Thank you all for your patience! Had to get over a serious writer's block, but the plot is now picking up!
--------
Ardyn Izunia stands exultant in the center of the spectral capital of Solheim, hands upraised like he is the central figure of one of the paintings in the Citadel gallery. Prompto holds onto the frozen form of Ravus and turns round. His friends are behind him, trapped in a glitch in time, but they are already starting to fade as Ardyn's illusion solidifies around him. When the charms that hang over the doorways down the street bend and flap, Prompto braces himself for a wind that never comes. When flower petals whirl in low drifts over his feet, he takes a breath and smells oil and smoke, not perfume. He looks back to Ardyn.
"Historians do try their best, bless them," Ardyn says. He waves a hand, and Prompto cries out as a massive, translucent golden figure rises from the earth behind the chancellor. She is a woman, her thick hair curling about her naked form like fire, and when she stands upright, she raises her hands in an imitation of Ardyn's dramatic gesture, and the charms all clack and clatter, whipping about in s frenzy as she disappears into the light of the sun.
"The hell," Prompto gasps.
"Dear old mother-goddess," Ardyn says. "Solheim was a haven of art, of learning, of technology... of the gods. The goddess of the sun would rise from the center of Solheim every morning so long as the gods' favor held. Of course..." his smile softens as though touching on a fond memory, "She was betrayed. They say it was our own hubris that killed her." He twists his hand before the illusion of the sun, and the sky goes black, lit only by a blood-red moon. "Those of us who saw her fall? We know better."
Prompto hears a chorus of unearthly shrieking, sees bouts of fire light up distant rooftops, lifts his arms to defend himself as streams of black and purple flakes drift into the sky. Ardyn twists his hand again, and the sunlit street of Solheim returns.
"I..." Prompto lowers his arms. "I used to be afraid of daemons, when I was little. Because the way they screamed, they sounded like..."
They sounded like that. Ardyn watches Prompto, one brow raised.
"Yes," he says. "It was a terrible time. But out of that maelstrom of suffering came a ray of light. The chosen king, blessed by the fallen goddess herself. A healer. A gift to the survivors of Solheim, the new citizens of Lucis."
The air is suddenly full of flowers. Prompto blinks through them and sees a crowd of people on either side of the street, faces featureless but bodies leaning out with frantic enthusiasm. There's another crowd approaching from a distance: A rider stands at the front atop a black chocobo. He smiles. It's genuine, and a little anxious, and he runs a hand through his silky mauve hair and waves at the cheering crowd.
He isn't much older than Prompto.
"I know him," Prompto says.
"Yes, quite the resemblance."
"No, I know him." Prompto pushes past Ardyn, and walks right up to the younger version of the chancellor. The man pulls his chocobo to a halt and looks down at him.
It takes Prompto a moment to notice that he's fallen to his knees.
"Must be in your programming," Ardyn says, with interest. He walks up behind Prompto, who struggles to rise, and lays a heavy hand on his shoulder. "It's true that the MTs in that time were unflaggingly loyal. The astrals despised them: They only ever fought on orders of the king, and the king was only allowed to live free so long as he behaved. A shame, really."
Prompto swallows hard. He stares into the eyes of the young man above him, and wrenches his shoulder out of Ardyn's grip. Slowly, as though fighting his way through the earth itself, he stands.
He felt something like this the first time he met Ardyn. He turns to him now, sees an echo of the young king in his face, and some of that feeling rises in Prompto's mind.
"What happened to you?" he asks. "What... What happened to me?"
"Too much to tell," Ardyn says. "Needless to say, some accounts of Solheim, and what came after, had to be carefully doctored to, ah, preserve the truth. The MTs were hunted down, the king fell, and the Astrals found a new set of lackeys upon whom they may impose their divine will."
"You're handling this remarkably well, my dear," Ardyn adds, and for a fleeting second, Prompto can see the eyes of the king in Ardyn's face. Then it is gone, and his gaze is glassy and vague as always.
"It's been a long fucking week," Prompto admits. Ardyn laughs. This is wrong. He shouldn't be laughing with the chancellor of Niflheim. Who might also be the king of Solheim. Or Lucis. Or light--Prompto isn't sure of anything anymore. But when Ardyn faces him fully and raises a hand in a strange, closed-off salute, Prompto can feel gears in his mind that he never knew existed until now. He falls to his knees a second time, and the smile Ardyn gives him is nothing like that of the old king in the illusion.
