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The plans are made in the private quarters of Noctis’ bedroom, safe from prying ears tempted to steal his business idea.
“Iggy?”
“What is it?” Ignis asks from his seat at the small table, eyes tracing the lines of his purple crayon. He’s coloring a flower, trying his best to keep within the thick black lines, as if his future duties as royal advisor depends on it.
“Do you know how to make lemonade?”
Ignis looks over to Noctis. The Prince is on the floor, flopped down onto his belly with his legs kicking in the air behind him. He’s coloring in a cartoon voretooth, a ridiculous caricature that belies its true ferocity in real life, with a light pink crayon. Ignis doesn’t think pink voretooths exist, but he doesn’t mention it. Partly because he doesn’t really care, partly because Noctis looks perfectly content with his pink voretooth.
“It’s just lemons and sugar, I think. Why?”
“I want to sell lemonade,” Noctis says matter-of-factly, with as much determination a seven year old is capable of. “Prompto and Gladio should come too.”
“Okay.” Ignis goes back to coloring.
An hour later they wander into the kitchens, each with a filled out sheet from their coloring books. Ignis, being the taller one, sticks their artwork onto a fridge with some Carbuncle magnets. One of the kitchen staff stops by to comment on how well the flower is colored, and Ignis feels his chest puff up with childish pride. When another mentions how creative a pink voretooth is, Noctis only giggles.
“Can we make lemonade?” The Prince suddenly asks, small fists curling up at his sides.
“Of course, Highness! Do you know how?” A cook replies, bending down to his knees to meet the boys’ eye levels.
They both shake their heads, Noctis with enough enthusiasm to send his head flying.
“It’s easy, I’ll show you boys.”
The two spend half an hour mixing pitchers of sugar, water, and lemon juice, which the cook had the wisdom to prepare himself. Knives and little boys made for danger, after all. The kitchen staff have a field day watching the boys, though they’re not sure why they need eight large pitchers of lemonade. They’re left a bit more confused when Noctis announces his hands are tired, and Ignis drags them off to play outside, leaving the full pitchers untouched.
The next day, the staff is greeted by four boys - the Prince and his royal playmates. Immediately, Noctis asks if they can make lemonade again; naturally, the whole kitchen indulges them. The boys are set up at the adjoining dining room, a small affair compared to the main dining hall but more than enough space for the small entourage. There’s bags of sugar, halved lemons and lemon squeezers, bowls and spoons and pitchers, and a copious stack of paper towels at the table. It’s then and there that Prompto, the buzzing ball of energy with a loose lid for his mouth, announces their business plans.
“We’re going to sell lemonade!” he says randomly, when one of the kitchen staff stops by to check on them.
“Prompto, that was gonna be a secret!” Noctis whines, throwing a balled up napkin at the blonde’s head. He aims too high though, and it misses by at least a foot.
“Oh yeah, sorry.” It's entirely unapologetic.
“Well, that explains things. Where are you boys going to have your lemonade stand? Does His Majesty know?” the staff member asks.
Noctis and Prompto shrug. Gladio’s too preoccupied mashing lemons to pay much attention. It’s Ignis who speaks up, pushing his glasses up his nose with the back of his hand.
“In the hallway. And he doesn’t.”
“We still need a stand, though. Can we use a table?” Noctis interrupts. “Or do we have to use cardboard?”
“We need a name! What are we gonna call it?” Prompto pipes up, throwing his arms up into the air, almost smacking Gladio’s face in the process. “Lemonade is yellow. Chocobos are yellow. I think we should use Chocobos in the name.”
“Chocobos. Choco… bros . Chocobros’ Lemonade?” Ignis tests out, unsure if he likes the way it rolls off his tongue.
Prompto gasps dramatically, hands grabbing at Gladio and shaking him. He’s practically screaming at this point, all the high pitch shrill of a child’s excitement. “Yeah! Yeah!! That’s a super-duper idea!”
Somehow, Gladio remains unperturbed, and he only pats the blonde’s hair. “Indoor voice, Prom,” he reminds him.
“Right. Okie-dokie.”
The staff member leaves the boys to their sticky mess and tracks back to the kitchen, eager to share his discovery with the rest of his coworkers. They quietly conspire with the cleaning and maintenance staff to grab a table and some comfortable chairs, setting up a booth a few corridors down.
