#Luche and didn’t care about her. why care for a future traitor. why care when they will die anyway? why care for someone with the blood | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

charlottedabookworm · 5 years

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So, this is that regisson au where absolutely nothing changes until Nyx puts the ring on that y’all convinced me to write. Hope you like it and tell me what you think

“Show yourselves, Kings of Lucis.”

The darkness lit up as, one by one, spectral kings appeared around him. He forced himself as upright as he could manage with a bullet in his chest and gods knew how many broken bones – refusing to have this conversation while flat on the ground.

This wasn’t exactly how he’d wanted to meet his ancestors, but he’d make do.

(Though, to be fair, Nyx would have preferred to have never have had to meet them at all. From what Nyx knew, the majority of his ancestors on both sides of the family were complete dicks)

He looked around curiously as the Lucii spoke, telling himself that he wasn’t looking for Regis – for the man who had been his king, who he had been forced to watch die, who had been his—

No, Nyx wasn’t looking for Regis.

“How long,” he gasped out. “How long will you do nothing whilst Insomnia burns?” Nyx tried to force himself to his feet – the Lucii might be spectral giants but Nyx had always felt better about arguing with powerful beings who could easily kill him when he could stand – but ended up doubled over in pain instead. Fucking bullet. Fucking Luche. Fucking traitors. “Old or new, or whatever it is. Summon your wall!” Because what sort of kings were they, that they refused to even defend their city as it was being destroyed, that they would prefer to watch their people die rather than help.

Nyx hated his ancestors.

“You do not command us. Yours is not royal blood.”

And, at that, Nyx blinked. Really. Really? Did they seriously still not know?

So much for being all-fucking-knowing. This entire situation was almost enough to make Nyx laugh, if he wasn’t in so much pain. He hated broken ribs.

“It does not fall to us to guard your city.” Another of the Lucii said and Nyx turned with a look that he hoped portrayed the depths of his scepticism.

Seriously?

“Man is a fool creature, clinging to his past and cowering from his future. Wasting his strength on bygone days.” Yet another of them said, and really what was with all of the leapfrogging? Couldn’t they see that he was dying here? It hurt to have to keep turning to look at whoever decided to speak.

Wow, he thought, staring up at the king with raised eyebrows, bitter much?

“And what future are you wards of?” Nyx forced an elbow beneath him to prop himself up, his voice echoing around him as he questioned these so-called kings who preferred to stand back and do nothing.

Nyx decided that he really fucking hated his ancestors.

“So short-sighted. And cursed to never rise above it.” That was the Mystic, he was sure of it, and it made him want to snarl.

Nyx didn’t need to listen to that from him of all people.

“Wait.” A new figure called out and Nyx froze at a voice that he knew well, the voice of a man that he’d watched die mere hours ago (was it hours, it had seemed like it but now Nyx wasn’t sure). “I have seen what this brave soul is prepared to do.” King Regis, Nyx’s—The King said. “He, too, seeks to safeguard the future.”

“Your Majesty,” he whispered, holding back everything else that he wanted to say by sheer force of will.

Here and now, having watched the man in front of him be murdered by someone who Nyx had trusted, Nyx regretted. He’d never spoken to the King because he didn’t know how, because he’d feared being rejected, because he’d tried to convince himself that he didn’t need or want a… He’d never spoken up because he’d thought he had more time.

Nyx laughed silently at himself. He always thought that he had more time than he actually did, and he never managed to say what he needed to to those that he cared for before it was too late. He was just cursed that way, he guessed.

“Very well, young king. We will weigh your warrior’s worth. But our boon does not come cheap. The cost is a life. His or hers.”

The world itself was still faded away, but Libs and the Princess both sharpened into focus – frozen in the same moment that Nyx had last seen them – and he refused.

“No.” He wanted to scream, but he was so tired. Nyx took a moment just to breathe, drawing on his reserves and pushing the pain from his mind – he was dying anyway, it wouldn’t matter in the long run. “To hell with your power!” He yelled. “I’m not here for it.” Nyx didn’t want the Lucii’s accursed power, wanted nothing to do with the abilities that had been granted to them by Bahamut.

Nyx would reveal himself to be what he was before he did that.

“I only came to tell you,” he said, starting to laugh, his eyes bright with mirth. “You are no kings.” And he laughed, and he laughed, and he laughed.

