Chapter Twelve: As One

They weren't alone when they entered the Citadel, but it wasn't the gods who accompanied them. Well, that they were aware of—as far as they could tell, the Six had decided to let them finish this on their own. The Draconian hadn't bothered congratulating them on a job well done, nor had Gentiana popped in to tell them that they'd accomplished what they were supposed to. Instead, the silence that had fallen in the courtyard had weighed heavily on the three of them until Gladio couldn't take it anymore. There was nothing left to wait for; there was nothing more for the Astrals to throw at them. There was only the palace and what lay at its apex.

What he hadn't accounted for, however, were the ghosts that stalked their steps as they made their way inside. Or maybe it was simply his imagination running wild. It wouldn't be the first time, and unless the guilt that gnawed at his innards for letting Noct down over and over and over again eventually subsided, he doubted it would be the last. Sometimes, it felt as if he was doomed to listen to the voices of the past and relive the moments where they could have done something different—where he could have done something different—but didn't. Whether it was the marshal or his dad or any number of allies they'd relied on over the years, Gladio was constantly aware of their presence even when they weren't around. Echoes of their former selves taunted him endlessly, sneering at his attempts at moving on regardless of the excuses Ignis and everybody else had attempted to reassure him with.

It wasn't his fault, they'd said.

He'd done what he had to, they'd insisted.

Here recently, thanks to this insanity they'd willingly embarked on, he had begun to believe them. After all, they were about to get Noct back; the mistakes they'd made were about to be forgiven. Of course, the future lay ahead, and forgiveness didn't change the fact that he needed to be ready for it. With the gods subdued and nothing standing in their way, though, it was a bit simpler to think that he was.

Then, because they couldn't let him have one good thing, the voices started up again.

"The throne is just up ahead."

"It's all lit up."

"Guess he's expecting company."

"He wants this as bad as we do."

"Think the elevator's workin'?"

"Huh… Sure looks like it."

"He is really taking us by the hand."

"It'll save our legs the walk up."

They hadn't been wrong about that. Ardyn had wanted them to reach the throne room as fast as possible, so much so that Gladio was still wondering why the hell he'd sent the Old Wall to distract them along the way. What was the goddamn point? He'd spent two millennia plotting the demise of the Lucis Caelum line; his entire existence had revolved around killing Noct and spitting in the Astrals' faces. Did it matter how many battles they had to fight in order to finally put it all to rest?

Apparently, it had, not that Gladio would ever comprehend why. Then again, Ardyn wasn't one for reason or rationality. In spite of his immaculate plans, he was ultimately a firework—chaotic and uncontrollable, prone to flights of fancy and uncaring of who he set on fire in the process. They'd been no exception, and while Gladio believed that the obstacles they'd faced within the Citadel on that fateful night had been unnecessary at best, it was almost comforting to note that that was where Ardyn stood in stark contrast to the Six.

Because the latter weren't hanging around to drop an anvil on their heads or torture them any further with the waiting. They weren't prepared with statues of the ancient kings come to life to repel them once more. In fact, it was as though the Astrals had fled altogether: where their presence had been nearly tangible during the long trek from one side of this fake Lucis to the other, Gladio couldn't sense them here. As soon as the impostor Noct had vanished, as soon as they'd been granted entry to the Citadel, an unfathomable emptiness had spread around them until Gladio was actually sort of surprised that the world hadn't collapsed in the ensuing void. It would have been a fitting end to this little game, all things considered.

Instead, they ascended the steps to the doors and threw them open like Noct had a year ago, their heads held high and their arms at the ready just in case.

And the ghosts. They were there too.

They followed them past the lobby. They tiptoed through the darkness at the end of the corridor while Gladio and the others paused by the elevator, gawping in disbelief when they noticed that the control panel was lit up. They piled inside with them, though there definitely wasn't enough space for everyone.

Not once did they leave his side; not once did they offer him the benefit of the doubt and just let him have this. No, they were too busy reminding him that his job and the shit show that had unfolded mere minutes ago were two ends of a spectrum he should never have been forced to traverse.

But he had. The Draconian had willed it, so it was his duty to step up to the plate, even if that meant doing the exact opposite of what a Shield should.

