less god, less divine.

[illuminet]

[ The thing is— she'd wanted so badly to save him. Want. Like yearning, like desire could be so kind and pristine and hopeful in the wake of dereliction — already, it's begun. The longer nights, inky and starless, the instability of their world where it's cracked open at the seams, torn open with the violence of daemons and human restlessness. Already, the longing seizing up around her neck — the omen is seething in the air long before she sets foot in the city, and long after she's abandoned her party of three for air that didn't choke in close proximity.

She's had dreams like these all the way to Altissia, Pryna and Umbra encircling her ankles, Noctis's voice unsettled and strange, always dissipating from her mind. Her failures have been several, her defeats plenty. Notwithstanding the miracles, she's survived. Her life of palace courtesies hasn't entirely prepared her for the brunt of her fights, but it's carried her here — to the watery canals and gentrified streets, each block lit up in lanterns.

If she hadn't been loitering on the far reaches of the city, she would've missed it entirely: the scrap of white fabric, the indistinct figure diminishing fast into the gloom.

And just like that, she's off in pursuit, chasing it on nothing more than a whirling mind and some rearing fullness that's taken ahold of her heart with the intent to rupture veins. Luna doesn't recognize it for what it is, the awful profundity of it, not for the pillars of stone or the sudden weight to her steps. Fear surges up, but it's only ash in the windpipe, something heavy and implacable when the figure finally has mercy on her, slowing down.

There's no fairness to it; not the look on his face or the tremble lacing through her fingers, from ligament to joint. ]

Noctis.

[ Some winded, blurry shock embeds in her throat, as limpid as love until she's wrenching into full lucidity, every sound leaving her strained and abrupt. ]

Noctis, please, I beg of you. Don't leave.

Comments

[noctsout]

[ And he, in turn, wished for nothing but her victory. (Her happiness and safety, an eternity for the smile that she'd worn when they'd been children, warm and bright. Befitting, he'd told Prompto, of the Queen of Light. The one for whom he will make the Gods bow their heads, if that was the last thing he'd do.)

Altissia was a warm city, warm and humid in a way that differed from the forest-rich lands of Tenebrae. For as much as life and light was in love with flora, so, too, was it besotted with water. The origin of all, the very first kingdom of those that had come before-- if the legends were to be believed, anyway. Noctis could admit to it now, that evading his studies may not have been the smartest of his choices. But knowledge of past events were mere trimmings, at best; he'd known his duty since he'd been hailed as the Oracle in his youth, had known what had to be done. Lessons in history had felt pale and shallow, compared to that.

It'd been on a whim that he'd slipped past his guards, donning whatever he'd had that might hide his status, even for the slightest moment. Not an easy task, not when his shade of hair was unusual to the people of Altissia, but he'd managed. For all of three blocks before the first of the crowds had shifted uncomfortably with uncertain recognition. Before he'd turned directions to walk away from their eyes.

And then someone had called to him. Had called to him by name with a voice that he would have given his arms and legs to hear, just one last time before the trials of the Tidemother had to be met.

So, why, then, was he running? Why had he stopped, his will splintering under her words?

It's with care that he uncurls his fingers from the circle of his fists, a conscious effort to relax so that he could meet her with a smile when he finally, finally turns.

And-- Gods. It's the sight of her that drives it home: of how they're no longer children. Of how much they'd grown. The swinging guillotine of fate that loomed above them both. And how, if only he'd the strength and the grace, he desperately wished to spare her of it. ]

Luna. [ His Queen, Her Majesty. He feels like he should bow, but opts to smile, instead. Has a feeling that it might be better appreciated than a show of deference. ]

You're-- uh, you're early. I had a speech and everything, for tomorrow.

[ Spare him of this embarrassment, Six above. Maybe he should've just kept running. ]

[illuminet]

[ It's that little, tactile awareness itching down her spine: what's mine is yours, take it from me, you may have it all.

Eight years have a way of corroding familiarity. She doesn't really know him. She has a dim idea of him, the boy who'd scrawl nice comments into the margin of the journal when she jotted down broken slips of Latin or tiny, butchered attempts at conversation (hi, hello, is the weather just as pleasant today?). But Lunafreya is every bit of an orphan when she left Insomnia and her father behind as she is now, and Noctis isn't a dream in the shape of a child anymore, but something just as amorphous. If she only blinks, whatever anchor keeps him anchored with be cast off, even if she'd personally object the motion. To him leaving, period, although that's better left unspoken.

Sheer will might keep Luna grounded, but controlling her quailing distress is a little different. Having spent a few embarrassing minutes in close pursuit when he obviously sought to dissipate into the air isn't good for her conscience. Her hands take on something of a contradiction, only once removed from convulsions when she stifles the tremors. ]

I was informed. I apologize for the lack of formalities. I knew you wouldn't be able to meet me immediately, what with the ongoing preparations.

