Unfortunately common where the Scourge is involved, but Ardyn is a level above and beyond.
[Izunia stares down at his hand, opening and closing his fingers as though the dagger's still there.]
He didn't simply die. He vanished in a cloud of black smoke, like any other daemon. I was... beyond distraught, and sought the council of the gods.
That was my mistake.
[There's a little buried anger, now, that makes his resemblance to Ardyn bleed through again.]
The Draconian told me that I had sealed his fate - destroyed what little remained of my brother and left his body for daemons to puppet around. And so I took out all my anger and my grief on that body, with never a thought that the gods might be lying to me.
I... I knew it wouldn't even do anything. That only the Chosen King could actually destroy that daemon, and I was never chosen. Only a second choice, at best.
[Prompto won't have any idea what he's referencing, but there's a tinge of irony to the tone and a little pained smile.]
I'll spare you the details, but I'm sure you can imagine. All the while not realizing that it was truly my brother still who bore all that pain and suffering.
[Prompto may not know what he's referencing, but he can imagine the results all too well. Taking out anger and grief on something, with the Kings' power? In a much smaller, more familiar way, he's seen Noct do the same, after he Imperial army murdered Jared.
In a less comforting, more personal way, he can imagine Izunia's face and voice--Ardyn's face and voice--torturing someone over and over. It's almost too easy for him to imagine, really.
And then the wires cross, and in the most personal, most terrible way, he remembers Noct's voice, twisted in hatred and pain and fury, and the hard pressure of his forearm against his throat--and maybe Prompto can't imagine what it was like for Izunia, but it's even more horrifying to know, in some small part, he felt what it was like for Ardyn.]
...Sorry.
[He curls up, pulling his legs to his chest again, voice disappearing into his knees.]
It's also pretty hard to make yourself stop and think of questions when someone's face is like halfway melting off and they're way too close? Not exactly prime time for a pop quiz.
And who would doubt the word of the gods, after all?
[Hey he's so bitter about that.]
I didn't. Not until Ignis put on the ring and Ardyn warped in front of him. For two thousand years, I believed.
[That's why he told you to ask, Prompto, when you're unsure. Things worse than seeming needy for reassurance: dooming your twin brother to two thousand years as the world's enemy.]
Nothing wrong with that. Not everyone is born to it like we were.
[Being born into it isn't really all that great.]
But the politics of mortals and the politics of the divine are basically the same. Everyone involved is spinning the truth, knitting the truth, and sometimes outright lying to get what they want.
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[Izunia stares down at his hand, opening and closing his fingers as though the dagger's still there.]
He didn't simply die. He vanished in a cloud of black smoke, like any other daemon. I was... beyond distraught, and sought the council of the gods.
That was my mistake.
[There's a little buried anger, now, that makes his resemblance to Ardyn bleed through again.]
The Draconian told me that I had sealed his fate - destroyed what little remained of my brother and left his body for daemons to puppet around. And so I took out all my anger and my grief on that body, with never a thought that the gods might be lying to me.
I... I knew it wouldn't even do anything. That only the Chosen King could actually destroy that daemon, and I was never chosen. Only a second choice, at best.
[Prompto won't have any idea what he's referencing, but there's a tinge of irony to the tone and a little pained smile.]
I'll spare you the details, but I'm sure you can imagine. All the while not realizing that it was truly my brother still who bore all that pain and suffering.
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In a less comforting, more personal way, he can imagine Izunia's face and voice--Ardyn's face and voice--torturing someone over and over. It's almost too easy for him to imagine, really.
And then the wires cross, and in the most personal, most terrible way, he remembers Noct's voice, twisted in hatred and pain and fury, and the hard pressure of his forearm against his throat--and maybe Prompto can't imagine what it was like for Izunia, but it's even more horrifying to know, in some small part, he felt what it was like for Ardyn.]
...Sorry.
[He curls up, pulling his legs to his chest again, voice disappearing into his knees.]
Sorry. That's awful. ...I shouldn't have asked.
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It would be easy to blame the gods entirely, but I know who did the damning deed.
[He's a coward in many other aspects of his life, but not this. Not when it comes to his family and his own hands on the weapon.]
And it was indeed damning, because unfortunately, the Ardyn you know is the result of it. Had I not been such a fool -
[He stops himself with a sigh.]
No use in what-ifs.
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He wouldn't even exist.]
To be fair, it's. Pretty hard to argue with the gods. They're very big.
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I suppose so. Still, it's not as though it was the gods I loved. I should have at least stopped to ask Ardyn, not them.
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[o h.]
Yeah, that's... Sorry. I guess... sometimes, you're so sure of something, you just don't stop to ask questions no matter what else doesn't add up.
['Why wouldn't I?!']
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[Hey he's so bitter about that.]
I didn't. Not until Ignis put on the ring and Ardyn warped in front of him. For two thousand years, I believed.
[That's why he told you to ask, Prompto, when you're unsure. Things worse than seeming needy for reassurance: dooming your twin brother to two thousand years as the world's enemy.]
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...That's rough, buddy.
Who'd have thought, with all the trouble they go through to communicate with us mere mortals at all, they'd waste words lying?
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[Not even actually a question. He's the Normal Friend, Ignis is the politician.]
Every word of the lie was spoken with intention. Another step in the plan, so to speak.
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[He says it glumly, though, cupping his chin in his hands.]
Guess I'm so used to being stepped on for people's plans I don't really think about how they make them.
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[Being born into it isn't really all that great.]
But the politics of mortals and the politics of the divine are basically the same. Everyone involved is spinning the truth, knitting the truth, and sometimes outright lying to get what they want.