Disclaimer. These are not my characters, I do not own the Thief and the Cobbler or the characters. This is only a story from a fan who wishes this fandom was bigger.
Loud, persistent cries pierced the otherwise silent and calm night. The tiny room from where the sound was coming from was in the far western part of the golden palace, intricate and winding halls keeping the sound from reaching the king's and servant's chambers.
As the moonlight played patterns on the white marble floor, the wooden crib built by the prince himself, shook slightly, as if the sound itself was as strong as the desert's mighty winds. Screeches and screams boomed out of the youth's chubby, dry lips while it's short, stubby arms reached out before it; reaching towards the heavens painted on the ceiling of the small chamber. Despite the screaming bundle wrapped securely in the country's finest silks and thickest cloths, it insistently shivered and shook as if the layers were nothing but rags against the cool Arabian breeze. It screamed incoherent noises, desperately trying to garner the attention of anyone who could hear him. Long black eyelashes streaked shadows on the troubled, blue eyes of the child; shadowed and darkened like the turbulent sea. Fat tears coursed down it's pale, earthy skin, resembling the churning sand a few meters away from where the child laid struggling. Forehead scrunched and wrinkled, the child was immobilized on its back, squirming and moaning with every ounce of energy a small newborn's body could store. Pink, rosy lips trembled as the small mouth closed, like the warning of thunder before the lightning strike, and opened once more to release its nonsensical screams.
Tired yet relentless, the child's cries echoed throughout the halls of the palace. The extravagant arches and pillars held no warmth or comfort for the crying bundle, only enhancing the dark shadows lurking around the corners. Paintings of small angel babies flying and playing youthfully on the ceiling; a welcoming and warm scene had now appeared almost eerie and sinister in the dark night. The grand design impressing no one, as if the audience was long gone and had abandoned the piece of art. The cool marble floor was silent, a surface for the sad sounds of the child to be bounced around. The swaying of silky curtains indicated the chilly wind of the desert protruding the room. Pitiful whimpers escaped the small panicking chest as mucus mixed with tears drenched it's small chin and cheeks. Was there no comfort for him?
Secular blue eyes blearily opened, softly at first, almost as if sleep the seductress herself was pulling him back in her arms. Black, worn out tacks cautiously balanced on his thin lips, it seemed like the seductress was winning. Drooping eyes quickly shot open, tacks swivelling, when another heart wrenching cry echoed into their chamber. His entire body froze for a second, gathering his bearings in a panic, until the warm petite body encased in his arms shifted. The source of his panic forgotten in a second, he looked down and the pump in the cavity of his chest skipped a beat.
His lovely wife hummed quietly, curling her left leg even further along his long right thigh, unconsciously trapping and securely making sure they were as close as physically possible as she continued her sleep. A woman he would spend time to just simply stare at with awe; as if he were to blink, she would disappear and his life up to this point would have been a bittersweet dream. Due to his lanky 6'3 terribly contrasting with her 5'6, she always ended up in a warm cocoon made of his arms and legs surrounding her; protecting her from the Arabian night's chill for as long as she saw fit. If anyone saw them, they wouldn't have been able to tell where one started and where the other ended; his pale, thin limbs tangled and contrasted with lush, brown and soft limbs of her own. His spindly fingers wove through her ebony locks, treating the fine hairs like the most precious silk his skilled and experienced hands had ever sawn with. Her head tucked away against his chest, her delicate face scrunched in one of her adorable expressions. Staring down at his own personal goddess, there were times he could not fathom how she could have possibly reciprocated his feelings. She was his saving grace, his reason and conviction, his heart's one true desire. This simple cobbler would never have dreamt of having such a gorgeous woman on his arm, let alone marrying such a beautiful creature. But he swore to protect her, her heart, her beauty, and her smile.
Before that emotional train left his heart, another demanding cry had him reluctantly pulling away from his warm princess; making sure not to disturb her from slumber. Untangling himself from her vice-like grip was a feat he went through each morning, but he was now quite skilled in the art of making sure not to wake her.
She had been hard at work recently and his princess needed all the rest she could get. His chest bare and his silk overalls, that his wife had given him, hung loose; he was the picture of a spoiled prince. Enhanced by his pale complexion one would think he had been born and raised inside the regal palace, never seeing the light of day. But they would have been terribly wrong. He had tanned those 5 days in the desert, yes, but that was many years ago. It was the many years before that adventure that he lived a simple cobbler's life; a humble upbringing from his foster father and a cobbler's shop was all he had to his name. Not much the Prince of a fairytale one would think.
He slipped away from their shared bed and he took a moment to watch his princess shift, clearly uncomfortable without his warmth hugging her. His tacks swung to form a slight smile when she let out a small whine that suspiciously sounded like his name. Heart beating pleasantly, he moved away from his lover and walked passed the galore and riches their room presented to him.
