[ Oh no-- no, he doesn't like this at all. It's not that he would complain about Liem's arms around him -- and, admittedly, the easy strength with which his husband lifts him up still stirs an incongruent flutter in his belly -- it's just that being hauled about so limply is strangely humiliating. Even drunk and insensate, he rarely feels this helpless. Not even the tenderness of Liem's mouth at his brow can assuage it.
But the couch, bizarrely, appears to return some of Cardan's strength to him: at the very least, he immediately and quite naturally drapes himself in the manner of a consumptive debutante -- wasting away, but beautifully so. It is not a moment too early, either. As soon as Dr. Samari enters, his gaze turns low-lidded and cool. ]
I thought you were supposed to tell me, [ he sneers. How is he supposed to know what the problem is? He is not the one with the fancy torture instruments.
The fact that Liem has elected to distance himself is clearly her fault, too. He already misses the gentle, soothing hands in his hair. The tilt of his mouth is decidedly surly, which is admittedly a little at odds with his display of languid suffering. ]
[For good or for ill, Cardan’s surly demeanour has no noticeable effect on the small woman stooping over the table next to him. Reaching into her bag, she pulls out a construction of twinned tubes terminating in a bell of glossy mahogany, and for the moment simply hangs it from her neck as she looks down at her unwilling patient.
“Then you have mistaken me for an oracle, Sir. I am not here to divine your problems: only the causes thereof. If you tell me less, I will only have to rely more on physical examination.”
So saying, she takes one of Cardan’s hands briefly in her small warm ones, humming pensively as she examines the fingers of first one hand and then the other.
“You’ve chilly hands,” she observes, placing his hand down again. “Is this usual for you?”
Now she finally fits the stethoscope into her ears, moving frivolous silk out of the way so she can press the bell against his chest — listening to the same labouring heart that Cardan’s anxious vampire spouse has been able to hear this entire time.]
[ He eyes the strange equipment with unrestrained suspicion. Part of him does not expect her to actually make good on her threat of examining him, and he'll tense immediately when she does, drawing himself back insofar as the mound of pillows allows. ]
It is winter, [ he tells her, with the air of someone stating the obvious. Yes, he has very nice hands, thank her for noticing. No, that does not necessitate touching them. Had they always been this cold? No, of course not; but he had never been anywhere with such persistent, bitter, wet chill in the air. It had not occurred to him as anything but normal up until she had taken his palms into her warm ones.
She is very warm. It makes him not protest as much as he should.
He attempts to redeem himself when she starts shoving aside his clothing to put strange instruments against his chest. Except there is nowhere to go -- he's already backed himself up as much as possible, and he's not confident in his chances if he were to try and move off the couch. His attempt to swipe at the stethoscope is not as decisive as it ought to be.
More disquieting than anything else is her calm, and her utter lack of intimidation. It is unmeet for a mortal, let alone a mortal servant. ]
[Dr. Samari greets Cardan’s non-answer with an even look, but hoping for cooperation would have been overly optimistic, and it seems she’s cultivating more realistic expectations. She listens to his chest for about half a second before his attempted retreat and the swipe at her stethoscope finally encourage her to straighten, taking the earpieces from her ears once more as she gazes with unflinching patience down at the faerie prince.
“I am attempting to listen to your heart. It will improve my understanding of your physical condition.”
Despite Cardan eyeing her as though she’s a quack or perhaps a witch, the doctor’s regard remains steady. Her manner is that of a schoolteacher in front of an inattentive student.
“Healthy young men do not faint without cause, no matter the season. You seem alert, but you are weak, and your circulation is poor. If you will not tell me what ails you or allow me to inspect your condition, I cannot do my job, and I cannot be of help to you.”
At the other end of the couch, Liem’s worried frown has returned at full force. Despite his prim and completely unmoved seat as he watches his spouse unwillingly endure the doctor’s ministrations, he is not happy about anything that is occurring right now, mostly because he doesn’t know how else to help Cardan other than by subjecting him to this.]
[ Cardan opens his mouth to say something pertinent and rude, like You cannot be of help to me regardless or What do you know about my kind's conditions? -- a legitimate question, given he is nothing like the humans she typically revives after vampire bacchanals. And he is almost certain this is a fool's errand. But before he can tell her as much, Liem's frown enters his peripheral vision.
Cardan frowns, too. Then he scowls. Then he folds his arms over his chest and struggles into a slightly more straight-backed position. ]
Explain what you need from me, healer.
[ ...that's as much deference as her expertise will get her. There are no doctors in Faerie, and he sees not why he would acknowledge mortal titles. ]
[Sadly for Liem, he has nothing to contribute to this interaction but a sober, vaguely concerned gaze reminiscent of a nervous hound who has been made to sit quietly amidst boisterous strangers. Unlike Cardan, he actually has confidence in Dr. Samari’s abilities, if not her knowledge of elven physiology, but the potential gap between the two is admittedly concerning. Furthermore, the fact that Cardan and the doctor are mostly fighting instead of addressing the problem is stressing him out.
