Chapter Thirty-Three: Prince Noctis

"Is this really necessary?"

"If you wish to appear as a prince and not a pauper, then yes, it is."

Noctis sighed, glaring into his bathroom mirror while he watched Ignis's reflection mess with his hair again. It made no sense to him whatsoever that he couldn't just style it himself, but his chamberlain was adamant: if he was going to attend his twenty-first birthday party as expected, then he was going to do it according to Ignis's standards.

Honestly, it would have been so much easier to keep things simple, preferably in a place where he wouldn't have to stand on ceremony or worry about appearances like he did every other hour of the day and night. That was the point, wasn't it? To enjoy your so-called special day on your own terms? At least, that was how it used to be when he was merely a normal guy who flipped burgers and bussed tables instead of brushing elbows with the elites of society. The impending event that his birthday had become had him appreciating the ones he'd spent in Hammerhead even more than he had in years past. After all, Uncle Cid hadn't made a huge deal out of the occasion: it was purely a combination of Noctis's favorite foods, a cake, a few presents, and the people he cared about more than anything in the world if they could manage to get there in time. The lattermost was always the best part, but he'd been happy with pretty much anything so long as he wasn't forced to be the center of attention. That was where working at the diner had come in handy—being on duty for a few hours meant that he wasn't subjected to everyone commenting on how grown-up he was getting. Talk about embarrassing.

He never would have dreamed that it could get worse than that, yet here they were, preparing for a party where he would be shoved in front of a bunch of people he barely knew and fawned over as if he had just announced that they were mandating four-course desserts throughout the kingdom. Of course, that was to be expected when you were Prince Noctis Lucis Caelum, the heir apparent and all that jazz. It didn't matter that he would rather have wasted the day in his apartment, playing video games with his friends and eating takeout. (Or what passed for takeout when it was made by the Citadel's finest chefs. Deliveries were usually frowned upon, even if the king had turned the other way on more than one occasion.) It didn't matter that he would have chosen relaxing where no one else could see over stuffing himself into a fancy suit and spending the evening on display.

Princes didn't get that luxury. Their birthdays were national holidays, or they could have been considering all the noise everyone made about them. For a week leading up to the day itself, he'd been on the cover of every magazine and newspaper in Insomnia—not that he hadn't before, but that had thankfully dwindled to only a couple of appearances each month now that the initial clamor over his arrival had faded a bit. That being the case, Noctis was kind of hoping that the uproar over his next milestone was purely due to the fact that this was his first birthday in the Crown City and not a trend that was likely to continue. If he was lucky, then the whole thing would blow over and he wouldn't have to deal with the spotlight every single year for the rest of his natural life.

Somehow, he doubted that was going to happen.

There was no escaping this, though. There was no turning back the clock and pretending that nothing had changed, and he wouldn't want to anyway. This year had been difficult, sure, but he was also pretty damn proud of what he'd managed to accomplish. Between stitching together his trust in his friends and not entirely failing at all of his royal duties, he really had come a long way from where he'd been when he woke up to a new world he hardly recognized. Even though he was already sweating in his suit in anticipation of what was to come, Noctis wouldn't trade that for anything. He just had to keep reminding himself.

Fortunately, he'd gotten a lot of practice at that since he made the move from Hammerhead to Insomnia, odd as it still felt to think about. There were moments when he couldn't believe that he'd actually been in the Crown City all this time, that it wasn't some dream that was bound to end eventually. Technically, this wasn't even his first birthday at the Citadel. The party was a change—there was only so much celebrating you could do when you were unconscious, after all—but he'd been here regardless. In the intervening months, he'd gone places that hadn't existed beyond his wildest fantasies and done things he wouldn't have thought he'd be any good at. Whenever he thought for sure that he was going to fail, whenever he was positive that he would make a mess of things and embarrass King Regis, he somehow skated through and achieved exactly what he intended. Well, maybe not exactly what he intended—he had a feeling Ignis was keeping track of every slip-up he committed so they could reflect on them later and figure out how to do better. Still, he'd done okay. Not great, but okay.

That was why, in spite of his reluctance, Noctis wasn't dreading tonight's festivities anywhere near as much as he probably would have last year. If anything, this would be simple compared to his first venture outside the Citadel or the trips he'd taken to Galdin Quay and Lestallum. At least he was in the comfort of his own home here instead of standing in an unfamiliar place while people bowed and kissed his ass.

Besides, he couldn't deny that it had to do with more than mere duty. Whether he was entirely comfortable with the proceedings or not, he couldn't very well ditch out when King Regis had personally seen to the preparations for this extravaganza. Noctis wasn't quite sure what that entailed, but he had to assume that it was a pretty major deal given how much time the king appeared to be spending on it. In fact, Noctis hadn't seen him a whole lot in the evenings recently, which was strange for them. When the king finished plowing through the meetings and schedules that were organized for him each morning by his own chamberlain, they would ordinarily retire to his chambers to have dinner together and discuss all the things Noctis had no idea how to interpret. There were nights when they would spend hours catching up on any number of topics—business, how Noctis was adjusting, even the random antics he got up to with his friends on the rare occasions when they had a free day to show him the rest of the city. By the time he got back to his room, he'd practically be asleep on his feet, but it was a good kind of exhaustion. It was the sort of weariness where you could smile and say you had accomplished something before you face-planted into your mattress.

This week had been different. This week, apart from their necessary routine, Noctis had hardly seen King Regis. He hadn't tried to hide what he was up to—he never kept secrets from Noctis now that it would be counterproductive to his safety instead of necessary for it. His insistence that the king didn't have to go to all this trouble, however, fell on deaf ears. Before he vanished for the evening or when he met Noctis in the morning with bags under his eyes from an insufficient night's sleep, the king was quick to brush aside his concerns and state that he just hoped Noctis enjoyed the fruits of his labors.

How was he supposed to be ungrateful for that? If there was one thing Noctis had learned in the last year, it was that kings didn't have to do anything for themselves if they didn't want to. There were retainers all over the Citadel who literally stood around waiting for orders and errands to come their way. Want something? Call for it. Need something? Send someone to get it. When you were royalty, life was simple that way. Not once had Noctis been required to lift a finger unless it was to do what he was being trained for, although he did so anyway since it would have made him feel worthless not to. Yeah, Prompto kept reminding him that there were people to pick up his clothes for him if he wanted to leave them on the floor here—namely Ignis—but Noctis was more of the mind that he would rather take a few minutes to kick them into a corner than earn anyone's ire—namely Ignis.

The point was that it would have been far easier for King Regis to order someone else to come up with an appropriate celebration to mark his twenty-first year, yet he had chosen to take care of it himself. He had chosen to make this special occasion one to remember, which meant Noctis couldn't possibly tell him that the idea of what was waiting for him in the ballroom downstairs had his heart racing. It was already more than likely that he had figured that out on his own by now: he was positive King Regis could tell what he was thinking half the time. This was something that had to be done if for no other reason than posterity, though, and he was doing his best to make it an event that Noctis wouldn't hate being a part of. The least he could do was keep his griping to a minimum. It was one night—he could handle it. He was just…overwhelmed.

