Noctis felt like shit.

It wasn't 'stay home and pull the covers over your head' bad, but it was pretty close. He grimaced, sliding from the car as Ignis opened his door for him.

His adviser frowned. "Are you sure you're all right, Noct? You're looking a bit out of sorts."

Noctis waved him off. "I'm fine, Iggy."

It was just a headache. Barely beginning to veer into migraine territory, but a headache nonetheless. His knee throbbed – Noctis resisted the urge to rub it. The rain had broken after a solid week of downpours, but the damage was done. It would probably ache for awhile; lingering damage the Marilith left behind. Usually the aches and pains weren't more than he could push to the back of his mind. Today was an unpleasant exception.

"Do you have your brace with you?"

Noctis was sure he hadn't mentioned it, but nothing got past Ignis. He rolled his eyes, unzipped his bag, and pulled out the hinged, velcro brace he sometimes carried around. "Yes, mom." He adamantly refused anything even vaguely resembling that gold monstrosity his father wore. He shuddered, putting thoughts of Regis' ravaged body from his mind before they legitimately depressed him.

"Please put that on before you engage in anything even remotely resembling training today."

"Don't worry, I will." And Noctis meant it. He hated the limitations of his body, but he wasn't an idiot. His knee had been threatening to buckle all day—he knew his limits.

Most of the time.

With one last subtle threat of bodily harm should Noct even think of disobeying him, Ignis slid back into the driver's seat, promising he would return to pick him up later in the evening.

Noctis waved, then spun around to head inside. A wave of vertigo struck him, and he pressed the heel of his hand to his forehead. Moving too quickly was a very bad idea. He shook himself, nodding at the guards on the door, who inclined their heads and kindly didn't comment when the prince tripped over the last step.

He finally made it through the doors, wincing once away from prying eyes. Shit, that hurt. He'd wrenched his knee with that little misstep. His limp felt noticeably worse.

Noctis clicked the side button on his phone, checking the time. Gladio wouldn't be expecting him at the training grounds for another hour. His rooms weren't far from there – he probably had time to swing by and soak his knee for a bit before he got the crap kicked out of him.

Much as he hated to admit it, getting through tonight would be a struggle. He took a moment to thank the Six that tomorrow was Saturday, and Ignis might feel sorry enough for him to let him sleep past noon for a change.

Decision made, he pressed the appropriate button on the elevator and settled down to wait. Noctis sighed, resting his head against the cold metal wall. He straightened up with great reluctance, just in time to see the elevator doors slide open and Clarus Amicitia join him inside. Noct's eyes widened. It was rare to see him away from Regis' side in the middle of the day.

"Oh Gods, you're alone. Is my Dad okay?" Noctis quipped, incredulous.

"He's in a private meeting, and having the time of his life, I'm sure." Clarus didn't smile, but his face softened into something...well, something. His head hurt too much to puzzle it out. As if on cue, a sharp pain stabbed behind his eyes, and Noctis squeezed them shut, pinching the bridge of his nose. He opened his eyes a moment later to see Clarus gazing down at him, eyebrows furrowed with concern.

Noctis waved him off. "Headache." His knee chose that moment to spasm, and he stumbled. He was forced to grab onto the handrail not to fall flat on his face.

Clarus frowned. If anything, Noct's flippant dismissal, and that damn stumble, only sharpened his gaze. The King's Shield inclined his head, indicating Noct's traitorous appendage. "Just your head?"

Noctis shrugged. "It's been raining a lot. You know how my knee gets." He could only hope the man wouldn't press further than that—he didn't want this getting back to his father. Regis had enough to worry about without people reporting Noctis' every sniffle.

Clarus paused, eyes drilling into him. For a moment, the prince genuinely thought he might throw him over his shoulder and drag him to the infirmary. It wouldn't be the first time. To Noctis' relief, however, he nodded his acceptance, but not without fixing him with a stare that could have commanded the Old Wall by itself. "Very well. I'm going to trust you, Your Highness. Surely you wouldn't be irresponsible enough to conceal a more serious matter, would you?"

Noctis pointedly ignored his throbbing knee, shooting an angelic smile at his father's best friend. "Cross my heart."

"I mean it, Noctis. Your father will have my head if I let you walk away from me, and you fall down a flight of stairs."

"Don't be silly, Clarus. That's why we're in an elevator. No stairs."

