. And eventually they find each other, but by the time they do they're so turned around that they haven't the slightest idea of how to retrace their steps, or which way to pick to go home.
[He doesn't quite lean back into Noct's nuzzling, not yet, but he also doesn't pull away from it, either. He simply keeps very, very still, and lets it happen without intervention on his part, and sleepily opens his eyes again to watch Noct's face.]
The ground in that part of the forest was covered with nettles, and seeking to walk through it was hurting the princeling's little paws terribly. So his brother bent and picked him up, and moved him to ride on his shoulders, and they started walking, looking for someone who could assist them.
[ Noctis asks drowsily, at the same time aware that Ignis isn't leaning into him just yet. Is he mad? Probably not -- Ignis wouldn't tell him stories if he were; the man's mastered the art of vicious passive aggressiveness and this isn't one of those hallmarks.
This is something different, and Noctis doesn't blame him for being cautious and holding back; Ignis might be perceptive, but he's not a mind reader, and things between them hadn't actually been anywhere close to resolved. It's just paused for the time being, and Noctis has no idea how to sort it out just yet. ]
[It's an endearment that, in his head, he'd meant to sound teasing and a little bit patronizing; it's only after it leaves his mouth that he realizes there isn't much of a tease in it at all, and it leaves him drawing an uncertain breath, feeling momentarily like he's overstepped a boundary line that he shouldn't have.
Luckily, he's got the tale to fall back on, and he does so briskly.]
They wandered and wandered, until at last they came across a fairy's spring. And as they settled down to rest, the fairy appeared, and asked who they were and why they had come to her spring. So the elder brother explained the witch's treachery, and the curse that had befallen his brother, and told her how they were so very lost, and unable to find their way home.
Now, the fairy had never left her spring, so she had no knowledge of their castle, or how they might return to it. But as she looked the young princeling over, she realized — aha! This was a spell she recognized, and one that she knew how to break. But alas, she cautioned them, the price for breaking it was very dear.
[He strokes Noct's hair lightly.]
For three years, the elder prince would have to live in the forest, collecting the nettles and weaving them into cloth, and sewing the cloth into garments, until he'd managed to make a whole little set of clothes for his brother — a shirt, trousers, a cap, and even socks for his little feet. And in that time, he could neither smile nor laugh nor speak a single word, because if he did his brother would remain a cat forever.
Noctis shifts at the unexpected endearment, just a little. He's not sure if Ignis means it, or it's just another way to get him to be quiet and to listen to the rest of the story. But he kind of likes it, he supposes -- he's never heard the man use that on anyone else before, not even when he's at his most affectionate or passive aggressive.
He files that away carefully, not wholly sure what to make of it but happy to give him the benefit of the doubt, so to speak.
He absorbs the story, already invested in the cat and the older prince, leaning into Ignis' touch. ]
That's awful.
[ He says quietly, sympathetic. Then, as it occurs to his sleepy mind: ] I know a witch.
It is. The young cat-prince thought so too, yowling and squirming and doing everything he could to convey his displeasure, trying to convince his brother not to take up such a burden on his behalf. Even if it meant remaining as a cat for the rest of his days.
[He turns his fingers inward just slightly, curling them so that his nails come to scritch lightly against Noct's head in a pleasant, idle sort of way.
That's an odd little addendum that comes at the end, though, and it's curious enough that he puts his story on pause to ask: ]
[ Noctis has the impression that Ignis thinks he's petting a cat, or something, but he doesn't comment on it, nuzzling into his touch. He would purr if he would -- it's so comfortable and relaxing, and he finds hismelf frowning, musing at the little cat-prince.
He wouldn't have his brother do that, either, not for himself. There's another way, right? ]
Mmmhmm. Her name's Flora. Prompto named her.
[ He mumbles, shifting to get more pettings, his hand idly smoothing down his chest as he presses his hear to his heart, listening. ]
I think he likes her. [ But that's neither here nor there, so he hums. Maybe he should ask Flora if she could undo curses that way one day. ] Keep going.
Ah. The one he's been sneaking food to? I've noticed that.
