#tredd

MORE TREDD

I’M POSTING ALL 5 OF THE GIFS LMAO MORE TREDD

DAMN THERE’S MORE TREDD THAN I REMEMBERED

It is for that reason he gave the Kingsglaive the chance to defend the Citadel alone: hoping, by this measure of trust, to show that he did value them, that their contributions were worthwhile, that there was still some peace yet to be had if only they all worked towards it.

That not all of the stories that Drautos – if indeed he were in fact Glauca – had fed them were true.

He knew, of course, that he was taking a risk in making the offer; Clarus and Cor had pointed that out to him at great length. Aulea had spoken briefly against the idea, but had subsided quickly enough; she knows him well enough to know when he has made his final decision, and the reasons behind that decision, and she knows how important it is that his reign be one of mercy as well as justice.

Yes, if he had known that Niflheim would reach out to parley and negotiate a treaty now, of all times, he would not have made the offer. He does not so easily gamble with the lives of his people, whatever Drautos says, whatever accusations he makes – accusations so pointed and searing that Regis cannot tell if they are complaints truthfully meant or merely barbs designed to hurt. But to take back the offer once made would do worse than destroy what he sought to achieve: it would crush those of the Kingsglaive who were yet loyal, knowing that despite his words their King did not trust them.

There would be nothing left of the Kingsglaive if he did that.

So he did not revoke the offer.

Next, he hoped that, at the very least, they would not act against him: their captain gone, their plans gone awry, forced to act within the very heart of Insomnia rather than whatever plan they originally had. He hoped they would see reason, if nothing else, and abandon their treason still-born in its crib.

They did not.

Lastly, he hoped that what measures he had put in place to defend against the possibility of treason would minimize whatever damage they might inflict, and in that he still had reason to hope.

And yet –

Somehow, he did not think that they would attack each other.

Their comrades-in-arms, their brothers and sisters, their friends.

That's why he assigned the most perilous tasks – guarding the Crystal, guarding his own person – to Kingsglaive that he trusted personally, or who were recommended to him by those in whom he had faith. He thought, he hoped, that that would be enough - enough to safeguard his city, to safeguard his person, to cause those who wished them all ill to take a moment of pause before they acted.

It is not.

The Kingsglaive – or at least, some traitorous portion – have turned upon Lucis, and they spare no one at all.

Several of them were engaged in some form of sabotage of the Crystal and, upon seeing Regis and Aulea enter, decide that the time for secrecy is over; they warp – using his power – behind their comrades, daggers coming down.

Regis is too weak to stop them outright, the Ring draining his life more swiftly each year, but he can at least divert their blows: he lifts his own hand in return, summoning the great Armiger of his ancestors, and he sends it against the traitors, knocking them back.

He was never much of a fighter, no, not like Clarus or Cor; he relies too much on his magic and his shields, and he always has, enough to make him wonder what name they would call him once he was dead –

– but poor fighter or no, he still has some tricks up his sleeves.

He casts forth his Armiger once more.

The traitors are battered down by his weapons and hastily retreat, calling for aid.

"Hemera!" Nyx screams, the shock that kept him frozen breaking. He darts forward – one of the two Kingsglaive that was stabbed is his sister.

She clutches at her shoulder, blood streaming down her back to stain her pale wolf hindquarters, making terrible sounds of pain, but she nods at Nyx, making some signal with her fingers – deaf, of course; Regis has nearly forgotten, since all of the Kingsglaive tend to be rather overawed and silent in his presence.

Regis never learned LSL, a fact which he's regretting now.

Aulea produces a gun. "There are more coming; I can hear them," she says. "Shields up, my dear."

Regis raises shields around them all – just in time, as the Kingsglaive stream out of the Crystal chamber to surround them.

"Where did you hide that gun?" he asks Aulea. He didn't feel her summon it. "You're still in your court dress."

She smirks. "Darling, the gun was also in my court dress."

He does so love her, his fierce lioness.

There is a terrible cracking sound, like glass breaking, and it fills the room.

"What's that?" Pelna, the other injured Kingsglaive, gasps. Nyx is focusing on bandaging him first – Pelna was injured worse than Hemera, a wound deep in his side rather than the shoulder, and Regis suspects Hemera, who hovers by her brother's side, insisted.

"That is the Crystal," Regis says, and raises his eyes to the sky. He can see from where he stands that the Wall is beginning to crack in the sky, falling in shards of beautiful magical glass that dissolves even as it falls. Without the Crystal to focus his power, there is nothing he can do to maintain the Wall. "They have knocked it from its plinth."