When the boys finish their prep, the staff help carry the pitchers and plastic cups, leading the boys over to their newly-constructed lemonade stand. Prompto is practically vibrating with excitement when he sees it, blue-violet eyes shining as he circles the table four times over.
“Look! There’s a chocobo drawing! It’s so cuuuuute,” he squeaks. He points a tiny finger at the hastily scrawled bird on a sheet of construction paper, taped to the front edge of the table and next to the sign that reads “Chocobros’ Lemonade.” Ignis and Gladio lend their ears to their eager friend, who continues to rant about the Chocobo themes planted around, while Noctis continues the royal inspection.
The Prince reaches up and grabs a plastic jar, brows scrunching together. “What’s this for?”
“Well, when someone buys a cup, they can put their money in here,” a maid explains, making a motion of dropping a coin inside it.
“Oh.” He places the jar back on the table and climbs into one of the chairs.
Noctis didn’t think to sell the lemonade for profit. He just… wanted a lemonade stand. Besides, he’s pretty sure he has the entire kingdom’s money. Technically, it all belongs to his dad, he thinks, but he’s the king’s son; so by extension, that means it all belongs to Noctis too. Right? But hey, if people want to give him more money, then he isn’t going to stop them. He could probably buy, like, ice cream or something the next time they went out, and he wouldn't have to ask Uncle Cor for the money.
Gladio and Ignis pour a few cups and set them out, politely declining the help of the servants, while Noctis and Prompto run off to grab some markers and more paper after declaring they needed more decorations and signs for their booth.
By the time they finish, a small line is gathered, all full of adults smiling and laughing as they waited for their turn. The first customer, of course, is the cook who helped Noctis and Ignis yesterday. If it was too sweet or too sour, he didn’t mention it, and only has words of praise to shower the boys with, inflating their little egos and brightening their smiles.
Their little giggles and rosy cheeks were infectious , the staff said to each other. It was the power of innocent youth that had put that extra pep in their steps, they determined, that invigorated them through their long hours working and cleaning and cooking. It was only that, they told themselves, because it was the only explanation they could come up with.
On the following day, the Chocobros’ Lemonade stand moves to the third floor. Ignis, in all his nine-year-old wisdom, believes it would be good for business to rotate throughout the Citadel. The other three agree, because Ignis is Ignis and it only makes sense to listen to the future royal advisor. They need less help this time, and they’re quicker about it. Once they’re set up for business, Prompto runs off to tape some flyers around, scraps of construction paper written with crayon, to let the day’s customers know where they’re located.
It doesn’t take long for news to spread, especially when it involves the Prince, and despite the vague description - “3rd floor with the fake tree and the big painting” - a steady trickle of guards and servants make their way to the boys. They have three jars this time, having learned their lesson from yesterday that one jar wasn’t enough to hold all their money, and two of them are already half full an hour in.
Cor eventually comes around. When Prompto spots him, he hops off his seat and nearly runs into him. He wraps his arms around the Marshall’s leg and looks up with big, round eyes. “Uncle Cor! Are you here for our lemonade?” he asks, his smile blinding.
“That I am.” Cor reaches a hand down to pat the boy’s back. “But you’ll need to let go so I can come over.”
Cor’s voice is a bit rough, but he hides it well enough for the boy to not notice. Joining Clarus and Regis in their drinking game last night was not the wisest decision he’s made, and his hangover is a constant regret in his skull.
“Okie-dokie.” Prompto releases his hold on the man’s legs only to take a hold of Cor’s hand. He tugs him along, pulling him over to their table, and Cor obliges, his usual stern face replaced with something more soft and a subtle smile. Despite being Cor the Immortal and fierce battle-hardened warrior, he turned into Cor the Uncle sometime during his interaction with the palace kids. Not as if he’s complaining, or denying his fondness for his pseudo-nephews.
“Here you go!” Prompto grabs a cup and shoves it into Cor’s hand. It almost spills in the boy's enthusiasm.
“Ah, I’m afraid I’ve no coin on me,” Cor says, patting himself down.
“S’okay. Sometimes they give us candy instead too.” Noctis points to their jars, wrapped candies thrown in with the coins. There’s a plastic green soldier toy and a chocobo keychain in there, Cor notices.