Dr. Samari, however, does not appear to be stressed at all. When Cardan asks her to explain what she requires, she delves unhesitatingly back into her bag and emerges with a notebook, which she flips open with an air of satisfaction. Finally, a demand from her obstreperous patient that she is pleased to oblige.
(The complaint following it, she doesn't dignify with a response.)
“I need you to answer my questions,” comes the immediate reply, as she uses a pencil to scratch notes into her book. “Do you have a history of fainting spells? Have you experienced any faintness or dizziness prior to tonight? Any weakness or fatigue?”
She rattles the questions off immediately, eyeing Cardan with hawk-like sharpness. From her brisk manner, these are only the first of many questions she intends to ask him — though whether he will provide useful answers remains to be seen.]
[ Cardan realizes immediately -- and yet, too late -- that he has committed an error. Anything that makes the doctor this happy is bound to be unpleasant for him, surely. Nor does he trust her -- an instinct confirmed when she immediately begins barraging him with inquiries, too quickly for him to answer in order.
That's annoying, though the first question is easy enough. ]
This is the first time.
[ The second one -- that's the one he doesn't want to answer. Thankfully, the rapid-fire way she poses them makes it easy to ignore it. He meets her unnecessarily intense gaze with his own; his expression has smoothed out into careful coolness. He does not glance over at Liem this time. ]
...And of course I am tired. I am accustomed to a life of idleness, and an absence of iron.
[ None of that is untrue. Furthermore, up until this exact moment he had indeed attributed his fatigue to endless work; the fact it could be anything else did not particularly occur to him. ]
[The doctor is indeed pleased — even more so when Cardan actually answers at least some of her questions without any further complaints. Her pencil scribbles away while Cardan talks: No prior episodes. Fatigue…
“How long has that been going on?”
Scritch scritch goes the pencil. She seems content to let the matter of past dizzy spells lie for now, though perhaps she’s just biding her time, and intends to repeat the difficult questions once she’s gone through all the easier ones.
“Any weight loss or loss of appetite in the last several months?”
She looks up here, glancing Cardan over as though she might discern the answer just from looking at him. Pale and sweaty and sallow is probably not how he usually looks, but perhaps excessively long and pointy is. Her gaze returns to her notebook.
“Any headaches? Chest pain or shortness of breath?”]
[ It is easier if he thinks of this as a game of wits where she asks him invasive questions, and he tries to tell her nothing that feels actually vulnerable. How long as he been tired for? He goes to say this entire time, and then realizes he cannot; the earliest he remembers being exhausted was the Duchess' visit, and then he cannot remember being well-rested at any point since. So: how long has this been going on? A month into his marriage. -- Headaches? Yes, plenty, actually, but he suspects she would have to kill Gusairne to get them to stop, and tells her as much. -- At the question regarding his appetite, he shrugs. ]
I am the same as I was. The Folk are not prone to change.
[ He has not noticed his clothing being particularly more loose. Perhaps he has skipped meals, but only because he'd forgotten. He's certainly always finished the food served to him at dinner.
Actually-- ]
If anything, I am hungrier.
[ He sincerely hopes this throws a wrench into whatever ailment she's outlining for him in that notebook of hers. ]
[If the doctor was expecting particular answers to any of her questions, she gives no sign as she jots information into her slim little book. At the mention of his being unrested since a month into his marriage, however, she does aim a small scowl of disapproval Liem’s way. Clearly he has been a terrible influence at the very least.
She asks after Cardan’s eating habits, knowing that the other lords of the estate view eating as a frivolous pastime — and after his drinking habits, as well. What and how much does he usually eat? Drink? What about tonight, before his faint?
And she circles back, giving that previous question one more go. “And have you suffered any weakness or dizziness in the last few months before now?”
Then she looks at Liem, and it is his turn to feel a little cornered when she stares him down and asks directly: “Do you drink from him?”
It is not a question with an especially secret answer; it’s obvious enough to vampires who can scent the traces of blood, and to the servants who do the laundry, which leaves few who wouldn’t have at least heard rumours by now. But Liem’s expression still becomes a little more guarded as his eyes flick between the doctor and his husband. It isn’t just the intimacy of the subject that makes him loath to talk about it; the intentness of her gaze makes him feel a little guilty, like he’s been caught doing something he shouldn’t.]
Yes, [he admits. Then, when she continues to stare him down,] Fairly regularly.
[This, too, simply goes into the notebook without comment, before she finally sets it down and turns back to Cardan.
“Now, Sir, I need you to sit still while I listen to your heart.”]
