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codeprint · 6 years ago

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@rexcrystallis okay this has been in my drafts for literal months apparently

i dont remember writing it but pain is inside

Prince Prompto sui Besithia Izunia should not have sat on the throne.

He was not the direct heir, people argued. That title belonged to his older brother, Loqi Tummelt - but that marriage had been annulled when it saw it’s end. The boy, his claim, all had been discarded to the winds in favor of his safety.

Prompto was a bastard. Born of a torrid affair between his noble father and a lowly scientist. Born sick, and small and neatly ignored the second Verstael deemed the boy unfit. Were it not for the Chancellor, well -- the child may well have died down there in a forgotten crib.

But when Iedolas passed he left no heirs. Verstael had abdicated his claim years ago and had no intention of reclaiming it - he had only one son with a standing claim.

There was no civil war, though those who opposed the changes made to the Empire threatened to make one. They would get the distant relations in other countries to stake their claims, they would take the Tummelt boy and rail against his disinheritance, they would rend Niflheim in twain in order to have their way.

But then Chancellor Izunia had presented his choice for the future. A bright eyed boy of four, who clung to his pantleg and shivered in the chill of the Throne Room. The Chancellor spoke of the boy as if he were his own, introducing him with a soft smile. And the people feared him, the stories that were told behind closed doors of a man who commanded monsters, so they did not argue.

The people easily grew to love him. He was a sweet boy, a kind boy. The world needed more of those.

The warmongers grew to hate him. He was a sweet boy, a kind boy. The world had no more need of bleeding hearts.

They hated him when he was old enough to interview and be asked his opinion. They hated him when he shifted focus from warfare to welfare, focusing on the citizens the Empire had rather than the ones it did not. Prompto’s poor health meant he never enlisted in the service, as his father and uncle had before him. Instead of a sword he was given history books, science as a shield. They hated him because he was not a warrior, he was a scholar, and he ran his country with this in mind.

They loved him no better when a true peace treaty with Lucis was brokered at age sixteen. Ardyn had stepped aside and allowed his son to take the charge, for he had no love for the country and would rather see it blighted from the map. The young prince had locked eyes with the Prince of Lucis and scrapped and fought with him for a fair agreement, one that would not leave either side feeling like they’d won or lost too much. When the tabloids caught the two of them spending time outside the meetings, talking, laughing, bonding.

An attack comes a few days before he’s to leave for the first time. Prompto flattens to the ground with practiced ease, sweating bullets and shaking. Aranea’s already charging off, and he shudders.

( they miss the slow burn of a romance forming. their connection had been instantaneous and passionate, but their will to act on it had taken far longer. )

Nor when he began spending summers abroad with Lucis’ Prince. When the papers ran rumors that the young men were too close, and perhaps they should fear a wedded alliance. When Lucis’ king took a bride, they held their breaths and waited for their leader to make the mistake as being lesser. To marry him, to become subservient to the Lucians he seemed to love so well -- yet they never married.

( not in the public eye, at last. the emperor wears a ring on a chain under his clothes. a symbolic wedding, not a legally binding one. they love each other too well to allow that love to destroy all they’ve worked for )

Still, he turned down potential brides that came courting. Rumors flew that he was in love with his Shield, a woman ten years his senior and twice as unruly, but that proved a moot point when she married another, producing her heir well before his. They assumed then that perhaps this would be like it was with Iedolas, that their Emperor would take no bride and have no sons. Up until he turned up with a son he named his heir, a boy with dark blue eyes and unruly blonde hair. A boy every bit the bastard his father was.

They tired of it. They no longer waited silently.

They sewed sedition in the minds of the weak. Spoke of greater times to the disenfranchised soldiers and the young, who knew not how bad things once were and could instead take their word that the problems with the nation were problems that their leader caused, not remnants of things he had fixed. They watched, and they waited.

And they waited.

Ardyn died. Prompto took the title formally took the title.

The young Prince became unruly. Difficult to manage at times. The people within the palace knew it came from dealing with a father who was sick and another who lived half a world away, but the citizens only saw a sullen child acting out.

Then the people drew comparisons between him and the children of the Lucian King, comparing his baby pictures with that of the press photos of Prince Orion and Anne Marie. They do not know the truth - that the boy is yet another product of his grandfather’s science, that he is how the Emperor cured the plague - but they know enough of it to make their decision.

Emperor Prompto sui Besithia Izunia should not have sat on the throne, and in their eyes he will die for sullying it. And Prince Aurum Liber Besithia Izunia will die before he has the chance to ruin their legacy further.

