[ Cardan is suffering the creeping realization that he's far too addled for this. He still can't really parse Liem's expression, and, increasingly, his husband's intent is eluding him also. He had expected Liem to either care too much or be indifferent entirely -- not this strange state in which he's clearly upset, but not in a way Cardan knows to do anything with.
He's staring. He doesn't know how long he'd been staring before he even realizes. His jaw tightens; something in his expression snaps shut. With an effort he didn't know he had in him, he pulls himself away from the balm of those cool hands. This is sulky and immature, but he may or may not be racing towards oblivion, and he'd rather still keep some of his pride. His husband is -- quite clearly -- not here to comfort him, superficially or otherwise, and Cardan suddenly feels stupid for wanting such a thing in the first place. Stupid, too, to feel so hurt by it. Liem owes him nothing of the sort.
He's a young boy again, trying to convince himself that he doesn't mind curling up in the stables to sleep.
Still. He leans his forehead against the wall of the carriage, closes his eyes, and endeavours to keep his mouth shut for the rest of the ride home. There's no telling what might leap out if he doesn't -- and, anyway, his head is spinning quite badly now. Perhaps better to think of nothing at all. ]
[The gulf that presently lies between Liem and his husband, between Liem and everything, makes it feel almost inevitable when Cardan pulls away. Whatever words or actions would bring his husband the comfort he actually wants, Liem cannot manage them now. He can only watch him withdraw and lean against the carriage wall, too numb and too despondent to do more than gaze after him.
Cardan does not look well, now. He looks ill, or perhaps just tired, as he rests his brow against the jostling wall beside them. Only, the sound of his heart beating frantically against his ribs is the opposite of restful. It sounds like his pulse is racing the spurred-on horses pulling their coach—and anxiously, Liem supposes it is. It does him no good to have thoughts like this, but he cannot make himself stop. He cannot stop his mind from racing both pulse and steed, even though this contest is one he cannot even enter, much less win.
It’s a horrid way to spend the ride back to their only hope of respite. Even if Cardan will not speak to him, or even look at him, and even if having Cardan in his arms brought him no comfort, it feels worse to not be touching him at all. As the carriage speeds on, he reaches for Cardan’s hand so he can clasp it tightly, twining their fingers together as though he intends to never free them again. It grounds him a little; focusing on that warmth, he can at least attempt to think of something other than the slowly increasing tempo of Cardan’s heart.
But he is silent, and will be until the dense forest surrounding the estate gives way to gently rolling hills—upon which, in the near distance, the ancient stone manor sprawls. Only then will he speak.]
[ He lets Liem take his hand, and stubbornly thinks nothing about it. It's easy enough; his thoughts have become increasingly confused, fragile as dried flowers under a careless touch.
So he doesn't think about it, even though the grip of his own hand is no less tight, and grows tighter as the discomfort of his racing heart mounts. By the time Liem speaks to him, he is quite disoriented. He will look up, blinking at his husband, unfocused.
Getting up does not go well.
For one, he is too tall to stand up fully in the carriage -- a fact he has evidently forgotten about. Not that he makes it that far, only rising half out of his seat before his vision goes black (familiar) and the carriage spins (ditto), and he crumples back onto the seat rather helplessly. The curse he spits out would make many a sailor blush with envy. ]
...where--
[ No, never mind. He doesn't care. ]
May have to... bring it out... to me.
[ Especially since he has to breathe between words, now. Anyone with eyes would know something was wrong with him, even if he could make it onto his feet. ]
[As soon as he sees Cardan’s eyes blink open, Liem knows his husband is not going to be able to stride back to their rooms as he’d done on the way to the carriage. Watching him attempt to stand makes Liem’s heart leap into his throat; his grip on Cardan’s hand tightens instinctively, then pulls away entirely as he moves to half-kneel over his husband, one knee on the bench and his hand braced lightly against the wall.]
I said I’m not letting you out of my sight.
[As the carriage comes to a halt in front of the house, Liem loosens his tie and hastily thumbs his collar undone. He is stooping over his ailing spouse when he hears the footman approach the carriage door.]
Hold onto me, lover.
[And he slides an arm around him, scooping Cardan into his embrace as the carriage door opens. Liem ignores the footman entirely, but when he strides through the house’s entrance and blows straight past the servants moving to take his coat, the look he aims their way dares them to think twice about his new passion for bearing his spouse back to their rooms.]
[ He doesn't have much time or capacity for surprise; if anything, what flares is irritation. It is very like Liem to ignore him on something like this -- more so because it's embarrassing, and will no doubt tank his reputation amongst the staff even further.
But he doesn't have the breath to protest it, either. It's all he can do to wind his arms around Liem's neck -- resisting the urge for a bit of recreational throttling -- and bury his burning face against his husband's conveniently exposed throat. It's strategic; he doesn't want anyone to see his face, and it hides how out of breath he is.
...and it feels lovely, of course. Even after all this, touching his husband's bare skin feels like a balm. He inhales Liem's scent and feels more irritation, this time at himself, for feeling so comforted by it. How stupid, to fall prey to a thing that will only break his heart.
Though, admittedly, Dain might just save Liem the trouble. ]
[If Cardan is annoyed by the liberties Liem takes with his person, well, he was already angry to begin with. Liem might argue that leaving his husband in the carriage until he’s well enough to leave would be too suspicious, but really, he is motivated only by urgency. The thrumming of Cardan’s heart as he holds him to his chest propels him through the manor’s long, dimly-lit halls, seeking the privacy of their rooms, and the small box he tucked away within after their return from Elfhame. He scarcely acknowledges the occasional servant they pass by, and his expression retains its self-satisfied air only by dint of unfaltering effort on his part.
Even the brief journey through the house seems almost unending.
At least, though his hands are occupied, Liem is not troubled by any closed doors. The house sweeps them open for him as always, and when finally they pass through the doors to their rooms, the heavy wood clicks shut behind them just as smoothly. Liem hastens on to the bedroom, where he deposits Cardan on the bed with surprising gentleness, considering how brisk his hurry.]
Wait just a moment, [he implores quietly. Cardan’s heartbeat continues to pulse frantically in his ears. They are so close, now. Surely now that they have made it here, now that Liem can fetch Cardan the antidote, everything will be fine. He so badly needs everything to be fine.]
[ After the frantic, shaky rush of the carriage, after the blur of being carried through velvet-dark halls, their bedroom feels blissfully still and isolated. Cardan sags against the pillows, for once without commentary.