Gladio was no wuss—he prided himself on his strength regardless of whether other people poked fun at him for being all brawn with no brains. Maybe he would never be as smart as Ignis, but he had an objectively decent head on his shoulders and enough muscle to back himself (and, more importantly, Noct) up. That, at least, was the message he was getting from the Six. They were the ones who wanted him to prove that he could think as well as hit stuff; based on Gentiana's vote of confidence, he'd say he had managed relatively well. Even so, it had been utter torment to fight that last battle. Despite the hardships they'd faced over the years, he might have gone so far as to say that it was the toughest thing he'd ever had to do, and that was counting the incident in Cartanica. That had been different: it had felt like he was doing the right thing for Noct, undesirable consequences notwithstanding.

This? This felt like there was no damn point. Yeah, they cared about Noct enough to show Bahamut that they would go to the literal ends of the earth for him. They would have let him kill them if that was what it took to avoid hurting him in return. Nevertheless, that didn't make it any easier to see those blank eyes staring sightlessly at him as though they didn't recognize him. It didn't assuage the pain of having to raise a sword against him in more than a simple training exercise or manhandle him in order to protect himself and the others.

He was supposed to give his life for Noct and would have gladly. It shouldn't have come to this, whether the Draconian had sent a puppet or not. The symbolism, however glaring, stung him more than words could say.

So, he didn't attempt to so much as think them. Rather, he swallowed every single one that occurred to him and let them all roil in the pit of his stomach where they wouldn't bother him. There were more important things to process, like the fact that the gods were apparently going easy on them with regards to the elevator. Honestly, he hadn't been expecting that. It was far more characteristic of the Astrals to let them climb every godforsaken stair in the Citadel to reach the throne room. After everything they'd already been put through, not least of which purely believing the ridiculousness that the gods had left for them to find, he wasn't feeling that idea at all. His training hadn't done him a lick of good here; his muscles had reached their limit long ago and had been aching even through their last bout of divine intervention. The mere notion of how many stairs it would have taken to ascend to their destination had his legs protesting, and although the ghosts sneered at him for not being strong enough to put up with a little more hard labor, he couldn't deny that he was pretty damn grateful they'd earned this luxury if nothing else.

Besides, even those phantoms of his had nothing to say when the doors slid open.

"Well," squeaked Prompto with his mouth ajar, "that's not totally, one hundred percent the creepiest thing I've ever seen or anything."

"You can say that again," murmured Gladio, not faring much better in the dignified entrances department. Could anyone blame them when the kings of Lucis had decided to greet them—and not quite in the manner they'd anticipated?

Actually, that was probably their own damn fault. Everything the Astrals touched turned to crystal, whether it was the heart of their Star or the world they'd created for themselves. Even the Citadel's interior wasn't exempt: all the furnishings that were splendorous enough in the real world took on an ethereal quality here, doused in the stuff as they were. Knowing what they did about how the Six operated and what their real promise to the kings of Lucis was, it shouldn't have come as any shock that their former monarchs lined the corridors in their crystal encasements all the way from the elevator to the throne room.

All one hundred thirteen of them.

Still and silent, they stared down at the three of them as they cautiously emerged into the corridor and began their slow approach to where Noct was presumably waiting. It was eerie, standing in their shadows and knowing that they weren't just statues. That would have made sense, even if it had never been the Lucian tradition to keep a bunch of moldy old sculptures inside where they could clash with the tile floors. Protocol dictated that monuments were scattered around the Crown City, as much a part of their collective culture as it was their royal family's heritage. What was the use in hoarding all of it where no one would be able to see? History was supposed to be remembered—history was supposed to be celebrated. They couldn't very well do that if the rest of Lucis didn't remember all the great things the former kings had done for them.

Having them here, though, crowding the hallway and seeming to loom over them in judgment? Yeah, Gladio was pretty sure there was an ulterior motive behind the decision beyond simply sharing their heritage. The antechamber was unsettling as it was, what with the portraits of centuries past watching their every move. They didn't need a bunch of ancient rocks joining the party.

The sole comfort they could take from the whole display was that at least they were in the right place. Most of this trip had been based in guesswork, given that the Six were the worst tour guides in existence. The Citadel had been the only spot where they'd figured Noct could reasonably be, so that had been the focal point of their journey. It hadn't been until they were approaching the city that Gladio registered the same twinge of mingled skepticism and hopelessness that had pervaded his senses before his trial, that annoying little voice in his head whispering that they might have come all this way for nothing. The Draconian accosting them outside didn't necessarily mean that this was where they were meant to come, after all, nor was it a sure thing that they'd read the signs right. They'd still been winging it and praying for the best, but now they had visual confirmation. Now, they had an actual guide book so that they could interpret the language in which the Six were yelling at them. With all these kings and their crystal coffins around, it was hard to deny or doubt anymore.

