Photographer and model duo, Victoria Yore and Terrence Drsydale document their adventurous tales from their travel to Iceland through phenomenal photographs.
dm: you rolled a 1. you try to assassinate the warden, but it fails. they win. they offer to take you in if you help fight the blight. after a year, you’re in love. you get married, honeymooning in orlais
In which Ardyn makes good on his threat to keep Noctis’s friends company while he’s in the Crystal… Specifically: Ignis. Because that’s where my brain always goes.
( @demishock here you go!! Thanks so much for talking this idea out with me!!)
Seven years, eleven months, thirteen days.
To whatever extent one can speak of “days,” any longer.
Ignis has been keeping careful track of the time and date since the incident in Altissia, to make up for his inability to rely on cycles of light and darkness.
He started counting after Gralea.
For as much time as it took just to learn how to navigate with his blindness, as much time as he’s spent cooking in Lestallum, researching with Talcott in Hammerhead, hunting with Prompto and Gladio… Ignis has spent the majority of these years alone. It’s easier this way, somehow. Time passes more smoothly in his own head, when he can get lost in memories of the past and hopes for the future.
That’s not to say that travelling and fighting alone is a particularly good decision. Ignis takes risks the others might chastise him for, risks he would never let them get away with.
Tonight, for example, he’s settled in to rest and eat without bothering to find a warded campground.
When he hears the footsteps approach, the brush of thick layered fabric, he curses himself for his own insouciance. He deserves this.
Ignis stays very still, continues working on his soup as though he he’s taken no notice of the new arrival.
“Enough for two?”
No matter how many times this happens, the mocking tone will never fail to set Ignis’s teeth on edge. “No,” he snaps.
“Not expecting company? I understand.” Ardyn’s voice drips with false sympathy. “I suppose it has been some time…”
Ignis is ready to throw his dinner in Ardyn’s face, for all the good it would do. “What is it you want, Chancellor?”
“Why, company, of course! This eternal darkness can get so lonely… Though I suppose you might know better than anyone, yes?”
Why does Ignis put up with this? Why does he engage? He knows Gladio still attacks on sight, swinging uselessly until he exhausts himself and Ardyn departs, laughing. He knows Prompto gave up on wasting ammunition years ago: now he covers his ears and sings to himself until he’s alone again. Why does Ignis let Ardyn speak?
Because sometimes he says something useful, of course. Because from a handful of thoughtless words scattered over the years, Ignis has been able to piece together a story corroborated by the royal tombs. Because listening is all he can do.
That doesn’t make it easy.
“You aren’t welcome here,” Ignis says flatly.
Ardyn laughs, delighted. “My, my… You are unshakable, aren’t you? I suspect you may find the idea of death rather agreeable. Or is there truly nothing you fear?”
Ignis smiles bitterly. "Do you expect me to fear you?”
“And why not?”
“You ran out of ways to hurt me in Gralea, Chancellor.”
The title is the best weapon he has, perhaps the only weapon. If the theory Ignis has labored over is correct, then being conflated with the Empire will always be a thorn in Ardyn’s side, regardless of how long it’s been since Niflheim’s collapse.
“Always dear Noct, isn’t it?”
Ignis nearly flinches. He isn’t the only one armed with pointed words. He tries so hard not to let their conversations drift this way, but Ardyn must sense his weakness - they always end up here, sooner or later.
“Come now, be honest.” Ardyn can be so disgustingly conspiratorial. “It’s a relief, isn’t it, to be free of the endless babysitting? It must be.”
“You are not as all-knowing as you think.”
Ardyn scoffs. “Please, there’s no need for rudeness. You’ve simply piqued my curiosity. What is it you see in your Chosen King? Are you so eager to cook his dinners and wipe his nose?”
Ignis’s hands go tight on his soup bowl.
“Ah, not fond of such jokes? They do seem accurate, if you’ll excuse my saying so.”
“They are not accurate. I assure you.”