Wait just a moment, Liem says, as if he has any other choice. The room is still spinning, for one, which means that he wisely elects to keep his eyes closed. He wants -- badly -- to sink into the plush bed and curl up into himself, as if that would stop the feverish heat or rapid palpitations shaking him now, but-- no. Not yet, he tells himself. Not until Liem returns.
Instead, he keeps himself stubbornly propped up on an elbow and uses his other hand to unbutton his waistcoat, then his shirt -- his tie has disappeared somewhere already. Even the air he breathes out feels uncomfortably hot, like it's coming from a furnace.
And he waits. And he waits. And he thinks, miserably, that maybe he doesn't want to die after all, now that they're already here. ]
[Almost as soon as he has laid his husband down, Liem is moving again, darting off to plunder the ornate writing desk sitting in one corner of the room. Buried at the rear of one of the drawers is the little box he’d secreted away in his luggage on the return trip from Elfhame. He’d hidden it away as a precaution, in case of some snooping spy or thief, and the added effort required to reveal the hidden compartment makes his teeth clench with impatience.
Even so, it takes mere moments. There is only one vial of the antidote he needs, and he clutches it close to his chest as he again crosses the room to the bed, where Cardan seems to be attempting to undress. Liem sits on the bed next to him and unstoppers the vial so he can offer it to his spouse, his free hand sliding around to Cardan’s back to help him sit up.]
Here—drink.
[Liem is insistent. They took far, far too long to get here. He mislikes Cardan’s flushed, drugged look, mislikes the haste of his breaths and the unsteadiness of his hands. He looks and sounds unwell, and Liem does not know how unwell he can become before his body gives out, or how effective the antidote is meant to be.]
[ Liem's reappearance is very nearly startling; he tenses a little at the dizzying sensation of being sat up. His palm presses to the sheets -- but it's more show than effect, and Liem will end up supporting most of his weight.
He cannot say he feels particularly well. Still, he is not dead yet -- as evidenced by the sharp little smile he manages to flash at his husband. ]
I so love... ha... watching you lie.
[ Then he will close unsteady fingers over Liem's wrist, so he may pull the vial closer -- he doesn't trust himself with it, not quite -- and swallow down its contents in-between shallow breaths.
Then make a disgusted face.
He doesn't know what he expects to feel; certainly there is no immediate, magical relief, which is a little nerve-wracking. None of the court gossip he'd heard paid much attention to the immediate aftermath of unsuccessful poisonings, and he hadn't bothered thinking past this point at any point in their journey. He realizes, with some dismay, that he has entered a twilight state between "probably dead" and "perhaps alive after all." Facing down an indeterminate waiting period before he might find out which is to be his fate is... unappealing.
Not for the first time, he decides hope to be the worst poison of all.
The tension in his supporting arm goes slack; he sags heavily against Liem's hold, though the grip on his husband's wrist does not relent. ]
Stay, [ Cardan says, again, insistently. The carriage and its disappointments seem far away -- an eternity, maybe two. And he doesn't want to be alone. He so very fervently does not want to be alone, no matter how pathetic it might make him look. ]
[Somehow, the familiar weight of Cardan’s body leant against him and the bitter look on his elegant face manage to both comfort Liem, and inspire in him a longing so plaintive and terrible that it seems impossible he could keep it from his expression. He’s not entirely sure he actually has; now that they have reached the sanctuary of their bedroom and the antidote has made its way into his spouse, he has begun to feel a little more like himself, and that makes his lingering terror all the more real. It’s becoming harder to keep any of the emotions churning inside him from spilling miserably out.
But he will stay. Of course he will stay. Still anxiously observing his husband, his intent gaze somewhere between solicitous and greedy, he leans Cardan back down into the embrace of the pillows, crawls onto the bed next to him, and finally wraps around him, gingerly, as though trying to recall how such a thing was done.
He does not so much as pause to remove either of their shoes.]
Cardan.
[His Cardan. His beautiful, difficult, bewildering, irresistible lover, his strangely stubborn spouse, his trusted companion. He cannot fathom being without him. Liem’s fingers find his husband’s dark curls, trace a pointed ear, sneak beneath unbuttoned layers to slide up the feverish skin of his husband’s waist, his regard unfailingly serious all the while.]
[ Fortunately for Liem, his husband is a little too unfocused to decipher the strangeness in his expression. Even if he hadn't been -- all thoughts are wiped from Cardan's head the moment Liem lays himself next to him. They are displaced by inappropriate, entirely premature relief. He can only breathe out, and close his eyes against it, his mouth twisting into something a little desperate. ]
Good, [ he gasps. And then, after a moment, ruefully: ] I like that one... a little... too much.
[ But it doesn't matter: this time, he has asked, and this time, Liem has agreed to stay.
He can't understand why this one thing has become so incredibly important. His chest aches with it, sharp and terrible -- or maybe it's just the exhaustion of a heart pushed beyond its limitations. He doesn't know. He doesn't care. He only clutches at Liem and shivers through it -- hard, compulsive shudders, his breath coming in urgent gasps around them.
It's a little bit like sex, except awful. He will keep shivering for some time as the antidote works its way through his system, burning out the poison that had taken hold. For some time, he can focus only on this: Liem's hands on his oversensitive skin, and the steady regard of those pale eyes, and the murmur of husband's quiet voice. Though -- he might have been hallucinating that last one, as he cannot remember anything Liem actually said.
But his heart will eventually slow again, as will his breathing -- though each heartbeat feels a little bruised, still. When he opens his eyes to look at Liem, the surrounding room will stay perfectly still, as well-behaved rooms ought to. ]
Liem.
[ What do you say to a man who has saved your life twice? ]
[Liem had never imagined he might see his husband like this. Even after Cardan had been wounded by that assassin, his suffering had not seemed so total, nor the threat of death so inescapable. It is horrid to see him look so harrowed and pathetic, wracked by poison and able to voice only the desire to not be left alone through it. He has never looked more in need of comfort, and Liem has never felt less capable of giving it.
Though perhaps he is the one who cannot be comforted just now, while his lover is so afflicted.]
Oh… Sweetest…
[Helplessly, he presses his lips to Cardan’s overwarm forehead, to his pointed nose, to one long-lashed eyelid and one flushed cheek. Each gasping breath and each hard shiver of the body in his arms feeds the hard knot of fears and desperate wants lodged behind his ribs; it grows increasingly difficult to think around, and he suspects that soon enough it’s going to come loose altogether.