[It is, after all, the duty of a mom to notice these things. Regardless, the more Noct settles in, the more he's correct about Ignis treating him like a warm, comfortable pet; they're idle little touches, designed solely to please, and mostly subconscious in the way he offers them up.]
Mmm. Well. The elder prince took up his younger brother in his arms, and kissed his furry head, and smiled at him one last time as he whispered his last words to him for three years: believe in me. And then he rose up, and told the fairy that without his brother, he had no reason to smile or laugh, and so he accepted the burden of freeing him, wholeheartedly.
He spoke that oath, and around his wrists wrapped two black streaks of something that looked like ink — magic, coiled around his body like a cat's tail, sealing his vow.
And with that, he settled his brother onto his shoulders and set out, stone-faced, to silently begin gathering his nettles.
[ Noctis' frown deepens, shaking his head. The older prince's bound by his word, and he doesn't quite like that, heart hurting for the princes both -- he knows how the cat prince feels, watching his loved one neither smile nor laugh, and he realizes the parallel between them.
He closes his eyes, fingers curling in his shirt now. The nettles will hurt. ]
It'll sting his fingers.
[ Noctis says softly, unhappily. The cat prince will hate every moment of it. ]
[He brings his hand down and away from Noct's hair, moving to hold his chin instead — not gripping, but holding his face with a reassuring purpose.]
Day after day, week after week, month after month, he bears it. Because he knows that the life of someone he loves is depending on him, he bears it. Because he, now, is the only one who can do it, he bears it. Because it will make things right, he bears it. Because he is good, and kind, and brave, and knows that whatever pain he endures is for the sake of a future that seems so long in coming...hour by hour, day by day, he bears it.
[As it turns out, Noct's parallel in this story isn't solely the younger of the princes, after all.]
He bleeds. He suffers setbacks. But he endures...and in three years' time, he completes each and every garment of nettles, just as he'd swore.
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(He wonders who he would be, in the telling of that story. He's a side character, that's for certain, and he suspects the adjective most attached to his role would end up being "helpless".)
The one that sticks with him in the book, however, is Sleeping Beauty. It's not hard to see why: a cruel destiny meted out at birth, a young royal fated to die, a king who wished it weren't so but proved helpless to act against it. And there, then, the three good fairies who accompany the royal, who want the best and want to help, the one remaining one who hadn't granted her gift yet —
She wasn't able to spare the babe its curse. She could only make it so it wouldn't claim the child with death.
Those are the motifs whirling around and around in his head when he eventually falls asleep, uncomfortable on the couch because he's abandoned the bedroom for the sake of giving Noct his space. He's the one who'd walked away, and as far as Ignis is concerned, until he comes back on his own, he's entitled to all the space Ignis can give him.
It hurts, the separation, but he's used to this sort of sacrifice.
So he sleeps on the couch, dreaming fitfully at best and shallowly at worst, and so it's no real surprise that when something starts to move the book left resting on his chest, he rouses from the motion, stirred out of sleep by it.]
Mm...?
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[ He says softly, and if there is ever a time where Noctis looks like he has his tail between his legs, this is it. Thankfully, Ignis looks like he's too groggy to really register that -- or maybe he isn't, Noctis doesn't know. Ignis is lovely in the dim light, vivid green eyes fogged with sleep, and there is something so very innocent about that.
Noctis very rarely gets to see him asleep and wake, and he bites his lip. The desire for space is over -- now, there's too much space and too little people, and Noctis hates being separated from Ignis, from Prompto, left all by himself to field his own whirling thoughts.
So Noctis gently moves the book, leaning over to see just what he's reading before closing it, catching some brief words like fairies and spindles and sleeping before he carefully sets it aside. ]
Bed's too empty.
[ He says softly, quietly apprehensive. I missed you. He doesn't want to wake him, because that will lead to far too many more conversations he's not ready for at this time of night -- it's selfish, surely it must be, how Noctis is seeking out comfort from him all the same, wanting to be close. ]
Can I...?
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Noct is twenty years old now, and a king. He's no longer a child, like they were back then. But the dance is still the same, and the nature of the request hasn't changed, and there isn't enough room on the couch for two, really, but that's hardly going to stop them, either, is it?
