FFXV Kinkmeme

From the deep, the Archaean calls
Yet on deaf ears, the god's tongue falls
The King made to kneel, in pain he crawls...

"That's not how it goes."

Prompto doesn't mean to say it, but the words come tumbling from his lips all the same, stopping the strange, auburn-haired man in his tracks. It's odd, really. Prompto is usually a bit anxious and uncertain when confronted with new people, let alone people who go around throwing commemorative coins at people for no apparent reason, but there's something about this man that's almost... Comforting. Secure. The way it felt when he'd look up at the picture of the king that his father tacked onto the kitchen wall. He isn't sure he trusts it, though--The man's voice is so smug, so smooth, that it clashes with the picture that he makes in Prompto's mind's eye.

The man turns to him now, brows raised.

"Oh?"

"The rhyme," Prompto says. "It's wrong. There wasn't a king. Sometime about..." He frowns. "Water. Titan and Leviathan making a tomb for Eos. I don't remember the words, though."

"Prompto," Ignis says, quietly. "There is very little evidence that Eos--the goddess, I mean--even existed. There are no nursery rhymes in my knowledge that imply that the Astrals were--"

"No, no," the man interrupts, walking right towards Prompto. "This is interesting." He slips his hands in the pockets of his wide jacket, and leans forward. When he speaks, his voice is low and musical.

"By Bahamut's hand the goddess lies still
Her blood the rivers, Her flesh the earth
The sun falls, the fire turns to the dark."

"That didn't even rhyme," Noct says, but Prompto is running the words through his mind, over his tongue. They feel right. Why do they feel right?

"They... did rhyme," he says. "They should. But it's like they're in the wrong order."

"Or the wrong language," says the stranger, and his wink is somehow far too personal. Prompto steps back, behind Gladio, and feels the warmth of his friend's hand resting securely on his shoulder. The stranger laughs.

"Oh, I do have high hopes for your little crew," he says. "Allow me to extend an offer of assistance..."


---


"Allow me."

Prompto is standing precariously on the top of one of the plastic chairs out by the caravan, tying up his mirror charms on the awning. It's a habit that the others don't fault him for--They all have their little rituals, small rules to follow that makes the loss of home sting less. And this is hardly as distracting as Gladio's tendency to wake up at five in the morning to go for a run.

But when the stranger--Ardyn, he claims to be--reaches up to tie the chain securely, Prompto just feels hollow and off.

"Thanks," he mumbles.

"Odd little trinket," Ardyn says. The others have all gone to bed, leaving Prompto to take first watch, but the light in the caravan window is a comforting reminder of their nearness. "Do you know, I may have seen this before."

"Really."

"Indeed." Ardyn flips the highest mirror. "Oh look, dear old mother. Mother-goddess," he explains, smiling down at Prompto's look of confusion. "The one you spoke of. These mirrors, they say, used to hang in the window of every home in Solheim. Tiny shrines to the goddess who was brought low. This one looks almost authentic."

Prompto jumps down from the chair. "Could be. Mom and Dad went... go to a lot of archaeological digs, for work. They found me near one of them, when I was little."

"Found?" Ardyn releases the mirror, which spins slowly, reflecting his and Prompto's face in turns. "You aren't from Lucis?"

"Adopted," Prompto says. It's such an old subject that he almost expects the question, now--and anyways, his parents had wanted him badly enough to go through years of nationalization certification on his behalf. How many parents were willing to do that? "I was a war orphan, I think. Somewhere near here."

"Very matter-of-fact," Ardyn says. "And found near a ruin? Very romantic."

Prompto huffs. "Right, sure." He sits properly and pulls out his camera, skimming through the day's photos. Ardyn, thankfully, seems to have lost interest in Prompto's romantic origins, and has turned back to the charm, lightly brushing it with his fingers. There's a blessed silence for all of five minutes, before the smooth, deep voice calls out again.

"You must be quite thrilled to be about to meet the Titan in the flesh," he says. Prompto shrugs.

"Still not sure if he's even down there." Ignis, Noct, and Gladio swear up and down that it's true, but Prompto's memory of the Astrals--all the fairytales that got him in trouble at school for make believe and disturbing the class--is tied into stories and nursery rhymes. Nothing substantial. And if the Titan were real, he's pretty sure his mom at least would have already jumped at the chance of running a story on him. It's the kind of reckless, dangerous job she likes.

"A skeptic!" There's a chuckle in Ardyn's voice. "A rare breed indeed, in this age. But I assure you, the Titan is there. I look forward to hearing your views after your little excursion tomorrow."

And then he looks directly at Prompto, through him, and says something very strange indeed.

"I wonder what he'll think of you?"