“You would say more, but you don’t wish to speak of him to me. So private. In all things, so I’ve gathered, but in none so much as…” Ardyn makes a deeply concerning sound of realization. He lets out a long breath, almost a whistle. “Oh, Ignis. You’re right. It’s taken me far too long.”
No.
Ignis stands up abruptly.
Ardyn laughs. There’s a strange sound in the air, a pulsing chill, and suddenly Ignis can’t move. His body goes rigid. His fingers straighten unbidden, every muscle flexing and straining like he’s been struck by lightning. He drops his bowl. It shatters against the hard ground at his feet with a heart-stopping crack.
Ignis tries not to panic.
“Perhaps you should thank me,” Ardyn drawls. “If I’d left well enough alone, he’d be married, now.”
“You think-” Ignis knows he shouldn’t keep talking. But his heart is racing, he’s flooded with useless adrenaline, and it’s not as though he can do anything else. “You think I wouldn’t prefer to see him and Lady Lunafreya alive and well? To see him happy? At peace?”
“How admirably selfless.” Ardyn’s voice is closer now. The dark amusement is as constricting as the magic, unbearable.
Ignis cannot take much more of this. He’s been so careful not to let on about what he’s learned from the tombs, so diligent in not tipping his hand. But the potential consequences his rational mind understands feel like nothing at all compared to having a way to push back.
“We do not all expect payment for our love, Chancellor. Nor do we all desire to harm others when we, ourselves, are hurt.”
Ardyn is even closer, now. Ignis can feel the amusement rolling off him in waves. “Are you lecturing me?”
“Yes. Noctis’s story surpasses yours a hundredfold. Even were he never to return, he would still be a far greater king than you have proven.”
The deadly silence is all the confirmation Ignis needs. Rash as it was to tip his hand, it’s so satisfying to make the unexpected move for once. For a single moment, he feels like a strategist again.
In the next moment, there’s a hand around his throat.
Ignis reaches out on instinct for his weapons. He can move again, but he can’t reach Noctis’s arsenal. Ardyn’s doing, it has to be, because Noctis isn’t- can’t be-
Frantically, Ignis clutches at Ardyn’s arm.
Ardyn laughs. It starts quietly, barely a chuckle, and builds until it seems to echo back from all around them. “So ingenious, aren’t you?”
Ignis gasps, growing lightheaded.
“If you know my story,” Ardyn says softly, his breath against Ignis’s face, “then surely you know my title? My true title.”
Ardyn removes his hand, but the suffocating pressure remains. Ignis wraps his hands uselessly around his own throat. Dizzy, he falls to his knees.
“Oh, what a magnificent start! I suppose I shouldn’t be surprised. This should all be so familiar to you, after all.” Ardyn threads his fingers through Ignis’s hair, a mockery of benevolence. “Go on: Your Majesty.”
This is not how Ignis wants to die.
That’s the thought he holds on to in the midst of his fear, his anger, his pride: he’s waited nearly eight years against the hope that Noctis will come back to him. He’ll wait eight more, and then eight more after that, he’ll wait as long as he has to.
He’ll do whatever he must.
Ignis reaches out in his mind to the wall of Noctis’s arsenal, the wall he can’t breach with Ardyn blocking him. He presses himself as close as he can get, willing Noctis to hear, to forgive him, to understand who he’s truly calling out for as he whispers, “Your Majesty.”
Ardyn lets him drop.
Ignis lands face-down in the dirt, gasping, his arms too weak and shaky to push himself up.
“There,” Ardyn says pleasantly, “now we understand one another. Such an important thing between friends, don’t you think?”
We are not friends, Ignis thinks viciously. But the fact that he’s still alive certainly means something.
Ignis manages to prop himself into a slightly more upright position. “You won’t kill me, will you?” His voice is raspy and painful. “You won’t kill any of us.”
Ardyn hums blithely. “Won’t I?”