Prince Aurum returns from his school in Lucis in the summer months. Prompto laughs as his son grumbles about how he doesn’t need to go back, fourteen and thinking himself a man. That he knows enough not to go back. That he doesn’t need his father doting over him - either of them - but there’s a gentleness to him now that wasn’t there when he’d last set off. He doesn’t throw his bag into Prompto’s arms, he carries it himself. Only when he’s unpacked does he seek out his father for a hug, holding him tight. Prompto grins and ruffles his fingers through his hair, pressing a kiss to the top of his forehead. Laughing when the boy scrunches up his face and tries to pull back.

“Oh no you don’t,” he teases, locking his arms around his son with a laugh. “You owe me six months worth of hugs, buddy! And I intend to cash in!”

He tolerates it with only mild protesting.

No doubt this was a product of the latest hospitalization.

A grim realization that his father, young though he may be, was a very sick man.That he wouldn’t be around forever - and there was a very real chance that it could happen at any time. This time, he’d fallen and simply could not get back up. Aranea had found him on the floor of his study, confused and half-waking, unable to so much as lift himself onto his elbows. Noctis had abandoned whatever he was set to do to come to his side, afraid this may be the last time - but he’d pulled through, brushing it aside as though it were nothing, continuing to march stubbornly ahead.

Yet Aurum knew. His eyes are on the stylish cane that his father now carries as he pulls back, reaching out to hold his hand.

He calls Noct a few hours later. Lets him know Aurum got home safe and all is well. There’s an unspoken apology that Noctis couldn’t go with him -- an emergency had cropped up in the outskirts of Leides, something about the old mines and some old bases being filled with daemons.

It’s no matter. They plan to reconvene later in the month. This is old hat, they’ve long since grown used to having their plans ruined by some emergency or another, such is the life of a leader. Distance no longer means anything to them, they’ve been doing this for decades now and knows that home comes before all else.

---

The palace is under siege when he wakes.

Some of the new housing staff has killed the more loyal retainers. Rigorous background checks cannot read the minds and hearts of those easily swayed, only see where it may happen. Aranea bursts into his room, covered in blood and burnt from getting there, and he knows from the expression on her face that this is more than a mere assassination attempt.

He yells at her for coming to him. Even if her daughter is to be his son’s shield, she should have gone to him.

He’s out of bed in seconds. Foregoes changing, instead charges through the fray to get to his son. His staff are experienced, they know what they’re doing -- but the doors to the Keep are being battered by battering rams, there is an army waiting outside their doors and his own simply won’t mobilize fast enough.

They haven’t reached the boy’s quarters yet. Aurum is wide-eyed and frightened, Arache looks no better off. Both have enjoyed a time of peace and don’t know what it means to fear war. He gathers the children into his arms briefly, tells them it will all be okay and then they’re hurrying through one of the many secret exits.

The way is blocked. Men bigger and stronger than Prompto is, even in his prime. They laugh as they step forward, intending to shove backs to the walls and slay the whole royal family in one fell swoop.

They’d talked about this nightmare scenario, he and Aranea. On late nights when the unrest threatened to bubble over, when there seemed to be no end in sight to the protests or the vicious whispers of rumor.

They’d talked about what to do.

There’s a sound like shattering glass as he calls forth the magic of the Empire’s cracked and broken crystal. The men reel back, narrowly missing a round of fire that leaps where they stood. Prompto’s eyes glow a dull red, his breathing quickening with the strain of the magic.

She grabs the boy and her girl and leaps over their heads. In an instant a shield blocks off the path, leaving Prompto trapped on the other side with the enemy. Aurum stops short and tries to turn back, the color draining from his face.

He’s a smart boy. Smart enough to see a suicidal distraction for what it truly is.

“Aurum, go,” Prompto shouts, digging his heels into the ground.

“Dad-!”

“I said go!” He thunders, louder than he’s ever yelled at his son in his life. “I’ll be okay! Your old man has a few tricks left up his sleeves yet!”

He doesn’t need to see him to see the disbelief in his eyes. The terrible knowing of what is to come. But Aranea hauls him forward (you’re supposed to be his shield! he shouts, desperation wining out over that carefully crafted stoicism) and he has no say. The Emperor would only slow them down -- he’s not yet an old man, but he’s a sick man. And he knows all too well the limitations of his body.

And if his life is cost of letting his son live, it’s a price gladly paid.