Vaguely, he starts to feel the nebulous sensation that Noct isn't supposed to be here, somehow, and it takes another minute before it occurs to him that the reason he's even on the couch to begin with is because he's been leaving Noct alone, giving him his space.
But now Noct is the one bridging the chasm between them, and Ignis looks up at him with sleepy eyes.]
It'll be snug.
[Which isn't a no. Quite the contrary, he's shifting his legs to make room for Noct to climb up on the couch between them, to help ensure that nobody gets a knee or an elbow in a bit of tender flesh while they try to make this work out.
He doesn't speak his invitation. He simply makes the space for Noct to fill, and his reply of come along, then might as well have been audible, for all that it's unmistakably there.]
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Noctis rarely does it now, but oh, how comfortable they were when they were growing up, when seeking Ignis out is second nature until greater responsibilities kicked in. Now, he seeks him out in different ways, more attuned to how Ignis seems perfectly made for him to slot in, the warmth he craves that only he's able to offer.
Noctis buries his head under his chin, reaching out to delicately pluck Ignis' glasses from his nose -- the way he always did when Ignis falls asleep under books. He's setting it aside, dislodging his book from its pride of place and settling against his chest. Ignis is sleepy-eyed and soft, and he can't help but think that he's more gorgeous than he's ever seen him.
He's tugging the blankets over them both, getting comfortable. ]
You're out here without covers.
[ Not that they haven't roughed it out before, but they usually aren't alone. ]
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[It's like a thick knot of concealed tension has suddenly eased free, when Noct crawls up onto the couch and drapes down over him. Like the comforting security of a weighted blanket, his body presses Ignis down into the cushions of the couch; his head comes to fit neatly against the underside of his chin, with the tips of Noct's sleep-tousled hair tickling at the sensitive skin there. Giving Noct his space had been an ordeal he'd endured through an adherence to duty alone. Now, at last, those iron bonds are snapping, and he's free to feel again.
But despite this, he still doesn't know where they stand. Seeking him out like this doesn't inherently mean it comes with forgiveness. More likely than not, there are still jagged edges to smooth down, between them.
He reaches up to help Noct arrange the blankets, using his better angle to make sure they come up all the way to the back of Noct's neck, instinctively helping to keep him snug and tucked in.]
Comfortable...?
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[ Very comfortable -- Ignis is likely the sexiest pillow in the universe. And no, they have too much still to sort out, but this is some kind of blessed reprieve, perhaps, something that they both need from each other without words. Noctis slots back in where he belongs, wiggling so that the covers close over Ignis as well. It might be a warm night, but it's not so warm that he gets to go without a light blanket.
His hand resting on his chest, Noctis is too tired to put up a fight, resting and feeling the beat of his heart. ]
Sorry. You were just doing what you had to.
[ It might possibly be the first time ever that Noctis has actually apologised, but cut him some slack -- he got reamed by Prompto, which isn't a thing his best friend usually does, anyway. He sighs softly, an arm coming to wrap around him. ]
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[His hand works its way up Noct's back, following the length of his spine, studiously avoiding his lower back where Ignis knows he's sensitive about being touched. Slowly, like petting a finnicky cat, he traces his fingers up to the nape of Noct's neck, weaving gently through the strands he finds there.]
I was trying to do the right thing...in a situation where there are no good answers.
[He falls silent, then, just holding him for a little while, feeling the way the rise and fall of his own chest causes Noct to raise and lower with every breath as a result.]
And you were trying to do the same, weren't you...
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Ignis is always kind, he thinks. The man might be witty and sharp-tongued and vicious at times, but at his heart he is always very kind. He's settling into the petting like a cat that's found its favorite spot, savoring the feeling of his fingers over his neck, in his hair. ]
Yeah.
[ He says softly, closing his eyes and thinking of those words, the things Ignis would do for him -- does he understand that Noctis would do the same for him, for any of them too? ]
What were you reading...?
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[It's undignified, and he'd never permit it in a million years if he were awake enough to appreciate it, but he yawns quietly before relaxing back down into a lull again, eyes closed and breathing evening out.]
Her true love wakes her up with a kiss, unsurprisingly.
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[ It must be nice, sleeping for a thousand years. Noctis is drowsy, pleasantly so, tracing idle patterns over his chest as he contemplates the logistics of sleeping for a thousand years. ]
So her true love is way younger than her? Did she turn into some weird skeleton?