“How else would you hurt him, while he’s out of your reach? How else would you vent your petty rage?”
“Adorable,” Ardyn purrs.
“You subsist on hatred.” Every word hurts, every second is a fight to stay lucid. “Do you think you can turn us into men like you? Break us and twist our hearts?”
“Oh, perish the thought! You are far better men than that.” The poisonous mockery is a fog in the air. “No matter how the years of darkness stretch out before you, you will never waver in your precious hope. Your love.” Ardyn laughs.
Ignis shakes his head, willing himself not to be sick. “It will not happen.”
“Hmm. For argument’s sake, I might invite you to look around at the world my petty hatred has wrought. But I’m afraid your stalwart devotion has left you… unable.”
Ignis’s arms finally give out. He rolls clumsily onto his back, breathing hard.
Ardyn kneels beside him. Very slowly, almost gently, he removes the visor from Ignis’s face. Ignis turns his head away, vulnerable, wincing.
“I might have killed him already, have you thought of that?” Ardyn traces idly over Ignis’s scarred eye. “Perhaps that’s why you couldn’t reach your weapons just now. Oh, imagine if you’d passed him bleeding on the roadside while he choked out your name? How it must have felt to watch you leave him behind, as he once refused to leave you…”
“No,” Ignis whispers, beyond any semblance of rationality. There are tears on his face: desperate, ashamed. “I would know. If he were near… I would know.”
“Thank you for your company, Ignis,” Ardyn says, a smile in his voice. “You’ve been a charming host.”
There’s a sharp pain in his head, the cold ache of Ardyn’s magic, and Ignis slips into unconsciousness.
*-*rambling self-indulgent speculation fic thing*-*
(in which I enjoy thinking about Ignis and Regis and their weird as hell relationship)
(and also about how the whole Kingsglaive engagement announcement went down)
(and also about Ignoct in general)
Ignis hasn’t been formally summoned by the king in years, much less in the middle of the night.
He squints at the alert on his phone, then sits up and puts on his glasses to read it. Meeting the king in his personal chambers? Has something happened?
He tries to stay calm as he gets out of bed. He sends off a quick message to Noctis, in the vain hope that he’s awake and can reassure Ignis that he’s alright.
He keeps checking his phone as he dresses. No answer.
That’s no cause for concern by itself: it’s late, Noctis is probably asleep.
The Imperial envoy earlier today was probably nothing to worry about.
Everything’s probably fine.
…It’s too bad probably has never been a particularly comforting word for Ignis.
By the time he arrives at King Regis’s door, nodding his way past the guards and checking one more time to make sure his shirt is tucked in after dressing in the dark, Ignis has come up with no less than seven completely disastrous reasons he might have been called. None of them seem particularly likely, but it’s always important to be prepared for the worst.
“Come in, Ignis.”
Ignis does, closing the door quietly behind him.
King Regis is in his armchair, still dressed, his head resting on one hand. He looks exhausted.
Ignis bows in greeting.
No greeting is forthcoming in return.
“I need your opinion.”
“Of course, Your Majesty.”
King Regis studies him with heavy, tired eyes. “If you were to select a personal retinue for Noctis, a Crownsguard, whom would it contain?”
A Crownsguard? There’s already a Crownsguard, one which has been carefully vetted and trained. Why would Noctis require a separate one? “I’m afraid I don’t understand,” Ignis says carefully.
King Regis doesn’t seem surprised at his confusion. “I’m asking for a small group, perhaps three or four. People of balanced abilities, able to support Noctis in whatever situations may arise.”
Something is very wrong, here. But what? “Gladiolus Amicitia has trained all his life to protect His Highness,” Ignis says, giving the obvious answer to play for time.
King Regis motions for him to continue talking. “And you approve of the result?”
“I do. He is a fine warrior, and deeply loyal. He has been a close companion to His Highness, and I consider him a friend as well.”
“Good,” King Regis nods. “I would have chosen him anyway. Who else?”
