Focusing a lot on his childhood right now, but we'll move on soon.
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Night had only just fallen on the outskirts of Lucis, and Ardyn ran blood-stained hands over the grey and black robes of his official station. He looked down at the black ichor that mingled with the dusty red streaks on his arms, and wondered for one brief moment if the protections that had been placed on him, the careful control he maintained in every waking second of his eternal life, had faltered at last. What would happen, should the daemons that lay dormant within his bloodstream emerge? Would he shift, turn into something new and unrecognizable? He watched the black blood drip from his fingers, and remembered.
The Marilith. Regis. Noctis. At his feet, the massive, coiled body of the daemon that had savaged the young prince was already starting to sink into the ground, bubbling and hissing. It was too kind of a death for this creature, this beast that would have taken Noct so soon. Ardyn wanted to pull the daemon’s corpse from the sludge in which it was dissolving, drag it back to life and slowly, tenderly, rip it to pieces while its still-living tongue begged for death. He wanted to taste its pain, revel in that unique brand of fear that only daemons could exude, twisted and dark and tortured. He wanted to—
There was a sound behind him. He turned, and saw King Regis holding his son with the same pained, desperate look he’d given Ardyn not so long ago, when Aulea lay smiling on her deathbed. Ardyn stepped towards them, forcing down the delight that sang in his bones, the triumph of the Scourge that burned within. He knelt at Regis’ side.
“Is he dying?” Regis asked. “Can you sense it?”
Ardyn sighed, and took a deep breath. “No. Not yet.”
Regis closed his eyes, and Ardyn wrapped his arms around the man and boy, taking no mind of the blood that stained the king’s soft hair. Then he rose, helped Regis to his feet, and directed the dazed and grief-worn king to his waiting attendants.
Noctis would not wake for some time.
Ardyn stayed away from the young prince during his days asleep. Every time he stopped at the door to the prince’s room, he could feel the Scourge surging forward, blackening his eyes and staining his teeth. Something unnatural lay in the prince’s inability to wake, something that called to the sickness Ardyn only barely held at bay. So Regis watched the boy instead, and Ardyn took to walking the halls of the Citadel, feeling lost and uncertain for the first time in many, many years.
---
“Ardyn!”
The high, cold voice echoed in the hall of the residential wing of the Citadel, echoing off the stone walls. Ardyn turned, and saw the young prince Noctis forcefully pushing at the wheels of his chair, gaining little traction on the soft rug that lined the floor.
“Prince Noctis,” Ardyn said, arranging his lips into something like a smile. “It’s good to see you well—“
“No it isn’t!” Noct stopped a few feet away, panting, looking up at Ardyn with all the hatred that a preteen could muster. “You don’t care if I get better.”
Ardyn opened his mouth in surprise.
“Don’t have anything to say?” Noct asked. “You always do. But not when I’m sick. Not when it hurts all the time. Then you’re. Then you’re gone, because, because I’m—“
“Oh, Noct.” Ardyn knelt before him. “I’m sorry, dear one.” He held Noctis’ gaze with his own, showing him the sincerity that didn’t always come across in his voice. “You know that I used to have the ability to heal?”
“Yeah? So?”
“Can you imagine how that feels, Noctis, to see someone you care for, dying, wounded, and you can’t do anything to help them?” He saw Noct ready himself for a sharp retort, and added, “It was wrong of me to stay away for so long, but can you truly blame me?”
Noct’s frown softened. “You’re never sorry for anything,” he said, in a disbelieving tone.
“Yes, well. Most things, I’ll grant you.” Ardyn lay a hand over Noct’s. “But healing, that’s another matter.”
“Well, I don’t care,” Noct said. “Don’t do it again.”
Ardyn smiled down at him, amused to see the hint of Aulea’s features in Noct’s furious scowl. “Wish, command,” he said, and rose. “Do you want to hear what I have planned for Niflheim? It involves a double agent, very hush-hush.”
Noct sighed. “I have to go to Tenebrae tomorrow,” he said. “To see the new Oracle.”
“Good,” said Ardyn. “I can tell you on the way.”
The prince’s resulting smile was bright enough to shame the sun.
