Chapter Text
When it comes to war, no-one is spared. Not even the bystanders. Children would learn of it in school, would have to watch their fathers and brothers sent off to the battlefield and they wouldn’t be strangers to bloodshed and loss, not so long as it continued. The King’s men were wary, the battle had been going on far too long now and for what? Even the King didn’t know anymore, this dispute had gone on long before he was born and the meaning lost to time.
So why didn’t he order them to stand down, to stop mindless slaughter and end the fight? Clarus often asked himself this when he met with Regis but he had yet to find an answer. His own son was to begin training in the next week or so and Gladiolus wouldn’t hurt a fly unless he had to, let alone kill another being, albeit inhuman. Or rather, the majority were anything but humanoid; some were scaled, winged beings and some tiny, glowing pests while others had almost succumbed to the darkness lurking inside. Which is why instead of a mere basic training regime, he would be sent elsewhere and learn to deal with real threats rather than training dummies and sparring partners.
Plenty didn’t understand the need for this madness but none had the gall to end it. As Gladio saw it, should this silly dispute end it would be mutually beneficial for both man and fae alike. The dwarves could go back to trading and smithing, the pixies and fairies tending the wildlife, the elves were the scholars and keepers of magic... And everything else would return from wherever they came from, lands far away and uncharted most likely. At least that's what the books say, there's a neat system to how fae society is structured and everyone plays a part, much unlike mankind where greed and lust for power rule. Where the weak are culled and the powerful live forever, in a manner of speaking.
Even so, for all the knowledge Gladio has amassed about his so-called enemy, he has yet to see one in the flesh, he’s too young to set foot on the battlefield and his father isn’t one to take prisoners, orders or no.
While Gladio was deep in thought, Clarus had returned home and wasn’t in the best of moods. He flinched when he heard the door slam shut and the familiar clinking of his fathers sword being stowed away, startled further from his stupor when his name was called. Preferring not to further anger his father, Gladio slid off his bed and scrambled down the stairs.
“You called, sir?” He said.
Clarus looked down at him and frowned. “I have orders for you, from the King himself. Despite the fact I disagree with him, the King feels you are in need of further extensive training, to prepare you for what’s to come,” he sat down at the table and beckoned for Gladio to join him, waiting til the boy was seated before continuing, “as you well know, you are to guard the prince when he comes of age. However, until that time, I’ve been asked to send you to the frontlines. To that end, you start training with the rest of the soldiers next week until I deem you fit to be deployed.”
Gladio could hardly believe the words coming from his fathers lips. “I understand, sir.”
“Make no mistake, I know you are young- far too young- to be sent to the front just yet. So I have something in mind and should it go according to plan, I will fill you in on the details.” He added.
“Yes, sir.” He said and bid his father goodnight. It was going to be a long night.
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The morning bell tolled ominously overhead. The guards on alert and his father’s hand rested upon the hilt of his sword, prepared to defend if necessary. Distantly Gladio could hear the clanking of chains and shuffling footsteps, the gate creaking as it was hauled open for the returning patrol. And their prisoners.
As if by mere happenstance, the day after his father mentioned Gladio’s future on the front, there were a few fae-folk brought back with the scouts. He watched them walk in silence. Their faces solemn and grim, covered in dirt and blood- their own or not Gladio didn’t know, nor want to know. Beside him his father watched them like a hawk, looking for signs of weakness or possible violence. To the rear of the group were a handful of children, some no older than Gladio himself and some younger.
To see children as prisoners of war sent him reeling. He’d never really considered that the fae-folk would allow their offspring near conflict let alone to fight, but then, not all prisoners are fighters. Some are casualties or bargaining chips but regardless it was odd for them to decide to take prisoners now of all times, never before had the commanders deemed it safe for them to be in the city so close to the townsfolk let alone the royal family.
“Gladio. Report to the training hall at once, I have something to show you.” His father said, eyes never leaving the prisoners. So Gladio nodded, saluted and was off at once. It wasn’t his place to question his father, just to do as he was told.
It felt like he was waiting forever. The hall quiet and dim, weapons gleaming in the low light and the candles burning low. Gladio had half a mind to replace them lest he be left in darkness but knowing his luck his father would show up while he was pottering about. The doors burst open, accompanied by the scraping of metal and a resounding thud, the doors slamming closed and the click of the lock the only incentive for him to turn around.
Clarus stood firmly in front of the doors, a boy at his feet in a crumpled heap. “I trust you’ve been studying the books I gave you. Tell me, what do you make of this?” He asked, gesturing vaguely to the boy.
Gladio stepped closer and kneeled down to get a better look at him. Bruised and battered, the boy glared at him from under his bangs. Lifting the hair by his ears revealed they were elongated and pointed; under all this filth he seemed to be quite pale and his eyes were certainly unnatural, a striking shade of green that almost glowed in the dying light . Mentally he searched through everything he’d read with these attributes and reached his conclusion. “An elf?”