Come dawn, the castle has been left in ruins.

The Emperor lays on the floor of his home, unable to lift himself up - unable to move at all. There’s a sword through his side, rubble across his chest - and he can do nothing but listen to the sound of it burn around him.

So this is how it ends.

To his left, his phone is ringing. Frantically. Has been for nearly an hour now. The cracked phone sits just outside of his reach - he’s tried to reach for it, to answer, but he’s tired. The air is thick with smoke and he knows it doesn’t matter who comes now, it’s far too late. The magic burned him from the inside out, eating away at the unnatural parts of him and leaving the human parts too weak and broken to survive on their own.

Too late.

His eyes slowly drift shut.

They meet Noctis in Tenebrae. The king warps there through a dagger left in King Ravus’ care and his eldest son throws his arms around him, weeping into his chest.

#crowns.#drabble.

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codeprint · 6 years ago

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PROMPTO’S HEALTH. emperor verse.

physical activity and training actually assists with his affliction, as the stronger his body is the harder it can fight against the virus. in the crownsverse, prompto is not a fighter and is relegated to the court and war tables, he can shoot and aim like no one’s business but he has limited combat experience. meaning he’s physically weaker than he is in canon. his survival is reliant on scientific advances and sheer force of will to spite the gods.

side effects manifest in a few different ways.

- prompto doesn’t really catch colds. they just weaken his system and the scourge ramps up.

- weak lungs, corroded by miasma. prompto can’t effectively fight off most viruses and his lungs get hit the hardest. prompto can run forever when he’s not sick, but during bad flareups he can’t exert himself without becoming light headed or passing out.

- cysts and ulcers in his intestines and stomach.

- bruising easily, issues clotting. internal bleeding can be an issue.

- difficulty regulating temperature.

- shortened lifespan. at minimum he’ll make it to his early thirties. at latest, fifty.

- sterility.

- coughing up smogs of miasma and congealed plague. it’s pretty gross.

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codeprint · 6 years ago

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hi’m falling asleep, but.

verstael may grow to care for his son in any au where he didn’t immediately start fucking around with miasma and daemons. he was never a good person, but he wasn’t a monster until hue completely lost sight of himself in favor of his lust for power.

even if he loves prompto, he still holds his ideals higher than he holds his son. prompto is a pawn to him.

verstael makes a concerted effort to stabilize prompto and the rest of the project for his own selfish means. he’s already pretty far gone by the time it makes it to creating prompto as he’d been experimenting on adults and numbing himself to the horrors of that for some time. prom’s biological connection to him doesn’t make him any less a failure, and in truth verstael would’ve considered it a mercy to put the child down than to let him live and suffer.

but ardyn got attached. so ardyn got to keep him.

he doesn’t care for prompto, he does care for ardyn. keeping prompto alive was a favor to him, as was keeping him stable and developing methods to prolong his life.

hell, even in the emperor au he probably advised ardyn to “put him down” when prompto never developed the strength to actually fight the illness, and advocated for letting him go whenever he took a turn for the worse. there were definite offers of making a more stable one. but ardyn cared, so ardyn got his way.

i don’t think verstael really gives a shit about anything but his research and ardyn. and even ardyn falls to the wayside when he finally loses what little of himself he had left.

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codeprint · 6 years ago

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tbh, ardyn is the caring parent.

verstael is the one that slowly chips away at prompto’s sense of self and self-worth and trades him away the second it benefits him

#ooc.#i genuinely believe verstael was a good dude once upon a time #but he is very much not fucking that by the time the magitek army is getting off the ground #like he jumps from 'i'm going to save my country and liberate us from gods' to 'LET THE WORLD BURN I WANT TO BE IMMORTAL'

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codeprint · 6 years ago

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inbox call!

#ooc.

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codeprint · 6 years ago

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❝ It’s burned on your skin… A barcode never lies . ❞

independent canon divergent prompto argentum. spoilers inside.

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codeprint · 6 years ago

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* 𝙼𝙾𝙳𝙴𝚁𝙽 𝙿𝙾𝙿 𝚂𝙾𝙽𝙶𝚂 𝚁𝙿 𝙼𝙴𝙼𝙴.

taken from all pop songs (mostly 2018 - 2019) from various artists. feel free to change any pronouns or sentence structure according to your muse’s preferences.

