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[His hand pauses against the wall, dragging down a little before he catches himself. He studies the near-mess he just made, and slowly lowers his hand to his lap, fingers squeezing against the sponge and feeling the cool dribble of paint seeping under his nails. He knows what it means, when she says his name like that.]

If you're gonna ask me how I am, should we just skip the steps where I lie and you call me out on it?

[He could say it again. He could. It would be easy, practically default at this point. Say he's fine, make up an excuse. Just... smile, shrug, and pretend. He could go back to his painting and maybe tomorrow it would be better, if he could just limp along until then. His burdens don't have to be hers.

He's... so tired, though. He feels tired all the time now, and it's wretched. Everything's piled on so high and it's heavy.]

[ Allowing him to have his space to think things over is something she can afford him, but stewing in thought, ruminating, is something she can see that weighs and harms him.

Noctis is good at hiding things that bother him and keeping his troubles in, and she remembers how for months he hadn't been ready to speak about his fate with her, instead shouldering it all himself. It had been by chance she found it out. At the same time, there are instances like this where it's obvious that something effects him-- or, more likely, he's allowed himself to be more lax around her. That is to say, this could have very well been brushed aside by him. She's glad that he isn't falling back into old habits.

As the paint slides from his fingers as he cups his hands together, her head tilts, tapping briefly to his shoulder affectionately, before she raises it up again, turning to watch his profile. ]

I think that... you have something to say. And I want to listen.

[He looks down, reluctant to meet her eyes. It's always harder, seeing the other person. Like if he pretends they're not here, he can make himself believe he's just complaining to himself and not bothering anyone. If he doesn't see their face, he won't watch it constrict with pain or worry or anger depending on the words he shares. It's kind of cowardly, but... it helps. He's not there yet.

What does he even say.]

...You remember... our first training session? [He discards the sponge and lifts his hands a few inches, palms up.] All those lights, and... I couldn't catch them.

[He can't keep everyone. Not safe, not with him, not... anything. He's tried, but everything's falling to pieces and he doesn't know where he went wrong.]

[ She grows quieter as she does remember, in that moment, the first time they had bonded, the way those lights looked, he way he had looked while he was holding them in his hands, struggling to catch and support them all... ]

I do.

[ She also remembers feeling that it had been too much for him, even then. He couldn't carry them all-- and, in retrospect, it had been unfair an expectation for him to place upon himself that he should be able to.

She feels as if he's going somewhere with this, so she doesn't say more. But she does give his shoulder a small rub, as if to encourage him to continue. ]

[He wishes he could leave it at that, honestly. He doesn't know what's safe or fair, how much is reasonable to share. He starts off tentative, wary of his own words.]

I... had a fight with Era. Last month. Haven't really been talking. She contacted me recently and it just made me feel worse even though she was trying to apologize. It didn't feel right, I don't...

[...know. He never seems to know. He walks blithely through life, seemingly ignorant of everyone else's problems, too caught up in his own issues to recognize the signs. Was it what he said, did it snowball so badly because of his careless words months ago, or was this inevitable?

He doesn't know. His hands curl into fists.]

How do you deal with this? It's... kind of infuriating.

[All the drama and misery he keeps bringing to the table- even when he doesn't go searching for it. Somehow she's always stuck picking up the pieces, and here he's fumbling to do just the bare minimum, like explain himself.]

[ Perhaps she really had let this sit too long before prying further, yet the topic is a sensitive one, given that Pyra had grievously, if not by intention, offended the person in question not too long ago, either. Twice over. Thrice over? It seems all she does is make things worse.

She wants to ask more about what happened to provide context, but she's not sure what he wishes to say or tell her. Getting him to talk is hard enough in of itself, and she doesn't want to offend.

It's safer, then, for now to just give him her support-- which he has, unconditionally. None of this twisted "how do you deal with this" talk. She's not the one who is hurting, here, and it doesn't bring her any pain to listen him. ] No, it's-- okay. Ah, I mean, it's not okay.

[ Okay that he's with her, it's not frustating, and so on. It's not okay that-- ]

If... an apology makes one feel worse... Then it isn't an apology, Noct.

...I know.

[He so very much would like it to be, though. Everything would be much easier if both of them felt validated by the end of the conversation and could sweep all of this under the rug. That's not how emotions and minds work, though, and faking it would have been brutally dishonest.]

