#theme: angst

[speed-perfected]

Has eggman like... Never told you what he plans to do with you after sonic is gone?

…

It is none of my business. I’m sure he will inform me when he sees fit.

[saradika-graphics]

— angst dividers

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[mneiaifics]

Ikepri Fic: Folly of the Beast, Chapter 8

Summary: Young Chevalier notices the changes in Leon.

Chev POV. Minor Leon route spoilers.

Series link.

XxX

Chevalier didn't have many chances to observe Leon, as busy as he was with his own studies and sneaking out to see Gilbert in town, but he did piece together enough to feel...something.

He wasn't sure what it was, just that it was...uncomfortable. In that way it sometimes was when Clavis fought with him.

They weren't what he'd call close, but their mothers would sometimes force he and Leon together, not wanting the rivalry between their families to erode a good future working relationship. At which point they'd invariably take out their own books and quietly read, ignoring each other. It was the closest thing to comfortable Chevalier got with most people and he...appreciated Leon, perhaps, because of that.

But now he caught him in the library, head back, eyes closed in concentration, as a servant he hired read outloud from a book Leon would have previously managed to get through in a few hours on his own.

Chevalier thought of high fevers and the damage they caused and his fingers curled into fists without his conscious thought. As soon as he did it, he relaxed them, staring down at them for their uncharacteristic movements.

For all that Leon was improving, was healthier now than he'd ever been (there were ridiculous whispers throughout the palace about all the deaths being some sort of ritual sacrifice to improve his health, which Chevalier naturally scoffed at) and training physically in ways he hadn't the chance to before...he wasn't the same.

It was his mind that had been affected. He was still sharp, still observant, perhaps even better at reading people, from what Chevalier could tell from afar, but he struggled to read words on paper, his writing style had degraded, and his verbal responses were sometimes a little off.

Like the fevers had forged him into a slightly different person, just ever so slightly off from who he had been.

And he avoided Chevalier, too.

Insecurity, Chevalier decided after much thought and a small amount of research. Leon must also know he's lost some of his skills and, ridiculously, avoided Chevalier because of that. Not that they'd ever been truly on the same level: Leon may have been the closest of his brothers to his intellect, but he had still been so far behind him.

Chevalier had no desire or time to rectify the situation. If Leon chose to even entertain such thoughts, he, too, wasn't worth Chevalier's efforts.

Years later, when Gilbert changed in an even more drastic way, Chevalier would spare a thought to Gilbert's obvious health problems and to Leon. He would let himself wonder, for only one moment, that if he had paid Leon more mind, could he have perhaps prevented the loss of another person in his life?

XxX

Notes: I'd been wanting to do a Chev version of my Clavis one, because while I think he wouldn't dwell on it like Clavis, he would probably notice SOMETHING. And the fourth prince reminded me a lot of maybe a more idealistic version of Chev.

[mneiaifics]

ikepri fic: Folly of the Beast, Chapter 7

Summary: Clavis's thoughts on Leon through the years.

Gen, Clavis POV. Leon route spoilers.

Series link.

XxX

Clavis loved his little brother from the moment he laid eyes on, well, his eyes.

Because unlike Chev, baby Leon had eyes just like Clavis and his mom! He spent all his free time with Leon that he could, playing with him even though the baby couldn't do very much. It was still fun because Clavis said it was (and because Leon ALWAYS fell for his tricks).

Then one day he tried to and wasn't allowed.

His mom explained that Leon was sick and tried to get him interested in the newest baby, instead, but that baby looked too much like Chev and Clavis didn't like it. Somedays he DID get to see Leon, looking less and less baby like (and thinner and thinner), but those were rare and rarer.

And then no one saw Leon, not for months, not for the better part of a year. When they did, finally, his mother had disappeared (and Clavis had found out only much later that all the servants and guards for her and Leon had been found dead). Leon had been all alone for who knew how long in that room of his.

Clavis wasn't sure how to even approach him and Leon seemed even less sure when they saw each other those first few years. He knew nothing anyone said could fill the hole a mother left behind, but he also didn't know what happened in those months leading up to it, the theories eating away at him sometimes when he saw Leon in passing until he just didn't want to see him at all, until he was actively avoiding him.

Because Leon didn't seem just unhealthy in body when he got out of that room, he had a haunted look in his eyes. Sometimes he flinched when people moved a certain way around him and he was more focused on improving physically than Clavis ever thought the little bookworm would be.

