If Ignis had any less self-control, he would have dropped his phone.

As it was, he did a double take at the display, dread coiling in the pit of his stomach. He hastily pulled to the side of the road and looked more closely – he'd only turned his phone on while driving as an after thought, not thinking he might have messages that couldn't wait.

The notifications glaring up at him disagreed.

One missed call from Clarus Amicitia. One from the Marshall. One from the King. A text from Gladio, unread.

Not a single message from Noctis, who typically took pleasure in bombarding Ignis' phone with various trite distractions. He was, admittedly, becoming quite tired of animated chocobos.

Noctis had known Ignis was headed to the outskirts of the city, but logic had never stopped him before. Ignis expected at least a couple of whining, badly articulated complaints, typed hastily while the prince was not supposed to be texting.

Wary—determined not to make the wrong assumption—Ignis dialed Noctis, gripping the steering wheel with a white-knuckled hand. It rang multiple times before the prince picked up.

Noctis mumbled into the receiver—Ignis recognized his voice, although he could listen for the next thousand years and still have no idea what he'd said.

"Highness, have you been sleeping?" Surely he couldn't be in bed already.

"Iggy. My shirt's bloody," Noctis replied, as if that should explain everything. "'m sorry." His voice was so garbled, it was nearly unintelligible. He was badly slurring his words, which meant one of two things: either he was too tired to form a proper reply, or too badly wounded.

Ignis froze at the thought, blood congealing like ice. He counted backwards from five in an attempt to calm himself.

"Are you hurt? What happened?" Against his better judgment, Ignis turned on his wireless device and shoved it into his ear. Now he would be free to steer, and he could stay on the line with Noctis. He pulled back onto the road, speeding down the highway as quickly as he dared.

"Don't worry. Throat got slit but...s'fine now."

Ignis swerved.

He jolted, struggling to right the vehicle as he swallowed panic. "Noctis, talk to me. Is someone there with you? Do you need medical attention?"

"Sleepy. I'm...sleep now, 'kay?"

"Noctis, don't you dare hang up."

A pause, followed by silence.

"Noct!"

The line went dead.

Ignis' breath quickened. He redialed the prince, timing his breathing to stave off what he knew was becoming a full-blown panic attack. His hands shook on the steering wheel, but he couldn't afford to stop.

In through the nose, hold it, out through the mouth, repeat...

No one picked up.

Ignis took his eyes off the road. He glanced down at the phone in mute horror.

"Call King Regis," Ignis instructed his wireless device. Surely, this was some sort of mistake. The Crownsguard had grown lax, and Noctis found some way of getting into the wine while their backs were turned. It wouldn't be the first time.

That was why he'd been muttering nonsense about bloody shirts and slit throats. This wasn't actually happening. There was a perfectly reasonable explanation. One that didn't involve Noctis bleeding out in a dark alley.

The king's phone went straight to voicemail. Ignis cursed.

"Call Clarus." He struggled to regain some semblance of calm.

Voicemail.

"Call The Marshall!" He shouted, frustrated; voice shrill. The poor, helpless electronic device never knew what hit it.

Voicemail.

Ignis either had extraordinarily bad luck, or the Citadel was under attack and their government was compromised. Perhaps someone had targeted the banquet specifically. A bombing? Some other form of terrorist attack? It would be very difficult to pull off such an attack at the Citadel, but not impossible.

Had Noctis answered the phone under extreme duress – bleeding out slowly in a closet, or a dark corner of the Citadel?

Ignis shook himself.

What a ridiculous notion.

Was it ridiculous?

Ignis turned on his radio and flipped through the news channels, listening for any world-destroying mayhem the media may have picked up on. Nothing more interesting than which celebrity was sleeping with whom.

Ignis swore. If a coup had been staged while he was out gathering cooking supplies, of all things, he would never forgive himself.

Why was no one answering their bloody phone?

As a last ditch effort, he instructed his wireless to call Gladio, fully expecting another voicemail inbox greeting.

"Hey."

Ignis blinked. Finally being faced with an actual person left him breathless.

