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Unless they stand close enough that their shoulder touches his, nobody can hear the faint hiss coming from Ravus’ metal arm. A maddening sound, a nuisance constantly reminding him of his arrogance and wounded ego. A noise that reminds him of the gap between him and the companion laying his head on his shoulder.
“You know,” Ignis says, “when you get used to it, it’s not that bad. It’s like white noise putting you to sleep.”
“You do not hear it twenty four seven, without your consent.”
“Your ears should tune it out eventually.”
“It’s been twenty years. The kings,” or the demonic miasma powering his limb, “won’t let me have the luxury.”
Ignis closes his eyes.
—
“Commander.” His voice is drowned by furious waves hitting the altar of Tidemother. The pathetic dog barely has any air in his lungs and still he uses it to call him out. “Commander Ravus Nox Fleuret.”
He should leave before more of the prince’s lackeys arrive.
“Ravus!” This time it’s a breathless shout. “They’re coming for you, for your head. Halt.”
“So are your people.”
With a horrifyingly soundless wheeze, Ignis props himself up on his elbows. He turns at Ravus’ general direction with the most confident smile he can muster. “Allow me to propose to you an arrangement that will grant us great benefit.”
“What benefit?”
There’s a smirk on his face. A small one, lest he puts pressure on the burn wound on his eye and causes it to sting more than he can handle.
“A chance for us to see the sun again tomorrow.”
—
Gladiolus’ shout is audible through the door and walls. Prompto’s voice is barely there. Noctis is not saying anything. Ignis’ voice starts calm and mindful, eventually it matches Gladio’s volume and pitch as well.
He did tell Ignis this was a bad idea. An extra body to put in the car, an extra mouth to feed, all for information they can possibly extract from future friendlier Niflheim allies they’d meet on their journey or just from reading the right screen or books.
“You mean an extra ally, since as you can tell, I will be out of commission during battles for a long while. And besides, what will guarantee us an additional ally as valuable as you in the future?”
Ignis was supposed to be the rational, cold and calculating one of the group. The display in Altissia and his strange decision of recruiting Ravus proves a more reckless side Ignis must try to hide as much as he could.
“You’re desperate.”
“Yes we are.” Meaning the speakers in the conversation.
“I was doing what I did for my sister. You shouldn’t worry about what I must do after her death.”
“No plan B?”
Ravus raised his brow.
“You’d die for her, that’s what you wish, yes. But perhaps you shouldn’t ignore the possibility of her wishing you to live for her.”
“You’re not the first one who said that.”
“I know. And I shouldn’t be.”
Ignis also reminded him of Luna’s wish to aid her fiance in banishing the scourge. After it’s fulfilled, Ignis promised he won’t hinder whatever Ravus wished to do with his remaining life. Be it long or short, Ignis wouldn’t interfere anymore. It was not within his duty.
Gladiolus opens the door separating the room Ravus is in from the Lucians’. His eyes are filled with leftover rage and part resignation to Ignis’ uncanny persuasion skills. Ravus returns the stare with as much interest he has for whatever they argued behind the door. That means none.
“One screw up and it’s your funeral.”
—
“The fuck were you thinking?”
As Ravus wipes Alba Leonis clean with a silken handkerchief, he glares at Ignis still gasping for air.
Gladiolus and Prompto are a good ten meters away to scout for their next route. Were they here, Gladiolus would bark at Ravus’ words, especially after a long, arduous, breakneck encounter with ravenous daemons three times his height in the middle of pitch black tundra.
“Don’t act as if that didn’t save your hair.”
“Did I ask you for assistance?”
He never asks any of them for anything.
The daemon is still sizzling as it withers away into nothing. Its frozen leg chopped off by Ravus’ sword is a good few meters away from its body decimated by Gladio’s sword in its head.
“I am not invalid, Ravus. I still intend to provide support for my teammates with everything I got–”
Ignis tosses his frosted dagger towards Ravus’ direction. It strikes a curious, hungry bomb lurking behind him. Ravus swings his sword backwards to cleave it into two.