"So…they weren't kidding about the whole reward thing, huh?" mused Prompto, earning himself one downright scathing glare from Ignis when he tapped an effigy as though it were any other bust. That was enough to deter him, unsurprisingly.

"The Lucian royal family has ever served the Six," he sniffed haughtily as though he had to put on a good show to make up for Prompto's lack of etiquette before their immobile hosts. "They gave their lives, often prematurely, so that the Crystal and its power could be passed on to Noct and the world, saved. It's only fitting that they receive one in return."

Snorting bitterly, Gladio muttered, "Yeah. Too bad they couldn't get something out of it in life, though."

That took a bit of the wind out of his sails, and Ignis heaved a weary sigh when he replied, "Indeed."

A fate like that would've been too kind, and if Gladio had learned anything without a shadow of a doubt, it was that the Six didn't qualify as kind. Sure, they had their moments where they reminded you that they cared about humanity despite their methods; they'd occasionally offer enough assistance to disprove any theories that they weren't at least marginally benevolent beings. Kindness, though? Yeah, right. If they were kind, they wouldn't have dragged the three of them all over hell and back just to find Noct.

If they were kind, they wouldn't have taken him to begin with, Ardyn and that cluster notwithstanding.

But it was too late to wallow in that mess. That was the other thing that Gladio had come to realize in the time it had taken them to traverse two versions of Lucis and best the gods along the way: looking backwards, dwelling on the past, and allowing it to inhibit him in the present wasn't the sort of behavior any self-respecting Shield exhibited. Shit, even a Shield who didn't respect themselves would know better because they'd understand that they had to put that part of them aside in order to serve their charge. That was the crossroads at which he was standing, whether it was here in the Astrals' playground or at home. At some point, even if he didn't fully forgive himself and never really would, he had to turn his back on what had happened and focus on what was going to happen. Lucis needed its king, and its king needed him. He'd swallowed his pride and buried his emotions in the face of the most awful denouements that life could throw at them—being separated from his family, his father's death, the goddamn apocalypse they'd lived for ten years. By comparison, it made his own issues seem pretty mild. His dad never would have allowed some guilt and unease to get in the way of doing his duty, and neither would Gladio.

The nostalgia of the mental image his thoughts conjured of his father standing at King Regis's side had him bitterly shaking his head at the sight of the latter, the final sentinel outside the door of the throne room. Like all the others, King Regis was resplendent in his crystalline glory: it was sculpted to his familiar form so that he could see every detail, from the meager crown that adorned his temple to the pointed boots that used to click against the Citadel's floors until his cane drowned them out. The Six must have decided that mortal weakness, even when it was caused by the Crystal, wasn't befitting someone who would decorate their waiting room for the rest of eternity, because both his cane and the brace that had once sheathed his leg were conspicuously absent. That probably should have been a good sign, an indication that he wasn't in pain anymore as he had been when the Wall was still leaching his life away, but Gladio couldn't help feeling as if there was something missing. King Regis was a lot of things—a father, a monarch, a role model—yet the sacrifices he'd made to keep them all safe defined him. The fact that he had willingly given up his youth made him noble; that he had relinquished his strength, a god among men. Wasn't that worth remembering? Wasn't that worth carving into the uncaring stone?

No, apparently it wasn't. Either the gods didn't appreciate King Regis's actions like Gladio did or they simply thought it was part of their stupid reward—whichever way he spun it, the deceptive strength in the figure he cut outside the door was more unnatural than the alternative.

It didn't help that his father was nowhere to be seen, not that Gladio had been expecting him here. The other kings were unaccompanied by retainers, Shields or otherwise, so there was no reason for his dad to get a spot in the gods' paradise. If he was anywhere, it would be out with Gilgamesh, watching the gate so that no one could reach King Regis from afar. Any closer, and he would be just as much an outsider as Gladio, Ignis, and Prompto.

Because this world wasn't about those who served the kings so much as the Lucian monarchs themselves, all of whom guarded Noct's allegedly final resting place as Gladio hadn't been allowed to. It made sense. It was to be anticipated.

It rankled.