"How did you fall?" Prompto asks.
Ardyn sighs, the illusion wavers, and he shows him.
When time unfolds, Prompto is straddling Ardyn's waist again, but his hands aren't raised to strike. Ravus sheathes his sword and turns in time to avoid Ignis' dagger, which clatters uselessly on the concrete. Everyone stares at Prompto, whose head is bowed, gazing down on a smiling Ardyn Izunia. Ardyn speaks, but his voice is too low for any of the others to hear.
Prompto's hands are shaking.
They're still shaking when Gladio drags him off of Ardyn. He graduates to a full-body shudder, and his boots scrape on the pavement as he's pulled into his friends' arms.
Ardyn stands, and says something to Ravus, who is looking from Prompto to Noctis with open concern. Prompto stumbles into the passenger seat of the Regalia and fumbles with his camera. It drops to the floor of the car.
"Prompto," Ignis says. "Your camera. Prompto?"
Prompto doesn't move. In the end, Ignis retrieves the camera for him, and gently pushes Prompto into his seat.
"The hell did he say to you, Prom?" Noct asks. "Specs, let's go before he changes his mind."
Prompto draws a knee up and leans against the door. The others sneak him wary looks as they roll their way out of the fortress, but Prompto's mind remains in the streets of Solheim, in the dizzying silence left behind after the tale of Ardyn Lucis Caelum's fall from grace.
Ardyn had gripped Prompto's wrist, fingers curling around the barcode that lay hidden behind his wristbands, and his voice had cracked in a way that made Prompto feel a twist of sickness in the pit of his stomach.
"It's been so long," Ardyn had said. "So long since I've seen one of my own."
And that was when Prompto understood. All those times Ardyn had stared at him, watched him, leaned in to curl fingers under his chin or smile knowingly behind the others' backs: Prompto finally knew the name behind the darkness that flashed behind Ardyn's eyes then, sliding in and out of view like the fin of an ancient creature.
![[community profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/community.png){kind=small}
![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
timeasmymeasure
Fill: Before the World Was Made 7/? Re: Prompto has ties to Solheim
Date: 2017-05-18 06:49 am (UTC)--------
Ardyn Izunia stands exultant in the center of the spectral capital of Solheim, hands upraised like he is the central figure of one of the paintings in the Citadel gallery. Prompto holds onto the frozen form of Ravus and turns round. His friends are behind him, trapped in a glitch in time, but they are already starting to fade as Ardyn's illusion solidifies around him. When the charms that hang over the doorways down the street bend and flap, Prompto braces himself for a wind that never comes. When flower petals whirl in low drifts over his feet, he takes a breath and smells oil and smoke, not perfume. He looks back to Ardyn.
"Historians do try their best, bless them," Ardyn says. He waves a hand, and Prompto cries out as a massive, translucent golden figure rises from the earth behind the chancellor. She is a woman, her thick hair curling about her naked form like fire, and when she stands upright, she raises her hands in an imitation of Ardyn's dramatic gesture, and the charms all clack and clatter, whipping about in s frenzy as she disappears into the light of the sun.
"The hell," Prompto gasps.
"Dear old mother-goddess," Ardyn says. "Solheim was a haven of art, of learning, of technology... of the gods. The goddess of the sun would rise from the center of Solheim every morning so long as the gods' favor held. Of course..." his smile softens as though touching on a fond memory, "She was betrayed. They say it was our own hubris that killed her." He twists his hand before the illusion of the sun, and the sky goes black, lit only by a blood-red moon. "Those of us who saw her fall? We know better."
Prompto hears a chorus of unearthly shrieking, sees bouts of fire light up distant rooftops, lifts his arms to defend himself as streams of black and purple flakes drift into the sky. Ardyn twists his hand again, and the sunlit street of Solheim returns.
"I..." Prompto lowers his arms. "I used to be afraid of daemons, when I was little. Because the way they screamed, they sounded like..."
They sounded like that. Ardyn watches Prompto, one brow raised.
"Yes," he says. "It was a terrible time. But out of that maelstrom of suffering came a ray of light. The chosen king, blessed by the fallen goddess herself. A healer. A gift to the survivors of Solheim, the new citizens of Lucis."
