[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.
[ He can't look away from him, his face held in his hand just so -- it makes him ache, this story, and he shifts at the burgeoning realisation that he... might not be just the cat anymore. Wait, is this even about him? Ignis is looking down at him so steadily, and Noctis is quiet, words caught in his throat.
This is a lot, for a fairytale, and he leanins into his hand, nuzzling his cheek into it and closes his eyes. ]
Did he manage to turn his brother back into a prince again? His brother must've been heart broken all those years, too.
[ Watching, but unable to do anything because of the oath. Gods, this feels awful -- is that what Ignis and Prompto feel, as well? ]
After three years, with his hands battered and torn, reddened and stung, he takes his brother back to the spring, and lays out his armful of clothes, and splashes the water in the pool to summon back the fairy. And when she returns, she looks from the brother to the clothes, and finally turns her gaze to his brother the cat.
"Your brother has suffered for you," she says softly, "And now you must, as well. He made you your clothes of stinging nettles; now you must don them."
Well. Now it was the elder's turn to recoil, from the thought of his beloved brother being forced to feel the sting of those nettles for even a second. But to his astonishment, this time it was the cat's turn to act without hesitation, and he all but leapt to wriggle his way into the clothes, as the fairy had bidden him.
[He falls silent a moment.]
Because he realized, then, that his brother's mission was a curse in itself. One that had left him tormented and in pain and alone — and here, at last, was the cat's chance to free his brother of that curse.
He didn't think once about the reward of no longer being cursed into the body of a cat. He only thought of ending his brother's burden.
And so the nettles scratched and stung, but he donned each and every scrap of clothing his brother had woven, and the moment he finished, a bright light filled the air, and when it cleared, the young princeling was human again.
Because it's nothing compared to what he suffered for the past three years.
[ The brother bled and ached and hurt for the cat for three years, over a thousand days -- Noctis would step into it anytime. He's reaching up to press a soft kiss to his jawline briefly. It's fuzzy now, who's supposed to be which, but he doesn't care. It's a story about devotion, about love and heartache and sacrifice, and he smiles faintly. ]
Did they live happily ever after after that? Did they go home?
[ Back to the king, back home. ] What about the older prince's hands? Were they healed?
[ So many questions to a fairytale, but he's curious. The older prince's hands must have been scarred, the younger prince's entire body hurting -- after all, the brother had prepared all of it for him. A labor of love that hurts, and the cat prince wore it proudly, if only to have a taste of what the older brother has suffered all these years. ]
Oh, they embrace, they hug, they cry. And as the tears wind down, the fairy tells them what they'd both already known, deep down — that it was nothing to do with nettles or shirts that freed the young prince of his curse, but rather their shared love and unfailing devotion. The elder, for suffering for his brother, and the younger, for leaping to share in it without a moment's hesitation.
[This time, he tips his face slightly into Noct's kiss to his jawline, accepting it a little more easily than he had the last. He's warming up to him, now; the story is winding down, and they're both growing sleepy, and something that had fractured between them seems to be beginning to mend again.]
Then the fairy told them to hold hands and drink of her spring, and to think of the place they most wanted to go while they did. So the two brothers clasped hands, and drank as one, and as they did they both thought of their father's castle, and in the blink of an eye, they were home.
And their father, who hadn't seen either of them in three years, was beside himself with disbelief and joy, and ran to embrace them, and they all hugged and cried and cried. And the elder's hands never fully recovered from the punishment they'd endured, and the young prince still sometimes craved fish and hated water and could be found dozing on his back in a spot of sun, but they were home again, and they had each other, and that was enough.
[ Noctis muses, but the ending is lovely -- befitting a fairytale, he supposes. He reaches down to grasp Ignis' hand, taking it in both of his and curling around it, holding on to him like it's his hand that's scarred and not the older prince's.
There's a little bit of them in these two, but it doesn't matter. What's important is that something in this story if providing precious illumination, simple and warming, and he' very okay with that. ]
Did you dream up that story all by yourself? You should be writing them down if you are.
I stole the basics of it from an existing one. In the original it was a princess with brothers, and they changed into birds. It also gave her a love interest so she might get married in the end, but I thought the tale did a bit better without that part of it.
[He hums softly, letting Noct take his hand, and sliding his eyes open slowly to regard him.]
Seems it's done the opposite of what I'd hoped it would, though. You're wide awake, when I'd meant to help you sleep.
[He'd rather be in their bed, as usual, as though things are still normal. But who knows if they even are, anymore. Who knows where they stand with each other?]
But it'd be rude to drift off without you, I think.
[ And he must have been hurting too, himself -- Noctis had essentially gently turned him down, afraid to hope, afraid for Ignis; it must have been difficult to watch. ]
[He draws in a slow breath, listening to the sound of Noct's words echoing in his ears again and again. Let's go to bed, as though it's that simple, as though it can really be that easy to mend things.
He wants it to be that easy. He wants it to be as easy as kissing him was, when they'd set aside questions of propriety for a night and simply let themselves feel.]