Ever since the Founder King sat the throne of Lucis after Solheim fell, it was ordained that the Lucis Caelum line must be protected by a Shield. Those guardians had always hailed from the Amicitia household, which meant his family was nearly as revered as that of the kings. The vows they took were the same throughout the ages; the promises they made were unchanging. Each and every one of them had sworn an identical oath: to defend their monarchs with their lives and remain at their side in both life and beyond. Always and forever. Time couldn't divide you, nor could distance and death. If you were a Shield, you found a way to make it work.

Some people thought that the expectations placed on Shields were too stringent, that it was ridiculous to think they should do more than any other Crownsguard or Kingsglaive operative. Gladio didn't agree. Maybe he'd been a little reluctant when he was a kid, believing Noct too weak to make a good king, but he'd learned his lesson there. Where Noct was weak, Gladio was to be his strength; where Noct wavered, Gladio was to prop him up. That was how it worked, and he actually cringed a little at the thought of how long it had taken him to comprehend that.

Once he had, however, he'd embraced his duty entirely. The rules said that he had to willingly stand between Noct and all the daemons in the world? You got it. The expectations decreed that he should precede his liege in death and secure the afterlife for his arrival? No sweat. He was supposed to stand watch over his charge's grave in the event that the unthinkable happened and he somehow survived, his shame intact? Of course. It didn't matter what anyone else said: being a Shield was tantamount to being an object designed for the king's use and nothing more. When your king happened to be named Noctis Lucis Caelum, it wasn't anywhere near as difficult as it sounded.

The only problem, in his case, was that he hadn't gotten the opportunity to do as he'd vowed. The Astrals hadn't let him, and it had left him unanchored in the aftermath. After all, what was he when he had no one to Shield? What was he when he wasn't a Shield? It was a question that no Amicitia had ever needed to ask themselves and that he had never anticipated pondering either.

He'd been wrong. He'd been so damn wrong.

But that was in the past. That was in the part of his life that he was turning his back on, the stretch of time that he refused to acknowledge from the second he opened those doors to the moment he gasped out his last breath. What he hadn't done before was being fixed now. What he hadn't been before was being remedied now. Gladiolus Amicitia hadn't been raised a coward—he was brave enough to face his darkness and his daemons if Noct was on the other side.

Which, as it turned out, he was.

When the final barrier separating them from their king swung out of their way, they were greeted with the sight that had haunted their dreams for over a year. Gladio would recognize it anywhere: the throne room, awash in brilliant white light that seemed to emanate not from the windows, but from the seat of their government. Everything looked as it always had, the specks of dust and cobwebs that no doubt gathered in their own iteration of this chamber nowhere to be found. In their place was exactly what they'd been hoping for, and Gladio felt himself rushing in their direction before he really registered ordering his feet to move. Lucky for him, Ignis and Prompto were too busy doing the same to ridicule him for it. What else were they going to do with Noct right there?

He wasn't alone either. As they'd suspected, Lady Lunafreya was seated at his side, her head pillowed on her arms where they rested against the edge of his chair. Although it was difficult to see more than that until they closed the distance, one thing was painfully obvious: they'd definitely suffered the same fate as the other kings and the l'Cie they'd been destined to imitate.

The crystal that sealed them to the throne wasn't the same as the rest of this world. Gladio had vaguely noticed that as they'd hurried through the corridors, but as he practically sprinted up the stairs, he truly registered the alteration for the first time. Everywhere they'd been, the crystal had formed more of a casing than anything else; they were still able to see through it, even if they couldn't touch whatever it was guarding. Maybe the Six had had the presence of mind to consider that doing the same thing to actual people would look too creepy for words—that, or they were all about the aesthetics. Whichever it was, they had gone a little heavy on the rock where their human inhabitants were concerned. They were so thoroughly ensconced that they appeared to have been carved out of stone; none of their features were visible behind the screen of mineral that enclosed them within. Noct was no different, which Gladio had to say sent a shiver through him as he approached the throne. He wasn't meant to be a statue or a monument or anything else they wanted to call it. Effigies were designed for ancient kings, not the one who grinned when he should have been serious and raged when he should have been accepting of his duties. That was the old way of doing things—the old world way of doing things.

Guess it's pretty spot on, then, Gladio mused, recalling who it was they were talking about here. The gods were nothing if not stuck on the past, after all.

