While The Willow Weeps - Inception - Cobb/Eames
Title: While The Willow Weeps
Pairing: Cobb/Eames
Word Count: 3839
Rating: PG
A/N: Apparently this is what happens when I am reading a collection of Grimms Brothers' Fairy Tales while I'm trying to break my writer's block. Written with a prompt from au_bingo and notagain_again.
Summary: After Queen Mal died, the king allowed his country to wither. Now, a travelling prince decides to lend a helping hand.
There was once a lonely widower who lived alone in a great castle in a barren forest. The widower was once a great king, but when his queen passed his heart broke and his kingdom broke with him. Winter was cast over the land, and as the widower's tears fell so did the rain.
Blizzards raked through the country and hail destroyed the crops; walls crumbled and windows shattered.
Appearing before their king, his subjects urged him to take a new wife to heal his heart - but the king closed his ears to his people, and fell further into the darkness.
*
It hurts in a way that they can't understand, this hole in his chest. Cobb closes the door behind him as he enters his chambers and leans against it to ensure that no servant or advisor can follow him. If he is confronted with another suitor he is likely to scream: one more king flaunting his daughter in his direction and he will start a war that his kingdom cannot afford.
The light in his room is thin and bare. The bed has been made and every item has been dusted and straightened since he left this morning, but he thinks that he can still feel her presence in here. It's been a year, but she haunts every inch of his castle. He can't open his eyes without thinking of her.
He walks to the slim window of his bedroom and peers past the heavy curtains. Outside, his kingdom is dying. His feet haven't touched the open ground since she left him, but he can see all the way to the mountains. The city has withered as his people have left; he has watched shops close and crowds dry up, and he has done nothing.
Placing his hand against the window, he thinks that there is simply nothing that can be done.
Mal is dead; without her, the world deserves to crumble.
No more, he thinks. I can't take any more.
*
There was a spoilt prince in a neighbouring kingdom, who spent his days in sport and laughed at his father's urging to learn the art of statecraft. "I plan to be great adventurer," said the prince. "I have no need for a crown."
And so he left his home behind and walked the forests and plains of the world, with nothing but a sword in his hand. He fought flying beasts and swimming monsters; he rescued princesses and found buried treasure.
When this prince heard the tales of a kingdom destined to crumble under the weight of grief, he smiled and slapped his thigh. "Why," said the prince, "this sounds like a perfectly good adventure."
On his horse he rode until he came to the gates of the castle, where he knocked and he knocked and the sound rattled through the land. "Let me in," called the prince. "I am a traveller and my horse grows weary."
The guards frowned, for they had orders not to allow any further suitors into the castle. "He is but a traveller," said one guard to the other, "Let us grant him shelter."
And so the doors opened, and the prince entered.
*
Cobb stays in his chambers for as long as he can. Despite claims to the contrary, his council can function perfectly well without him. Arthur is more than capable of handling any problems that come along; if rulership was allotted on skill instead of legacy, Cobb has no doubt that the crown would be on Arthur's head instead of his own.
His brooding goes uninterrupted until the time comes that a member of his staff raps on the door. Yusuf's head appears, his hair a curled mess and his cheeks pinked with embarrassment. "I'm sorry to interrupt, your highness," he says, "but you have a guest."
"I said no more," Cobb murmurs. He doesn't take his gaze from the window, from the bleak landscape that waits for him.
"He's a wanderer," Yusuf says. "Apparently he was walking by and the guards let him in."
"He could eat in the kitchens."
Yusuf hums in acknowledgement, but Cobb can tell from the tone that there is further argument coming. Yusuf is valuable in that he has never quite accepted himself as a servant to a king; he always meets Cobb's eyes with ease, and there is a sense of equality between them. Unusual and disturbing, Cobb finds it refreshing.
"I thought having some normal company would do you good," Yusuf says. "You ought to talk to someone uninvolved."
"I don't want to talk to anyone."
"Did I say you had a choice?"
Turning around, Cobb finds Yusuf's eyes crinkled with mirth. He could have Yusuf put in the stocks for his behaviour towards him - but the thought barely crosses his mind before it is gone again, pushed as far away as possible. Without smiling, he nods. "Maybe it'll do me some good," he says.
He doesn't believe it, but at this point he doesn't think he has anything to lose.
*
The king and the prince sat down for dinner, and the table was heavy with enough food for fifty men. The prince ate with rapid hunger, as it had been many a long week since he had seen such a feast.
"What brings you to my country?" asked the king.
The prince smiled, but did not answer. He asked instead, "When I rode this way, the crops in the fields were dead. How did this come to be?"