“Assisting me during combat will make Amicitia blame me for your recklessness.”
“I can promise you at least he’d never blame you for my death.” Ignis’ chuckle is met with silence. “Too worrisome of a joke?”
“A poor taste.”
—
Most definitely out of distrust for Ravus, Gladiolus insists the four of them always stay in the same hotel room or tent.
“I won’t bolt out with no notice or take whatever little possession you all have. You should also ask yourself, what benefit will I possibly gain from killing you?” Gladiolus snorts. He turns his back onto the other bed in the room.
Sometimes Ravus wonders if Amicitia assigned Ignis to fight and sleep on the same bed as Ravus as a form of punishment for bringing him into their posse.
“Gladio is not exactly fond of you and Prompto is still a little scared of you, but they still do not want either of us to die alone in the dark before Noctis’ return.” Make sense.
The next day, they camp under the stars, in a haven in a lush forest that protects them from growling daemons that surround them.
“Don’t hate him too much or you’d fall for him instead.”
“What?”
“Feeling for a nemesis so intensely might backfire on you someday.”
He won’t call Amicitia his nemesis when the dislike is mostly one sided. Ravus says nothing and shakes his head.
Ignis makes a second try at the conversation. “The haven will protect us. Your nightwatches are mostly unnecessary.”
“Protect us from Ardyn?”
“Hm. Well, I’d argue the possibility is low enough that we can ignore it for now.”
“Fool.” No they cannot. “I’d rather watch your back as you sleep than sharing a tent with the three of you.”
“We did that just fine with Noctis, Your Highness.”
“And how tall is he?” Well. That’s a problem. And not to mention his width.
“Hunters’ guild should have tents we can buy for you.”
“I don’t need it. I don’t require a lot of sleep in the first place.”
“We require a fighter who sleeps for more than three hours a day to ensure his tenacity and vitality.”
It’s hard to sleep well when morning and night are the same shade of darkness. A glance at the scar partially hidden by Ignis’ visor stops his tongue. “Including you.”
Ignis smirks. “Kinda hard to sleep when morning and night are the same shade of darkness.”
—
“I do not think ensuring my teammates’ survival, especially with me being your fellow teammate, is something you should consider a debt or some sort. That’s the whole point of us being teammates, to ensure our fellow teammates’ survival.”
“Well it is to me. Thanks for not letting these two dipshits go too soon.”
Ravus glances at the two ‘dipshits’. Laid unconscious on their sleeping bag with a nasty wounded arm for Ignis and gash in the head for Prompto.
The behemoth type beast’s claw they fought in a shopping mall ruin is a testament of the quality and strength of Ravus’ magitek arm. Half from the titanium-tungsten hybrid material and half his own perseverance to ensure his two incapacitated allies were not torn into ribbons of flesh and viscera as Amicitia landed one of his several final blows.
“That thing is pretty handy, huh.”
“What is?” he says as he dabs alcohol on another shallow wound on Gladiolus’ waist.
“That.” Gladiolus points at his metal arm with a can of beer which then he hands to Ravus. His reply is a grunt in agreement. “Not sure if you remember but you did toss me so easily with that.”
“Huh? Oh.”
“Yeah.”
“I… it was more like a push.” Ravus snips away the medical tape securing the gauze on Gladiolus’ side. “It’s not something I’m very proud of.”
Gladiolus shakes his head. “We were at the opposite sides after all.”
That’s not it. It’s the hissing, the whispers from the demons or those wretched kings he’s not sure, that seeps out of his arm driving him mad since the day he learned the price of entertaining his arrogance. This tremendous power he wields at the cost of his sanity and dignity. All to protect his sister he knew would perish before him no matter what he did.
The blame for all his misery falls on no one but himself and he realized it all way too late.
“Yeah.” Ravus pops open his can.