If it weren't for the fact that they'd been waiting for this moment longer than he cared to admit, Gladio would have balked at the sight of Noct trapped inside shimmering silver crystal like all the rest. If it weren't for his identical bride beside him, he would have offered the Six a few choice words for their mode of décor. Instead, he kept his goddamn mouth shut and focused on the positive.

They were here.

Noct was here.

They were going to get his ass home and put a tracker on it. Just to be safe.

Gladio had to say, though, the image of the two of them was a sight he would never forget. In sleep, Noct had finally gotten to wear the suit that should have accompanied him to his coronation, replete with the badges and medals of his station—the ones he'd earned by virtue of his birth and his accomplishments alike. To his right, Lady Lunafreya was dazzling in that wedding dress they'd seen in the shop window in Altissia. They made a good couple, if an eerie one in this state.

And he was not going to tell anybody that. Ever.

Still, that more than anything else was a glaring reminder that this was only possible through divine interference by their holy hosts. He didn't want to think about what had happened to that dress in the aftermath of Leviathan's hissy fit, yet it was utterly perfect where it was carved into the face of the crystal in eternal matrimony. Their faces were hidden, but if Gladio had to wager a guess, he'd say that the two of them would be pretty happy with how things had turned out. And hey, it looked like the Astrals were finally throwing them a bone: clearly, they'd wanted that wedding to happen as much as anyone. Why shouldn't they? Who could ask for better than the Oracle and the King of Kings falling in love like those two had when they were just kids? The Six were probably eating that shit up, especially when they had known the tragedy that would unfold for both of them.

Yeah. Leave it to those assholes to let them have their wedding here, where no one would see it and they couldn't even enjoy it.

Figures.

He could lambaste them later, though. Right now, he wanted to get Noct and Lady Lunafreya as far from this place as possible before the gods decided that they'd made a mistake and wanted to keep them. Sure, it wasn't likely, but Gladio wasn't about to take any chances—not this time. Plus, they still had one more trial ahead of them.

Prompto appeared to realize that as well and, clearing his throat, tentatively ventured, "So…uh…how do we get them out?"

"That," supplied Ignis with a frown, "is indeed a dilemma."

"That's one word for it," grunted Gladio. If by dilemma he meant that they needed to figure out how to either crack divine rock or haul two giant boulders all the way back to the Tempering Grounds with them, then yeah, it was a dilemma, all right. As far as Gladio was concerned, it was a hell of a lot more than that: they were basically fused to the throne, the crystal making them one with the stone that had stood in their world for thousands of years.

Gladio had heard of kings being a little too attached to that thing, but this was ridiculous.

And they weren't even the only ones. Where the two of them were invisible behind the wall of rock that separated them from the outside world, the throne peered out from beneath the crystal so that they could see every bit of its grandeur. The red fibers of the cushions, the gold filigree laid into the stone framing, the immaculate carvings that danced around the edges.

The photograph set in a place of honor at Noct's left hand.

Frowning, Gladio leaned forward to get a better look, that same sense of déjà vu eating away at him just like it had in those dreams. Well, maybe they were more predictions—that was how it increasingly seemed when everything they'd seen for the last year was coming true. Noct was on his throne, albeit not exactly as they'd pictured it, and that goofy picture of the four of them around the Regalia smiled up at him when he gaped down at it. It was no different than it had been when Noct had taken it from the stack Prompto had offered him before his final showdown with Ardyn: the edges weren't frayed or worn with time, and the image had been preserved perfectly without the sunlight drowning out the colors. They could have taken it yesterday for as perfect as it was.

The picture, anyway. The crystal around it, on the other hand, was another story. Nowhere else had they seen the tiniest sliver out of place, the entire planet apparently coated smoothly until he had to wonder if there were any imperfections in this world. (He doubted it, though. The gods weren't about to mess up their utopia, after all.) Trees and rocks, grass and pavement, buildings and signs—all of it had been flawless in its encasement.

But not this. There were three fissures in the stone above the picture, distorting the image slightly when Gladio squinted closer. It wasn't enough to notice from afar; he wouldn't have recognized it if his face wasn't mere inches from the throne. Regardless, it was there, and it had to mean something.

"Hey, Iggy? What d'you make of this?" he asked, absently reaching forward to brush his fingers over the indentation.

That, at least, was his plan. The moment his skin touched the crystal, he jerked his hand away with a hiss of pain when the shard beneath his shirt erupted into blistering heat. If the way Ignis and Prompto similarly started was any indication, it wasn't just him, either.