---
The young Oracle was a delight. Ardyn had learned, in his long years of experience, that what most called an “old soul” was often just a person who knew how to listen. Lunafreya Nox Fleuret listened to everyone, watched everyone, and used that brilliant mind of hers to piece together her own opinions. One day, she would make an awe-inspiring woman. It was a shame that her older brother was due to inherit the throne—the poor boy would have to depend on her for everything, no doubt.
Luna and Noctis became fast friends in the course of fifteen minutes, much to the relief of King Regis. Ardyn watched him curiously, wondering if the king were already thinking of setting up a match for young Noctis. Ardyn was still trying to wrap his mind around the modern era’s tendency of marrying for love, but the royal family did throw up a traditionalist now and then. Regis had never spoken of his opinions regarding Noct’s future, however. It would be odd for him to be thinking of it now.
Luna had another surprise waiting just for Ardyn, some time into the second week of their stay. Ardyn arrived in a small sitting room to find the Oracle curled up by the window, a dark-haired woman at her side. The woman’s chin lifted at Ardyn’s approach, and familiar lips curved in a smile he hadn’t seen in almost two thousand years.
“Shiva,” he said, in a strangled voice. The woman—the goddess—stood, and extended her arms to his. Ardyn sank into her hold and kissed her cheek, trembling with the weight of their last meeting. The joy in his heart struggled against a bright rage that rolled through his skin.
“Her name’s Gentiana now,” Luna said.
“Gods,” said Ardyn. “You’re even wearing the same face when you—How long since you regained a physical form? I thought you’d left us forever.”
Gentiana—Shiva—laughed, and carded her fingers through Ardyn’s hair. “Let us speak for a moment, my young king.”
Ardyn ached at the old endearment, and sank obediently into a chair. His gaze never left her, even when Luna spoke, and it took him a moment to register what the Oracle was trying to say.
“I was thinking,” Luna said, when he asked her to repeat herself one more time, “that there may be a way to make it easier. Your burden, I mean. Until it’s time.”
Ardyn smiled indulgently. “If there were,” he said, “I’d know.”
“Still, I’d like to try. Does it hurt you, still?”
Ardyn looked at the young woman, trying to gauge whether she was ready for this. But then, she would not have found Gentiana if she weren’t. “Always,” he said, honestly. “If I let my guard down, even for a moment…”
“That’s what Gentiana said. May I?” Luna rose, holding out her hands. Ardyn let her take his right arm, and watched as gold light began to spill from her fingers. The Oracle pursed her lips, and he felt her magic probing the darkness in his blood, agitating it, stirring the maelstrom of fury to a sharp and sudden wakefulness.
And then Ardyn was being held to his chair by firm hands, and Luna was standing back against the wall, face drawn and pale. Ardyn felt his body convulsing under Gentiana’s touch, forced down the guttural snarl that tried to drag its way up his throat, and tasted bile and metal in the back of his mouth.
“I’m sorry,” Luna said, in a small voice. “You lost control.”
Ardyn laughed, bitter and half-wild, and gripped Gentiana’s arm with clawing fingers.
“What’s going on in here?” Noct’s voice, soft and slurred with sleep, called from behind them. “Luna? Ardyn?”
Despite himself, Ardyn turned to the boy. Noct’s face fell in confusion and fear, and Ardyn touched the skin under his eye with a free hand. It came back grey with the ichor of daemonic blood, and he knew. All those years of being so careful not to show his true face to the prince were undone in an instant.
He turned aside.
“Noctis,” Luna said. “I think we need to have a talk.”
“What’s happened to him?” Noct asked. He sounded like he was about to cry. “Ardyn, are you—Are you hurt? I don’t understand.”
“Let me help you,” Luna said. She passed out of Ardyn’s vision, and he could hear the rustle of her dress as she walked to the door. “He’ll be better when we’re done.”
Ardyn closed his eyes, focusing on Gentiana’s presence at his back, until Luna wheeled Noct into the hall and closed the door behind her.
“Same little Ardyn,” Gentiana said, and pressed cold lips to the top of his head. “You always did care too much.”