"When my wife died, the plants did too," said the king.
"And when I crossed the bridge, the river was frozen. How did this come to be?"
"When my wife died, the river died too."
The prince nodded, and asked his last question. "When I came to the castle, I found a king who no longer ruled. How did this come to be?"
The king met the prince's eyes and answered, "When my wife died, I died too."
The prince stopped his questioning, and the rest of the meal passed in sick silence.
*
"My god, this place is depressing," Eames complains when Cobb takes him for a walk the following day. "You could use a gardener or two."
The grass beneath their feet is brown, tinted with white frost. The trees carry no leaves. Cobb's face twitches as if he wants to smile but quickly thinks better of it. "I don't think it would help."
"Hardly the point." Walking side by side, Eames nudges his ribs. It's a surprise to be touched so frankly - to be touched at all, in fact. It isn't something that Cobb is used to; he's almost forgotten what it's like, to feel another, since Mal has gone. "You're the king. Aren't you supposed to be able to fix things?"
"It's not that simple."
"Never is."
Eames is a smart-ass, that much is true. For all his probing questions, Cobb finds that he doesn't mind his company. It's a relief to be with someone that challenges him without needing to hide behind deference. Eames doesn't pretend to respect him, and he doesn't couch his criticisms in flattering words. Maybe this is what Cobb has needed all along.
Their footsteps crunch on the frozen ground of his castle, and Cobb raises his head to take in the white view. "You should have seen this place, before all this. It was beautiful." The colours had been bright and the soundtrack of enjoyment played always in the air. It's different now. The silence bites.
"You're not a lost cause, Cobb," Eames sighs at him with good-natured weariness.
Glancing towards him, Cobb doesn't answer. He knows the end when he sees it.
"Ah. Right. I forgot you'd already gone and given up on yourself. Bloody frustrating, that," Eames muses. "Lucky for you, I'm quite a fan of stubborn bastards."
In surprise, Cobb chokes on a burst of bitter laughter. "You can't talk to me like that," he says, otherwise lost for words.
"You're no king of mine," Eames reminds him. "I'm just passing through. I can talk to you however I like."
"I could still have you put in the stocks."
"Will you?"
Eames's eyes twinkle, his blue eyes bright, and it reminds Cobb so much of how Mal used to challenge him that it makes his chest ache. It's a physical pain and he looks away from Eames before it can continue. He's not strong enough to take this.
"We should head back," he murmurs without rising to the bait.
With his hand resting on Cobb's shoulder, Eames doesn't argue. Together, they trudge back towards the castle.
*
The clever prince saw the sorry state of the kingdom, and said to himself, "Ho, I see a merry way to fix this!"
With a slap of his thigh he got to work, speaking to the musicians of the village and the birds of the forest. "If we can make the king smile," said the prince, "the kingdom will sing once more."
So the instruments were gathered, and those who had no instruments brought their voices, and all the people of the kingdom came to the castle that night to sing and dance while the moon was full. The stars sparkled in approval while the villagers celebrated the coming of a new day.
Yet while the music played and the fires roared, the king remained locked in his chambers, and no plea could stir him.
*
Even with the door locked and the windows closed, Cobb can still hear the partying downstairs. He sits on the end of his bed, his feet planted on the ground and his head hanging low as he listens to the sound of it. It's supposed to entice him downstairs, he knows. He is supposed to plaster on a smile and join his people to dance.
Yet he can't.
He remembers Mal on the dance floor, the elegant way that she would soar in his arms as if they were flying together. She had made him feel graceful.
Now, alone in their old bedroom as he hears the music from below, his heart pounds with an ache he can't stand. His eyes close and he counts every heartbeat, every second, as he waits for the night to be over.
A loud thump at his door makes his eyes burst open.
He looks up and stares at the door where it is bolted shut, hoping that his visitor will filter away. The knock comes again with no hesitation. Cobb remains frozen on his bed, as if willing the visitor away might work, but the knocking continues. There's nothing to do but face it.
His footsteps sound heavy as he makes his way across the room. He slides the lock free and cracks the door open as much as he dares; the gap provided is slim enough for him to block it with his body. Hardly regal, but he needs to fight for his privacy these days.
The traveller is waiting for him, with smile-lines around his eyes. "There's no use in hiding up here, Cobb," Eames scolds him. "We're waiting for you."
"I'm not coming," Cobb says.
His feet won't budge. He freezes himself away from Eames's disapproving stare.
"You are coming. Who else am I going to dance with?"