But not yet. Not while Cardan is like this. He needs to at least wait until he is well. Please let him be well, please oh please. Desperation winds up in Liem until he has to stop himself from shaking with the tension of it, until he too feels feverish with compulsion despite his efforts to be still. He has to bite his lip to restrain himself, to stop himself from clutching bruisingly at Cardan with all his despairing loneliness.
He doesn’t know when Cardan became so dear to him. He doesn’t know what he will do if he has to go the rest of his life without seeing him again—without ever touching him, or hearing his laugh or his heated murmur, or seeing his sly looks or charming smiles. He doesn’t know how he could weather an eternity of cold, lonely days and tedious nights in a world without Cardan in it.
His relief when Cardan’s heart finally slows is a terrible, bruised thing, and it cannot stopper the feeling of ruin that has been threatening to drown Liem ever since they left the attorneys’ office. He does not even voice a reply when his husband says his name; when Cardan finally opens his eyes, Liem’s despairing expression is quite evidently that of someone trying his hardest not to cry.]
[ He'd been so caught up in his own suffering that Liem's expression takes him aback entirely. Not so long ago, he had thought his husband barely cared at all. How stupid. How incredibly, awfully stupid. For some reason, it makes the ache in his heart twist even keener. That's stupid, too; is this not what he had wanted all along?
His hand finds its way to Liem's face, strokes along his cheek. ]
I'm sorry, [ is what he says, in a move that makes no sense whatsoever. He's not sorry for not dying, and he's not sorry for asking Liem to stay with him, and what else is there to apologize for?
He swallows, his eyes searching Liem's face, uncertain. He doesn't know what else to say in the face of Liem's distress; it's not like any of the other times his husband has been upset.
And-- and surely Liem can tell he's better, just as he could tell when Cardan wasn't. Surely there's nothing to be upset about, anymore. Unless some terrible thing is looming, precipitated somehow on the heels of his poisoning, and he'd just been too sick to notice.
[The hand stroking his cheek is piteously comforting, considering that Liem has suffered no harm and the actual danger to his husband seems to have passed. It pulls a soft, plaintive sound from him, and for a moment he just leans his cheek into the contact, too needy for touch to think better of it. Then his sense of shame catches up with him, and he instead dips his face to press it into the crook of Cardan’s neck, squeezing him close in a way he’d been reluctant to do when his spouse had been so wracked with discomfort.
]
What do you mean? [Liem whispers against the warm, comfortingly familiar curve of Cardan’s throat, trying to focus only on his scent and his shape and his weight lying against him.] You almost died.
[Just speaking it aloud makes heat claw at his throat, makes him press more insistently against his husband, as though seeking shelter in his embrace.]
You were dying, that whole time.
[For the entire journey home, during the passage through the house, even as Liem wrapped himself around Cardan in their room, before the antidote had begun to take effect. He had to watch his husband die slowly for that entire time, not knowing if he would be able to save him, not knowing how painful of an end it would even be. It was horrible. Somehow, it becomes more horrible with each passing moment, now that he has allowed the truth of it to sink in, and it is all he can do not to break down and sob like a child because of it.
But deep in his chest, tamped down with the animal urges to whimper and wail and cry, lies something else familiar: it is the urge to do incredible, unspeakable violence to the one who did this, who would harm him and his so cruelly. His heart bays for blood, just as much as it longs for comfort.]
[ It would be kinder, probably, to let Liem hide against his throat like this, to pet his hair and let him clutch Cardan close. His hand slips into soft hair, intent on doing just that, but--
But he can't. He can't, because he doesn't understand this, any of it. He can't, because he needs to know-- and he needs Liem to understand, too.
It takes a bit of effort. His heart, which has been racing so intently just an hour ago, has decided to become sluggish, and his limbs feel weak. His solution is inelegant: he will wrap his arm around his husband, who has pressed so obligingly close, and then throw his weight strategically to one side, so that they roll.
Because what he wants is this: to be on top of Liem, so that he may press him down into the sheets with the entirety of his solid, real, blood-hot weight, with the heartbeat pumping heavily in his chest. He wants to take that pained face into his hands and look at him, searching for an answer in his expression. ]
I didn't die.
[ So much of Faerie's magic is tied to truth. Glamour, curses, geases -- all just someone's truths spoken into being. He has none of those at his disposal now, but he tries, still, to make the words solid, as real as the weight and the heat of his touch. ]
I'm here. I'm perfectly alive.
[ So there is no reason for Liem to look or sound so heartbroken. None at all. ]
[Wrapped as desperately close around Cardan as he is, Liem is fortunately simple enough to roll over. He offers no resistance as his husband throws his weight atop him, and though he does not feel remotely ready to look anyone in the eye just now, he nonetheless allows Cardan to stare into his.
He feels adrift, now, like his world has been put in a dice cup and shaken around so everything is in disarray. The only thing he’s certain of is that he wants Cardan to keep touching him.
Even if he doesn’t quite understand the look on his husband’s face. Liem would have liked to just lie with him for a while, to just reacquaint himself with the feel of his husband wrapped around him without mortal peril looming over them. Surely Cardan couldn’t have objected.
Perhaps the words his husband offers are meant to be reassuring. The only other thing Liem can think of is that it must be frustrating to Cardan to have to coddle Liem for being upset like this, when he wasn’t even the one who was poisoned. That, more than anything else, makes him try harder to stuff the messy, bothersome feelings wailing away inside his chest back into his mental closet so neither he nor Cardan have to look at them. He didn’t mean to make his husband look at him so, and he doesn’t want to keep causing a scene right after Cardan just spent a considerable stretch being quite ill.]
… Yes. All right.
[He will just… stop being upset about this, as he obviously should. As Cardan would obviously like him to. The despair has receded some now, anyway.
But despite his best efforts, he looks more resigned than reassured.]
[ He doesn't know what he expected, but the flat, quiet response recalls to him nothing so much as their first night as spouses, when Liem had refused to fuck him. Only, Cardan had been trying to be an ass then, and he's very much not trying to be one now.
Bitterness sinks into his stomach like a stone.
Were he a wiser man, he would back off. It isn't strange for Liem not to trust him. His track record speaks for itself; when has he ever been gentle with anyone's feelings, when given the choice?
And what good would come of pushing? Of fighting his husband at a time like this? He has learned to read Liem better with each month he's here; surely, eventually, he won't need his husband to explain himself at all.
But he can't. He can't leave it. He feels angry, all of a sudden, flush with helpless rage and fear and regret. It's selfish, but he knows no other way to be but selfish -- greedy, cruel, heedless of anyone but himself. He opens his mouth-- and snaps it shut again, frustrated. What is there to say to a man who only retreats inward when provoked? ]
Liem.
