Get in time traveller

[warmgaze]

[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.]

Comments

[warmgaze]

[He knows a fucking dodge when he sees one, Ardyn, he was tutored for politics.]

So that's a yes. Are you infectious yourself?

[Let Ardyn think that that's what he's worried about.]

[burninglight]

Of course not. [The smile faded, not quite offended but disappointed Ignis would think it was that easy.] The gods would ill choose a savior susceptible to that which he is meant to banish.

[warmgaze]

Of course.

[Except that the only person Ignis has ever heard of as being immune to the Scourge is the Oracle, and, of course, Ardyn is no Oracle.

Nor is he the Chosen King. At least, not the Chosen King of light.

The idea of it settles uneasily in his stomach.]

And what happens when you've gathered more of it than your body can bear?

[burninglight]

Honestly, don't be ridiculous. The Astrals would not give me this power were I not meant to cure that which afflicts our world. I can scarcely be bearer of the Crystal's light as they wish of me if I am to have such a limitation.

[Ardyn sighed like this was the most pointless conversation he'd ever had, standing with every intention of turning and walking to the bedroom.]

[...Then, with a quiet sound of what was probably realization, his legs gave out and he collapsed.]

[warmgaze]

[And the way Ardyn says that is so heart-felt that Ignis wishes he could believe it -

And then the man's legs give out from under him, and Ignis is right there at his side, by reflex, the same way he would have when Noctis' back gave out and that

That just seals it, doesn't it?]

Don't worry. I've got you.

[Fortunate that Ardyn is so thin, not weighing much more than Noctis or Prompto. Ignis can't quite lift him bridal style, but he can get a shoulder in there and lift, if he has to.]

[burninglight]

...m'alright.

[The assurance came out as a vague and dazed murmur, Ardyn already burning up with a fever that surely couldn't have been there moments ago.]

It won't...last long. Never does. Just need to rest.

[warmgaze]

Hold onto me and I'll get you to the bed so you can rest properly, instead of here on the floor.

[Terrible questions about the Starscourge and the actual intent of the gods can wait.]

[burninglight]

Please don't-...don't tell them.

[Ardyn was clinging to Ignis about as desperately as he was holding on to consciousness at that point.]

If anyone knows...if anyone sees me like this, then...

[warmgaze]

...I won't say a word. But when you're on your feet again, there's...

[It's not like Ignis to trail off so suddenly. But he gathers Ardyn close, taking the distraction to get his words in order.]

...There's some things you ought to know, even if I will sound mad for saying them and you will likely regret hearing them.

[burninglight]

[Ardyn answered with a slight nod against Ignis' shoulder, not quite lucid enough to manage anything more.]

[warmgaze]

[That's perfectly alright. If he doesn't remember, Ignis can remind him in the morning.

For now, Ardyn is swept up into the bed and tucked in with care. It's some time until Ignis himself finds any sleep, however.

It was an impulsive decision, but he won't take it back, now. He doesn't know quite yet how to feel about this Ardyn, but he knows enough that he cares. Cares too much to let the man destroy himself unknowing of the ending that awaits him.

The scar on his finger and the pendant still around his neck - the latter the only thing remaining of his ensemble from the Lucis of two thousand years from now - both feel too-heavy on his skin.

But if he is to change fate - he can change nothing by doing nothing.]

[burninglight]

[Despite the high fever and ragged breathing, Ardyn slept without incident through the night.]

[...And through the morning. At least that was back to something resembling normal for him.]

[warmgaze]

[Ignis, at least, isn't surprised by this at all. When Ardyn does come around, he'll find it's to Ignis seated at the room's little desk-table, scribbling notes again, a mug of coffee by his elbow, now gone cold and only half-drunk.

... There is also a plate of simple pancakes with butter within Ardyn's reach, should he want them.]

[burninglight]

[When he finally woke up come early afternoon, it was with some color back in his face and a near-normal temperature. Ardyn sat up and pressed a hand to his head, struggling to shake off whatever disorienting feelings still lingered.]

...what happened?

[warmgaze]

You collapsed with a sudden fever last night. Your comments led me to believe that this is normal for you?

[burninglight]

...oh.

[A spot on the floor was suddenly fascinating for how Ardyn was staring at it.]

I...it happens, on occasion. Divine magic is no simple thing for a human body to play as conduit for.

[warmgaze]

Of course.

[Ardyn might realize, by now, that that means 'I know you're full of shit.']

Do you remember what we were discussing when it happened?

[burninglight]

...

[Ardyn just shook his head, knowing damn well he'd finally been caught and struggling to find some believable excuse.]

[warmgaze]

We were talking about what might come of you taking all of that infection into yourself. I admit, I didn't expect a short-term result so quickly.

[Did Ardyn Izunia constantly burn hot with that fever? It might explain the numerous layers if he did - Ignis is plenty familiar with the feverish feeling that one can never quite get warm.]

[burninglight]

I'm...I'm fine, Ignis. It's nothing at all, no more than a fleeting illness.

[warmgaze]

You needn't keep up appearances when we both know better. The Starscourge is anything but fleeting.

[He pauses and - this time, his voice is actually hesitant.]

That... is actually what I wanted to talk to you about, if you're feeling well and lucid enough. It won't be a pleasant conversation.

[burninglight]

I'm not lying--I feel fine now. What is it you want to tell me?

[warmgaze]

Before you collapsed, I asked you what happened when it became too much for your body. You wouldn't even entertain the idea.

... It was a bit facetious of me to ask. I already know what happens. There are still so many pieces missing in the middle, but...

[He trails off for a moment, adjusting his glasses. His normally carefully prepared words fail, come out as disconnected thoughts.]

...'Against the dark, the King's battle is fought.' This, what you are doing to yourself - it is no battle.

[burninglight]

I...I don't understand. Of course it is--what else would it be?

[warmgaze]

A battle with no swords drawn? I can't imagine the Draconian mis-speaking so.

[He stops, and... exhales slowly.]

A illness, even a magical one, cannot be fight with swords alone. But pour it into a vessel, some body that can contain it... And then you have a dark for the King to fight against.