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Get in time traveller
[Altissia. The ring, burning into his finger, burning into his skull, and he knows the price without asking, knows before it's paid. The thing you value most, isn't that always how this works in fairytales?
Ravus. Noctis. Ardyn, and that little revelation barely enters his mind at the time, the familiar glowing signature of a warp in an unfamiliar color. The prophecy, the visions that hang in his mind, a last wish from a woman who spent her life to ensure it, Lunafreya's final message to ensure that Noctis would survive.
The last clear words he can remember clearly, You've a calling to fulfill, and then Prompto and Gladio's voices, concerned, in a blur...
And then nothing. Just the feeling of a ring's power, setting him alight from fingertips to crown -
It's still in him, that power. The ring of the Lucii binds to its wearers for life, knotting strands of light into their souls, be they kings or anyone else.
(He had expected to die. Living is harder.)
And in the depths of his unconsciousness, in the place where he knows the things that he hasn't had time to consider, Noctis and Ardyn and prophecy and all of that terrible weight -
From there, from the connection of the fire in his soul that will never go out, that can only be smothered and locked away in the dark, a voice says, what would you give to change fate?
And, of course, he answers, Anything.
----
In another world, Ignis Scientia wakes in Altissia, his face scarred, his vision burned away, and continues on.
In this one, Prompto Argentum enters the room just in time to see a flare of purple flame lick along his friend's body and leave nothing behind, not even a char mark on the wrinkled sheets.
And Ignis?
Ignis wakes, with a groan and a hand pressed to his face, in the back of a cart that trundles to a stop to pick up another passenger, a young healer with cheeks not yet sunken by pain and eyes not yet yellowed by plague. He wakes bereft, on some fundamental level, of the touch of magic that bound him to Noctis, the hum of energy that bound retainer to prince...
He wakes with the imprint of a ring on his finger, the memory of agreeing, and not the damnedest idea where he is.]
Ravus. Noctis. Ardyn, and that little revelation barely enters his mind at the time, the familiar glowing signature of a warp in an unfamiliar color. The prophecy, the visions that hang in his mind, a last wish from a woman who spent her life to ensure it, Lunafreya's final message to ensure that Noctis would survive.
The last clear words he can remember clearly, You've a calling to fulfill, and then Prompto and Gladio's voices, concerned, in a blur...
And then nothing. Just the feeling of a ring's power, setting him alight from fingertips to crown -
It's still in him, that power. The ring of the Lucii binds to its wearers for life, knotting strands of light into their souls, be they kings or anyone else.
(He had expected to die. Living is harder.)
And in the depths of his unconsciousness, in the place where he knows the things that he hasn't had time to consider, Noctis and Ardyn and prophecy and all of that terrible weight -
From there, from the connection of the fire in his soul that will never go out, that can only be smothered and locked away in the dark, a voice says, what would you give to change fate?
And, of course, he answers, Anything.
----
In another world, Ignis Scientia wakes in Altissia, his face scarred, his vision burned away, and continues on.
In this one, Prompto Argentum enters the room just in time to see a flare of purple flame lick along his friend's body and leave nothing behind, not even a char mark on the wrinkled sheets.
And Ignis?
Ignis wakes, with a groan and a hand pressed to his face, in the back of a cart that trundles to a stop to pick up another passenger, a young healer with cheeks not yet sunken by pain and eyes not yet yellowed by plague. He wakes bereft, on some fundamental level, of the touch of magic that bound him to Noctis, the hum of energy that bound retainer to prince...
He wakes with the imprint of a ring on his finger, the memory of agreeing, and not the damnedest idea where he is.]
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[And in this world, a man younger than Ignis himself--perhaps barely a day elder than Noctis--hopped up into the chocodrawn cart with a cheerful greeting to the driver, followed by a 'no, no, I can take the back and be out of your way'.]
[As the cart started on its way again, the young man in halfway familiar clothes and a very familiar scarf swept wine-red hair from hazel eyes and came to focus properly on his fellow passenger.]
...Astrals' mercy, good sir, are you hurt?
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He can only hear the voice, and instinctively jerks back, away, before he can form any other kind of reaction.
But the worst of his injuries, of course, are plain as daylight. The burns marring his face, clearly unnatural, can only be a few hours old - half a day, at most. And in the process of jerking back from Ardyn, he instinctively attempts to blink, which sends a sudden, sharp surge of pain through his skull.
He groans at the pain, one hand automatically coming up towards his face, stopping just shy of actually touching the burns, and his voice is small.]
Don't...
[Whatever it is he's protesting, it's weak - too weak to stand up to much.]