I just- I wanted to try talking, when she had the party at Valeo. I didn't go, and then that Emet guy asked me to come with, and Hythlo was so hype to see me I couldn't say no. It felt weird not to talk to Era, but she... it was so uncomfortable. She thought I didn't want to talk, and I thought she didn't want me to talk, and then she kept saying... [He trails off, then grimaces.] There was... a lot. That I didn't like. And I can't even tell if she did it to hurt me or protect herself.

[Assuming they're even mutually exclusive, which they very well might not be at all.]

[ There's a bit of a brow raise at that. "Did it to hurt me", seems a bit of an understatement, given his reaction when he came back to their home that day, and how it permeates his mood even now.

"Family-- Well, I trust them. And ... I love them. I know they'll accept me, no matter what."

And home: safe, comfortable, loved.

The framework of Prompto's qualifiers for both family and home come to mind in that moment. Hurting by accident-- that's a given, unavoidable, because all are fallible, but in neither of them does it mention that family members intentionally hurt each other.

And then there are Era's own words: "Should physical and/or emotional harm ever befall him because of willful action or inaction on your part, it will be my duty as his sister to ensure you regret it with every fibre of your being for the rest of your existence."]

Family... should not intentionally hurt each other.

[Noctis closes his eyes at those words, quiet for a long moment. It's not her fault, that they strike right to the core of the problem where it hurts most.]

She doesn't want that anymore. Being part of our family comes at too high a cost.

[Because she's afraid of losing them, or because she doesn't deserve them, or because all they do is take and not give back to a satisfying degree, or because she felt pressured about the Pyra issue, or because she's a stuck-up bitch (not that, of course, not that, but). He never got a proper answer out of her, and he doubts the truth of it, but those were still her words.]

[ And family is free to choose. So. If she doesn't wish for it anymore... Then.

Pyra glances away for a moment, then back to Noctis. ]

I... do not wish you to be hurt. [ And Era has hurt him, and not by accident. ] But what do you want?

[ Family is there to choose, and it's not something bound by blood, and it's there something to choose every day, over and over. That's something Noctis had taught her. While one may not view the other as family, another might see them as so. ]

[What he wants... gods. He's been trying not to let himself think about that, because so much of what he's wanted goes against whatever's good or desired by other people and that would be truly selfish. He has to rethink a lot these days, and the answer's been evading him.

He exhales a held breath after a long silence, tilting his head to bump it against hers. What do you want.]

I wanna stop feeling like this... but there's no easy fix for it.

[He can't magically make himself un-hurt, he can't roll back the damage dealt on either side, he can't force an apology for the right thing. He... should work on wanting something a little more realistic.]

[ As he tilts his head to bump against hers, she lowers her hand from his shoulder, bringing her hand up to pet lightly through his hair. After hearing the pain in his voice, she hesitates for a moment on how to proceed. Does she ask him to elaborate on hos he feels, is this pain to great to warrant a distraction?

Perhaps... empathizing works. A little pain shared, to know she's been there, too. ]

Like... knives, doesn't it? Losing those lights.

[ ... ]

The greatest hardship of all is.... forgiving the guilt of allowing such lights to slip from one's hands, especially when it had been beyond one's power to keep them, and only being able to watch them from afar.

[ Like little stars, they become, beacons upon the horizon, bright and pure, but untouchable as the sky turns. Inspiring, but only in hearts and memories. ] They're still there, Noct. All of them.

[Knives... he's reminded at once of Ardbert's comment. It was true then, and truer still now. Stabbing and twisting, right where it'll hurt most- one wound for every person he allowed himself to care about and lost due to some failing of his own. He's not the cause of Era's traumas, but this- this specific seed, he planted himself, and maybe he'd neglected to disown his words emphatically enough. Maybe there was no helping it. How could he know, now?]

Still there, but... it feels kind of like a different sky.

[An ironic metaphor, considering the subject. Era, seeking to excise herself from the Caelum family. Like a star drifting out of the sky. It's a stupid thought, of course. It's... not like they can't ever be friends again, probably. Her not being family doesn't mean they're forbidden from crossing paths. It's just- different. A new constellation, and he doesn't know the parts of it yet. Whatever lines she draws for herself, he... can deal with it.]

Sorry... I know what you're trying to say, and I get it. Just... I started this, I think. I didn't mean to, but it happened, and... you know me.

[He holds on to guilt a lot. It's hard not to.]