Surprisingly, Ignis seemed to be, as well. His impatient huff drew Noctis's attention, and he winced to find his chamberlain staring at his hair as though it had personally affronted him. Noctis would have offered once again to just do it himself, but he was pretty sure that would only make things worse. Ignis's nerves were hanging by a thread as it was, so igniting his temper wasn't the best idea in the world if they wanted to stick to his carefully crafted schedule. The minor setbacks they'd suffered in the last few hours alone had left his chamberlain in the kind of mood that got you salad for dinner instead of an actual meal. Beyond the typical battle with his unruly locks (which seemed content to cooperate any day but today), the bespoke suit he was expected to wear to the party hadn't arrived until late that afternoon instead of the previous evening as planned. He wouldn't say that the royal tailor had left with his tail between his legs, but if he could have, he would have. Ignis had flayed him up one side and down the other before practically shoving Noctis into his room to change so that he could make sure everything looked the way it was supposed to.

Gladio and Prompto hadn't stuck around for that part. They'd long since gotten fed up with watching him obsess over Noctis's appearance and retired to the living room until they were ready to go, which Noctis envied to no end. Unlike them, he had no choice but to stand there and endure Ignis's critical eye as the latter surveyed the fit of his suit and the swoop of his hair and the angle of his shoulders. (Not straight enough—never straight enough.)

Just when he thought there was nothing else Ignis could possibly take issue with, however, his chamberlain let out a choked exclamation and whirled him around to glare at—

"You have a button coming loose on your jacket."

Noctis blinked, glancing cautiously between the offending garment and Ignis's scathing glower. If he didn't know any better, he would have thought his friend was blaming him for that. After all, they'd had this particular discussion before when Noctis insisted that he could mend his own clothes only to discover Ignis raiding his closet after he kept forgetting. He didn't mean to let it happen; it was just that he had other things to do that got in the way. Like learning how to be a king. And video games.

This time, though, he was in the clear. Ignis was busy cursing under his breath about incompetent bastards and muttering, "It would have been more prudent of me to retrieve the suit myself so that it could be inspected for imperfections when we had more time."

"You mean, so you could spend all night resewing every button just to be safe?" clarified Noctis, scoffing. "No way."

"That would be a far better alternative than allowing you to leave this room with inappropriate attire," Ignis sniffed. His eyes narrowed when Noctis rolled his.

"It's not that big a deal, Specs. You can fix it later. Nobody'll notice."

All things considered, Noctis had to admit that Ignis showed a great deal of restraint in not throttling him on the spot. There was no chance that it was out of agreement, though—he was probably just worried that he wouldn't find anything to hide the bruises on Noctis's throat if he tried. Regardless, the way his expression suddenly shuttered was more than enough to tell Noctis that he might as well have suggested burning down the Citadel, as far as Ignis was concerned.

"We cannot have an unkempt prince," his chamberlain slowly informed him, pulling in a deep breath that spoke volumes of exactly how hard he was working to keep his displeasure in check. It was that more than anything else that stopped Noctis from arguing when he insisted, "I will fetch the necessary materials from my own quarters and return in a moment. Leave the jacket on the bed. And don't run your fingers through your hair."

With that, he whirled on his heel and swept from the room like a man on a mission, pointedly ignoring Noctis's indignant grimace. For a fraction of a second, he considered doing the opposite of what Ignis had instructed out of spite—he knew how to make himself look presentable without needing to be told. Still, he decided against it before he could ruin the almost perfect image staring back at him from the mirror: he had a feeling King Regis wouldn't appreciate it if he showed up to the party in pieces.

That didn't stop him from sighing in relief as he trudged into his bedroom, unfastening the buttons of his jacket to toss it on top of his mattress as ordered. Noctis immediately followed, albeit more carefully so that he wouldn't have to explain how his impeccably pressed suit had gotten a few wrinkles in it. He appreciated what his friend was trying to do, annoying as the process was. It had taken some time and a lot of complaining, but he'd grown accustomed to dressing according to Ignis's advice. That was his job, after all, and Noctis was usually more than happy to let him do it. They were simply on short fuses today given how important it was that they make a good impression, that was all. Once tomorrow came, things would return to normal. He hoped.

While he was mostly used to the royal lifestyle he'd had to adopt alongside his title, Noctis still had moments where he would have loved nothing more than to hide under his sheets and never come out again. He was pretty sure that his friends occasionally felt the same, especially when one or all of them tended to accompany him in whatever stories started circulating after he was spotted by anyone with a camera. It was all appearances with those people—how he looked, how he walked, how he presented himself. At this point, he didn't think he was doing such a bad job anymore, but there would always be days like today when they had to be more aware of the countless eyes that would watch his every move. Gladio and Prompto didn't have as much to worry about in that respect: they merely followed him around and made sure nobody tried to shove him off a cliff or something. Ignis, on the other hand, was the one who would take the blame if he didn't exist in a perpetual state of princely perfection. It was no wonder his nerves were fraying.

This was nothing compared to the day he'd been formally introduced to Lucian society, though. If Ignis was a little rough around the edges now, he'd been a mess back then, which was saying something when he never lost his cool. Although the event was televised rather than staged in front of actual people, Noctis had practically been shaking in his fancy shoes while he stood there and listened to the king tell his—their—subjects that Noctis was officially going to be assuming his duties as the crown prince of Lucis. The immaculate styling Ignis had bestowed upon him hadn't been enough to dispel his own anxiety; the sole saving grace in that situation was that he hadn't had to say a word. All he'd been responsible for was standing up straight, smiling politely into the camera, and nodding his head at the right cues. It was a good thing, too, because he doubted he would have been able to handle more than that. He hadn't been prepared for the outpouring of attention and affection he'd received afterward from strangers who hadn't heard his name in years, either. His face had been plastered all over newspapers and magazines and news programs—the king's address had been played and replayed on every television and radio station in the kingdom, or so it seemed. Whenever he left the Citadel, whether it was to walk around within the perimeter of the gates or explore the city with his friends, people flocked to him.

It was unnerving, the way he had gone from being a complete nobody to the center of Lucian life overnight. That had definitely been an experience, and while he could say that he was gradually growing used to it, Noctis still enjoyed the time he got to spend away from all the eyes and expectations and responsibilities. The special memories he'd made in the last year, the ones that truly mattered, hadn't happened when he was surrounded by well-wishers and retainers.

That reminder brought a smile to his face, and Noctis reached into the drawer of his bedside table to retrieve the journal that he hadn't thought he'd use when Luna gave it to him. Admittedly, he had done his best to stick to his guns there: he'd hidden it from sight longer than he cared to admit, unable to face in reality what his nightmares made unavoidable. As with just about everything else he'd encountered at the Citadel, however, Noctis had eventually overcome his aversion. It had started with merely sneaking a guilty peek now and then to make sure it was still where he'd left it, and before he knew what was happening, he was stuffing pictures inside until half of the pages were full of the countless new memories he was making in Insomnia.