Fumbling with the chain that kept his souvenir safely tethered to his person, Gladio practically tore the damn thing off only to freeze when he caught sight of it. Since the night they'd lost Noct, their shards hadn't changed at all: they'd remained the same clear, cold shade as the rest of the Crystal. Not even during their nightmares had they altered more than a few degrees. Now, however, all three of them were glowing with such bright intensity where they held them aloft that it was nearly blinding. Almost like…

Almost like the throne itself.

The thought had barely occurred to him when, with a deafening crack, the bit of Noct he'd held with him all this time shattered into dust. Ignis's and Prompto's weren't far behind, the remnants fluttering to the ground and vanishing against the dark marble.

For a second, Gladio couldn't breathe—didn't dare to breathe lest the whole thing be real. For decades, that stupid Crystal had been the center of their world. Whether it was holding up the Wall or waiting for them in Gralea or back in the throne room for Ardyn's final act, they had gravitated towards it almost as instinctively as they'd been tied to Noct. Even knowing that the heart of their Star was gone, that those shards were all that remained of it, hadn't been too difficult to acclimate to. There was still a piece of something familiar in the new, strange world they'd been helping everyone to build.

That was why a terrible sort of emptiness began to set in when he distantly realized that it was gone for real this time. There were no bits and pieces to sweep up; not enough was left to even consider mopping into a pile. Their shards had vanished—those little treasures they'd safeguarded as their only connection to Noct had disappeared. Every scrap of that godforsaken rock was finally gone, and all of a sudden, their tether to their past had been snapped as well. Call him irrational, but shit, that notion hurt more than the phantom burn of the stone against his skin.

It eased almost immediately, however, when Prompto's wordless exclamation cut through the ensuing silence. Gladio whirled around, following his line of sight straight to Noct, who didn't look so shiny anymore. Neither did Lady Lunafreya.

As their pieces of the Crystal had disintegrated, so had their sheaths.

Gladio had barely enough time to register what was going to happen before he could react. In an instant, he was on his knees, propping Noct up when he drooped forward while Ignis and Prompto steadied Lady Lunafreya on his other side. The former Oracle stirred right away, though Noct—true to form—didn't budge an inch. Maybe it was stupid, but Gladio had to smile at that: after living without the guy for a year, plus the ten before that, it was actually sort of endearing that he could still sleep through a goddamn apocalypse if given the option. Some things never changed.

His wife-to-be was going to have to put up with that, because it looked like she was more of a morning person. Her eyes were already open by the time Gladio glanced over at her, and she surveyed them with mingled confusion and hope that had his heart aching.

Yeah, they knew they were here.

"How is this possible?" she asked, although the question was more of a rhetorical one. Even so, Ignis took it upon himself to answer.

"Suffice it to say that we had a great deal of divine intervention."

"Yup," grinned Prompto with poorly contained enthusiasm. "Consider us your personal valets back to reality."

Whether it was his flippant relief or purely the idea of getting the hell out of here, something about that had a small smile pulling at the corners of Lady Lunafreya's lips, and her eyes slid over to where Noct was still leaning heavily against Gladio's shoulder when she replied, "There is no one I would trust more."

"Good, 'cause you're stuck with us," Gladio retorted briskly as he snaked an arm under Noct's knees and hoisted him off the facsimile of his real throne. The two of them were moving—he didn't want to waste even a minute talking and give the Astrals a chance to change their minds about them leaving. "Now let's get outta here before any other divine people decide to intervene."

No one could argue that point, and in a blur of motion that felt unreal with the steady weight against his chest, the scene he'd imagined on their way here played out right in front of his eyes. Prompto and Ignis hurried to help Lady Lunafreya, who wasn't the steadiest on her feet after a nap that long, while he preceded them down the steps towards the exit. In his head, everyone had been operating under their own power; there had been jokes and hastily stifled tears. At this point, Gladio merely counted it as a stroke of luck that one of them was conscious—he literally had his hands full with Noct and didn't want to think about how rough it would have been if Lady Lunafreya was in similar shape. They didn't need anyone else to be incapable of getting themselves around, not when they couldn't be certain that there weren't any other surprises waiting for them between here and the Tempering Grounds.

Fortunately, Lady Lunafreya held her own pretty well. She needed some support, but she was mostly moving of her own volition. That was a step in the right direction—a pretty damn overdue one, as well. With her in reasonable condition to continue, he figured they could let Noct slack off for a little longer. He'd earned it.