[ Cardan's responses become their most unhelpful when it comes to his dietary habits, and for once it is not even on purpose -- because no, he doesn't remember when or what he eats, or how much, or what he's had today. Maybe an orange with his evening tea? Surely this is a question better asked of the serving staff. He cannot remember ever being questioned so persistently about anything -- except perhaps the one time Liem insisted on understanding Elfhame's wager-based economy. To his chagrin, by the time she returns with a repeat of her second question, he is worn down enough to admit that yes, he has sometimes felt dizzy.
Thankfully, she moves on after this. He had noted the scowl in Liem's direction earlier, and it had surprised him -- that Liem should succeed in provoking her ire where Cardan has failed seems inconceivable. It surprises him more that Liem answers her question now. What their sex life has to do with any of this, he could not possibly fathom; his confused (and annoyed) frown is still directed at his husband when she asks to listen to his heart.
Cardan's scoff is dismissive. ]
How much more still could I possibly be?
[ Though he does, at least, remove the cravat from his neck this time, revealing the fading bruises he is never quite without anymore. It's better than having her unceremoniously rumple it again ]
[Cardan is lucky that the doctor follows her question about dizzy spells with her query for Liem, since it distracts him from the revelation that his husband has apparently been suffering from this issue for some time. He is occupied instead by his own troubled thoughts, mulling them over as he watches Dr. Samari fit her stethoscope back into her ears and press the bell against his husband’s chest to listen to his hurrying heartbeat.
This information is nothing new to him; he is well familiar with the rhythms of Cardan’s heart, how it speeds at times and calms when he is at rest. It sounds anything but calm now, despite Cardan being quite correct: he could hardly be any more still than he already is. But Liem has never been able to understand the idiosyncrasies of his husband’s pulse. It seems often to speed for no reason at all, and Liem will glance over to see his husband doing nothing but idling and looking his way. It had never occurred to him to think of this as cause for concern (other than perhaps concern for what Cardan might be plotting).
After some time spent listening, sliding the bell around, then listening again, the doctor leans back and takes the stethoscope from her ears. Looking sternly down at Cardan, she tells him, “From what I can tell, Sir, you are almost certainly suffering from an advanced state of anemia due to your change in lifestyle.”
The long nights, the skipped meals. The regular bloodloss.
“Drink more fluids, and eat more regularly. I would suggest you do so now, then go back to bed and avoid any strenuous activity for at least the next week, to rest your heart. Avoid liquor and caffeine, as well.”
From the intensity in her gaze, she has her doubts about whether Cardan will actually do this.
“I will advise the head cook on your dietary requirements. Do you have any questions?”]
[ Cardan meets her gaze with a raised brow, busy doing up his shirt once more. He's-- dubious, to say the least, and he bristles at the idea of being told what to do by any mortal. ]
I do, [ he drawls, leaning back onto the cushions, ] What is anemia?
[ It takes some time before he grows-- well, if not satisfied, then tired of questioning her about her theory. He can, at the very least, accept the idea that having too little blood in his body is probably bad, and that eating and drinking is a good way to replenish said reserves, though he maintains some doubts that wine does not accomplish this purpose satisfactorily. (But it's red? he puts forth, clearly expecting her to find this argument convincing.)
He will, in the end, accept the platter of food that gets brought up, especially as the dizziness appears to have receded somewhat, and his heart no longer feels like he's run a race. Eating and drinking is not the challenging bit of her prescription for him. And if he need not stay awake for endless meetings, then he supposes he won't require the miraculous assistance of coffee.
...even if it feels unfair to let Liem tackle the endless barrage of work on his own. He surprises himself with the notion; when did he start to feel so terribly compelled to spare his husband from his labours? It feels especially silly when he considers how much perverse satisfaction Liem appears to draw from endless toil. ]
[To her credit, what Dr. Samari lacks in bedside manner, she makes up for in willingness to entertain Cardan’s own array of questions. She is patient in her explanations of anemia and the relevance of various symptoms in relation to it. She even restrains herself to just a vaguely incredulous frown when Cardan suggests that wine should adequately replenish his blood by virtue of being red, and after a couple probing questions of her own, she assures him dryly that she’ll specify he’s to have red drinks, if that will convince him of their healthfulness.
Though she is firm about avoiding wine, as she insists it can weaken the heart further — even the red varieties.
And once she has sufficiently worn down Cardan’s objections, she turns to Liem, hefting her bag in one hand as she fixes him with a stern expression.
“As for you, my Lord — I don’t want you drinking from him until he’s fully recovered.”
The frown Liem aims her way is a little offended.]
I wasn’t going to.
[“Don’t get wise with me, young man.” One slim finger prods him vigorously in the chest. “I wouldn’t be here if you didn’t need to be told these things. If he were human this would have happened far sooner, so he’ll likely be just fine inside a few weeks. But until then, you’ll need to get your meals elsewhere. No nibbles.”
So saying, the good doctor strides from the room with the air of a woman on a mission, leaving Liem to frown at the door in her wake.]