Like his first day on the job. Now that had been something.

Noctis grimaced when he opened the notebook to the second leaf and got a glimpse of himself from a couple of weeks after he'd woken up in his new life. That was when he had finally gathered the courage to tell King Regis that he was ready for whatever he was meant to be learning, even if he had been exaggerating a bit of the confidence he had tried to inject into his confirmation. As such, his first council meeting hadn't gone terribly—in hindsight, it could have been a whole lot worse. He knew he hadn't exactly made the best impression on the king's advisors at the time, though. That wasn't to say that he'd done anything he shouldn't have or wasn't supposed to; it was more that he hadn't done anything period. He'd been so intimidated by all those faces he'd only ever seen on the news before, the ones that literally governed the entire kingdom and were therefore way above him—until he remembered that he was a prince. The fact that they treated him like one threw him off, and the best he'd been able to manage was a few polite greetings before he was thankfully allowed to retreat to his chair at the council table and shut his mouth.

The drawback? His seat had been at the king's right hand, so everybody's eyes had vacillated between the two of them for pretty much the entire two hours they'd spent in that stuffy chamber. It was an experience that Noctis would rather have forgotten in favor of focusing on the contributions he had made in later gatherings, but Prompto had seen to it that he could do both. While King Regis had assigned him to Noctis's personal retinue, his friend's job wasn't merely to keep him safe. No, he had been tasked with documenting Noctis's journey from zero to princeling, and he definitely took it more seriously than Noctis ever thought possible.

But he hadn't gotten rid of this picture, no matter how embarrassed he felt just looking at it again. It was good to see how far he'd come, right? Ignis liked to tell him that remembering where he'd started would make his progress that much more satisfying, and he couldn't deny that he had a point. The tightness around his eyes in the photo, the way he'd sat so straight that he was too rigid in his seat—Noctis wasn't like that anymore. He wasn't as afraid that he was going to make some unforgivable mistake by breathing too deeply or coughing while someone was speaking; he didn't monitor his every move as though people might get offended if he shifted his foot in the wrong direction. There was some comfort to be found in that spot he had inhabited for the last year, a sort of belonging that he hadn't noticed slowly creeping up on him until that moment. A large part of it was due to King Regis and Ignis's presence, not that they would ever take the credit for it. Neither of them had left him in the dark, even if it meant that Ignis typed out clarifications to what was being said on his phone and showed him under the table so that he didn't fall too far behind. Even the king, who was doing him a favor as it was by inviting him to the proceedings, had obviously been keeping things a little simpler for him back then.

When they'd finally finished for the day, Noctis recalled that his head had been swimming and all he'd wanted to do was return to his room to collapse somewhere. Napping for another month hadn't seemed like such a bad thing in the wake of that stressful first encounter with his future, although he'd quashed the thought as soon as it had occurred to him. It wasn't hard when his exhaustion had been accompanied by a sense of achievement that more than rivaled his first day at Takka's. Then King Regis had asked Noctis to dine with him, ostensibly to debrief even if the king had to know that he saw right through his excuse. Looking back on it, Noctis sort of wished that he had a picture of that, of the pride in King Regis's eyes as he'd told Noctis over dinner that he had done well. It would have been another nice first for his journal: the first time the king had been truly proud of him—the first time he'd had a reason to be.

But not the last. Absolutely not the last.

Rolling his eyes at the sentimental tears he had to blink away, Noctis flipped the page and grinned widely at the next photo. His first day officially acting as the prince of Lucis might have been daunting, but the first camping trip he'd taken with the guys was anything but.

To this day, it still surprised him that the king hadn't insisted he take more manpower with him than just Ignis, Gladio, and Prompto. It wasn't that they weren't more than enough to protect him if things went downhill, of course; they were a hell of a lot better trained than he was in spite of the lessons he took from his Shield every day to catch up on what he should have been learning all along. Even so, they were leaving the Citadel—they were going out into the city where anyone could take a shot at him if they really wanted to. (If they didn't have their noses pressed up against the proverbial glass when it came to those magazines, anyway.) King Regis hadn't said a word about it, though. When Noctis told him that it would only be the four of them, he'd nodded with a genuine smile and said that he hoped they had a good time. That was it. There were no passive-aggressive, veiled attempts to get him to take more guards with him. There were no orders to stay at the palace given his title and position. They simply…went. That was what made it even better than he could have imagined.

At the time, he hadn't really thought of camping as something they could do for fun. Growing up, he'd always heard the hunters talking about it as though it was a necessity—stopping at an outpost wasn't in the cards if you were out in the middle of nowhere and didn't want to run into daemons trying to find civilization. Why did a prince have to do that, then, when he had a perfectly good bed waiting for him at the Citadel? They wouldn't have electricity or video games where his Shield wanted to take him, so seriously, what was the point? Gladio had been adamant that he should see what it was like to spend the night beneath the stars without waking up to sand in every orifice, however, so there wasn't much use in arguing. He'd lost before they even got started.

Maybe that hadn't been such a bad thing. Contrary to what he'd initially believed, camping was actually a lot of fun. Well, when he wasn't rolling his eyes at Ignis and Gladio's reprimands over his apparently failed attempts to do basically everything. After all, that was how he'd gotten this picture—Prompto had taken a slew of them, but this was his favorite. It couldn't have been more than a few minutes after they'd arrived at the campsite, which was inside Insomnia while simultaneously far enough from the city that they couldn't see the Citadel in the distance. Out there, it felt as though they were really in the wilderness, not a few miles from civilization with a bustling metropolis surrounding them just out of sight. Besides green grass and some trees, there had been nothing standing between them and the boundless nature Gladio had been going on and on about for every minute of the two hours it had taken them to get there. Noctis hadn't said so then, but there was something peaceful about it that set his mind at ease when it had been full of too much information before.

Setting up camp was the hardest part, although Noctis figured he should have expected as much when his Shield was so particular about the details that he nearly put Ignis to shame. The tent had to be in the right spot; the fire had to be close to where Ignis erected his cooking station, but not so close that he'd set his coat alight in the process. The chairs Noctis carried in the picture needed to be settled around the campfire in a half-moon, all of them facing west. Not east—west. That was supposedly the most important part, since camping was all about watching the sun set from the comfort of your own uncomfortable camping chairs. In the photograph, Gladio was looking up from where he'd been hammering in the supports for the tent, pointing to where he wanted them while Noctis walked in the exact opposite direction. Prompto had expertly captured the moment he imitated his Shield's grousing behind the latter's back, and Noctis chuckled a bit under his breath to see his irritation displayed in the picture as if he'd planned it that way.