The Shield loosed a put-upon sigh, gripping the bridge of his nose. If Noctis were anyone else, he was certain he'd be scraping himself off the wall. He patted him on the shoulder, grinning sheepishly.

"Seriously, Clarus. I know my limits."

"If you say so."

Noctis was almost offended by the look of skepticism Clarus leveled at him.

The elevator opened on their selected floor and the pair exited together; Noctis headed toward his rooms, Clarus to who knew where. He heard the Shield's footsteps pause behind him – Clarus didn't try to stop him, but he was watching Noctis walk away, and the prince cursed silently. There was no way he hadn't seen him limping. This would be mentioned to his dad, at least in passing.

No sense worrying about it now. Noctis resigned himself to answering an inquiring phone call or concerned text message later. Right now, his rooms and a hot bath beckoned.

After arriving at his destination and shutting the door, Noctis shrugged the backpack from his shoulder, tossing it onto a chair. He kicked off his shoes, sighing as he loosened his tie. Finally in the privacy of his own quarters, he allowed himself a grimace, doubled over with his hand on his knee. He rubbed at the joint, waiting out the angry throbs of pain. They were quickly crossing the threshold from highly inconvenient to agonizing.

He probably should have been wearing the brace this whole time. Maybe he didn't know his limits as well as he liked to think.

No. Noctis knew them. He was just stubborn enough to ignore them until they were really bad. Another wave of dizziness swept over him as he straightened – this time, accompanied by nausea—and he limped over to the couch, one hand on his knee, the other massaging his throbbing temple.

Okay. Maybe this was less a headache and more of a migraine, if the way the world tilted and spun around him was any indication. But at the end of the day, was there really a difference? He still felt like absolute dog shit either way.

I'm a mess.

Noctis laughed. It wasn't funny, but laughing was better than crying. It occurred to him, for the first time, that it might not be a good idea to fight Gladio in this condition. Could be dangerous.

The prince squared his shoulders. He was being a baby. He was sixteen years old, he could take care of a bad headache and an aching knee by himself. Besides, he wouldn't always feel well on the battlefield, if circumstances ever put him there.

Get up. Come on.

Noctis straightened from the couch, careful not to bend his knee or put too much weight on it. He hobbled his way down the hall, grabbing a towel and a wash rag on the way as an afterthought. He'd pop some pills and run himself a bath – hopefully he'd feel better after that. Noctis couldn't risk any of the heavier pain killers before training, but he'd have to later if he wanted to sleep tonight.

Ten minutes later, he was lowering himself into the steaming hot tub. Noctis sighed as he sunk beneath the water, eyes fluttering. Heat always helped when his old wounds were hurting. He leaned his head back against the wall, relaxing as much as he dared. He couldn't fall asleep—Gladio would never let him hear the end of it.

Gods, Noctis wished he could stay in here forever. The pain was still there, but it had faded to a dull ache, rather than the harsh, unforgiving stabs that had been chipping away at his tolerance slowly for the past week. The relief almost brought tears to his eyes. As it was, Noctis bit his lip and fought them back, but it was a near thing.

He couldn't avoid the brace anymore – continuing to do so was probably stupid. He winced, sharp stabbing pains shooting through his knee as he bent it, even enveloped in the water. Definitely stupid.

Even so, Noctis couldn't help but picture cold, twisted metal, closing around his father's leg like a gilded cage. He wondered how heavy it was – if it hurt almost as much as the knee did. He wondered if Regis ever looked at it and saw the same thing his son did.

A fast approaching coffin.

The tears did come then, and he swiped at them, furious. His father was dying a slow, painful death, and here Noctis was complaining about a knee he'd probably fucked up himself. All he had to do was wear his stupid, Velcro, not-a-big-deal brace.

Noctis allowed himself about twenty more minutes to soak – and wallow—before reluctantly draining the water from the tub with a mournful sigh. He might have stayed in just a bit too long, because his skin was red, bordering on raw, and his limbs felt weak. Noctis couldn't bring himself to regret it though—his knee felt marginally better.

He shut his eyes, bracing himself against the wall. The vertigo that had been plaguing him for the past hour returned with a vengeance. It crashed over him in waves. That was fine though. Noctis would pop those fever reducers, slip the brace on, and crawl to that training session if he had to.