[ Once again, the interaction is surprising -- and alarming. Cardan has never seen anyone ignore his obstinacy and crabbiness, only to turn around and berate Liem, who has done nothing beyond emanating silent concern. He watches his husband being told off over his cup of tart hibiscus tea, and it's his turn to frown as the doctor stalks off.
He waits for her to be out of earshot before he speaks. ]
A few weeks? Absolutely not.
[ Liem cannot mean to wait that long. The thought is silly -- if the issue is actually just malnourishment, Cardan is going to be fine very shortly. He's eating a croissant right now. How long could it possibly take to kick in? ]
[For the entire visit, Liem has had little to do aside from watch the doctor wrangle his obstinate spouse, and worry about Cardan's condition. The sight of him collapsing unceremoniously to the floor still lingers uncomfortably at the back of Liem's mind, edging back into the foreground whenever he has cause to notice Cardan's pallor or the rapid pace of his pulse. He is in a poor mood to weather the doctor's scolding; stress makes him irritable as he finally abandons the couch arm to pace back to his desk.]
That's not so long.
[He asserts it quietly as he looks down at his papers, trying to remember what he'd been doing before. He considers for a moment how busy he will be for the next little while without Cardan's assistance to ease even part of his workload, and wonders when he'd actually come to rely on his husband in that way. It seems strange now to consider going even a single night without seeking his input on at least some matters.
But that is a strangeness he'll have to reacquaint himself with.]
If such a simple thing will speed your recovery, I will do as the doctor asks.
[ Cardan's frown deepens. This is not how he had expected Liem to respond -- well, he supposes he hadn't expected his fussy, overly concerned husband to acquiesce outright, either. But usually Liem seems at least amenable to being convinced, or willing to take Cardan's input.
Cardan can't say he much likes the decision being presented to him as a foregone thing. Even worse, he is starting to suspect that Liem truly means it -- that he won't bite Cardan for weeks, just because some mortal with a stern manner and strange theories about Cardan's health had said so. ]
Oh?
[ His tone is mild. Of course, that inevitably means he's rather rankled, and probably gearing up to saying something mean. ]
[Liem's annoyance is often a quiet thing, tightly leashed and restrained to a sullen simmer. He is above just lashing out, after all. Watchfulness and patience have long been tenets of his family’s creed. And he has work to do; he cannot be devoting his time to irritating trifles.
But his husband has a knack for making focusing on work impossible. Even though Liem is staring down at the paperwork on his desk, he cannot make himself absorb the meaning of a single line.
Why does Cardan have to be troublesome about this, too?]
I haven't forgotten my promise, if that's what you're wondering.
[His lips twitch briefly in a mirthless smile, though by the time he straightens, turning to regard his husband, his expression is even.]
You needn't concern yourself with my health, Cardan. That is your own preference, no?
[It certainly seemed so when he had turned aside Liem's inquiries about his wan appearance and flagging energy. Clearly Liem's well-being, by extension, should be his own to neglect as he pleases.]
An ordinary person might pause to be surprised at their even-tempered, mature, almost impossibly permissive spouse suddenly turning to passive aggression. Cardan, who is a person with inordinately terrible impulses, skips right past astonishment and straight onto aggression.
The hot little flare of irritation is almost welcome. He had been too tired to indulge in much of anything for the past little while.
His own smile is sharp with predatory delight. ]
Oh? Am I to be the villain in this?
[ He doesn't really understand why, but it doesn't matter, does it. Sooner or later, he was bound to fit the role. ]
Come, then. Surely you can accuse me of worse than mere hypocrisy.
[Liem should have controlled his irritation better. He knows perfectly well that Cardan cannot resist the urge to push back against a challenge; expressing his frustration to his husband cannot result in anything but a fight.
It's just that he seems to be the only one of the two of them who has actually been concerned about any of this. He doesn't know how Cardan, who has now become unwell enough to suspect poison, can faint in the middle of his office and still find the obstinacy to resist every attempt Liem makes to help him become well.]
I don't want you to be the villain, [Liem says, scowling. Not now: not about this.] I want you to stop being difficult when I am trying to help you.
[Is that such a terrible, onerous thing to expect from his own spouse?]
[ Cardan's lip curls. It is no longer really a smile. ]
Then you ought to have wed someone tame.
[ That's unfair. He well knows it's unfair. Liem is only worried, probably -- and even if he weren't, it's not like he had a choice in whom he married. But Cardan cannot help the indignant fear that rises in him at the prospect of being treated like an obstinate child with worthless opinions. He had spent too much time away from his kin, had gotten too used to his new freedom.
That Liem not only trusts the doctor's judgment, but seems to have decided Cardan is being wholly unreasonable -- it stings worse than he'd thought it would. He had not realized how much he had started to count on his husband's regard.
He ought to treat it like something he doesn't care about. He ought to pretend it doesn't matter. What's Liem going to do, force him to remain in his sickbed?
...would he? It's a cowardly thought to have, and so he bares his teeth to that, too. ]
How incapable you must think me, to take some mortal's word over mine.
