#regclar-week

On average it takes him eight minutes to get from his door to the Citadel. Ten to the throne room, twelve to the Council Chambers and fourteen to Regis’ private quarters on the forty-third floor of the East Tower. He could shave off two minutes at the most, if the situation was dire enough, but that required monumental coordination with the entire Crownsguard and shutting down every street within five blocks of the Citadel—and thank the Astrals there had never been a situation where that was needed.

Until today.

Regis’ personal line to him had rung and he knew it was trouble. If Regis needed something from him, even if it was to spend the night, he used his cell phone, texted even. His instinct took over; he told Gaius he’d be there immediately, called Cor to have Gladio and Ignis on stand by in case they needed to get the prince prepped and notified, left a note for Jared and peeled out of the driveway.

Two minutes. He prayed to the Astrals and in the same breath cursed them. If he lost Regis—

No. Clarus forced that aside. The Friend, the Brother, the Lover could not take over his thoughts. Until he got to Regis, until he was safe, alive, his smile beaming back to him, he could only be Shield.

At 6am the streets were empty enough but he got stuck behind a damn street sweeper on Fortuna Street and yes they were doing their jobs, and any other day, he’d make sure to show his appreciation with a wave, but he honked aggressively until they pulled to the side to let him pass.

Four minutes. He reached the gate to the Citadel, the guards on edge at him veering through the promenade, taking the last turn through the roundabout at forty-five and slamming to a stop at the East Tower entrance. The tires on his Crown Car were probably shot, and despite the situation, it raced across his mind that the Regalia would have taken the beating like a champ. Keys in the ignition, he left it running, a Crownsguard already prepared to relieve it from him, perhaps at Cor’s command. The elevator was already called down, and he lost ten fucking seconds of time when he fucked up his code and just entered the Deus Contingency code; second highest in urgency, denoting the imminent danger of the King. The highest, Rex Contingency, well— he drew a long breath. He always figured he’d be dead and Cor would be the one to activate it. Because any scenario in which Regis was… in which a King was dead, it meant more than his personal failure. It meant he had lost what was most precious to him.

The finest mechanical engineering this side of Eos had built these express elevators to perform well above any other, but every second that drew him nearer to Regis also kept him apart. They needed to be faster.

Six minutes. The elevator let him off and he sprinted down the corridor, undoing his collar, pushing his aging body to its limit. At fifty, he knew it was unwise to do so in his dress shoes, the lack of traction on the marble tiles threatening a sprain or ankle break.

Cor was outside the door, texting, keeping contact with the boys, waiting for him to alert anyone else if need be.

Eight minutes. He looked to Cor’s face to determine the situation, to prepare himself for the state Regis was in, and before he crossed the door, he caught his arm. Years of discipline were the only thing that stopped him from breaking it, and Cor knew it, knew he was keeping him from Regis.

Still, the lines on his face told Clarus he was just as worried about him than he was of Regis.

“He needs you.”

Clarus used the moment to recollect himself, to calm, to be the rock that Regis needed, unlike the one full of magic that only took. Cor was satisfied with the composure and released him. He nodded his thanks and steeled himself as he walked through the foyer.

Nine minutes. Cicero stood at the edge of the bedroom, alert and tense, waiting to relay what he needed to Cor, but just as worried. Because at fifty, unwilling to retire, he too, had worked with the King just as long as they had.

Through the final doorway at last, Clarus approached the bed, witnessing Gaius pleading with Regis, “My King, please, you must—”

“—Clarus,” he cried. “Get Clarus.”

Regis dismissed Gaius away impatiently, a testament to his pain. Never once had he ever lost his patience with him, nor was Gaius a man who was unversed in the nuances of his moods.

And it wrenched at his heart to see Gaius’ poise lost and uncertain and Regis balanced at the edge of the bed, doubled over in pain.