Preoccupied, he stepped out of the tub with the wrong leg, realizing what he'd done just a moment too late.

His knee buckled. Noctis tried to catch himself, frantically grabbing at the countertop in front of him, but the surface was so slick with condensation, his hand slipped off. He fell the rest of the way, bashing his head against the corner with a sharp cry.

He saw stars. His vision darkened around the edges as he crashed to the floor, stunned.

Noctis breathed deep, giving himself a moment to adjust. He could not pass out. Blood gushed from a gash in the middle of his forehead – enough that it fell into his eyes. After a few moments of groping behind him, he found a wash cloth and pressed it to his wound.

Slowly, he pulled himself into a sitting position with a grimace. This was bad. He should seek medical attention.

The thought put a bad taste in his mouth, but head wounds were nothing to mess around with. Noctis might have been stubborn, but he wasn't an idiot. The prince considered his options, struggling not to panic through the near-blinding pain. His stomach churned—a cold chunk of ice had settled there, and he clamped a hand over his mouth, fighting tooth and nail not to lose the contents of his stomach. This was bad enough without vomit entering the equation.

He could limp into the hallway and seek out the nearest Crownsguard. The last thing he needed, however, was every soldier in the Citadel being called to his location. Which is exactly what would happen. He might die of embarrassment before he ever heard the newscasts. 'Prince Noctis swoons in bathtub: details at eleven!'

Calling medical directly would cause just as much fuss, if not more. Every doctor and nurse on site would swarm his bedroom, probably with the Crownsguard in tow anyway.

Hard pass on both his dad, and Clarus. Noctis would rather see headlines than pull his father out of a meeting for something so stupid. Whatever Regis was doing no doubt took precedence over his teenaged son, who apparently couldn't manage a bath without cracking his head open. Clarus was almost as bad. The Shield's concerned disapproval and unsaid 'I told you so,' were not things he wanted to deal with – now, or ever.

Cor might be a plausible option under normal circumstances, but Noctis was pretty sure the Marshall was still out beyond the Wall. He'd left last week, and hadn't yet returned to Insomnia. Also, Noctis might die of humiliation if he had to call in a literal legend to save him from his evil bathtub.

Gladio was probably here, waiting down in the training rooms. That could work, actually. Noctis would never hear the end of it, but he knew his Shield would be here in a heartbeat.

He bit his lip, head in his hands, blood dripping between his fingers. Noctis had little choice. It was either Gladio, or bleed out in the bathroom. And what a stupid death would that be?

He groped along the countertop, silently thanking the Gods he'd brought his phone with him. Noctis felt dangerously light-headed. He didn't think he should walk anywhere by himself. The prince flipped through his contacts, one hand still clutching his wound, and pressed the call button on the touchscreen. Gladio picked up on the third ring.

"Not canceling on me are you, Princess?"

If Noct's answering laughter was a little shrill, well, who could blame him?

"Um. Yeah, about that. Are you here?"

Noctis swore he heard the frown in his friend's response. "If 'here' is the Citadel, yeah. What's wrong? You sound funny."

His stomach flipped. Blood dripped into his eyes again, and Noctis scowled, wiping it on his forearm. "You can laugh at me later, but right now, I...I'm kinda stuck. I need your help."

Gladio's tone was instantly wary. "Okay. I'm listening."

"I...sort of hit my head."

Gladio didn't miss a beat. Noctis heard a door slamming in the background, and a set of thundering footsteps. "Where are you?"

"My rooms."

"I'm on my way. How bad is it? Are you bleeding?"

Noctis blinked. Warily, he lowered the cloth from his forehead. It was soaked through, covering nearly every inch of white fabric. There was more blood staining the floor tiles, but those were mostly scattered drips. He didn't think it was enough to ensure his untimely demise. "Uh, yeah. It's dripping, but I don't...I'm not swimming in it."

"All right. I'll be there in two minutes, tops. Keep pressure on it and keep talking to me, okay? Don't pass out."

Noctis knew there was a very real danger of that if he wasn't careful, so, he talked. Mostly about nothing. Prompto was in yearbook club, and he'd taken some pretty bitchin' shots that were going on the front pages. His friend had been psyched about that today.

His sense of time must have been a little skewed, or maybe he even blacked out for a moment, because Noctis heard the front door opening in record time. He hung up the phone, cradling his head with both hands.

"Noct?"

