#Dr. Young Besithia

[eysiakieralika]

[bramblepeltao3]

IDK where else to put this indulgent nonsense so, as one does, I’m putting it on my Tumblr.

Hey do you like my fic where I have an OC who is a gremlin girl and do you also like the Prince!Prompto AU trope and do you want to read a few loose little narrative bits about those two things coming together? 

No?

Here it is anyway!

The clock in Prompto’s room sounded out to anyone who listened that the time was now eleven in the morning. Since it was a Thursday, this meant the start to the worst hour of his week, every week, for his whole life. 

Every Thursday at eleven in the morning, Dr. Besithia would come by for his weekly check up. The Prince would spend the time trying not to show too much emotion as the doctor used a variety of needles to inject and extract numerous fluids, all while chastising him for being a waste of his and everyone else’s time.

It didn’t matter how strictly Prompto followed the doctor’s orders, or how much control Prompto had over following them in the first place. He never got any better, and he was always made well aware that it was his own fault. The prince of Niflheim was a sickly recluse, so sheltered from the public that many would even doubt his existence. And at fifteen years old, he was lonely and listless and so very tired of living like this. 

The door to his bedroom began to open, and Prompto mentally steeled himself for another hour of angry commands, needles, and insults. 

“Dr. Besithia to see you, your highness.” The attendant said with a bow. Prompto nodded in return, sitting upright on the edge of his well cushioned bed. The least little rebellion he could maintain was forcing that unpleasant old man to come to him.

But the person who stepped through, all dressed in well ironed white, was not Dr. Besithia. Not at all. This doctor was a woman, and much younger. She bowed slightly upon crossing the threshold before making her way over to him. Prompto, in spite of himself, felt compelled to stand and greet her like the well mannered young man he was supposed to be.

“A pleasure to finally meet you, highness.” She said with a small smile. She looked sad, but gentle, and seemed to be staring at something right behind his own eyes. 

“I...I was expecting, I apologize…” Prompto was used to being ogled and visually picked apart by people. Something about her green eyes felt softer. Less invasive and judgemental. Perhaps it was all wishful thinking but her gaze seemed almost kind.

“You were expecting Dr. Besithia?” She asked.

Prompto nodded.

“You’re looking at her.” She smirked. “Doctor Delphia Besithia. Verstael is my father. I understand he was completing your weekly heath assessments, but business for his Imperial Majesty has become...pressing.” The doctor crossed the room over to the little seating area where the work was usually conducted. A clear table, two chairs, plenty of places to hook up Verstael’s array of electrical instruments. “Luckily I’m now officially a licensed medical professional myself, so I’ll be taking over for him.” 

Prompto almost couldn’t believe what he was hearing. “So...Dr. Bes-...Verstael won’t be…?”

“You know, why don’t we call my father Dr. Besithia, and you can refer to me as Dr. Delphia. Does that work, your highness?” She asked, setting the large case she was carrying on the table and opening it.

“Yes. I mean, I think that would work fine. Doctor.” Prompto joined her at the table, removing his coat to reveal his bare arms and taking a seat on his usual side of the table.

“So I went over your medical record on the way over, it seems like my old man kept to the same routine every week for a long time. Not all that surprising, except he usually at least tries to change things up whenever he doesn’t get results…”

Prompto cringed. “Yeah, it’s my fault. I just wasn’t trying hard enough.” He sighed, casting his eyes to the floor. He could feel her gaze staring into him once again.

“Your fault?” She asked. “Did my father tell you that?”

He felt himself beginning to sweat. Soon she’d understand just how awful of a patient he really was, and all the gentle niceness would end. She’d grow to hate and resent him just like Dr. Besithia did, he was sure.

“Dude. That’s bullshit.”

Prompto snapped his face up to hers, the bluntness of her assertion shocking him. The doctor had such a look of concern on her face.

“He was your doctor. Treating you was his job. If you weren’t getting better, that’s his fault. Not yours.”

Prompto blinked in confusion. 

“If it makes you feel any better, and I doubt it does,” she started retrieving the same instruments he was always used to, “he’s like that with everyone. Everything is always someone else’s fault. No way his genius could be to blame!”

By her tone, Prompto inferred she’d suffered at his words just as much.

“So, let’s start with the easy part. How are you feeling today, your highness?” She asked, taking the other seat and smiling at him.

“How...um, well I’m…” Prompto was not prepared for this question. Easy part, indeed. “Tired, I guess. Like usual. I get dizzy if I stand too long.” And now his heart was pounding in fear. Did he answer wrong? Was that something he could do?

She was typing on a tablet resting in her lap. “Hmm, how about sleep? Do you think you get enough?”

Dr. Besithia never gave Prompto so much time to talk like this. It felt...strange. “I sleep a lot.”

“Do you feel well rested after? Or still tired?” She asked, still typing.

“Oh, uh...I guess I haven’t really thought of that? I’m sorry...guess still tired.”

“Hey, you don’t have to apologize for anything, highness. Okay, if it’s alright with you I’d like to start taking your vitals now.”

...did she just ask him permission? She did. And she was waiting for his answer. 

He nodded. And the next thing to strike him was just how gentle she actually was. She never grabbed, but waited for him to offer his arm or hand as needed. She didn’t yell or snipe or speak critically of him. He wasn’t sure how to feel about this. It was oddly terrifying, somehow.

“Alright, your blood pressure is a little low, so we can start with that. There’s a few simple things we can change to try and get it stabilized. Hopefully that will help with the dizziness too!” 

Prompto sat in stunned silence as she prescribed such basic things like drinking more water and adding salt to his meals. He couldn’t believe what he was hearing. It felt...too easy. After years of living like this, there was no way it could actually be so simple.

“Unfortunately I am going to need to get some blood for lab work, if that’s ok, highness.”

He felt like he might cry. She actually listened to him, and asked him to talk to her. If she really was replacing Besithia going forward, maybe things would actually get better. Maybe... He hoped she never got sick of him, and he’d do everything he could to prevent that.

“You can call me Prompto, um, Doctor. Please.”