“My King, I’m here,” he whispered, the weight of him making the bed dip further as he sat beside Regis. His arm came across the width of his shoulders, the fingers of his other hand slipping over the delicate skin of his wrist. The gravitas of Regis’ collapse into his arms, his relief at his proximity, was all at once overwhelming. They knew this day would come, he knew, but now that it was here and his prince, his King was suffering for the protection of the kingdom, Clarus could only pull him close and give him the strength he’s spent a lifetime building for this moment.

“Clarus.” Regis turned his face into the crook of his neck, breathing in his scent, drawing his strength. “I can no longer bear weight on it.”

He drew him closer, ignoring the presences of Gaius, Cor, and Cicero. “I know,” he said, just as he knew Regis had made several attempts this morning. His admission meant he had finally come to terms with his condition, that despite his stubbornness, he knew that he was at his end of independent mobility. But despite reaching this milestone, as far as monarchs went, Regis’s effort was to be commended. Other kings had crumpled fast, others compromised significantly. As it were, they were in uncharted territory.

Mors had consolidated the Wall in stages, but it came at a heavy price, becoming confined to a wheelchair within a week of doing so. Regis was the first to hold it fully at this concentrated intensity, a monumental effort, and if he had his way keeping it at bay for Noctis, then he may very well be the last.

Clarus supposed he was grateful for the grim tradeoff. History had shown them by thirty a king could not walk unaided, and rarely did they live to see their fiftieth year. He was confidant Regis had another five years in him, spurred by will alone—and perhaps an old bet to live as long as Cid. At forty-five, he was nearly there.

In this moment, his mother’s words came back to him. It means seeing your King at his weakest.

“Allow yourself to rest, my King,” Clarus said, even as he knew there was no true rest for him until death. The Wall must be upheld always. Many times he wished to unload the burden, to hold the Wall for even just the briefest of moments, but never as much as today. As Regis shifted to lay back down, Clarus caressed his knee, helped him ease it in the transition with no qualms about touching him so intimately in front of this group amassed. They knew of them, but he was also going to comfort Regis in whichever way was best.

Today he would run the Kingdom, as was becoming more frequent these days. The paperwork, the meetings, the audiences; he’d done it all and he’ll do it today once he was certain Regis’s condition was taken care of.

Turning to the men, he gave his orders. The physician first and then returning Gaius’ poise. “Cicero, please inform Antoninus of His Majesty’s condition this morning and allow him his breakfast before he arrives.”

Cicero bowed his exit. “My Lord Shield. Your Majesty.”

Clarus bit back his displeasure, the title unwanted here because in the sanctum of Regis’ quarters, he cannot deny the progression of his ailments; the slow deterioration of his abilities. He could pretend, did pretend for years, that the inevitable was still in the distant future, but today was a jolting reminder for all of them that that future was now here.

“Gaius, won’t you please draw a hot bath for His Majesty and make the necessary adjustments to our schedules?”

He, too, bowed his exit to start his duties. “It will be done, My Lord Shield. Your Majesty.”

With Cor remaining, Clarus turned to him now. “Update the boys?” A question, not a command. Cor nodded, ready  to take the brunt of their sons’ fear, anger, anxiety—all the uncertainty Clarus was feeling right now, but without the discipline.

“Thank-you,” Regis said to him, the trace of a smile in the setting of his grimace.

Cor’s face set into an equally painful grimace. “Of course.” As he left turned to Clarus. “Take care of him.”

Clarus nodded and when he returned his attention to Regis once more, Regis pouted.

“I know that look,” he said.

“What look?”

Regis inclined his head. “The worried look you have more and more each day.”

Clarus exhaled irritably. “Because I’m worried for you more and more each day. This day of all days.”

Sighing, Regis took his hand and Clarus forced himself to ignore that the grip grows weaker with each passing day. “There will be more of these days.” He studied their hands and figured what he was thinking, perhaps through their bond, and Clarus was angry at himself for letting that come through. Regis moved his hand to his cheek, letting his fingers play at the shorn hair at his neck. “We made a vow to die together,” he whispered. “I intend to keep it.”