Ignis frowns, thinking. It’s difficult to choose given so little context. There are guards and attendants, people of ability, but their loyalty is to the crown first and foremost. Most of them have no relationship with Noctis as a person, and thus Ignis can’t in good conscience entrust Noctis to them. There honestly aren’t many people Noctis gets along with.
Or-? Well… Why not?
“Prompto Argentum.”
King Regis raises his eyebrows. “A name I would not have thought of.”
“His combat experience is… minimal,” Ignis admits. “But Your Majesty requested a balance of skills.”
“And what is Prompto’s skill in?”
“Lifting His Highness’s spirits.”
King Regis smiles.
“There are few so adept,” Ignis says, feeling more confident in his choice by the second. “If Your Majesty suspects challenges ahead, I would not suggest passing him over.”
“Could he be trained?”
“I believe so.”
“Very well.” King Regis adjusts himself in his chair, sitting up straighter. “I notice you have not yet named yourself.”
…Oh. Like an imbecile, Ignis had considered himself a given. Whatever King Regis was planning for Noctis, Ignis hadn’t been able to envision being left out. Now, he’s envisioning it acutely.
Is he expected to make a case for himself? Would it matter? Surely his qualifications are already known. “I would include myself, Your Majesty.”
King Regis sets his hands on his armrests, and Ignis suddenly feels like they’re in the throne room instead of a bedchamber. His heart rate picks up. He’s been preparing for disaster since he first got this message, and the change in the air indicates that his expectations may finally be fulfilled.
“Am I right in assuming,” King Regis says quietly, “that your feelings for Noctis are beyond those which duty requires?”
Seven potential disasters.
This one hadn’t even crossed his mind.
He thought he’d been so careful, never letting himself look too long, finding believable excuses for every visit and gift and touch. Drawing back whenever he had to, never giving Noctis the chance to notice his struggle or close the distance between them. Denying himself innocent moments, afraid of what the press might do even with too soft a smile.
He can’t do anything about the fact that his chest aches sometimes when Noctis says his name.
“His Highness has been- is-” damn it, damn it, “has always been… dear to me. As he is to many who know him, I have no doubt.”
King Regis hums, his face unreadable. “But perhaps not in the same way?”
Ignis will be removed from duty, that isn’t even a question.
Is that what this has been? Was King Regis looking for Ignis’s input regarding his own replacement? People who could support Noctis until a new advisor could be arranged?
He’ll be sent away from the Citadel.
God. He’ll never see Noctis again.
“Your Majesty, please,” Ignis says, head swimming in desperation. “I have never acted out of accordance with my position, I swear it. I am a faithful steward to His Highness. I hope to have done well by him, and by you. I would never-”
“Peace,” King Regis says, looking genuinely surprised at Ignis’s outburst. “I did not call you here to condemn you.”
Then, why? Why? What has this been about? What need is there for a specialized guard? What does it matter whether Ignis is so pathetically in love that he could cry?
Ignis prides himself on maintaining an understanding of both world politics and the affairs of Insomnia, but he’s lightheaded and his face is hot and he cannot figure out why he was called to this meeting.
“The Empire has called for a peace treaty. It requires a marriage between Noctis and Lady Lunafreya of Tenebrae.”
Oh.
Ignis has been choosing an escort.
To Noctis’s wedding.
“The press will know, come morning,” King Regis says, almost gently.
So, this was a kindness. Ignis will be spared dealing with his shock in public. He’s grateful - or, as grateful as can be managed in his current state.
King Regis rubs at his eyes. “There is another provision, as well.”
Peace with Niflheim. Noctis engaged. And there’s more? Ignis stares at the far wall, clutching his hands behind his back, trying to school his expression.
“You have no interest?” The bitter tone is a surprise. Ignis looks at King Regis, who isn’t looking back at him. The king’s hand is still over his eyes. “As advisor to the crown,” he continues, voice distant and frustrated, “you have no opinion on this treaty?”