She looked at him strangely, like he’d just told her there was a behemoth on her shoulder. But then she smiled again. “Why don’t you call me Del then, Prompto? Has anyone ever told you you have great veins? This is going to be so fast.” And surprisingly, it was. The whole ordeal was over so quickly he couldn’t believe she’d actually done it.

“Alright, unless there’s anything else you’d like to discuss, I think that ends our appointment today.” She began packing everything back up. “And if anything comes up at all, I’m only one floor away!”

“Wait, really?” Dr. Besithia always made a point of reminding him he had to travel a long way for these appointments.

“Yeah, I’m here at the palace full time. Another perk of the job. If you need anything at all, just ask your attendant. I’m here for you Prompto, any time.”

It took everything in him to maintain some amount of regal composure and not start crying. Somehow, for the first time, he had hope. And if nothing else, there was someone here who might actually listen to him.

---

Delphia bowed to the prince before turning and walking to the elevator. She held herself together perfectly until the elevator doors closed behind her and she was granted ten seconds of complete isolation. An hour’s worth of suppressed, extreme emotion bubbled out all at once in a large gasp for air. Her chest felt tight and her eyes burned with the threat of tears.

You have to do this. You have to do this. You have to be here for him, because no one else will.

Delphia composed herself just as the doors opened again. It was another two minutes before she made it to her office which she thankfully had to herself. She opened the door and flipped on the light.

And really, she should have expected that she wouldn’t actually get to be alone just yet.

“Doctor Besithia, how is our young charge on this day?” Chancellor Izunia, hat in hand, bowed to her.

“Terrible, but you already knew that didn’t you Ardyn?” She didn’t have time for his fanciful speech patterns and flowery prose right now. She had samples to run.

“Looking a bit red eyed yourself, Delphia. Hard first day on the job?” He tailed her to the workstation, watching carefully as she washed and gloved her hands.

“Why do you always ask questions you already know the answer to?” She asked, getting the little centrifuge ready to go.

“The same could be asked of yourself, Doctor.”

She sighed. “My father’s been purposefully keeping him ill. Or at least below a functional baseline.”

“You’re certain?” Ardyn asked like a child giddy about knowing the punchline to an old joke.

“Verstael did the same tests, same treatments, same everything over and over again despite no improvement. There’s only one reason you don’t change up the treatment plan.”

“Because it is working as intended.” Ardyn smiled in that wicked way that made her feel like a small rabbit being eyed by a wolf.

But this rabbit had an understanding with the wolf. 

“Exactly. But here’s what I find really interesting.” She looked up from the samples currently shaking at a dizzying rate in the machine. “Whatever was going on, you wanted it to end.”

“Oh do walk me through your process of deduction, Delphia. Your brain is always so intriguing to pick.”

She rolled her eyes. “Cut the shit. You knew I’d see these numbers and figure out what was happening immediately.” She pointed at him accusingly. “When the Emperor gave Father his orders, you made damn sure I was the one who took his place.”

“Who better to take over the father’s work, than the daughter?”

“My graduating class had 44 other young doctors who would have been eager and willing to take up his job and do it unquestioningly. Exactly at his direction, no critical thought or deviation. And you insisted on the one singular doctor who, you knew for a fact, wouldn’t. And that, Ardyn, is the most suspicious thing of all.”

“You do wound me, young one. But all the same please go on, I am on the edge of my seat.”

She considered not continuing, just to piss him off. But she couldn’t resist any opportunity to show off. It was a problem. So on she went. 

“Verstael takes pride in his projects, particularly the ones he...made from scratch.” She felt sick, thinking of the thousands of lives just like Prompto. His life was anything but easy, but it was worlds above that of his many, many brothers. “If he was interfering with the prince’s health on purpose, it must be because someone above him told him to. And there’s only one person who could tell him to do anything.”

Ardyn smiled, somehow even wider.

 She began the process of sterilizing her instruments, taking her time with each.

“The Emperor wants the Prince to waste away in poor health, hidden from the public and with zero sense of self worth to boot. Which is curious, since the Emperor was the one who commissioned a prince in the first place! Which leads me to believe Iedolas wanted this from the start. So. Why create an heir and then sabotage him?”

“Perhaps because the heir is meant only to act as a symbol.”

“Mmmhmm.” Del had considered as much. Hearing it from the chancellor cemented it. “A means of reminding the people the monarchy is here to stay. But Project Deathless is right around the corner, or so Father claims. And if it comes to fruition, then Iedolas is the monarchy. Forever.”

“Who needs an heir when you never plan to retire?”

“Who needs an heir beloved by the people, capable of leading and inspiring a coupe before you have a chance to gain immortality?”

“In the meantime, the chain of succession is decided by blood.”

“And the snakes in the cabinet can’t finagle their way into increasing power, at least not as easily.”

“Delphia I do love our conversations, not many can keep up quite like you.”

“Like father, like daughter.” She sighed. “So where do you come in, Ardyn? What do you get out of Prompto getting better?”

“Is it not enough to see a poor child suffering, and wishing to see him well again?”

“No, it’s not.” She replied, despite the unsaid implication hanging above them. Once, she was that suffering little child. And he healed her bruises and did what was needed to get her out of that hell hole. But that was a long time ago. And they were both very different now.

Ardyn hummed in response. “I would like to hear the good doctor’s hypothesis before the big reveal.”

She sighed. This man was so exhausting. But he was the only person worth talking to, somehow. “I think it's suspicious because you have no interest in the throne. Well, not this one at least.”

“And…” He smirked, telling her she was on the right track.

“And what a coincidence that our little prince is the same age as Lucis’ little prince.”

“What a coincidence indeed!”

The centrifuge stopped, the samples were ready for testing.

“I think you have a use for him in your little tirade against the Astrals and your brother’s descendants.” She snarled.

“And what use would that be?”

“I don’t know.” Delphia leaned over the workstation, looking Ardyn in the eyes. “But whatever it is you’ve got planned, if it ends with Prompto hurt or dead, I’m putting a stop to it. Now.”