Maybe that was sooner than they thought, or maybe, they just might have another decade. Clarus met Regis’ eyes and hoped that didn’t mean Regis would go looking for a fight. They weren’t young anymore.

“Good,” Clarus said.

Regis narrowed his eyes, his thumb catching at the corner of Clarus’ lips. “That goes for you, too. I won’t forbid you from doing something so noble as your duty and calling, but I won’t ever forgive you if you leave me alone with our sons.”

Clarus smiled sadly and placed his hand on Regis’ cheek as well. “You’re so stubborn. You know that right?”

There was a flash of Regis’ younger self in his grey eyes and he grinned. “I did warn you that I was never easy.”

“A fact I am always painfully aware of.”

Regis hummed his approval, taking Clarus’s hand and turning his head to kiss the inside of his palm. “And you’ve always done well to remember it, my Shield.”

As he brushed his thumb over Regis’ cheekbone, he allowed himself a real smile, glad to have eased his king.

Leaning forward again, struggling to swing out of bed, Regis swatted Clarus’ shoulder. “Now help me with my bath.”

He still gritted his teeth but Clarus laughed. It’s not the first bath or shower he’s helped him with, but what was he intending? “Is that what you’ve been hoping for?”

“For you to carry me naked in your arms and bathe me? I’ve been waiting my whole life.”

Rolling his eyes, Clarus lined up alongside him, helped him ease his leg down again, and placed his arm over his shoulders. “You’re mistaken if you think I won’t try and preserve your dignity, but maybe you’ll get lucky.”

Regis peered sidelong at him, the corner of his mouth tugging. “And if I commanded you to?”

They stood up slowly, Regis gingerly testing weight on his knee again, only to regret it; Clarus took more of the weight off.

“Try me. I’ll get creative.” As they headed towards the bathroom, his other arm slid down from Regis’ waist and squeezed a cheek.

Surprised, Regis pouted at him. “You’re cruel.”

"You need to take a break."

Regis crossed his arms as he frowned down at his future shield. Once he was sure that the man was looking up at him, he continued his thought. "I get that you're supposed to be my shield and all, but you're gonna end up hurt if you keep training like this..."

Clarus frowned back and sat up off the floor "What else am I supposed to do, Regis? You could have... You almost..."

"You did exactly what you were trained to do, Clarus. You need to realize that before you get hurt trying to somehow get better." The prince kneeled next to him, trying to smile just a little for his obviously upset shield "Come on. Let's bug the kitchen staff for snacks."

The older of the pair returned the smile, albeit just as weakly "Yeah. Sounds good. I'll...be there in a minute. Just have to clean up before I leave."

Regis wasn't entirely convinced, but what else could he do? "Alright...but you'd better be there as soon as you're done!"

--

Of course, not more than an hour later, Regis was running down the hall with a half-eaten snack abandoned on the counter of the kitchen where he'd left it after hearing that Clarus was in the medical wing. Of COURSE Clarus was in the medical wing. He wasn't going to hear the last of this one if the prince had his way. In fact, he had quite the lecture ready and prepared when he, almost literally, ran into his father. The prince stopped dead in his tracks, frozen in place by his father's stern gaze.

"I thought you'd know better than to run in the halls." His father's voice was just as firm as the stare that had Regis pinned to the spot.

"But..." Regis suddenly felt very small without the near-constant presence of the man who was currently in the wing that was just beyond his father. "I just...wanted to see what happened to Clarus..."

The king's face softened "He's fine Regis. Just overexerted himself." He moved out of the way of his son, resting a hand on his shoulder. "Do go easy on him. His mother did enough yelling for all three of us."

Regis flinched, not looking up at his father as he walked off. Was he really that transparent? Or maybe he'd just been grumbling under his breath again, something the very same future shield had told him about multiple times. Either way, as soon as he was sure his father wasn't coming back, Regis continued down the hall.

