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Noctis had, on more than one occasion, been accused of being too sentimental.
Outwardly, Noctis would simply roll his eyes and deny it. It was unbecoming, after all, for a prince -- no, a King, he had to remind himself -- to place such high value on mere trinkets. A king did not cling to vestiges of the past.
Inwardly, Noctis remembered being five years old, watching through tears as his governess threw away the threadbare stuffed tiger he'd had since he was a baby. She had sniffed in that condescending way he despised, over his howls of protest, that no prince should be seen with rags. Hiccupping and sobbing, he had not been able to explain that it had been a gift from his late mother.
Noctis quickly learned to not place value in significant nor commemorative items, but rather tangential reminders -- things that wouldn't break his heart were they to be thrown away.
He learned what polish Gladiolus used for his greatsword and made sure to carry it in the Armiger, the smell reminding him of the training hall and how meditative it felt to simply move. He kept a cheap chocobo charm that Prompto won in the arcade, worth less than a gil but a fond memory of his friend grinning as though he'd won the lottery. Ignis was a private playlist on his phone, a collection of classic piano pieces he'd heard the older man play countless times.
Once upon a time, Noctis and Ignis would sit together on the piano beach, the latter conjuring magic from the ivory keys while Noctis let himself close his eyes and listen. Though Noctis knew how to play, it gave him no more pleasure than being taught arithmetic. He was a child of nobility; it was a given that he was taught one of the more refined arts regardless of his own personal interest.
Ignis, however, had learned not from obligation but fascination. He'd sat in one of the prince's lessons, quiet but undeniably curious. Even at such a young age, Noctis knew the moment Ignis had fallen in love, gazing at the piano with emerald eyes wide in awe. From there, a spark ignited that no force on Eos could extinguish. Noctis would have resented how quickly his friend's skills outpaced his own... if he hadn't seen how Ignis smiled as he coaxed music from the grand instrument, expression serene.
Noctis missed that Ignis. He missed the bashful creature that had taken him stargazing when they were small boys, or blushed when Noctis held his hand, oblivious in his innocence, and told him how beautiful his music was.
But someone had given Ignis the idea that being curled in the same bed was no longer endearing but scandalous -- to this day, Noctis was unsure who. Thoroughly chastised, Ignis had drawn into himself and out of Noctis's reach, measuring his words and affections carefully. He became uncharacteristically reticent when Noctis came into the piano room unannounced, lured in by an unfamiliar song; the music always stopped when Noctis walked in, until he finally got the hint and walked away.
Hearing the music on his phone made him feel as though he were sitting on the velvet of the piano bench, the weight of Ignis's body pressed against him as he swayed in time to the music. He’d been a prince, and betrothed at that; those quiet moments were all that he would ever have of Ignis, no matter how much more his traitorous heart wanted.
These were pleasant reminders... good memories.
Noctis sighed as he walked up the steps to the Throne, eyes flicking to the hunk of rock that had served as their fabled Crystal. Devoid of the magic that once made it glow, almost sing with power, it was little more than nostalgic décor in the Throne Room.
Noctis averted his eyes as much as he could, not daring to look at it too long. When he did, macabre images flashed through his head that left him breathless with foreign grief: Ignis stumbling about with a cane and scars carved around his eyes, Ravus covered in tar-black Scourge... and himself, sitting on this very throne with his father's glaive piercing his chest. If he looked long enough, he could almost feel a searing pain cleaving him in two, robbing the air from his lungs. He didn't understand what the visions were meant to convey, but he got the distinct feeling the Crystal, lifeless as it appeared, was angry at him.
Noctis thought he was losing his mind until he noticed that Ignis also regarded the Crystal with the same unease.
No... not unease. It was distrust, the same wariness he'd leveled at Ardyn so long ago... but to see him regard the Lucis Caelum family's most sacred artifact with blatant hatred was peculiar. Ignis glared as though challenging it, before his lips quirked smugly in a way that left the king baffled.
Noctis asked about it. Once. Ignis's expression had sobered instantly, but in lieu of an answer, he had glanced at Noctis's chest. Though only a moment, almost a spasm, Noctis didn't miss how the older man's mouth had tightened with despair, as though holding back a sob.
"The Crystal would have preferred a far more cruel fate," Ignis had finally replied, voice taut, "than what's come to pass."