“Running a solid business practice, I see.” He almost laughs, but covers his oncoming smile behind his cup of lemonade. It’s tangy but undoubtedly sweet, a little too sweet for his liking, but he sips at it regardless. “May I bring one to His Majesty? He’s told me he’d like one as well, but the Council has him locked up at the moment.”
“Oooh! Yeah, hold on.” Noctis jumps up and reaches for a pitcher, pouring a fresh cup for his father. “Here,” he says, handing it to Cor.
“Your father’s thanks, Your Highness.”
He spares a moment to pat Gladio and Ignis on their shoulders, murmuring a blessing for their success, before turning back to whence he came. There’s a slight tingle in the back of his throat, and he wonders if it’s the acidity. By his fourth sip, he realizes it's not. He swallows, and the tickle is gone, along with the sore throat and hangover he was suffering from all morning. ‘Oh,’ he thinks, chuckling to himself at his discovery, ‘Regis is going to be surprised.’
“Dad!” Noctis squeals, as Regis scoops up his son into his arms. “You came! Did you like our lemonade? Do you want some more?”
They’re at the steps leading into the Citadel today. It’s a mild day, and both Gladio and Prompto wanted to set up shop outside this time. When Regis emerged from the entrance, with Clarus only a pace behind him, the boys hopped off their seats to practice their bows before him. With Regis on Noctis, the three boys crowd around Clarus and demand for his attention, asking him for the day’s excitements and plans.
“Yes, dear Noctis.” Regis smiles, placing a quick kiss to his boy’s forehead. “I had a headache all that morning, you see. One sip, and what would you know? It disappeared all thanks to my son. In fact, I would absolutely love another cup, if you wouldn’t mind.”
“Aww, dad, you’re exa… exaggeraley - exaggerating!” Noctis laughs, hiding behind his rosy blush.
“Oh my. First a businessman, now you’re using big words. What an amazing Prince we have!” Regis wiggles his eyebrows in a ridiculous gesture, and Noctis laughs once more.
When Noctis is finally let down, he holds a cup towards Regis, who graciously takes it in both hands. He takes a sip and successfully resists the urge to wince at the ungodly amount of sugar in it. “Delightful, Noctis. Thank you.”
Noctis beams at the compliment, failing to hide his excitement and pride. “Really?” he asks.
“Really.” Regis ruffles an affectionate hand through Noctis’ hair. “I would love to stay, but I must meet with Lord Varium soon.”
“Ew, I don’t like him.” Noctis scrunches his face at the mention of his name.
“Neither do I, dear heart, but a King I am and a King I must be.”
“Okay… Are we having dinner tonight?”
“Yes, we are.”
Noctis perks up. “Okay, have fun with Varium!”
Regis chuckles and nods, giving one last kiss to his son’s temple. “I will try, son, I will try. You boys have fun as well.”
Regis retreats back up the stairs of the Citadel, lemonade in hand, though he does not head to his private office to meet Lord Varium.
“Clarus, my old friend,” Regis says, leading them down the corridor. “My most loyal Shield. My dearest companion. My -”
“Out with it, Regis. And I hope you’ll explain why we’re in the medical wing.”
“You see, I’m in need of a willing subject.”
As if on cue, Cor appears from around the corner and hands Regis a crutch, his face stark as stone but an ominous glint in his eye. Clarus does not like where this is going, and his instincts tell him to run.
“Alright…?” he says warily.
Regis sharply turns on his heel and faces Clarus. “And you’ve been nominated.”
“What -”
Using the crutch, Regis thwacks Clarus in the leg with quick precision, and they all hear the sharp crack of bone.
Clarus goes down howling, but not without shooting his death glare at Regis. There’s probably some ordinance about not giving your King threatening looks and cursing him but to hell with it. “By the Six, Reggie, I swear!”
“Oh, come now, dear Clarus, you’ve had far worse. Now do stay still.” Regis sighs, and Clarus can hear the eye roll in his voice.
Something cold splashes onto his broken leg; and in his haze of pain and the war between his loyalty as Shield to the King and the murderous rage that wants to snap his shitty friend’s neck , he recognizes the sickly sweet smell as the Prince’s lemonade. He has no idea what Regis is trying to get at, from picking Clarus as his experimental guinea pig and breaking his godsdamn leg to literally pouring lemon juice on his wounds, but he’s not having any of this without an explanation.