"But that would –" Nyx begins, then stops, horrified.

"Yes," Regis says heavily. "The Wall has fallen. I expect Niflheim has already summoned its airships and is attempting to launch an attack on Insomnia as we speak. I have already called upon the Crownsguard to defend the city."

He’d sent the message in the elevator. He had to offer trust to the Kingsglaive, yes, but even trust only goes so far.

"Niflheim won't be able to bring too many MTs," Aulea says. "We would have spotted a full fleet. Our Crownsguard will likely be able to overwhelm them and repel their forces – there are procedures in place for an invasion. The only question is –"

She falls silent.

Regis turns.

Drautos is there.

He was supposed to be in the prison cells, guarded by Crownsguard – Regis almost hopes that they were bribed or corrupted, but he suspects they were not, and that they are now dead.

Perhaps that is why these Kingsglaive did not hesitate to raise their hands against their own, hands already stained with the blood of their fellow citizens.

Drautos is there, and stepping forward, his mighty sword at hand, his incredibly powerful hyena haunches flexing as he moves.

"Your Majesty," he drawls, and his voice is thick with sarcasm.

Nyx's head shoots up. "Captain," he says almost blankly. Then, to the donkey ‘taur at Drautos' right hand, "Luche." And to the coyote ‘taur on his left, almost a moan of pain, “Axis.”

They were his friends, these ‘taurs.

"You should've just listened to your orders, Nyx, instead of being a hero," Luche says with a heavy, disappointed sigh. "And maybe you would've made it."

"Sure," Nyx says, starting to get angry. "But Hemera, she would be dead, huh? And then you'd come and hunt me down like a trapped rat or something?"

"We would have given you both the chance to join us, instead," Drautos says, waving the one called Luche back. "You are from Galahd, which has not fallen, but you, too, know the agony of invasion – the pain of watching your family, your home, bear the brunt of the Empire and the daemons, while the King of Lucis sits safe and sound inside his precious wall, hoarding peace and tranquility for himself –"

Hemera stirs and makes another gesture with her hand.

This one requires no knowledge of LSL.

"Yeah," Nyx says savagely, agreeing. "Go fuck yourself. Traitors."

"We never betrayed what truly mattered," Drautos says. "We have always been loyal to our homes – to our home and hearth –"

Regis feels Aulea's tail wrap around his, a comforting gesture, and – very delicately – squeeze twice.

"– to the Empire?" Nyx is shouting. He's acting as a remarkably good distraction, even though Regis believes him to be entirely in earnest. "It was the Empire that took your homes, not Lucis!"

"I cannot fault them for taking what was given," Drautos sneers. "A weak kingdom, a weak king, sacrificing the homes and sons of outsiders so that his precious city alone would prosper – the Empire was drawn in by the weakness of Lucis –"

"What the hell are you even talking about? This war has been going on for generations!" Nyx shouts. "No one king can have caused anything!"

"They took away the Wall!" Drautos roars. "It once extended far across the land, but they abandoned our people to the dark and the daemons –"

Regis finishes counting to five and abruptly drops the shields.

Aulea, who was naturally expecting it, fires at once.

Five shots, all but emptying her gun, and then Regis pulls the shields back up.

He has never been much of a fighter himself, no, but his loved ones have always been fierce enough so that he never noticed the lack.

As hoped, the attack took the traitors by surprise, leaving them no time to respond in kind – Luche ducks with automatic instinct, Aulea's bullet searing through the meat of his shoulder instead of lodging within it; Axis staggers backwards, slower to react and not nearly so lucky, the bullet striking true in his chest; and Drautos –

Drautos, at whom three bullets were aimed, simply changes, silver metal snaking all along his flesh until he is fully covered, into –

“General Glauca,” Regis says, his voice heavy. He had dearly hoped that it wasn’t true. Scientia found evidence of treason, yes, of fomenting rebellion underneath the nose of the Citadel itself, and she thought that the evidence suggested that Drautos was Glauca – the timing of their appearances; analysis of their fighting styles; Glauca’s reluctance to fight Cor, who had beaten Drautos in a one-on-one – but Regis hoped…

“You - you - you fuckwad!” Nyx shouts. “You absolute dickhead!”

Aulea grins. “Well, that’s one way of putting it, I suppose,” she murmurs. “Perhaps slightly less than perfectly diplomatic – but understandable, given his tender age. And anyway, who needs diplomacy in battle?”

“I fight for my people,” Glauca says to Nyx, his echoing voice twisted enough to be unrecognizable as Drautos’ own. “You protect a weakened king and a dying kingdom – and for what?”