So for years and years the questions circled in Clavis' brain: What had happened to his little brother? Who had done it? Lady Dompteur? The servants she'd probably had killed? And why did no one else care? Did they really never notice?

While he buried the pain his own hypocrisy caused him as he continued to avoid the little brother he'd loved so much.

XxX

Notes: I always think about how for like two years Leon was the only other brother besides Chevalier in the palace and how Clavis might have felt about him during those early days (and admittedly when I first started playing I knew that Luke looked like the previous king "except for his eyes" and had assumed that Clavis and Leon shared the king's eye color and so thought about that some, too). We know Clavis is super smart and very good at figuring people out, so I think he would have noticed SOMETHING different.

[troped-fanfic-challenge]

TROPED TIMELOOP — ROUND THREE!

It’s time for the Third Round of TROPED TIMELOOP! All of the prompts for this event will feature the Time Loop Trope! The Writing Period for Round Three starts NOW, and will be on a rolling basis, with a new TIMELOOP Prompt dropping about every twenty-three (23) days! While the OFFICIAL writing period for Round One and Two is over and Round Three goes for three weeks, you can submit a fic based on these prompts until the end of the event in September and they will still be included in voting! Be sure to include the theme, tropes, and timeloops into your fic.

For Round Three, please write a fic that includes:

Theme: Angst

Trope 1: Enemies to Lovers

Trope 2: Character overextends themselves in a bout of god-like power and immediately passes out afterwards

Trope 3: Heat Wave

Trope 4: SMUT

Event Trope: Time Loop AU!

In depth definitions of the tropes and the theme will be linked under the cut! Please take a look at this Google Doc, as there will be extra information you NEED to know regarding how to use the tropes, and if you have questions don’t hesitate to ask!

There is NO Word Count Limit! You may write as much or as little as you like as long as you fully incorporate the prompt!

All Fandoms are welcome to participate!

Don't forget to follow our rules (no incest, no rape/abuse, no underage, etc), and to have fun!!! Please submit all fics to our AO3 collection linked in below the cut, and the name of the collection that should be entered when submitting your fic is ‘TROPED_TIMELOOP’! If you need a tutorial on how to add a fic to an AO3 collection, one can be found below!

TIMELINE:

Round 3 Writing Period Begins: NOW!!!

Writing Period Ends: SATURDAY, September 23rd at 11:59PM PST / SUNDAY, September 24th at 2:59AM EST

Good luck and happy writing!

Links for this event & Round Three can be found under the cut!

LINKS:

Round 3 Prompt Definitions and Guidlines: https://docs.google.com/document/d/1UvyP_1UJrGYMUOOQcM2xQWEZys3smKtPF7hXDys0gf4/edit

AO3 Collection: https://archiveofourown.org/collections/TROPED_TIMELOOP

Tutorial: https://troped-fanfic-challenge.tumblr.com/post/648540929960132608/if-i-write-a-fic-for-one-of-the-rounds-how-do-i-go

TROPED TIMELOOP INFO POST: https://www.tumblr.com/troped-fanfic-challenge/720467832679399424/troped-timeloop

TIMELOOP ROUND ONE (1) POST: https://www.tumblr.con/troped-fanfic-challenge/720707425334870016/troped-timeloop-round-one

If you have any questions about this event, prompts, fandoms or pairings, or any other concerns please send them to our Ask Box: https://troped-fanfic-challenge.tumblr.com/ask

[merlinfic]

is there any fics where merlin reveals his magic but it leads to angst (but with a happy ending)?

There’s a whole bunch of fics like that anon! Here’s a search on this blog as well as the angst and magic reveal tags! And here’s some more:

How It Ends 

perfection (not all its cracked up to be)

they say you know (when you find the one) 

[asoiafdrabbles]

III.43

Jon catches Lord Bolton staring at him.

Domeric/Jon Soulmate AU.

Being stared at was never a good thing for a bastard, even less so when it was a Lord doing the staring. Even less again when it was a Lord with an unsavory reputation.

Lord Bolton had been staring at Jon for the last day. Not when his father could see, maybe not when anyone else could, but Jon could feel the weight of his gaze creeping over him.

He tried his best to avoid going anywhere near Bolton, knowing enough of the horror stories of him and his House to not want to risk anything, but somehow Bolton still managed to corner him alone in the early morning hours, when Jon was going about some of his chores.