Clarus opens his mouth to demand one, when he quickly realizes there’s no sting of lemon or the pain of a broken leg. Frowning, he looks down and rolls his wet pants up. He lightly prods at where he expects broken skin from the bone fracture but only sees a faint zigzag of pink skin, newly healed and entirely intact.
“Oh,” Cor and Regis whisper in unison.
“It seems our suspicions were correct,” Regis says, tossing the empty cup into a bin.
“A heads up would have been appreciated, Your Majesty,” Clarus grumbles, taking Cor’s outstretched hand.
“My dear son has a habit of turning his juice boxes into potions,” Regis explains, looking wholly unapologetic. “After having his lemonade yesterday, I could sense a hint of the same magic. It seems he’s inadvertently adding a healing effect.”
“And I assume this is a bad thing?”
Regis shakes his head. “Not at all. It’s simply a product of excess magic leaking through. So long as he’s not picked up by any suspicious strangers, I support his business goals. But do keep him and the boys within the Citadel, would you, Cor?”
“Of course.”
“Alright, but why in Bahamut’s name did you have to break my leg?”
“It was Cor’s idea.”
Clarus reels around. “Cor! You dirty, sorry excuse of a -”
But Cor is gone.
A week later, and the boys are stationed at the Glaives HQ. Noctis whined about wanting to go elsewhere, and Ignis even drafted a list of reasons as to why it would be a great opportunity to expand their lemonade business. When Regis read the scrap of paper, he tried his best to hide his amused smile.
“Your reasons are… very convincing, Ignis,” Regis said, covering his lips behind his hand. “I see this one says, ‘Because Noctis wants to’ and the third one, ‘Nyx said it’s a good idea.’ May I know what exactly sir Ulric said?”
“Your Majesty,” Ignis said, holding his hands behind his back and lifting his chin up - Regis thought he’d make a fine advisor in the future - “Nyx Ulric said it would be ‘good for morale’ and ‘it’d be cool.’”
It was determined that Ignis’ reasons were good enough, and Regis made sure Cor would chaperone them during their stay.
So when they finally arrive and set up shop, Prompto is too busy ooh’ing and ahh’ing to help out much with selling, totally captivated by the shine and grime of the Kingsglaive HQ. Gladio and Noctis get distracted a few times when the occasional Glaive shows off a few sword tricks or magic spell. Even Ignis falls prey to the new scenery and change of pace. But ultimately, they still realize the purpose for their visit, and they keep their heads in the game for the most part.
Business practically booms. Most of the Glaives come by to pet or pinch at the Prince’s cheeks, the lemonade mostly an afterthought. They don’t rack up as much of a monetary gain as they usually do; however, their jars are mostly filled with odd knick knacks and trinkets, much to the boys’ delight. It’s far more interesting to see what goodies they get, instead of the plain ol’ shiny coin.
When something catches his eye, Gladio reaches a hand into the jar and pulls out something square and in bright pink foil. He squints at it and frowns, not entirely sure what it is. It’s far too thin to be candy; in fact, it feels like there’s practically nothing in it. When he makes to tear it open, Cor swoops in and snatches the small packet from his hands. It’s crumbled up in the man’s hand before it disappeares into his pocket.
“That’s… not for young children. Yet,” Cor coughs out, when Gladio looks at him with a demand for an explanation.
Cor wears a scowl for the duration of the sale, and the boys don’t notice when money becomes the main currency again.
“Well! Hey there, tiny Prince.” Nyx, the instigator for the location switch, finally comes around. He stalks toward them like a wolf after rabbits, minus the savage hunger, though he wears a friendly enough smile. “So the King finally let you come here, huh?”
“Hi, Nyx!” Noctis chirps.
“Awww, Prince, you’re so precious,” Crowe coos, popping up from behind. She walks around the table to ruffle each boy’s hair and pinch Noctis’ cheeks. Ignis takes it in stride, though Gladio and Prompto both end up looking a bit more than lovestruck. Noctis squeaks and tries to smack away Crowe’s hands when they pull at his cheeks; they’re a little tender from all the attention he’s been getting today. She laughs at his pouty lips.