[ His voice is tight with it. He feels too raw to hide the desperation that threads through. ]
[If Liem has learned one thing over the course of his marriage, it is that he has a talent for making his husband angry when he isn’t remotely trying to. Especially, it seems, when he is upset; when he is off-balance and out of sorts seems to be a prime time for doing things that Cardan finds unbearable. He doesn’t know what this says about him, that his rawest and most unfiltered instincts seem to be so objectionable to the man he cares most for.
His attempt at unaffected calm falters, his face falling when his husband speaks again. From the tightness in his voice, the hint of desperation, Liem suspects Cardan needs him to actually pull himself together, to be present with him, not just shut down and pretend to be fine. But he doesn’t know how to manage this right now.]
I’m sorry.
[He closes his eyes with a murmur, frowning through a long, pensive breath. He is still frowning when he looks up again, though at least he no longer seems actively on the verge of tears.]
I don’t… I don’t know how to deal with this.
[He didn’t rise this afternoon emotionally prepared for the attempted murder of his own husband, and he is beginning to realize that this is not one of those things that gets easier with repetition. In fact, this time has felt worse in every possible way, and he cannot make himself shrug it away and pretend it hadn’t made him feel agonizingly helpless the entire time. It was a very special kind of torture, and yet he has no one to whom he can unburden himself—except the man who just nearly died, who obviously does not need Liem’s suffering to add to his own.]
[ He hates the way his husband's face crumples when he says it; but is that not what he wanted? At least this is real -- at least Liem is showing him his dismay, this time.
He leans in, kisses the corner of Liem's unhappy mouth. He had intended for his weight to be calming, but at this point, it feels more like trapping a small, unhappy animal via brute force.
Because he's selfish, he doesn't relent. ]
I know.
[ At least, he's realized, ever since opening his eyes to find that twisted, painful expression on his husband's face. His thumb strokes along one cheek. ]
I've been afraid since I could remember. I didn't-- I thought it was normal, to be used to it.
[ But Liem hadn't been the unfavoured son of a troublesome courtesan; he was Iago's heir, endowed with power over everyone but his father. Of course he wouldn't know. How stupid, to assume that he might.
He draws in a breath, searching Liem's face again. ]
Let me help you. Please.
[ He doesn't even know if he can. But he knows that he cannot bear the loneliness of being shut out, even if that is selfish too. ]
[Liem’s unhappy resistance to Cardan’s demands is offset considerably by his desire for his husband’s touch. The warmth of Cardan’s lips brushing his mouth and the hands framing his cheeks do much to beat back his reticence; the weight of his husband sprawled over him effectively squashes any nascent ideas of rebellion. If this is the method Cardan has chosen to wrestle cooperation from him, he has chosen well—because Liem wants very much to give in to his husband on any given night, and he especially wants to be able to give him this.
The temptation of letting Cardan truly care for him, for even some small piece of his heart, makes him ache with terrible, lonely desire. He wants to believe that Cardan really does wish to.
It is just that he is afraid to let him, and he is so very out of practice.
But Liem has plenty of practice with longing, particularly longing for his husband. His grip has gone slack with distraction, and now he wraps his arms a little tighter again around Cardan, pressing him close, as he had been before they rolled over. Only this time, he submits to his husband’s desire to retain his view of his face.
Liem’s regard of him is both serious and a little plaintive.]
[ The relief he feels when Liem pulls him close again is probably embarrassingly obvious; he feels his jaw unclench, just a little, feels a smile twitch at his mouth. It's strange to be grateful for something like this -- but what else could he be? And if he wants to kiss Liem again, then surely they both deserve some comfort after the gauntlet they've been through.
He'd guessed wrong so many times this night that it shouldn't surprise him when Liem tells him the next unexpected thing -- but it startles a soft laugh out of him anyway. How like his husband, actually, to turn the tables on him so.
It's troublesome, because he is a hypocrite: he wants to see Liem without being seen at all. ]
I'm not sure if that's possible.
[ Which sounds terribly bleak, when put that way. He shakes his head, then continues. ]
It's not just Dain. My position at my father's court has never been secure. When I agreed to Elowyn's plan, it was because I didn't think it could be any worse, here.
[ ...well, he supposes there is nothing for it: if he is going to get Liem to be honest, then he will have to sacrifice some of his secrets, pathetic as they may make him sound. ]
And I was right. I don't relish being poisoned, but Liem-- I have never had someone protect me like this. I never imagined anyone would.
[ He can't help but sound a little awed about it, even now. That Liem would go to such lengths... That he would look like that, like he might cry-- had anyone ever cried for Cardan, in his entire villainous life? He very much doubts it. ]
[Liem is not comforted when Cardan says he may never be able to escape his fear. If they go to the lengths of surviving Dain’s killers and bringing him down, only for Cardan to still have to look over his shoulder all his life, what is even the point?
Especially when he is right to refer to Iago’s court as such—as somewhere just as dangerous as his original home. The thing keeping him mostly safe from the elder vampire at present, Liem imagines, is simply that Iago has no leverage over him. If he ever discerned something Cardan was obliged to care about, however, his place in the house would become precarious.
That, or if Iago ever learned the depth of his son’s affection for his husband.]
I said I would.
[He’d promised when they were married, and refused to recant after the first time an assassin came for Cardan. Certainly his husband had tried to convince him—for his own good, more like than not. Not that Liem cares much for his own good.]
I meant it then, and I mean it now. I want to protect you. I intend to.
[Somehow still lonely for contact, even now, Liem tips his head up to rest his brow against Cardan’s.]
I just didn’t know it would be like this.
[He knew it might be hard. He just hadn’t realized he would become so terrified of failure.]
[ He sighs, because Liem is right; he hadn't known it would be like this, either. He has no recourse for the terror of the moment, and -- if he's honest -- no real understanding for what Liem is feeling. For all that Cardan is afraid, he had never had to worry about anyone else, and he still mostly doesn't; Liem is far better protected than he.
The thought of him actually becoming vulnerable to Dain is terrifying -- far worse than anything Cardan can manage to feel about his own impending doom. He frowns, forcefully pivoting away from imagining this, because now is hardly the time. After all, his husband is here, solid and real, his familiar touch as viscerally comforting as it has ever been. He thinks of his terrible loneliness, back during the carriage ride, and marvels at the foolishness of pride. Why hadn't he just asked Liem to hold him then?