"Let me see it again." It was an order and as softly spoken as it was, Jon still shivered thinking what would happen if he disobeyed.

"What, my lord?"

Bolton's eyes narrowed. "Your soulmark."

Jon stiffened, realizing that Bolton must have seen it when Jon was sparring the other morning. It had been warm enough that most of those in the ring had taken off their tops. So used to the people around Winterfell knowing his mark, Jon hadn't thought anything about exposing it, even knowing there were Lords about.

"It's a black mark," he muttered, "it doesn't matter."

Black meaning his soulmate was dead and gone before they ever even met. Which was only a relief in that whatever Bolton thought he saw, it wasn't a match for his own mark (not that Jon was entirely sure Bolton had enough of a soul to get a soulmark).

Still, he brought steadier than they felt hands to the hem of his tunic and lifted, until his side was exposed, and the blackened soulmark that took up half the length of his torso.

Bolton made a soft noise, reaching out, but stopping before touching. There was more expression on his face than Jon had ever seen, then maybe anyone had, and while that still wasn't much, he thought he saw grief there.

"Your...no...."

"Yes," Bolton replied, with a wry tilt to his lips, "I suppose you're clever enough...he would have liked that."

Jon winced, hands falling, tunic covering him once more. He floundered over what to say. There was no protocol for a bastard meeting the Lord whose dead heir was his match.

"Domeric, wasn't it?" His voice was soft, speaking the name felt almost like a sacred act.

His soulmate. Domeric Bolton.

Jon would have been a Northern Lord's spouse, if Domeric had lived. The second most powerful Lord in the North, even.

The irony of being a Bolton when Lady Stark was always terrified of Jon's nonexistent claim as a Stark would have been amusing. He could almost imagine the fun he and his soulmate could have had at her expense.

Bolton--Lord Bolton--was watching Jon, who didn't know what part of his bittersweet thoughts might have shown on his face.

"I'll speak with Lord Stark later today."

Jon frowned. "Why? It's...it's not like...."

"You were meant to be my good son. I will not leave you here to do a servant's work and be denigrated by a Southron woman."

He almost pointed out that many of the Northerners had no problem insulting bastards, but didn't. Nothing about this made him feel comfortable contradicting Lord Bolton, or doing anything at all that might seem like backtalk.

Pursing his lips, he nodded, already thinking of how he could catch his father first and make sure he knew that Jon wanted to stay in Winterfell.

Domeric Bolton was dead, there would be nothing for Jon at the Dreadfort but ghosts, no matter how uncharacteristically moved Lord Bolton seemed.

**********

Notes:

Me: I'm feeling some Domeric/Jon Me: ooh, what about a soulmate AU? The worst part of me: ooh, what if it's after Domeric's death?

[finalfantasyfics]

FFXV: Dreamers

Originally posted on February 7, 2022 to AO3

Summary: Ardyn's task is unforgiving, his burdens great, but not all of the immortals of Eos are content to leave him wallow without respite: Noctis, the messenger of the god of dreams and mischief, becomes his unlikely companion through the ages.

Time Travel AU.

Ships: Ardyn Izunia/Noctis Lucis Caelum, Ardyn Izunia & Noctis Lucis Caelum

Warnings: Angst, Implied Torture, Bahamut Bashing, Episode Ardyn Spoilers, Ambiguous Ending

XX

"This doesn't seem like much reward for the work you do."

Ardyn thought at first he had hallucinated the voice, he'd been starting to do that more than he wanted to admit.

The shadows seemed to seep away from the dark corner of the room, the opposite of how daemons sometimes appeared. A figure stepped out, moonlight from the window alighting over a lovely face, perhaps on the cusp of adulthood, with blue eyes that caught the light and almost reflected it.

Despite the ominous arrival, something within Ardyn relaxed for the first time in a very long time. "It's quite rude to enter someone's chambers without permission."

"And if I'm not there at all, but somewhere else, and allowing you to see me?" the figure mused, tone familiar.

Ardyn sat up in bed, staring. Now that he was paying attention, he could feel the power around this stranger, and knew that the comfort he felt was projected from that, somehow. "Are you a god?"

They smiled. "No, I have only ever served gods."

"A messenger, then? Is there something your master wishes from me?" He could not imagine having to bare another burden, another task that an Astral set upon his collapsing shoulders.