[Frustration colours his voice, deepening the furrow between his brows. Never mind that Dr. Samari is hardly just “some mortal.” Liem may have more confidence in her medical knowledge than in his husband’s, but that’s not the issue that so frustrates him.]
For months I let you persuade me not to worry about your wellness, and that saw you passed out on my office floor.
[And that is frustrating. Because he had wanted to trust Cardan when he told him not to trouble himself over him. He had wanted to believe that if Cardan wasn’t concerned, he didn’t need to be either.
But he can’t help but be concerned when he has to gather his prideful, defiant husband off the floor like a limp doll. And he is now realizing — he should have been concerned long before now.]
When you suggested you might let me drink you to death, I did not think you were being serious.
[ He would point out that he is incapable of being anything other than serious with his meaning ever, but he prefers most people don't remember this about him -- Liem included.
Regardless, that's not the point. The point is that he has never lied, and Liem acting like he's been somehow deceived is not even accurate, because -- for once -- Cardan has never particularly set out to deceive him. ]
I do not understand why you're so worried now.
[ Sure, he feels terrible, but he's not unused to that. And if Liem's precious Dr. Samari is to be believed, he's not anywhere close to dying. No ailment that can be fixed by mere sleep and food can possibly be that serious. ]
How do you expect me to help you fell Dain, if you think some-- some thinness of the blood [ his dismissive hand gesture makes the teacup wobble dangerously, though it does not spill ] is liable to take me down?
[Perhaps the mention of Dain should make some things more clear to Liem. After all, Cardan explained his brother’s desire for his death in a manner just as unconcerned as he seems now, sneering at Liem from his elegant sprawl on the couch. To him the threat of accidental death by exsanguination is very likely not so different from the same threat of death he’s been living with for years, presumably trying not to think too hard about.
Liem is not so incapable of understanding this. The problem is that he does not want to understand. He cannot accept that these two dangers are the same, because one of them is a danger that he should rightly have been able to prevent.]
Prince Dain is not the one responsible for your present ailment, [he says. Unless he has been poisoning Cardan far longer and more subtly than either of them have had cause to suspect. But if he had the means to poison his younger brother, surely he would not have taken so long to kill him. No; the conclusion is obvious.] I am.
[How stupid. How senseless. And yet, how terribly ironic that Liem would keep his husband safe from everyone but himself. He hardly has a good track record with such things.]
I do not care if you think anemia is acceptable to live with as long as you aren’t killed. My aspirations as a husband rise slightly above preying on my own spouse until he is a pallid husk.
[ Cardan's jaw tightens; slowly, carefully, he sets the teacup down on the ornate tray of refreshments. He should probably have been happy; in all of his life, he cannot remember anyone caring this much about something so trivial as his health. Except that he isn't: he's furious, and, for once, Liem seems as unwilling to back down as Cardan himself.
This can only go badly, he imagines, but he has very little idea of how to get them out of the path of this fight, and no desire to do so anyhow. ]
How generous of you, husband, [ he drawls, ] to take the burden of my own choices from me.
[ So what if he had guessed wrong? So what if the strangely intense mortal doctor were right? Is that not his right, to make stupid choices? Of all the consequences of his actions, the idea that Liem would assign himself blame for a circumstance Cardan had forced him into is the most absurd. ]
I had thought that my own heart's blood might be mine to dispense with as I please. How foolish of me.
![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
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But the couch, bizarrely, appears to return some of Cardan's strength to him: at the very least, he immediately and quite naturally drapes himself in the manner of a consumptive debutante -- wasting away, but beautifully so. It is not a moment too early, either. As soon as Dr. Samari enters, his gaze turns low-lidded and cool. ]
I thought you were supposed to tell me, [ he sneers. How is he supposed to know what the problem is? He is not the one with the fancy torture instruments.
The fact that Liem has elected to distance himself is clearly her fault, too. He already misses the gentle, soothing hands in his hair. The tilt of his mouth is decidedly surly, which is admittedly a little at odds with his display of languid suffering. ]
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“Then you have mistaken me for an oracle, Sir. I am not here to divine your problems: only the causes thereof. If you tell me less, I will only have to rely more on physical examination.”
So saying, she takes one of Cardan’s hands briefly in her small warm ones, humming pensively as she examines the fingers of first one hand and then the other.
“You’ve chilly hands,” she observes, placing his hand down again. “Is this usual for you?”
Now she finally fits the stethoscope into her ears, moving frivolous silk out of the way so she can press the bell against his chest — listening to the same labouring heart that Cardan’s anxious vampire spouse has been able to hear this entire time.]
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It is winter, [ he tells her, with the air of someone stating the obvious. Yes, he has very nice hands, thank her for noticing. No, that does not necessitate touching them. Had they always been this cold? No, of course not; but he had never been anywhere with such persistent, bitter, wet chill in the air. It had not occurred to him as anything but normal up until she had taken his palms into her warm ones.