His simple wooden table and stool, both packed high with thread and needles, looked completely out of place; contrasting terribly with her pots full of an array of colourful and blossoming flowers and cacti. He insisted to work elsewhere but she stubbornly refused and said she wanted to be close to him while he worked, convincing him it was so she can watch and point out his posture, but he knew better. She told him once that when he worked, it was as if he made love with the cloth. He made sure that nothing was left untouched, that every thread and stitch had received the right amount of attention and that the memory he was healing was cherished and preserved. Changing quietly so as not to disturb his lover; the mere thought made his ears turn red and his tacks form a straight vertical line at the memory of her words, especially what had occurred after that heated debate…
Smooth sandals and a loose fitting shirt later, he was hastily making his way through the winding and turning halls leading towards the source of the screaming. They had specifically asked the servants and Nanny to not tend to their child. And so, with difficulty and confusion, they reluctantly left the child to the new parents.
He was one of many orphans who did not know his parents; whether they had abandoned him or were killed during the war at the time, he did not know. He was brought up by the golden city's well known and respected cobbler, who had found him in one of his many crates full of cloths and silks. His foster father treated him fairly, but he ran a business so there weren't many father-and-son moments. The late Queen had passed away after giving birth to princess Yumyum so she never knew her mother; due to her fathers grief, he had ignored his little girl at the beginning of her life. She had been brought up by her servants and her Nanny, never knowing the touch of a mother. They had both decided that they would be present throughout their child's life, to have a role in their child's upbringing and to never leave the child's side. They hoped to guide him or her as best as they can and to be the parents they never had. Which is what brings him to their first born's chambers at 3 in the morning.
Rounding the corner in a fast pace, he came upon a familiar scene; his son's arms fervently reaching towards the unknown and his screams deducing to quiet whimpers and gurgles. It was as if his son could already sense his presence and had dramatically calmed in the familiar feeling. Despite the late hour, each time he saw his son, it always made his heart swell with pride and an unmeasurable amount of happiness. As Tack walked towards the wooden crib, he picked up the large blue plushy that had fallen to the ground which had an inkling resemblance to the previous magical vizier, ZigZag. His loving wife had broached the idea to him and he could only give in to her every heart's desire. He had done his very best, for his wife and his unborn child; he wouldn't say it was perfect but his son fell in love with it despite the minor mistakes.
Placing the smiling ZigZag at the left of his son's side, the tacks in his mouth couldn't help but swivel into a sweet smile. Drool, sweat, mucus, and tears smeared the little prince's face and yet the looming father couldn't help but suppress the urge to kiss the tiny cheeks of his child. Small, pale blues searched for comfort in the much larger and aged sky blues. They were not disappointed. Without breaking their connection, with memory alone, the larger of the two males reached for the cloth hanging from the crib and wiped the mess the smaller of the two had made; with gentle strokes and a quiet hum in the back of his throat. The smaller of the two males watched in curious silence, moving his face this way and that; due to being uncomfortable or to help his father, he did not know.
The baby, in some shape or form, understood that his father did not speak often. Tack, with his long gangly legs, wide shoulders, lithe form, strong arms, and thin fingers, felt like home to the newborn. The child was engulfed in safety and comfort when his father lifted him from his prison and cocooned the prince, like his mother, into his chest. Due to his father's quiet, comforting nature, the child could not help but to mimic his father's silence. His large blue eyes followed his father's every move, widening a few times in curiosity and other times in surprise. His father mimicked his mother's actions when she held the prince and swayed from left to right, rocking him while slowly walking around the small chamber. As his father continued to hold him, one large hand cradling his head while the other held his body; the baby boy's own hands stretched out with a purpose. One of his small hands, smooth and chubby, opened and closed while reaching towards his fathers face. His other hand had been busy being used as a replacement pacifier and was now inside the small baby's mouth already drenched with saliva. Producing gurgling sounds, the baby's wide eyes only held pure trust and adoration for his father.
The wind blew gently against the curtains and only the background noise of wind disturbed the silence between the two males. The larger man looked down at the baby for a few seconds, eyes lidded with affection spilling over, before quietly walking towards the chair that had been placed beside the child's crib. The baby Prince did not like being jostled around and had promptly made sure that his father knew; making small grunting and gurgling sounds, it broke the quiet spell the two had been under.
As he sat down, Tack immediately adopted his hunched position, appearing to hug the bundle as close as possible to his chest. This little bundle of joy had captured his heart the moment he laid his eyes on him, very much like his mother had. So many emotions spilt forth from the cobbler's heart that he could not look at his newborn for fear of crying; he held him close despite the child's struggle against the confining action. His tacks were swivelling this way and that and finally settled to a near resemblance of a pout.
Tack wasn't an emotional man, not often at least, but he had felt blessed when the princess accepted him into her life; let alone when she said yes when he proposed to her. But looking down at this small bundle, the pure proof of their love, he could not help but feel a rush of emotions; he felt overly grateful for all that has happened in his life. In these small moments he questioned if he deserved what he had, what had he done to receive such a beautiful wife and child? At times he would doubt himself, question whether he could protect them, whether he was the right man to lead his home country; if he was the right man to love this woman and to father their child. Would his people, his wife, his son, understand the depth of his silence? The meaning behind each gesture, stare, and head nod? He was a simple cobbler, what if he could not meet the expectations set by others, what if he disappointed his family?