“Very good. As one of the few remaining races capable of wielding magic, his kind are the biggest threat we face. Strikingly human but quite the opposite, thankfully he’s one of the last.” Those last few words were directed at the boy and that glare turned colder than Gladio thought possible. Or was it actually getting cold in here? He shivered and flinched when his father kicked the boy's leg, no doubt hard enough to bruise. “Enough.This isn’t the wild. Your magic is not permitted here and to that end, Gladio, fetch the binding rope.”
The 'binding rope’ was little more than a length of ribbon but it had been enhanced to stop the fae from using their magic. Gladio wasn’t privy to the details of how they worked or how they were made but he did know it was initially painful to the wearer. Sheepishly he grabbed the reel and handed it over but Clarus shook his head and Gladio understood what he wanted.
He wanted Gladio to rob this boy of his gift.
Clarus yanked the boy to his knees and held him there, one hand in his hair to pull his head back for Gladio to tie a piece around his neck. The boy looked terrified. Terrified and angry. With shaking hands Gladio measured out the length he’d need and cut it, seeing the wisps of blue seep out of the seam. He slid it around the boy’s neck and watched the two ends fuse together, almost instantly the boy sank down and tried to hold back his pain, a choked cry was all that escaped. A single tear fell from his cheek, hitting the floor and singeing the woodwork.
Two guards stepped out from the shadows and seized the boy, no doubt taking him back to the dungeons with the rest of his kin.
Everything inside Gladio screamed it was wrong. But how could it be? They were monsters. They practiced black magic, could not feel the emotions humans could and enjoyed the senseless killing that came with this ceaseless war. Right?
Looking at that boy, helpless as the last piece of himself was taken away and watching the light fade from his eyes when that single tear broke free, he’d resigned himself to whatever fate they had in store for him. Even if it meant death. Perhaps he’d have preferred it. Gladio didn’t know what his father was thinking when he and the other commanders brought them here, but it can’t be good.
Clarus watched his son’s face carefully, seeing every thought and feeling that crossed his face. The boy was indecisive that much was clear. He didn’t know how to feel or what to think, and who could blame him? He hasn’t seen what's going on outside the gates, he doesn’t know what the fae are doing to his people and hopefully taking him outside will fix that. That seeing first hand what the elves and their ilk are capable of will ignite that spark inside him, force him to rid himself of that childish way of thinking and focus on protecting his prince from his enemies. But for now, with that in mind, “Gladiolus, once a day for one hour, you will train with the elven boy. I want you to be as prepared as possible for the front. He should be harmless, as a child he shouldn’t have any fighting experience. Am I clear?”
Gladio shifted uncomfortably on his feet and bowed his head, “Yes, sir.”
His father turned to leave with a stiff nod but stopped short and said, “I know you want to ask. He will not be harmed. Not if he behaves. I plan to have someone train him to serve the prince and should the boy resist or attempt to harm the prince in any way, I will have him executed.”
Executed. That word left a sour taste in Gladio’s mouth. It didn’t sit right, killing a child. Who could be no older than himself as a matter of fact, though he can’t know for certain. Unless he asks, but he had no doubt in his mind that there would be no way to speak to the boy, not outside of training time at least. Or… He could risk his father’s wrath and try finding where they were keeping the prisoners and speak to him there, it’d be risky for sure but it could work. Gods forbid he gets caught, which just means he’ll have to make use of Noct’s secret passages.
The dungeons were dark and damp, spiders and Gods know what else lives down here but the passage at least was lighted by the small cracks in the stonework, the same couldn’t be said for the cells and corridors. Inside he could spy dozens of fae prisoners; Dwarves, Pixies, Redcaps, Hags, Goblins and even a Leprechaun or two but no Elves. Hushed whispers and muffled sobs echoed off the walls of the passage, louder than perhaps in the actual dungeons, and Gladio pressed on. Slinking round the corner of the passage he stopped short of the doorway into the dungeon corridor, camouflaged to seem like a dead end, and peeked through a crack.
In the cell on the other side was his elusive Elf, huddled in the corner of the cell and whispering to the Pixie next to him. They seemed to be familiar, more so than most that were brought here, and even shared a meek smile between them like if they smiled too much it too would be taken away. Gladio sat for a few moments and just watched. They looked quite the pair, fair haired and bright eyed and for a second he thought them beautiful, all of them in fact and each in their own way. And that was the sign that he needed to leave. Such thoughts were dangerous for a normal man, let alone one destined to fight such beings. Fight and not befriend. Such was his lot in life.
Carefully he shimmied back and slid round the corner but as he did an unfamiliar voice reached his ears that made him stop. It said, “I know you’re there. There are rats in the dungeons but none so big as you.”
“I- How’d you know I was here?” He whispered back, trying to find a hole to spy the speaker.
“I have ears and rather exceptional hearing. I’d thought you'd know that, aren’t you the son of that commander?”
Ah, the very person he’d been seeking. Were elves people? “I am, yeah. I have a question, I know I have no right to ask but… What’s your name?”
A bitter chuckle seeped through the stone and sent a shock up his spine. “Ignis”