Ardyn clicked his tongue in disapproval. “Now now, Delphia, you wound me.” He clutched his hand over his chest in mock insult. “Such accusations. I know you too well, little finch. The guilt you feel, unable to end your little brothers’ suffering. It tears at your weak, mortal heart. I have brought you to one who may live, and perhaps even prosper, with your guiding hand and sharp mind. I have no intentions of causing the boy further harm.”

Del didn’t believe that for a moment. Not because he was a liar, though he was certainly lying. She knew what lurked through the chancellor’s veins. What was eating him from the inside out, slowly, with every breath he took. It was getting worse, warping him. He was not the same man who befriended her fifteen years ago. Though bits of that man were still in there. And she knew if she just continued to play along, did what she could to keep those bits floating around alive, she’d get that friend back.

She just needed some more time.

---

“Commodore! Fucking finally. I have a request.” Delphia shouted across the courtyard, having finally found the woman after an hour of chasing down lead after lead.

“Interesting way of approaching someone. Mind an introduction first?”

Delphia tempered her knee jerk instinct to say something rude. “My name is Doctor Besithia, I assume you’re familiar with my father?”

“You mean the quack keeping the prince weak and at his mercy?”

Oh, she liked this woman. “Yep. Well, used to. I’m the prince’s personal physician now.”

“You planning on keeping up daddy’s work, Doc?” The Commodore crossed over to her, looking down with suspicion.

“Not quite. I’ve been going over his notes and I think there might be some...room for improvement. But I might need your assistance.”

Aranea shrugged her shoulders. “I’m a bodyguard, not a nurse. When the prince can leave his bedroom then I’ll have a job to do. Until then-”

“That’s exactly why I’m asking for your help, Commodore.” Delphia smiled. “The prince needs to leave his bedroom.”

“Uh huh. But can he?”

“Yes.” Delphia smirked up at the taller woman. “We’ve been working on it for three weeks, but he’s more than ready now. Of course, he’s not supposed to go anywhere without his retainers. Specifically the one that knows how to hit things with a stick.”

Aranea crossed her arms and frowned. “You’re telling me, after less than a month, Prince Shortcake is already improving?”

And this is where Delphia wanted the conversation to be. She needed to know who could be trusted, and who was in on the whole charade. Where did the true loyalties of the prince’s shield lie?

“Yeah. And if he’s going to keep getting better, he needs fresh air and sunlight. Vitamin D doesn’t make itself, you know. So, you ready to get to work, Commodore?”

Aranea studied Del’s face, obviously searching for answers to the same questions.

“Alright, Doc. Show me a miracle, and we’ll have ourselves a casual little stroll.”

Fantastic.

---

“Fifteen minutes.” Del reassured the two of them. “That’s all you need. Fifteen minutes in direct sunlight with bare arms, that’s more than enough time to get your daily dose of Vitamin D.”

Prompto felt like his heart could beat right out of his chest. It’d been so long since he’d left the palace walls. It was terrifying and exhilarating all at the same time. The doctor was on his left, keeping a close eye on him. Most likely observing his physical state while he walked around. 

On his right was Aranea, keeping an eye on everyone else in the courtyard. He hadn’t seen her in so long, he almost ran over to hug her before remembering his manners. She’d been like a sister to him when he was younger. But the weariness of the past seven years took just as much of a toll on her as it had on him.

Behind them, a guard was pushing a wheelchair. It was Del’s idea and insistence. “Just in case.” She said gently. “And there’s no shame in needing to use it.”

He might need it sooner than later, as everything around him was becoming overwhelming. The smell of fresh growing flowers, the sun on his face warming his skin, the light chatter of palace staff meandering around, their shoes clicking on the stone below.

It was making him dizzy.

“Yep, alright dude, easy now.” Del took his hand and helped guide him to the waiting wheelchair. “Take a few breaths, let me know what you need.”

Aranea did not look happy. “Is he alright?”

“I’m fine.” Prompto yelped, sitting up straighter. “I’m fine I’m just, it’s...a lot.”

“I bet.” Aranea smirked down at him.

“Are you okay to stay outside a little longer?” Del asked, voice filled with concern. 

All of this positive attention was going to make him just about pass out. 

“Yes. I’d like to, at least.”

Del smiled and put a hand on his forehead, wiping the hair from his eyes. “Alright, we’ll keep on. Just give me a heads up when you need to go back inside.”

He nodded. Prompto let the guard push him forward, watching little birds flicker through the sky and listening to his doctor and his shield have a not so private conversation between them.

“Well, credit where it’s due, Doc. Guess the Hippocratic oath still means something.”

“So then, about my proposal…”

“Count me in. Shortcake’s long overdue for some combat training.”

“Gradual, structured, short session combat training.”

“Yeah, I got it the first time.”

“With a lot of padded mats and-”

“Doc, you worry about his bone marrow count or whatever it is you do. Let me do my job.”

If he wasn’t already light headed, that would’ve sent him right over. He’d dreamed about getting to swing a sword around or hold a shield just like one of his father’s soldiers. In fact when he was still little and full of energy, he and Aranea would pretend spar with sticks or paper tubes for hours on end.

He’d all but abandoned being able to do that ever again. And now.

Del stopped and turned to look at him, smiling, her green eyes radiating warmth. “How you doing, Prompto?”

Aranea turned, crossing her arms, awaiting his response. And for the first time in forever she wasn’t looking down at him with pity. He hadn’t seen her look so content since they were kids.

Prompto nodded, smiling even wider. “I’m great.”

---

Cor was in complete disbelief. Not for the reason everyone else in the situation room was, oh no. While everyone else was staring mouth agape at the first recorded proof the prince of Niflheim actually existed, he was focused on the young woman walking next to him. The image wasn’t the closest, or clearest, but there was no mistaking.

That was Del Besithia, the six year old shit head daughter of Verstael, who treated an Imperial military research facility like her personal gymnasium. The little girl who called Cor a ‘dumbass’ in many colorful different ways. The kid who was so lonely and so deluded that she truly believed an army of clone babies were her brothers.