Just like he'd earned the right to a smile as he stepped out the doors and paused in front of King Regis's effigy to see that their former monarch appeared to be in equally high spirits. That or he was losing it. Statues didn't change; giant hunks of rock didn't suddenly grin the way King Regis appeared to be. Gladio knew that. He must have merely missed that detail when they'd arrived, although the king they had to leave behind did have something to smile about if he could: his son was about to sit on the throne he'd always deserved, and if there was any justice in the universe, then his own father wasn't too far away. Gladio had seen everything the Tempering Grounds had to offer; he knew that Shields who couldn't make it through the trial stayed there, their souls bound to serve the kings in death and guard the door to their new realm. Part of him couldn't help but wonder if it wasn't only the ones who'd failed and their executioners, though. Maybe his dad was out there too, hanging with Gilgamesh and watching over King Regis while he slept for all eternity. Knowing his old man, nothing would have made him happier. If it was a choice between finding his own peace and preserving King Regis's, he was well aware of which side his dad would choose. In that, they were alike.

Which was why Gladio couldn't quite stifle his groan of irritation when they reached the courtyard to find the Glacian waiting for them.

"Another trial?" whispered Prompto behind him.

"Better not be," he nearly snarled in response. Ignis's noncommittal hum wasn't exactly the vote of confidence he was looking for, but he didn't say anything else as they descended the steps towards where Gentiana stood calmly at the bottom.

In that moment, what Gladio really wanted was to give her a piece of his mind. The hell was she thinking—the hell were any of them thinking—to bring their sacrificial lambs here and then make the three of them dance in order to get them home? Sure, they were gods; they could do whatever they wanted, and no one could tell them otherwise. Wasn't that what had brought down the old world, though? Wasn't that why they'd railed against their own deities in a time beyond living memory? In an age that had been lost to history, they'd been no better than Ardyn, to an extent: they, too, had defied the laws ordained by their own version of the Astrals to do what they thought was right. Of course, Ardyn's angle on right had been a bit skewed, but it was the principle of the thing that set Gladio's hair on end and had his arms tightening protectively around Noct. The gods had messed up everything, from the second they'd decided to gift Ardyn with the powers that had nearly destroyed the entire world to their idiotic decision to allegedly reward the Chosen King with eternal solitude. Yet the Glacian had the guts to be here, now, serene and collected as ever? If it weren't for the precious cargo he had to safeguard, he would have been sorely tempted to offer her a bit of advice for the Astrals' next foray into the human world.

Namely: don't.

Instead, he tamped down his anger and his bitterness and reminded himself that they were the victors here. They had Noct; they had Lady Lunafreya. They were heading home.

As soon as she let them pass.

"All right," he grumbled when they halted before her. "What now?"

The Glacian inclined her head in recognition without opening her eyes, but the veiled reprimand for his pithy inquiry came from Ignis, not Gentiana.

Leveling him with a warning glare, Ignis diplomatically translated, "What he means to ask is what trial you would have us perform this time."

No, I meant what the hell now?

This was why Gladio would never be a politician. He was far better with browbeating the information out of people than negotiation.

For now, it seemed that the Glacian wasn't here to bargain anyway. In fact, it was a bit unsettling how readily she offered, "In seeking the King of Kings and the Oracle, the fears of the Glacian have been assuaged."

Well, what do you know?

"So… You're saying that by coming here, we already did what you wanted?" clarified Prompto, his obvious bewilderment accurately summarizing Gladio's stance on the subject, as well.

The Glacian apparently wasn't in the mood to explain the method behind her madness, though. The smile she wore said it all.

Somehow, that didn't make him feel any better.

"And you're gonna let us go?" ventured Gladio cautiously. "Just like that?"

Her head twitched slightly in his direction again. "The fate of the Chosen no longer rests with the Astrals."

Damn right, it didn't. That was their job—their destiny—and Gladio wasn't about to relinquish that again. The gods had done their part in making sure that Noct remained in one piece; admittedly, he'd be forever grateful that they'd taken another route than actually following through on the death of the Chosen bullshit. But they weren't Noct's Shield. They hadn't sworn to serve him so much as forced him to serve them. They weren't the right protectors for his reign.

Gladio, Ignis, and Prompto? That was on them.

It was for that reason that Gladio merely straightened and nodded when Prompto assured her confidently, "Don't worry. We'll take care of them."