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Oh, dear... [His voice hitched with a faint hesitation, rather than ambling through smooth arrogance. After only a moment longer he reached out to brush a gentle hand against Ignis' face--with it came a stuttering warmth like sunlight and gradual relieving of any pain the burns caused.]
[The healer didn't dare make a sound, pressing the back of his other hand to his mouth as those marks painted themselves on his own skin in exchange. How much could he take before passing out either from pain or magic too powerful for a thin frame to truly contain? He'd certainly try for most of it; the worse off of his eyes, certainly.]
[By the time he did finally give out and faint, a fair amount of the wounds Ignis had carried were marring the face and neck of someone who was, unmistakably, Ardyn Lucis Caelum.]
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But then -
He had never felt the healing hands of the Oracle, never anything more than the faint combat boost the Lucian magic still carried and the curatives it could create. In comparison to this, the healing of potions and the like seems almost... Sharp, and sour, a sudden acute lack of injury.
He knows that potions would have done nothing for those burns, because if they could have done, then Prompto or Gladio or someone would have. And yet the pain lightens until...
He can blink.
And oh, it still hurts, but it is less, when that warm hand finally falls away, and by some instinct Ignis catches it, keeping the healer from falling in a way that would have hurt him any further. And then he can open his eyes, and there's at least some vision there, not perfectly clear but enough to see the young man who now slumps against him in the cart.
He looks like Noctis, is that first, uncanny realization.
He's wounded, is the second.
And then with his free hand, Ignis reaches up and touches his face, his neck - and it stings, but he can tell where the wounds aren't, where they've been taken and replaced by clear skin and -
transferred to the skin of the boy in front of him, who can only be one person, with his messy red hair and patterned orange scarf, looking far less worn out than when Ignis last saw it, just yesterday, in the rain.
It's Ardyn. An Ardyn long before - before anything. With warm hands and none of the prickling aura that had set him apart even before he'd shared so much as his name. It's Ardyn, helpless, neck exposed, and in Ignis' mind echoes what would you give to change fate?
He could do it. Right now. Put an end to Ardyn here, in the back of this cart, with no immediate witnesses and no one who could stop him. He almost does.
But he's reaching for a dagger in an Armiger that isn't there, and that calls up the thought of Noctis, and their sleeping faces are so alike even in his still-blurred vision that...
He can't. Even had the blade come, he couldn't. He's more than capable of killing an unconscious person without the aid of weapons, but he simply cannot.
Instead, Ignis exhales, slowly and gently, and settles the young healer to the floor of the cart.]
...Very well, then.
[He'll find another way.]
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[Ardyn murmured something vague in his unconscious state, a wordless sound more than anything defined as he was moved to the floor. When he finally stirred a long few minutes later, it was to press a hand to his own eye in some token attempt to stop its ache by willpower alone. Oh, he was in all kinds of trouble for this one when Gilgamesh and his brother caught sight of him. Maybe they'd believe he ran afoul of some vicious wildlife.]
[But, first things first:]
...are you alright?
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fuck it i'm just gonna use this one
look we both know it's you so whatever it's not like young ardyn icons exist
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There was more takeout. More adjustment. A pair of black leather straps to keep the daggers bound to his hands in backhandsprings and other acrobatics. Stretches, and slowly starting to push himself again.
Every day, it felt more normal. Every day, he slipped a little further from the memories of Ardyn Izunia, Imperial Chancellor, and a little closer to Ardyn Lucis Caelum, a kind, dramatic, sometimes downright foolish young man with a knack for machinery and the powers of a healer.
Every day, the hole in his chest named Noctis hurt a little less.
And now, finally, they were on the road, albeit at a slower pace than Ardyn and Gilgamesh usually travelled. At least chocobo-back was familiar, with the new weight of daggers at his sides. It didn't take that much adjustment, not when you could trust that the bird didn't want to run into trees any more than you did.
And now it was getting to be nightfall.]
We ought to camp soon, before we run into any daemons.
[All too recently, he wouldn't have been concerned. But the loss of vision and magic both made him all too aware that daemons he wouldn't have blinked at before Altissia were likely as dangerous to him as they were to anyone else, now.]
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[Grateful enough for the future Shield to trust they'd stay out of trouble the instant his back was turned. He'd gone a day or so ahead of them, to a town rumored already in danger. Clear out the worst of the daemons by night, let Ardyn handle salvaging the rest. Simple, easy, and yet carrying a price the savior didn't dare speak of to anyone.]
Fine, fine. [Ardyn frowned slightly, patting Philomela's black feathers; he kept pace with Ignis for his sake as well as Ardyn's own, but carefree nature or not it was clear he wanted to get to their destination as soon as possible.]
There's a haven just nearby. We should be able to make it that far.
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And town by... Hmm, I would have said by noon, but with you it's more likely to be mid-afternoon, isn't it?