He’d tried so hard to get her to trust him, to get one of those babies to him so they could figure out what exactly was going on. In the end, she bailed on him, and Cor went home empty handed save a few photos of babies sleeping suspended in large cylinders.

From the looks of things, one baby did manage to get out though.

Incredible, really. Seeing the two of them standing next to each other, it was so obvious to anyone who knew what to look for. It was so obvious to Cor; the prince was one of those clones. And his ‘sister’ was his personal physician.

She looked happy. And sure, one still photograph couldn’t fill in a 14 year gap. But she was smiling, and with one of them, and she was walking freely outside. She’d told Cor with zero hesitation she knew she was going to die in that facility.

The look on her face when she made that statement had haunted him since. Maybe this one could replace it. She was fine. She was alive and okay.

There wasn't anything else he could’ve done for that kid.

“To be fair, hardly anyone ever saw Iedolas before he took the throne. And by that point he was already greying.”

“And we have no leads on who the mother could be. The lack of resemblance means nothing; the boy wears the Imperial regalia. That’s all the confirmation required.”

“Yes, but what if-?”

“That’s their prince.” Cor finally spoke up, hoping to end the back and forth guessing games. “Looks to be Noctis’ age as well. Prompto Aldercapt. Keep our eyes on him, I want to know his political and moral leanings before he has a chance to use them.”

The meeting adjourned, and his agents filed out. Cor had more business to get to. Training Gladio, overseeing the new recruits orientation, a briefing on the status of the wall, another briefing on the growing demon population…

He took another look at that photograph. Looking at Del smiling down at the prince, both of them looking happy and peaceful. There was something...pulling at him. Like a fist gripping his heart and trying to rip it from his chest. Something felt very wrong, a lingering threat aimed directly at them. Cor couldn’t tell why, but he knew they were in danger, and in spite of his loyalties he felt like he needed to protect those two. 

It was a strange impulse, maybe even something of an instinct. He couldn’t place its origin but he had a feeling a cigarette and some sleep would help dispel it.

Or...

---

“So...guns, huh?” Del frowned, watching as the prince shot off another round down the firing range.

“Your prescription of sunshine and lollipops-”

“I didn’t prescribe lollipops-”

“-can only do so much. He’s lacking the coordination for hand to hand combat, and swords wear out his stamina too quickly. A gun is lighter, easier to handle, and keeps him out of reach of more conventional weapons.” Aranea looked very pleased with herself.

“Well...at least he’s wearing ear protection.” He was also standing with a more determined posture than when they’d first met. And his skin was starting to show a little color, freckles not unlike her own dotting his cheeks and shoulders. 

“Emperor dropped in yesterday.” Aranea sighed.

Del felt her stomach drop. If the hypothesis she’d shared with Ardyn was anywhere close to correct, this was bad.

“Prince Shortcake shrank in his shadow, like the past few months never even happened.” The shield began chewing on her thumb, furrowing her brow. “Iedolas just grunted, looking as pissy as ever, and walked away. Poor kid. He’s still got a long way to go on that confidence.”

“You’d think the guy would be even a little bit happy his son was getting better.” Del shrugged her shoulders, hoping the anxiety wasn’t evident in her voice.

Aranea narrowed her eyes, studying Del for a moment. “You know, I really don’t get who you think you’re fooling.” She said before turning back around, walking to the prince to continue coaching his form.

Del blinked. What the fuck was that supposed to mean?

---

“Like, seriously, what the fuck was that supposed to mean?” She asked, several hours later, pacing in her office while flipping through her notes.

“The mind of the Commodore is a mysterious one.” Ardyn had once again invited himself in, leaning back in her chair, boots resting on her desk. “But little finch, you have not been the most subtle in your intentions. There are whispers, you know…”

“Intentions?” She snapped. “Oh how terrible, I want the prince to not wither away and die in his bedroom at the age of sixteen. What fucking whispers, Ardyn?”

“The daughter of Verstael schemes to make the prince completely reliant upon her, such that when he overthrows his father and takes the throne he will do so at her own whims.”

Del pinched the bridge of her nose, feeling a headache rising up. “I’m getting real fucking sick of politics. It’s like no one can do a single nice thing without having some wicked ulterior motive! It’s bullshit.”

“You have seemingly worked miracles, Delphia, in the eyes of the court.” Ardyn flicked at the brim of his hat to get a better view of her. “That is always suspicious.”

“Miracles. Intentions. All I did was treat my patient. I’m...I just want my brother to be healthy! Any sister would want that, much less one with a medical license. Is that so fucking terrible?!” Del was going to snap. Nothing about anything was ever easy in this godsforsaken hellscape of a country.

Ardyn lifted his eyebrows, eyes flickering to the door, before lifting a finger to his lips.

Del got the message. Someone was listening. And they heard...that. Slowly, quietly, she started to step towards the door. She gestured at Ardyn, asking him to talk so it wasn’t obvious they knew.

“Your heart is pure as always, little finch. But when one is steeped in their own darkness for so long, well…”

Del wrenched the door open and shot her head out, seeing no one but hearing fast paced foot steps.

“Darkness tends to be all one can see.”

She took off, down the long hallway, turning the corner. Nothing, not even a sound of a door. Whoever just heard her stupid ramblings, they got away. 

“I did warn you to be careful.” Ardyn said from behind her shoulder.

“Yeah.” Del swallowed hard, catching her breath. “You did.”

---

[gwiiyeoweo]

Cor brings back a killing machine dressed in a boy's soft skin and blonde hair, and he just hopes Regis doesn't wring his neck. But hey, at least Noctis likes his new playmate, because having a cyborg buddy is pretty rad.

Pairing: Prompto & Noctis, Prompto & dad!Cor Rating: G

When Cor brought the half-child back to Insomnia, clothing him in one of his own shirts that had to be knotted at the bottom, he wasn’t sure what Regis would say. He had expected a reprimand, an order to burn the machine dressed in rubber skin and nylon hair, or maybe to turn him over to the Citadel’s underground laboratories for immediate dissection. 