Ignis doesn’t know what his king expects from him. It’s all he can do to keep his face impassive. “I would not presume-”
“By all means, presume!” King Regis laughs, a sound as dry as paper tearing. “You have always been dutiful. Tell me, Ignis, remind me. What is my duty?”
Ignis cannot do this right now. Not when he’s already wondering what Noctis will look like on his wedding day. Not when he’s imagining a lifetime of training heirs to the throne in history and etiquette, children with their mother’s healing hands and Noctis’s beautiful eyes. He feels like someone’s carved a portion out of his chest, the part that dealt with breathing. “The line of Lucis protects the Crystal until the King of Light comes,” he recites numbly.
“The Crystal,” King Regis says, almost snaps. “The Prophecy. And my son? My people? Do I not have an obligation to them?”
“Your Majesty,” Ignis says slowly, fighting for competence, “I don’t know what choices you may be facing, nor do I expect you to confide in me. Your people trust you to fulfill your duties in the best way you know. As I will fulfill mine to your son.”
King Regis stares at him for a long moment, then seems to settle, fatigue draining the tension from his features once more. “We must all make our sacrifices. Is that what you mean to say?” He sighs and passes his hand over his face. “You have been good to him, Ignis. In ways I could never have hoped for. I pray that you will continue to stand by him in the days ahead.”
“Always,” Ignis says. “In all things.”
“A promise not made lightly now, with the future uncertain.”
“The future has never been certain. And I have never been one to take things lightly, Your Majesty.”
King Regis nods to him in gratitude. “You may go,” he says quietly.
As desperate as he is to leave, Ignis stops with one hand on the door. He turns back. It would be impertinent to ask, but… “Have you told him?”
“No,” King Regis says.
Ignis bristles invisibly. “Do you intend to?”
“If I don’t, you will, won’t you? Even if asked not to.”
Yes. Yes, he will. As much as Ignis has just panicked about being fired and thrown out… Noctis is not going to find out about his own engagement from the news.
King Regis smiles sadly. “Don’t answer, please. I’d hate to have a member of the new Crownsguard penalized for misconduct.”
Even after the utter mess this conversation has been, at least Ignis still has his place by Noctis’s side. If sixteen years in the palace have earned him the leniency shown tonight, perhaps he can push it just a bit further. Just this once. “You should be the one to tell him, Your Majesty.”
King Regis knows this, surely. It still takes him a long time to nod. “Bring him to me.”
—
Ignis lets himself into Noctis’s apartment. It’s so familiar, the routine of it, the reassurance of having the key. He’s spent more of his waking life here than in his own rooms, these last few years. He knows every shelf and cupboard, knows the view from the balcony, knows the haphazard organization of the spare closet where his extra clothes are hung beside Noctis’s formal suits.
He doesn’t bother with the lights - he can find his way around in the dark.
It’s so strange to think this life is almost over.
Noctis is asleep, as Ignis had suspected, but he apparently didn’t make it to his bed. He’s curled up on the sofa like a cat, still in his clothes, the lights of the city casting shadows across his face.
Ignis kneels beside him. He’d like to smooth back Noctis’s hair from his forehead, or touch his cheek. He’d like to stave off waking him, to take a few moments and memorize how peaceful he looks.
Indulgences he won’t allow himself.
“Noct,” he says gently, one hand on Noctis’s shoulder. “Wake up, please.”
That won’t do it. It never has. At least Ignis can convince himself he’s trying, though.
“Noctis,” Ignis repeats, rubbing his hand up and down Noctis’s arm. “Your father wants to speak with you.”
Noctis blinks up at him through his messy hair, his eyes bleary. “Huh?”
Of course. The one time in their lives Ignis doesn’t want him to wake up.
How many more chances like this will he get? They’ll be few and far between after the wedding, surely.
“Hello,” Ignis whispers, his throat thick. He doesn’t pull his hand away.
