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Ignis wakes, conscious of having slept later than he planned, and of Gladio moving about in the kitchen. It isn’t unusual for Gladio to switch off his alarm if he wakes before Ignis – and with his insomnia, still a persistent worry even a year after the Dawn, this happens frequently – but he is scrupulous about waking Ignis in time for his morning routine.
So, blearily confused but not alarmed, Ignis makes his way to the kitchen. Here he finds more puzzles in need of solving; the smell of eggs (usual for mornings) and baking bread (highly irregular) and … bacon? Last he heard, the price of bacon was….
Gladio must have heard him moving about, because his cup of coffee is waiting in its usual spot. Ignis scoops it up and sips, brain working quietly (and a bit sluggishly). Gladio comes up beside him, a hand on his hip in warning, and taps Ignis’ arm with the edge of a plate.
It’s the plate, the smell of the fresh croissant and the weight of the orange, that makes the penny drop. He still remembers the first year – and Gladio’s badly-hidden disappointment and shame – that no fruit was available for Ignis’ birthday. That he was unable to provide for his lover in such a basic way. The memory stings sweetly, now, with several years between it and the current day. Ignis can feel the corners of his mouth turning up helplessly, wonderingly.
He can also feel Gladio smirking in turn as he bends to drop a kiss on Ignis’ shoulder. “Mornin’, Iggy,” he says, voice still a bit rough with sleep and disuse. He nudges his temple against Ignis’ cheek. “Happy birthday. Have a seat, rest’ll be up in a sec.”
“Mm.” Ignis accepts the plate, and wonders how much ribbing he’ll get for forgetting his own birthday. “Thank you, darling.”
~
Ignis passes by a row of royal counselors exiting the audience hall. Noct is still on the throne after his morning briefing, he surmises, listening as Talcott finishes outlining his schedule. He waits on the second landing, hands clasped, and nods and smiles when Talcott rushes past with a harried, “Good morning, sir!”
Ignis waits, listening, as Noctis follows his secretary down the steps more sedately. He has been advised by Noctis’ tailor that the King's habit of slouching into his pockets is ruining his suits, and so he smiles to himself at the sound of Noctis earning himself another lecture.
“Morning, Iggy,” the King says, reaching his side at last. Ignis can hear the smile in his voice, and Noctis nudges him with an elbow as they start down the stairs. “Heard someone forgot his own birthday this morning,” he continues. “That’s a sign of old age, you know.”
“I remembered in time,” Ignis protests. Futilely; he can hear Noct snickering. “In any event, you may consider yourself duly warned for your own thirty-third birthday next year.”
“Two years,” Noctis corrects hastily.
“A year and a few months,” Ignis returns. “Rather close to a year, my King.”
Noctis … grouses. There’s really no other word for his grumble of discontent. Ignis chuckles, pleased to have scored a point in their little verbal spar.
“Anyways,” Noctis says. At the foot of the stairs, Noctis stops him with a heavy hand on his shoulder, surprising him a little. “Happy birthday, Ignis. I wouldn’t be here without you. Never forget that, you hear?” He jostles Ignis a bit, underscoring his point, but releases him and moves on before he can demure.
Ignis swallows past his tight throat, falling into step beside his King, and they go on together in silence.
~
Ignis stands safely aside in the entrance hall, mindful of his Crownsguard nearby, and listens to the bustle as he waits. When the chatter raises in volume, excited tourists and eager reporters, he knows the Oracle has arrived at last. Luna’s own bodyguards waft her through the crowd, and he can hear her exchanging greetings as her picture is taken. Soon enough, the center of the chaos reaches him.
“Here he is,” Iris, escorting Luna on her travels, spots him first, sounds a bit harassed. “My lady, please head on up with Ignis. I’ll manage things down here. Delilah–” She calls over her second-in-command, already issuing instructions and bustling away.
Ignis extends his arm and Luna accepts it gracefully. “How busy is he today?” she asks, without preamble.
