[He knows immediately what Noct is referencing, of course. It hadn't been one of their finer moments, that first Royal Arm in its tomb; they'd left Noctis no time to grieve for the loss of his father, his country, his worldview, before demanding that he step up and take control of the destiny planned out for him.
He knows why Cor did what he did; the Marshal's methods are more like Gladio's than his own, which makes a certain logical sense. But Gladio has always been the one insisting that he take a stronger hand with Noctis, when his inclination has always been to — not coddle, but indulge.
The thing is, neither one of them is entirely right, and neither one is entirely wrong. Right now, Noct is haunted by one half of the perspective; it's only natural for Ignis to step up and offer the other, quietly and patiently as he can.]
Noct. You have never been one to run from your destiny, no matter how it's been laid out before you. You've never shirked your responsibility to your bloodline, though you've had no choice in what it demands of you. The king sits the throne alone...but don't confuse that with condemnation to a life of loneliness.
[He moves his hand from Noct's back, bringing it around to brush the hair out of his face instead.]
The Marshal...sought to remind you of a truth I know you already know and accept. It was not a condemnation of you. He...
[He pauses, reflecting. The Marshal — hadn't known how to process the fall of Insomnia any better than any of them had, perhaps. Had he? They'd all looked to him for answers, and perhaps deep down he'd been just as lost as any of them.]
Don't ever believe, even for a second, that you're unworthy of the devotion that you're shown by the people who care for you.
[ Ignis takes pains to lay it all out for him, running interference and comforting however he can, and while Noctis knows Gladio probably won't approve, he's grateful for it.
They're getting better at this, lately -- better at reaching each other, reading into what goes unsaid. Without the rigors of their world, they actually have time to reacquaint themselves with each other, to relearn each other's habits. After all, it's just the two of them here, and it's been comfortable. Warm.
He listens quietly, listening to him choose his words, kindness reserved just for him. Ignis might be the tactician, callously efficient at times, but Noctis is his weakness, his calculations revolving around him and his continued survival.
Noctis is grateful, of course, even if he can't entirely concur with the whole worthiness thing. Ignis' devotion rings deep and strong, and he presses his forehead to the base of his throat, remembering the fuzzy night when they were supposed to look at the stars and he had woken up with him, tangled in bed and a warmth fluttering in his heart.
Now, now things feel different. Colder and sadder, and Noctis isn't sure why, like the sense of loss revisited upon him.
At length, he nods, then deigns to look up, shifting so he can meet his gaze and yet still stay in his arms. Here, he can pretend he will always be safe. ]
I will always be with you. At your side; watching your back. Breaking a path ahead of you, when you need it made smooth and straight.
[They've come so far, it seems, from pushing the broken-down Regalia to Hammerhead underneath the searing early summer sun. They've seen so much, endured so much. The king is gone; Gladio's father is gone. Ignis's — Ignis's own uncle is...gone.
They didn't get to say goodbye. None of them knew there would be a need to.]
[ Noctis begins hesitantly. Already the contents of the dream is slipping from him, leaving him with a strange, hollow melancholy he can't quite shake. He stays in Ignis' arms, pressed up against him and sighs. His promise is something he draws comfort from, but more than that, more than all of it -- is Noctis' desire to protect him, them.
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no subject
[He knows immediately what Noct is referencing, of course. It hadn't been one of their finer moments, that first Royal Arm in its tomb; they'd left Noctis no time to grieve for the loss of his father, his country, his worldview, before demanding that he step up and take control of the destiny planned out for him.
He knows why Cor did what he did; the Marshal's methods are more like Gladio's than his own, which makes a certain logical sense. But Gladio has always been the one insisting that he take a stronger hand with Noctis, when his inclination has always been to — not coddle, but indulge.
The thing is, neither one of them is entirely right, and neither one is entirely wrong. Right now, Noct is haunted by one half of the perspective; it's only natural for Ignis to step up and offer the other, quietly and patiently as he can.]
Noct. You have never been one to run from your destiny, no matter how it's been laid out before you. You've never shirked your responsibility to your bloodline, though you've had no choice in what it demands of you. The king sits the throne alone...but don't confuse that with condemnation to a life of loneliness.
[He moves his hand from Noct's back, bringing it around to brush the hair out of his face instead.]
The Marshal...sought to remind you of a truth I know you already know and accept. It was not a condemnation of you. He...
[He pauses, reflecting. The Marshal — hadn't known how to process the fall of Insomnia any better than any of them had, perhaps. Had he? They'd all looked to him for answers, and perhaps deep down he'd been just as lost as any of them.]
Don't ever believe, even for a second, that you're unworthy of the devotion that you're shown by the people who care for you.
no subject
They're getting better at this, lately -- better at reaching each other, reading into what goes unsaid. Without the rigors of their world, they actually have time to reacquaint themselves with each other, to relearn each other's habits. After all, it's just the two of them here, and it's been comfortable. Warm.
He listens quietly, listening to him choose his words, kindness reserved just for him. Ignis might be the tactician, callously efficient at times, but Noctis is his weakness, his calculations revolving around him and his continued survival.
Noctis is grateful, of course, even if he can't entirely concur with the whole worthiness thing. Ignis' devotion rings deep and strong, and he presses his forehead to the base of his throat, remembering the fuzzy night when they were supposed to look at the stars and he had woken up with him, tangled in bed and a warmth fluttering in his heart.
Now, now things feel different. Colder and sadder, and Noctis isn't sure why, like the sense of loss revisited upon him.
At length, he nods, then deigns to look up, shifting so he can meet his gaze and yet still stay in his arms. Here, he can pretend he will always be safe. ]
You'll be beside me, right?
no subject
[They've come so far, it seems, from pushing the broken-down Regalia to Hammerhead underneath the searing early summer sun. They've seen so much, endured so much. The king is gone; Gladio's father is gone. Ignis's — Ignis's own uncle is...gone.
They didn't get to say goodbye. None of them knew there would be a need to.]
Do you remember what you were dreaming?
no subject
[ Noctis begins hesitantly. Already the contents of the dream is slipping from him, leaving him with a strange, hollow melancholy he can't quite shake. He stays in Ignis' arms, pressed up against him and sighs. His promise is something he draws comfort from, but more than that, more than all of it -- is Noctis' desire to protect him, them.
I will always be with you. ]
You...? You were awake before I was.