She is very warm. It makes him not protest as much as he should.
He attempts to redeem himself when she starts shoving aside his clothing to put strange instruments against his chest. Except there is nowhere to go -- he's already backed himself up as much as possible, and he's not confident in his chances if he were to try and move off the couch. His attempt to swipe at the stethoscope is not as decisive as it ought to be.
More disquieting than anything else is her calm, and her utter lack of intimidation. It is unmeet for a mortal, let alone a mortal servant. ]
What are you doing?
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“I am attempting to listen to your heart. It will improve my understanding of your physical condition.”
Despite Cardan eyeing her as though she’s a quack or perhaps a witch, the doctor’s regard remains steady. Her manner is that of a schoolteacher in front of an inattentive student.
“Healthy young men do not faint without cause, no matter the season. You seem alert, but you are weak, and your circulation is poor. If you will not tell me what ails you or allow me to inspect your condition, I cannot do my job, and I cannot be of help to you.”
At the other end of the couch, Liem’s worried frown has returned at full force. Despite his prim and completely unmoved seat as he watches his spouse unwillingly endure the doctor’s ministrations, he is not happy about anything that is occurring right now, mostly because he doesn’t know how else to help Cardan other than by subjecting him to this.]
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Cardan frowns, too. Then he scowls. Then he folds his arms over his chest and struggles into a slightly more straight-backed position. ]
Explain what you need from me, healer.
[ ...that's as much deference as her expertise will get her. There are no doctors in Faerie, and he sees not why he would acknowledge mortal titles. ]
Before you endeavour to paw at me again.
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Dr. Samari, however, does not appear to be stressed at all. When Cardan asks her to explain what she requires, she delves unhesitatingly back into her bag and emerges with a notebook, which she flips open with an air of satisfaction. Finally, a demand from her obstreperous patient that she is pleased to oblige.
(The complaint following it, she doesn't dignify with a response.)
“I need you to answer my questions,” comes the immediate reply, as she uses a pencil to scratch notes into her book. “Do you have a history of fainting spells? Have you experienced any faintness or dizziness prior to tonight? Any weakness or fatigue?”
She rattles the questions off immediately, eyeing Cardan with hawk-like sharpness. From her brisk manner, these are only the first of many questions she intends to ask him — though whether he will provide useful answers remains to be seen.]
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That's annoying, though the first question is easy enough. ]
This is the first time.
[ The second one -- that's the one he doesn't want to answer. Thankfully, the rapid-fire way she poses them makes it easy to ignore it. He meets her unnecessarily intense gaze with his own; his expression has smoothed out into careful coolness. He does not glance over at Liem this time. ]
...And of course I am tired. I am accustomed to a life of idleness, and an absence of iron.
[ None of that is untrue. Furthermore, up until this exact moment he had indeed attributed his fatigue to endless work; the fact it could be anything else did not particularly occur to him. ]
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“How long has that been going on?”
Scritch scritch goes the pencil. She seems content to let the matter of past dizzy spells lie for now, though perhaps she’s just biding her time, and intends to repeat the difficult questions once she’s gone through all the easier ones.
“Any weight loss or loss of appetite in the last several months?”
She looks up here, glancing Cardan over as though she might discern the answer just from looking at him. Pale and sweaty and sallow is probably not how he usually looks, but perhaps excessively long and pointy is. Her gaze returns to her notebook.
“Any headaches? Chest pain or shortness of breath?”]
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I am the same as I was. The Folk are not prone to change.
[ He has not noticed his clothing being particularly more loose. Perhaps he has skipped meals, but only because he'd forgotten. He's certainly always finished the food served to him at dinner.
Actually-- ]
If anything, I am hungrier.
[ He sincerely hopes this throws a wrench into whatever ailment she's outlining for him in that notebook of hers. ]
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She asks after Cardan’s eating habits, knowing that the other lords of the estate view eating as a frivolous pastime — and after his drinking habits, as well. What and how much does he usually eat? Drink? What about tonight, before his faint?
And she circles back, giving that previous question one more go. “And have you suffered any weakness or dizziness in the last few months before now?”
Then she looks at Liem, and it is his turn to feel a little cornered when she stares him down and asks directly: “Do you drink from him?”
It is not a question with an especially secret answer; it’s obvious enough to vampires who can scent the traces of blood, and to the servants who do the laundry, which leaves few who wouldn’t have at least heard rumours by now. But Liem’s expression still becomes a little more guarded as his eyes flick between the doctor and his husband. It isn’t just the intimacy of the subject that makes him loath to talk about it; the intentness of her gaze makes him feel a little guilty, like he’s been caught doing something he shouldn’t.]
Yes, [he admits. Then, when she continues to stare him down,] Fairly regularly.
[This, too, simply goes into the notebook without comment, before she finally sets it down and turns back to Cardan.
“Now, Sir, I need you to sit still while I listen to your heart.”]