[ Her brow raises then lowers at that, as if she doesn’t quite follow. ]

I’m.... not so sure about that. [ She gently doubts, not that because she believes he’s lying, but because she knows he can misplace the blame onto himself. That guilt and blame go hand in hand, and he shoulders so much. ] You should know, Noct, that the cause of your hurt... it’s not you. Or how this started.

[ She’s also not quite sure what he means by him starting anything. Nevertheless, she automatically takes his side against the self-blame that’s so neatly ingrained.

To say nothing of that she suspects she’s the root cause of this. ]

Edited 2021-03-11 04:25 (UTC)

[He looks down, his expression deeply uncomfortable.]

I said... I wanted my family to be whole. I didn't even think about it, and I didn't mean what she thought. But ever since then she's talked about leaving, or not belonging in it, or... [He lifts his shoulders in a reluctant shrug. Well, she's done it, more or less.] How is that not on me?

[It... shouldn't be. Deep down, he knows that. The argument they'd shared had been broken on multiple levels, with issues he lacks the expertise to analyze but can recognize it as wrong. Still, still. This fight had a catalyst, and it started with his inability to let her set the terms of how they all move forward. Or... something. Right?]

You said you... want your family to be whole. [ She repeats again, her tone firmer, holding the silence for a few moments to emphasize it. ] How in any way does that translate to you wanting another one of your family to be gone? [ Minds can twist words, but this is unhealthy and hurtful to someone she loves. It’s painful to see him struggle because of it, assigning all of that self-blame onto his shoulders when he does that enough already. ]

Noct... This sort of thing— it’s really hurting you.

[ But if Era says she wants to excise herself from a family.... She knows that she has that right, and it’s already been established that when one sees another as family, that person doesn’t need to view them the same way. ]

A family. A real one... You shouldn’t have to tolerate being harmed by them. You can ask to not be hurt. You can have that. [ She knows he’s lenient with it, she knows she wants to hold all the lights within the palms of his hands before they fall, especially if he’s never had a solid foundation of a family beneath his feet.

...She’s not one to talk. What she’s learned of what makes a family family, she’s pieced together from experiences in her own world with mostly those she’s had in Havenwell. However, she knows that what she’s seeing here in him isn’t right, but damaging. He keeps what he has close because that’s all he has, and as far as she knows never has he pushed another away himself. But if he’s simultaneously hurt by them... ]

...I can't...

[He should agree. He should, he knows he should, what she's saying sounds sensible. No one should be okay with being hurt. Even if it's what Era needs for herself, even if he pushed her into that corner (right?), it doesn't have to be okay, except-

He hesitates.

It doesn't apply to him. It's right, it makes sense, but for him, normal rules don't apply, do they? He's hurt people too, selfishly, he's whined or disappointed them or been ignorant to their pain, he's gotten so many blessings he doesn't deserve at the expense of others and now that sunk cost has come calling-

His heart rate picks up, beating like a hammer in his chest.

There's so many instances of it throughout his life, moments he could have done better, been more supportive. Instead of longing for his father's attention or begrudging broken promises, he could have stepped up and helped with more of his burdens. Instead of grieving only for himself, he could have comforted the others who mourned the city when it fell. Instead of shutting everyone out, he could have helped Ignis, saved Prompto, listened to Gladio. Back in Insomnia he wasted countless hours playing games that in the end don't matter to anyone, won't help the world or those who live in it. (Why had he gone fishing so often? Did people die whom he could have saved when he was fishing?) And here, he's definitely not doing enough, if he doesn't step up everyone will leave, there's no obligation to the crown anymore-

He can't breathe.

He can feel that strange pressure at the back of his mind again, weighing down on him, smothering his thoughts. Selfish, selfish, reflect on your actions, stop being distracted by your own problems and think about someone else. Stop making them worry, you can fix this-]

...I can't-

[He can't breathe. He's drowning and he can't breathe.]

[ When he speaks, her head lifts to look at him. She's steady as she holds him, waiting for him to continue. Can't... what? Can't accept that he shouldn't be hurt by family? Can't accept that there is a life for him, here, without being hurt unnecessarily? That he can choose who to keep with him, based on who hurts him or not? Or that he can ask not to be hurt by those that love him, to not accept that hurt, that he can ask for better?

His words fail him, however, and she watches in stalled time as his expression shifts, pales, then cracks before her very eyes, as if instead of gently unraveling what he's feeling, it's all barreling over him at once. He's looking at her, but it's as if he's not seeing anything at all.