Cobb rolls his eyes, but it's difficult not to smile. The thought of dancing with Eames, the pair of them too large and clumsy to flow together, is almost enough to tempt him downstairs. "I'm sure you can find another willing partner," he points out.
"I'd rather not." Eames reaches out to hold onto Cobb's arm. Giving it a firm tug, he manages to rock Cobb nearly off of his feet. "This is going to get embarrassing if it comes down to a wrestling match, you know."
Cobb pauses - he assesses the likelihood that Eames will be able to take him down, and then the likelihood of whether he actually would. The odds aren't in his favour.
"Alright," he sighs. "But I'll stay for one song, then I'm coming back up here."
"Of course," Eames says, and in no way does he sound sincere. "I wouldn't dream of keeping you."
Cobb hesitates when Eames offers his arm, because it is in no way proper for a king to be escorted in such a manner. He doesn't know what is becoming of him in the one-day friendship with Eames; he can't make sense of it. He can't understand this traveller at all, in fact.
"Don't be a ponce," Eames says after the moment of hesitation lasts too long. He sounds as if he is only a moment away from bursting into peals of laughter.
No one that Cobb has met has ever treated him like this. It's dizzying.
His hand takes Eames's arm, resting there like an alien invader, and with him they descend the grand stairs of his castle, along flame-lit corridors and past majestic portraits of his ancestors. The party-goers cheer when they descend: it feels as if he is being welcomed home.
*
The king danced throughout the night, and with each step he took and with each joyful beat of the music the kingdom bloomed. Throughout the land, flowers awoke and birds began to sing. Fish flourished in the rivers and crops prospered in the fields.
With the king's smile came the sun, as the proud prince watched, clapped and sang.
The night disappeared in the bright light of day, and it left empty bowls and full stomachs in its wake. The guests walked home to their waiting beds, light on their feet with the knowledge that the kingdom had been restored.
Yet the prince knew that all was not yet won. The king stood alone and watched as his people left, and his heart grew lonely once more. Approaching the king, the prince could hear the cracking of his heart.
Fortune, however, told him what needed to be done.
*
"Busy brooding?" Eames asks as he joins him on the stairs.
Cobb tears his attention away from the rapidly emptying ballroom. His limited servants are already beginning to work their way through the debris, like animals sinking in a tar pit. He doesn't envy them their task.
"I'm not brooding. I'm thinking," he answers.
He feels Eames's hand rest on the small of his back, and tries to stop his thoughts from flooding back to the dances they had shared that night. While his attention had been dominated by his eager subjects, they had still managed to grab hold of each other from time to time. Eames had swung him around the dance floor and Cobb had nearly fallen over in their combined clumsy haste.
Eames says his name, rumbling low and easy, and he has to try to restrain the way that it makes his mouth dry to hear it. These days, he can barely understand what's happening to him.
"You're stronger than this. You know that." Eames's words are more cutting than Cobb wants to admit. He wants to close his eyes and continue to wallow. "Look at me."
It's impossible not to. He looks up to see the barely disguised worry in Eames's eyes. The amusement that always bubbles beneath the surface is still there, but it's buried too far down to be accessed. There's no shield here. It's just the pair of them in the wake of an emptying ballroom. Just a king and a wanderer and a wealth of issues to share.
"I don't know what I'm doing," Cobb admits. It's enough to make his voice crack.
He flinches when Eames places a hand on his arm. Contact still feels unnatural, even after a night of dancing with every stranger that can grab hold of him. He could only ever imagine Mal's soft hands and her insistent embrace - but, with Eames, it feels difference. His heart buzzes with adrenaline.
"Who does?" Eames says. He smiles, lop-sized and brilliant. "Make it up on the spot. That's what I always do."
Cobb doesn't believe him, not for an instant. Eames likes to act out the part of the loveable rogue; he likes to pretend that there is nothing beneath the crooked smile. It's not true. There's a skilled mind beneath the sarcasm.
"How is that working out for you?" he asks. It's difficult not to smile.
Eames responds, Cobb can see his lips moving, but it never registers. Instead, all he can focus on is the way that Eames's hand shifts from his arm to the back of his neck, and seconds later Eames's mouth descends. Their eyes slip closed and Cobb groans in surprise at the soft, wet pressure of Eames's lips and the gravel of his stubble.
There and gone again, it barely lasts an instant. It leaves him light-headed all the same.
"I've been waiting to do that for a while," Eames confesses. "Was it okay?"
Cobb gives a dry laugh that sounds like a cough. He doesn't know how to answer that; his mind won't stop spinning. In the dark shadows of his head, Mal won't stop laughing.