"Gladio, thank heavens. I need to find Noctis. Do you know where he is?"

A long pause. "Didn't get my message, I take it. You haven't heard?"

Ignis' reply exploded out of him in one breath, the anxiety of the past ten minutes building to a crescendo. "No, Gladiolus, I have not 'heard.' I haven't heard anything from anyone but Noctis himself, who informed me only that his shirt is bloody and his throat is slit! Please, for the love of Shiva, give me context."

Gladio had the audacity to laugh. "Oh, shit. Did he try to call you?"

"I called him; he hung up on me. And I fail to see how this is funny - he could barely string a sentence together."

"I'm not surprised. He was really out of it when we got back. Don't worry, he's safe. I'm with him now."

Ignis didn't care how loud his sigh of relief was.

"He's hurt though, Ig. Somebody tried to kill him."

Ignis stiffened. He gripped the steering wheel so hard, he was surprised it didn't crack beneath his fingers. "Tell me everything."

The entire drive back to the Citadel was a blur for Ignis. He listened with rapt attention, horrified. Even second hand, the tale Gladio painted seemed too awful to be real. Ignis could see it in his mind's eye, vivid as he dared. Noctis, alone in a room full of people. Vulnerable, a dagger at his throat.

Oh, Noct...

Ignis loosed a shaky breath. "He must have been so frightened."

"Yeah. He got out of it, though. Cut his hands free and warped to the other side of the room. He tried to downplay it, but I heard one of the glaives talking. Noct had to cut his own throat to get away. He took a calculated risk. Can you believe that? I mean, I knew he had it in him, but now everybody else does too."

Ignis could hear the pride in Gladio's voice and felt a surge of his own – underneath the horror, of course.

Between dragging the crown prince out of bed and nagging him to do his homework, Ignis often got caught up in the mundane struggle that was policing a teenager nearly two years his junior. It was easy to forget that teenager was Noctis Lucis Caelum - Crown Jewel of Insomnia, heir to a legacy as ancient as the Gods themselves. Child or not, he was already a force to be reckoned with. It was sobering to think about.

Ignis narrowed his eyes. He was close now – could see the spires of the Citadel on the horizon. He tapped his fingers and stopped at a red light, impatient. "This glaive must be severely punished."

"Cor is spear-heading the investigation. He won't go easy on him."

Ignis hoped that missed call from the Marshall meant he'd be included in this investigation. He had a vested interest in seeing Gideon up close.

"How are Noct's wounds? You're sure they aren't severe?"

Gladio's voice was tight. "He's banged up, but yeah. The doc says he's fine."

"I'll meet you at his chambers. I'm nearly there."

Some of the lingering anxiety in Ignis' voice must have been obvious. Gladio softened his tone. "Don't sweat, Ig. Anyone else tries to hurt him, I'll rip their head off. I don't care if Ifrit comes knocking."

Ignis chuckled in spite of himself. "I daresay he may be a bit much for you."

Gladio growled. "Yeah, well, he can fucking try me."

At long last, Ignis was pulling into a parking spot, breathing a sigh of relief. "I've just arrived. I'll be up shortly."

Security took as long as could be expected, under the circumstances. Most Crownsguard knew him on sight as the prince's retainer, however. It afforded him a bit of extra leniency. He passed the checkpoints more quickly than he'd hoped.

Noct's wing was swarming with Crownsguard and the odd glaive or two, although the latter must only have been a privileged few. Ignis had seen numerous glaives on the lower levels, but their numbers had dwindled the closer he got to Noctis' rooms. Ignis suspected that turncoat glaive was going to sour things for his compatriots considerably. For the duration of the investigation, at least. One bad apple truly did spoil the bunch.

He nodded to the guards on the door, who stepped aside without comment. Ignis entered the room, shutting it softly behind him. Gladio strode down the hallway to greet him, toweling his hair dry. Ignis must have caught him in the shower when he'd called.

"Still can't drop a pin through security, I take it?"

Ignis pushed his glasses up his nose. "They've closed ranks, yes."

The Shield pointed over his shoulder. "Noct's out cold. I'm surprised he even answered when you called."