Noctis frowns, pushing himself back against the sofa’s armrest. “Iggy?”
Ignis shuts his eyes. That ache in his chest, again. Does Noctis know? He has no idea. There have been moments, handfuls of heartbeats where he’s felt there might have been something…
Not that it matters now. Not that it ever did.
Noctis’s hand settles tentatively atop Ignis’s.
Ignis opens his eyes, grateful for the dark room, sure that his face is crumpling.
“You okay?” Noctis asks quietly. Still soft and half-asleep, but so sincere.
“Yes,” Ignis says. “Yes, of course.” He draws his hand back slowly, Noctis’s fingers trailing over his own as he pulls away. God, he wishes he could feel it. His damned gloves - never mind that this is precisely the sort of thing they’re meant to protect against. “You’ve been summoned.”
Noctis’s face goes tight. He rubs at his eyes. “You know why?”
“I do,” Ignis says, feeling horribly guilty. “But I think your father should be the one to tell you.”
Noctis looks like he wants to argue. “It’s bad, huh?”
Ignis has no idea whether Noctis will consider it ‘bad.’ Perhaps he’ll be perfectly content with the news. “I don’t have all the details.”
“It’s fine,” Noctis says, in a flat voice that means it isn’t. He sits up and starts scanning the room, presumably looking for his shoes. “I know you’d get in trouble.”
It’s not about that. Not at all. But Ignis can’t explain.
He finds Noctis’s shoes at the side of the sofa, where they always are. “I’m sorry,” he says quietly as he hands them over.
Noctis pauses before putting them on, staring at Ignis’s face. “It… really is bad.”
Ignis curses himself, forcing his expression back to neutrality. “I recommended Prompto for an official position.”
Noctis knows he’s changing the subject. It works anyway. His eyes brighten and the corners of his mouth turn up. “Yeah?”
“Do you suppose he’ll accept? He’ll have to be fitted for a uniform…”
Noctis laughs, his face warm and bright and beautiful as he leans over to tie his shoes. “Oh, he’s gonna lose it.”
Despite everything, Ignis can’t help but smile back.
"So, Noct," Prompto says, just car-ride chatter, only half-thinking about the words coming out of his mouth, "which one of us is gonna be your best man?"
Noctis looks stricken. "Uh. Do I… have to pick?"
"No," Ignis says firmly, just as Gladio says, "hell yeah, you do."
Everyone stares at each other.
"It's a wedding," Gladio says. "There's gotta be a best man."
"It's his wedding." Ignis nods awkwardly back at Noctis. "If he doesn't want one-"
"It's not that I don't want one-"
"See?"
"You didn't let him finish."
"Look, it's a traditional-"
"Can't I just-?"
"It's an utterly arbitrary-"
Prompto laughs nervously. "Uh, guys? I was kidding, seriously."
Gladio shrugs and settles back in his seat. "Whatever. You can count me out."
Noctis snaps his head around to stare, affronted. "Well, fine."
"Don't look at me like that," Gladio scoffs. "I'm your security, remember? I gotta be able to move around the room, if I need to."
"Oh. Right. Just… Make sure you're somewhere I can see you, okay?"
"What, you gonna make me cue you how to put a ring on?"
"Shut up," Noctis grumbles.
"I'll be right there, Prince Charmless. No worries."
Prompto is fidgeting in his seat. "I, uh."
"Prompto?"
"It's stupid. I just- I mean, I know it's a big royal wedding, there's no way there won't already be a bunch of official ones, right? But I figured, if you gave me permission, I could- Mine wouldn't end up in the papers or anything, you know? They could just be yours. If you want."
Noctis frowns. "I… don't know what you're talking about."
"Heh." Prompto runs his hand through his hair, his face red. "Yeah."
"I believe," Ignis says slowly, "Prompto may be asking to be your photographer."
Prompto shrugs helplessly. "Dumb, I know."