[ He's not wrong -- it's what Noctis wanted, what he needed, and if he hadn't done what he did then he wouldn't have met Prompto, spoken to him.
He's not sure if this is going to be easy; for them, this is uncharted territory, and it seems now like the stakes are infinitely higher now that he knows the taste of his lips, the warmth of his love, the fire of his devotion.
It should be terrifying, difficult, but Noctis is too tired for all of that, too exhausted for pride and another fight, and he exhales a soft sigh, allowing himself to feel. ]
You didn't do anything wrong.
[ He's quiet, trying to find the proper words to say. ] You did what you had to do. I just -- I freaked out.
[The word is soft, but with the sort of steady authority that invites no argument — the sort of tone a mother uses when gently chiding a favored child — and it seems they're not getting up for the moment after all, as Ignis rests his hand on the back of Noct's head and guides him back down to his chest, to feel protected and steady and safe against the rhythm of his heart.]
You've always taken it badly when someone you care about is hurting. Every time you act out, it's because you feel responsible for suffering you couldn't prevent.
[The Astrals chose well when they chose Noct, Ignis thinks grimly. That's a perfect tendency to have in a sacrifice — someone who can't help but want to bear the burden for others, to prevent their suffering.
Not for the first time, and not for the last, he silently vows he'll watch the world burn before he lets them use his Noct like that.]
Sometimes you choose suffering for yourself, but then you won't allow the people who love you to make that same choice. You'll suffer for love of others, but you won't let others suffer for love of you. Even when they would choose it, freely and willingly, because they love you.
[ Noctis says firmly, shifting to brace himself above him after a few moments, looking down at Ignis. He's not angry, he's determined. As much as he loves the way Ignis protects him, shields him and keeps him safe, he knows that there are times when the situation's reversed. And when those times come, Noctis won't back down.
He leans down to nose against his cheek -- he's no longer the young charge Ignis has to protect. He's... they're more than that, right? He's reaching down to brush Ignis' bangs off his forehead, a hand coming down to stroke over his cheek.
How determined his Ignis is, how fierce, and maybe that's enough. Maybe knowing Ignis' depth of feelings for him is enough, and he feels something in his heart clench. ]
I -- I like you. A lot. [ And he doesn't know how it'll pan out, even if he has an idea. In every scenario he passes sooner than Ignis will, whether he gets to live out the rest of his days as king or not, and he's not sure how it works in here, either. Does time stop for them? He wishes it does. Ignis' observation is right, perhaps, but Noctis doesn't want to fight. He's tired of it -- he just wants to hold Ignis and love him, and be loved, and think about the things twenty year olds in love think about. ]
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no subject
[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.
no subject
This is a lot, for a fairytale, and he leanins into his hand, nuzzling his cheek into it and closes his eyes. ]
Did he manage to turn his brother back into a prince again? His brother must've been heart broken all those years, too.
[ Watching, but unable to do anything because of the oath. Gods, this feels awful -- is that what Ignis and Prompto feel, as well? ]
no subject
[He smiles softly.]
After three years, with his hands battered and torn, reddened and stung, he takes his brother back to the spring, and lays out his armful of clothes, and splashes the water in the pool to summon back the fairy. And when she returns, she looks from the brother to the clothes, and finally turns her gaze to his brother the cat.
"Your brother has suffered for you," she says softly, "And now you must, as well. He made you your clothes of stinging nettles; now you must don them."
Well. Now it was the elder's turn to recoil, from the thought of his beloved brother being forced to feel the sting of those nettles for even a second. But to his astonishment, this time it was the cat's turn to act without hesitation, and he all but leapt to wriggle his way into the clothes, as the fairy had bidden him.
[He falls silent a moment.]
Because he realized, then, that his brother's mission was a curse in itself. One that had left him tormented and in pain and alone — and here, at last, was the cat's chance to free his brother of that curse.
He didn't think once about the reward of no longer being cursed into the body of a cat. He only thought of ending his brother's burden.
And so the nettles scratched and stung, but he donned each and every scrap of clothing his brother had woven, and the moment he finished, a bright light filled the air, and when it cleared, the young princeling was human again.
no subject
[ The brother bled and ached and hurt for the cat for three years, over a thousand days -- Noctis would step into it anytime. He's reaching up to press a soft kiss to his jawline briefly. It's fuzzy now, who's supposed to be which, but he doesn't care. It's a story about devotion, about love and heartache and sacrifice, and he smiles faintly. ]
Did they live happily ever after after that? Did they go home?
[ Back to the king, back home. ] What about the older prince's hands? Were they healed?
[ So many questions to a fairytale, but he's curious. The older prince's hands must have been scarred, the younger prince's entire body hurting -- after all, the brother had prepared all of it for him. A labor of love that hurts, and the cat prince wore it proudly, if only to have a taste of what the older brother has suffered all these years. ]
no subject
[This time, he tips his face slightly into Noct's kiss to his jawline, accepting it a little more easily than he had the last. He's warming up to him, now; the story is winding down, and they're both growing sleepy, and something that had fractured between them seems to be beginning to mend again.]