Instead, Regis lowered his knees and placed a gentle hand on the small thing’s shoulder. “You look to be the same age as my son. Would you like to meet him?”

When the half-child nodded his head with such silent enthusiasm, Cor forgot he had been the same one who shot half a magazine into a MT that caught the Marshal off guard, knocking him onto his back and raising its punishing axe into the air — only to have bullets drilled into its head in rapid succession. It had been jarring, really, to see a child of Noctis’ age holding an assault rifle in perfect form, despite his body and arms being far too small to carry such a massive gun. Delivering all headshots too. 

“I have a firearms program installed.” Prompto had explained once they were in the all clear, using the barcode on his wrist to unlock an emergency exit. “Handguns, rifles, snipers. Bazookas too. Oh man, the bazookas are fun. ”

“I thought you were a child. I never saw an MT so —”

“Sentient? I’m still a prototype, but I’m the second AI Dr. Besithia’s created.”

“Second?”

“First one went bonkers, tried to kill everyone after ranting about humanity killing the earth. Guess his second one won’t work out either. I’m sick of this place; way too cold and no chocobos around.” 

Never did Cor think he’d bring back a killing machine turned royal playmate for Noctis, but here he was. Watching two boys chase each other in the garden and dart between hedges and trees. One would think His Majesty would have at least a few qualms about letting a soulless cyborg hang around his one and only heir, child-shaped or not. 

“You brought him home, Cor.” Regis looked at him with a half smile and a raised brow. “I trust your decisions. You and Clarus have kept me alive thus far, no?” 

Despite the reassurance, Cor knew the intonations and inflections of his king’s tone to realize when there’s a threat laced in his words. And there it was, hidden under the layer of a friendly jab, poking death spikes through the blanket of a jolly smile and a warm hand clasped on Cor’s shoulder — which, had a very good grip. 

“Dad! Dad, look at this!” 

Noctis ran up to them, Prompto skipping after him, waving his phone in the air, padded thick with the strongest phone case royal currency could buy. Nevermind childish clumsiness, the boy tended to use his phone as his tether to throw and practice his warping. Cor had long lost count the trips made to repair shops and the electronics department, when the broken phone was beyond salvaging and a new one was needed. 

“Shifted through some lines, took a few backdoors,” Prompto said, looking up at Regis as he took the phone and scrolled down the screen. “A mobile game’s security is a cakewalk compared to like, a government’s secret database. Did I ever mention I have a hacking thing installed? No? Oh, well now you know.”

Cor coughed into his fist, pointedly averting his eyes away from the King and his neutral hum of acknowledgment. 

“How lovely. Try not to get into too much trouble though, alright?” Regis stooped down and handed Noctis his phone back, running a gentle hand in the boy’s hair and tussling the soft styling his caretakers had nitpicked over. Noctis squeaked, batting a small hand at his father’s, but smiled nonetheless. 

Regis may have been looking at his son, but his words were meant for another. Both Cor and Prompto didn’t miss the glance that was shot over to the little blonde's way, and the boy only winked in response. 

“C’mon, Noct, let’s get you some more five-star characters.” Prompto tugged at the hoodie of Noctis’ jacket, leading him over to the gazebo where the servants were already setting up lunch. “Are those cucumber sandwiches? Neat, I’m starving.”

Cor heard a young prince’s grumblings about vegetables grow distant as the two boys hurried away, Noctis lured into promises of high-leveled characters and Prompto into plates of little sandwiches and sweet cakes. 

“Ah, using nicknames already. Charming.” Regis smiled fondly at the distant figures, but the warmth quickly faded when he turned his attention back to Cor. 

Few things made his lion’s heart turn soft and meek like an abandoned kitten in the rain, and though they had spent their childhoods and now adulthoods together, Regis' ominous deeper-than-the-void smile that froze over the most heated council debates, where one look could subdue its members into silent submission, was one of those things. Sometimes, Cor caught himself wondering when exactly the petulant prince had turned into this fearsome king, had grown from a spoiled boy crying over creepy crawlies and dime-sized bruises to a man befitting his name and singlehandedly powering the magic blanketing the kingdom. 

"Cor," Regis said, his light tone a thin veil over the sharp threats beneath, "I'm sure you'll be taking good care of that boy?" 

In other words, "raising" Prompto to be anyone other than a machine gone haywire and murdering everyone like his failed predecessor. 

Cor doesn't have much parenting experience under his belt, despite all his other skills gained from years of training and survival and keeping Regis' alive through all their shenanigans together. Woe it was to be an only child, he thought, but at least he had something to work off of being with Regis and Clarus through their days of reckless youth — even if Weskham and Cid had held most of their collective brain cells and Cor had been the most brazen of them all, challenging anything with a pair of limbs to a fight. 

"Of course," came the immediate response. But even without Regis' silent promise of retribution, Cor had been planning on taking Prompto under his wing, or at the very least, responsibility for him. He never considered fatherhood, but something about a boy trapped in a cold metal laboratory and surrounded by lifeless soldiers struck a chord in him, despite said boy being neither human nor boy. Prompto was an interesting amalgam of technology and organic parts spliced together through a madman's genius, speaking and breathing according to the lines of code written into his processor; his small body and innocent face that of a child's but mind a vast database of secrets and knowledge galore. 

"Splendid!" Regis clapped his hands together, gone that eerie smile the very second he tossed an arm around Cor's shoulders, turning them over to the boys' trail. "Now, let's see if we can't have a few of those sandwiches ourselves before your Prompto eats them all up first."

Cor figured the sandwiches wasn't the only thing the boy would eat up. It may even cost him some sanity and a few years of his life to look after a dangerous android suddenly turned son — and that word alone fills him with an odd feeling he'll have to thoroughly inspect some other time — but he at least knew he'd rather have Prompto here in Insomnia instead of some whacked out Niff lab with some whacked out scientist. 

And when they slid into the seats beside the boys, Regis to Noctis' left and Cor to Prompto's right, and he watched Noctis coo and aww over the technological magic Prompto weaved into the phone game, Cor can only make shopping plans for the newest addition to the Leonis family.

