[The embrace isn't as long-lived as Noctis would have liked, but he'd grown up aware of having eyes on him, as the prince, so he's conscious of where they are and what they'd come here for. They leave the chamber, apologize and withdraw from the experiment, and while the robots running the place are understandably confused, they don't fuss over it, recognizing that something strange occurred that takes precedent.
The walk back to their houses is less eventful, Noctis sticking to small talk or reflective silence, content to just enjoy his dad's company. It's only once they hit the crossroads to split off in the directions of their respective homes does Noctis face Regis, reaching out to grasp his shoulder. His mouth opens to thank him again and fumble through a farewell, but instead comes a memory--
( You hate this room. All your life, you've hated it.
The throne room looms outwards in all directions, grim and empty save for its five occupants: you, your retinue, and the king on his throne. You and he stare one another down for a few seconds, and the uncomfortable mood is palpable until you break contact and look down. Just like always, his stern gaze is too heavy for you here. He's too far away to read the subtleties in his expression, so he just looks callous and impassive, unmoved as the heavy chair beneath him. You're not strong enough to maintain your composure in light of… well, everything.
"The decreed hour is come. Set forth with my blessing, Prince Noctis."
You hear him say the words you'd expected, but somehow it still feels so cold. Your answer is automatic, practiced, but you can't mask your awkward disappointment. "Thank you… Your Majesty." The title is expected of you, though it burns your tongue to speak it. All your life, and it's never truly felt right; a failing of yours, you know. This is your father. Your father is the king. You're expected to address him as such. It's never been what you want, though, and right now you feel that dissatisfaction more than ever before.
You are dismissed, but your departure is too abrupt, and you know this. A small act of defiance, ignoring the formal process of leaving the throne room, the deference and gracious tones. It's the sort of behaviour only you could get away with, most likely. You're lucky the council isn't here to witness your subtle disrespect. It's true that you hate this room, and that's part of the reason why you do it, but more than anything it's because you're angry with him, and you want to make sure that he knows it as you leave.
You're lost in your own thoughts while the others converse on the way out, until you hear Drautos call you on the steps outside the Citadel. When you turn to find the king hobbling down after you, you can't help speaking the first thought that flits through your mind, "What now?"
"I fear I have left too much unsaid," he says as he waves away your offered help with the steps. Stubborn as ever, even with the cane and the limp. You still share that much, at least. "You place a great burden on those who would bear with you."
You stamp down a wave of irritation. Seriously? And whose fault is it if he has more to say and no time to do so? "You're one to talk." He addresses your friends next, and that impatience only grows. Is that all you get, after he couldn't spare you even a minute the night before? He came all the way out here on his bad leg just to chastise you? It wouldn't be a burden if we stayed here, you want to clap back, but manage to hold your tongue. It's never been your call to make, and you just want to get out of here. "Hate to break this up, but Cor’s got the motor running. Drautos, he's in your hands."
"-And another thing." Again, you are interrupted, forced to turn back. It must be your imagination, because for a second there the king sounded almost… anxious. "Do mind your manners around your charming bride-to-be."
I'd know what to say to her if you'd had time for me yesterday, you think, words you'd never dream of speaking aloud. You know your role, both in the kingdom and in your father's life. You'll be the perfect prince for him, because the war needs to end, because he's growing old and he looks so tired and maybe, if you do this, he'll live long enough to become a grandfather, something that hasn't happened in the Lucian royal family for generations. You just have to leave, let him take care of the negotiations, go get hitched. Such a simple thing, even you can't screw it up. It's fine. You're fine.
It's not as if you're terrified and lost and feel too young, and you don't know the first thing about being married, or how to treat your bride, or all the steps to follow. It's not as if you're worried you'll unintentionally ruin everything and wanted some advice on how to behave on foreign soil, help your future wife feel at ease as she's forced into this the same way you are, dragged from her home to live in a different country with a new husband she hasn't seen for twelve years. It's not as if you'd questioned why the wedding was in Altissia when Insomnia was about to be flooded by Niflheim dignitaries, when the Caelum Via is already decked to the nines for the treaty celebration and it would be a simple thing to hold a ceremony there, with all of their friends, instead of in a country you don't know and isn't even involved in the peace negotiations. It's not like you wanted a few minutes and a little reassurance that everything would be okay. It's not like you'd rather be home, so you can keep an eye on the only family you've ever known while your capital is overrun by your conquering enemies.