"No, nothing like that," the messenger stated, sitting casually on the side of Ardyn's bed as if they knew one another well.

Pale hands reached for him and he held completely still, worried what the messenger might do. He cupped his face and wiped his fingers under Ardyn's eyes, giving the slightest of pouts as if displeased. When he pulled back, Ardyn could see the black ichor painting that skin and flinched at the thought of corrupting a god's servant with the mark of his weakness.

"My name is Noctis." Ardyn tilted his head to the side, not commenting on the name, a soft sound of understanding leaving him after the messenger continued, "my god is Carbuncle."

A messenger named for the night did indeed fit with the God of Dreams and Mischief. But Ardyn didn't think he'd done anything to draw that particular god's attention for many years.

"And why are you here?"

"You have given our charges hope and banished darkness from many of their dreams. I offer companionship to them--I would do the same for you."

***

Noctis appeared without warning, always at night, always when Ardyn was alone. Given his comments during their first meeting, Ardyn realized it was only when he was asleep. They were simply very realistic seeming dreams.

It didn't matter, he realized, because after a night in Noctis' company, he awoke refreshed. He wasn't cured from the Scourge he'd been containing within himself, but it was quietened, as if it, too, had gotten a full night's sleep and wanted nothing more to do than laze about for the day.

He came to pray for Noctis' company, at times, when months had gone with no visit and Ardyn's mind and body were fraying at the edges. Always, Noctis visited him then, soothed him.

Coming to care for him was as inevitable as new cases of Scourge. Noctis was a gentle creature, though he had warned Ardyn time and again that he was a messenger for children and their casual cruelty might be his own. He had even shown Ardyn how he might appear to them, form melting through the years of human development until it reached around Ardyn's own age, hair stained with the beginning of grey, saying it was as old as he ever became.

"I suppose children think thirty is quite old," Ardyn had joked upon seeing it, not resisting the urge to touch and confirm it was as soft as it had been.

Noctis had laughed at that, but there was something brittle to the sound. He realized he did not know how messengers came into being, wondered if Noctis had ever been a mortal, if the lighter hair had been his natural look and it was stained black by the night that was his home now.

"Perhaps someday you will see me look such in the waking world and you may tell me then the differences between our ages," Noctis stated, in that way that made it sound like a prediction more than anything else.

"Is that possible? To see you while awake?"

"It is...draining. I exist safe in the realm of dreams. I can walk in your world, though, but everything I do costs me more."

"I do not wish for you to harm yourself for me."

Again Noctis laughed and again it was uncommonly sharp, like he knew something Ardyn didn't.

"What is it that you're thinking of?"

"I cannot say. There is...so much that I would tell you, if I could. Yet if I even think of doing so, my thoughts fail me, my voice silenced." Noctis shook his head. "That matters not at present. This is what does: I will see you on the morrow, in the sunlight, and allow your fellows to dismiss any doubts you may have of my reality."

He protested, because he knew by now that Noctis was indeed real, but not too much. He wanted to see him.

And he did. In the daylight Noctis went from attractive to stunning, all black hair and blacker shroud, with pale skin peeking through. His eyes seemed all the brighter, flicking between blue and pink as he observed Ardyn dealing with his court, seeming to delight in the little touches Ardyn stole whenever he could.

He was glad it wasn't a day when he was healing. Politics was aggravating, but it didn't give him that bone deep exhaustion, and he could spare Noctis all of his attention whenever there was a free moment. He only wished Aera was there to meet him, Noctis always denying that he could simply go to her and introduce himself.

Somehow Noctis had both Somnus and Gilgamesh friendly with him within moments, regaling them over dinner with what must have been a tale for children of four friends in a flying chariot fighting monsters to bring daylight to a land of eternal darkness. When he told it, their emotions swelled with the story, as though he were a musician and they were his instruments. They could feel the triumphs and heartbreak--the bittersweet ending had Gilgamesh hiding tears.

It was a good day, he thought as he settled into bed that night, having talked Noctis into lying next to him in the last few moments before he lost his physical form, so that he was there already in Ardyn's dreams.

That was the last good day he ever had with Somnus.

***

"Oh Ardyn."

The gasped words were the first new sounds Ardyn had heard in a very long time. Years, perhaps? It was so hard to keep track.

Then there were hands, so gentle. He had forgotten what gentleness felt like. They stroked his hair, so careful of the knots and gore in it, never pulling.