“Crooooowe,” Noctis groans, turning and shielding his cheeks with his hands.
Nyx just grins, tossing in a little pouch of beads into a jar and picking up a drink. “Here, try it and say I didn’t tell you so,” he says, offering the cup to Crowe.
“Remember, hero, you owe me three beers if you’re wrong.” She takes it but eyes Nyx with suspicion. Her gaze, however, changes to surprise when she downs half the drink in one go. “Well, shit, Nyx.”
“Language,” Cor warns, tone sharp and threatening.
“Er, right, sorry. You guys didn’t hear that,” Crowe says to the boys. She turns her face to Nyx and mouths what the fuck , earning a shit-eating grin from the man. When Nyx had told her a few days ago about the lemonade the Prince and his playmates were making, she had just laughed; it was cute knowing the kids were still kids, despite their royal upbringing. But when he had told her about the rumors about it being magical, she had rolled her eyes and dismissed the idea. So when she gulped down the sickly sweet drink, she didn’t expect the fatigue of the day’s training to just melt away. Didn’t expect the aches in her back and the soreness of her muscles and the exhaustion from her magic use to dull away to almost nothing.
So when the entirety of the Kingsglaive requested repeat visits from Chocobros’ Lemonade, she made sure to be one of the firsts in line.
Months passed and word broke out that a convoy from Niflheim would be arriving to discuss a potential ceasefire. Noctis and his crew were forbidden to sell their lemonade that week. Noctis was a little put-off, though he understood his father’s caution and worry and the gravity of the situation. He and the boys still made lemonade anyway, stocking up on their wares for when they were off probation, plus it was fun.
After finishing up for the afternoon, Noctis decides to head to the gardens, to maybe play catch with Gladio if he could find him, and he fills a bottle with lemonade to bring with him. Instead of his future Shield, he finds a very strangely-dressed man admiring the tree peonies. Noctis knows he’s not from Insomnia, or even Lucis for that matter, because no one dresses like that. He must be some hobo that managed to wander through the gates when the Niflheim representatives arrived, the child determines. He has half a mind to call security, because that’s what he’s been taught to do, and he knows he should. But… the man doesn’t look like a bad person. Just weird. And if there’s another thing his father taught him, it’s to not judge someone by their appearance, no matter how ugly their clothes are.
“Hi, who are you?” Noctis asks, walking up to the stranger.
The man slowly turns, says nothing as he examines the young boy. Noctis thinks he sees those gold eyes glow for a second, but it’s gone when he blinks.
“I am simply a man of no consequence,” the man finally says, with a weird drawl to his words. He does some kind of flourish with his hat and bows. “But you may call me Ardyn Izunia.”
Noctis isn’t entirely sure what he means by that, but at least he has a name. He doesn’t know if the confusion shows on his face, but he moves on and takes a seat on a nearby stone bench, leaving enough room in case Ardyn wants to join him. “Okay. My name’s Noctis.”
“Oh, Noctis! As in Prince Noctis Lucis Caelum?” Ardyn says, a little too dramatically in Noct’s opinion. This guy is really weird.
He nods. “Yeah. But you can call me Noct, Mr. Izunia.”
“Just Ardyn then, Noct.”
“Okay, Mr. Ardyn. What are you doing here? Did you get lost?”
“Ah! Your concern is most appreciated, though unneeded. The peace talks were getting a bit heated, so I wished for a bit of fresh air and was directed to this most delightful garden. Lovely flowers, by the way.”
Oh, peace talks. That means he’s with Niflheim? Good thing he didn’t mention how weird Ardyn looked - that would have been bad. But if his understanding of the word “heated” is correct in its context, then the ceasefire talks were not literally on fire but were already going bad.
He hopes his dad is okay.
Noctis looks down at his bottle and frowns. He wants to help, though he's not sure what he could do. He knows the war has been going on for a long time now, and that this possible treaty would be huge and Nyx and Crowe and Libertus and Pelna wouldn't have to fight anymore. And he really likes those Glaives and the way they would play with him whenever they were sent back to the Citadel for guard duty.
He stares at his drink until Ardyn sits beside him and cocks his brow. “Something the matter, young Prince? What ails you so?”