❝ lately i’ve been thinking, i want you to be happier. ❞

❝ only for a minute, i want to change my mind. ❞

❝ i wanna raise your spirits. ❞

❝ i want to see you smile, but know that means i’ll have to leave. ❞

❝ the image of you with someone is eating me up inside. ❞

❝ we’ve run our course. we pretended we’re okay. ❞

❝ this just don’t feel right to me. ❞

❝ when the morning comes, we will see what we’ve become. ❞

❝ it’s been seven minutes now since i’ve lost my way. ❞

❝ it doesn’t seem that long but my whole world’s changed. ❞

❝ it’s been seven minutes since i’ve lost the girl of my dreams. ❞

❝ now i sink a little deeper, think a little clearer. ❞

❝ is it too late to turn around? i’m already halfway out of town. ❞

❝ i know how i let you down. ❞

❝ i finally figure it out: i forgot to love you. ❞

❝ radio’s playing song for me and you. ❞

❝ how the hell did i end up losing you? ❞

❝ if i came back now, would you still be there? ❞

❝ if i come around, would you even care? ❞

❝ i’m so tired of love songs. ❞

❝ just wanna go home. ❞

❝ i’m trying my best to meet somebody. ❞

❝ everybody’s falling in love to our song. ❞

❝ i’m killing my lonely nights with strangers. ❞

❝ when they leave, i go back to our song. ❞

❝ it hurts like heaven. ❞

❝ can’t unmiss you, and i need you now. ❞

❝ hush my dear, it’s been a difficult year. ❞

❝ terrors don’t prey on innocent victims. ❞

❝ trust me, darling. ❞

❝ it’s been a loveless year. ❞

❝ i’m a man of three fears: integrity, faith, and crocodile tears. ❞

❝ look me in the eyes, tell me what you see. ❞

❝ i wish i could make your heart believe. ❞

❝ i’m a bad liar. ❞

❝ now you know; you’re free to go. ❞

❝ did all my dreams never mean one thing? ❞

❝ i take my gun to the enemy’s side. ❞

❝ i cannot hold my tongue, you gave me much to say. ❞

❝ lying on the beach, in the middle of december. ❞

❝ i’m thinking you’re too cool to even remember my face, my hair, my eyes, my lips and my name. ❞

❝ your confidence is what i want. ❞

❝ i’m loud ‘cause maybe you’re the one. ❞

❝ i know i talk too much. ❞

❝ i’m sweating bullets; nervous that you’d push away. ❞

❝ so give me your two lips, and maybe i’ll shut up. ❞

❝ you’re dressing all black in the middle of summer. ❞

❝ you’re smoother than you think. ❞

❝ your arms wrapped in leather - makes me want you forever. ❞

❝ i cannot break this habit: pure anxiety. ❞

❝ maybe i’ll just slow it down. ❞

❝ i ain’t no stupid barbie doll. ❞

❝ well, there you go again: telling me where i belong. ❞

❝ you think i’m empty? i’m not. ❞

❝ i’m a babe, i’m a boss, and i’m making these money. ❞

❝ you won’t be so confident when i’m crushing you from the top. ❞

❝ i can flip like a switch, and i cut like a blade. ❞

❝ you call me, all friendly. telling me how much you miss me. ❞

❝ go find somebody who would listen. ❞

❝ i cut you off. i don’t need your love. ❞

❝ you can try all you want but your time is up. ❞

❝ save it, get gone, shut up. ❞

❝ if you think i care about you now… well, i don’t give a fuck. ❞

❝ this world can hurt you. it cuts you deep and leave a scar. ❞

❝ things fall apart, but nothing breaks like a heart. ❞

❝ we got all night to fall in love, and just like that we fall apart. ❞

❝ nothing’s going to save us now. ❞

❝ yeah, i just wanna drink tequila with my friends. ❞

❝ the more i read it, the more i take offence. ❞

❝ i post pictures of myself because i’m lonely. ❞

❝ i just want this shit to end. ❞

❝ i’m talking to myself - shit. now they think i’m crazy. ❞

❝ found you when your heart was broken. ❞

❝ i was afraid to leave you on your own. ❞

❝ i said i’ll catch you if you fall. ❞

❝ tell me how’s it feel sitting up there? feeling so high but you’re too far away to hold me. ❞

❝ if they laugh, then fuck them all. ❞

❝ does it ever get lonely? ❞

❝ i’m eleven minutes away, and i’ve missed you all day. ❞

❝ why aren’t you here? ❞

❝ yeah, i’ve seen you in my head every fuckin’ day since i left. ❞

❝ all i want is your head on my chest. ❞

❝ tell me what you need, i can make you more than what you are. ❞

❝ call me stupid, call me sad - you’re the best i’ve ever had. ❞

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codeprint · 6 years ago

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giant rambling drablle for the crowns verse with @rexcrystallis while i try to get my mojo back

There are three lies Prompto Aldercapt Izunia has told himself across the years. Lies for his own good and for the good of his people.