Regardless, he is supposed to be helping.
His fingers stroke through Liem's hair, smoothing out the silver at his temple. They are so close he can feel Liem's cool breath when he speaks -- so close that he cannot help but want to close the remaining distance. So he does, his lips brushing, just barely, against his lover's mouth. ]
Like what, husband?
[ He's made so many wrong guesses already. For once, he thinks he'd rather ask instead. ]
[Liem has been so afraid for so much of the past hour or so that having Cardan touching him like this now, fingers gentle in his hair and lips whisper-soft on his mouth, makes relief ache through him, so urgently he could almost really cry after all. Though he cannot quite allow himself that particular indulgence, and tamps the urge firmly down again, he does press closer to steal another kiss, lingering and urgent with longing. Now that he isn’t numb with terror over his husband’s impending death, all he can think about is drowning himself in him.
It’s ironic that somehow, although Cardan’s heart is the one to have been racing so heedlessly, Liem’s has ended up feeling so bruised.]
I knew I would be afraid, [he murmurs,] but I didn’t know how much.
[Even when the assassin had come for them at that party, he can’t remember feeling nearly so terrified. At first, the fight had just swept him up, muffling everything else—and even after, though his mind had been awhirl with concerns, his fear had not been so great.
But that had been before he let Cardan become so dear to him. It had been before his taste became the only one on Liem’s tongue and his arms came to feel like the only home he would ever need: which is a terrible way to feel for a man who, on some level, must surely hold Liem in contempt. And still, Liem cannot suppress his own desperate attachment to his husband, set down over months and now rooted deep, so intrinsic he doesn’t know how he could possibly burn it out.
But he cannot tell Cardan that, and his husband deserves to understand. So if he cannot tell him the truth, perhaps a truth will suffice.]
You know, I was there… the night my mother was killed.
[He pulls back to say this; swallows, makes himself look Cardan in the eye.]
I was still small. We were taking a carriage somewhere, and when it was attacked she hid me inside the seat. Then she went out, and… I spent what felt like a long time waiting.
[For someone to come: maybe for his mother to return, maybe for some soldier to drag him out. As time had gone on, and it had become quieter, he had worried less for himself—but for his mother, he only worried more. Looking back, he doubts it was much longer than an hour or two, but for him the waiting had gone on forever.]
I hate the waiting most. But when my father found me, and he told me she was dead… [His expression loses some of its steady focus, becomes more distant, and more heartbroken.] I wanted to go back. It had been better, just being afraid.
He strokes Liem's hair as he listens, brow furrowed, and thinks himself a fool for the fiftieth time this night. He had forgotten about Liem's mother entirely. Vampires fear neither old age nor illness; he could have surmised that she must have died violently. He must have surmised it, at one point, and yet he hadn't thought -- had never realized -- that his husband had already suffered this kind of loss.
How terrible it must have been, to lose someone who loved him enough to protect him. He has no recourse for it. How could he? How could anyone?
He envisions the serious child from the family portrait waiting for the woman pictured beside him, and cannot imagine what it must have been like. And what would she have thought of Cardan, who could not leave Liem at all, even when he knew full well that it was cowardice? That it would only endanger him or hurt him? And now it is too late; now leaving would hurt too much. He cannot even pretend that he might do such a thing.
The forlorn look on Liem's face aches like a bruise. ]
She kept you safe.
...as you have me.
[ And he can't help but wonder if she'd been terrified too, leaving her son as she had. ]
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He's staring. He doesn't know how long he'd been staring before he even realizes. His jaw tightens; something in his expression snaps shut. With an effort he didn't know he had in him, he pulls himself away from the balm of those cool hands. This is sulky and immature, but he may or may not be racing towards oblivion, and he'd rather still keep some of his pride. His husband is -- quite clearly -- not here to comfort him, superficially or otherwise, and Cardan suddenly feels stupid for wanting such a thing in the first place. Stupid, too, to feel so hurt by it. Liem owes him nothing of the sort.
He's a young boy again, trying to convince himself that he doesn't mind curling up in the stables to sleep.
Still. He leans his forehead against the wall of the carriage, closes his eyes, and endeavours to keep his mouth shut for the rest of the ride home. There's no telling what might leap out if he doesn't -- and, anyway, his head is spinning quite badly now. Perhaps better to think of nothing at all. ]
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Cardan does not look well, now. He looks ill, or perhaps just tired, as he rests his brow against the jostling wall beside them. Only, the sound of his heart beating frantically against his ribs is the opposite of restful. It sounds like his pulse is racing the spurred-on horses pulling their coach—and anxiously, Liem supposes it is. It does him no good to have thoughts like this, but he cannot make himself stop. He cannot stop his mind from racing both pulse and steed, even though this contest is one he cannot even enter, much less win.
It’s a horrid way to spend the ride back to their only hope of respite. Even if Cardan will not speak to him, or even look at him, and even if having Cardan in his arms brought him no comfort, it feels worse to not be touching him at all. As the carriage speeds on, he reaches for Cardan’s hand so he can clasp it tightly, twining their fingers together as though he intends to never free them again. It grounds him a little; focusing on that warmth, he can at least attempt to think of something other than the slowly increasing tempo of Cardan’s heart.
But he is silent, and will be until the dense forest surrounding the estate gives way to gently rolling hills—upon which, in the near distance, the ancient stone manor sprawls. Only then will he speak.]
Cardan. Husband, we’re here.
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So he doesn't think about it, even though the grip of his own hand is no less tight, and grows tighter as the discomfort of his racing heart mounts. By the time Liem speaks to him, he is quite disoriented. He will look up, blinking at his husband, unfocused.
Getting up does not go well.
For one, he is too tall to stand up fully in the carriage -- a fact he has evidently forgotten about. Not that he makes it that far, only rising half out of his seat before his vision goes black (familiar) and the carriage spins (ditto), and he crumples back onto the seat rather helplessly. The curse he spits out would make many a sailor blush with envy. ]
...where--
[ No, never mind. He doesn't care. ]
May have to... bring it out... to me.
[ Especially since he has to breathe between words, now. Anyone with eyes would know something was wrong with him, even if he could make it onto his feet. ]
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I said I’m not letting you out of my sight.
[As the carriage comes to a halt in front of the house, Liem loosens his tie and hastily thumbs his collar undone. He is stooping over his ailing spouse when he hears the footman approach the carriage door.]
Hold onto me, lover.