Shuddering at the weight of what Ignis wasn't saying, Noctis had decided not to broach the topic again.
The Crystal was an unpleasant echo of the past, one Noctis desperately wanted to kick into the shadows where it belonged. It reminded him too much of his father.
His father, gazing at him with the kind yet inexplicably grief-stricken smile one would expect of a widow at her husband's tombstone.
His father, greying and withering before his eyes.
His father, hand clapped firmly on his shoulder, offering vague words of wisdom that only held significance in hindsight.
His father, seeking promises from a prince too ignorant to understand the oath in his own words.
His father, face and body hidden by armor -- but Noctis knows down to his bones that it's him.
His father, sword raised even as his posture screams hesitation, even as--
"Is everything alright, Your Majesty?"
A few steps below him, Ignis stood waiting. His expression was a perfect imitation of polite neutrality, hands clasped lightly behind his back and lips upturned just shy of a smile... but Noctis knew better. Ignis was too well-bred to let his gaze wander unless he was worried, yet his eyes kept flitting between the throne and the Crystal before landing on him once more, calculating the puzzle before him.
The king took a deep breath, willing it to steady the increasingly erratic pulse under his skin. Always the same vision near the damn rock, always the horrible sensation of being unmoored.
"Never liked this room," Noctis replied, feigning a yawn as if the matter were inconsequential. "Absence hasn't made me any fonder of it, I guess."
Even in his own ears, the levity in his voice sounded forced. He bit back the instinct to wince.
Ignis's barely-there smile slowly evaporated. While not displeased, he was certainly not fooled by his king's charade. He shifted his gaze toward at the Crystal, and with it, the tiniest trace of contempt slipped into his expression; that look again, scathing for reasons Noctis couldn’t understand.
As expected, he said nothing of his own thoughts. Instead, Ignis simply angled his head towards the exit and asked lightly, "Well, if you're done here, I found a rather nostalgic room that seems to be in one piece still. Would you care to join me?"
Noctis nearly tripped over himself in his haste to leave the throne room, descending two steps at a time. If Ignis noticed his desperation, he tactfully ignored it.
Curiosity was a far more welcome emotion than despair; Noctis clung to the optimistic flavor in Ignis's words. They'd spent weeks carefully traversing the ruins of the Citadel to get a sense of the damage, knowing before they set foot past the threshold that the council room would be in shambles. It was the one room Gladio had not seen in their exploration; upon entering, Noctis caught a glimpse of a skeleton pinned against the wall, draped in a familiar set of robes, and yelled for the Shield to stay behind.
Noctis had not been so fortunate. His father's skeletonized remains lay abandoned in a hallway, royal raiment stained crimson with a large gash in the front; it took little imagination to piece together how the late king died. The scent of iron had long since faded, replaced with the acrid smell of vomit as Noctis stumbled to a corner, stomach emptying its contents.
It was a mercy, if one could call it such, that the council room bore the brunt of the damage during Niflheim's attack. Many areas of the Citadel were largely unharmed, and merely eroded with the passage of time. Noctis's old room was unchanged, save for a thick layer of dust and that peculiar ash-like substance that filled the air during the Long Night. Noctis tried not to shudder at the idea of a Naga slithering around in his old bedroom, eerie human face examining his bookshelf.
"Where are we going?" Noctis asked Ignis, unable to make sense of where the other man was taking him, marveling at the eagerness in Ignis's steps as he led them through the hallways. It was not the advisor's usual stride, all brisk and smooth efficiency, but excitement. Giddiness. Even before the Fall, getting a sense of Ignis's moods felt like staring at the surface of the ocean and trying to intuit what lay beneath the still waters. He was, by the nature of his upbringing, an expert at masking his emotions.
The Ignis that had grabbed Noctis's hand as he led him through the hallways was gloriously childlike. Noctis couldn't help but smile as he let himself be led; he could almost hear echoes of children's voices in the hall, bygone imprints of a princeling giggling artlessly as Ignis dragged him along on another adventure.
As they stepped into the room, Noctis felt as if he'd been struck mute; warring thoughts clamored up his throat and left him speechless. His eyes burned with unshed tears as a wave of nostalgia threatened to bring him to his knees; he settled for gripping Ignis's hand a little tighter.