"I sincerely wish he hadn't."

Gladio winced. "He seriously told you his throat was slit, then hung up?"

Ignis massaged his temple. "I'd prefer not to speak of it."

Taking pity on him, Gladio placed his hand on Ignis' shoulder, grinning devilishly. He gave him a little push toward Noct's bedchamber. "Go on, fuss. It'll make you feel better."

Ignis scowled. Gladio made the most brazen assumptions.

He was also entirely right.

The Shield's expression turned somber. "You, uh...might wanna brace yourself though. It's not pretty." Anger simmered beneath the surface—Gladio's brown eyes burned with fury before he took a breath, squashing it.

Ignis nodded gravely. He steeled his resolve. Whatever he saw in there, he absolutely could not let it affect Noct. Although, judging from the incoherent, one-sided conversation they'd had earlier, Noct likely wasn't going to be affected by anything all night.

Ignis walked in expecting not to like what he saw. A cold, terrible, and very uncharacteristic anger washed over him anyway.

Noct's face was shocking. His right cheekbone was swollen, rapidly turning a mottled shade of purple. Ignis would need to ice that for him. What really drew his ire, however, were the darker bruises scattered around Noct's jawline – clear finger marks, no doubt left by that brute of a glaive. They looked painful. He'd have to see about getting him some kind of relief for it, if the doctor hadn't prescribed anything.

Ignis' eyes traveled downward. Heavy bandages, wrapped tight around Noct's throat and his hands. The dressings would have to be changed periodically, of course. His phone lay discarded on top of the sheets. The young prince must have dropped it there after he'd hung up on Ignis.

Ignis cataloged every injury, memorized every bruise and blemish, filing them away for the proper time. For now, such thoughts would have to wait. Noct's immediate needs came first.

Retribution would come later.

Noctis lay sprawled on top of the covers in nothing but his boxers, one leg hanging off the mattress - as if he'd collapsed onto it and been asleep before he could pull himself up properly.

A cursory glance around the room revealed the prince's discarded finery from the evening. Clearly, Noct had attempted to fold his pants, though they'd just ended up in a lump on a chair. What really drew Ignis' attention, however, was the infamous 'bloody' shirt he'd seemed so fixated on.

Ignis nearly recoiled at the sight. It was draped over the back of the chair, an ungodly amount of blood soaked into the collar. Some of it had even snaked its way down the front, thin rivulets trailing downward in droplets. No amount of salvaging would save the garment now. Honestly, even if Ignis thought he could, he wouldn't want to. Resolving to burn the offending thing at the first opportunity, he turned his attention back to Noctis.

Ignis smiled fondly, shaking his head. He knelt down, lifting Noct's leg and shifting it on top of the mattress. Gently, Ignis tugged the sheets out from under his prone body, draping them over his shoulders. He ruffled Noct's hair with a sigh. "What am I going to do with you?"

Noct mumbled something unintelligible, head lolling until he was face down in the pillows. Ignis winced, maneuvering the boy's head so that he wasn't laying on his swollen cheekbone.

Footsteps lingered in the doorway of the room. What opportune timing.

"Gladio, there should be a few ice packs in the freezer. Fetch one for me, if you'd be so kind?"

A cane taped against the tile. Ignis glanced up, visibly startled. The sight that greeted him was most definitely not Gladio.

"Your Majesty! Forgive me." He sprung off the mattress – gently, as not to jostle Noct – and sketched a hasty bow.

King Regis smiled, eyes soft. "Nonsense, Ignis." He was already turning in the doorway; presumably to comply with Ignis' request. "Tend to him. I'll be back."

Ignis stared. Later, he would have plenty of time to mull over the fact that he had King Regis performing mundane tasks such as fetching ice packs from freezers, but for now, he turned back to Noct, busying himself with the boy's phone. He dug a spare charger out of the side table, plugging the device into the wall.

Now that he was close enough to inspect the doctor's handiwork, he eyed Noct's bandages, assessing them with intense scrutiny. They appeared clean, and none of the ends were coming loose. Faint blood stains seeped through the ones on his hands—Ignis supposed none of those cuts had been deep enough to need stitches.