[ The tender defunctness of it is killing her. Please, let her rest, or barring that, stop repeating things he's likely had ingrained into his head a hundred times over. The secretary insinuated enough about his current situation. Avoiding contact with the wall, she takes an ungainly step forward. ]

I couldn't bring myself to inconvenience you any further, but perhaps, if you'll allow me to hold your attention for just a moment ...

[ The raised ghost of her inelegance remains unassailed; all those lessons on proper royal etiquette and the intricacies of palace speak evade her, perish on her tongue. Luna's stiff-necked bow sits at a contradiction to the simmering volatility in her voice, and she can't help the lack of subtlety pervading her form. He's so far away, and she can't broach the distance yet, but she's trying — earnestly, earnestly, in a way that fractures the tight knit of her vise-grip over her inhibitions. ]

Thank you. I'm truly grateful for your aid, Noctis. And I'm immensely happy to see you alive and well. I'd feared for the worst for your safety.

[noctsout]

[ He can't see her tremors at this distance, in this farce of proximity. But he hears her, hears every feeling that she pours into every word, the tribulations that she must've faced to get to where she is now, the damages that she might still very well wear. And the favour of the Gods that rest within him as a healing light aches for her, wants to reach her and soothe it away.

Shame is a no small thing when Noctis takes a step forward, breaching all that he knows and believes to be right. The distance that he should have maintained to allow her onto a path on which she would not falter. But the Oracle, too, is human with all the fallacies that come with being so-- had the weight of his station rested on someone else, on the shoulders of someone with more breeding or poise, perhaps it'd have been different.

Maybe that Oracle wouldn't have yearned to be by her side as he does now. Or at least, without the same level of potency and corrosion. Maybe they would have been content to perish into the Gods' realm after their purpose had been fulfilled. (Just three left, now. Or just the one, as the greatest of the Astrals rested within a plane of existence that not even he could reach. And the other, well. The other is the reason as to why they must suffer through this in the first place.)

Blink and he's within distance, within reaching distance, even when he seems torn at the idea of putting his hands on her shoulders to keep her standing tall and regal. Torn at the idea of leaning in close with his head to press his forehead against hers to lighten her burdens.

He does neither. The unwitting hand that he'd reached out towards her curl back as a fist. ]

Hey. Hey, it's okay. There's nothing to thank me for. What I did, that's-- [ What he'd been born and bred to do. The heavy anvil of destiny for which he had no taste despite his obedience.

But, no. Said like that, he'd be lying. And he won't, not to her. ]

It's nothing. Really. I wanted to help you.

[ That much, at least, is true. But, okay, move on. Move on before he slayed himself where he stood with the force of his embarrassment. A short glance around-- ] Seriously, did you-- sneak out?

[ Said the pot to the kettle. Still, slipping away from Prompto probably wasn't nearly as difficult as dodging the intensity of her crew. ]

[illuminet]

Your generosity humbles me. Please, if there's anything I can to lend you my strength, then allow me to serve you in the same regard. It would give me no greater happiness than to support you.

[ Pleasantries.

There's more that seeks to elapse in her voice, to ask or to plea, to take his hand and take the very person she's traversed so many miles for back with the unprincipledness of a conqueror with a precious bounty, but there's something to be said about conscientiousness and how it outweighs human impulse. Of course she couldn't seize him like some object and bring him back to her party despite the very best of her intentions — the same jurisdiction that would have her afraid to raise her head in his presence out of nerves alone. Noctis has been endeavoring so long to stave off the darkness encroaching the lands, trapped between the extremes of two kingdoms. His fight is on a scale that she couldn't grasp, not for all the deities that speak into his ears or the burdens laid upon him now.

There's an unhallowed grace in it, whether to favor the world or favor Noctis, like the two choices were mutually exclusive. It's all so horribly vexing that she can't even say it — not even now, when he's before her, having grown into his years as his duty. Mouth pursed, she's only broken out of her trance by his question, which she's slow to respond with any degree of composure. Luna has no experience with rapid-fire questions, honestly. ]

... Oh! Um.

[ A bit of a squeak leaves her as she's straightened, following his stare around. It's rather deceiving to offer up Noctis a white lie when they've only now reconvened, but the truth is nothing so easy to openly plead to. She flushes a bit, one hand braced over her opposing forearm. ]

I needed a breath of fresh air, so a short walk around our lodgings for the night appeared to pose little in the way of threats. Gentiana would call upon me should a quick return be necessary, so rest assured that you needn't worry yourself over my well-being.

[ Yes, she's ditched her bodyguards for an evening stroll. Gentiana alone should be to do damage control until her return, but if things go south, it wouldn't be the first time Ignis and Gladio tore through the bazaars for their not-so-runaway princess. Luna's habit for ghosting on a whim is unrivaled. If nothing else, she'll at least allow herself to step closer, although she can't breach the distance to even grasp at him, like he stands on a pedestal beyond a mere mortal's touch. ]

Would it be unkind to assume similarly of you, dear Noctis?