[ Because a thousand years, dude. ] Why was she sleeping?
[ Clearly, despite glaring plot holes, a certain young king finds himself interested, reminded of the many nights they'd spent together like this when they were children. ]
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[Still. He doesn't really want to get into the particulars of why that story has been holding his attention — not when Noct is already vulnerable, and this moment between them is fragile.]
Let me tell you a different one. A proper bedtime story; I think you'll like this one better.
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[ Noctis muses quietly, thinking about the curse, strangely uncomfortable at the parallels -- was Ignis thinking about it, too? Did he wonder about the same thing? Maybe he did. It's why he changed the subject, right?
He's settling on the comforting rise and fall of his chest, an arm around his waist almost possessively, breathing him in.
He's listening, of course. He's always listening, wanting to know just what he has in mind. ]
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[He pauses a minute, closing his eyes, knowing already that when Noct does the same, it's the visage of his father that will come to mind.]
And one day, a wicked witch came to the king's court, seeking a boon for some nefarious aim or another. But the king would have none of it, and sent her away.
[He strokes his hand over Noct's back, lulling him in time with the cadence of his words.]
Well, the witch decided to seek her revenge on the king, and knew that there was no better way to do it than through his sons. And so she crafted a spell, and wove an evil magic into a cloth, and returned to the castle grounds where the two boys were playing. But they were...
[He pauses, thinking, and then continues with a wry sort of amusement: ]
— flying kites, and it was the younger's turn to run free across the courtyards with it. So the witch thought the king had just one son, so she conjured a wind to blow the kite away, and when the young princeling chased after it, it drew him close enough to where she was hiding for her to throw the cloth over to him, changing him instantly into a cat.
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[ Noctis lifts his head, immediately caught by the story, and also having the good grace to flush, embarrassed because flying kites, Six, he's never going to live this shitty lie down, ever. It's horrible and yet Ignis somehow weaves it in so beautifully.
It's a story of his own, and Noctis has always loved when Ignis cooks up something of his own. ]
So changing the princeling into a cat is evil?
[ Hmmm. Noctis is mulling it over in his head -- it wouldn't be so bad to be a cat, at least he'll get to laze around all day and take naps and boss people around with no consequence. And have plenty of fish. But they digress. ]
So what happened next?
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[He cracks his eyes open halfway, smiling warmly at him before letting them fall closed again.]
She began chasing him, and quite unsurprisingly, the prince-cat ran. But being a cat, he got mixed-up about which way was the right way to go, and so he ended up running into the forest surrounding the castle instead.
The witch chased after him. But the prince's elder brother, who had been nearby all along, overheard the commotion, and ran after them as well.
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Noctis grimaces, curling up against Ignis as he noses at his jawline, tentatively nuzzling against it. He's not entirely sure if they can do this again -- he did just get pissed at Ignis and walked out, after all, and this thing is so new, so delicate, but he supposes he can test the waters anyway.
Also, Noctis is pretty sure the cat's supposed to be him -- he does get lost from time to time, but he's warmed by that smile so he gently nudges at him. ]
What did the prince's elder brother do? Did he kick her ass?
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[He doesn't quite lean back into Noct's nuzzling, not yet, but he also doesn't pull away from it, either. He simply keeps very, very still, and lets it happen without intervention on his part, and sleepily opens his eyes again to watch Noct's face.]
The ground in that part of the forest was covered with nettles, and seeking to walk through it was hurting the princeling's little paws terribly. So his brother bent and picked him up, and moved him to ride on his shoulders, and they started walking, looking for someone who could assist them.
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[ Noctis asks drowsily, at the same time aware that Ignis isn't leaning into him just yet. Is he mad? Probably not -- Ignis wouldn't tell him stories if he were; the man's mastered the art of vicious passive aggressiveness and this isn't one of those hallmarks.
This is something different, and Noctis doesn't blame him for being cautious and holding back; Ignis might be perceptive, but he's not a mind reader, and things between them hadn't actually been anywhere close to resolved. It's just paused for the time being, and Noctis has no idea how to sort it out just yet. ]
Did they find someone?
