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𝔊𝔩𝔞𝔡𝔦𝔬𝔩𝔲𝔰 A̷𝔪𝔦𝔠𝔦𝔱𝔦𝔞
Sʜɪᴇʟᴅ ᴏғ ᴛʜᴇ Kɪɴɢ
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What use is a shield if it has nothing to protect?
𝓦hen I first saw that little punk Noctis… I thought to myself: that little s**t will never be king. He’s lazy. He lacks courage. He won’t focus. He doesn’t care a thing about anyone but himself; not even his father who’s given so much. I thought to myself, all these years the house of Amicitia has given its men to great men, and I'm the seed that gets the damn kid without the stones to become a man. Just my luck, right? No one ever said fate was kind; if you expect life to be fair, you're s**t outta luck.
𝕿hen, one night, he saved my little sister at the expense of his father's approval. He was willing to let his father be disappointed in him for the sake of another. Let me tell you— ain't nothin' heavier than the look of disappointment coming from your dad. Nothing. The veil was lifted and a doorway opened; I came into the secret garden of my prince. He’s taught me a lot over the years. First and foremost: he taught me to give people a chance. Don’t get me wrong. You’re not going to get more than one chance from me, but that’s better than none. Whether or not he ascends to the throne? That’s not my job. He has to fight his own battles. I'll lend him a hand though. Why? In my prince… in my King… I found something—someone worth protecting. Once I stopped questioning whether or not I was worthy of protecting a great man— once I realized I was a Shield of the House of Amicitia— I could see the good in him, my king. When I understood I was a man who didn't fear death, but feared failure more than anything— a man who feared being unworthy more than he feared losing himself, I understood why my father died with a smile. I understood why my father's last breath was a sigh of delight and not a wheeze of defeat. He— we are the shields of Amicitia; in me I carry the will of a thousand shields who came before me. My mettle isn't strong, it's tempered; what good is strength alone? A spirit rich in strength alone is brittle. My mettle— my spirit has been baptized with fire, cooled by the sweat of my brow, and wrapped around something more precious than strength and power. I don't need to think of anything else but guarding the arm that can use me. The loyalty of my forefathers have called and I will answer; I will protect him until the end— whatever that end may be. When I die, my last breath will be the elation of a well-worn shield. I will kneel for no man; it was the wish of his father. Even for my king, I will not kneel I will do as I was told. King Regis once told me: stand tall.
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