The first is that he is Iedolas Aldercapt’s biological son. Born and bred for the crown when the Emperor’s health was failing, as a last ditch effort to secure the throne. Verstael Besithia, bastard half-brother to the Emperor as he was, had no qualms about foraging the birth certificate and backing up the story. Saying that he adopted the child to protect the boy, that the wedding was done in secret and his claim to the throne was true and genuine - though they didn’t believe the latter. The people would not accept the bastard of a bastard to rule them, but with no other option to turn to, they would accept a bastard of their divine emperor to continue the bloodline.

This lie is most commonly accepted as false. But without papers to prove it, without definitive proof that the child is not Iedolas’ - and with the Emperor’s own dying words being a claim to the boy as his own - they have no proof.

The second is that he is sick with a blood defect leading to a poor immune system and a heart disorder. That the reasons for his frequent hospitalizations is simply a byproduct of anemia and low blood pressure, passing the discoloration of his skin off as poor circulation and bruising from falls. The plague doesn’t hide itself in him as it does Ardyn, leaving him bedridden and coughing blood and miasma when it flares up. The people buy it, for what else can they think it would be? They’ve never seen someone suffering from the plague live so long, and the Prince lacks the madness that those afflicted with the scourge have. He may be ill, and he will surely be gone long before his time - but he is sunshine upon their dark land, and most love him for it.

Most. Not all. He’s sick and he is dying. Tabloids rush to speculate on how long he’ll live - will he see himself crowned at twenty-one? Will he drop dead in a ceremony, or slip away gently into that good night? Or will he fool all of them and survive well past their wildest dreams?

Photographs of the prince attached to oxygen and IVs circulate. They precede him when he visits Lucis, when watchful eyes track his movements and note the frailty of his build. Noctis Lucis Caelum escorts him personally to the hospital by chance, and through that chance they become friends.

His physicians recommend he summer in Lucis, to build his immune system in a warmer climate. This secret is kept well, for he has no outward signs of the starscourge - only shredded internal organs that heal themselves so long as he’s given time to rest. Noctis may question, but there is little to suggest that this is anything but a set of terrible genetic disorders from a child born too late in both his parents lives.

The third lie - the third lie is the most important of all.

Prompto tells himself that he is not in love with Noctis Lucis Caelum.

This is the most convincing lie, the most secretive one. One he doesn’t even allow himself to consider. Noctis is the first friend he’s had outside of immediate family and those who were paid to attend to him. The first person to both understand his struggles, and the first to not underestimate him for his health. He’s a worthy opponent in all games, in conversation and debate, and a trusted confidante unlike any he’s ever had.

Ardyn warns him to keep his wits about him. To not trust blindly, to not give himself completely to a smile and a kind word - and he does his very best to. They keep in touch, they arrange visits, they stay up all night on the phone - he becomes familiar with the soft sounds of Noctis’ snoring, and finds them lulling him to sleep even when his body aches so badly he wants to die. He goes to university in Lucis for a semester to study engineering and design and there’s scarcely a day they aren’t apart.

These secrets are an invisible wedge between them, but he isn’t fool enough to think Noctis doesn’t have secrets of their own. Being best friends does not mean that you’re entitled to all of the other. It means you’re privvy to whatever they wish to give.

He doesn’t know who starts it. Only that they’re both drunk and a little high on the floor of their dorm, a breath too close. Too comfortable. He is not in love with Noctis but Noctis’ touch feels grounding in a way nothing else does, and he is not in love with Noctis but he aches when they’re apart and calls him each morning to say good morning, and each night to say goodnight. He does not sleep until he hears the sleepy voice on the other end, complaining of how he never remembers the time difference.

Spring break starts tomorrow and they’ve talked of going to Altissa, or of visiting his cousins - but talking gets sidetracked by one of them leaning in too close and the other kissing. Prompto is inexperienced and bumbling, Noctis is smooth and practiced. It escalates quickly, one thing to another until they’re tangled in the sheets and sweating. Years of unspoken want culiminating in a drunken fuck on a too small cot. A scandal behind closed doors.

He is not in love with Noctis Lucis Caelum.