The next few sheets were all filled with photographs from the same trip, albeit of much happier scenes than that. There he was with Gladio, his Shield teaching him how to fish while Ignis tapped at his phone screen nearby. He'd already downloaded about a million recipes he could try with whatever they captured and was alternating between reading them off and congratulating Noctis on his admittedly tiny acquisitions. Then there was a selfie he'd taken with Prompto, who couldn't seem to help himself when the opportunity arose. It was definitely one of Noctis's favorites, not that there was any shortage of them now that his friend tended to print out every single picture on his camera. With the water in the background, little diamonds glittering off the surface in the afternoon light, it was honestly the perfect shot. They were as content as they could be, and there was just enough mischief in his own eyes that he could remember shoving Prompto into the lake the second he was done snapping the photo.

Ignis was handing him a plate of the most amazing thing he'd ever tasted in his life, and that was including the fancy food he'd had at the Citadel.

He and Gladio were silhouetted in the entrance of the tent, playing cards while Ignis cleaned the dishes.

Noctis's face was turned up to watch the sun sink below the horizon, open-mouthed and enamored and idiotic as hell.

The last picture had him pausing a moment, his fingers brushing the shiny paper reverentially. Despite all the fun they'd had, all the laughs they'd shared, and all the pranks they'd played on each other—while every instant made Noctis consider it one of the greatest days in his entire life, this was the photo that really brought it home for him. Prompto had snapped one final selfie before they put out the lantern and went to bed, which Noctis couldn't recall if he tried. He'd already been fast asleep, curled up in the corner of the tent with his cards tipping precariously from his hands. Somehow, his head had landed on Ignis's knee and his right foot was tucked against Gladio's side, but neither of them appeared at all bothered by it. Gladio hadn't shoved him off, nor had Ignis woken him so that he could change clothes the way princes were probably supposed to even out in the woods. They'd simply kept playing, both of them smirking deviously when Prompto positioned Noctis's free hand to look like he was picking his nose. Those old injuries hadn't been there anymore; a couple of months after he'd woken up, he hadn't felt the same bitter animosity towards them that he hadn't thought would ever go away once upon a time. They were just his friends—his brothers—and he'd been luckier than words could describe to spend a couple of days with them as if they were back in Hammerhead with no royal responsibilities to uphold. It had been a night to remember.

There were so many of them that he'd lost count as the weeks and months passed. It had become their thing to take trips out to the campsite every so often; Noctis suspected that the king had purchased the place purely for them since they never ran into anyone else out there. It was either that or he rented it so that they wouldn't have to worry about keeping up appearances when they were just trying to have a good time.

That had been his foremost concern in the next photo, and he nearly cringed at the memory of his first journey back to Hammerhead after he'd been introduced (or reintroduced, as it happened) to the place he now called home. Like he'd hoped, the king had no problem with him visiting Uncle Cid if he wasn't bogged down with lessons and duties—King Regis had even accompanied them on a few occasions. In those instances, he tended to remain in the shadows as much as humanly possible. He would dress in some of the most absurdly mundane clothing Noctis had ever seen, almost remarkable in just how unremarkable he looked, and avoid socializing with anyone who wasn't his uncle or Cindy. While Noctis and his friends wandered the outpost like they had in the old days, he would stay at the garage and talk to Uncle Cid. More often than not, they'd sit in the apartment for hours on end, chatting about things Noctis could neither remember nor understand. He'd learned the basics, at least: Uncle Cid had been one of King Regis's closest companions when they were younger and worked at the Citadel as his retainer and mechanic. After Ardyn was banished from the kingdom, he had been in the king's company to explore the hellhole the mage had been using for his experiments. It was the sort of adventure Noctis had pictured his uncle going on as a little kid who was incapable of imagining that Uncle Cid wasn't a hero. Knowing that he'd been spot on? Yeah, that was a pretty sweet deal.

Even sweeter was the fact that no one in Hammerhead treated him any differently than they had before no matter how many times his face flashed across the television screen in the diner. It seemed to take a bit of effort for everyone to suppress the displays of deference he was subjected to in Insomnia, but he didn't really blame them when they were just as unsure of proper protocol in this situation as he was. Did they call him by his name or by his title? Did they act like they always had or treat him like the future monarch he was destined to be? Those were the questions he hadn't wanted to give much thought when they'd left the Citadel that first morning, too afraid of what the answers would be. He'd gotten lucky, however, and they'd all chosen the former. If they hadn't, Gladio probably would have persuaded them to do so in that awkwardly intimidating manner he liked to tout whenever he needed to get something done. Either way, it meant Noctis could buy something from the convenience store or simply sit around Takka's for as long as he wanted without anyone accosting him for impromptu interviews or pictures or the random declarations of undying love that he received when he mustered the fortitude to stray into the Crown City. Even the hunters, who had always worked closely with representatives of the king, hadn't deviated from their usual banter. To be honest, it was actually a little embarrassing how normal they'd been around him, poking fun at the pocket watch that he did have sitting out on his dresser and everything.

They never believed him when he said he still had it, which was why Noctis had taken to keeping a picture of his old treasures in the journal as well. Yeah, it was probably kind of weird to just hold onto random photos of a room he saw every day, yet there was something comforting about knowing that all of his favorite things from when he was growing up were here with him. Instead of shoving most of them in a drawer the way he used to in the apartment, where he hadn't had room to move much less store stuff, he'd been able to spread them out a little more. The earth gemstone Nyx had gotten him for his seventh birthday was displayed on his bedside table, polished up so that it gleamed brightly in the light that streamed in through his window every morning. All of his Oracle Ascension Coins were cushioned in black velvet and framed where they hung above his bed; each one was different from the others, whether due to the symbols fading over time or the tiny chips and scratches they had gotten on their long journey from Tenebrae. Everything else was stored in a glass case against the wall by the door, his stuffed Carbuncle situated in a place of honor on top. Noctis would never say it aloud, especially not when the king was around, but there were definitely days when he worried that having it out was at least slightly childish. He was a prince, and if anyone caught sight of his old toy, they would more than likely wonder what the hell was wrong with him. Luckily, he hadn't had to test that theory yet, so he attempted to put it out of his mind as much as possible for the time being. What everyone else thought didn't matter anyway, not when his first best friend had gotten him through some of the toughest trials he'd ever encountered.

Noctis wasn't ashamed to say that one of those occasions had been more recent than was probably acceptable at his age, not that he would have let anyone tell him so the day he'd collected the next picture in his journal. It had taken him a while to decide whether he wanted to put it in the notebook or not, as a matter of fact. For a few months, he'd struggled to stick to happy memories before he realized that some of the unhappier ones were just as important.

Visiting Crowe in Galahd, for example.

That trip had been a difficult one for a lot of reasons, not least of which that it hadn't only been him and the guys. No, while the king hadn't mandated it himself, Nyx refused to let them go without accompanying them.

A year after everything that had happened, his shoulders weren't fully healed and apparently never would be; he couldn't raise his arms above his head anymore, let alone fight the way Noctis now knew he was trained to. As captain of the Kingsglaive, he had to make do with the skills he did still have in his arsenal, which were plentiful enough that he didn't need to worry about not keeping up. He'd almost single-handedly rebuilt the most elite force in Lucis, and although he couldn't train them on his own, he was more than capable of beating them into shape. Noctis had a feeling King Regis wouldn't have dismissed him out of loyalty alone, but his achievements had solidified the fact that he wasn't going anywhere without putting up one hell of a fight.