--

The first thing the prince noticed as he walked into the sparsely furnished room that Clarus was set up in was that the man was sitting up in his bed. Regis would have taken that for a good sign...

...if Clarus would just look at him...

The prince carefully shut the door behind him before leaning against it heavily. "I thought I told you to take a break...come join me for snacks..."

"...I'm sorry your highness."

Regis frowned at the floor "...I was worried about you..."

"I'm fine."

"...but I didn't know that..." Regis straightened and walked over to the bed, stopping at the foot of it. Clarus didn't even look away from the window. "I ran here...thinking you'd gotten yourself really hurt... I thought..."

"Regis, enough."

"No!" Regis found his hands shaking as he clenched them into fists at his sides. "I thought the worst had happened because I didn't make you leave with me! I thought-"

"What kind of shield would I be if I just stopped because I got tired?!"

"WHAT KIND OF SHIELD WOULD YOU BE IF YOU IGNORED YOUR KING?! WHAT KIND OF SHIELD WOULD YOU BE IF DOING SO MADE YOU UNABLE TO KEEP ME SAFE?! WHAT KIND OF SHIELD WOULD YOU BE IF I LOST YOU?!"

Clarus visibly stiffened, but he didn't look towards the now crying prince, all of Regis's anger and relief leaving him with the unbidden tears that he stubbornly tried to wipe away.

"I can't...I can't lose you to something like that...something so stupid..."

"...You aren't going to lose me, Regis."

"Then don't...don't do such a stupid thing like that again..." Regis looked firmly at Clarus, silently praying that his red, tear-streaked face didn't completely ruin the effect.

Clarus, to his credit, didn't laugh when he finally turned to look at his prince. "Is that an order, then?"

Regis walked around the bed so he could grab both of Clarus's shoulders. "If it has to be in order to get you to listen, then sure. But right now...all I want is for my closest friend to listen to me...please...?"

Clarus seemed to study his face for a moment before letting out a small, amused snort. "If it wasn't for the snot, I'd say you're becoming quite the king-to-be."

"Hey! Keep that up and I'll wipe it all over you!"

"You wouldn't dare."

"Don't try me, Clarus. I'm still mad at you." Despite his words, Regis couldn't help the soft smile on his face.

"Sure, sure. Go clean your face up, your highness. I promise not to run off while you're away."

Regis chuckled "You'd better not, or I'll have to actually have the healers strap you down next time."

Clarus joined in his light-hearted laughter.

Regis hid his face in his knees, trying to control his breathing, while Clarus pressed himself against the door of the closet, ear against the wood. Regis didn't know how long they'd been shut in the maintenance closet that was only barely large enough to fit the two of them, but it was long enough that the adrenaline was leaving him exhausted and very much on the verge of a panic attack.

He just wanted to go back to his room.

Instead he was stuck in this tiny space until Clarus could figure out if outside was safe enough to allow that.

"Clarus..."

"Shh. I'm trying to listen."

Regis held his knees tighter, panic setting in and making his stomach churn. "Clarus...I can't..."

"Regis."

"Clarus I want to go to my room!"

"Well, we can't yet so shut up!"

Regis flinched and curled tighter. whimpering a little bit as Clarus glared at him.

"I'm sorry..." His voice is a low whisper, panic still fraying his nerves and making him nauseous.

Clarus sighed softly and leaned back against the door. "I haven't heard anything in a bit. Wait just a little longer and we'll head back. Sound good?"

Regis nodded mutely and swallowed thickly, trying again to slow his breathing and not lose his dinner all over the small space that was their hiding spot.

--

He wasn't sure exactly how long they'd been shut in the small space, but Regis was pretty sure he'd finally fought back the worst of his panic attack and was now just trying to stay awake.

"Okay. Time to go."

The prince perked up and smiled in relief at Clarus. "We're going? Finally?"