"In here!" He shouted, wincing at the noise. His head felt like it could split any moment.

Oh yeah. It was split. Never mind.

Gladio's footsteps thundered down the hallway, and he pushed the door open, gazing down at him with a mixture of bemusement and concern. "Gods, Noct." He knelt down next to him, gently prying his hands away from his forehead. "What the hell did you do?"

"My knee was hurting, so I took a bath. I stepped on it wrong, and it buckled on me."

Gladio frowned, resting the back of his hand against Noct's forehead – the unmarred part. Noctis sighed, leaning into his touch. He knew how over-heated he must be if Gladio felt cool by comparison. The man was a traveling furnace.

"You're really hot."

Noctis' lips twitched. "Wow, Gladio, I didn't know you felt that way."

Gladio groaned. "That stopped being funny decades ago. Really though, Noct. If you wanna take a bath, I don't give a shit. I'm not your nanny, but calm down on the scalding water. I don't wanna have to come scrape you off the floor every time you pass out in here."

The prince scowled. "Oh come on, that was one time!"

Gladio rolled his eyes, gazing down at Noct. "Two."

"I'm still conscious, this doesn't count! Besides, my head felt like it was gonna split all day and now it is split. Maybe next it'll explode. It feels explod-y." His vision swam, and he shut his eyes against the nausea, stomach lurching.

Gladio definitely looked worried now. He stood up, movements hurried. "Let's get you out of here, kid. Can you stand?"

Noctis mulled it over. He frowned, nodding drunkenly when he'd come to a decision. "Yeah." He thought maybe he'd lost too much blood. Was he supposed to feel like he was floating?

Gladio didn't look convinced. He pulled him bodily to his feet. His Shield eased Noctis down onto the toilet seat and ran to grab him some clothes, helping him slip into sweats and an old t-shirt.

"We gotta go get my brace." Noctis stumbled out of his Shield's grip, grabbing the door frame for support. "'My knee's fucked."

"Oh, now you want to wear your brace. Are you fucking kidding me?" Gladio scoffed, incredulous. "Maybe if you wore it all the time, this wouldn't have happened."

Noctis rolled his eyes, quickly deciding that was a bad idea when it made the world tilt. "You can't wear braces in the bathtub, Gladio," he muttered, as if his Shield were truly the biggest imbecile on the planet.

Gladio sighed, looking every bit like a carbon copy of Clarus back in the elevator. "I'm gonna do it. I'm gonna be the first Shield in history who murders his King."

"Rude. That's treason, you know." Another wave of dizziness – honestly, it wouldn't leave him alone—crashed over Noctis, and he stumbled. Gladio pulled him against his side before he could fall.

"I'll risk the firing squad. Come on, up you go." The world swam again as Gladio swung Noctis into his arms.

"I can walk, you know."

The older boy scoffed. "You're full of shit."

Noctis mulled it over and decided that yes, he really was full of shit. He'd let Gladio have this one.

The minutes trickled by like hours as Gladio carted him through the halls. Razor sharp claws ripped through Noct's skull, digging deeper as time went by, and he choked on a sob. He wasn't sure how much of this agony was his wound and how much was the migraine, but it really didn't matter. He just wanted it to stop.

Noctis didn't care who saw them— he couldn't bring himself to. He bit his lip, struggling not to cry out as his leg shifted, sending white-hot agony shooting through his knee.

Gladio seemed to sense his distress, no matter how quiet Noctis was being. "Hold on, we're almost there."

The nausea was worse than ever, crashing over him in waves. His breath came out short and gasping, and he clapped a hand over his mouth, but he knew it was inevitable this time. He tugged at Gladio's sleeve, voice ragged and panicked. "Put me down. Put me down. Fuck, fuck, I'm gonna puke..."

Gladio hauled Noctis off to the side, and with super-human speed, managed to snatch a wastebasket and thrust it under his chin just in time for him to hurl up everything short of his large intestine. The older teen rubbed his back, somehow while managing to reach around and keep a rag pressed to his forehead – seriously, Noctis was getting him a raise when all of this was over. If he survived, that is, because right now, he was pretty sure he was dying.

Damn it. What part of 'no' did his vomit not understand?

"Gladio...when I'm gone, tell Prompto he can have my comic book collection." He spat into the wastebasket, grimacing.