Moments ago, she had contemplated a distraction versus talking of his feelings further, over which she had decided to empathize, believing that he only needed encouragement to speak, that this was good. Now, she almost immediately regrets her decision. The pain she sees on his face is more visceral than any expression he's ever worn-- more defeated than when he had returned after re-awakening from his slumber, more wrought than when he had seen the vision of his fate first-hand, struck with dread like when an intrusive memory had bombarded him, and just as grave and gaunt at the moment of his almost-death in her arms....

Something is holding him, gripping him, choking him. ]

....Noct. [ She calls his name softly, a whisper intended for him and only him, but with firmness which she hopes will at least get him to focus back on her, instead of whatever might be plaguing him. She shifts where she's sitting so that she's more in front of him, ignoring the paint that smears around them or in his hands. One of her hands goes to his chest, palm steadily feeling the racing heartbeat beneath. (Is it another memory, so graciously given to him by the Ring or the Crystal? Is it something else, the Ring again maybe, that with just a flutter of him using it can make him writhe? Or is it the Fetter again?) ] Noct... I'm here.

[ Her other hand, the one that had been on his shoulder, lifts to the nape of his neck and then to the back of his head, bringing him towards her.

She doesn't embrace him, for fear of smothering him.

Instead, she does what she did when they had first met: foreheads, pressing to each other, her hand on his chest, and the syncing of their breaths. She adds one more aspect to it this time, though, and that is to bring one of his paint-covered hands to her chest in return, too, just to the side of her crystal. It's something physical, tactile, real and there, so that beneath his palm he might feel the rise and fall of inhales and exhales, cues for him to pick up upon. ]

With me. [ She encourages, keeping her tone calmed, although she cannot help the soft plead in her voice, the sad hope that she can reach him... Reach him, because whatever's holding him is terrifying him, blinding him in this moment. She can ask what he's feeling later; right now she wants him to know that she's with him. And she waits for it, she tires and tries to encourage it out of him no matter how long or how many times it might take, her fingers petting through his hair as she keeps their forehead together. Just one, all she needs is one.

If she gets at least one steadier breath from him, she'll say it again. ]

Again, with me. With me.

[It takes a handful of moments like that, with her holding him, pressed close, the silence broken only by his jackhammer heartbeat and stuttered breathing - hers steady, his quick and panicked - before his eyes dart up to look at her, seeing her again, only half-hearing her words but slowly recognizing what she's trying to urge him to do. His throat makes a choked noise at first, and he clenches his eyes tightly shut, but a few more moments pass and slowly, slowly, he tries to get a grasp on his breathing. He breathes in, out, unable to match her at first but the more he tries, the more he's able to regain control. "With me." He's not even sure what's happening, but this feels familiar, something he must have felt long ago and was too overwhelmed to cope. He's never let himself get that weak again, and he's... not sure what changed. A fight with some stranger is nothing new, and it's been half a month since the argument. Era's apology was just... more discomfort, but nothing all that new. Why is he freaking out now of all times, in the safest place in the city for him, with the one he loves? What's wrong with him?

He doesn't chase that thought too far, though. Or rather, he's not able to- the moment he tries her words are echoed again and he refocuses, breathing in. Breathing out. Steadier now, getting better with every gasp until it hardly resembles where he'd started. He tries not to let himself feel too much shame about how long it takes to get there.

When he feels somewhat more normal, or at least able to get a few words out, his eyes flutter and he looks down, not at his lap like before but his hand, the one resting against her chest, watching the rise and fall of it, synchronized with his own. The way she moves with him is comforting, it grounds him even further, helps him tentatively reach towards the next step.]

...Can we go? [His voice is a whisper, eyes fixed on the crystal next to his fingers.] Inside?

[It's a quiet plea, hopeful but hesitant, not wanting to impose. He has mixed feelings about being there sometimes, even with how different it is from his own, but suddenly it's the only thing he can think to ask for. Elysium... her home... it's beautiful. Peaceful, the quiet broken only by the occasional ringing of a distant bell. No one else but them around. Away from all of these troubles, away from the fighting and the anger and the guilt, away from his heart that won't stop racing.]

[ All he does is need to ask, and after a brief pause, she takes her hand off of his chest to instead lightly clasp her palm around his. Then, she guides the tips of his fingers to press lightly upon the crystal set there. The glow, rich but neutral, vibrant but heatless, dominates....