FILL Age of Kings 3/? Re: Ardyn/Noct or Gen, Everyone in the world knows Ardyn AU
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Night had only just fallen on the outskirts of Lucis, and Ardyn ran blood-stained hands over the grey and black robes of his official station. He looked down at the black ichor that mingled with the dusty red streaks on his arms, and wondered for one brief moment if the protections that had been placed on him, the careful control he maintained in every waking second of his eternal life, had faltered at last. What would happen, should the daemons that lay dormant within his bloodstream emerge? Would he shift, turn into something new and unrecognizable? He watched the black blood drip from his fingers, and remembered.
The Marilith. Regis. Noctis. At his feet, the massive, coiled body of the daemon that had savaged the young prince was already starting to sink into the ground, bubbling and hissing. It was too kind of a death for this creature, this beast that would have taken Noct so soon. Ardyn wanted to pull the daemon’s corpse from the sludge in which it was dissolving, drag it back to life and slowly, tenderly, rip it to pieces while its still-living tongue begged for death. He wanted to taste its pain, revel in that unique brand of fear that only daemons could exude, twisted and dark and tortured. He wanted to—
There was a sound behind him. He turned, and saw King Regis holding his son with the same pained, desperate look he’d given Ardyn not so long ago, when Aulea lay smiling on her deathbed. Ardyn stepped towards them, forcing down the delight that sang in his bones, the triumph of the Scourge that burned within. He knelt at Regis’ side.
“Is he dying?” Regis asked. “Can you sense it?”
Ardyn sighed, and took a deep breath. “No. Not yet.”
Regis closed his eyes, and Ardyn wrapped his arms around the man and boy, taking no mind of the blood that stained the king’s soft hair. Then he rose, helped Regis to his feet, and directed the dazed and grief-worn king to his waiting attendants.
Noctis would not wake for some time.
Ardyn stayed away from the young prince during his days asleep. Every time he stopped at the door to the prince’s room, he could feel the Scourge surging forward, blackening his eyes and staining his teeth. Something unnatural lay in the prince’s inability to wake, something that called to the sickness Ardyn only barely held at bay. So Regis watched the boy instead, and Ardyn took to walking the halls of the Citadel, feeling lost and uncertain for the first time in many, many years.
---
“Ardyn!”
The high, cold voice echoed in the hall of the residential wing of the Citadel, echoing off the stone walls. Ardyn turned, and saw the young prince Noctis forcefully pushing at the wheels of his chair, gaining little traction on the soft rug that lined the floor.
“Prince Noctis,” Ardyn said, arranging his lips into something like a smile. “It’s good to see you well—“
“No it isn’t!” Noct stopped a few feet away, panting, looking up at Ardyn with all the hatred that a preteen could muster. “You don’t care if I get better.”
Ardyn opened his mouth in surprise.
“Don’t have anything to say?” Noct asked. “You always do. But not when I’m sick. Not when it hurts all the time. Then you’re. Then you’re gone, because, because I’m—“
“Oh, Noct.” Ardyn knelt before him. “I’m sorry, dear one.” He held Noctis’ gaze with his own, showing him the sincerity that didn’t always come across in his voice. “You know that I used to have the ability to heal?”
“Yeah? So?”
“Can you imagine how that feels, Noctis, to see someone you care for, dying, wounded, and you can’t do anything to help them?” He saw Noct ready himself for a sharp retort, and added, “It was wrong of me to stay away for so long, but can you truly blame me?”
Noct’s frown softened. “You’re never sorry for anything,” he said, in a disbelieving tone.
“Yes, well. Most things, I’ll grant you.” Ardyn lay a hand over Noct’s. “But healing, that’s another matter.”
“Well, I don’t care,” Noct said. “Don’t do it again.”
Ardyn smiled down at him, amused to see the hint of Aulea’s features in Noct’s furious scowl. “Wish, command,” he said, and rose. “Do you want to hear what I have planned for Niflheim? It involves a double agent, very hush-hush.”
Noct sighed. “I have to go to Tenebrae tomorrow,” he said. “To see the new Oracle.”
“Good,” said Ardyn. “I can tell you on the way.”
