001. promtpo/ardy!noct

[heavyweighsthe]

( It had been too easy. Really. To find the crack in the Crowned Prince's little ragtag band of travelers. Not the older two. No. Theirs was duty first, emotion second. No. It was the younger one. Prompto. The one where all the lines run so blurred. Not entirely duty, not entirely friends. Something more, something useful in its intensity. Of all people, Prompto. And oh how convenient that was. Noctis, the Chosen King, and his greatest weakness was a boy born in the Empire itself. There was a certain irony to it that Ardyn found endlessly amusing. Maybe that's why he goes the extra mile. Maybe that's why it's not enough to simply take the young blonde, keep him hidden while dear Noctis searches so valiantly for his friend. No. Ardyn wanted more. The form of Noctis is flawless, could fool even the wayward Prince's father - were the man still alive of course. And he walks, like Noctis would, into the room where Prompto is strung up. A walk that turns into a run as "Noctis" sees his lost friend. Hands pressing into Prompto's face, lifting it up, relief and all that came with it on "Noctis'" face. After all, what was the point of dashing hopes if you didn't skyrocket them first. ) Prompto? Prompto, are you okay?