“He has some time in a few minutes,” Ignis promises. Noctis doesn’t know why his current meeting is being cut short, but that’s half the fun, really. “This way, my lady.”
Her dogs fall into step by their sides, like another pair of guards. Ignis wants to ask about her meeting with the Trade Commission, but she sways as the elevator starts and he knows she’s weary. Instead, they chit-chat as he leads her to Noctis’ main office, not far from the audience hall.
Talcott laughs when he sees them and says, “Very sly, sir.” Ignis half-bows in his direction, depositing Luna in the outer office to await the King’s pleasure.
He’s almost to the exit when she gasps. “Oh, Ignis!”
He turns, a bit alarmed. “Yes?”
“I almost forgot!” Her heels click as she darts forward, catching his arm to deliver a polite peck to his cheek. “Happy birthday, dear Ignis. May you receive all the joy and rest you have certainly earned.”
Very formal, but then Luna often is, turning a bit shy in moments of strong emotion. Pryna and Umbra yip and wag their tails, as if echoing their mistress’ well wishes, and Ignis chuckles. “Thank you, Lady Luna,” he says, squeezing her thin arm gently. He extends a hand for the pups, who accept his affection with happy pants.
In the background, he can hear Talcott ushering the Minister of Roads and Highway Redevelopment on his way. Luna half-turns towards the door leading to Noct, as if drawn by a magnet, and he gives her a pat as he releases her to fly to their king’s side. “We’ll talk more later,” he promises.
“We will,” she agrees gratefully, a prim and proper princess to the last. “Thank you, Ignis.”
Ignis bows and sees himself out. In the hallway, he pauses to listen to Noct and Luna’s surprise reunion, and the happy barking of the dogs, and smiles to himself. A job well done, he decides.
~
The hour is growing late, and Ignis is barely warding off a headache as he listens to a tinny recording of a municipal council meeting. Not his usual area, but if his suspicions are correct…. A knock on his office door startles him, and his secretary sticks her head in. “Sir? Lady Amicitia for you.”
Ignis types a few notes on his computer before he loses his train of thought. “Let her in,” he orders absently.
A moment later, he hears Iris’s familiar footfalls. Judging by her gait, he suspects she’s carrying something, a suspicion confirmed when she sets it (heavy, wooden, and boxlike, judging by the sound) on his desk. She waits politely for him to finish typing.
“My apologies,” Ignis says, trying to shake off his thoughts and focus on his sister-in-law.
“No worries, Igster,” Iris says, coming around to his side of the desk and resting her hand on the back of his chair. “Everything all right?”
“It’s … well enough,” he says. He wants to hear her thoughts on the situation, but perhaps this isn’t the time. Not when his own thoughts are so disorganized. “What brings you by?”
“Oh, just some reports from our trip, a letter from Cor and Weskie in Altissia, and….” She darts forward to plant a noisy kiss on his cheek. “A present for the birthday boy!”
Ignis splutters, leaning away and trying to salvage his dignity. “Iris,” he protests.
“Yeah, yeah, I know you hate presents, but I think you’ll like this one. Besides, if you don’t, you can donate it to a museum.”
This gives him pause. “A museum?”
“Yeah! You remember that Luna wanted us to swing by and check out that Oracle tomb in the Altissia islands, right?”
Ignis, blinking, allows Iris to guide his hand to his ‘gift’ (actually some mischief from Iris, he’s increasingly certain). The wood is highly polished and inlaid with some complicated pattern, and about … the size of a pair of daggers, actually. Lips pursed, he waits for her to place the hilt in his hand. He directs a bit of magic through the blade, growing astonished as he learns the shape of it and the delicate carvings. In fact, that one is—
He sets the weapon down reverently.
“Iris,” he says carefully – he can hear her grinning – “this is one of the seven swords of the Oracles.” Not literally swords, of course, as the Trident is one of them, but nonetheless….