King Regis returned with the ice pack he'd asked for. Ignis folded it in half, placing it carefully upon Noct's cheek. The prince groaned softly.

Regis frowned, eyes troubled. He sat carefully on the edge of Noct's bed, brushing a stray clump of hair from his forehead. "In a perfect world, I could commit myself only to being his father." He smiled fondly at Noctis, balancing the ice pack more securely on his cheek when it threatened to slip.

There was something inscrutable in the king's expression when he turned to face Ignis. Gratitude and a raw vulnerability, mixed with an unmistakable tinge of guilt. "Instead I must rely upon you, my young friend. Forgive me."

Ignis was speechless. For the first time in recent memory, he had no idea what to say.

Caring for the prince was an integral part of his daily routine. He didn't think twice about it, even on the days when Noctis was being especially difficult. The tasks he performed for him were simply his duty. Doing what was expected of him hardly made Ignis special.

And yet, Noct was far from simply a 'duty,' wasn't he? Ignis had come to care for the boy in ways he'd never imagined possible. He couldn't picture life without his young charge in it, and he didn't want to. Ignis might huff and grumble on occasion, but he loved looking after Noctis. He wouldn't trade it for the world.

Clearly, however, at least some part of King Regis though he was burdening Ignis; tasking him with things that any other, less important father would have time to do himself. Caring for his wounded child understandably fell under that category.

Ignis rose from the bed, dipping into a low bow. "Your Majesty, it is my honor and privilege to serve Noct, in any way I can." He lifted his head to meet Regis' eyes. "Truly. I wouldn't have it any other way."

Regis stood, placing his hand on Ignis' shoulder. "Rise. I owe you far too much to have you standing on ceremony. When we're in private, at least. I don't imagine the council would approve." The king's green eyes twinkled with mischief. It took years off his face.

Ignis shook his head, frowning as he rose. "You owe me nothing, Your Majesty. I have chosen to remain at his side, and I will do so. For as many years as he'll have me."

"…and he is lucky to have you." The king's face fell as he gazed back down at Noctis. That horrible, heart-wrenching guilt was back with a vengeance.

Ignis wanted to smother that guilt. Snatch it away and bury it so far underground, Regis would never find it again.

The king gestured toward a dagger on the bedside table. Ignis recognized it. He had nearly protested Noct taking it tonight, thinking it unseemly for the fifteen-year-old prince to carry a weapon on his person to such an event.

From this day forth, Ignis would make sure his prince had all the weapons money could buy. He would have an arsenal on his person as well as the magical one. A bullet proof vest wouldn't hurt either. One never knew where a sniper might be lurking.

Ignis shuddered. He'd look into it.

"I had no idea he'd started carrying. How long has it been since I've held a lengthy conversation with my son, that I wouldn't know this?" Regis shook his head, looking deeply troubled. He picked up the blade, twirling it between his fingers absently.

Ignis' lips quirked. "In your defense, Majesty, Gladio only just shouted that idea into Noct's head this afternoon. I hardly knew myself before he was sneaking it in under his sleeve."

His glibness did Ignis credit. Regis laughed, setting the blade back where he'd found it. "I suppose I have an excuse, then."

Ignis listened intently as the king rattled off instructions the doctor had left for Noct's care. He committed it all to memory, taking out his phone to set alarms for dressing changes and medication administration.

He frowned, gazing down at his charge thoughtfully. Noct should start the antibiotics tonight, at least. Ignis was loath to wake him, but better to hear the young prince grumble about it now than to deal with an infection later. King Regis was inclined to agree when Ignis voiced his concerns. He pulled two prescription bottles from his suit jacket, handed those to Ignis, and limped toward the bathroom, coming back moments later with a glass of water.

Ignis sat down next to Noctis on the mattress, shaking his shoulder gently. "Noct? I need you to sit up for a moment."

The prince groaned, but otherwise didn't react.

Ignis pinched his arm, knowing that was more likely to illicit a response. It did. Noct batted his hand away, whining.