“It’s called ‘not wanting the Empire to take over the world, unleashing daemons left and right’,” Nyx snaps. “Every single crime you hold against Lucis was committed by Niflheim, by the people you are fighting to help, you – you plant!”

Aulea sniggers.

Everyone glances at her.

“What?” she says. “It’s funny. Plant as in vegetation, or plant as in undercover spy – okay, I’m ruining the joke.”

Hemera signs something Regis can’t understand, then gives a thumbs up. He assumes that means she agrees that the statement was funny.

Glauca shakes his helmeted head – just the way Drautos does when he doesn’t understand how someone could ruin the moment like that, though it's usually Cor who enjoys puncturing solemnity rather than Aulea.

Cor –

Cor is away now, unable to help; he is with the group seeking to obtain a Covenant with the Archean. Regis can only hope that they succeed.

At least Noctis is away, and safe.

Regis trusted Drautos with the information about his precious Noctis, about the Prophecy, about how important his mission was for the sake of all the world, and Drautos betrayed him regardless. Forewarned or no, that betrayal still stings sharp.

“Enough of this,” Glauca says. “You hide behind your shield, king, displaying your weakness once again – enough! Come out and face us.”

Nyx tenses into a fighting stance, pulling out his daggers; even Hemera staggers to her paws, though she’s listing very badly to one side. Pelna cannot rise at all, his hindquarters wet with blood, his tail hanging limp, and his face gone pale.

Regis looks at Glauca right where his eyes would be.

“No,” he says.

“What do you mean, no?” Luche demands.

“I refuse to fight you upon your chosen ground,” Regis says calmly. He lifts his hand and additional shields spring up, these ones lining the walls around the chamber of the Crystal. “My wife accurately analyzed the situation: Niflheim is far, and there are only so many ships they could bring close enough to be of service to them now, and in those ships, only so many MTs. We, on the other hand, have the full might of the Crownsguard with us to defend the city, a Crownsguard filled with many more ‘taurs than are in your corrupted Kingsglaive. They will succeed in repelling the Niflheim attack, in time. The only uncertain element that might have tipped the balance was where you were, General – and now that we know that, you are going nowhere.”

Regis cannot see Glauca’s expression, but he can see Luche’s – the smug sneer of superiority dropping off his face; the realization, perhaps belatedly, that shields are not only good for keeping attacks out, but also keeping people in.

“Wait, what?” Nyx says. “Our plan is just – what? To wait?”

“With the Wall itself down, I can keep these shields up for a very long time,” Regis confirms. “There are more Crownsguard and, I hope, loyal Kingsglaive such as yourself, than there are traitors. They will repel the Niflheim forces, and then they will come here and arrest these traitors, bringing them to justice.”

“The Crownsguard has detached a division to detain the Emperor of Niflheim as we speak,” Aulea says, looking at Glauca. “If all you care about is your home, Drautos, then surely you do not object to such a measure. Unless you are indeed loyal to Niflheim first and foremost..?”

“The Empire’s nothing more than our ticket out of this situation,” Luche snaps, though the whites of his eyes are showing. He’s afraid. He’s little more than a boy, and Regis pities him – but he’s made his choice. There’s no turning back now, not with murder on his conscience. “It means crap all to us.”

Glauca is silent for a long moment. Regis wonders what he’s thinking – wonders if Aulea’s jab flew true, wonder whether Glauca is truly loyal only to his homeland, thinking he is doing the right thing by allying with the empire, or whether Glauca is by now no more than Niflheim’s dog.

Sadly, Regis doubts he’ll ever get a satisfactory answer to that question.

“It does not matter,” Glauca finally says. “We will escape your little prison.”

He lifts his sword and brings it down hard on the shields, clearly seeking a weak point. They exist, of course, and as the captain of the Kingsglaive, trained in the use of the King's magic, he would know all about how to find it.

But they have made one mistake: they took down the Wall first. The greatest part of Regis’ magic, of his life and soul, was poured into that Wall, every day, and with that drain gone, it is his to wield once more.

These shields will not break.

Glauca continues to try, though, and Luche and several of the other Kingsglaive pull out their daggers, drawing their hands back to cast lighting or fire –

Nothing happens.

“What…?” a rabbit 'taur which Regis believes is named Tredd asks, staring at his hand in surprise. “But the King is still alive – we should still have magic!”

“The magic is my magic,” Regis says harshly. “And I, and I alone, choose to whom it is gifted – and it is a gift I can recall.”

“Again you hide,” Glauca sneers, “while others die.”