Unlike the other Astrals, the Glacian didn't choose to test that. She didn't demand that they swear fealty again to their king or prove that they weren't just spouting meaningless platitudes.

For once, the gods decided to take their word for it.

That was what Gladio assumed, anyway. The reverberation of Prompto's voice around the courtyard hadn't faded before Gentiana finally opened her eyes, her gaze and her smile focused solely on Lady Lunafreya where she was leaning lightly against Ignis's shoulder, and the world turned hazy. Shadows stretched where there had been none earlier, and the world melted away like the old chalk drawings Iris would make on the sidewalk as soon as it rained. The crystal, the Citadel, the dawn—everything vanished in a coalescence of light and color, the previously sharp scenery growing indistinct and unrecognizable. There was no sky, no ground, no left or right.

But they didn't fall. They didn't so much as stagger as they gawped shamelessly and waited for either the end or a new beginning.

Gladio knew which it would be when their wayward king stirred in his grasp.

The others didn't miss it either, not when they were standing close enough for their arms to touch, and three gazes followed his when it snapped down to stare at the eyes Gladio never thought he'd see again in this lifetime. It was more than a miracle when Noct blinked hazily into the chaos and, after a moment of sleepy confusion, zeroed in on Gladio's face with dawning recognition.

Now, Gladio had heard Noct call his name in varying stages of emotion. When they were younger, it had been with frustration and anger at not being able to best him in their sparring sessions; on their journey, his summons had been filled with a sense of confidence that no matter where or when he called, Gladio would be there. Late night jokes, early morning irritation, snide comments when he thought his Shield wasn't listening—every instance had merged together in his head, haunting him all year with a voice he hadn't planned on hearing until he went to join his father as an endless sentinel.

Even so, the groggy, barely audible, "Gladio?" that issued from Noct's mouth outshone them all.

"It's all right, Noct," he murmured. "I've gotcha."

There was a distance in his gaze that made it pretty obvious that he wasn't completely awake yet, but he nevertheless managed to slur, "'nd… And Luna…? Where…?"

"She's here. We're all here," Ignis soothed him gently, his smile unwavering even as he tremulously raised his visor to sit on his nose again.

"All…?"

Gladio jostled him lightly. "Just rest easy. We're goin' home."

There was a pause in which he wondered if Noct had fallen back asleep, but apparently he had enough stubbornness in him to breathe, "Home..."

Home.

As Noct drifted off again, his head tucked under Gladio's chin, the world solidified to accommodate his request. The blurry landscape around them cleared, revealing a Crown City that wasn't entombed in crystal and devoid of life the way the Astrals' creation had been. Visually, the differences weren't glaring, yet everything had changed regardless. They stood in the same spot where they had been speaking to the Glacian, only this time, there were Glaives running towards them rather than Astrals bent on testing their resolve. There were people gaping at them from atop the steps, not vacant windows that seemed to breathe of their own accord. The sun was shining, but it wasn't dawn—it was early evening, the orange and pink hues of coming nightfall waving at them in welcome.

Amidst all of it, Gladio surrounded his king like a wall. Like an army of one. Like the Shield he was meant to be.

"It's all right," he repeated in a whisper, more to himself than Noct. "I've gotcha."

And he did. Gladio had him when they were escorted inside. He had him when they ascended to Noct's old room and laid him on a bed that had been empty for far too long.

He had him when he woke up a week later, and he had him when he officially married Lady Lunafreya the week after that.

He had him when he sat on the throne for the first time as a true king.

Gladio had him—they all did—whenever he opened his eyes to find his brother and his king watching the sunrise like they hadn't been able to all year: seeing all that they had sacrificed, but also all the possibilities that lay ahead.

Wherever they went, whatever they did, they'd be together as promised.

Yeah. They had him.

A/N: And there you have it! Thank you so much for following this story and the feedback that some of you have left! Just knowing that there are people out there who enjoy my writing means the world to me, so I can't thank you enough! My next FFXV fic, a mermaid!AU, will be posted later this year; I am taking some time to really plan it out thoroughly as I would like to convert it to an original, publishable piece at some point in the future. I also admittedly need a bit of a break after having written so much in such a short time! As such, I'm going to be going back to my roots for a bit and posting some Marvel stories that have been on the back burner while I work on the mermaid!AU, so I hope that if you've enjoyed my writing and are a fan of Marvel, I might see you there! Thank you again, and until next time, walk tall! :)