"It was fine," he says. He looks out across the ballroom and finds his servants with their heads down, deliberately ignoring the action going on. Even Yusuf pretends to be absorbed with collecting empty tankards and goblets.
He brushes his hand over his forehead and can feel the whirlwind in his mind; Eames's attention lingers on the side of his face and he ignores it on purpose, lips still tingling, world still spinning.
*
The people of the kingdom enjoyed a prosperous year. The prince remained with the king in his castle, to offer advice and to be a pillar of strength at his side. Yet deceptions ran deep; the prince was not a traveller, and the time for his lies ran short.
In the winter, a procession came to the castle, and they knocked on the door with fate in their hands. "We're here for the prince," they declared. "It is time to take him home."
The prince paled and hid, but the king's confusion covered the castle.
"There is no prince here," he protested, for he and the queen had been deprived of children. "Only I, the king, and my friend, the traveller."
Yet the visitors cheered at his friend's name, and the king saw the truth in the sky.
*
It doesn't take him long to find Eames. As hiding spots go, he hasn't been inventive - heading straight for the kitchen, or more precisely the wine cellar.
"You could have told me," Cobb says, because he has to say something. The air down here is dusty and thick, choking him in intensity. Eames sits on a barrel in the corner, and very determinedly doesn't look at him. "For God's sake, Eames, do you know how this looks?"
"I saved your bloody kingdom," Eames mutters. He looks up, a flash of blue that lasts for only a moment before he lowers his head again. "This place would be gone if it wasn't for me."
"What's that got to do with anything?"
"Everything." Eames breathes through his nose, and he sounds like a dragon in this dark, cold room. "I was only supposed to be here for a couple of days. Just passing through - travelling. I thought it sounded fun."
Cobb blinks far more than is strictly necessary. "'Fun'?"
"Yes. The poor, sad king sitting on his throne. I figured I'd swing by, cheer you up, fix the place, and be on my way. I never planned on staying here for a whole year."
"But you did."
"I did." Eames rubs his forehead. He still won't look up. It isn't like him, not at all. Cobb had come down here expecting a fight - shoving and pushing and yelling until their throats are sore. He thinks it might help; it might be what is right.
"Why?" He wants to speak more, to ask more, but his throat is tight. Eames isn't the person he thought he was; he's absorbed him into his life in the last year, taken him into his bed, and all the while Eames has carried a secret on his shoulders, an entire identity that he just didn't feel like sharing. What is he supposed to make of that?
Eames shakes his head and looks up, hands clasped as if in prayer. It's a hidden mockery. "You already know this," he says. "Don't make me say it." Yet Cobb can't bring himself to make the leap and show a little kindness - not when he has a thirty-strong group of dignitries upstairs waiting to retrieve a prince he never knew he was hiding. "It's you. Of course it's you."
Eames sounds as if he's laughing, but it's nothing even close to it. Cobb's lips remained closed in a thin, severe line. He wants to know what to say; he wants to be able to make sense of this.
"I don't want to go home," Eames admits. "They'll try to make me."
"You're their prince. Maybe you really shouldn't be here."
"Are you trying to say you want me gone?"
Cobb doesn't answer that. He doesn't think he even knows what the truest answer would be. Instead he looks down at his feet, and allows the silence of the cellar to assault his ears until he clears his throat and breaks. "For the last year, I've needed you around," he says, "and even if he acts like he can't stand you Arthur appreciates your presence. You're good for my kingdom."
"Fuck the kingdom," Eames says. It sounds like a miniature explosion. "If this was about the kingdom I could have left months ago. You're fine now."
That's not true, not for an instant. A day doesn't go by without Cobb thinking of Mal, without her settling into his thoughts like a frozen river - but, every time, Eames is there. He will place his hand on Cobb's shoulder and tell him a ridiculous story about one of the maids, and suddenly the ice will begin to thaw.
Cobb sighs out Eames's name. His path seems murky and he doesn't know where they're going, not any more. Eames stands up, places his hands on his shoulders, and forces them into eye contact. "If you want me to stay, I will," Eames promises. "I'll go upstairs and tell them anything that I have to to get them to leave me alone. Just say that's what you want."
Cobb waits and listens to the sound of their breathing, perfectly in sync.
He doesn't say a word; he answers with a kiss.
*
And so the kingdom was ruled by a king and a prince hand-in-hand. The summers were bright and their grain stores were full. The people of the kingdom rejoiced and the king remembered how to smile.
The king claimed not to believe in happily ever afters.