When he managed to open his eyes, the light hurt, but the form before him shifted to block most of it out as soon as he flinched. He shouldn't have had to look to know who it was, but already he was having so much trouble telling reality from hallucinations.

Yet the Scourge was never so quiet, even in his most realistic visions.

"Noctis," he tried to say, but his throat was too dry to speak.

Noctis let go--no, he wanted to say, that's not what he meant--but it was only to retrieve a canteen that he held to Ardyn's lips. He was always so prepared, for a being that needed nothing to survive.

"Noctis," he said again and this time his voice was clear enough, held the desperation within him at just seeing the messenger again.

"I cannot free you. Nor can I stay long. I risk much coming here at all. He will know and even he may command my god in this." There had been no hope within Ardyn that Noctis could free him, so no hope was dashed by that. But he had thought he would stay, at least until Ardyn's thoughts were clearer.

Lips against his brow, soft and smooth, his eyes fluttering shut as he latched onto the moment. He would hold it in mind for his eternity of torture, would not let Bahamut nor the daemons take it from him. Noctis was his, as much as a messenger could belong to any but their master.

"I cannot free you, but I can offer the smallest of solace. A century of dreamless sleep, in hopes that when you awaken, the world will be a kinder place to you."

Ardyn's cheeks were wet with what he feared was ichor, but he felt like he was crying. So kind, his Noctis, to grant him such a reprieve. He knew casting magic on a waking mortal would take much out of him and yet he didn't hesitate. Ardyn could only hope that Bahamut did not punish Noctis for his compassion, the way he had everyone else.

The twilight touch of dream magic seeped into Ardyn's mind, cradling him as Noctis' touches did. And while the sleep was dreamless, he could still feel Noctis all around him.

***

"Who are you?" Verstael demanded, alerting Ardyn of another presence coming into the room.

He reached out with his magic and jerked up immediately, resisting the urge to run a hand through his knotted hair or smooth out his rumpled clothing. That would simply draw more attention to his state. The Scourge settled within him, lulled into calm as though a child whose dreams the messenger had soothed.

"Noctis," he greeted, before he had even come through the door.

Verstael looked between the two of them and Ardyn wanted to push him out and lock the door behind him. He did not deserve to see Noctis, his dissecting looks and speculation were like blasphemy.

"Full glad I am to see you free at last." His eyes glowed pink with delight and he caught Ardyn's hands in his own without hesitation, never shying from the Scourge within him.

Ardyn did not resist the urge to pull one of those hands closer, dipping his head to kiss the knuckles. "And glad am I, to bask in your grace."

A chuckle answered him, Noctis pressing a quick kiss to his cheek. He glanced around, a worried frown creasing his youthful face for just a moment before the gentle mirth that characterized him was back in full force.

"And this is?" Verstael persisted.

"Noctis, messenger to the God of Dreams." Ardyn was succinct, gripping Noctis' waist gently and pulling him closer, away from the mortal who was now too fascinated for his own health.

"God of Dreams? That one exists, too?"

Noctis raised his eyebrows. "Few and far are those who follow my master as they grow, mortal minds slipping away from the unfathomable, preferring answers over questions."

Verstael raised his eyebrows. "A children's god, then? And yet you are here for him?."

"Oft was this one in dreams of our flock, hope incarnate to many a small spark."

With a chuckle, Ardyn clarified, pressing lips against the side of Noctis' head as he spoke before Verstael could become offensive and chase Noctis off. "In the olden days, I was...something of a figure of good dreams to the children of my kingdom. Noctis became curious when he realized I was an actual person and investigated."

"Ah, an old friend, then? You're certainly," Verstael's eyes dragged over them, "close. I had not thought you on amiable terms with any god."

Ardyn's hold on Noctis tightened and he stiffened beneath it, but did not pull away. "I have no quarrel with Noctis or his master. They have very little influence over the waking world."

"But over the unconscious mind?"

Noctis cocked his head to the side, regarding Verstael with a look that was wholly inhuman. In his pretty face, which had previously been so natural at mimicking their expressions, it seemed exceptionally alien, enough to unsettle Verstael, enough to make Ardyn know that it had been on purpose.

"Mortal minds are but gardens, tended at the behest of their owners. Not all are equal."

Ardyn wondered what his own looked like in that metaphor. A dark, desolate place, perhaps, of rotted plants and bare trees.