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[It's an endearment that, in his head, he'd meant to sound teasing and a little bit patronizing; it's only after it leaves his mouth that he realizes there isn't much of a tease in it at all, and it leaves him drawing an uncertain breath, feeling momentarily like he's overstepped a boundary line that he shouldn't have.
Luckily, he's got the tale to fall back on, and he does so briskly.]
They wandered and wandered, until at last they came across a fairy's spring. And as they settled down to rest, the fairy appeared, and asked who they were and why they had come to her spring. So the elder brother explained the witch's treachery, and the curse that had befallen his brother, and told her how they were so very lost, and unable to find their way home.
Now, the fairy had never left her spring, so she had no knowledge of their castle, or how they might return to it. But as she looked the young princeling over, she realized — aha! This was a spell she recognized, and one that she knew how to break. But alas, she cautioned them, the price for breaking it was very dear.
[He strokes Noct's hair lightly.]
For three years, the elder prince would have to live in the forest, collecting the nettles and weaving them into cloth, and sewing the cloth into garments, until he'd managed to make a whole little set of clothes for his brother — a shirt, trousers, a cap, and even socks for his little feet. And in that time, he could neither smile nor laugh nor speak a single word, because if he did his brother would remain a cat forever.
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Noctis shifts at the unexpected endearment, just a little. He's not sure if Ignis means it, or it's just another way to get him to be quiet and to listen to the rest of the story. But he kind of likes it, he supposes -- he's never heard the man use that on anyone else before, not even when he's at his most affectionate or passive aggressive.
He files that away carefully, not wholly sure what to make of it but happy to give him the benefit of the doubt, so to speak.
He absorbs the story, already invested in the cat and the older prince, leaning into Ignis' touch. ]
That's awful.
[ He says quietly, sympathetic. Then, as it occurs to his sleepy mind: ] I know a witch.
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[He turns his fingers inward just slightly, curling them so that his nails come to scritch lightly against Noct's head in a pleasant, idle sort of way.
That's an odd little addendum that comes at the end, though, and it's curious enough that he puts his story on pause to ask: ]
Do you, now? You've met a witch?
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He wouldn't have his brother do that, either, not for himself. There's another way, right? ]
Mmmhmm. Her name's Flora. Prompto named her.
[ He mumbles, shifting to get more pettings, his hand idly smoothing down his chest as he presses his hear to his heart, listening. ]
I think he likes her. [ But that's neither here nor there, so he hums. Maybe he should ask Flora if she could undo curses that way one day. ] Keep going.
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[It is, after all, the duty of a mom to notice these things. Regardless, the more Noct settles in, the more he's correct about Ignis treating him like a warm, comfortable pet; they're idle little touches, designed solely to please, and mostly subconscious in the way he offers them up.]
Mmm. Well. The elder prince took up his younger brother in his arms, and kissed his furry head, and smiled at him one last time as he whispered his last words to him for three years: believe in me. And then he rose up, and told the fairy that without his brother, he had no reason to smile or laugh, and so he accepted the burden of freeing him, wholeheartedly.
He spoke that oath, and around his wrists wrapped two black streaks of something that looked like ink — magic, coiled around his body like a cat's tail, sealing his vow.
And with that, he settled his brother onto his shoulders and set out, stone-faced, to silently begin gathering his nettles.
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He closes his eyes, fingers curling in his shirt now. The nettles will hurt. ]
It'll sting his fingers.
[ Noctis says softly, unhappily. The cat prince will hate every moment of it. ]
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[He brings his hand down and away from Noct's hair, moving to hold his chin instead — not gripping, but holding his face with a reassuring purpose.]
Day after day, week after week, month after month, he bears it. Because he knows that the life of someone he loves is depending on him, he bears it. Because he, now, is the only one who can do it, he bears it. Because it will make things right, he bears it. Because he is good, and kind, and brave, and knows that whatever pain he endures is for the sake of a future that seems so long in coming...hour by hour, day by day, he bears it.
[As it turns out, Noct's parallel in this story isn't solely the younger of the princes, after all.]
He bleeds. He suffers setbacks. But he endures...and in three years' time, he completes each and every garment of nettles, just as he'd swore.
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