This does not, however, prevent us from doing the same.
Pairing: Cobb/Eames
Word Count: 3839
Rating: PG
A/N: Apparently this is what happens when I am reading a collection of Grimms Brothers' Fairy Tales while I'm trying to break my writer's block. Written with a prompt from au_bingo and notagain_again.
Summary: After Queen Mal died, the king allowed his country to wither. Now, a travelling prince decides to lend a helping hand.
There was once a lonely widower who lived alone in a great castle in a barren forest. The widower was once a great king, but when his queen passed his heart broke and his kingdom broke with him. Winter was cast over the land, and as the widower's tears fell so did the rain.
Blizzards raked through the country and hail destroyed the crops; walls crumbled and windows shattered.
Appearing before their king, his subjects urged him to take a new wife to heal his heart - but the king closed his ears to his people, and fell further into the darkness.
*
It hurts in a way that they can't understand, this hole in his chest. Cobb closes the door behind him as he enters his chambers and leans against it to ensure that no servant or advisor can follow him. If he is confronted with another suitor he is likely to scream: one more king flaunting his daughter in his direction and he will start a war that his kingdom cannot afford.
The light in his room is thin and bare. The bed has been made and every item has been dusted and straightened since he left this morning, but he thinks that he can still feel her presence in here. It's been a year, but she haunts every inch of his castle. He can't open his eyes without thinking of her.
He walks to the slim window of his bedroom and peers past the heavy curtains. Outside, his kingdom is dying. His feet haven't touched the open ground since she left him, but he can see all the way to the mountains. The city has withered as his people have left; he has watched shops close and crowds dry up, and he has done nothing.
Placing his hand against the window, he thinks that there is simply nothing that can be done.
Mal is dead; without her, the world deserves to crumble.
No more, he thinks. I can't take any more.
*
There was a spoilt prince in a neighbouring kingdom, who spent his days in sport and laughed at his father's urging to learn the art of statecraft. "I plan to be great adventurer," said the prince. "I have no need for a crown."
And so he left his home behind and walked the forests and plains of the world, with nothing but a sword in his hand. He fought flying beasts and swimming monsters; he rescued princesses and found buried treasure.
When this prince heard the tales of a kingdom destined to crumble under the weight of grief, he smiled and slapped his thigh. "Why," said the prince, "this sounds like a perfectly good adventure."
On his horse he rode until he came to the gates of the castle, where he knocked and he knocked and the sound rattled through the land. "Let me in," called the prince. "I am a traveller and my horse grows weary."
The guards frowned, for they had orders not to allow any further suitors into the castle. "He is but a traveller," said one guard to the other, "Let us grant him shelter."
And so the doors opened, and the prince entered.
*
Cobb stays in his chambers for as long as he can. Despite claims to the contrary, his council can function perfectly well without him. Arthur is more than capable of handling any problems that come along; if rulership was allotted on skill instead of legacy, Cobb has no doubt that the crown would be on Arthur's head instead of his own.
His brooding goes uninterrupted until the time comes that a member of his staff raps on the door. Yusuf's head appears, his hair a curled mess and his cheeks pinked with embarrassment. "I'm sorry to interrupt, your highness," he says, "but you have a guest."
"I said no more," Cobb murmurs. He doesn't take his gaze from the window, from the bleak landscape that waits for him.
"He's a wanderer," Yusuf says. "Apparently he was walking by and the guards let him in."
"He could eat in the kitchens."
Yusuf hums in acknowledgement, but Cobb can tell from the tone that there is further argument coming. Yusuf is valuable in that he has never quite accepted himself as a servant to a king; he always meets Cobb's eyes with ease, and there is a sense of equality between them. Unusual and disturbing, Cobb finds it refreshing.
"I thought having some normal company would do you good," Yusuf says. "You ought to talk to someone uninvolved."
"I don't want to talk to anyone."
"Did I say you had a choice?"
Turning around, Cobb finds Yusuf's eyes crinkled with mirth. He could have Yusuf put in the stocks for his behaviour towards him - but the thought barely crosses his mind before it is gone again, pushed as far away as possible. Without smiling, he nods. "Maybe it'll do me some good," he says.
He doesn't believe it, but at this point he doesn't think he has anything to lose.
*
The king and the prince sat down for dinner, and the table was heavy with enough food for fifty men. The prince ate with rapid hunger, as it had been many a long week since he had seen such a feast.
"What brings you to my country?" asked the king.
The prince smiled, but did not answer. He asked instead, "When I rode this way, the crops in the fields were dead. How did this come to be?"