“Thanks to that, I second guessed my own strength and uh… had to go on a side quest to sort of… prove myself worthy of being Noctis’ shield. It was pretty gruesome.” Gladiolus rubs his neck as his cheeks redden.
Ravus nearly hisses at that. ‘How foolish’. Instead, he takes a long sip. “What did you do?”
—
Perhaps it’s thanks to his preference to wear white or light grey, the sight of him standing in the dark in his battle garments frightens Prompto sometimes.
During a campfire, Ignis says in a whisper, “Do you still stare at him the way you did me in Altissia?” As if he could see Ravus’ scowl deepening, Ignis chuckles. “If my memory serves me correctly, I believe kind eyes will suit you, Ravus. That way, Prompto won’t be too scared to talk to you for once.” Ravus slaps away Ignis’ hand on his shoulder. He ignores Gladiolus’ frown at that.
After dinner, Prompto approaches his tent. “Umm, Ravus? Highness?”
Ravus’ raised brow could mean anything. Annoyance, amusement, impatience. None are what Prompto needs him to feel now.
“I’m… I’m sorry. I screwed up, didn’t I?”
“Pardon?”
“You–I–we were supposed to attack the same enemy weren’t we? I–I shot the wrong ronin, I should’ve attacked the one you were aiming.”
“...but you did exactly that.”
“Eventually! It took me so long and uhh… I know this is not my first fuckup but I should… I should say sorry about this one at least.”
He’s eager to wrap the conversation to get his precious, precious rest. This young man won’t let him until he says yes, he forgives him for his ‘fuckup’. But that might result in more nights of Prompto apologizing once he felt his battle performance was inadequate. That one especially, is not what he wants.
“There’s no need to. We all come back alive in the end.”
“But–”
“I am not a perfectionist on the battlefield. As long as you’re not actively trying to get me killed, I don’t care about what you do.”
“...yeah, but you’ve done so much for us and I can barely keep up to repay what you’ve done for me. You’ve saved my ass so many times, the least I can do is target the same foe as you do.”
Ravus sighs. Prompto winces at the sound.
“I’m sorry. I’ll just go back–”
“Should I apologize too whenever you had to stop shooting to pour potions to my wounds?”
“No!”
“Exactly.” Kind eyes, huh. He’ll try it just once. “That’s what your allies are for. We’re here to ensure each other’s survival. I am not a hired mercenary, our relationship in and outside the battlefield should not be a transactional one. You did well, and I believe you will do better next time. Your aid, however small, is appreciated. Do not whip yourself for a small mistake you did not mean and you intend to improve upon in the future.”
Prompto’s loss of word gives Ravus a small hope that he will leave him alone soon. A nod, sheepish ‘thank you’, and a wish for a good night later, Ravus is finally alone with his tent.
Except he can hear the damned Scientia’s snicker nearby.
—
“It is a tall task to look decent on the battlefield.”
Ravus stares at Ignis’ smug smirk. Then he stares at the styled hair. Ah. Tall. He gets it now.
“It is.”
The small bazaar offers a decent selection of light armors and accessories. And Ignis’ favorite hair products, apparently.
“Choose violet equipment, Ravus.”
“What?”
“Purple suits you very well. Choose those.”
“I’m not–”
“The markings on your arm, your eye, the accents at the hem of your old coat. I remember those. They look good on you. The color suits you. You should wear more of that color.”
“A dying world has no place to entertain one’s vanity.”
“Small joys keep us going as much as winning battles do, Ravus.”
“Purple will make me stand out too much.”
“Just like wild beasts displaying striking, bright colors to ward off predators. And beside.” Ignis grins. “You have me to cover your blind spots.”
“Scientia.”
The way Ignis turns his head, so sure his blind eyes would stare into Ravus’, makes Ravus shudder. His lopsided smile, a hint of teeth peeking out, and corners of his eyes wrinkling. “Believe me?”
“No.”
—
“Once upon a time, there was a foolish lad coming from the ancient land of heroes. His name was Icarus.”