But their fingers are threaded together. Foreheads pressed together, panting as one. Prompto slides his arms around Noctis’ neck once their grip relents and drags him into a crushing kiss.

They don’t say I love you. They can’t. They’re monarchs, the last of their respective lines as it stands, this isn’t permitted. Ardyn may not want to arrange him a wife, but the morning after he and Noctis thumb through the packages of potential brides that have gone ignored. Prompto’s half in his lap, trying not to mock the sour-faced princess who billed herself as adoring of all people while they rifle through her social media and find disparaging comments about the both of them.

“You’d think they’d learn to use an alt,” he laughs, fingers threading through his friend’s hair while the Lucian kisses his neck. “Seriously. Can you imagine being caught dead posting duckfaces with #saynotonilfs to your official account?”

They take a selfie for their instagrams (Prompto takes it, Noctis poses as if he hasn’t a care in the world) and settle for Altissa. Days on the beach, nights spent applying aloe-vera to sunburned skin and kissing new freckles where they form. They fuck and kiss lazily, wake up with teasing and good natured ribbing, and continue on as if nothing had changed.

Because it hasn’t. Not really. He feels no differently, no more strongly - he puts it aside, allows himself to believe that this is normal. That this is college fun, the kind Aranea has been insisting he needs to have. They go back to Lucis at the end of the week.

They do not stop having sex.

It becomes an affair once Noctis becomes engaged. There’s a pressure to spend more time together even through the courtship, though now they’re no longer college students with all the time in the world. Niflheim loathes the lack of progress under this new Emperor, they see him as weak willed as he is weak bodied and they threaten him with death every other day. He turns up at the party twenty-five and exhausted, but within seconds of being in Noctis’ presence he’s rejuvenated. When they disappear from his bachelor party up to his rooms, no one so much as bats an eye. Straddling him, his suit half undone and his mind fogged with drink, he bends down to draw Noctis into a deep, passionate kiss.

“Marry me instead,” he says, half-joking against his lips but suddenly realizes that he means it. He’s drunk, he’s tired, and so is Noctis. “Noct, you should be marrying me instead.”

It’s impossible. A king and an emperor of wartorn lands, diametrically opposed - destiny demanding that they fight. Prompto is a heathen who doesn’t bend a knee to the Six and fights against their destiny merely by being alive, and Noctis is their chosen one meant to bring it all to order.

They can’t.

Noctis pushes him off. Prompto doesn’t resist. They sit in the silence of the room together, it changes from tense and angry to something softer. A quiet yearning.

“I love you,” Prompto says quietly. A confession as much to himself as it is to his friend.

Noctis doesn’t say it in turn, he tilts his head and strokes a hand down his pale cheek. Conveys it in the look in his eyes, and the tenderness of his gaze. A faint smile - you just now realized this?

They don’t talk. They simply stay like that through the night, thinking how much easier life would be if they could tell the other all they knew. All they wanted.

Noctis’ wed the next day.

That doesn’t stop them from allowing themselves small pleasures.

They still meet. They do not stop the affair. But adulthood relegates these meetings to a handful of times a year, never for long. There may be no war, but that does not stop the world from being cruel. They say the words more through gestures than aloud, one afraid to be overheard, the other afraid to admit it - interchangably, inarguably, always.

The second lie comes undone next.

Niflheim is starving and the Gods have forsaken it. They loathe Ardyn and loathe his progengy for attempting to foster peace where they want war and corruption. Prompto spends long hours in the laboratories he was born in, coughing into rags and working tirelessly to solve the problem. To find a means to bring spring back to his homeland, and to keep the people fed in the interim.

And to stop the plague.

It’s little surprise that he collapses. That Ardyn finds him unconscious on the floor when he’d missed a meeting, gagging on blood and miasma and unresponsive to the touch. The Emperor is not yet thirty, but time is running short. His own research cannot benefit someone who was born with the curse embedded into the fabric of his being, and all Verstael’s attempts at cloning were not to make one immune. Only to make them last long enough to be useful.

He’s crossed that peak.

Without a miracle, he will die.

A call is placed to Lucis. Ardyn - who for all his willingness to tolerate Noctis, never dared to speak to him or look upon his face - on the other end, not Prompto. He heads off Noctis’ complaint of the time with the news of what he found. How they found the Emperor. Conveying that Prompto has taken a turn for the worse, and he should come to see him off.

Or to use what the Gods gifted him to buy them all enough time to defy their cruel plans.

#drabble.#this was supposed to be something and instead became this

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