"When my wife died, the plants did too," said the king.
"And when I crossed the bridge, the river was frozen. How did this come to be?"
"When my wife died, the river died too."
The prince nodded, and asked his last question. "When I came to the castle, I found a king who no longer ruled. How did this come to be?"
The king met the prince's eyes and answered, "When my wife died, I died too."
The prince stopped his questioning, and the rest of the meal passed in sick silence.
*
"My god, this place is depressing," Eames complains when Cobb takes him for a walk the following day. "You could use a gardener or two."
The grass beneath their feet is brown, tinted with white frost. The trees carry no leaves. Cobb's face twitches as if he wants to smile but quickly thinks better of it. "I don't think it would help."
"Hardly the point." Walking side by side, Eames nudges his ribs. It's a surprise to be touched so frankly - to be touched at all, in fact. It isn't something that Cobb is used to; he's almost forgotten what it's like, to feel another, since Mal has gone. "You're the king. Aren't you supposed to be able to fix things?"
"It's not that simple."
"Never is."
Eames is a smart-ass, that much is true. For all his probing questions, Cobb finds that he doesn't mind his company. It's a relief to be with someone that challenges him without needing to hide behind deference. Eames doesn't pretend to respect him, and he doesn't couch his criticisms in flattering words. Maybe this is what Cobb has needed all along.
Their footsteps crunch on the frozen ground of his castle, and Cobb raises his head to take in the white view. "You should have seen this place, before all this. It was beautiful." The colours had been bright and the soundtrack of enjoyment played always in the air. It's different now. The silence bites.
"You're not a lost cause, Cobb," Eames sighs at him with good-natured weariness.
Glancing towards him, Cobb doesn't answer. He knows the end when he sees it.
"Ah. Right. I forgot you'd already gone and given up on yourself. Bloody frustrating, that," Eames muses. "Lucky for you, I'm quite a fan of stubborn bastards."
In surprise, Cobb chokes on a burst of bitter laughter. "You can't talk to me like that," he says, otherwise lost for words.
"You're no king of mine," Eames reminds him. "I'm just passing through. I can talk to you however I like."
"I could still have you put in the stocks."
"Will you?"
Eames's eyes twinkle, his blue eyes bright, and it reminds Cobb so much of how Mal used to challenge him that it makes his chest ache. It's a physical pain and he looks away from Eames before it can continue. He's not strong enough to take this.
"We should head back," he murmurs without rising to the bait.
With his hand resting on Cobb's shoulder, Eames doesn't argue. Together, they trudge back towards the castle.
*
The clever prince saw the sorry state of the kingdom, and said to himself, "Ho, I see a merry way to fix this!"
With a slap of his thigh he got to work, speaking to the musicians of the village and the birds of the forest. "If we can make the king smile," said the prince, "the kingdom will sing once more."
So the instruments were gathered, and those who had no instruments brought their voices, and all the people of the kingdom came to the castle that night to sing and dance while the moon was full. The stars sparkled in approval while the villagers celebrated the coming of a new day.
Yet while the music played and the fires roared, the king remained locked in his chambers, and no plea could stir him.
*
Even with the door locked and the windows closed, Cobb can still hear the partying downstairs. He sits on the end of his bed, his feet planted on the ground and his head hanging low as he listens to the sound of it. It's supposed to entice him downstairs, he knows. He is supposed to plaster on a smile and join his people to dance.
Yet he can't.
He remembers Mal on the dance floor, the elegant way that she would soar in his arms as if they were flying together. She had made him feel graceful.
Now, alone in their old bedroom as he hears the music from below, his heart pounds with an ache he can't stand. His eyes close and he counts every heartbeat, every second, as he waits for the night to be over.
A loud thump at his door makes his eyes burst open.
He looks up and stares at the door where it is bolted shut, hoping that his visitor will filter away. The knock comes again with no hesitation. Cobb remains frozen on his bed, as if willing the visitor away might work, but the knocking continues. There's nothing to do but face it.
His footsteps sound heavy as he makes his way across the room. He slides the lock free and cracks the door open as much as he dares; the gap provided is slim enough for him to block it with his body. Hardly regal, but he needs to fight for his privacy these days.
The traveller is waiting for him, with smile-lines around his eyes. "There's no use in hiding up here, Cobb," Eames scolds him. "We're waiting for you."
"I'm not coming," Cobb says.
His feet won't budge. He freezes himself away from Eames's disapproving stare.
"You are coming. Who else am I going to dance with?"