Nyx couldn’t breathe, and his ribs were killing him – or maybe that was the bullet – but he still couldn’t stop.

He didn’t even know what it was that he found so funny, just that right now it was either laugh or cry and he refused to cry in front of these kings.

“Your worth has been weighed and found wanting.” The Mystic thundered, but still, Nyx couldn’t stop.

Just, the sheer irony.

The irony of this man, who usurped his throne and murdered his own brother at another’s behest, calling him unworthy. Nyx couldn’t even be offended, the mere idea of it was hilarious.

“Now, burn.” Somnus Lucis Caelum ordered, and pain flooded through him like a tidal wave, yet still, he continued to laugh.

Rolling onto his back, Nyx tipped his head back and laughed even as his hand burned. “Unworthy, am I?” He asked between gasps for breath. “Not of royal blood, am I?”

Nyx shook his head, tilting his body so that he could look directly up at the supposed Founder King of Lucis. “Are you really so unable to recognise one of your own line, Great-Grandfather?”

Silence.

His hand stopped burning, the flames gone, and Nyx continued laughing.

“What?”

“I asked you, o’ false king, if you were really so senile so as to not notice one of your own blood.” He gasped out between laughs.

“You mean to barter for your life.”

“No,” he shook his head again, his laughter finally silencing. “No, old man, my life is my own. If and how I die matters not, at this point. I merely wish to speak with the man who sired me.”

And, with that, Nyx let his magic – already boiling under his skin, begging to be used – rise to the surface and stain his eyes green, proclaiming his heritage to all who could sense it.

“Sir Ulric. Nyx…”

He turned his head to look at the figure who spoke, propping himself up once more with what little energy he had left. “King Regis.”

Father, Nyx didn’t say, because his use of that title depended fully on the other man’s decision. Nyx had known of Regis his entire life, had always known of his heritage – even if he’d sworn off of it entirely for a short period of time while young, after learning the truth of the Mystic, and even if he had done his best to keep it hidden from the Lucians – but Regis had just had a second child dumped on him, shortly after his own death, and one that he might not even want in any case.

This, any of it, all of it, was up to Regis.

“Why did you not say anything?” Regis seemed almost sad, or maybe Nyx was just imagining things that he wanted to see.

Nyx shrugged. “It wasn’t my place, your majesty.” He said with a small, sad smile, trying to meet his sires’ eyes behind the new helm. “Besides, I’m just a bastard-”

“You are my son.” The king interjected vehemently. “The circumstances of your birth change nothing.”

He paused, stunned, and blinked slowly. That- that was actually a far better reaction then he had ever dared hope, and even if it was only due to the fact that the man had died, Nyx still couldn’t help but wish…

Shaking his head to dislodge thoughts of could-have-beens, Nyx smiled again, brighter this time but still sad. “I think, your majesty, that I would have liked you as a father.” He dropped his eyes. “I’m sorry…” He trailed off, not quite certain what he was apologising for.

Not trusting the man enough to tell him years ago, maybe. Or not giving them the opportunity to have a relationship as father and son, instead of a King and his glaive.

Or even letting him die, doing nothing but watching as Glauca killed him.

Or maybe it was all of that and more. Maybe it was everything – every missed opportunity, every never-had conversation, every lost chance.

Yeah. Yeah, everything – that seemed about right.

Nyx was just. He was sorry.

Wasn’t all that different from his ancestors in the end, after all, was he?

Regis shook his head, attracting his attention and drawing him out of his thoughts. “No, Nyx, it is I who is sorry. I am sorry that you never felt as though you could tell me.” Nyx went to interrupt, only to fall silent at the look that the King gave him. “Know that I love you and that I am proud of you, Nyx. And tell Noctis that the same is true of him, when you see him once more.”

“Good luck and Godspeed, my son.”

And then, before Nyx could say anything in response, the world flared back into focus and Nyx reacted – tossing Drau-Glauca aside with lightning that came as much from his own magic as it did from that of the ring.

He glanced down at the ring that twinkled on his finger and pulled it off, rolling it in the palm of his hand. “Thank you, father.” He said quietly, clenching his fist around the ring momentarily.

“Nyx?” A familiar voice asked, and Nyx turned to look at his oldest friend and brother.

“Hey, hero, have I got a story for you…”

#my fic #ffxv #snippet #regisson au #nyx is regis' son #nyx ulric #regis lucis caelum #not sure if this is sad or not tbh

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