[And he slides an arm around him, scooping Cardan into his embrace as the carriage door opens. Liem ignores the footman entirely, but when he strides through the house’s entrance and blows straight past the servants moving to take his coat, the look he aims their way dares them to think twice about his new passion for bearing his spouse back to their rooms.]
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[ He doesn't have much time or capacity for surprise; if anything, what flares is irritation. It is very like Liem to ignore him on something like this -- more so because it's embarrassing, and will no doubt tank his reputation amongst the staff even further.
But he doesn't have the breath to protest it, either. It's all he can do to wind his arms around Liem's neck -- resisting the urge for a bit of recreational throttling -- and bury his burning face against his husband's conveniently exposed throat. It's strategic; he doesn't want anyone to see his face, and it hides how out of breath he is.
...and it feels lovely, of course. Even after all this, touching his husband's bare skin feels like a balm. He inhales Liem's scent and feels more irritation, this time at himself, for feeling so comforted by it. How stupid, to fall prey to a thing that will only break his heart.
Though, admittedly, Dain might just save Liem the trouble. ]
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Even the brief journey through the house seems almost unending.
At least, though his hands are occupied, Liem is not troubled by any closed doors. The house sweeps them open for him as always, and when finally they pass through the doors to their rooms, the heavy wood clicks shut behind them just as smoothly. Liem hastens on to the bedroom, where he deposits Cardan on the bed with surprising gentleness, considering how brisk his hurry.]
Wait just a moment, [he implores quietly. Cardan’s heartbeat continues to pulse frantically in his ears. They are so close, now. Surely now that they have made it here, now that Liem can fetch Cardan the antidote, everything will be fine. He so badly needs everything to be fine.]
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Wait just a moment, Liem says, as if he has any other choice. The room is still spinning, for one, which means that he wisely elects to keep his eyes closed. He wants -- badly -- to sink into the plush bed and curl up into himself, as if that would stop the feverish heat or rapid palpitations shaking him now, but-- no. Not yet, he tells himself. Not until Liem returns.
Instead, he keeps himself stubbornly propped up on an elbow and uses his other hand to unbutton his waistcoat, then his shirt -- his tie has disappeared somewhere already. Even the air he breathes out feels uncomfortably hot, like it's coming from a furnace.
And he waits. And he waits. And he thinks, miserably, that maybe he doesn't want to die after all, now that they're already here. ]
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Even so, it takes mere moments. There is only one vial of the antidote he needs, and he clutches it close to his chest as he again crosses the room to the bed, where Cardan seems to be attempting to undress. Liem sits on the bed next to him and unstoppers the vial so he can offer it to his spouse, his free hand sliding around to Cardan’s back to help him sit up.]
Here—drink.
[Liem is insistent. They took far, far too long to get here. He mislikes Cardan’s flushed, drugged look, mislikes the haste of his breaths and the unsteadiness of his hands. He looks and sounds unwell, and Liem does not know how unwell he can become before his body gives out, or how effective the antidote is meant to be.]
Drink. And then you may have whatever you wish.
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He cannot say he feels particularly well. Still, he is not dead yet -- as evidenced by the sharp little smile he manages to flash at his husband. ]
I so love... ha... watching you lie.
[ Then he will close unsteady fingers over Liem's wrist, so he may pull the vial closer -- he doesn't trust himself with it, not quite -- and swallow down its contents in-between shallow breaths.
Then make a disgusted face.
He doesn't know what he expects to feel; certainly there is no immediate, magical relief, which is a little nerve-wracking. None of the court gossip he'd heard paid much attention to the immediate aftermath of unsuccessful poisonings, and he hadn't bothered thinking past this point at any point in their journey. He realizes, with some dismay, that he has entered a twilight state between "probably dead" and "perhaps alive after all." Facing down an indeterminate waiting period before he might find out which is to be his fate is... unappealing.
Not for the first time, he decides hope to be the worst poison of all.
The tension in his supporting arm goes slack; he sags heavily against Liem's hold, though the grip on his husband's wrist does not relent. ]
Stay, [ Cardan says, again, insistently. The carriage and its disappointments seem far away -- an eternity, maybe two. And he doesn't want to be alone. He so very fervently does not want to be alone, no matter how pathetic it might make him look. ]
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But he will stay. Of course he will stay. Still anxiously observing his husband, his intent gaze somewhere between solicitous and greedy, he leans Cardan back down into the embrace of the pillows, crawls onto the bed next to him, and finally wraps around him, gingerly, as though trying to recall how such a thing was done.
He does not so much as pause to remove either of their shoes.]
Cardan.
[His Cardan. His beautiful, difficult, bewildering, irresistible lover, his strangely stubborn spouse, his trusted companion. He cannot fathom being without him. Liem’s fingers find his husband’s dark curls, trace a pointed ear, sneak beneath unbuttoned layers to slide up the feverish skin of his husband’s waist, his regard unfailingly serious all the while.]
You ever have only to ask.
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Good, [ he gasps. And then, after a moment, ruefully: ] I like that one... a little... too much.
[ But it doesn't matter: this time, he has asked, and this time, Liem has agreed to stay.
He can't understand why this one thing has become so incredibly important. His chest aches with it, sharp and terrible -- or maybe it's just the exhaustion of a heart pushed beyond its limitations. He doesn't know. He doesn't care. He only clutches at Liem and shivers through it -- hard, compulsive shudders, his breath coming in urgent gasps around them.
It's a little bit like sex, except awful. He will keep shivering for some time as the antidote works its way through his system, burning out the poison that had taken hold. For some time, he can focus only on this: Liem's hands on his oversensitive skin, and the steady regard of those pale eyes, and the murmur of husband's quiet voice. Though -- he might have been hallucinating that last one, as he cannot remember anything Liem actually said.
But his heart will eventually slow again, as will his breathing -- though each heartbeat feels a little bruised, still. When he opens his eyes to look at Liem, the surrounding room will stay perfectly still, as well-behaved rooms ought to. ]
Liem.
[ What do you say to a man who has saved your life twice? ]
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Though perhaps he is the one who cannot be comforted just now, while his lover is so afflicted.]
Oh… Sweetest…
[Helplessly, he presses his lips to Cardan’s overwarm forehead, to his pointed nose, to one long-lashed eyelid and one flushed cheek. Each gasping breath and each hard shiver of the body in his arms feeds the hard knot of fears and desperate wants lodged behind his ribs; it grows increasingly difficult to think around, and he suspects that soon enough it’s going to come loose altogether.