Cobb rolls his eyes, but it's difficult not to smile. The thought of dancing with Eames, the pair of them too large and clumsy to flow together, is almost enough to tempt him downstairs. "I'm sure you can find another willing partner," he points out.
"I'd rather not." Eames reaches out to hold onto Cobb's arm. Giving it a firm tug, he manages to rock Cobb nearly off of his feet. "This is going to get embarrassing if it comes down to a wrestling match, you know."
Cobb pauses - he assesses the likelihood that Eames will be able to take him down, and then the likelihood of whether he actually would. The odds aren't in his favour.
"Alright," he sighs. "But I'll stay for one song, then I'm coming back up here."
"Of course," Eames says, and in no way does he sound sincere. "I wouldn't dream of keeping you."
Cobb hesitates when Eames offers his arm, because it is in no way proper for a king to be escorted in such a manner. He doesn't know what is becoming of him in the one-day friendship with Eames; he can't make sense of it. He can't understand this traveller at all, in fact.
"Don't be a ponce," Eames says after the moment of hesitation lasts too long. He sounds as if he is only a moment away from bursting into peals of laughter.
No one that Cobb has met has ever treated him like this. It's dizzying.
His hand takes Eames's arm, resting there like an alien invader, and with him they descend the grand stairs of his castle, along flame-lit corridors and past majestic portraits of his ancestors. The party-goers cheer when they descend: it feels as if he is being welcomed home.
*
The king danced throughout the night, and with each step he took and with each joyful beat of the music the kingdom bloomed. Throughout the land, flowers awoke and birds began to sing. Fish flourished in the rivers and crops prospered in the fields.
With the king's smile came the sun, as the proud prince watched, clapped and sang.
The night disappeared in the bright light of day, and it left empty bowls and full stomachs in its wake. The guests walked home to their waiting beds, light on their feet with the knowledge that the kingdom had been restored.
Yet the prince knew that all was not yet won. The king stood alone and watched as his people left, and his heart grew lonely once more. Approaching the king, the prince could hear the cracking of his heart.
Fortune, however, told him what needed to be done.
*
"Busy brooding?" Eames asks as he joins him on the stairs.
Cobb tears his attention away from the rapidly emptying ballroom. His limited servants are already beginning to work their way through the debris, like animals sinking in a tar pit. He doesn't envy them their task.
"I'm not brooding. I'm thinking," he answers.
He feels Eames's hand rest on the small of his back, and tries to stop his thoughts from flooding back to the dances they had shared that night. While his attention had been dominated by his eager subjects, they had still managed to grab hold of each other from time to time. Eames had swung him around the dance floor and Cobb had nearly fallen over in their combined clumsy haste.
Eames says his name, rumbling low and easy, and he has to try to restrain the way that it makes his mouth dry to hear it. These days, he can barely understand what's happening to him.
"You're stronger than this. You know that." Eames's words are more cutting than Cobb wants to admit. He wants to close his eyes and continue to wallow. "Look at me."
It's impossible not to. He looks up to see the barely disguised worry in Eames's eyes. The amusement that always bubbles beneath the surface is still there, but it's buried too far down to be accessed. There's no shield here. It's just the pair of them in the wake of an emptying ballroom. Just a king and a wanderer and a wealth of issues to share.
"I don't know what I'm doing," Cobb admits. It's enough to make his voice crack.
He flinches when Eames places a hand on his arm. Contact still feels unnatural, even after a night of dancing with every stranger that can grab hold of him. He could only ever imagine Mal's soft hands and her insistent embrace - but, with Eames, it feels difference. His heart buzzes with adrenaline.
"Who does?" Eames says. He smiles, lop-sized and brilliant. "Make it up on the spot. That's what I always do."
Cobb doesn't believe him, not for an instant. Eames likes to act out the part of the loveable rogue; he likes to pretend that there is nothing beneath the crooked smile. It's not true. There's a skilled mind beneath the sarcasm.
"How is that working out for you?" he asks. It's difficult not to smile.
Eames responds, Cobb can see his lips moving, but it never registers. Instead, all he can focus on is the way that Eames's hand shifts from his arm to the back of his neck, and seconds later Eames's mouth descends. Their eyes slip closed and Cobb groans in surprise at the soft, wet pressure of Eames's lips and the gravel of his stubble.
There and gone again, it barely lasts an instant. It leaves him light-headed all the same.
"I've been waiting to do that for a while," Eames confesses. "Was it okay?"
Cobb gives a dry laugh that sounds like a cough. He doesn't know how to answer that; his mind won't stop spinning. In the dark shadows of his head, Mal won't stop laughing.