Actually, Ravus was right. The hissing noise is slowly driving him mad as well and it’s only been a little less than ten minutes. Right next to his ear, it’s louder than the crackle of the campfire, definitely louder than distant daemon growls away from their safe haven.
“With wings made of feathers and wax, he leapt into the sky, with nothing but courage in his heart.” With every movement made by the false arm’s joints, the hiss grows just a touch louder, its pitch higher like a small steamboat whistle. “My mother told me a cautionary tale assuming I might grow into a greedy fool trying to take his sister’s throne. It did wound me that she even considered that a possibility, but were I to stage a coup against the Oracle, it wouldn’t be the first.”
The metal stays cool even with heat radiated from the campfire and contact with Ignis’ head and neck. No matter how much warmth it receives, it stays cold and distantly inhuman.
“She did not consider my arrogance and greed for an entirely different goal.”
“What happened to Icarus?”
“You know how he ended, Scientia. He was less fortunate than us.” Tiny metal knocking noises come from his fingers as they form a fist. “No, more fortunate than me.”
“So I am an Icarus too?”
“Aren’t you?”
“Had the same occurrence happened again and I know what I’d lose, I’d do it all over again. The dread of losing my sight is worth knowing my king is safe.” Nevermind the prophecy he saw against his will, knowing what they did was all for naught. “That at least I’d still have my chance to aid my king fulfilling his role in his destiny.”
Ravus’ lips form a wry smile. “So you are.”
—
“The haven is too far away and Gladiolus needs to rest lest he will risk reopening the stitches.”
Ravus cuts the thread with the tip of his sword. Prompto sets up their sleeping bags and lamps to deter daemons’ ambush. The king’s shield groans as he lays down and at last, after hours and hours of banters and arguments mostly with Ravus and Ignis on who keeps who safe and uninjured, he quiets down and sleeps.
Ignis and Ravus search for usable provisions or tools possibly hidden in the house. They find out the partly demolished house they’re using as a shelter today has a piano in it.
Ravus says nothing about the piano at first, though he holds back a snicker when Ignis jumps as his fingers accidentally press the rightmost keys.
“Well. That was very rude, your highness.”
“I did not say anything.”
Precisely why it was very rude of him. “Learning how to play musical instruments is one of the most effective ways to help one’s magic proficiency and focus during the casting.”
“Did it help you?”
“It helped me focus my elemancy better and not destroy my daggers from imbalanced power distribution.”
“I see.”
“And did it help you, highness?”
“I did not play any instruments. No patience for those.”
“Ah. Did you study other forms of art? Visual ones perhaps?”
“I did paint and embroidery.” Ignis’ eyes widen. “…and I used to sing.”
“I see.”
The position of the piano keys is clearer once his fingertips are bare. A few experimental taps with his right hand and he tries his muscle memory to play a familiar song children sing in afternoon art classes.
The Icarus song seems a good start as Ravus hums alongside the dainty music. Taking off the other glove is too troublesome, so at least for tonight he will allow them to enjoy the song’s lyrical melody. It’s been years and Ignis can only play it at half speed without his sight.
Ravus doesn’t mind it. “I can’t remember the last time I enjoyed music.” Especially with the radio stations now turned into communication system hubs to coordinate hunters across the darkened world and limited electricity mostly used to charge equipment of the absolute necessaries. “Hopefully, once the sun rises again, we’ll have the luxury of decorating the passing time with pleasant tunes and not just daemon growls.”
“We will, highness. For now, we make do with what we have.” Ignis’ smile is genuine and warm. “To make, to practice art is to express our humanity. Daemons cannot understand the purpose of music, or dance, or poetry, and painting. That’s what separates us from them.” If he still had his sight, Ravus knew Ignis would send a glance at his metal arm.
“I’m out of practice.”
“We do not seek perfection of a maestro here, Ravus. Did you expect it from me?”
Ravus grunts a negative. “Then, what do you want to hear?”
“Whatever you wish to sing. I believe arts performed with love and interest will yield the best result.”
