Chapter Text
Regis Lucis Caelum looked down at the small boy, curled up and asleep in his arms. By the age of five most little boys lose that cherubic quality that clings to them as babes, but not his Noctis. His features were still soft and round, swimming in baby fat beneath a mop of feathery black hair. The young Prince was the very image of innocence. Too innocent, Regis thought. Undeserving of this fate. Would that this were my burden to bear and not his.
When his beloved and never-forgotten Aulea had borne him his firstborn son and heir he had dreamt of a great reign for his child and his people. He dreamt of peaceful days in which Noctis would be praised for his justice and wisdom. He dreamt of a golden age for Lucis in which the arts and sciences thrived, ushering the kingdom into new realms of self-actualization and prosperity. He dreamt of a grown Noctis with snow white hair seated upon his throne and surrounded by the love of his future Queen and their many healthy children and grandchildren.
Then the Crystal had anointed his heart, his world, his Noctis as its chosen king. That enigmatic rock that was both blessing and curse had stolen those dreams from Noctis before the Prince was old enough to even imagine them himself.
Regis then began to fantasize about an unremarkable reign for his son, full of mundane deeds performed by a very average man. He sorely regretted his lofty hopes and aspirations. Perhaps this was the Astrals’ way of enacting penance upon him for his folly in daring to wish so much for his son.
From the moment that the Crystal had first chosen Noctis, Regis had vowed to do all in his power to ensure that Noctis grew up healthy, happy, and most of all, loved. Despite the great destiny set before him, Regis swore that above all else he would raise Noctis as his beloved son and not the Crown Prince, or sacrificial lamb in-waiting.
One of the first tasks that Regis set himself as part of his new life’s mission was to ensure that Noctis would grow up surrounded by the right people, who could support him when the day eventually came for him to fulfill his destiny. He would need retainers, advisors, and bodyguards. It had always been important to Regis that those people be competent, but suddenly it was also imperative that they be bonded to Noctis not only by duty and obligation, but love and loyalty.
Noctis had a good start already, with his future Shield. Traditionally the sons of the Amicitia line defended the sons of the line of Lucis. His own Shield, Clarus Amicitia, had an eight-year-old son who held every promise of making a fine Shield one day. Gladiolus was already big and strong for his age, and he spent hour upon hour each day training – he was likely to grow into a behemoth of a man some day. Gladiolus had also inherited (from his mother, he liked to remind Clarus) an infectious personality. The kid was a people person, no two ways about it. Friendly, bright and charming, there wasn’t a sole within the Citadel’s walls who didn’t consider the young Amicitia to be their personal friend. Regis had every confidence that such a boy would grow up to have as strong of a bond with Noctis as he himself did with Clarus.
Ensuring that Noctis had an Advisor who was up to the task of being his son’s loyal and steady right hand during the trying times to come would prove to be a unique challenge, however. Historically, the Kings of Lucis had many means of acquiring advisors and retainers. A King who ascended at an early age often inherited his father’s staff. Those who were fortunate to ascend later in life might draw upon their own experiences and observations amongst the nobles and council members of the day, bringing the best of the best into their personal service. Regis feared that Noct’s ascension would be an early one, but he was loathe to see Noctis inheriting his own advisors. He wanted his son to have someone by his side who he would be loyal to Noctis not because of his station, but because they were bound by trust and friendship before duty. He wanted his only child to have someone who could be akin to a sibling.
Within weeks of Noctis being chosen Regis set the wheels in motion for a most irregular search for a chamberlain for his son. It would be an unorthodox process to find an advisor for a most unique future King.
Word was spread throughout Insomnia and beyond that His Majesty was in search of a child between the ages of seven and ten, to be brought to the Citadel to be raised alongside His Highness, to be groomed for the young Prince’s service. There would be a multi-stage selection process consisting of various tests, interviews, and background checks. All children within the desired age range were permitted to apply, regardless of birthplace or social status. They need only prove his or herself worthy, and their family must be willing to turn their child over to the care of the Crown. They must also be willing and able to take on varied duties, many of which traditionally fell outside of an Advisor’s responsibilities, and the child would begin working in some capacity immediately. Their time would belong exclusively to the Crown. It was a great deal to ask from one person, particularly a child, but it was a position of significant honor which in itself should be its own reward.
There was an overwhelming response from the people, particularly from the commoners and members of lesser aristocratic families. These families saw the competition as a chance to provide a better life for their child, even if it meant seeing them raised at a distance, by others within different social circles. The Citadel staff had a massive undertaking on their hands as they had to sift through the preliminary applications and test results.
It took several weeks but eventually a dozen children were singled out for additional testing and interviews. They all had flawless background checks, and had performed remarkably well on the written examination that had been distributed to schools and government offices throughout Lucis. The twelve finalists were brought to Insomnia to sit a day-long series of written examinations under the strict supervision of Palace authorities. They were then interviewed by members of the King’s household. Should any of the candidates meet the high standards set forth by His Majesty, they would be granted an audience with the royal family to serve as a final test – ensuring that the young Prince actually liked the child and was willing to be attached to him or her.
When all was said and done, one child emerged the clear victor, and as hoped, the young Prince was quite taken by the soft-spoken bespectacled boy presented to him.
