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“Death can find nothing to expose in him that is not beautiful.”
– Homer, ‘Iliad’
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Denial
He doesn't really believe Noctis is gone right away. He never gave up hope during the Long Night that he would come back. In some ways, this feels similar enough that he can't stop himself from looking out the window of the garage in the little loft he shares with Cindy, expecting to see Noctis like he did before, scraggly beard and uncombed hair yet so regal in the eyes and gait, walking in from the wilderness, ready to fix everything. When Cindy or he get a phone call, his breath hitches expecting to hear that his best friend has shown back up.
Cindy is great. She wraps him up in her arms, kisses his his forehead, rocks him through the tears tracking down his cheeks. She doesn’t say a word, but it’s better that way.
-
Anger
Cindy patronizes him. She rocks him in her arms like he's a baby. She coos and speaks to him in a gentle voice like he's some stupid kid who doesn't understand death, like Noctis being gone is something she can kiss better.
It cannot be kissed better. This is all the Astrals’ fault. Couldn't they have cured the Starscourge themselves? Weren't they strong enough? Why weren't they strong enough? Prompto vows to never call on them for help again, not even to use their name vainly. He will pretend they don’t exist, because in his eyes, they may as well not. Believing in them hasn’t brought him anything but pain.
His stomach roils in disgust whenever he hears any one other than Iggy or Gladio talk about Noct. None of them knew him, none of them feel what he's feeling. Noctis was nothing but a sacrificial victim to them, someone they could offer up to appease the gods. The years he spent trying to help refugees and trying to build some kind of life in the darkness while he waited for Noctis, he heard some terrible things. He could ignore them, back then, because Noct was still alive. Missing, but still alive.
Now, when he looks at other people, he hears that vitriol. The anger, the disbelief. Now they love their savior.
But he was a person. He was Prompto's best friend.
His everything.
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Bargaining
Prompto breaks his vow and calls on the Astrals. They are silent. Shiva doesn't appear. But why would she? He hadn't forged a covenant with her. The covenant was between them and Noctis, a dead man.
And he knows dying is natural, but they also have Phoenix Downs and they've been in worse binds and why couldn't they have used one? Shiva's corporeal form was destroyed yet she still moved around and became Gentiana – couldn't she do something like that for Noct? It's just not fair, that Noctis missed so much of his life and then was only here back with them long enough to be sacrificed. Prompto just wants a little more time, he wants to know what kind of man Noctis would be, what kind of king. He wants Noctis to hear all about how he and Cindy got together, and he wants to be there when Noctis has his first child, a new Crown Prince or Princess. It isn't right that he suffered so much, and Luna too, for nothing. What was his reward?
What was Prompto's reward for all this pain? He could’ve done it all with a smile on his face, if only he could’ve kept Noctis in the end.
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Depression
Grieving isn't easy, especially when everyone else seems to be happy he's dead. Every time he sheds a tear or his heart squeezes, he feels like he's ungrateful, or he's belittling Noct's sacrifice, or he's not giving it the proper weight. He's placing his own misery and missing his friend above saving the world, and that's not right. Then he reminds himself missing Noctis doesn't do a damn thing. It doesn't damn the world, it doesn't bring his friend back. Noctis does not know, or does not care, if he can even see him. Prompto comforts himself sometimes that Noctis doesn't reach out for his sake. Prompto knows that he knows he would struggle even harder to move on if he knew Noctis can communicate with him. He won't let go; he'll try to reach out to him often, he'll want to know how Noctis is.
So Noctis not communicating is a kindness to him. But still, Prompto would like to know Noctis is okay. He wants to know if he's happy in the afterlife. He wants to let Noctis know he's not angry at him for choosing the world over him. (Even if, a tiny selfish part of him wishes Noctis felt he was important enough to sacrifice the world for.)
He doesn't tell anyone else about these thoughts. He can just picture the disgust on Gladio's face if he were to know; but Gladio's whole life has been about duty and sacrifice, and same for Ignis and serving. They've prepared their whole lives for this, even if unknowingly, but not Prompto. Noctis was just his friend, and being his friend was first and foremost what he cared about. Noctis dying was never something he could accept with any kind of grace or dignity.
____
Noctis is everywhere he looks, even when he is nowhere.
The yearning never goes away. It didn't in the ten years Noctis was inside the Crystal, and it hasn't in the time since his death. But it certainly doesn't help that everywhere Prompto looks, there is a reminder of him.
Not that he would want to forget him. But it hurts. Some days are better than others.
The first time he sees one of the shrines is a bad day. It's a little thing set up on the side of the road. A table with a cover above it, protective runes copied from a haven engraved on the edges of the table. Inside the covered alcove is a framed photograph of Noctis. Not as king – only Prompto has photographs from his too brief time as a 30 year old – but a photo from when he was still prince. A garland of fresh woven grass hangs by a loop around the top of the frame. Around the photo are things Prompto doesn't understand the purpose for: a small shallow bowl filled with water, a mostly full bottle of water tucked in the corner behind the frame, scattered grain, seeds, dried beans, small flowers which one might categorize as weeds, some fish scales, and a fishing lure. A curtain hangs on front of the alcove, shielding Noctis from the sun.
Prompto takes a photo of it, and brings it back to show Cindy.
“What do you make of this? Like what's it for?”
Cindy's expression gets real somber. “Some people need something to believe in, Prompto. Our dear Prince did that for them. People was praying for his return for ten years, and their prayers were answered. This is just their way of showing thanks.”
A chill runs down his back. Showing him thanks? “What–? Do they think he's a god?”