“We thought so too!” she chirps. She plops down on the edge of his desk. “I’m pretty sure the specters we fought were old Knights of the Oracle. They put up a hell of a fight, but then bowed out when they saw Luna’s Trident. And it was definitely a member of the Tenebrae royal family buried in there, the sylleblossoms were still blooming.”
The more he listens, the more aghast Ignis becomes. “Iris, Luna should have these daggers.”
“She doesn’t want ‘em.” Iris is upbeat as ever, but there is a grim note to her voice. “She’s the one who found them and unlocked the box, but then she closed it up and gave them to me. Told me to put them to use guarding Noct and the people of Insomnia.” Ignis feels the air move as she shrugs. “I told her I’m no good with daggers, but she wouldn’t take them back. Said to throw them away if I didn’t want them and walked out.”
Ignis bows his head, picturing this.
“So,” Iris pushes on, determinedly cheerful, “I thought you should have them. You can use them like she asked, and you can keep them safe. And someday … if she changes her mind….”
“Yes,” Ignis murmurs. “Hm.”
Iris nudges him. “So you like ‘em?”
Ignis leans back in his chair, smiling in his sister-in-law’s direction. “Yes,” he admits. He lifts the nearest dagger again – they seem to sing in the air, shining with a light that his damaged eyes can’t see but feel – and marvels at the love and integrity some past Oracle left embedded in the blade.
“Yes,” he says again, setting it down. “I do like them." He turns wry. "Congratulations, you’ve finally found a birthday present that I like. Don't tell your brother.”
~
Ignis has never been one for social events or parties, particularly not when he is the central focus. His friends know this, of course, which is why they frame his birthday party as ‘just getting together for drinks’. While they do have a cake (his favorite Fluffy Chiffon Cake, excellently prepared by someone clearly angling for a position as Royal Chef), they don’t sing (Gladio stops Iris before she can start, and Ignis can hear them wrestling) and they don’t mention presents (except for Iris bringing up about the daggers to annoy her brother), so he’s happy enough to go along with it.
Early February is still quite cold in Insomnia, so they gather in the King’s quarters, where they can watch the sunset over the slumbering trees of the Royal Garden but remain warm. And there are actual drinks, as promised, wine far more excellent than anything Noctis would have chosen and experimental cocktails mixed by Iris. Ignis makes a point of thanking Luna for her choice of the wine, which makes her giggle and Noct and Iris complain.
It’s … nice. It has the feel of something that will end up becoming a tradition. They end up talking politics and work, but Ignis keeps his suspicions about the Trade Commission to himself for now. There’s plenty more to talk about – new buildings that have gone up, outlandish demands from the council, news from Lestallum, magazine articles about the King and his warriors of Light, and so on. Others from around the Citadel stop by to pass on birthday wishes and try the cake; Monica sounds a bit emotional when she recounts the story of meeting Ignis for the first time, while Talcott snickers over Noct calling him ‘old man’.
A few hours into the gathering, when Ignis can feel the light coming through the windows starting to change, he realizes something that he should have noticed earlier: Prompto is avoiding him.
It’s not unusual for their paths not to cross during the day. Prompto has the least regular schedule of them all. He often has command of Noct’s personal guard, as Gladio moves about the Citadel training and managing the Crownsguard, and on those days Ignis sees him frequently as he waits upon their king. But he also acts as Noct’s trusted Sword, carrying out missions from Leide to Niflheim, and can be gone for weeks at a time. So Ignis hadn’t really registered his absence.
Until now.
One of the most frustrating things about his blindness – the one thing he still hasn’t adapted or resigned himself to – is how transparent it makes him sometimes. Once, he’d been a master at reading others’ expressions and body language and policing his own. But without the ability to watch and monitor others, this skill has diminished. It’s hard to know to guard yourself when you don’t know you’re being watched – something that used to drive him nearly to breakdown in the early days of his injury.
Perhaps it’s a sign of progress, that it’s now merely annoying. Gladio, at his side on one of Noct’s expensive couches, drapes an arm over his shoulders. “Whatcha thinkin’ about?” he asks.