As such, he hadn't batted an eye when Noctis approached him a few weeks into his princely duties and said that he wanted to go to Galahd. He hadn't balked at the prospect of returning to the home he hadn't seen in decades or facing the loss that Noctis hadn't gotten a chance to at that point. Instead, Nyx had simply nodded and asked when they were leaving. Hell, he'd even driven for them—Ignis had called shotgun while Noctis squeezed into the back with Gladio and Prompto. Having all of them at his side, in hindsight, had been what gave him the strength to go through with what he thought had to be one of the most difficult feats he'd accomplished since he came to Insomnia.

Maybe it made him selfish, but that was why Noctis had asked to see Crowe on his own. Galahd was a pretty amazing village: it was a bit like Lestallum in that it was by no means huge while still boasting of quite a few sights to visit. Noctis hadn't felt too bad, then, about requesting that they do just that and let him have a few minutes to deal with his grief alone. They'd already had their chances to say goodbye, after all. At the time, he'd hoped that the least they could do was offer him the same courtesy.

The only one who couldn't was Gladio—no surprise there. His Shield had been glued to his side since he'd woken up, and Noctis had mostly accepted that he would never be left entirely without company in public again. Although he wouldn't have believed it at first, there was no arguing that they didn't have a good reason, even if it was irritatingly inconvenient. Back then, when he was so freshly not cursed, he hadn't had the nerve to say anything about it anyway. So, with Gladio standing within sight but thankfully out of earshot, he'd gotten to say goodbye to the person who had taught him almost everything he knew.

It had been…anticlimactic. He couldn't think of any other way to describe the empty sensation that had settled in his gut as he'd stood in front of a glorified rock and talked to it as though Crowe could somehow hear him. He knew how this worked: if she did have ears out wherever she was, then they probably weren't turned in his direction. Still, that hadn't stopped him from letting the words—and a few tears—flow that afternoon. There was so much he'd wanted to tell her, so much he hadn't said when it would have meant something, yet her betrayal hadn't crossed his mind once. Ultimately, it wasn't about what she hadn't done, but the gratitude he wouldn't be able to express for everything she had. Without her, the leap from outpost nobody to cultured prince would have been far more difficult than it was. (The latter was a work in progress, but hey, it was a start.) Without her, he might not have taken a chance on his best friends or his job at the diner. Looking back on it, she'd been a huge part of every major decision he'd made ever since he was a kid. She and Uncle Cid had spent so long working together, constructing plans, guiding him along the right path when he wasn't sure where it would take him. Now that he knew the whole story, he was well aware that his safety had been in her hands, just as it had been in Nyx's.

Betrayal meant nothing when he had so many things to thank her for.

And he had. He'd sat there for so long that Gladio had come and make sure he hadn't fallen asleep, which would have been majorly creepy considering where they were. It hadn't occurred to him to hide his tears, nor had his Shield tried to placate him with useless platitudes. He'd merely waited until Noctis was ready to go, unaware until a few weeks later that Prompto had gotten a picture of both of them standing before Crowe's grave, Gladio's hand on his shoulder while he bowed his head in silent, final farewell. That night, Carbuncle had let Noctis bring his stuffed counterpart to bed with them; he hadn't even gotten upset when Noctis kept the latter closer and buried his face in its synthetic fur like he hadn't done for a while.

The feeling he'd gotten then? The proximity he'd felt to his past, even if it was so far away that he'd never truly find it again? Noctis was inundated with it as he turned page after page, smiling at some memories and fighting tears at others so that Ignis wouldn't return to discover that he needed to wash the traitorous stains off his face. Every tender encounter with King Regis, every gaming marathon with Prompto, every one of Ignis's meals cooked in Noctis's own kitchenette, every sparring session with Gladio—they were all represented in this conglomeration of thoughts and emotions he'd been collecting over the last year. He'd never admit it, but he even had a special spot at the back reserved just for Luna.

Well, not just for Luna. And it really wasn't reserved or anything—that was simply where the photos he'd taken with her on their trip to Tenebrae a month ago had gone. No big deal.

Noctis hadn't expected the king to take him out of the country so soon, but there wasn't much choice when they were busy attempting to put the pieces of their alliance with Luna's nation back together. (It was more than he could say for Niflheim, whose provisional government was slowly but surely running it into the ground.) That wasn't necessarily something that Noctis had to be involved in, though; he wasn't in any position to make deals or broker peace. King Regis, however, had insisted that his presence was just as important as his own. Lucis would be his to rule someday, and as such, he should have a hand in solidifying their friendships—or so he said. By the time they got to Tenebrae and stepped up to meet its monarch, Noctis had a feeling he was there for moral support rather than to add perspective to their negotiations.

It went without saying that things hadn't exactly gone to plan. Now that Noctis finally understood what had happened twenty years ago, he got why Ravus Nox Fleuret, king of Tenebrae and royal pain in the ass, had glared at him like an annoying pebble that was stuck in his shoe. Impressions didn't matter with that guy. His expression didn't change whether you made a joke or insulted his mother—which was a terrible idea, given the circumstances. He'd lightened up a bit once he saw that Noctis wasn't entirely incompetent, but it was pretty obvious that they would never be anywhere near the point where they could call each other friends beyond the political sort. They just…didn't mesh right. Where Noctis tended to be a little more easygoing in spite of the nerves that frequently had him rethinking every move he made on foreign soil, Ravus was wound tighter than Ignis, which would have been impressive on anyone else. Instead, his snippy, condescending demeanor rubbed Noctis the wrong way every time he opened his mouth. It had been all he could manage sometimes not to lash out at him when he unrepentantly snapped at King Regis for absolutely no reason. The latter never appeared to mind—according to Ignis, it was guilt more than anything else that kept his tongue in check—and he had pointed out on more than one occasion that Noctis shouldn't take Ravus's jibes to heart.

"Some wounds," he'd mused after dinner their first night at the manor, "run too deep to heal."

That didn't make it any easier to stomach, though, and Luna had done her level best to keep the two of them apart as often as possible. Luckily, that meant hours of wandering around the beautiful grounds of Fenestala Manor, which was certainly no hardship. As a matter of fact, Noctis had felt more at home there than anywhere else in Tenebrae. It was hard not to when the place looked exactly like the glade where they'd met in his dream world. Those familiar blue flowers—sylleblossoms, as he'd learned—were blooming from hill to vale, and there were even some hints of ruins in the distance where ancient parts of the castle had rotted away to nothing. Strolling along with Luna, talking about everything and nothing all at once, had miraculously transported him to the sole plus side he'd ever found in that curse.