"Noct? Come now, you need to take your medicine."

Ignis finally got a verbal response, if a groggy one. To his absolute delight, he could understand him this time. "Leave me alone. You're not my real dad."

Regis snorted. He sat down beside Ignis. "Be nice, Noct."

His 'real' dad's voice roused him further. Noct's eyes fluttered. One blue eye gazed up at them, half-lidded.

"Why are you both here?" Noctis rolled onto his back, blinking lethargically. He couldn't seem to keep his eyes open for longer than a few seconds. He winced, reaching up to rub the bandages on his neck. "My throat hurts."

"You're wounded, Noct, remember?" Ignis tugged Noctis up by the armpits. The young prince winced but otherwise complied, pushing down on the mattress until he was sitting up against the headboard.

Regis scooted forward. "Allow me."

Ignis' heart clenched. There was something desperate in Regis' voice. He wanted to do this, to provide his son with this small measure of comfort while he was still here. How in the world could Ignis ever say no to that? He nodded, swallowing thickly as he handed Regis the meds and stood aside.

Noct took the pills from Regis, popping them into his mouth. He reached for the glass, but failed to keep it steady without his father's guiding hand.

The king smiled more softly than Ignis had ever seen, bringing the glass to Noctis' lips.

Ignis doubted the prince was fully aware of what was happening. His eyes were almost entirely closed now, though he grabbed desperately for Regis' hand, who relinquished it without a second thought. "Dad?"

"I'm here."

Noctis slid down the headboard, settling back into the mattress. He kept a death grip on his father's hand; almost seemed to curl his arm around it, for fear that he'd lose his grip.

"Iggy?" Noctis lifted his other arm, reaching for him blindly.

He almost tripped over his feet in his haste to climb back onto the bed. "I'm here." Ignis took Noct's other hand in both of his, blinking back tears.

I'll always be here.

The prince was losing consciousness, but fighting it tooth-and-nail. Ignis noticed Noct's grip tighten on Regis' hand; felt the telltale sting of fingernails digging into his own palm.

Noct's lip quivered. His eyes fluttered open to rest on Regis. They were filled with tears, but the clarity in them was almost frightening. "You won't be here. Not for much longer."

Ignis' breath hitched. He met Regis' stunned, wounded expression across the bed.

Noct's voice quavered, little more than a wisp of sound. So fragile and weak, a strong wind might blow it away. "Please don't leave me..."

It was only then that Ignis allowed his tears to fall freely. He couldn't even find the strength to be ashamed of them as they trickled down his face.

Regis brought Noct's hand to his lips, kissed it before resting it against his forehead with a shuddering breath. His voice was steady when he spoke, soft as a lullaby.

"Sleep, my love."

Noctis didn't have to be told twice.

They stayed like that for a long time, neither daring to move. When Regis finally lifted his head, Ignis was shocked to find tears there. They mirrored his own, gathered at the corners of the king's eyes—his face raw with grief.

Ignis wouldn't feign ignorance. He understood why.

People talked, of course. It was hard not to. Their king was dying, and no one had any choice but to watch him waste away before their eyes. They still had years yet, before Regis' body succumbed to the cruel drain of the crystal's magic, but it was inevitable.

Everyone knew this. Ignis knew it. And now, it was painfully obvious Noct did too.

This was the first time Ignis had ever seen Regis give any thought to his own mortality. The king was a man like any other – and he only seemed to mourn his lost vitality for Noctis' sake. "A time will come when I'll have no choice. For you, it doesn't have to be so. Stand by him, Ignis. Don't leave him. Please."

And as Ignis gazed back at Regis – at the father of a friend he loved so much—suddenly, miraculously, he didn't see a king at all.

"You have my word."

Iggy's voice was a fun thing to get the hang of. He's a very complex character. It's a delicate balance, I think. I hope you've all enjoyed my interpretation :)

Also, Regis is dying. You know...just in case you forgot for a second.

Everything is sad and I hate myself.

Also, my beta is better than yours: Bebedora edits all my stuff, and I thank her very much for it, as always :D