When the process of finding an Advisor for Noctis began, notifications were sent to government offices and primary schools throughout the realm so that the populace at large would have access to the necessary forms and applications. Information packets were also provided to all Citadel staff members in the event that they knew of a suitable child already. One such staff member was Alsius Scientia, himself an advisor and attendant to the current King.
Alsius flipped through the pages of the application form, hazel eyes dancing in amusement. The entire booklet was an inch thick, with at least half of it consisting of an initial screening aptitude test. He shook his head and chuckled wryly. He knew that the Council had wanted to make the process daunting, to deter people from applying on a whim, when they knew that their child was too unremarkable to realistically stand a chance, but this was excessive. “Bureaucracy at its finest,” he mused aloud to himself.
Alsius had a nephew whom he was fairly certain was within the required age range. He had never met the lad, but he exchanged cards and letters with his brother and his family several times a year. He’d received several letters written by young Ignis over the years, and he recalled that the little boy’s writings had always struck him as being surprisingly erudite for one so young. His brow furrowed then, and he wondered if he had perhaps recalled the boy’s age incorrectly, he may be older than ten already.
The elder Scientia strode through his apartment, over to his desk. In the bottom drawer, tucked neatly into wooden box, was a packet of letters and cards. He untied the bit of ribbon that held the little pile together and began sifting through them. He didn’t know precisely what he was looking for – anything that would confirm Ignis’s age would do. He eventually landed on a family photograph showcasing his brother and his wife each with an arm around the other, and a little sandy-haired boy between them, grinning up at the camera from beneath a pair of too-large spectacles. On the back, in his brother’s neat writing there was listed their names, and next to Ignis’s in parentheses it said age four. There was a date as well, and he didn’t require his masters degree in mathematics and economics to perform the simple arithmetic. Based on the photograph, Ignis would have turned seven earlier in the year.
Alsius found himself cocking a brow as he began sifting through the various cards and letters, picking out those that were written in his nephew’s childish hand. There was a surprising number of them, some going back to when he was only a toddler. “And his grammar and spelling was already better than half the admin staff here.” He chuckled to himself.
Carefully replacing the precious bundle of letters, he retrieved his copy of the information packet and set about drafting an unscheduled correspondence to his brother. Word of the competition would likely reach their remote village to the north of Tenebrae – eventually – but who knew if it would arrive in time for the Scientias to get their application back to the capital before the deadline? Alsius pursed his lips then, noting with some bitterness that the two-week window of opportunity was likely a deliberate attempt to exclude those in the outlying territories. For all their talk of being a civilized and righteous society, people there could be extremely closed-minded when it came to outsiders. He himself had suffered many the suspicious glare when interacting with civilians, who recognized his accent as foreign, but did not recognize his face as one of many attendants to His Majesty. He saw the mistrust in the peoples’ eyes, their skepticism, their fear of the unknown and different.
He paused in the midst of addressing the envelope. Was he doing the right thing by bringing this to his family’s attention? He knew that they would carefully review the information and would weigh the pros and cons of the situation carefully. He was by no means making this decision for them, merely ensuring that should they decide that they did wish to apply, that the paperwork would get to them in time to actually do so. He planned to utilize a courier to get the information to them within two days.
Alsius knew that the packet provided information detailing the terms of the position, the requirement for the child – and only the child – to be housed within the Citadel and brought up alongside His Highness. It outlined the enhanced educational programme, the details of the compensation that the child and their family would receive, and any number of other logistical items.
What it did not explain, however, was the deep fear and mistrust that Insomnians bore towards outsiders. Nor did it explain the resentment members of the aristocracy were likely to feel should a commoner, and a commoner from beyond the Wall no less, be accepted. Alsius had experienced that himself to a certain extent. He hoped that, as an innocent child, Ignis would be shown more compassion and be more sheltered, but nothing was ever guaranteed, particularly not in the world of politics.
After deliberating for a few long minutes he heaved a sigh and finished addressing and sealing the envelope. It was fine. His brother and sister-in-law were intelligent people. They didn’t need him to explain the layers of racism and prejudice wound within their culture. It was well-known and something they would consider even without his input.
This was in the end a good opportunity for young Ignis, who based on his letters did appear to be rather gifted. His brother’s family did well enough for themselves, considering their remote setting, but for a gifted child like Ignis there would only ever be so far that he could go, so much he could learn in his one-room schoolhouse. The fact that Ignis was literate at such a young age was likely due to the fact that it was Alsius’s brother who was in fact the village schoolmaster. The family lived above the schoolhouse, and he could see in his mind’s eye his brother teaching a tiny Ignis – barely out of diapers – his letters as they sat around the dinner table. The mental image made him smile fondly. He often wished that his brother had followed him to Insomnia – he missed him – but he had such a tender heart and a gentle spirit, perhaps the big city would have smothered that.
Alsius still felt doubts niggling at his brain even after entrusting the package to the courier. He consoled himself with the knowledge that even with his obvious brilliance there was no guarantees that Ignis would be selected, and that was assuming his parents even decided to submit the paperwork. If by some small chance Ignis was named the Prince’s Advisor, well, surely it was meant to be.
Neither Regis Lucis Caelum nor Alsius Scientia could have known what their respective actions would set in motion, or the heavy price that a young Ignis Scientia would be forced to pay. Noctis’s happiness would be bought and paid for with Ignis’s suffering. It would take a full decade before the young chamberlain’s wounds could begin healing.