“I thought you did not seek perfection.”
Perhaps he’s about to humiliate himself with a voice untrained since his teenage years. Back at home surrounded by Leviathan’s lair, there was an ancient song he was very fond of, that he sang accompanied by Lunafreya’s piano and occasionally his mother’s cello. The song never came out of his lips once he left the land to serve the enemy’s force.
Lunafreya noted it was very strange of him to favor a song meant to be sung by dozens, if not hundreds of ship crew. It sounded lonely when he sang it alone, so his sister eventually memorized the song as well and they sang it together as she provided the delicate background melody.
The song started with a bright outlook on the crew’s journey ahead. The wind will guide them to the next land they will conquer and their swords will smite any foe in their way. There are oaths to defend ‘her’ scattered throughout the song, perhaps referring to their ship, their land, their queen, or the most ridiculous assumption, Leviathan herself.
Then the song turns grim after the first set of verse and chorus. They miss their home as well. The storms they faced were nothing short of brutal. Men fell down and cut down the crew’s headcount. And still whoever left sang the oath to defend ‘her’.
For Ravus, there’s only one ‘her’ to defend, although not in the way the song depicted. He’s trapped in a landlocked town, away from home. His ‘her’ no longer exists. He shouldn’t either.
Ravus is glad Ignis can’t see a tear falling down his face. He doesn’t comment on Ravus’ fainter, shaky voice at the end as he sings the last oath chorus either.
Ignis takes his human hand in his now bare left. He gives it a firm grip before pulling Ravus for a much needed hug.
—
Gladio loves it when a mountain has this specific rock formation that makes a tall shelter with a roof and wide interior. A cavern not leading them anywhere, just to provide them a campsite without the need to pitch a tent. Yes they will still need light and Ravus will feel obliged to do nightwatch, but more room to sleep and move in is always welcome.
For tonight, Ravus chose to snack on a tin can of raisins the Lucian crew scavenged weeks ago yet no one ever voluntarily touched.
“Mmm. Nature’s candy. Riveting.”
“Go to sleep, Ignis.” It’s a tall task with how loud Gladiolus and Prompto snores tonight, Ravus knows. Eventually he will, and Ravus will carry him back to his sleeping mat before resuming his watch duty.
To stare into the darkness expecting a daring enemy thinking it could subdue the light they carry is tedious. Someone has to do it though, just in case the worst of them pay them a visit.
Ignis is silent, which is unusual. His head is turned to his direction and if he was still sighted, he would be staring at Ravus’ hands on his folded legs and one holding his ‘riveting’ treat.
He reaches for Ravus’ hands then towards his shoulder. Then his neck. Then his cheek.
“Ignis.”
Ignis guides Ravus’ face to his with little force, trusting Ravus’ own desire to do the rest of the work.
“We shouldn’t–”
“Act on our longing for a party member as the rest of our party is asleep?”
Ravus bites his lip. His teeth release it as Ignis leans in to capture his gasp in a gentle kiss. The tiny clank of a tin can hitting the cave floor is lost among their moans and gasps as Ignis coaxes Ravus to use his tongue against his.
“I… we really shouldn’t–”
“Don’t you think they fell asleep awfully fast after drinking that tea I made especially for them and none for you?” He can imagine what kind of face Ravus is making as Ignis’ lips form a slow smirk. “Tell me Ravus, what piece of clothing you’re wearing now that’s colored purple?”
A silence from hesitance. Then Ravus brings up his gloved human hand to Ignis’ face. Ignis kisses the palm smelling like worn leather and metal knuckle shield to ensure more strength in his punches. There's a faint smell of dried blood too, of fallen enemies he hopes.
“We shouldn’t.”
“Really? We have at least ten hours for ourselves.”
Another glance at the deeply asleep party members. A sigh as Ignis undoes his coat. Ravus yields.
“Alright.” He allows himself to smile as Ignis kisses his collarbone. “I’ll fall in love with you.”