When Prince Noctis is ten years old, he is introduced to Gladiolus Amicitia, his future shield, and Ignis Scientia, his future advisor. The boys are barely older than him, but they already act so much more mature than he does. He wonders if two or three years really makes that much of a difference…
He asks Ignis the same question he asked Monica four years ago and, while he gives a slightly more detailed answer, it doesn’t clarify much of anything. “They’re humans created in a lab,” Ignis tells him.
“But they’re people?” Noct
“Partly, at least.” Ignis says noncommittally.
He’s frustrated that no one seems to consider it worthwhile to discuss, so when he’s doing his basic sword training with Gladio later that day and throws down his sword in irritation and defiance, Regis decides his conduct ought to be punished.
The memory of the blond boy’s screams come flooding back even before Noct lays eyes on him. When two glaivesmen enter the practice arena, Gladio steps aside, remaining perfectly still and silent like his father prepared him to do in this situation. The glaives have the blond freckled boy, the ‘MT,’ and they present him to the king, holding the scourge again, waiting.
Noct looks at him from the distance they’ve set, noticing his familiar yet changed features. He’s four years older since the last time they saw each other, and he’s taller, has more freckles, and has longer, leaner arms and legs. They make him kneel, and he doesn’t fight at all, keeping his gaze downward as to not commit a crime by looking upon the royalty.
“Don’t do this…” Noct tries, his voice sounding so small.
“If you attempt to hinder this it will only make it worse for him.” Regis warns, letting his eyes burn into Noct for a few seconds before returning to the glaive to give the signal to begin.
Noct clenches his fists as tightly as he can when the first blow lands, trying not to jump or tremble or cry. The boy doesn’t scream as much as he did years ago, but he whimpers and wails in pain with his eyes screwed shut. They keep whipping and whipping, and when Noct sees blood, he looks to his father, expecting him to tell the glaive to stop.
By the look on the glaives face, he’s waiting for the same word, but it doesn’t come.
Noct’s heart starts to pound painfully hard in his chest, terrified his father will let this go until the boy is dead. His conscious tells him to stop this, but he knows to heed his father’s warning: don’t dare interfere. Instead, he prays to the Six that this will end soon.
“Enough.” Regis says a second later, and Noct has to remember to pray to and thank each individual Astral later…
Even Gladio, who seemed to be more of a man than any man Noctis knew, looked shaken at the bloody display before them. There are thick droplets of red painting the padded floor and the blond boy collapses onto them, dirtying his remaining clean skin. Once again, nursemaids came in quietly, not daring to look at the king, to gather their charge and care for him. They took him away quickly, to where, Noct was determined to find out.
“Let this teach you…” Regis begins, walking over the spilled blood, “…to never squander your lessons.” He leaves without looking back at Noct, which makes him even more angry for some reason.
Gladio hangs his sword up on the wall. “We’re done for today.” He’s looking to leave just as much as Noct is. “Thanks.” Noct tells him, all but running out of the training arena.
![[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
Re: Fill: Scourge 2/?
Date: 2017-01-11 10:44 pm (UTC)He asks Ignis the same question he asked Monica four years ago and, while he gives a slightly more detailed answer, it doesn’t clarify much of anything.
“They’re humans created in a lab,” Ignis tells him.
“But they’re people?” Noct
“Partly, at least.” Ignis says noncommittally.
He’s frustrated that no one seems to consider it worthwhile to discuss, so when he’s doing his basic sword training with Gladio later that day and throws down his sword in irritation and defiance, Regis decides his conduct ought to be punished.
The memory of the blond boy’s screams come flooding back even before Noct lays eyes on him. When two glaivesmen enter the practice arena, Gladio steps aside, remaining perfectly still and silent like his father prepared him to do in this situation. The glaives have the blond freckled boy, the ‘MT,’ and they present him to the king, holding the scourge again, waiting.
Noct looks at him from the distance they’ve set, noticing his familiar yet changed features. He’s four years older since the last time they saw each other, and he’s taller, has more freckles, and has longer, leaner arms and legs. They make him kneel, and he doesn’t fight at all, keeping his gaze downward as to not commit a crime by looking upon the royalty.
“Don’t do this…” Noct tries, his voice sounding so small.
“If you attempt to hinder this it will only make it worse for him.” Regis warns, letting his eyes burn into Noct for a few seconds before returning to the glaive to give the signal to begin.
Noct clenches his fists as tightly as he can when the first blow lands, trying not to jump or tremble or cry. The boy doesn’t scream as much as he did years ago, but he whimpers and wails in pain with his eyes screwed shut. They keep whipping and whipping, and when Noct sees blood, he looks to his father, expecting him to tell the glaive to stop.
By the look on the glaives face, he’s waiting for the same word, but it doesn’t come.
Noct’s heart starts to pound painfully hard in his chest, terrified his father will let this go until the boy is dead. His conscious tells him to stop this, but he knows to heed his father’s warning: don’t dare interfere. Instead, he prays to the Six that this will end soon.
“Enough.” Regis says a second later, and Noct has to remember to pray to and thank each individual Astral later…
Even Gladio, who seemed to be more of a man than any man Noctis knew, looked shaken at the bloody display before them. There are thick droplets of red painting the padded floor and the blond boy collapses onto them, dirtying his remaining clean skin. Once again, nursemaids came in quietly, not daring to look at the king, to gather their charge and care for him. They took him away quickly, to where, Noct was determined to find out.
“Let this teach you…” Regis begins, walking over the spilled blood, “…to never squander your lessons.” He leaves without looking back at Noct, which makes him even more angry for some reason.
Gladio hangs his sword up on the wall. “We’re done for today.” He’s looking to leave just as much as Noct is.
“Thanks.” Noct tells him, all but running out of the training arena.