Then the fairy told them to hold hands and drink of her spring, and to think of the place they most wanted to go while they did. So the two brothers clasped hands, and drank as one, and as they did they both thought of their father's castle, and in the blink of an eye, they were home.
And their father, who hadn't seen either of them in three years, was beside himself with disbelief and joy, and ran to embrace them, and they all hugged and cried and cried. And the elder's hands never fully recovered from the punishment they'd endured, and the young prince still sometimes craved fish and hated water and could be found dozing on his back in a spot of sun, but they were home again, and they had each other, and that was enough.
[He pauses.]
...The end.
no subject
[ Noctis muses, but the ending is lovely -- befitting a fairytale, he supposes. He reaches down to grasp Ignis' hand, taking it in both of his and curling around it, holding on to him like it's his hand that's scarred and not the older prince's.
There's a little bit of them in these two, but it doesn't matter. What's important is that something in this story if providing precious illumination, simple and warming, and he' very okay with that. ]
Did you dream up that story all by yourself? You should be writing them down if you are.
[ They're very good. Bittersweet, but good. ]
no subject
[He hums softly, letting Noct take his hand, and sliding his eyes open slowly to regard him.]
Seems it's done the opposite of what I'd hoped it would, though. You're wide awake, when I'd meant to help you sleep.
no subject
[ Noctis agrees -- but he's cheered up, too. Which is a weird thing when just about the entirety of the story is morbid as hell.
But whatever, he liked it. And the tale definitely did better without the love interest and the whole bird thing, and he pauses to meet his gaze. ]
Are you sleepy? I'll be quiet.
no subject
[He'd rather be in their bed, as usual, as though things are still normal. But who knows if they even are, anymore. Who knows where they stand with each other?]
But it'd be rude to drift off without you, I think.
no subject
[ Noctis says, after a moment. He's missed him. ]
I know you were just trying to give me space.
[ And he must have been hurting too, himself -- Noctis had essentially gently turned him down, afraid to hope, afraid for Ignis; it must have been difficult to watch. ]
no subject
[He draws in a slow breath, listening to the sound of Noct's words echoing in his ears again and again. Let's go to bed, as though it's that simple, as though it can really be that easy to mend things.
He wants it to be that easy. He wants it to be as easy as kissing him was, when they'd set aside questions of propriety for a night and simply let themselves feel.]
You're saying I'm forgiven, for telling Prompto?
no subject
He's not sure if this is going to be easy; for them, this is uncharted territory, and it seems now like the stakes are infinitely higher now that he knows the taste of his lips, the warmth of his love, the fire of his devotion.
It should be terrifying, difficult, but Noctis is too tired for all of that, too exhausted for pride and another fight, and he exhales a soft sigh, allowing himself to feel. ]
You didn't do anything wrong.
[ He's quiet, trying to find the proper words to say. ] You did what you had to do. I just -- I freaked out.
no subject
[The word is soft, but with the sort of steady authority that invites no argument — the sort of tone a mother uses when gently chiding a favored child — and it seems they're not getting up for the moment after all, as Ignis rests his hand on the back of Noct's head and guides him back down to his chest, to feel protected and steady and safe against the rhythm of his heart.]
You've always taken it badly when someone you care about is hurting. Every time you act out, it's because you feel responsible for suffering you couldn't prevent.
[The Astrals chose well when they chose Noct, Ignis thinks grimly. That's a perfect tendency to have in a sacrifice — someone who can't help but want to bear the burden for others, to prevent their suffering.
Not for the first time, and not for the last, he silently vows he'll watch the world burn before he lets them use his Noct like that.]
Sometimes you choose suffering for yourself, but then you won't allow the people who love you to make that same choice. You'll suffer for love of others, but you won't let others suffer for love of you. Even when they would choose it, freely and willingly, because they love you.
no subject
[ Noctis says firmly, shifting to brace himself above him after a few moments, looking down at Ignis. He's not angry, he's determined. As much as he loves the way Ignis protects him, shields him and keeps him safe, he knows that there are times when the situation's reversed. And when those times come, Noctis won't back down.
He leans down to nose against his cheek -- he's no longer the young charge Ignis has to protect. He's... they're more than that, right? He's reaching down to brush Ignis' bangs off his forehead, a hand coming down to stroke over his cheek.
How determined his Ignis is, how fierce, and maybe that's enough. Maybe knowing Ignis' depth of feelings for him is enough, and he feels something in his heart clench. ]
I -- I like you. A lot. [ And he doesn't know how it'll pan out, even if he has an idea. In every scenario he passes sooner than Ignis will, whether he gets to live out the rest of his days as king or not, and he's not sure how it works in here, either. Does time stop for them? He wishes it does. Ignis' observation is right, perhaps, but Noctis doesn't want to fight. He's tired of it -- he just wants to hold Ignis and love him, and be loved, and think about the things twenty year olds in love think about. ]
I don't want you to choose that for my sake.