[mct1313]

Blood in the Snow

I did it, I finally finished my first fanfiction!  It’s probably not great, and I’m super rusty with writing, and I probably should go through for another edit but I can’t believe I finished and am posting it before I chicken out! 

Tagging:  @ffxv-ocs-unite

Team members: Nike Palitine, Marchioness - spy Agent Collis Deckner - spy Dr. Alenium Mazza - former protégé of Verstael Besithia Cyprian  Mataro -  tech officer Glaive Sprau  Verma - Kingsglaive Glaive Kander Sterling - Kingsglaive

A year before the events of “Kingsglaive,” a small team of Lucians is sent on a mission to infiltrate a decommissioned Niflheim testing facility in hopes of discovering something to help turn the tide of war.  They are betrayed.

Lord Shield Clarus Amicitia stepped into the war room, stifling a yawn as he did.  Despite the early hour King Regis was already seated in a chair before the bank of screens, looking calm and regal as he glanced back at Clarus.  He had insisted the king didn’t need to be present for this operation, by all accounts the research facility the team was to recon was abandoned some time ago.  Regis had been adamant, however, that they were sending these young men and women into enemy territory for Insomnia and the least he could do, as king, was to be there, however remotely, for the mission.

Six young men and women, some of Insomnia’s finest.  Two spies with knowledge of Niflheim geography, customs and language, both had proven themselves in past missions to enemy territory.  One scientist, a researcher under Besithia before she defected to Insomnia, eager to prove her loyalty.  Their tech expert and radio man who had custom-made the entire team’s video equipment, able to (hopefully, thought Clarus) transmit in real-time all the way back to the monitors before them once activated.  The tech had assured them they’d have at least two hours of direct video, more for audio, but Clarus remained skeptical.  Rounding out the team were two Kingsglaive, selected for their lighter complexions and ability to blend in with the natives, at least from afar.   Looking around the room he spied Cor standing next to their radio tech, Vonte, both seeming to wait for the radio to chirp to life indicating the team had reached the last waypoint before approaching the facility.  There were several advisors in the room, those that served on the security council and had helped plan this mission, speaking softly together on the other side of Cor.  On the opposite side of the room, looking over various maps spread out on a table and occasionally glancing up at the clock above the monitors, was the prince’s advisor and their chief strategist for the mission, Ignis Scientia.  Clarus knew Ignis had spent nearly every waking moment when he wasn’t looking after the prince going over the mission plans, everything they knew about the facility, and fine-tuning every aspect of the mission.  Gladio had mentioned to his father more then once that Ignis was working himself into an early grave, but Clarus really couldn’t fault the kid, he knew he had a vested interest in seeing the team come back quickly and safely. All signs pointed to an easy mission, even so it was important.  They hoped to find anything left behind that might lend credibility to the horrendous reports of inhuman experiments; evidence of Niflheim’s atrocities committed against its own citizens.  With enough proof the hope was that they could bring Accordo into an alliance directly against Niflheim. The radio besides Vonte crackled to life and all eyes turned to it.   “Base, we’ve reached waypoint gamma,” tech officer Mataro’s low voice came over the speakers.  They had selected this point as the team’s final check in before approaching the facility.  It was in a remote area of Northern Niflheim, banked on two sides but low mountains.  It seemed like an ideal place for the team to prepare for the final approach to what is believed to be a now-decommissioned human testing facility, which lay on the other side of the snowy ridge.   “Copy that,” replied Vonte.  “All mics up.” Clarus heard the order repeated over the radio as the microphones given to the team members began hissing to life over the speakers as each person confirmed mics on. “You hearing everyone?” Came Mataro’s voice.  Vonte confirmed all six mics were clear and the group began their descent to the south side of the mountain and the waiting facility. ************************************************************************************* Everyone, save Scientia who was still pacing before the table of maps, had opted to sit at least 20 minutes ago, the sound of the group in Niflheim’s footsteps through the snow, and occasional banter, doing little to distract from the early hour.  So far, everything had been going to plan and it was unlikely that much would change, not with the mission plan they’d come up with and solid intel received.   “When this is over I’m going to spend at least a full ten hours lounging in a hot tub,” came the deep voice of Glaive Verma over the speaker.  “You’re welcome to join me doctor.” “That’s a hard pass from me,” came a curt reply in Mazza’s heavy-accented voice. “How ‘bout you Lady N?” A heavy sigh “I told you not to call me that.” “Sprau, less flirting, this is a mission, not a night out,” Glaive Sterling’s voice cut through the speakers.  “Besides, I doubt either of these ladies are that desperate.” “Ass,” came Verna’s reply. “Fuck, Nike, you seeing this?” “Yeah, I see it Col.  Looks like fresh tire tracks going through the gate.  Let’s get a closer look, see what we’re dealing with.”   Regis spoke up from his place seated in the center of the room “Vonte, can we get video up?” “Certainly, sire,” came the response.  “Command to alpha team, orders for video on.” “Affirmative sir,” replied Mataro as one of the monitors blinked to life in the war room, the video feed from his recorder successfully connecting.  “Video on everyone.” Slowly the other five monitors came on, each displaying the view of a team member and their name underneath.  It appeared that Agent Deckner, Col, was indeed in lead position, his monitor showing an expanse of white leading down to a small roadway with tire tracks showing through a dusting of snow.  From the monitors it looked like Lady Nike was close behind him, her white snowsuit doing a good job of camouflaging her small frame, bright red hair mostly hidden under a white cap.  Clarus turned his attention back to Mataro’s monitor, he was trailing slightly behind the others and would be in a better position to see how all six were situated.   Yes, good, thought Clarus as he took in the team’s positions.  Glaive Sprau’s bulk was easy to identify in between Nike’s petite form and the doctor’s taller frame.  Dr. Mazza was wearing the same white snowsuit as the rest of them but, like the glaive, had forgone the cap, allowing her short, white-blond hair to fall around her shoulders.  Glaive Sterling stood quietly a little behind Dr. Mazza, his head constantly moving as he continually scanned the area for any potential threats as the two spies discussed the tracks ahead and the best way forward.  His pale blue eyes occasional flicking back to Mataro and hands lightly resting on the kukris strapped to his upper thigh. After a few minutes he saw the two spies stand and turn to the rest of the group. “Ok, we’re going down towards the North side, we should have more cover.  We’ll figure out the next step once we’re closer,” Lady Nike announced. The team was quiet save for the sound of breathing and crunch of snow beneath their feet.  The command center remained quietly attentive as well, all focus now on the six monitors before them. It was about 40 minutes later when the group finally stopped, the faded white of the main research building spread out before them. “Something doesn’t feel right,” Nike whispered, Clarus wasn’t sure if it was to herself or one of the team. “There, boot tracks around that side building, they look fresh, too.”  Clarus could practically hear the frown in Glaive Sprau’s voice.   Agent Deckner’s feed slowly creeped forward, hugging the side of the building.  Most of the feed was blocked as he appeared to peer around the corner.  “Shit,” he hissed and the video spun, Col hurrying back to the rest of the team. “This facility is up and running, and least appears to be.  I saw at least a dozen MTs, they didn’t seem powered up but....” “Mataro, call it in, confirm our orders,” Glaive Sterling commanded. “Yessir.”  Mataro’s video showed him moving further away from the facility.  The main radio hissed to life “Command, instruction?” Nearly all eyes in the room turned to Regis, the king rubbing his chin thoughtfully.  “Instruct them to fall back, we will not allow them to go into this blind.” “Yes your majesty,” Vonte replied.  Then, into the radio “fallback and regroup.  Prepare for possible extraction.” “Roger that base,” Mataro responded.  He looked up at Sterling. “Our orders are to proceed into the facility.”  Sterling gave him a curt nod and returned to the rest of the group to prepare. “What the hell?!” Yelled Cor, grabbing the headset from Vonte.  “This is Marshall Leonis, your orders are to retreat to the extraction point.  This comes from the king himself.” “Your king, maybe,” Mataro’s voice creaked over the radio.  The room stood in rapt attention as Mataro’s feed showed him flicking a knife through the cord of the team’s only radio and throwing the pieces back into the snow.  Slowly he approached the back of Sterling and his feed showed a flash of movement as he buried the knife to the hilt in his back. Then all hell broke loose. ************************************************* Quiet pandemonium was the best way Clarus could describe the war room.  Most of the security council members stared in silent shock at the video feeds, trying to discern what was happening in the chaos of battle through each monitor.  Cor was shouting out orders which Vonte jumped to obey, searching for any friendly force nearby that could provide assistance; summoning Commander Drautos, head of the Kingsglaive, for additional support. Glaive Sprau’s deep voice shouting the order to retreat over the speaker.