The heavy red drapes near the window, the checkered floor with the intricately designed rug, the bookshelf full of sheet music... the piano in the center of the room, lightly coated in dust, but otherwise untouched by time.
"Can't believe this room survived," Noctis choked out. "How long has it been?"
To Noctis's amazement, Ignis actually blushed as he delicately scratched his nose. He no longer wore glasses, though the habit of pushing up the bridge when flustered remained ingrained.
"I came here every day until the last," Ignis confessed, "though it's been quite a while longer for you, I believe."
Noctis said nothing, letting his silence speak for him.
You didn't want me to come here. You didn't want me to listen to your music. You didn't want me --
He made his way to the piano bench, desperate to quiet that old ache of rejection simmering beneath his skin. He sat on it gingerly, ensuring it would hold his weight. Ignis promptly sat next to him, running a hand along the keys fondly as if greeting an old friend.
That wound began to split, heart clenching at the press of his friend's body against him. It was so familiar, almost sacred.
The king had a witty comment on the tip of his tongue about the velvet being grey rather than red, paired with wondering aloud if laundry detergent would get out dust that old. He wanted to taunt Ignis and ask if he could play the chocobo song that Prompto sang during their road trip, curious if the older man would deign to roll his eyes before obliging.
Instead, Noctis shut his eyes as a tear slipped out. And with one come more, streaking down his face before he could quietly wipe them away with Ignis none the wiser.
But Ignis was wise, and noticed immediately. The advisor's hands cupped his face, thumbs wiping away his tears with expert efficiency. His expression was not exasperated but worried, expression falling as his king wept, seemingly without provocation.
Noctis clenched his jaw tight, biting back words that would ruin the friendship salvaged from their adolescence. What they have ought to be enough. And most of the time, it was, it truly was...
But he's reminded that it used to be more. Once upon a time, it was just him and Ignis in the quiet of this room. It was just him and Ignis and an instrument that let his friend speak with rare frankness, and even rarer sentiment.
And Noctis, lauded far and wide as the selfless Dawn King, desperately wanted to be selfish for once.
"Noct?"
The hushed voice, the nickname rather than his title... it was too much. It brushed against that horribly tender part of him; it pushed the polished king below the water as the hurts of a rejected child come gasping to the surface.
"Why did you stop letting me come here, Iggy?" he asked.
Why did you turn me away?
Why did you reject me?
What did I do wrong?
More questions crowded behind his teeth, but Noctis had the sense to not verbalize them. If the way Ignis's face fell was any indication, it seemed the older man guessed much of them on his own.
"Oh, Noct..." he said, thumb caressing Noctis's jaw. Despite the sadness in his expression, his lips quirked into something hopelessly fond. "I fear you've gravely misunderstood. It was merely self-consciousness on my part; I assure you it was nothing you did wrong."
That lifelong anguish, not completely assuaged, cradled Noctis's heart in its hands and laced around it. Armor, rather than a cage.
"Then what was it?"
Noctis thought he'd had enough surprises for a day, yet found himself such once more when Ignis cleared his throat and swallowed, buying himself time. He brought his hands back to the piano, resting on the keys and tapping them gently, soundlessly. Ignis was not a man given to idle movement; he didn't tap his foot, click a pen, or otherwise have repetitive tics unless he was truly nervous.
"I was... ah, composing something, and did not wish for you to hear it until I was satisfied with the end result."
Wait, what?
Noctis was stunned, not sure how to process the information. The lump in his throat finally began to loosen as that ancient misery let itself fade -- he hadn't been rejected. He hadn't done anything wrong; it hadn't been him at all. But the rickety bridge he'd built to explain that chasm between them crumbled before his eyes, and subsequently left him bereft of a reason he could make sense of.
When Noctis didn't immediately respond, Ignis added with a self-conscious smile, "It's rather personal, Noct. I was unsure how it would be received; safer to ensure I had it perfect and it wouldn't offend nor be off-putting."
"What, did you write a musical?" Noctis asked, knowing full well Ignis hadn't. But his comment had the desired effect, as Ignis chuckled and some of the tension between them broke.
"Nothing so terrible as that."
Noctis took a gamble. The use of past tense in Ignis's answer was telling.
"I'm assuming you did finish it?"