The shield nodded and held a finger up to his lips "Quiet as we go. Just in case. And if something happens to me, run and find a place to-"

"No."

Clarus frowned a bit. "No?"

"Look, I get that you're supposed to protect me and stuff, but I'm not useless. And I'm not just going to let you get hurt while I run away." Regis stood slowly, a determined look on his face. "Let me help you if something happens."

Clarus sighed and nodded "Alright. But stay close. And no running ahead. And no funny business."

The prince nodded back, stepping away from the wall. "Let's go."

--

Regis walked close behind Clarus as they crept down the hall. Thus far, they hadn't encountered anyone, friendly or otherwise.

"Think everyone evacuated?" Regis's voice was quiet, barely loud enough for Clarus to hear.

The future shield shrugged, but didn't verbalize a response. The prince could almost visibly see the line of tension running through him as they walked.

Carefully, quietly, the pair made their way through the Citadel. No more words were spoken...

...until the hairs on the back of Regis's neck stood on end and an unfamiliar thrum ran under his skin.

"Clarus. Someone's here."

The shield stiffened and glanced behind them, slowing to a stop. "Where?"

"I don't know... I just...have a feeling..."

Clarus reached out to wrap an arm around Regis, only to stop dead at the sound of a gunshot and a startled noise from said prince.

"Clarus!"

Regis felt the color drain from his face as a man walked out of the nearby hall. The strange sensation continued to crawl under his skin as Clarus shifted to hide more of Regis behind him.

"Tut tut. You really want to make me work for this, don't you?" The man grinned as he slowly approached. "I just want to talk to the high and mighty Lucian royals."

"What do you want?" Regis only hoped that his voice wasn't as shaky as he thought it was. The incessant thrum under his skin somehow fed his confidence, but made his head feel light. "You didn't have to resort to this if you just wanted to talk."

"Regis..."

The prince rested a hand on Clarus's shoulder, distantly hoping he could feel what Regis could. "Trust me on this one. It'll be okay."

"Aww the little prince wants to talk. Why don't you come out then?"

Regis frowned. "Why do you have to have a gun with you to talk?"

"Oh, you know, in case lippy little brats like you don't want to cooperate. Now come on. Out."

Regis's fingertips tingled as he stepped around Clarus, careful not to step too far out of his reach should something go awry. "Alright. I'm out. Now you don't need a gun, right?"

The man, who really looked like one of the counsel member's pet rats, grinned and merely shifted his aim. "Nah. I'm gonna keep it."

"Oh come on, now. I'm playing nice." Regis crossed his arms, fighting away a pout with a stern frown.

"You really think I'm that stupid? As soon as this is outta my hands your big friend there is just gonna jump me. And then none of us wins."

"He doesn't need you to put down your gun in order to try that." Clarus's voice was nearly a growl, and Regis couldn't help a small chuckle at that.

"Ah, so they're laughing at me." The man sighed dramatically. "Shame. They were also probably laughing when they let baba die because she wasn't an 'approved' Nifelheim refugee."

Regis froze, suddenly feeling very cold. In the distance, he could hear the sound of footsteps running towards them.

"Aw, is that the guard finally coming to get me because I have their precious prince? How cute. Too bad though. They aren't going to have a prince to save."

A few things happened all at once.

First, Clarus threw himself in front of Regis just as the man fired his gun. At the same time, Regis felt something snap in his core, accompanied by the sound of glass shattering.

"...the hell?!"

Clarus glanced over his shoulder as the sound of the glaive tackling the man filled the hall and made a startled noise.

"Clarus, what-" Regis peeked around him and made a similar noise.

Quickly dissolving between them and the ruckus was a wall, glowing faintly blue.

"How...how did..."

How did he use magic like that?!

--

Regis sighed as he stared through his window.

The counsel were still deciding what to do to the intruder, while his father was apparently busy just avoiding his own son.

If nothing else, he'd like an explanation as to why he could still feel the strange magic under skin. Instead, he got only silence.