Of course, there was always the distinct downside of constantly having his retainers underfoot. Gladio didn't like the idea of him being left practically defenseless where Ravus could get at him, and Ignis had intruded simply to keep Gladio from getting too close. Prompto practically worshipped the ground Luna walked on, which had become something of an inside joke between them given that he hadn't even stared at Cindy with that much admiration. (Which was really saying something. Noctis was positive there were still drool stains in the carpet of the apartment that they hadn't been able to get out.) That being said, he had so many photos of himself with Luna that it was almost insane. This one showed them sitting in the grass while the sun set; that one followed them as they meandered through the flowerbeds. He would never fathom how, but Prompto had even captured a shot of them at the most awkward possible moment—when they'd left and Luna had leaned in to kiss his cheek the way she had when she departed from the Citadel. It wasn't any major thing, although he would've thought they'd announced an engagement or something from the smile on King Regis's face. They were just friends. Friends who weren't afraid of showing a bit of intimacy. It wasn't like he hadn't hugged Gladio before, right?

…Let's not even go there, Noctis thought with both an inward and outward grimace. The absolute last thing he wanted was to associate their relationship with the one that had started through necessity in an imaginary world of his own making.

Wasn't that just it, though? That wasn't the only world he'd created: everything he did, everything he was, he'd crafted himself. Sure, he'd had plenty of help from the king and his friends, and there was no escaping the reality that this had been his destiny whether he'd wanted it or not. When push came to shove, however, Noctis had taken the reins in hand and molded his own path. He decided who he would share his life with; he decided how he was going to spend his free time, whether it was playing games with his friends or shaking hands with a bunch of kids at the arcade he and Prompto had taken to frequenting when they could get away from their duties for a while. It had been his choice to start up an outreach program between the Glaives and orphans in the Crown City who needed someone to look up to. Noctis had been the one to propose opening a three-story maze where kids could hunt for so-called buried treasure. (It was actually a bunch of antiques and trinkets that people donated, but hey, it was fun to pretend.)

Those were his accomplishments, and his life was his own to lead. He didn't need dreams or curses when he could claim that victory, for whatever it was worth.

What he did need was to snap the hell out of it before he got all emotional and made an idiot out of himself at his own birthday party. Fortunately for him, Ignis always seemed to show up at precisely the right moment.

And, as always, he read Noctis like a book.

There was something to be said for the depth of Ignis's resolve that he was able to set aside his own insecurities about tonight in order to put Noctis first. It had nothing to do with him being a prince, either: it was all about their brotherhood. Big brothers were supposed to look out for the younger ones as much as they tormented them, after all; since Gladio tended to do more of the latter, it was only fitting that Ignis handled the former. That was why, even though Noctis rolled his eyes, he didn't comment when Ignis came to sit beside him and peered over his shoulder at the notebook where he'd closed it in his lap. True to form, he didn't address what he knew was hidden inside—Noctis hadn't shown them, but it wasn't hard to figure out.

"It was quite thoughtful of Lady Lunafreya to offer you such a gift," he pointed out instead, not for the first time.

Rather than remark on that or the significant tone Ignis used when he mentioned it, Noctis simply shrugged a shoulder and evaded, "You know you can call her Luna, right?"

"To do so would be inappropriate."

"Even though she told you to herself."

"Indeed."

Snorting, Noctis shook his head but decided not to tease his chamberlain about his borderline ridiculous formalities. Even if it wouldn't end in an argument he had never and would never win, he didn't get the opportunity as Ignis provided a worthy distraction from both his anxiety over the party and the emotions that had choked him up when he'd unwisely decided to sort through his memories. Noctis called watching him sew buttons a worthy distraction, anyway, but that was probably overstating things. What really drew him from his thoughts was the fact that Ignis did so in record time, which meant it was barely a few minutes before he was unceremoniously shoved back into his suit and deemed ready for public consumption.

Awesome.

Ordinarily, he would have said that his first test was passing muster with Gladio and Prompto. They were the only ones willing to tell him if he looked stupid in whatever getup Ignis put together for him, even if the latter was positive that he'd dressed appropriately for the tasks he was assigned for the day. That was one of the many burdens of ruling, apparently: uncomfortable clothing literally came with the job. King Regis had obviously tried his best to fill Noctis's closet with things that wouldn't be too far out of his element, and he had been given a hefty stipend to purchase some outfits that suited his own tastes once he felt up to braving the public, but that didn't save him from occasionally needing to swallow his pride and put up with a few hours of merciless itching—and ribbing.

That was how Noctis knew something was up the moment he stepped into the living room: Gladio and Prompto didn't have a thing to say. Not one.

It didn't take long to figure out why.

"Gladio," Noctis sighed, folding his arms and raising an eyebrow in exasperation, "what are you doing?"

"Nothin'," grunted his Shield. He didn't raise his eyes from the glaring contest he was desperately trying to win over Carbuncle, who was perched a few feet away on the counter. It wasn't the first time Noctis had seen them squaring off like this, the former Dream Guardian preparing to pounce while Gladio silently dared him to, and he doubted it would be the last. Both of them were stubborn as hell, and that was before Noctis counted the fresh pastries Ignis had baked last night stacked on a plate between them.

A plate that was apparently going to be the start of yet another war.

Ignis didn't bother to take responsibility for the latest battle between Shield and erstwhile mage, though. Rather, he huffed impatiently and inquired, "Must you antagonize him at every turn?"

That made Gladio laugh, although it wasn't nearly as humorous as Prompto clearly found the situation. He was too busy snapping pictures of the standoff to be of much help.

"It's the rat that's antagonizing me," Gladio grumbled, waving Carbuncle aside to reach for a pastry. This had to have been going on for a while: his Shield only resorted to that old nickname when he was pretty steamed.

That never really mattered where Carbuncle was concerned, however. He offered no indication that he gave a damn about Gladio's mood—but the epithet had his tail standing nearly straight up in the air.

Which was why Noctis wasn't at all taken aback when his Shield let out a wordless exclamation of surprise, irritation, and pain a moment later. Gladio was tough, but not even he could ignore Carbuncle's teeth sinking into his finger.

"You little—"

"Did it ever occur to you," interjected Ignis as the former mage leapt on the dropped dessert like Prompto on a photo op, "that you will catch more flies with honey than vinegar?"

Gladio glowered bitterly at him and deadpanned, "You don't catch flies. You squish 'em."

"And I think I get why he doesn't like you now," lilted Noctis, retrieving his own pastry after running his fingers through Carbuncle's fur in nonverbal encouragement.

Considering the positively smug glance his furry companion shot his Shield, Noctis had a feeling he also knew why the latter wasn't his biggest fan as well. Noctis wasn't sure what it was, but the only thing Gladio and Carbuncle had ever agreed on was their taste in food. The problem was that that caused as many fights as it solved. There were few things scarier than Gladio's face when Carbuncle got into the stash of Cup Noodles Noctis kept in his apartment for their post-training snack.

Prompto, on the other hand, ate their rivalry up in a very different way—one that Noctis knew spelled trouble the moment he spotted that mischievous grin of his poking out from beneath his camera.

"Aww," he cooed, "Gladio's just jealous you don't treat him like that, Noct. Gotta spread the love, man!"

Noctis blinked, his mouth too full to speak as both he and his Shield glanced at where his free hand was busy scratching Carbuncle behind the ears. When their eyes met, he could tell what Gladio was going to say long before he actually muttered the words.