"Oh, you're fine. Don't be so dramatic," Gladio muttered. He sounded worried though, so it kind of fell flat.

The prince wiped his mouth on his arm. "Ugh. This is the worst day ever in the history of bad days."

Noctis should have known better, even in his compromised state. Nothing good ever came of throwing such a blatant challenge at the universe, but he did it anyway. And not five seconds later, two of the absolute last people he wanted to see strode through the double doors down the hall.

Whatever conversation Regis had been carrying on with Cor died the instant he laid eyes on them. They must have looked a sight. Gladio supporting him with one arm wrapped around his waist, Noctis hovering over a wastebasket full of vomit, blood dripping down his face. Cor's eyebrows were raised so high, they could have touched the ceiling. His dad, understandably, looked very alarmed.

The prince groaned, burying his face in Gladio's chest. "Oh my Gods, it got worse."

"Noctis!" Regis made it over to them in record time, kneeling down so quickly, his knee brace scraped against the floor.

Noctis peeked at his father with one eye, feeling like death, and wishing with all his heart that it would take him. "I can explain." He tried to sit up, to focus on Regis' face, but his vision was blurring badly. "This is...totally not that bad, Dad."

Regis stared. His brow furrowed, eyes pinched with worry. He opened his mouth to speak, but quickly slammed it shut again.

Previously, Noctis hadn't thought it was possible for his father to be struck speechless, but he could only assume hell had frozen over when Regis turned to Gladio, gesturing toward Noctis with a helpless wave of his hand. The young Shield took pity on him and filled in the blanks.

"His knee went out on him. He hit his head pretty bad on the way down."

Noctis busied himself looking anywhere but at his father's face. Or trying to, anyway. The light hurt his head, and there seemed to be two of everything.

"Hi, Cor." Noctis tried to wave at his would-be uncle, but he thought it just ended up looking like an involuntary arm spasm. He lurched toward him and somehow ended up face down in the Marshall's chest. "I didn't know you were back." His words were muffled and starting to slur, which probably wasn't a good thing.

Cor's lips twitched. He seemed unsure whether he should be amused or concerned. He glanced down at Noctis, regarding his new burden with a mixture of both. "Just in time, it seems."

Noctis tried to think of something to say, but somehow only came up with, "My head hurts."

"Yeah, I can see that." Cor nudged Regis' shoulder. "Here, hold this. I'll grab medical." He gripped Noctis around the waist and deftly transferred him into Regis' arms before striding down the hall, in the opposite direction.

Somehow, Noctis found the energy to be indignant. "H-Hey. 'm not a...a this."

"Hush, son. Be still." Regis wrapped an arm around Noctis, settling him more comfortably.

The pain enveloping Noct's body was staggering. It seemed to spread from his knee, to his thigh, up his spine. His migraine wasn't letting up either—the world was spinning around him, fading in and out of focus. A shiver ripped through him violently – so badly, in fact, that he knocked his head into Regis' chin.

"Sorry. 'm sorry. You don't have to stay, Dad. I'll be okay."

Puzzlement wove itself into Regis' voice, cutting through the worry. "Noctis, I just 'happened' upon you, bleeding all over your Shield in a side hallway. I'm fairly certain anywhere else I was going can wait."

It was Noct's turn to be confused. "Don't you have important king stuff to do?"

"My 'important king stuff' can be dealt with later. Don't trouble yourself."

Noctis sank further into Regis' arms. "Okay. If you're sure. I know you're busy; if you have to leave, I understand."

"Noctis..." Regis sounded sad. That was wrong. It was almost enough for the prince to muster up the energy to lift his head. Almost.

Instead, another particularly vicious jolt tore through his skull. That damn light was unbearable now, and he buried his face in his father's chest to escape it, a pained whine exploding from his lips.

Regis tried to sooth him, running his hands through Noct's hair. Something distinctly Gladio-scented was draped over his head, and a strong hand settled on the small of his back. Noctis sighed, though his breath was so shaky, it came out more of a sob. Still, the shade helped, even if he did still wish he was dead.

Maybe if Noctis just stayed quiet long enough, the Gods would leave him alone and move on, and make somebody else miserable. He could dream.

Noctis must have faded out at some point, because one moment, he had a face full of raiment fabric, and the next, he was flat on his back. He startled, tried to rise from whatever surface he was lying on, but a gentle hand pushed him back down.