The sound of Cor’s voice did little to cut through the clash of battle playing over the speakers.  Heavy breathing.  A flash of an MT arm on one of the monitors, the sounds of gunfire, a pained grunt as the view from another monitor spun towards the ground.  It was impossible to keep track of who was where and what was happening.   “Ignis,” he heard Regis say gently beside him.  He spared a glance, the king was standing now, a hand on young Scientia’s shoulder.  Ignis didn’t seem to notice, gaze fixed on the monitors, hands clenched in fists at his side.  “Son, maybe you should leave.” “No” was the soft reply. Clarus bought his attention quickly back to the monitors, trying to tune out all audio and focus on the images to discern what was happening.  Glaive Sterling was still down, his feed a jumble of white-clad legs doing their best to dodge the innumerable metal MT ones, the blue-white pop of warping every few seconds confirming that Glaive Sprau was still in the fight.  In the corner of the static feed he could just make out a smaller figure in the snow laying on their side, a pool of red growing on their back and trailing down into the snow.  Too small to be the traitor Mataro he quickly scanned the others trying to confirm who else was down.  

Sure enough Sprau’s feed was a confusion of movement as he warped around the MTs, doing a serviceable job of destroying as many as he could as fast as possible from what the shield could tell.  Lady Nike’s video was much harder to make out, something red, probably blood, partially covering the camera; though she, too, was moving, the crackle of a thundara bolt bursting to life in front of the camera as she sent it flying towards an approaching MT.  Agent Deckner and Mataro seemed to be facing off, Col’s feed showing he had Mataro trapped, his back against the building, the agent’s deadly daggers raised offensively and ready to strike.  That just left Dr. Mazzo.  He turned slightly to focus on her monitor and, sure enough, it appeared that she wasn’t moving, the screen showing nothing but snow.  “Damn,” Clarus hissed.

He brought his attention back to Deckner’s feed just in time to see the agent move again Mataro, the traitor bringing his knife up to defend himself while Deckner went low and to the side, his dagger flashing across the screen and finding its mark in Mataro’s side, a slash of red appearing across his white coat.  Clarus heard Mataro’s pained shout above the rest of the noise.  Good, he thought as Mataro fell to the ground, Deckner on top of him.  He knew it would be best if they could take Mataro alive so they could seek information but it was hard to think logically with the shock of betrayal.  He had his doubts that the agent would be able, or willing, to stay his hand.

Agent Deckner brought his arm down, hard, across Mataro’s chest, causing another shout of pain and, a second later, Mataro’s video feed cut off, following by the other five.

“Bring those feeds back up,” Scientia’s clipped voice demanded.  Clarus had nearly forgotten the young man was still in the room.  He glanced over to the advisor who had left his place by the map table and was now beside Cor and Vonte, his face an impassive mask.

“Can’t sir, the issues on their end, not ours.”

“What the hell is going on?”  Clarus turned to the new voice in the room, Commander Dratus.  When the hell did he get here?  Regis brought his hand up in a command for silence as the room seemed to freeze, all ears straining to make sense of the grunts, the sounds of clashing weapons, and harsh breaths coming from the speakers.  