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Thankfully, she moves on after this. He had noted the scowl in Liem's direction earlier, and it had surprised him -- that Liem should succeed in provoking her ire where Cardan has failed seems inconceivable. It surprises him more that Liem answers her question now. What their sex life has to do with any of this, he could not possibly fathom; his confused (and annoyed) frown is still directed at his husband when she asks to listen to his heart.
Cardan's scoff is dismissive. ]
How much more still could I possibly be?
[ Though he does, at least, remove the cravat from his neck this time, revealing the fading bruises he is never quite without anymore. It's better than having her unceremoniously rumple it again ]
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This information is nothing new to him; he is well familiar with the rhythms of Cardan’s heart, how it speeds at times and calms when he is at rest. It sounds anything but calm now, despite Cardan being quite correct: he could hardly be any more still than he already is. But Liem has never been able to understand the idiosyncrasies of his husband’s pulse. It seems often to speed for no reason at all, and Liem will glance over to see his husband doing nothing but idling and looking his way. It had never occurred to him to think of this as cause for concern (other than perhaps concern for what Cardan might be plotting).
After some time spent listening, sliding the bell around, then listening again, the doctor leans back and takes the stethoscope from her ears. Looking sternly down at Cardan, she tells him, “From what I can tell, Sir, you are almost certainly suffering from an advanced state of anemia due to your change in lifestyle.”
The long nights, the skipped meals. The regular bloodloss.
“Drink more fluids, and eat more regularly. I would suggest you do so now, then go back to bed and avoid any strenuous activity for at least the next week, to rest your heart. Avoid liquor and caffeine, as well.”
From the intensity in her gaze, she has her doubts about whether Cardan will actually do this.
“I will advise the head cook on your dietary requirements. Do you have any questions?”]
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I do, [ he drawls, leaning back onto the cushions, ] What is anemia?
[ It takes some time before he grows-- well, if not satisfied, then tired of questioning her about her theory. He can, at the very least, accept the idea that having too little blood in his body is probably bad, and that eating and drinking is a good way to replenish said reserves, though he maintains some doubts that wine does not accomplish this purpose satisfactorily. (But it's red? he puts forth, clearly expecting her to find this argument convincing.)
He will, in the end, accept the platter of food that gets brought up, especially as the dizziness appears to have receded somewhat, and his heart no longer feels like he's run a race. Eating and drinking is not the challenging bit of her prescription for him. And if he need not stay awake for endless meetings, then he supposes he won't require the miraculous assistance of coffee.
...even if it feels unfair to let Liem tackle the endless barrage of work on his own. He surprises himself with the notion; when did he start to feel so terribly compelled to spare his husband from his labours? It feels especially silly when he considers how much perverse satisfaction Liem appears to draw from endless toil. ]
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Though she is firm about avoiding wine, as she insists it can weaken the heart further — even the red varieties.
And once she has sufficiently worn down Cardan’s objections, she turns to Liem, hefting her bag in one hand as she fixes him with a stern expression.
“As for you, my Lord — I don’t want you drinking from him until he’s fully recovered.”
The frown Liem aims her way is a little offended.]
I wasn’t going to.
[“Don’t get wise with me, young man.” One slim finger prods him vigorously in the chest. “I wouldn’t be here if you didn’t need to be told these things. If he were human this would have happened far sooner, so he’ll likely be just fine inside a few weeks. But until then, you’ll need to get your meals elsewhere. No nibbles.”
So saying, the good doctor strides from the room with the air of a woman on a mission, leaving Liem to frown at the door in her wake.]
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He waits for her to be out of earshot before he speaks. ]
A few weeks? Absolutely not.
[ Liem cannot mean to wait that long. The thought is silly -- if the issue is actually just malnourishment, Cardan is going to be fine very shortly. He's eating a croissant right now. How long could it possibly take to kick in? ]
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That's not so long.
[He asserts it quietly as he looks down at his papers, trying to remember what he'd been doing before. He considers for a moment how busy he will be for the next little while without Cardan's assistance to ease even part of his workload, and wonders when he'd actually come to rely on his husband in that way. It seems strange now to consider going even a single night without seeking his input on at least some matters.
But that is a strangeness he'll have to reacquaint himself with.]
If such a simple thing will speed your recovery, I will do as the doctor asks.
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Cardan can't say he much likes the decision being presented to him as a foregone thing. Even worse, he is starting to suspect that Liem truly means it -- that he won't bite Cardan for weeks, just because some mortal with a stern manner and strange theories about Cardan's health had said so. ]
Oh?
[ His tone is mild. Of course, that inevitably means he's rather rankled, and probably gearing up to saying something mean. ]
And will you just starve all that time?
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But his husband has a knack for making focusing on work impossible. Even though Liem is staring down at the paperwork on his desk, he cannot make himself absorb the meaning of a single line.
Why does Cardan have to be troublesome about this, too?]