Ignis sighed, a fragile thing. Noctis could hear the wavering bravery in it, and he couldn't understand. He'd caught fragments of Ignis's song behind the door; even now, he lacked the words to describe what he'd heard, or what he could interpret from it. He remembered melancholy mingled with something achingly sweet, hopeful. He remembered, most of all, staring at the ceiling and trying not to cry, wanting to ask Ignis what inspired such a song.
"I did. Right before we left to go to Altissia."
"You.... can tell me 'no' if you want, but I'd like to hear it. I-If you want me to, that is. I don't want you feel--"
"Certainly, but only if you let me play to completion. And save questions for afterward, if you could."
Noctis smiled. In a bygone era, he'd heard a similar speech... albeit in a much higher pitched voice, as Ignis stumbled over a speech adopted from his piano teacher. Just as he'd done as a boy, Noctis drew his finger and thumb over his lips, imitating a zipping motion.
Ignis placed his fingers over the keys, and as promised, Noctis simply listened.
No -- he didn't listen so much as drift, letting his eyes close as the music wove a story. It was a slow and peaceful number -- almost a lullaby, but infinitely warmer and more intimate. It was unhurried, quiet nights spent beneath the stars, talking in hushed voices as they point out constellations. It was the first light of dawn as Noctis stepped out of the tent, the silhouette of his friend against the rising sun doing strange, exhilarating things to his heart.
It was the sensation of resting his head on Ignis's chest during dance lessons, when lack of audience granted them courage. It was that feeling of belonging. It was eyes fluttering closed just like this, willing time to stop, as Noctis memorized the steady beat of Ignis's heart, the way their hands laced together as though made for no other purpose. It was that odd look of pain that would cross Ignis's face, almost imperceptible in its swiftness, when the topic of Noctis's wedding was brought up. He hadn't dared hope to assume its meaning, and Ignis would never be so gauche as to acknowledge it.
When the song came to an end, Noctis was almost reluctant to speak. It felt as though a spell had been cast; so much as a misplaced breath would shatter the peace.
"It's beautiful, Iggy," Noctis said. "I see why you wanted to wait until it was perfect. I'm not good at the music theory stuff, but it's... a lot. B-but in a good way."
Ignis, keeping his eyes on the keys, nodded politely and merely said, "Thank you. I'm glad you enjoyed it."
Noctis wanted to smack himself. He was thirty years old, a king, yet barely able to describe the way a song made him feel -- a song his friend had put so much into, kept close to his heart for a decade. Noctis had wondered if it was the technical difficulty of it that made Ignis so reluctant, but it was evident there was something else. Asking what the song was about would have been far too invasive, so he tried a different route instead.
"Can I ask what it's called?"
Ignis's breath hitched. In another situation, Noctis might have privately gloated at having been so thoroughly able to unsettle his stoic advisor. Instead, Noctis was simply lost on what to do. Musicians titled their compositions; it felt like a benign question, yet it was clear this was even more revealing.
Ignis glanced at the ceiling as if bracing himself.
"Noctis."
Nonplussed, Noctis blinked and answered automatically, "...Yeah?"
The advisor replied quietly, "I was answering your question. It's called Noctis."
There was a moment of almost torturous stillness, as Noctis let the answer wash over him.
He let the candor of Ignis's confession settle into his skin and bones, warming him until he felt he might weep at it. Part of him recoiled at the way his heart skipped in his chest with joy -- he loves me, he loves me, he loves me! Part of Noctis wanted to shy away from it -- it was too unguarded, too innocent. It was the romantic ideals of an ignorant child. But this man -- his Ignis, fire and joy and all the things right in the world -- looked at him and conjured beauty out of it.
The Ignis that the world saw was placid, poised, an unreadable wall. But his art was honest, earnest; it hoped and yearned without artifice. For all that Noctis had dreamed, had wanted... he had been content to simply let those feelings fester in his chest. Ignis alchemized his unvarnished affection into music that left little ambiguity as to how he felt.
Once upon a time, Noctis had longed to hear Ignis say I love you. It had been the daydream of a lovesick teen, too coiled in his own insecurities to ever dream of speaking it aloud.
But as he brought his lips to Ignis's, Noctis was unable to suppress his smile.
Music would do just fine.