"No, that'd be great," Noctis says, relieved. "I hate the reporters. Can we- Can it just be Prompto? At least during the ceremony? You think we can keep the rest back?"
Ignis and Gladio make the same half-laughing sound. Both their smiles are a little terrifying, the way they always get when dealing with the press. "We sure can," Gladio says.
Noctis relaxes visibly.
"Aw, great!" Prompto looks absolutely thrilled with the idea of his new job. "And it looks like you've got your best man," he grins, poking Ignis in the shoulder.
"Makes sense," Gladio says. "He's been with you the longest."
"Since we were kids, yeah," Noctis mumbles.
Ignis catches his eye in the rearview mirror. They both smile. They both look away.
Gladio shrugs. "I'm happy with it from the Crownsguard angle. I'll watch the crowds, Iggy can watch you."
Ignis frowns just slightly at the phrasing, but says nothing.
Noctis rubs the back of his neck. "You… okay with that, Specs?"
I mean, I assume he’s still on the throne? HOWEVER as far actual canon goes, it depends. What we know:
-Noct stabs Ardyn with the Sword of the Father, killing him in the physical plane.
-Ardyn’s body disappears.
-Regis stabs Noctis with the Sword of the Father, killing him in the physical plane.
-Noct’s body ??????
I think it depends, then, on why Ardyn’s body disappears. Is it because he was so daemonified that he disintegrated like the other daemons you fight throughout the game? Or is it because of the Sword of the Father and whatever properties it has? Personally, I lean toward the former.
Then again, there’s also that shockwave that the Ring of the Lucii gives off right at the end. But personally I lean toward Noct’s body still being on the throne.
tl;dr: idk lol T__T
Now if you’ll excuse me…
*huddles under blanket with a box of tissues and waits for the fic that is totally definitely not being written by you*
Yeah I ask because of that shockwave. Is it an explosion or is it just like a… hear comes the dawn (do do do dooo lol it’s time for jokes to make this subject a LIL less depressing) shockwave?
And exactly! Ardyn disappears. But like I guess he was immortal so maybe his body didn’t matter because daemons or just the overall time that he’d been in that body. Noctis in the beyond disintegrates so does that imply that his body did as well?
So it kind of begs the question: what happens to Noct’s body? Is it still there or has it disappeared? Because during the end scene we do get a brief glance of Noct’s body on the throne - a very depressing image because the sword is in his gut. I’m going to have to go watch the scene again and come back to this post tomorrow when I get off work.
The other thing is, the ending is all out of chronological order, so it’s possible that what’s going on between Noct and Ardyn in the “realm beyond” is happening in that interval where Noct’s body is lying on the throne. The in-game description for the Cure for Insomnia mainline “quest” says “Now, the time has come to return the Crystal’s power to the planet, to purge the scourge of the stars and restore the dawn.” So maybe when the ring glows on his finger back in the throne room, that’s after Ardyn’s been defeated, and the shockwave is the Crystal’s power being re-released back into the world?
Wow, what a cheery discussion!!
I’m gonna second the idea that the final battle with Ardyn doesn’t exactly happen in “real time” - I had the same concept of the Ring and the shockwave being the big Prophecy-Fulfilling Moment, releasing the power and bringing back the dawn.
I guess all I’ve got to bring up in addition is... Nyx? Because when Ardyn’s body disappears, it starts out with these sort of drifting embers that remind me very much of Nyx at the end Kingsglaive. Obviously Nyx didn’t disappear completely, as he’s in the throne room at the end, (if he’s really there... I have to rethink that...) But using that same visual motif makes me think there’s some sort of underlying concept. For Nyx it was being unable to sustain the Ring’s power - I could definitely see that theme being echoed with Ardyn, with his fall from grace and his being ultimately unable to sustain his cursed immortality (for whatever reason)... And then Noctis starts having the same ember effect in the beyond after the strain the Ring put on him, but when he finally dissolves, it’s different - blue, not red, he has a line afterwards, and then we see him in the after-credits scene. I don’t know what the blue dissolving is, but Ardyn does it too, and his body’s already gone, so it’s... probably not linked to that?