"Touch me and you're dead."

Quirking an eyebrow, Noctis swallowed and sarcastically observed, "Isn't that against your code or something?"

"Shield's privilege," he retorted gruffly. "If anyone gets to kill you, it'll be me."

Typical Gladio, he sighed to himself, although his exasperation wasn't enough to dampen the smirk that involuntarily stretched across his lips. A year ago, when the changes he'd undergone were still fresh and he was trying to get used to the new dimensions of his friendships, the mere mention of a Shield's duty was enough to put Noctis off his lunch. After all, how was he supposed to listen to that stuff without reevaluating everything that Gladio had ever done for him? It was different with Ignis and Prompto: even though Noctis knew they wouldn't hesitate for a second, their jobs didn't require them to sacrifice their lives purely so that his remained intact. Their jobs didn't mean forsaking everything they might want to be just so that they could remain at his side. Gladio had a choice, yes—if he didn't want to be Shield, he could step down anytime. That would be unprecedented, and he was too proud of his position to ever do it, but he had the option. Regardless, there was an untold wealth of guilt that had risen up in Noctis's chest every time he was reminded that that was essentially what one of his best friends had been relegated to: brick wall. Defender.

Expendable ally.

Not on my watch.

That was the real reason he had thrown himself into training with the type of vigor that Gladio had wanted him to show for the last fifteen years. If there was any chance that he could put off the day they'd find out if his Shield really was as good as everyone told him, then he'd do it without question. He already had enough on his conscience; he didn't need to add losing his brother to the list.

And Gladio wasn't stupid despite the jokes he and Prompto made to the contrary: he knew damn well that Noctis didn't enjoy learning how to fight so much as he was doing it out of necessity. There was no way he would wake up early on the weekend otherwise. That in itself had strengthened their bond until, to Noctis's surprise, he'd actually come around to the idea of Gladio being his Shield—or, at least, it didn't bother him quite as much as it had at the beginning. It was one of those things that he couldn't change, so he wasn't about to dwell on it if he could do something about it instead. Ignis had always said as much, and so had the king on more occasions than he could keep track of. So, that was his mission, his goal amidst all the other tasks he'd accepted when he took on his position. Noctis was doing everything he could to ensure that, if the unthinkable did happen, he would be able to counter it before Gladio had to lay down his life. That was the least he could do after everything his best friend had done for him.

It wasn't Gladio's life they were pondering for now, though. Hopefully, they'd never have to.

"If you're going to kill me, can you do it before the party?" he sighed as he forced those thoughts to the back of his mind where they belonged.

The sneer he was subjected to more than answered his question, but Gladio still saw fit to reply, "Ain't gonna tick off all your fangirls by keeping 'em from getting their pictures of you in that tux."

"You'd be doing me a favor," wheedled Noctis, only partially joking. As flattered as he was by the attention, there was something to be said for not imagining what girls did with those magazines once they bought them.

"Not likely. Iggy would bring you back just so he could kill you himself for ruining your outfit."

A glance at Ignis told Noctis that yeah, that was pretty on point. After all the effort he'd put into making Noctis more than simply presentable for tonight, he didn't want to know what would happen if something came along to ruin it all.

It was probably a good thing, then, that his chamberlain chose that moment to remind them that they were running late as it was. Noctis would have been tempted to have some kind of accident if he didn't, like accidentally dropping a pastry on himself or accidentally letting Carbuncle leave a trail of white fur on his sleeve as he usually did when he hopped up to sit on his shoulders. It wouldn't get him out of the party itself, nor would he want it to (not entirely, anyway), but at least he'd have an excuse to find a less stuffy suit for the occasion.

There wasn't any time for that, though, so he merely nodded in silence and followed his retinue out the door with a quick wave to Carbuncle. He was accustomed to the nerves that accompanied him all the way to the elevator; he could almost call the roiling of his stomach normal. At this point, it was honestly no different from any other time he left his apartment. Whether it was to spend a day shadowing the king or wandering around the city, there was a weight that dropped onto his shoulders at the realization that he was being watched. His every move would be scrutinized, and if he didn't measure up to the lofty expectations he knew people had for him, then his entire future—and King Regis's legacy—would be destroyed. Months ago, there had been days when it was more than he could take, and he'd dragged his feet in order to postpone the moment when he would have to leave the relative safety of his chambers and descend into the hustle and bustle of the Citadel below.

That was then, however. Now, Noctis was used to soldiering through the nausea, the anxiety, the fear that everything he said was wrong. It came with the territory, after all, so there was no escaping it no matter how hard he tried. Living his life meant dealing with it, and as they stepped into the corridor that led to the ballroom, Noctis took a deep breath and forced himself to do exactly that. This was just another day; his party was merely another event. Later, once he had done his duty and showed the proper appreciation for what the king had prepared for him, he would be able to sink back into that place in his mind and home where he could just be Noctis. He hadn't lost that part of him like he'd originally feared—he simply realized that there was a time and place for it, as with everything else.

Right now, standing in the entrance of the ballroom and nodding tersely to Gladio before his Shield moved to open the doors, this was the time and place for Prince Noctis. It was the time and place to walk tall and be the person that the king was teaching him to be every single day.

So, Noctis felt marginally ashamed when his mouth fell open in an incredibly unprincely manner at the sight that awaited them inside.

When King Regis told him that he was planning a party befitting one of his station, Noctis had been certain that it would be a bunch of stuffed shirts he'd never met standing around with champagne and toasting his future government. That was the only sort of gathering that came to mind, being a prince and all. Besides, that was pretty much what he saw at every council meeting, minus the drinking and the proverbial pats on the back. They'd been welcoming and congratulated him on anything even mildly arduous that he achieved, but there was a wall between them. The sense of duty he'd once thought bound his friends to him instead of genuine sentiment did exist amongst the council, and it was painfully obvious that if it weren't for their chosen profession, they probably wouldn't have given Noctis the time of day. Maybe it was a little immature of him, yet he hadn't been able to muster much excitement when that was what he had expected.

This, however, was something else entirely. He couldn't even begin to find the words for the world of light and color that greeted them when he stepped through the door, his friends flanking him, and gawped at the decorations the king had set up just for him. It was a hell of a lot fancier than anything he'd ever seen back in Hammerhead, not that that was much of a surprise, yet there was a cheerfulness to it that didn't really fit with the whole regal solemnity Ignis had been grooming him for. Round tables lined the room, covered in exquisite cloth that shimmered in various shades of silver against a backdrop of black satin; there were enough chairs settled around each to comfortably seat one person and a few friends, not the enormous crowds that he would have thought would line up to eat with him. Tapestries hung in graceful arcs from the center of the ceiling to the walls on every side, embroidered with silver stars and little golden moons that reflected the warm lights situated in the middle of every table beneath.