The air is suddenly full of flowers. Prompto blinks through them and sees a crowd of people on either side of the street, faces featureless but bodies leaning out with frantic enthusiasm. There's another crowd approaching from a distance: A rider stands at the front atop a black chocobo. He smiles. It's genuine, and a little anxious, and he runs a hand through his silky mauve hair and waves at the cheering crowd.
He isn't much older than Prompto.
"I know him," Prompto says.
"Yes, quite the resemblance."
"No, I know him." Prompto pushes past Ardyn, and walks right up to the younger version of the chancellor. The man pulls his chocobo to a halt and looks down at him.
It takes Prompto a moment to notice that he's fallen to his knees.
"Must be in your programming," Ardyn says, with interest. He walks up behind Prompto, who struggles to rise, and lays a heavy hand on his shoulder. "It's true that the MTs in that time were unflaggingly loyal. The astrals despised them: They only ever fought on orders of the king, and the king was only allowed to live free so long as he behaved. A shame, really."
Prompto swallows hard. He stares into the eyes of the young man above him, and wrenches his shoulder out of Ardyn's grip. Slowly, as though fighting his way through the earth itself, he stands.
He felt something like this the first time he met Ardyn. He turns to him now, sees an echo of the young king in his face, and some of that feeling rises in Prompto's mind.
"What happened to you?" he asks. "What... What happened to me?"
"Too much to tell," Ardyn says. "Needless to say, some accounts of Solheim, and what came after, had to be carefully doctored to, ah, preserve the truth. The MTs were hunted down, the king fell, and the Astrals found a new set of lackeys upon whom they may impose their divine will."
"You're handling this remarkably well, my dear," Ardyn adds, and for a fleeting second, Prompto can see the eyes of the king in Ardyn's face. Then it is gone, and his gaze is glassy and vague as always.
"It's been a long fucking week," Prompto admits. Ardyn laughs. This is wrong. He shouldn't be laughing with the chancellor of Niflheim. Who might also be the king of Solheim. Or Lucis. Or light--Prompto isn't sure of anything anymore. But when Ardyn faces him fully and raises a hand in a strange, closed-off salute, Prompto can feel gears in his mind that he never knew existed until now. He falls to his knees a second time, and the smile Ardyn gives him is nothing like that of the old king in the illusion.
"How did you fall?" Prompto asks.
Ardyn sighs, the illusion wavers, and he shows him.
When time unfolds, Prompto is straddling Ardyn's waist again, but his hands aren't raised to strike. Ravus sheathes his sword and turns in time to avoid Ignis' dagger, which clatters uselessly on the concrete. Everyone stares at Prompto, whose head is bowed, gazing down on a smiling Ardyn Izunia. Ardyn speaks, but his voice is too low for any of the others to hear.
Prompto's hands are shaking.
They're still shaking when Gladio drags him off of Ardyn. He graduates to a full-body shudder, and his boots scrape on the pavement as he's pulled into his friends' arms.
Ardyn stands, and says something to Ravus, who is looking from Prompto to Noctis with open concern. Prompto stumbles into the passenger seat of the Regalia and fumbles with his camera. It drops to the floor of the car.
"Prompto," Ignis says. "Your camera. Prompto?"
Prompto doesn't move. In the end, Ignis retrieves the camera for him, and gently pushes Prompto into his seat.
"The hell did he say to you, Prom?" Noct asks. "Specs, let's go before he changes his mind."
Prompto draws a knee up and leans against the door. The others sneak him wary looks as they roll their way out of the fortress, but Prompto's mind remains in the streets of Solheim, in the dizzying silence left behind after the tale of Ardyn Lucis Caelum's fall from grace.
Ardyn had gripped Prompto's wrist, fingers curling around the barcode that lay hidden behind his wristbands, and his voice had cracked in a way that made Prompto feel a twist of sickness in the pit of his stomach.
"It's been so long," Ardyn had said. "So long since I've seen one of my own."
And that was when Prompto understood. All those times Ardyn had stared at him, watched him, leaned in to curl fingers under his chin or smile knowingly behind the others' backs: Prompto finally knew the name behind the darkness that flashed behind Ardyn's eyes then, sliding in and out of view like the fin of an ancient creature.
Hunger.