She frowns, cocking a hand on her hips. “Well, didn't you say he became more powerful than a god at the end? He had all the powers of the old Kings and the Astrals and the Crystal?”
It's true. But Noctis was still only a man in the end. That's why he's dead. His body couldn’t hold all that power for long. And men don’t become gods.
“But what's with the stuff?” he asks.
“Offerings, I suppose. They want help with their crops, or their hunting and their fishing.” She places a gentle hand on his shoulder. “I didn't know him half as well as you and the boys, but you gotta keep in mind most folk never met him at all. Didn't even know what he looked like. It's easy to elevate someone you don't know nothing about.”
“Noctis didn't like beans,” he whispers.
“I know, sugar. But lots of people do." She pets a hand through his hair, and he closes his eyes, focusing on the softness of her voice. "And they think he'll help them grow their beans like he brought back the dawn.”
____
In Lestallum, across one of the buildings facing the main road stands a mural. It's been some time since Prompto has ventured into what's become the biggest city in Lucis, and so he missed the painting of it. His heart aches at it. Lady Lunafreya sits calmly, peacefully at sleep, face pillowed on her entwined hands, the moon just behind her head. She's dressed in a white flowing gown with long drapey sleeves, not unlike her wedding dress. And bedside her, cheek perched atop his fist and eyes closed also in slumber, is Noctis. He's dressed in a very kingly suit with a sash and pins and medals, something he might have worn on his wedding day or for his coronation. Behind him and to his right are a scattering of bright stars.
All of the daemon-thwarting bright lights of the Long Night have fallen out of use – for good reason – and now much of the energy the power plant used to reserve for such can now be used for other purposes. All around Lucis the nights are darker, but in this tiny corner of Lestallum, on this one little building exterior, the light shines almost blindingly. A promise given, a promise kept.
When night arrives and the street lights come on, Prompto realizes the artist rigged the painted stars and moon with lights themselves, illuminating the street below more brightly than any of the other nearby shops. He's their light in the night, and he's taken back everything to fear from the dark.
____
The first statue Prompto finds of Noctis is carved out of wood, located outside one of the Hunter bases. Most people in Lucis have diverted their energy and resources into rebuilding Insomnia and the smaller outposts, or into jump-starting fresh food production, so Prompto is honestly shocked to see that someone with such a craft as woodworking would devote their free time to carving out an image of Noctis.
It looks more like his father, Regis, than it does Noctis. Minus the beard, though, and the hair is combed rather than the unkempt mane he wore at the end, or his highly-stylized ‘do of his youth. The clothes are accurate, but there's plenty of photographs still around of King Regis and Noctis before everything went to hell, plenty of material for the craftsman to have gleamed inspiration from.
Noctis sits on his throne, regal, proud. In one hand he holds a sword by its hilt, the tip to the ground. The backing of the wood has stars carved into it. It reminds Prompto of when they found his body, how he had looked perched on his throne, perfectly still and at peace, perfectly perfect. Noctis had looked more beautiful in death than any man has ever looked in life. Prompto had wept bitterly when they found the photograph he had taken, tucked safely into his breast pocket, over his heart. Unable to believe he was really gone, Prompto had begged him to come back. Now the sight of him makes him weep, but without the delusion that his tears will do anything but provide a temporary relief.
People touch the statue, his feet or his hands or simply brush their fingers across the backdrop of stars as they pass by, some without much thought, others with a sense of reverence. Prompto looks away when an older hunter lady kisses the top of Noctis' head.
It's so weird to him. They're hunters; many of these people must have known Noctis. They probably saw him at some point, they may have spoken to him. Prompto understands the meaning behind it better now, but the statues, the shrines, the murals — he can't match them with the guy he knew. Awkward, shy Noctis who would stumble over his words, who blushed at the thought of marrying Lady Lunafreya, who refused to eat his vegetables and could fall asleep anywhere.
He misses that version of Noct — the real Noctis — so much. This sculpted, revered Noctis is hard to love. Prompto struggles to see his best friend underneath all that cold stone and unfeeling wood. He can't reach over and feel his warm skin, he can't hug a painting. An image of clay can't talk back. Noctis never tells him if he's happy where he is now.
Noctis had given his life meaning. What can he give him back now?
-
Acceptance
He used to think there was something melancholy about the sunset. But not anymore. Ever since the dawn reappeared, he looks forward to them. More than the absence of daemons, he looks forward to the stars. The lights in the night sky, they remind him of Noct. It feels like Noctis is watching over him somehow, like Prompto's still by his side, though he's never told anyone this before. He now understands why some people have built shrines and erected statues and painted murals, why some recite prayers and tell each other the story of the Chosen King over and over, even if they weren't there for all of it, even if they didn't really know Noctis.
He smiles at the moon and stars, because that's what Noctis wants for him. He sees him everywhere he looks, and it still hurts, but it’s also so beautiful.
“Oh Guardian of the Night, watch over us in the dark. Grant us restful sleep and peaceful dreams,” Prompto prays, looking up at the stars. "Say hi to Luna for me. I'm going fishing with Gladio tomorrow, if you can believe it. Help me catch a big one, okay? Iggy's gonna make one of your favorites."
And when Prompto does land a decent-sized fish, he throws out a quiet, "Thanks, buddy," and ignores Gladio's inquiring glance.
He doesn't know if Noctis can hear him. He doesn't know if Noct became a god, if he's watching over them, if he helped him land a big catch for dinner. But it doesn't matter. Prompto's faith in his best friend will never die.