It will be like all the other times he's entered before, a brief taking of consciousness, then him awakening to a realm of indiscernible time, late spring and early summer indistinguishable from each other, soft grass and white weed-flowers beneath, and clear, cloudless skies above. Eternal, preserved, and constant, and unaffected by all else: this is the memory of Elysium, where only souls might enter.

A gentle breeze, its kiss upon his cheek warm, may tickle him to wakefulness. Or maybe it's familiar fingers dusting at his bangs, brushing them back, that will rouse him. Regardless, he'll see the singular tree, full of ripe leaves and life, upon the hill above them and her smiling down at him. The bell tolls solemnly in the distance, the only mark of time passing at all.

But they are not pressed for time.

Here, it is peaceful, and that peace is unwavering. If she can bring just a moment of its peace to him... Well, he's here.

While his head is in her lap, her palm still remains upon his chest. ] One more time.

[When his awareness returns and his eyes flutter open, it's... surreal, how quickly he feels a sudden wave of calm rush over him purely by looking up at the sky where he lies. He focuses on that quietly for a moment, the soft, beautiful blue hues, different but familiar, with her profile watching over him and her fingers weaving through his hair. Hearing her request and recognizing it, he slowly breathes in, out, wrapping himself in that calm like a security blanket. When he finally meets her gaze, he doesn't quite smile back, but there's a softness in his eyes that was decidedly missing before.

He's grateful, of course; he did need this it turns out, an escape from the constricting nature of his human body, the room, the city itself. A temporary balm, he knows, and this isn't somewhere he can hide forever. Still, it's... nice. Soothing. Some corner of his heart had wanted to see a real sky again, even in a dream.

It takes a bit before he trusts his voice again, simple but thick with emotion that's difficult to define. Grief, weariness, relief.]

...Thanks...

[ After he takes in another breath with her, she becomes satisfied enough to retract her hand back to the top of his head, only to continue that gentle, repetitive movement of her fingers brushing along his bangs.

He looks... exhausted, but it's of no effort on her part to reply with this, a steadily spoken-- ] Always. [ --A promise, to accept doing anything for him, unconditionally, and to never grow tired of helping him. To help, not to hurt.

She wants him to talk, only, she's not so sure how to open. She's been through enough battles, traveled with a militia before to know that at times, soldiers would be gripped by bouts such as what Noctis has just experienced. For now, she's relieved that he's not currently consumed, which just leads to her wondering... how much he has been leaving his past wounds to fester, and how this current lesion from Era ripped it all open.

She stands by what she says. He can want to not be hurt. He can want for better.

"How do you deal with this? It's... kind of infuriating." She gets the feeling that he's far more frustrated and impatient with himself, than whatever he believes she should feel about him. ]

Always, Noct. I've said before, and I'll say it again. I'm here for you. [ In this moment, it doesn't seem like quite enough, though. It never seems that way. She's fighting against hardship after hardship that befalls him-- or supporting him. But it's he who bears the brunt of the battles and the gore of conflict each and every time. ]

[Again he goes quiet, closing his eyes and indulging in the soothing sensation of her hand in his hair, breathing again, counting off each one as if it'll make a difference. (It might, he doesn't know. He's new at this.) After a handful of moments his hand searches for her free one, seeking to weave their fingers together. They're all important pieces of the puzzle that forms his calm, and though it can sometimes pain him to admit it, he... needs this. He does.

"You can ask to not be hurt."

I can't, he'd said, and thought, in return. The thought had rushed through his mind, harsh and irrational, and he'd been unable to fight it at all. He couldn't ignore the feeling that his pain was a small price to pay for the happiness of others, that many have sacrificed so much already, for him or for others around them. His own pain is supposed to be good, he thought, because it means someone else isn't carrying it for him. Like what Ardyn does for him sometimes- draws out the ache of his old injuries, bearing it for a little while. It feels good at the time but he hates it, being that weak, being unable to carry his own burden as he always had. It isn't... fair.

When did he start thinking like this? He'd grown up with it, to an extent, hardly questioned it since childhood. "You learned to cope with the disappointment — by pretending you didn’t care," Carbuncle told him once, years ago, when his loneliness and fear of broken promises had slowly made him more closed off and distant. (His pain became irrelevant in light of the responsibility carried by others, and the one looming in his future.) "Are you a man of royal blood or not?" Gladio had asked of him, when he'd struggled with the pain inflicted on him by the gods and the weight of the crown he'd feared his whole life. (He is, he knows, but why does his humanity have to come with such conditions attached?) "I believe you understand quite well, King of Kings," Era reminded him, one more dagger sunken deep amidst the others she'd left in his heart that day. (What he wants doesn't matter. Hopes and dreams and even the tiniest wishes of a child were set aside for the good of all instead of one. That's- normal.)