I haven't forgotten my promise, if that's what you're wondering.
[His lips twitch briefly in a mirthless smile, though by the time he straightens, turning to regard his husband, his expression is even.]
You needn't concern yourself with my health, Cardan. That is your own preference, no?
[It certainly seemed so when he had turned aside Liem's inquiries about his wan appearance and flagging energy. Clearly Liem's well-being, by extension, should be his own to neglect as he pleases.]
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An ordinary person might pause to be surprised at their even-tempered, mature, almost impossibly permissive spouse suddenly turning to passive aggression. Cardan, who is a person with inordinately terrible impulses, skips right past astonishment and straight onto aggression.
The hot little flare of irritation is almost welcome. He had been too tired to indulge in much of anything for the past little while.
His own smile is sharp with predatory delight. ]
Oh? Am I to be the villain in this?
[ He doesn't really understand why, but it doesn't matter, does it. Sooner or later, he was bound to fit the role. ]
Come, then. Surely you can accuse me of worse than mere hypocrisy.
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It's just that he seems to be the only one of the two of them who has actually been concerned about any of this. He doesn't know how Cardan, who has now become unwell enough to suspect poison, can faint in the middle of his office and still find the obstinacy to resist every attempt Liem makes to help him become well.]
I don't want you to be the villain, [Liem says, scowling. Not now: not about this.] I want you to stop being difficult when I am trying to help you.
[Is that such a terrible, onerous thing to expect from his own spouse?]
Especially as you are so loath to help yourself.
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Then you ought to have wed someone tame.
[ That's unfair. He well knows it's unfair. Liem is only worried, probably -- and even if he weren't, it's not like he had a choice in whom he married. But Cardan cannot help the indignant fear that rises in him at the prospect of being treated like an obstinate child with worthless opinions. He had spent too much time away from his kin, had gotten too used to his new freedom.
That Liem not only trusts the doctor's judgment, but seems to have decided Cardan is being wholly unreasonable -- it stings worse than he'd thought it would. He had not realized how much he had started to count on his husband's regard.
He ought to treat it like something he doesn't care about. He ought to pretend it doesn't matter. What's Liem going to do, force him to remain in his sickbed?
...would he? It's a cowardly thought to have, and so he bares his teeth to that, too. ]
How incapable you must think me, to take some mortal's word over mine.
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[Frustration colours his voice, deepening the furrow between his brows. Never mind that Dr. Samari is hardly just “some mortal.” Liem may have more confidence in her medical knowledge than in his husband’s, but that’s not the issue that so frustrates him.]
For months I let you persuade me not to worry about your wellness, and that saw you passed out on my office floor.
[And that is frustrating. Because he had wanted to trust Cardan when he told him not to trouble himself over him. He had wanted to believe that if Cardan wasn’t concerned, he didn’t need to be either.
But he can’t help but be concerned when he has to gather his prideful, defiant husband off the floor like a limp doll. And he is now realizing — he should have been concerned long before now.]
When you suggested you might let me drink you to death, I did not think you were being serious.
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Regardless, that's not the point. The point is that he has never lied, and Liem acting like he's been somehow deceived is not even accurate, because -- for once -- Cardan has never particularly set out to deceive him. ]
I do not understand why you're so worried now.
[ Sure, he feels terrible, but he's not unused to that. And if Liem's precious Dr. Samari is to be believed, he's not anywhere close to dying. No ailment that can be fixed by mere sleep and food can possibly be that serious. ]
How do you expect me to help you fell Dain, if you think some-- some thinness of the blood [ his dismissive hand gesture makes the teacup wobble dangerously, though it does not spill ] is liable to take me down?
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Liem is not so incapable of understanding this. The problem is that he does not want to understand. He cannot accept that these two dangers are the same, because one of them is a danger that he should rightly have been able to prevent.]
Prince Dain is not the one responsible for your present ailment, [he says. Unless he has been poisoning Cardan far longer and more subtly than either of them have had cause to suspect. But if he had the means to poison his younger brother, surely he would not have taken so long to kill him. No; the conclusion is obvious.] I am.
[How stupid. How senseless. And yet, how terribly ironic that Liem would keep his husband safe from everyone but himself. He hardly has a good track record with such things.]
I do not care if you think anemia is acceptable to live with as long as you aren’t killed. My aspirations as a husband rise slightly above preying on my own spouse until he is a pallid husk.
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This can only go badly, he imagines, but he has very little idea of how to get them out of the path of this fight, and no desire to do so anyhow. ]
How generous of you, husband, [ he drawls, ] to take the burden of my own choices from me.
[ So what if he had guessed wrong? So what if the strangely intense mortal doctor were right? Is that not his right, to make stupid choices? Of all the consequences of his actions, the idea that Liem would assign himself blame for a circumstance Cardan had forced him into is the most absurd. ]
I had thought that my own heart's blood might be mine to dispense with as I please. How foolish of me.
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