Most amazingly, the hordes of people he had assumed would be invited were conspicuously absent. Instead, retainers that he both knew and didn't congregated around the room, and a few of the diplomats he had gotten to know over the course of the last year were scattered here and there amongst the various council members in attendance. They numbered just enough to make him sweat a bit, although their presence was nowhere near as overwhelming as he'd feared it would be. In fact, they didn't even look up at him or interrupt their conversations to wish him a happy birthday. Their attention was entirely—carefully—focused on their own business, which was exactly as Noctis liked it.

He was so astonished at the display that he didn't realize for a moment that not all the guests were the same old farts he spent most of his days with. There were actually fewer of them than he had pictured, their places taken by familiar faces that filled his chest with warmth instead of anxiety.

Uncle Cid was slouched over one of the tables to the right of the entrance, eyeing the dancefloor with the same skepticism Noctis had felt when he spotted it and looking distinctly uncomfortable in the suit he'd donned for the occasion. That must have been courtesy of the king, because he highly doubted that his uncle and Cindy had been hiding sophisticated attire like that in their closets at the apartment when they had nowhere to wear them. It wasn't like Cindy spent every weekend in shimmering yellow ballgowns, either unaware of or ignoring the way half the retainers in the vicinity were staring at her. None of them bothered attempting to get her attention, though, not when Nyx was busy making conversation with Uncle Cid not two feet away. It was one thing at the garage, where he was nothing more than an employee at the diner and therefore not much of a threat if anyone felt like sidling in and asking Cindy out. Here, however, no one was dumb enough to step up when the captain of the Kingsglaive was in close proximity. Somehow, based on the gleam in her eyes and slight smile on her lips, Noctis figured she wasn't regretting that too much.

Not far from them, Iris Amicitia was attending dutifully at Clarus's side while he spoke with Cor, her expression attentive but her eyes unspeakably bored. That brought Noctis back to earth enough to grin in amusement: while Iris and Gladio were exact opposites in nearly everything he could possibly imagine, they shared a fondness for action that Noctis thought was equal parts entertaining and frightening. It had to be torture for her, getting all dressed up so she could listen to a bunch of adults talk about things she didn't care about whatsoever. On the few occasions that Gladio had let her tag along on their ventures into the Crown City or even sit at the sidelines while they trained, Noctis had learned more than enough about her to realize that this wasn't really her style.

Still, she put up a good show, and Noctis had to be grateful for it. As the sun sank beneath the distant horizon and ushered evening into the room, there was no denying how breathtaking the ambiance was despite the apprehension he'd been fighting all day. It was simple yet elegant, small yet inclusive. No, it wasn't pizza with the guys in his room—it wasn't even the next best thing. However, it was the closest he could get, which was fine by him.

And at the center of it all, breaking off a conversation with Luna and the First Secretary of Accordo, was the man responsible for every bit of it.

King Regis had become so adept at using his cane that Noctis barely even noticed his limp anymore. If anything, he could have been floating on a cloud for how elated he seemed at their arrival. There was a smile on his face, the same one he usually wore when Noctis entered a room, yet there was a tenderness in his gaze that he usually tried to hide the moment he realized Noctis had seen it. This time, he didn't. This time, he let it glow until there was no taking it back or any of the implications that came with it. At first, Noctis hadn't understood what it meant, although it admittedly shouldn't have been so difficult to figure out. The king could only tell him how proud he was or how impressed he was or how deeply he admired Noctis so often before it finally registered.

Love. It was love. What had brought him into this world, what had forced a parent to give away their only child, what had drawn his friends to him, and what had healed him from some of the deepest wounds he had ever incurred—all of it was love. It watched him through hazel eyes and smiled at him from behind a beard of greying hair. It shimmered in the decorations around them and lit the darkness that was beginning to press in against the windows.

It was everything he'd ever needed, everything he'd ever wanted, and so much more.

It was why Noctis had to blink back the itch in his eyes and murmur as the king approached, "This is amazing."

Whether King Regis thought he was talking about the ballroom itself or the friends and family that filled it wasn't important. What did matter was that the set of his shoulders eased, and he released a breath that Noctis could only describe as relieved when he reached out to squeeze his shoulder.

"I confess, I was not certain it would be to your liking. Indeed, I feared it was a touch too…" He trailed off with a frown, searching for a word that Noctis could already guess. After all, he'd come up with more than a few in the last week.

Suddenly, he regretted each of them. King Regis had done nothing but try to make him comfortable here, so why would he put together a party that would have Noctis wanting to hide in his room? Why would the king ignore everything he had learned about him just to throw the kind of affair that he would sooner avoid?

He wouldn't, and that made all the difference.

King Regis had delivered on every one of his promises: he had worked tirelessly to turn the Citadel into a home for Noctis like he had said he wanted to the day they met. Hammerhead would always be where he grew up, would always be home in the most basic sense. When he thought of his apartment, however, and the palace that surrounded it? Noctis would be lying if he said that he wasn't as happy here as he had been in the tiny bedroom he'd inhabited for longer than he could remember. The throne room was home now. The council chambers were home. The kitchen and his friends' quarters and the training grounds were home.

This ballroom was home, and there was nowhere else he'd rather be. There was no one else he would rather be, and in that instant, there was no other father he would rather have.

"It's perfect," Noctis reassured him. Nerves forgotten, he placed his own hand over the king's and nearly whispered, "Thank you…Dad."

For as long as he lived, he would never forget the way a moment passed in breathless anticipation or the tears that filled King Regis's—his father's—eyes immediately after. He would never forget the slight tremble in his fingers when he shakily replied, "You're welcome, my son," before pulling him into a one-armed embrace.

He would never forget the sense of belonging that threatened to overwhelm him where he was seated at a table with his father on one side and his friends on the other or the feeling of Luna's hand in his when she appeared over his shoulder to ask for a dance. He wouldn't forget stepping on her toes or her melodious laugh, her whispered congratulations or the chunk of chocolate cake she smooshed into the side of his face when he got cocky enough to poke fun at the bit of frosting on her lip.

He wouldn't forget Prompto snapping pictures all night or Gladio joking that they'd need a day of training to burn off all the food or Ignis telling him that he had cleared his schedule so that he could stay out as late as he wanted. He wouldn't forget the fact that they were awake all night once the party came to a close, playing video games and trading barbs and doing the things brothers were supposed to do until the sun came up the next morning.

Noctis would forever hold those memories close to his heart and the pages of the notebook that contained the treasures that mattered more than any other. And as he basked in the glow of the best birthday gift he could ever receive, he realized that he didn't need to wonder whether the frog prince really did get to live happily ever after anymore. Here, surrounded by everyone he loved, he thought he already knew.

A/N: Sorry this chapter is a little late! For some reason, the site isn't letting me upload new chapters, so I had to get creative. In any case, thank you so much for reading this story! It's hard to believe that it's finally over, but I'm really glad that you guys enjoyed it! To those of you who left reviews, thank you so much! I wish I could reply to guest reviews, but please know that I have been reading your thoughts! I'll be taking a couple of Saturdays off while I focus on updating Royal Protocol and outlining my next story, so I hope I'll see you guys there!