Ignis scowls a little, knowing his thoughts about Prompto must have shown on his face. “Nothing in particular,” he lies.
Gladio snorts, automatically rubbing Ignis’ shoulder as they sit together. “Yeah, sure.”
Ignis grimaces.
Gladio shifts, rolling his neck. “The kids are happy, now that Luna’s back,” he says, angling towards the issue at hand without stating it outright. And providing the pretense of changing the subject - a palpable sop to Ignis' pride.
Ignis sips his wine. “Are they?”
“Noct sure is.” He can hear Noct bickering playfully with Iris at the moment, actually, which actually is a sign of happiness from him. Unhappy Noctis goes cat-quiet before retreating to some nearby rooftop to brood. “Prom too.”
“Mm,” Ignis murmurs, drawn in despite himself. “He seems a bit quiet.”
Gladio sighs. “Yeah, for sure. Well, it’s one of those days, I guess. We all have ‘em.” His thumb traces absent circles on Ignis' shoulder.
Indeed. Ignis frowns in the direction of his wine.
He feels Gladio shift again, and then hears the click of his phone unlocking. “Gotta check on this real quick,” he says, acting as if he’s just received a text message. As if Ignis wouldn’t have heard it vibrate. “Be right back.”
He kisses Ignis on the temple – Ignis allows it, knowing that Gladio is only trying to help – and steps aside.
Ignis is only alone for a moment. He hears the shuffle of Prompto’s boots, dawdling in their approach. He can gauge a lot about his mood from how his feet drag and hesitate, not to mention the absence of his usual jitters. When Prompto still hesitates, he turns his face in his direction and waits.
Prompto eases onto the couch at his side. “Hey, Igster.”
“Hello, Prompto.” Ignis makes an effort to keep his voice light and welcoming, not wanting to drive his friend off with the specter of a confrontation. He isn’t angry, of course. He doesn’t want an apology from Prompto, but he suspects he’s going to get one anyway.
He can hear Prompto fidgeting with his wine glass. “Havin’ a good birthday so far?”
“Indeed I am,” Ignis says. “The birthday wishes have been very kind. Have you seen the daggers?”
Prompto snorts. “Yeah, I, uh, heard about ‘em, between Iris and Gladio putting each other in headlocks. They sound pretty badass, though.”
“They are.”
Prompto is shaking his head, half-laughing. “You and your daggers, Iggy. Quick and sharp, just like you.” He lapses into silence, knee jiggling, but picks back up again before Ignis can muster a response. “I didn’t say it earlier, so – happy birthday, Ignis.”
Ah, here it comes. “Thank you, Prompto.”
“I wasn’t avoiding you,” he blurts. No one can possibly punish Prompto more than he punishes himself. “Not really.”
“I know,” Ignis says, still keeping himself gentle. “I’m sure you’ve been busy.”
“Yeah.” He heard Prompto take a nervous gulp of his drink. “Not really, though. Just been following Noct around all day.”
Ignis frowns to himself. He’s been in-and-out of Noct’s office all day, which means he’s probably passed by Prompto half a dozen times at least. Usually he has a good sense for who’s in the room with him, one he’s worked hard to cultivate, but of course it’s no substitute for simply being able to look around.… His guilt is undercut with angry irritation at Prompto for using his disability to avoid him. Not to mention making him look like a fool.
But the irritation doesn’t last, rapidly superseded by worry. Prompto is one of the most conscientious men he knows, and it’s not like him to behave this way. What’s really going on?
“I was thinking, you know,” Prompto starts. But then he grinds to a halt and doesn’t finish.
“Thinking is always a mistake,” Ignis agrees lightly. Prompto snorts again, in agreement this time.
Across the room, Ignis hears Gladio return to the gathering and join the others. Keeping them distracted, no doubt, so that Prompto and Ignis can have the conversation he arranged for them. Ignis is too much the tactician to muster much annoyance at being so blatantly manipulated, but he makes a note to tweak Gladio about it later. Just so he doesn’t get cocky.