And he realizes that this man is possibly one of Niflheim's dignitaries, a man who could influence the direction of the war. Noctis doesn't have anything to offer, except for his company and his words but he wasn't due for political lessons and proper etiquette talks for another year. All he had was his lemonade. But if what the Citadel staff and the Glaives said were true, then maybe it wouldn't hurt to try.
“Want some lemonade? I didn't drink it yet, I promise.” He lifts the bottle towards Ardyn.
“Well then!” Ardyn smiles and takes the offering. “I am a bit parched. The talks have left my tongue quite dry now that I think about it. My sincerest thanks, Highness.” He doesn't take a sip yet though. And instead, he makes a request. “Would the young Prince care to take me on a tour of the gardens? I'm afraid the names of some of these flowers escape this old man.”
“Sure, okay.” Noctis hops off the bench and takes Ardyn’s free hand, leading them down the constructed walkway. “I don't know all the names though.”
“Not a problem. I'm positive we can figure it out between the two of us.” He reassures, popping the cap off and taking a sip of his drink.
Noctis thinks he sees that glow again and something black at the corner of his eyes, but it's hard to tell from his angle and height difference. What he does know, however, is the slight squeeze of his hand. Ardyn doesn't say anything about his lemonade and keeps drinking it anyway, so he chooses to think Ardyn likes it. And the way he guzzles it down makes Noctis really believe the man when he said he was thirsty.
It's halfway through Noctis’ makeshift garden tour when Ardyn steers the topic, when the man drank every last drop of Noctis’ lemonade.
Ardyn suddenly stops in his tracks and holds out his hand, golden eyes concentrating on the palm of his hand. He looks so focused that Noctis doesn't dare say anything; it would be rude to interrupt. So he detangles his hand from Ardyn's and quietly takes a few steps toward a small ash tree, admiring a squirrel nibbling on some bird feed. It takes a minute of awkward silence and squirrel watching before Ardyn returns to reality.
“Well.” Ardyn blinks himself out of his stupor. “This is entirely unexpected.”
He sounds pretty composed for someone who met something unexpected, Noctis thinks, but the man is pretty weird anyway.
“What is?” he asks with childish innocence, skipping back to Ardyn's side.
“It's… The Scourge. I can no longer call upon it.”
“You mean scurvy?” Noctis did hear about his lemonade healing people of their colds and fevers, so curing someone of scurvy was well within the realms of possibility. But really, Ardyn should be careful to eat more fruit.
Good thing lemons have vitamin C.
“No, my sweet, sweet Noctis. The Scou - oh, never mind all that. Prophecies and gods and blood sacrifices galore, and this is all it takes. Why I can't believe two millenia…”
Ardyn rambles on about things that fall on deaf ears, as Noctis tunes the man out and turns his attention back to the fat squirrel as if it's the most interesting thing in the world. As if Ardyn and his weird monologues of fate and destiny are casual and regular occurrences.
As if seven-year-old Noctis did not single-handedly purge the Starscourge from Ardyn’s very soul and save the entirety of Eos from an eternity of darkness and daemons and torment.
‘I'm thirsty,’ he thinks, still ignoring Ardyn's rant. He tugs on the strange man’s sleeve and leads them back inside to get more lemonade.
Bonus Crack
Ignis’ eyes become tired, and he lifts his hands to rub at them, completely forgetting he was in the middle of pressing lemons. In seconds, he's crying and shrieking, a thousand regrets falling on his tongue. Noctis nearly falls over in his chair as he rushes over to his friend’s side, wondering why Iggy was screaming all of a sudden. “NOCTIS I CAN’T SEE,” he cries out, hands reaching for the Prince.
Unfortunately, his hands land on Noctis’ eyes. It becomes a domino effect from there, when Gladio and Prompto run over to them, only to get lemon juice in their eyes as well. A dozen Crownsguard and a few Glaives accompanied by Cor rush to the wailing voices, weapons drawn and eyes scanning for the intruder who dared hurt their Prince and his friends.
“GLADIO, PROMPTO, WHERE ARE YOUUUU,” Noctis cries, hands reaching frantically around him.
“I DON’T KNOW WHERE AM I WHO AM I.”
“INSIDE VOICE, PROMPTO.”
“YOU’RE YELLING TOO GLADIO SHUT UP!”
“TELL DAD I LOVE HIM.”
King Regis banned lemons from the Citadel for a whole three months.