It's not like you wanted your father to stand with you when you got married.
He was busy. He's always busy. You know this. You're no longer a child anymore, and it's time to grow up.
These thoughts, like so many others, can't be shared, and the eyes of your people are on you, so you smile through the hurt and bow, adopting a formal tone. "Your Majesty, as well. Try to mind yours around our esteemed guests from Niflheim."
"You have no cause for concern."
"Nor do you," you fire back, almost defensive. Confusion, frustration join the irritation already flitting through your mind. What does he want? To embarrass you in front of your friends by questioning your resolve?
"Take heed. Once you set forth, you cannot turn back."
"You think I would?" It's laughable; you'd be offended if it wasn't so. As if you've ever truly been allowed to make an important decision in your life. You've known your fate since you were young- where your path would lead, what the expectations on you were. You're a prince; you're a commodity. Arranged marriages aren't exactly traditional, but they're never off the table, either. Niflheim held all the cards, and all their demands are to be met in order to guarantee the safety of their people. You're not about to become a coward and walk away from everything now. Not with so much weighing on the success of this treaty. The chance for peace with Niflheim at last, even at the cost of all their territory. No more war meant no more fighting. The Kingsglaive could focus on protecting the people. The refugees could go back to their homes and rebuild what they'd lost. Luna would be free, at least the same extent you are. It would be a good thing, surely, even in the face of defeat. Besides… even if you wanted to run, where would you go, anyway?
So it's fine. You're fine. "Don’t know about you, but I’m ready as I’ll ever be." And you mean it.
"Take care on the long road. Wheresoever you should go, the line of Lucis goes with you." There's something strange about his tone, when he sets his hand on your shoulder and looks into your eyes, tells you firmly, "Walk tall, my son." You don't know what he means, or why it sounds so final, but you can feel the heaviness of his hand on your shoulder like it carries the weight of the whole country upon it. In a sense, it does. It's the hand that bears the ring, after all. Still- you shrug him off, saying your farewells and heading for the car. He could have lectured you all he liked last night, but chose to ignore you, leave you waiting, and send you home empty-handed. He made his decision, so now you're going to do this your way.
Maybe by the time you get back, you'll have forgiven him again. )
--And when it fades, Noctis backs off again, hands up as if in surrender. Oh, gods. He did not just share that with Regis-]
i should probably apologize for this
The walk back to their houses is less eventful, Noctis sticking to small talk or reflective silence, content to just enjoy his dad's company. It's only once they hit the crossroads to split off in the directions of their respective homes does Noctis face Regis, reaching out to grasp his shoulder. His mouth opens to thank him again and fumble through a farewell, but instead comes a memory--
( You hate this room. All your life, you've hated it.
The throne room looms outwards in all directions, grim and empty save for its five occupants: you, your retinue, and the king on his throne. You and he stare one another down for a few seconds, and the uncomfortable mood is palpable until you break contact and look down. Just like always, his stern gaze is too heavy for you here. He's too far away to read the subtleties in his expression, so he just looks callous and impassive, unmoved as the heavy chair beneath him. You're not strong enough to maintain your composure in light of… well, everything.
"The decreed hour is come. Set forth with my blessing, Prince Noctis."
You hear him say the words you'd expected, but somehow it still feels so cold. Your answer is automatic, practiced, but you can't mask your awkward disappointment. "Thank you… Your Majesty." The title is expected of you, though it burns your tongue to speak it. All your life, and it's never truly felt right; a failing of yours, you know. This is your father. Your father is the king. You're expected to address him as such. It's never been what you want, though, and right now you feel that dissatisfaction more than ever before.
You are dismissed, but your departure is too abrupt, and you know this. A small act of defiance, ignoring the formal process of leaving the throne room, the deference and gracious tones. It's the sort of behaviour only you could get away with, most likely. You're lucky the council isn't here to witness your subtle disrespect. It's true that you hate this room, and that's part of the reason why you do it, but more than anything it's because you're angry with him, and you want to make sure that he knows it as you leave.
You're lost in your own thoughts while the others converse on the way out, until you hear Drautos call you on the steps outside the Citadel. When you turn to find the king hobbling down after you, you can't help speaking the first thought that flits through your mind, "What now?"
"I fear I have left too much unsaid," he says as he waves away your offered help with the steps. Stubborn as ever, even with the cane and the limp. You still share that much, at least. "You place a great burden on those who would bear with you."