Finally, finally, the sounds of battle gave way to panting breaths, but Clarus found it impossible to tell who, or even how many, of the team was left.  From his last look before the video feeds cut out it looked like Sterling, Mazza and Mataro were all down, but no clue on the extent of injuries or if anyone else was hurt.  Three down, at least half the team.  He knew most of them, if not personally then by reputation.  Sterling and Sprau were highly-regarded members of the Kingsglaive, young men who had come to Insomnia when their homes had fallen under Imperial rule and served well.  Mazza, Clarus was ashamed to admit, he had not trusted 100%.  She had spent her 20s working under Niflheim’s infamous Verstael Besthsia before defecting to Lucius, saying she could no longer stomach the atrocities her fellow scientists committed.  Clarus had had his doubts.

The two spies, however, he did know personally.  He had trained Agent Deckner in the crownsguard before he had been transferred over to intelligence.  He had a quick mind and was deadly with nearly any weapon.  He would had made a wonderful member of the guard but even Clarus could admit it would have been a waste of his talents, the information Deckner had been able to bring back on his various missions into Niflheim were invaluable.  

Clarus has known Lady Nike’s grandfather, the last remaining Marquis in Insomnia, all his life.  He can still recall the uproar in the citadel nearly 30 years ago when the man had appeared before the king to formally strip his son’s title and inheritance, all for marrying a woman he deemed beneath their station, an immigrant from Niflheim.  Clarus had been more than a little surprised when the old man had introduced his only granddaughter and heir to society three years ago.  Since then she had become friends with his son, Gladio, through her relationship with his best friend, Ignis, and was no stranger to the Amicitia Manor.

Mataro, unlike the others, had been born and raised in the crown city.  He had been recruited directly from high school to work for the crown, a technical prodigy who had designed long range sensors and various other tech used by the Kingsglaive.  As far as Clarus could remember, the young man has no family outside the city, no ties to Niflheim.  His betrayal was shocking.

Damn, someone say something he silently begged.  It was another few minutes before the astrals would answer his prayer.  It was Agent Deckner. “Those bastards got Sprau.”

“Al, too,” Lady Nike’s tired voice came through.  “We need to find Sterling.”  Another few moments of silence as the two spies appeared to survey the area.

Deckner’s voice broke the silence.  “Shit, Sterling’s bad, who had the med kit?” A beat “Mataro, I’ll check him.”  Footsteps, a hiss of pain.  Nike’s injured, too, thinks Clarus, they probably all are.  “Here, got it, it’s not much.” “Anything we can use” “A potion, some gauze” “Damn, hope it’s enough to get him to the evac site.” A sigh. “I know that look, what is it?” “What are the chances that there’s another ambush waiting for us at the evac site?” “Pretty fucking good I’d say.  So what do we do, start walking north and hope we find our way to what, Tenebrea?  Sterling will bleed out well before then.” “Find a new evac site and hope someone back home can still hear us?” “You mean someone who isn’t a traitorous asshole?” “Ideally, yes.  Got a better idea?” “No.  From what I remember there’s a clearing about seven miles northeast of here, on the other side of the ridge we followed down.  We should head there.”  A flurry of movement caught his attention, Scientia grabbing a map and practically running back to Vonte, Clarus was sure the young tactician already had a new extraction plan. A grunt of pain, Sterling’s, Clarus guesses.  He’s a good man, good soldier, he thinks.  It’s maddening not being able to see what’s going on. The sound of labored breathing, an occasional moan of pain, was all that could be heard for several minutes.  Finally, Col’s voice cut through the near silence. “Ok Nik, you’re up.” “I’m fine,” the reply came.  Clarus frowned, her voice sounded much weaker then minutes previous.  The adrenaline probably leaving her system. “You’re no help to either of us if you pass out from blood loss, too.  Let me at least wrap your arm, anything else can probably wait,” Col insisted. “Fine, but hurry.  We need to get moving before” a hiss of pain interrupts her. “Sorry, sorry.  That’s gonna have to do.  Let’s head to that ridge and pray to the six someone back home is coming for us.”

More infuriating silence, thought Clarus as the three began their long trek to the new evacuation site, heavy breathing the only sounds now coming through the speakers.  The war room, however, was a flurry of sound as Scientia and Vonte briefed the evac team over the radio while the council members began arguing amongst themselves, pointing fingers and trying to place blame for the huge mess the mission had become.  Clarus had little patience for that nonsense at the moment.

“Clarus,” Regis finally spoke, gesturing for him to join his old friend.  Clarus made his way over to his king.  “We need to find out everything we can about Mataro.  I fear the betrayal may run deeper than we know.”

“Of course sire.  I will personally lead the investigation.”

“Thank you old friend.”  King Regis turned his attention to the monitors, screens now black.  There he sat, Clarus by his side, for the next four hours.  As, one by one, they lost the audio feeds from the field team.  As the council members began retreating back to their homes, most still arguing as they left.  As Dratus left to return to kingsglaive headquarters with a swear and slam of the door.  Regis refused to leave until the remaining team members were safe, schedule and sleep be damned.  Scientia spent most of the time either on the radio with Vonte and the extraction team or pacing the length of the room, his obvious nervousness enough for Clarus to almost force him from the room, almost.

After nearly three hours of complete silence from the team the radio chirped, all eyes on the room immediately went to Vonte.  “Base, this is evac team one.  We have a clean evac of three.”

Regis was the first to speak “I want a status on all three and tell them to fly straight through to King’s Hospital, we’ll have a team ready for them.”

Vonte repeated the request to the evac team, Clarus only a little surprised by the response.  “We have a seriously injured glaive who needs immediate medical attention.  We will drop him at the hospital in Lestallum before continuing on.  I’d rather not risk his life trying to get him to Crown City.  The other two have no life-threatening injuries, though Lady Nike took a bullet to the shoulder and will probably need surgery.  We’ve got a medic stitching her other injuries up now.  Agent Deckner’s gonna need some stitches too, possible broken wrist.”

“Confirmed evac one, get here as soon as you can.  I’ll call ahead to Lestallum and have them prepared for your arrival.”

Regis looked back at Clarus and whispered “find out how this happened.  Keep the investigation quiet, inform only me of your findings.”

Clarus, fist to heart, bowed.  “On my word, your majesty.”

[eysiakieralika]