The prince’s resulting smile was bright enough to shame the sun.
---
The young Oracle was a delight. Ardyn had learned, in his long years of experience, that what most called an “old soul” was often just a person who knew how to listen. Lunafreya Nox Fleuret listened to everyone, watched everyone, and used that brilliant mind of hers to piece together her own opinions. One day, she would make an awe-inspiring woman. It was a shame that her older brother was due to inherit the throne—the poor boy would have to depend on her for everything, no doubt.
Luna and Noctis became fast friends in the course of fifteen minutes, much to the relief of King Regis. Ardyn watched him curiously, wondering if the king were already thinking of setting up a match for young Noctis. Ardyn was still trying to wrap his mind around the modern era’s tendency of marrying for love, but the royal family did throw up a traditionalist now and then. Regis had never spoken of his opinions regarding Noct’s future, however. It would be odd for him to be thinking of it now.
Luna had another surprise waiting just for Ardyn, some time into the second week of their stay. Ardyn arrived in a small sitting room to find the Oracle curled up by the window, a dark-haired woman at her side. The woman’s chin lifted at Ardyn’s approach, and familiar lips curved in a smile he hadn’t seen in almost two thousand years.
“Shiva,” he said, in a strangled voice. The woman—the goddess—stood, and extended her arms to his. Ardyn sank into her hold and kissed her cheek, trembling with the weight of their last meeting. The joy in his heart struggled against a bright rage that rolled through his skin.
“Her name’s Gentiana now,” Luna said.
“Gods,” said Ardyn. “You’re even wearing the same face when you—How long since you regained a physical form? I thought you’d left us forever.”
Gentiana—Shiva—laughed, and carded her fingers through Ardyn’s hair. “Let us speak for a moment, my young king.”
Ardyn ached at the old endearment, and sank obediently into a chair. His gaze never left her, even when Luna spoke, and it took him a moment to register what the Oracle was trying to say.
“I was thinking,” Luna said, when he asked her to repeat herself one more time, “that there may be a way to make it easier. Your burden, I mean. Until it’s time.”
Ardyn smiled indulgently. “If there were,” he said, “I’d know.”
“Still, I’d like to try. Does it hurt you, still?”
Ardyn looked at the young woman, trying to gauge whether she was ready for this. But then, she would not have found Gentiana if she weren’t. “Always,” he said, honestly. “If I let my guard down, even for a moment…”
“That’s what Gentiana said. May I?” Luna rose, holding out her hands. Ardyn let her take his right arm, and watched as gold light began to spill from her fingers. The Oracle pursed her lips, and he felt her magic probing the darkness in his blood, agitating it, stirring the maelstrom of fury to a sharp and sudden wakefulness.
And then Ardyn was being held to his chair by firm hands, and Luna was standing back against the wall, face drawn and pale. Ardyn felt his body convulsing under Gentiana’s touch, forced down the guttural snarl that tried to drag its way up his throat, and tasted bile and metal in the back of his mouth.
“I’m sorry,” Luna said, in a small voice. “You lost control.”
Ardyn laughed, bitter and half-wild, and gripped Gentiana’s arm with clawing fingers.
“What’s going on in here?” Noct’s voice, soft and slurred with sleep, called from behind them. “Luna? Ardyn?”
Despite himself, Ardyn turned to the boy. Noct’s face fell in confusion and fear, and Ardyn touched the skin under his eye with a free hand. It came back grey with the ichor of daemonic blood, and he knew. All those years of being so careful not to show his true face to the prince were undone in an instant.
He turned aside.
“Noctis,” Luna said. “I think we need to have a talk.”
“What’s happened to him?” Noct asked. He sounded like he was about to cry. “Ardyn, are you—Are you hurt? I don’t understand.”
“Let me help you,” Luna said. She passed out of Ardyn’s vision, and he could hear the rustle of her dress as she walked to the door. “He’ll be better when we’re done.”
Ardyn closed his eyes, focusing on Gentiana’s presence at his back, until Luna wheeled Noct into the hall and closed the door behind her.
“Same little Ardyn,” Gentiana said, and pressed cold lips to the top of his head. “You always did care too much.”