You stamp down a wave of irritation. Seriously? And whose fault is it if he has more to say and no time to do so? "You're one to talk." He addresses your friends next, and that impatience only grows. Is that all you get, after he couldn't spare you even a minute the night before? He came all the way out here on his bad leg just to chastise you? It wouldn't be a burden if we stayed here, you want to clap back, but manage to hold your tongue. It's never been your call to make, and you just want to get out of here. "Hate to break this up, but Cor’s got the motor running. Drautos, he's in your hands."
"-And another thing." Again, you are interrupted, forced to turn back. It must be your imagination, because for a second there the king sounded almost… anxious. "Do mind your manners around your charming bride-to-be."
I'd know what to say to her if you'd had time for me yesterday, you think, words you'd never dream of speaking aloud. You know your role, both in the kingdom and in your father's life. You'll be the perfect prince for him, because the war needs to end, because he's growing old and he looks so tired and maybe, if you do this, he'll live long enough to become a grandfather, something that hasn't happened in the Lucian royal family for generations. You just have to leave, let him take care of the negotiations, go get hitched. Such a simple thing, even you can't screw it up. It's fine. You're fine.
It's not as if you're terrified and lost and feel too young, and you don't know the first thing about being married, or how to treat your bride, or all the steps to follow. It's not as if you're worried you'll unintentionally ruin everything and wanted some advice on how to behave on foreign soil, help your future wife feel at ease as she's forced into this the same way you are, dragged from her home to live in a different country with a new husband she hasn't seen for twelve years. It's not as if you'd questioned why the wedding was in Altissia when Insomnia was about to be flooded by Niflheim dignitaries, when the Caelum Via is already decked to the nines for the treaty celebration and it would be a simple thing to hold a ceremony there, with all of their friends, instead of in a country you don't know and isn't even involved in the peace negotiations. It's not like you wanted a few minutes and a little reassurance that everything would be okay. It's not like you'd rather be home, so you can keep an eye on the only family you've ever known while your capital is overrun by your conquering enemies.
It's not like you wanted your father to stand with you when you got married.
He was busy. He's always busy. You know this. You're no longer a child anymore, and it's time to grow up.
These thoughts, like so many others, can't be shared, and the eyes of your people are on you, so you smile through the hurt and bow, adopting a formal tone. "Your Majesty, as well. Try to mind yours around our esteemed guests from Niflheim."
"You have no cause for concern."
"Nor do you," you fire back, almost defensive. Confusion, frustration join the irritation already flitting through your mind. What does he want? To embarrass you in front of your friends by questioning your resolve?
"Take heed. Once you set forth, you cannot turn back."
"You think I would?" It's laughable; you'd be offended if it wasn't so. As if you've ever truly been allowed to make an important decision in your life. You've known your fate since you were young- where your path would lead, what the expectations on you were. You're a prince; you're a commodity. Arranged marriages aren't exactly traditional, but they're never off the table, either. Niflheim held all the cards, and all their demands are to be met in order to guarantee the safety of their people. You're not about to become a coward and walk away from everything now. Not with so much weighing on the success of this treaty. The chance for peace with Niflheim at last, even at the cost of all their territory. No more war meant no more fighting. The Kingsglaive could focus on protecting the people. The refugees could go back to their homes and rebuild what they'd lost. Luna would be free, at least the same extent you are. It would be a good thing, surely, even in the face of defeat. Besides… even if you wanted to run, where would you go, anyway?
So it's fine. You're fine. "Don’t know about you, but I’m ready as I’ll ever be." And you mean it.
"Take care on the long road. Wheresoever you should go, the line of Lucis goes with you." There's something strange about his tone, when he sets his hand on your shoulder and looks into your eyes, tells you firmly, "Walk tall, my son." You don't know what he means, or why it sounds so final, but you can feel the heaviness of his hand on your shoulder like it carries the weight of the whole country upon it. In a sense, it does. It's the hand that bears the ring, after all. Still- you shrug him off, saying your farewells and heading for the car. He could have lectured you all he liked last night, but chose to ignore you, leave you waiting, and send you home empty-handed. He made his decision, so now you're going to do this your way.
Maybe by the time you get back, you'll have forgiven him again. )
--And when it fades, Noctis backs off again, hands up as if in surrender. Oh, gods. He did not just share that with Regis-]