“It is by taking this action that I protect as many people as I can,” Regis says. “To the best of my ability. Even if it means I cannot fight in person. Say what you will, Glauca; it will not move me.”

Glauca spins and stalks away, going to confer with the other Kingsglaive.

“I’m not sure I like this plan,” Nyx says, dropping his fighting stance and returning his daggers to their sheaths.

“Not heroic enough for your taste?” Aulea asks, smiling a little. “These things rarely are, particularly when you have to worry about so many people. The perilous joys of being royalty, I'm sad to say; we have to think of the bigger picture. And, sadly, keeping Glauca and the others contained is more important that appeasing our own desire to smack him in his stupid face.”

Nyx barks out a laugh.

“Come,” she continues, “let us see what we can do for young Pelna.”

Hemera limps over to Regis and salutes.

He smiles at her. "I'm sorry, my dear; I would call for medical assistance for the two of you, but..."

She shakes her head firmly and signs something.

"I'm afraid I don't understand."

She shrugs, clearly accustomed to that. She salutes again. He takes that to mean that she understands why he cannot put the shields down, and that she still supports him.

"Can you shield just them in?" Nyx asks, peering at the shield. "Then we move out?"

"Unfortunately, they would have to stay in one place for that," Regis says, watching the corrupt Kingsglaive mill around, hitting the shields with their weapons in a vain attempt to weaken them. "We also don't know what further forces they are in contact with. Putting shields up and down is more draining than keeping them up, and I don't know how long we will be required to keep them up. Far better to stay in our current position. Unless Pelna requires immediate medical attention...?"

"No, sir," Pelna says before anyone else can say anything. "I'll be okay, sir. Don't you put them down for my sake."

Regis accedes to his request, though he worries – the side is a very delicate area, near the intestines, and too much of a delay might lead to sepsis. But the plan is still valid, injury or no, and at least Pelna’s willful pretense of good health is enough to let Regis deceive himself into hoping that perhaps they will be able to avoid any more casualties.

"They're planning something," his sharp-eyed people-wise Aulea says, watching the traitors talking with each other. "Keep your guard up, all of you – if they find a way to break the shield, we will be vulnerable."

The three Kingsglaive all nod.

And so they wait, stuck at an impasse.

It is, sadly, a state Regis is very familiar with from this long and endless war.

After what must be nearly an hour, if not more, there's a sound in the hallway.

Regis and Aulea exchange looks of concern.

"Not Crownsguard?" Nyx asks in a low voice, catching it.

"The Crownsguard had orders to secure the city and to stop the Niflheim invasion first, should the Wall fall," Aulea replies, "and only after they finish that should they turn to restoring the Crystal. I find it unlikely that it is our forces coming up the stairs – more likely our enemy's companions, here to assist with the problem of the shield."

Nyx nods his understanding, murmuring something that sounds not unlike "they deserve the stairs", and goes back to watching the other Kingsglaive.

He's memorizing their faces, Regis thinks; he wants to know who betrayed him.

Regis would tell him that such exercises will only lead to heartache, but he knows well that words cannot help heal the wound of a betrayal such as this.

Sure enough, the sounds from the stairs resolve themselves into more Kingsglaive – not including Nyx and Hemera's good friend Libertus, Regis notes, and hopes that the honest bear 'taur yet lives – and with them, held in their grip, they have –

"Clarus!" Regis exclaims.

Clarus is hurt, and badly – his face is bruised, his eyes blackened; his striped orange hide wet with blood and the oily miasma characteristic of MTs. He is not walking, but being dragged.

He hears the others around him, reacting in their own way, but he only has eyes for his Shield.

His oldest friend.

There's no way the MTs managed this alone, for Regis knows that Clarus would have been surrounded by Crownsguard – and yet – if Clarus has fallen - then the city –

Clarus signals roughly with one of his dangling forepaws, not using his hands to avoid notice.

Stop. City. Safe.

The city is secure. Then how did they get to Clarus?

"You are very good at hiding behind your shields and walls while others die," Glauca says. "Let's see how well you do when it is your friends who are dying."

He lifts his sword and puts it to Clarus' neck.

Regis opens his mouth to say – he doesn't know what, for there is nothing he can say, nothing he can do -

There is a terrible sound, then, from just outside the windows, a sound familiar to anyone who has been beyond the Wall.

The sound of the terrors of the night.

Daemons.

"And those are the daemon carrier ships unleashing their weapons upon your city," Glauca says. He sounds satisfied, the monster; he does not care about the civilian lives that will be destroyed. "Even better. You will watch as your friend dies by my sword, King, even as the daemons come right into your city of tranquility, bringing death in their wake –"

Another sound.