"Easy now. You've had quite a day, Your Highness." Noctis thought he vaguely recognized the voice – one of the doctors at the Citadel? He couldn't see him, though. Someone had been kind enough to drape a cold cloth over his eyes. It made him feel a bit less like he was drowning in flame.

Still, his head was spinning, and the pain in his knee seemed to have worsened. Noctis probably twisted it in the fall, aggravated it kneeling on the tile floors, or maybe even when he'd stumbled on the Citadel steps. Whatever the case, it throbbed in time with his head, feeling angry and swollen. Someone brushed against it, and he nearly screamed.

He couldn't remember it ever being so bad. Tears escaped, rolling down his cheeks from behind the cloth, but Noctis barely noticed. The pain consumed him; he couldn't breathe, couldn't think. "M-My knee..."

The doctor rolled up his pant leg, and someone hissed from beside Noctis. It must have looked bad. A warm, strong hand – his father's hand—took his, and he clutched it like a lifeline.

The doctor was speaking again. "I know you're in pain. We'll fix that, but first, I have to check your range of motion. That's going to hurt. A lot. I have to see what bothers you most, and what we can do to help. Is that okay?"

Even just the thought of it was enough for Noct to bite his lip against the sobs threatening to escape, but he nodded minutely, trying his best not to jostle his head too much. The nausea assaulted him anyway, and he wanted to throw up.

Regis squeezed his hand. "Steady, Noct."

The doctor took his leg and bent it carefully, setting his foot down flat on the bed. Noctis hit the ceiling, gripping his father's hand so hard, he wouldn't have been surprised if he'd broken it. He arched off the bed before another set of hands pushed him back down.

Noctis stilled, trying not to squirm as the doctor stretched his leg every which way. He was testing how stiff the knee was, how much damage had been done. Noctis knew that, but right now, he had never hated anything more in his life.

Someone was keening, whimpering nearby. Noctis wondered at that. It took him an unreal amount of time to realize those pathetic, stuttering, wounded noises were coming from him, and they were tearing themselves violently from his lips.

Regis kissed his temple, beard brushing against his cheek. "Shh, almost there. You're doing just fine." His dad's voice sounded funny: thick. Noctis couldn't make his mind work fast enough to understand why. Vaguely, he realized he'd bitten through his lip, if the taste of copper, and the muffled curse in the background was any indication.

The doctor held his leg up and bent it downward, and all semblance of rational thought fled. The man may as well have stabbed him in the knee-cap. Lightning bolts of agony pierced through him, white-hot and dizzying, racing from his leg, up his spine. And it hurt, it hurt, oh fuck it hurt...

"Stop. Stop. Stop." Noctis barely recognized his own voice - hurried, thready, and desperate. Agony warping it into something primal.

The mattress dipped. A pair of arms came around him—Regis had climbed onto the bed with him, heedless of their company, it seemed.

"Enough. For Shiva's sake, man." Noctis heard Cor's voice, barely aware of anything but the hysterical, half-coherent mess this agony had turned him into.

The doctor's reply was lost on Noctis. All the prince knew was that he'd eased his leg back down on the mattress. Some agreement must have been reached, or maybe the doctor just felt sorry for him, because soon after, a wonderful warmth spread through him, and the agony ebbed away.

Noctis was sobbing in earnest now, choking on tears and blood. He crawled closer to Regis as best he could, trembling. Later, he was sure he'd be embarrassed, weeping and clinging like a child, but that was a problem for future Noctis. Right now, he was just so grateful his dad was here, he didn't care about anything else.

Regis threaded his fingers through his hair, murmuring to him in a tone he hadn't heard since childhood. "There now, it's all right. You're all right."

Noctis, overcome, couldn't hold on anymore. He didn't want to. Darkness swallowed him up, and he fell into it without another thought.

This wasn't actually supposed to be more than a one-shot, but...well, now it is. It shouldn't run much longer than two or three chapters, I should think, but we'll see. I'm actual whump trash, so this was going to happen eventually. Honestly, I'm surprised I held out as long as I did. Poor baby. What the fuck is my problem?

Also, I'm starting to think these stories are just as much about tormenting Regis as Noctis, at least the ones I write, anyway. I mean, can you imagine? I bet three-quarters of that gray hair on his head is actually from Noctis. The Wall is just a convenient excuse.