My best guess here is that Noctis doesn’t really fall under any story or thematic umbrellas that would call for him to dissolve... But you know what? If your, um, friend wants to go ahead and dissolve him anyway, I’m not gonna argue, I’m ready to cry about literally any version of this
So Cor is MIA in game because he’s supposedly off with what’s left of the Crownsguard and the hunters he recruited to search for the royal tombs to help Noctis. But Regis had to go and collect them all too didn’t he? Shouldn’t Cor and definitely Cid already know where all the tombs are?
I’m pretty sure that Noctis’ Royal Arms are separate and distinct from the weapons contained in Regis’ Armiger.
In Regi’s Armiger, we see only three weapons in Kingsglaive (all swords, none of which match Royal Arms), four in King’s Tale (all great swords which don’t match the Royal Arms - he also wields a shield but it’s not in his Armiger attacks), and six in Brotherhood (his sword, another similar sized sword, daggers, lance, axe, and great sword, which bare some similarity to Noct’s Royal Arms but it’s hard to tell if they are indeed the same). Also, Regis’ Armiger attack is very different from Noct’s - all of his weapons flying as a targeted strike rather than attacking all around him.
I kinda hold to the idea that only the Chosen King is allowed to wield the Royal Arms, and Noct claiming his first one is proof of his true birthright. Though, we know from the Tomb of the Tall/Costlemark Tower that the tombs can be robbed by malicious forces…
Speaking of malicious forces, I wager that Ardyn’s very similar Armiger was acquired from his encounters with other Kings and Queens of Lucis. I get the feeling that Noct wasn’t the only one he did battle with - just the only one he didn’t manage to kill. I mean, there are another 100 rulers over the course of 2000 years who we don’t know about - surely there were some very mysterious deaths that left no bodies and no weapons behind mixed in there….
I’m inclined to think that the visual differences in Regis’s Royal Arms are more to do with the different media themselves than because they’re canonically different. Just looking between Luna’s outfit in Kingsglaive and Luna’s outfit in the game when she’s just escaped from the city shows that they weren’t committed to making everything match nicely between them. It’s also possible that Brotherhood and Kingsglaive were in production before the weapon designs were finalized. (I can’t speak to A King’s Tale since I haven’t actually seen anything but the trailer.)
As for Cor not knowing all of the tomb locations, I’m not going to lie - I am super freaking confused about who was actually even with Regis during the events of 30 years prior. What little I’ve seen of King’s Tale seems to indicate it was Regis, Clarus, Cid, and Weskham. FFXV itself seems to indicate it was Regis, Cor, Cid, and Weskham. Cor’s profile in the Ultimania indicates that he was 15 at the time but then the actual timeline in the Ultimania only mentions Clarus, Cid, and Weskham having battled on the front lines with Regis 31 years prior and there’s no entry for 30 years prior. Regis would most likely have gone to collect the Armiger during that year after his father died, but it’s not on the timeline, and apparently Clarus wasn’t around for that and Cor was instead? Why? Something is missing. But in both versions, Cid is there, so yeah - you’d think Cid would know where the tombs are.
As for Ardyn, his Armiger is identical to Noct’s except for the red coloring on the weapons, except that he doesn’t seem to have the Sword of the Father (presumably that’s why he doesn’t parry Noct’s final blow, like he does with each of the other weapons). Which is weird, since he could have obtained it from Ravus before Noct showed up in Gralea, but…?
Basically, I have a lot more questions than answers. XD
During an early-game night drive, when Ignis was going on about the dangers and campaigned for resting, Prompto whined that he needs his beauty sleep and Gladio’s response to that was
which translates to probably “Eh, you’re pretty enough already”.
And while I know that this is a perfectly normal tease I just… couldn’t stop thinking about it.
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