Glauca frowns, clearly not recognizing it.

Regis can't entirely blame him. It sounds like – thunder?

But the sky was clear, last he checked.

"Holy crap," Pelna, who was lying slouched by the small window, suddenly says, his eyes wide. "Ramuh's fucking wings...!"

"What is it?" Aulea asks. She puts her forepaw on Regis' own, warning him against impulsive acts. She herself would use her hand for the gesture, but she has her now-reloaded gun aimed firmly at the enemy.

"Ulric," Regis croaks, gesturing with his head to the window, wanting a report. He can't take his eyes off of Clarus' steady gaze.

The one that says 'Let me go'. That says 'my life is not worth dropping your shield'.

That says – 'my life is your shield'.

But Clarus is his oldest friend, his friend from the crib, from when they were no more than kittens themselves. He was the only one who stayed by his side: when Cid decamped to Hammerhead after an argument, when old Weskham stayed on in Altissia, when Cor the kitten, their late arrival, grew up. He is the only one who understands Regis' mind the way no one else does, not even Aulea.

A King must make sacrifices. Regis knows that maxim far, far too well. It was to save as many people as possible that he retreated into Insomnia after his father's death and their terrible defeat, knowing that it was only that retreat that encouraged Niflheim to slow down its plans of conquest – that painful retreat and the withdrawing of the Wall some years later that brought about their tenuous ceasefire, however temporary, and gave a pause from the horrors of war to the lands of his people so that they could try to rebuild.

It was for his people that he stayed behind the Wall and did not start a fight he knew he would lose.

And it is for his people that he will stay behind his shields now.

As a king, Regis must love his people. As a 'taur, there are times he finds that he hates them.

"Ramuh's wings!" Nyx exclaims.

"What is it?" Aulea snaps.

"No – you don't understand – it really is Ramuh's wings. He's manifesting!"

"He's what?" Regis says, and many other people in the room exclaim something similar as well. They all move towards the window at once to go look, each on their own side of the magic shield wall; even Glauca goes, pulling his sword away from Clarus to do so – a moment's respite, nothing more, Regis knows.

They go to look and they see –

Noctis.

Noctis, standing in the open doorway of a Niflheim cruiser that hovers right above the center of his city, Gladio at one side, Ignis at the other, Luna and Prompto at his back, his hands thrown up into the air as if he were summoning the storm itself.

And above Noctis' hands, there is Ramuh himself, gathering in the air above them all, his thousands of birds coming together into his gigantic form.

And below him –

"Titan," Regis breathes, even as the others around him curse.

Titan himself manifesting his far-flung form, which he has not done in years, in generations, the mighty bull of the land rearing up and bringing his terrible hooves down, down –

Down upon the daemons unleashed by Niflheim.

Ramuh throws his great staff, thunder and lightning both, and he hits the daemons, too, a fiery blaze that blackens and consumes them even as the massive creatures of dust and darkness turn to flee.

And before the unstoppable might of the Astrals, the daemons fall. No matter their size, no matter their fearsomeness, this is one battle they cannot win.

Seeing this, the airships of Niflheim scatter and turn to flee.

"No!" Glauca roars, lifting his gauntleted hand in a fist of rage.

Noctis and his ship are moving now, turning and heading straight to the Crystal, Regis notes almost absently. Straight towards them.

"Betrayed again, Glauca?" Aulea asks, her voice poisonous. "It is almost as though the mighty Empire doesn't actually care about refugees fighting for their home, just the way you accuse us of doing."

Glauca strikes out at her in his fury, but for all the might of his sword, Regis' shield holds. His traitorous Kingsglaive mill around him like frightened geese, panic in their eyes, realizing, perhaps for the first time, that this is a battle they might lose – and that there is a price to be paid for treason.

"You may have won the day, cowards," he snarls, spitting mad. "But you have lost, too – I will see to it that you lose –"

He turns back to Clarus, whose calm has not been moved, and he lifts his sword up high.

"Regis!" Aulea shouts. "Drop the shields now!"

He doesn't know why she is suggesting this – it is contrary to their agreed-upon plan of remaining behind the shields – but Regis loves his wife and more than that: he trusts her.

He drops the shields.

And then, through the highest pane of the great window far up above them, there is the shattering of glass as someone leaps through it and down to them, landing right before Glauca.

Someone with sword drawn and teeth bared.

Someone whom Glauca has never faced in open battle – someone whom Drautos has never defeated –

Cor.

The Immortal.