A hand squeezed his arm and he looked down to meet Noctis' blue eyes. "Some are better," he stated, "some are favorites."

He felt...he wasn't sure how he felt, at the pronouncement.

***

"Is this truly your wish?"

It was a dream, Ardyn knew immediately, as much as it was a scene from earlier that night. He had yearned for comfort and forced himself to some approximation of sleep, caught quickly by Noctis' gentle magic, that pushed away the souls clamoring within him.

"I have much to learn of this modern world," he replied, searching through the shadows for where Noctis might be hiding. "And this suits my purposes."

"As did the Infernian."

He stilled. "I would never do that to you, Noctis. Do not fear me." Anything else from Noctis he would accept, if not the love he craved, then hatred. Just not fear.

Arms wrapped around him from behind, the side of Noctis' head resting on the back of his shoulder. "It is not fear. It is concern. His memories warp you, as do all the others' that you steal."

"You are not in them," he whispered into the nightmare scene of the dream, of the people he had daemonified. "The Infernian's memories do not include you."

"Thankfully."

Ardyn supposed that was true. He had searched through them when he could, wishing to know more of Noctis, and had only found a few memories of Carbuncle. He had little reason to associate with Ifrit, perhaps, or Ifrit had little reason to bother remembering the messenger of an Astral he cared nothing about.

"Will you stay with me?"

Noctis pressed a kiss to his shoulder that he could feel even through the thick layers of his clothing. "I have ever been given leave to do so, until you have no more wish for me."

Forever, then, Ardyn thought, and clung to it.

***

Noctis had little to offer Ardyn to help him adjust to the world, of course, children's dreams were hardly an accurate indicator of what the modern world was like. And he had no interest in Ardyn's work. Yet his presence was enough to make Ardyn forget how little they spoke of what he was doing, the reminder that there was still somebody who seemed to care for Ardyn outside of what he could do for them.

He never again commented on what Ardyn was accomplishing and maybe Ardyn let his guard down too much around him, because of that. Allowed too many plans to slip out that, while he knew Noctis wouldn't (couldn't) interfere, were best not told. Children might be fearful, after all, because of actions Ardyn took and that would make Noctis' master cross.

The sigh that Noctis gave over the latest plot seemed at odds with the youthful look he wore even in the real world, weary and ancient. "I will say this but once: Do not tempt the Draconian. If you step within Insomnia's limits and draw his ire, he will take from you that which you have left to lose."

Ardyn scoffed, wondering why Noctis would sound so upset over an empty threat. "I have nothing left for him to take," he stated, voice cold as he thought of Bahamut's tortures, as he thought of Aera's death and Somnus' betrayal. Unwritten even from history, what could he have?

But Noctis did not respond with comfort or compassion, as he might normally, instead as Ardyn watched his face closed off, displaying the unfeeling expression of a proper messenger. "Very well, Ardyn Lucis Caelum. You have your choice before you."

And then he was gone in the slightest waver of the shadows around him, leaving Ardyn frowning at the wall as Verstael stared at him. "What?" he demanded, scowling as Verstael only shook his head and he wondered what he could be missing.

He went to Insomnia, of course, despite the warning, to tamper with the Wall in prelude to an attack. It was close to fun, playing with the current King and Somnus' spirit, but of course Bahamut had to interrupt.

His mind dwelt on the prophecy whenever he could not keep his thoughts distracted. He waited for Noctis to appear so that he could push for more information, then waited for Noctis to appear at all. Months stretching into years, the longest he'd gone without Noctis' presence outside of Angelgard. His prayers unanswered no matter how fervently he gave them.

"You'll want to see this, I assume," Verstael said one inauspicious day, flopping a report down on his desk.

Ardyn looked it over with a sneer on his face--the newest of Somnus' descendants, most likely the "Chosen One" Bahamut thought would slay him.

Then he saw the rest of the file. The unmistakable blue of the eyes in all of the pictures...and the name.

Finally he realized why Noctis had reacted as he had: Now, whether he fought to win against the Astrals' new Chosen King or not, Noctis would die.

Ardyn had always had one more thing to lose.

XX

Original notes:

Carbuncle is called a messenger once in like one canon-y source, but I honestly like the idea of Carby being an Astral who humans just sort of overlook.

Just in case it's not obvious in the story/from the tags, Carbuncle assists Noctis in going back in time post-FFXV to help Ardyn.