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It’s quiet in Blackrock. Or, in this limbo version of Blackrock. The sky is impossibly dark, and the air is cold and still, as if frozen in time. Snow falls gently all around. The halls are empty, with an exception for two wandering spirits.
There’s a searing pain in the king's head. One that he’s done his best to ignore, even as his vision swims. Sitting on the bench in the courtyard for a ‘quick breather’ with his head in his hands, Trotter sits next to him, hand resting on his back, absently rubbing gentle circles into him.
“Feelin’ alright there?” He looks over to Cruel King, who has been sitting there for a long while now. “I’m alright… just tired.” The king replies, voice muffled by his hands. Despite his words, his unrelenting shivering tells a different story.
He stumbles to his feet, already regretting the decision as his head throbs. The captain stands next to him, helping him regain his balance. “Y’sure yer good t’ keep going?”
“I’ll be fine.” He nudges Trotter away, confident he can stand on his own.
He is quickly proven wrong as he collapses to the ground. In an effort to keep his partner from falling, Trotter holds onto the king's arm, only for them both to be sent to the walkway. “Cecil!” He flips Cruel King onto his back, hovering over him to check if he’s alright. There’s no injuries, only mild scratches expected from falling face down on cobblestone. His eye is half lidded but rolled back, unconscious.
“Damn.”
The king’s at least a foot taller than him, but it shouldn’t be too difficult to take him to bed. It’s the least he could do. Lifting the man into his arms, he quickly realizes this is going to be more of a task than he thought. He stares at the window to the bedroom and sighs. This is gonna be quite the climb.
—
By the time he comes to, Cruel King is laying in bed with a very concerned pirate hovering over him, tapping his face to wake him up.
“Guh… wh- captain?”
“Oh good gods, had me worried sick there!” Trotter sighs, relieved. “Quit scarin’ the shit outta me.”
“My apologies, I don’t know what happened.” He sits up before being pushed back down to the bed by a firm hand. “No, yer resting.”
The king considers pushing back on this, but knows there’s no use, and begrudgingly resigns himself to his partner's care. “Now let's get ya more comfortable.” He pulls the folded nightwear towards them, reaching to get Cruel King out of his royal attire. “I can do this myself.” He feverishly reaches shaking hands for the buttons, stubborn as ever. It takes great effort to get one undone. “…No, ye really can’t.” The captain gently pushes his hands out of the way, doing it near effortlessly despite being one handed. The king’s face is a bit red, being stripped like this.
Now dressed more comfortably, in a two piece set complete with a nightshirt. Cozy, perfect for a freezing cold, sickly old man. The more fanciful garments are placed as neatly as Trotter can manage on a chair. “There ya go.” He tosses the blankets over his partner.
He puts his hand against the king’s head. Still cold. “Ye ain’t feverish…” he holds the man’s face steady, leaning close and looking into the ice covering the right half. If he looks deep enough, he can make out the glazed over eye trapped beneath. He shudders before letting go. “Should be something around here for yer head.”
Left alone in the bedroom, Cruel King stares at the ceiling, watching the patterns twist like a kaleidoscope. It’s difficult to say if the shifting room is a feature of limbo or just his mind playing tricks on him. Every breath comes with the cracking of ice in his lungs, far more loud now that he’s alone. It’s a terrible feeling, a reminder that he is forever sick, postmortem or otherwise. Stuck in bed, being taken care of like a helpless child. Absolutely pathetic.
What kind of man is he?
Weak.
How did he ever believe he could save Blackrock? He couldn’t even save himself.
Returning to the room with a bottle of medicine from the kitchen, Trotter watches his partner mumble nonsense at the ceiling. Yep. That’s about right.
“C’mon, sit up.” The king's cold hands grab his shirt and coat, pulling himself up. “Trotter?”
“Mhm.” He tilts Cruel Kings head up, unscrewing the cap for the sickly sweet medicine, and pouring a modest amount into his mouth. The syrup is absolutely vile. The pirate pats his back as he chokes on it. “Aye, I know. Better than suffering.”
There’s a moment of silence, head resting on Trotter’s shoulder, quietly watching him. A man far too good for Blackrock’s Cruel King. A man entirely contrary to him yet completes him so perfectly. He doesn’t deserve any of this, to be treated so kindly.
“C’mon, we don’t need more o’ yer face freezing over.” A warm hand wipes away already freezing tears, interrupting his thoughts.
“…I’m sorry.”
“Hush it, ye haven’t done anything.” The captain brings his face close, kissing his ailing forehead.
He sinks into the bed, still holding onto Trotter tightly. Fingers intertwine with grey hair, combing gently through it. Cruel King buries his face in the crook of his neck, arms wrapped around him. Nearly laying on top of him, like an oversized dog who hasn’t quite realized he’s outgrown being a lap dog. Trotter only smiles, even as he’s trapped by the sickly man, continuing to run his fingers through his hair.
“Get some rest, snowflake.”