"It was fine," he says. He looks out across the ballroom and finds his servants with their heads down, deliberately ignoring the action going on. Even Yusuf pretends to be absorbed with collecting empty tankards and goblets.
He brushes his hand over his forehead and can feel the whirlwind in his mind; Eames's attention lingers on the side of his face and he ignores it on purpose, lips still tingling, world still spinning.
*
The people of the kingdom enjoyed a prosperous year. The prince remained with the king in his castle, to offer advice and to be a pillar of strength at his side. Yet deceptions ran deep; the prince was not a traveller, and the time for his lies ran short.
In the winter, a procession came to the castle, and they knocked on the door with fate in their hands. "We're here for the prince," they declared. "It is time to take him home."
The prince paled and hid, but the king's confusion covered the castle.
"There is no prince here," he protested, for he and the queen had been deprived of children. "Only I, the king, and my friend, the traveller."
Yet the visitors cheered at his friend's name, and the king saw the truth in the sky.
*
It doesn't take him long to find Eames. As hiding spots go, he hasn't been inventive - heading straight for the kitchen, or more precisely the wine cellar.
"You could have told me," Cobb says, because he has to say something. The air down here is dusty and thick, choking him in intensity. Eames sits on a barrel in the corner, and very determinedly doesn't look at him. "For God's sake, Eames, do you know how this looks?"
"I saved your bloody kingdom," Eames mutters. He looks up, a flash of blue that lasts for only a moment before he lowers his head again. "This place would be gone if it wasn't for me."
"What's that got to do with anything?"
"Everything." Eames breathes through his nose, and he sounds like a dragon in this dark, cold room. "I was only supposed to be here for a couple of days. Just passing through - travelling. I thought it sounded fun."
Cobb blinks far more than is strictly necessary. "'Fun'?"
"Yes. The poor, sad king sitting on his throne. I figured I'd swing by, cheer you up, fix the place, and be on my way. I never planned on staying here for a whole year."
"But you did."
"I did." Eames rubs his forehead. He still won't look up. It isn't like him, not at all. Cobb had come down here expecting a fight - shoving and pushing and yelling until their throats are sore. He thinks it might help; it might be what is right.
"Why?" He wants to speak more, to ask more, but his throat is tight. Eames isn't the person he thought he was; he's absorbed him into his life in the last year, taken him into his bed, and all the while Eames has carried a secret on his shoulders, an entire identity that he just didn't feel like sharing. What is he supposed to make of that?
Eames shakes his head and looks up, hands clasped as if in prayer. It's a hidden mockery. "You already know this," he says. "Don't make me say it." Yet Cobb can't bring himself to make the leap and show a little kindness - not when he has a thirty-strong group of dignitries upstairs waiting to retrieve a prince he never knew he was hiding. "It's you. Of course it's you."
Eames sounds as if he's laughing, but it's nothing even close to it. Cobb's lips remained closed in a thin, severe line. He wants to know what to say; he wants to be able to make sense of this.
"I don't want to go home," Eames admits. "They'll try to make me."
"You're their prince. Maybe you really shouldn't be here."
"Are you trying to say you want me gone?"
Cobb doesn't answer that. He doesn't think he even knows what the truest answer would be. Instead he looks down at his feet, and allows the silence of the cellar to assault his ears until he clears his throat and breaks. "For the last year, I've needed you around," he says, "and even if he acts like he can't stand you Arthur appreciates your presence. You're good for my kingdom."
"Fuck the kingdom," Eames says. It sounds like a miniature explosion. "If this was about the kingdom I could have left months ago. You're fine now."
That's not true, not for an instant. A day doesn't go by without Cobb thinking of Mal, without her settling into his thoughts like a frozen river - but, every time, Eames is there. He will place his hand on Cobb's shoulder and tell him a ridiculous story about one of the maids, and suddenly the ice will begin to thaw.
Cobb sighs out Eames's name. His path seems murky and he doesn't know where they're going, not any more. Eames stands up, places his hands on his shoulders, and forces them into eye contact. "If you want me to stay, I will," Eames promises. "I'll go upstairs and tell them anything that I have to to get them to leave me alone. Just say that's what you want."
Cobb waits and listens to the sound of their breathing, perfectly in sync.
He doesn't say a word; he answers with a kiss.
*
And so the kingdom was ruled by a king and a prince hand-in-hand. The summers were bright and their grain stores were full. The people of the kingdom rejoiced and the king remembered how to smile.
The king claimed not to believe in happily ever afters.
This does not, however, prevent us from doing the same.