But not yet. Not while Cardan is like this. He needs to at least wait until he is well. Please let him be well, please oh please. Desperation winds up in Liem until he has to stop himself from shaking with the tension of it, until he too feels feverish with compulsion despite his efforts to be still. He has to bite his lip to restrain himself, to stop himself from clutching bruisingly at Cardan with all his despairing loneliness.
He doesn’t know when Cardan became so dear to him. He doesn’t know what he will do if he has to go the rest of his life without seeing him again—without ever touching him, or hearing his laugh or his heated murmur, or seeing his sly looks or charming smiles. He doesn’t know how he could weather an eternity of cold, lonely days and tedious nights in a world without Cardan in it.
His relief when Cardan’s heart finally slows is a terrible, bruised thing, and it cannot stopper the feeling of ruin that has been threatening to drown Liem ever since they left the attorneys’ office. He does not even voice a reply when his husband says his name; when Cardan finally opens his eyes, Liem’s despairing expression is quite evidently that of someone trying his hardest not to cry.]
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His hand finds its way to Liem's face, strokes along his cheek. ]
I'm sorry, [ is what he says, in a move that makes no sense whatsoever. He's not sorry for not dying, and he's not sorry for asking Liem to stay with him, and what else is there to apologize for?
He swallows, his eyes searching Liem's face, uncertain. He doesn't know what else to say in the face of Liem's distress; it's not like any of the other times his husband has been upset.
And-- and surely Liem can tell he's better, just as he could tell when Cardan wasn't. Surely there's nothing to be upset about, anymore. Unless some terrible thing is looming, precipitated somehow on the heels of his poisoning, and he'd just been too sick to notice.
Dread coagulates in his stomach. ]
Liem, what's wrong?
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What do you mean? [Liem whispers against the warm, comfortingly familiar curve of Cardan’s throat, trying to focus only on his scent and his shape and his weight lying against him.] You almost died.
[Just speaking it aloud makes heat claw at his throat, makes him press more insistently against his husband, as though seeking shelter in his embrace.]
You were dying, that whole time.
[For the entire journey home, during the passage through the house, even as Liem wrapped himself around Cardan in their room, before the antidote had begun to take effect. He had to watch his husband die slowly for that entire time, not knowing if he would be able to save him, not knowing how painful of an end it would even be. It was horrible. Somehow, it becomes more horrible with each passing moment, now that he has allowed the truth of it to sink in, and it is all he can do not to break down and sob like a child because of it.
But deep in his chest, tamped down with the animal urges to whimper and wail and cry, lies something else familiar: it is the urge to do incredible, unspeakable violence to the one who did this, who would harm him and his so cruelly. His heart bays for blood, just as much as it longs for comfort.]
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But he can't. He can't, because he doesn't understand this, any of it. He can't, because he needs to know-- and he needs Liem to understand, too.
It takes a bit of effort. His heart, which has been racing so intently just an hour ago, has decided to become sluggish, and his limbs feel weak. His solution is inelegant: he will wrap his arm around his husband, who has pressed so obligingly close, and then throw his weight strategically to one side, so that they roll.
Because what he wants is this: to be on top of Liem, so that he may press him down into the sheets with the entirety of his solid, real, blood-hot weight, with the heartbeat pumping heavily in his chest. He wants to take that pained face into his hands and look at him, searching for an answer in his expression. ]
I didn't die.
[ So much of Faerie's magic is tied to truth. Glamour, curses, geases -- all just someone's truths spoken into being. He has none of those at his disposal now, but he tries, still, to make the words solid, as real as the weight and the heat of his touch. ]
I'm here. I'm perfectly alive.
[ So there is no reason for Liem to look or sound so heartbroken. None at all. ]
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He feels adrift, now, like his world has been put in a dice cup and shaken around so everything is in disarray. The only thing he’s certain of is that he wants Cardan to keep touching him.
Even if he doesn’t quite understand the look on his husband’s face. Liem would have liked to just lie with him for a while, to just reacquaint himself with the feel of his husband wrapped around him without mortal peril looming over them. Surely Cardan couldn’t have objected.
Perhaps the words his husband offers are meant to be reassuring. The only other thing Liem can think of is that it must be frustrating to Cardan to have to coddle Liem for being upset like this, when he wasn’t even the one who was poisoned. That, more than anything else, makes him try harder to stuff the messy, bothersome feelings wailing away inside his chest back into his mental closet so neither he nor Cardan have to look at them. He didn’t mean to make his husband look at him so, and he doesn’t want to keep causing a scene right after Cardan just spent a considerable stretch being quite ill.]
… Yes. All right.
[He will just… stop being upset about this, as he obviously should. As Cardan would obviously like him to. The despair has receded some now, anyway.
But despite his best efforts, he looks more resigned than reassured.]
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Bitterness sinks into his stomach like a stone.
Were he a wiser man, he would back off. It isn't strange for Liem not to trust him. His track record speaks for itself; when has he ever been gentle with anyone's feelings, when given the choice?
And what good would come of pushing? Of fighting his husband at a time like this? He has learned to read Liem better with each month he's here; surely, eventually, he won't need his husband to explain himself at all.
But he can't. He can't leave it. He feels angry, all of a sudden, flush with helpless rage and fear and regret. It's selfish, but he knows no other way to be but selfish -- greedy, cruel, heedless of anyone but himself. He opens his mouth-- and snaps it shut again, frustrated. What is there to say to a man who only retreats inward when provoked? ]
Liem.
[ His voice is tight with it. He feels too raw to hide the desperation that threads through. ]
Do not do this thing to me.
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His attempt at unaffected calm falters, his face falling when his husband speaks again. From the tightness in his voice, the hint of desperation, Liem suspects Cardan needs him to actually pull himself together, to be present with him, not just shut down and pretend to be fine. But he doesn’t know how to manage this right now.]
I’m sorry.
[He closes his eyes with a murmur, frowning through a long, pensive breath. He is still frowning when he looks up again, though at least he no longer seems actively on the verge of tears.]
I don’t… I don’t know how to deal with this.
[He didn’t rise this afternoon emotionally prepared for the attempted murder of his own husband, and he is beginning to realize that this is not one of those things that gets easier with repetition. In fact, this time has felt worse in every possible way, and he cannot make himself shrug it away and pretend it hadn’t made him feel agonizingly helpless the entire time. It was a very special kind of torture, and yet he has no one to whom he can unburden himself—except the man who just nearly died, who obviously does not need Liem’s suffering to add to his own.]
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He leans in, kisses the corner of Liem's unhappy mouth. He had intended for his weight to be calming, but at this point, it feels more like trapping a small, unhappy animal via brute force.