[He can't resist the chance for some gentle teasing.]
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I'll be awake in the morning. I should like to be there sooner rather than later.
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[And then he cuts off, because there's the telltale sound of a daemon manifesting on the road before them.]
- Oh, for fuck's sake.
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He's in the kitchen when they get home, loading a few things into the Solheim-style dishwasher. There's the smell of something cheesy and delicious in the oven as he cleans up.]
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[The moment he turned to say something, Ardyn's arms were around his brother's shoulders as if he hadn't seen the other Lucis Caelum in an eternity.]
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[And the rest of the greeting is cut off by the sudden hug. Izunia freezes briefly in confusion before immediately returning it.
It's rare enough that Ardyn seeks this kind of affection, of reassurance these days, that he isn't quite sure what the make of it. But there's no hesitation in the fact that he does, holding his brother as securely as he is capable.]
Did something happen?
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Izunia-...I love you. You know that, right?
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[You're doing your brother a confuse.]
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And then, one night, he goes to sleep at Ardyn's side, and wakes alone, only his glasses left behind. Because it's not to a warm embrace that he wakes but to - ]
Iggy! You're awake!
About time. Almost thought Noct was going to wake up first for once.
[ - familiar voices over his sickbed that he thought he would never hear again. To Altissia and his face, both ruined nearly beyond repair, as though he never left. Except...
He finds himself, constantly, touching where scar should be around his eye. The eye that still has partial vision, which will serve him perfectly well with the addition of yet another new pair of glasses.
And when finally the nurses clear Prompto and Gladio from his room to let him rest, he tilts his head back and demands of the ceiling, the Kings, the gods themselves - ]
Did I manage to change anything at all?
[
Time, however, marches ever onwards. As does Noctis, once he wakes. On to Niflheim, and his damnable fate, no matter how Ignis might plea otherwise. On to avenge Lunafreya, and Insomnia, and everyone Ardyn Izunia has hurt -
And Ignis follows, because Noctis is his Prince and he will always, always put the line of Lucis Caelum before himself.
Even if, in quiet moments like this when he has no company but the sway and sound of the train, the thought of Ardyn Lucis Caelum aches far worse than the scars of the burns he's missing.]
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[How pathetic.]
[So he just casually strolled down the hall and past the cabins, humming a cheerful tune as he went. He was having a great time, in fact. No weird memories or facial scarring that would catch up with him in the next twenty minutes in some temporal bullshit at all.]
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...Fuck.
[It takes a lot to make Ignis swear. That particular moment absolutely deserves it.]
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[Maybe illusions would have been a better idea.]
My, what a coincidence. I didn't think I'd see you again nearly this soon.
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[Because this is, in fact, Ardyn Izunia, not his Ardyn - the wholeness of the man's face attests to that. Instinctively, Ignis pulls for a weapon -
But is it any surprise, with the man in front of him, that the blade that comes to his hand is not Crownsguard silver in a flash of blue? Instead, the brief gleam of Armiger's light is Ardyn's own pinks, around a mostly-black dagger with a feather-marked blade.
Ignis himself hasn't yet noticed, his hands finding the hilt familiar and that's all he needs, his eye not budging a micrometer from where it's locked upon Ardyn.]
But you'll forgive me if I don't believe in coincidence where you're concerned.
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[And not long before a suspiciously easy journey began to draw to a close, Ignis would fall asleep in a train cabin and awake to the sound of someone collapsing to the floor.]
[Instead of a train was another simple hotel room, in another plague-beset town of the declining Solheim. A search for the source of the noise would find a still young, still redheaded healer passed out on the floor, burning up with a fever and drawing ragged breaths.]
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It happened, and it was real, however brief it was. And as they bundle up against the chill of the Glacian's former domain, he can't help thinking of another chilly touch.
Especially when Gentiana pauses to shake her head at him, just slightly, almost as though she knows.
And then he wakes and -
He's back. That is the only explanation for the warmth of the bed beneath him, and the familiar ragged breathing.
Ignis doesn't take the time to question it. He lurches into motion, dropping to Ardyn's side and gathering the healer into his arms once more.]
You absolute fool...
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[...He also felt just a little bit lighter than the time before, as if he'd simply forgotten to eat properly for a while.]
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[He'll give you hell for that little bit lighter, later. Right now, it's an almost familiar gentle lift to the bed, laying him out so that Ignis can get a better look.
Checking his wrists for black, ruffling that mess of hair...Ignis just sighs before climbing in beside him.]
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[Ardyn murmured that in a half-asleep daze; his wrists and arms were haphazardly bandaged to cover wounds that weren't his, faint bloodstains on white cloth thankfully red instead of black.]
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