He and Prompto sit in silence. The click of claws on marble draws his attention. Was it Gladio or Luna who sent one of the dogs over? Judging by the texture of the fur, the dog in question is Umbra; it might even have been Noct.
Umbra snuffles happily at their petting hands before settling against Prompto’s leg. Ignis can hear the rasp of his hand over the dog’s side and holds his peace, waiting.
Sure enough, Prompto eventually picks up the thread of their conversation again. “Haven’t been doing too well, lately,” he admits.
Ignis is starting to realize just how true that is. More guilt to add to the pile; first that they let Prompto accompany them on their dangerous trip in the first place, then that he leaned on him so much after he lost his vision, and then that they didn’t go back for him in Niflheim, and then that he sent him into so many bases full of dead clones in pursuit of research on the Scourge. And now this….
“You know there is no shame in that,” Ignis says finally. “I apologize that I … have not been more observant.”
Prompto brushes it off, the way he does all apologies, never really considering them warranted. “Nah, you’re good. I just … wanted to say. Things have been … uh, a lot. And then it was your birthday and I was thinking….” His tone shifts a bit. “You know how much we owe you, right?”
Ignis doesn’t know what to say to that.
“I mean, us as in all of us, all of Insomnia and the world really, but also … us, us. Me and Noct and Luna.”
Ignis still doesn’t know how to respond. But the easy way Prompto says ‘me and Noct and Luna’ makes him smile a little. Whatever’s happening between the three of them isn’t his business, but he does hope it will make them happy.
“And I, uh.” Prompto half-laughs. “I wish I could say I knew it would work out all along. But I didn’t.” He sniffles a little, and Ignis’ heart lurches. He is singularly ill-equipped to deal with tears, always has been. “I really, really didn’t. I never really thought we’d be able to save him, let alone … you know, everyone. You probably knew that, of course. I tried to hide it, but….” He laughs a little.
“I never expected….” Ignis pauses, searching for the words to express himself without making Prompto feel worse. “I never expected any of you to follow me … unquestioningly.” He thinks back to those years, already growing a bit dim and dusty in his recollection. “I had my doubts, too.”
“And I know I made things harder,” Prompto says, reasonable and understanding - and self-deprecating - as ever.
“No,” Ignis says, more sharply than he’d intended. “You did not.” Prompto is quiet, and Ignis wonders if this is something like the heart of it. He continues more gently. “You’ve never made things harder, Prompto. Quite the opposite.”
He hears Prompto swallow hard. He reaches out, and Umbra nuzzles his hand, lets Ignis pet his soft ears.
“What we did,” Prompto says quietly, roughly, “was impossible, Iggy. Insane. We defied the gods. And you made it happen, and I’ll never forget that.” He leans in closer, continuing before Ignis can muster some rebuttal. “You did. Me and Gladio and Luna and Iris and Aranea and Sol and.…” He stops himself. “All of us went along with it, we followed you, we helped, but you were the one who believed. You made it come true.” Prompto sighs. “And that’s what I wanted to say. That I – I’m sorry I didn’t help more. A-and thank you. And, you know,” and Ignis hears him smile, and it makes his aching heart a little lighter, “happy birthday, Iggy.”
Ignis accepts Prompto’s hug and returns it, a little surprised as always by the contact. Sometimes, in his lightless world, people can feel like distant ideas, unreal and too far away. Hard to envision. But hugging Prompto brings the reality of him into sharp focus: lean muscle and hard bone, the tickle of his hair, the smell of cologne and his dry-cleaned uniform. Ignis lets the hug stretch for a long moment before they break away on some mutual signal.
“Thank you, Prompto,” is all Ignis can say in return.
He swears he can feel the answering flash of his smile, like sunlight after a long, long night. The others join them at last, doing their best to act casual, lead by single-minded Pryna in search of her own scritches. When Gladio drops back into his spot at Ignis’ side, he lets himself lean into his enclosing arm.
All is well, Ignis decides, and tips his chin back and soaks it in.