Because he's selfish, he doesn't relent. ]
I know.
[ At least, he's realized, ever since opening his eyes to find that twisted, painful expression on his husband's face. His thumb strokes along one cheek. ]
I've been afraid since I could remember. I didn't-- I thought it was normal, to be used to it.
[ But Liem hadn't been the unfavoured son of a troublesome courtesan; he was Iago's heir, endowed with power over everyone but his father. Of course he wouldn't know. How stupid, to assume that he might.
He draws in a breath, searching Liem's face again. ]
Let me help you. Please.
[ He doesn't even know if he can. But he knows that he cannot bear the loneliness of being shut out, even if that is selfish too. ]
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The temptation of letting Cardan truly care for him, for even some small piece of his heart, makes him ache with terrible, lonely desire. He wants to believe that Cardan really does wish to.
It is just that he is afraid to let him, and he is so very out of practice.
But Liem has plenty of practice with longing, particularly longing for his husband. His grip has gone slack with distraction, and now he wraps his arms a little tighter again around Cardan, pressing him close, as he had been before they rolled over. Only this time, he submits to his husband’s desire to retain his view of his face.
Liem’s regard of him is both serious and a little plaintive.]
I don’t want you to have to be afraid anymore.
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He'd guessed wrong so many times this night that it shouldn't surprise him when Liem tells him the next unexpected thing -- but it startles a soft laugh out of him anyway. How like his husband, actually, to turn the tables on him so.
It's troublesome, because he is a hypocrite: he wants to see Liem without being seen at all. ]
I'm not sure if that's possible.
[ Which sounds terribly bleak, when put that way. He shakes his head, then continues. ]
It's not just Dain. My position at my father's court has never been secure. When I agreed to Elowyn's plan, it was because I didn't think it could be any worse, here.
[ ...well, he supposes there is nothing for it: if he is going to get Liem to be honest, then he will have to sacrifice some of his secrets, pathetic as they may make him sound. ]
And I was right. I don't relish being poisoned, but Liem-- I have never had someone protect me like this. I never imagined anyone would.
[ He can't help but sound a little awed about it, even now. That Liem would go to such lengths... That he would look like that, like he might cry-- had anyone ever cried for Cardan, in his entire villainous life? He very much doubts it. ]
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Especially when he is right to refer to Iago’s court as such—as somewhere just as dangerous as his original home. The thing keeping him mostly safe from the elder vampire at present, Liem imagines, is simply that Iago has no leverage over him. If he ever discerned something Cardan was obliged to care about, however, his place in the house would become precarious.
That, or if Iago ever learned the depth of his son’s affection for his husband.]
I said I would.
[He’d promised when they were married, and refused to recant after the first time an assassin came for Cardan. Certainly his husband had tried to convince him—for his own good, more like than not. Not that Liem cares much for his own good.]
I meant it then, and I mean it now. I want to protect you. I intend to.
[Somehow still lonely for contact, even now, Liem tips his head up to rest his brow against Cardan’s.]
I just didn’t know it would be like this.
[He knew it might be hard. He just hadn’t realized he would become so terrified of failure.]
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The thought of him actually becoming vulnerable to Dain is terrifying -- far worse than anything Cardan can manage to feel about his own impending doom. He frowns, forcefully pivoting away from imagining this, because now is hardly the time. After all, his husband is here, solid and real, his familiar touch as viscerally comforting as it has ever been. He thinks of his terrible loneliness, back during the carriage ride, and marvels at the foolishness of pride. Why hadn't he just asked Liem to hold him then?
Regardless, he is supposed to be helping.
His fingers stroke through Liem's hair, smoothing out the silver at his temple. They are so close he can feel Liem's cool breath when he speaks -- so close that he cannot help but want to close the remaining distance. So he does, his lips brushing, just barely, against his lover's mouth. ]
Like what, husband?
[ He's made so many wrong guesses already. For once, he thinks he'd rather ask instead. ]
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It’s ironic that somehow, although Cardan’s heart is the one to have been racing so heedlessly, Liem’s has ended up feeling so bruised.]
I knew I would be afraid, [he murmurs,] but I didn’t know how much.
[Even when the assassin had come for them at that party, he can’t remember feeling nearly so terrified. At first, the fight had just swept him up, muffling everything else—and even after, though his mind had been awhirl with concerns, his fear had not been so great.
But that had been before he let Cardan become so dear to him. It had been before his taste became the only one on Liem’s tongue and his arms came to feel like the only home he would ever need: which is a terrible way to feel for a man who, on some level, must surely hold Liem in contempt. And still, Liem cannot suppress his own desperate attachment to his husband, set down over months and now rooted deep, so intrinsic he doesn’t know how he could possibly burn it out.
But he cannot tell Cardan that, and his husband deserves to understand. So if he cannot tell him the truth, perhaps a truth will suffice.]
You know, I was there… the night my mother was killed.
[He pulls back to say this; swallows, makes himself look Cardan in the eye.]
I was still small. We were taking a carriage somewhere, and when it was attacked she hid me inside the seat. Then she went out, and… I spent what felt like a long time waiting.
[For someone to come: maybe for his mother to return, maybe for some soldier to drag him out. As time had gone on, and it had become quieter, he had worried less for himself—but for his mother, he only worried more. Looking back, he doubts it was much longer than an hour or two, but for him the waiting had gone on forever.]
I hate the waiting most. But when my father found me, and he told me she was dead… [His expression loses some of its steady focus, becomes more distant, and more heartbroken.] I wanted to go back. It had been better, just being afraid.
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He strokes Liem's hair as he listens, brow furrowed, and thinks himself a fool for the fiftieth time this night. He had forgotten about Liem's mother entirely. Vampires fear neither old age nor illness; he could have surmised that she must have died violently. He must have surmised it, at one point, and yet he hadn't thought -- had never realized -- that his husband had already suffered this kind of loss.
How terrible it must have been, to lose someone who loved him enough to protect him. He has no recourse for it. How could he? How could anyone?
He envisions the serious child from the family portrait waiting for the woman pictured beside him, and cannot imagine what it must have been like. And what would she have thought of Cardan, who could not leave Liem at all, even when he knew full well that it was cowardice? That it would only endanger him or hurt him? And now it is too late; now leaving would hurt too much. He cannot even pretend that he might do such a thing.
The forlorn look on Liem's face aches like a bruise. ]
She kept you safe.
...as you have me.
[ And he can't help but wonder if she'd been terrified too, leaving her son as she had. ]
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