As if he could sense his inner turmoil, the baby prince reached his plump fingers towards his visage; a silent plea for attention or to pull him away from his clouding thoughts, Tack was not sure. Black worn out tacks forming a vertical line, an expression of surprise on how cute his son reacted, Tack suppressed the urge to smother the little angel in his arms; he instead gently squeezed the little one, a show that nothing was amiss. Brows relaxed and ears piqued when the sound of hurried footsteps made their way towards their child's room. Tack strongly believed that there was a difference between telling someone you loved them, and having your palms sweat at the thought of knowing they were almost near you.
He held his little one closer, knowing full well that his wife was about to take their child away into her arms any minute now. He looked down at his son's wide eyes, the perfect mirror and shade of blue like his own; eyes looking back, full of wonder and innocence. Something inside him fermented itself and as a father and an Arabian knight he was going to-
"It looks like you're slowly devouring him." came from the entrance of the chamber from a tired but smooth voice. His heart stopped and Tack looked up at the source of the tired words; but when he saw her, he was in custody once more, looking at the princess for the very first time. Breath and heart in his throat, his flower looked as tired as she sounded but still bloomed as the first day he saw her. The only difference was that he did not turn from pale to crimson red in minutes. He only turned slightly pink in seconds.
Never expecting a response, the princess glided towards the only other two occupants in the room with her husband quietly watching her like always. At first it was irksome to be watched without an explanation but she now knew better. It was his way of letting her know that he was there in his own quiet way, at times his stare felt as if a comforting hand was on her shoulder; a silent support. Princess Yumyum reached towards her two boys, one a grown man and the other barely a toddler. As she stopped and stood in between her husbands long legs, instead of reaching for the little bundle as expected, she wrapped her arms around the bent form of her cobbler. She stayed hugging her family for a little while longer until her husband reached out an arm to lightly touch her lower back. It wasn't a sign of affection or a way of returning the hug, he would have used different gestures to express that, he meant to point out her position of hugging them; her back would hurt if she continued in that posture. She smiled sweetly and straightened herself, lilic purple eyes lovingly looking at her worrisome husband. Kissing his forehead just bellow his floppy hat and few strands of rogue hair, she knew from the few years of being with this man that his eyes too were closed. At times she would fill in the silence between them, and other times, like right now, she felt like words would ruin the moment. She extracted herself from her lover and pulled their baby boy away from his pale lanky arms without a word.
She smirked slightly when she saw her husband's tacks split into an adorable pout. She crooned and held their baby naturally within her arms, almost as if she was holding something more valuable then the 3 golden balls that guarded and watched over the golden city. She didn't hop and dance around like she used to when she was younger; but she rocked her baby with the sway of her hips and lulled him to sleep with her hushed voice. Lovely clear blue eyes began to drop, desperately trying to stay open to watch this beautiful creature; lips smacking, black eyelashes fluttering like butterfly wings, the young prince was put to sleep in seconds in his mothers arms.
Now Tack wasn't usually an emotional man. Watching his tired wife hum quietly and continue to sway despite their son already asleep; he realized he was gazing at his most precious treasures. He stood up and swiftly walked towards his wife as he noticed her closed eyes and the slowing of her rocking. She's done it before, fall asleep while standing and she almost collapsed if not for him catching her before she hit the floor; it was a terrifying experience he wished would never happen again. He led her back to the chair and had her stand in front of him, with her own purple jewelled eyes drooping much like his son's. Without further a do, he bent down and had one arm wrapped securely under the bend of her knee and the other large hand splayed on her back; Tack promptly lifted his princess and child and sat down with both on his lap. With a quiet yelp as he made sure both we're secure and would not fall off, his wife's eyes widened, now fully awake again.
Turning and ready to scold her silly husband, what if he had woken up their son?! She was not prepared for the brush of lips against her right cheek. Anger put aside at the moment, the princess looked at Tack with red dusting her cobalt cheeks; this man always surprised her with his small gestures of love. She pouted cutely and looked at him once more, "You know I can't win against you when you do something like that." She whispered to him. Plucking the two tacks back into his mouth with his thin fingers, her husband stared back at her with adoration and love. They looked down and watched their little bundle of joy sleep. The clear blues now covered by smooth eyelids, creases have been wiped clean, his black tuff of hair ever growing; he was adorable, drool dribbling down his chin and all. His hands resting on his tiny chest, the princess briefly wondered if this is what her husband had looked like when he was but a baby. The curtains continued to dance with the wind, the arches and pillars were slowly illuminating, and the winged babies on the ceiling didn't look as eerie as before. Shifting and adjusting a bit in her cobbler's lap, the two sat quietly and watched the sun rise together with their son quietly sleeping in her arms.