This feeling is nothing new, but... has it always been this bad? He can't tell if the weight of it has changed or his perspective has gotten worse. It isn't a thing he's let himself ponder very much. Easier to bury it to avoid spreading that hurt to other people. Only problem is that here, and now, it's become an inevitability if he can't handle it alone. It's brought him here, and although Pyra promises always this isn't fair to her, either.

If she allows it, he's quiet like this for several minutes, searching for serenity and the words he might find within himself to explain what just happened, until,]

I can't... let my problems make life worse for them. I have to be better for them, or I owe it to them, or... it won't matter in the long run, anyway. [He hesitates, then exhales a shaky breath, as if he can't believe his own words.] That's... what I thought.

[ If she had a literal heart, it would feel if it's sinking like stone to her stomach. He still aches, he's still in pain-- this entire time, he had been lingering just beneath the surface of his skin, with him pushing it away, and she hadn't seen him struggle in the meantime. It's only by coincidence that she's caught him from drowning. She's troubled, yes, but... relieved he's still here with her. His fingers curl into hers like so many countless times before, and she gives his hand a squeeze in return. All familiar gestures; something that she hopes in which he can find stability.

Exchanging the word "problem" for "pain" makes his words sound worse: I can't let my suffering make life worse for them, as if-- ] As if... others' happiness is worth more than yours.

[ He can choose with whom or when to share his burdens, he can choose how much to share, or to hold off with sharing when another might be hurt instead-- that all is fair, and it requires tact, timing, and wisdom. But to dismiss his suffering altogether because he owes being strong for, better for, and not burdening others he's been ingrained to protect? And, Architect, does she understand that, empathizes with such sentiments, she knows them well herself enough to be a hypocrite. But for him, and seeing how this hurts him--

Ingrained, because he is royalty, because he has a fate and prophecy attached to him, and because-- of him. Because he needs to be strong, because he wants to protect others, because this is the standard of strong and brave to him, giving himself up for others, taking the fall, or otherwise pushing his own pain away for one reason or another, moving forward, keeping others close to him even if they hurt him, and wanting to help, even at the cost of himself.

Even if the world or gods hadn't demanded it of him, he would still give himself entirely to it. He is just that sort of person.

For how long has he dismissed himself? A year since she's known him, and certainly even longer throughout his life. ] When you are hurt, Noct... it matters.

Edited 2021-03-13 02:12 (UTC)

[He opens his mouth, closes it, not sure what to say. Isn't it worth more than others? His entire life had been working towards sacrifice, even with all of the indulgences he'd been permitted growing up. If he wasn't required to die for the dawn he'd have given his life the way his father did, siphoned off years at a time to support the wall. It isn't as though he'd had any lofty dreams of ending a war that had existed for hundreds of years until the city fell and they'd been left with no choice anymore. He knew his place. He... thought he'd known his place.

His dad would have been happier spending time with his wife and child, but instead he spent countless hours in council meetings, sitting the throne, defending their citizens. Gladio would surely have rather followed his own dreams than stay tethered to a brat he barely tolerated when they were kids, sworn to pay the ultimate price for his king if it was required of him. Luna... she would have been happy to travel and help others at her own pace, he's sure, but she let the Astrals carve pieces of her life away for his sake, had died granting her blessing to the man who murdered her.

All those sacrifices, made for him. What right does he have not to return his own sacrifices in kind and then some? The king must sacrifice for all.

"You think I like the idea of people sacrificing themselves for me, one after the other?" He'd argued that to Gladio in Cartanica, and the reply he'd gotten was angry, frustrated by yet another failure on his part. "I thought you’d accepted your duty." As if his duty had to include the lives lost for his own benefit. As if it was a foregone conclusion that people were meant for death the way he was meant for the throne.

The throne he'd never wanted. The throne he'll never seat.

I'm not...

...I'm not king, here.]

I don't know the answer, [he whispers tentatively.] I don't know how to avoid getting hurt when it'll hurt them instead.

[This is... easier. It hurts, but the guilt isn't as bad.]

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