[ He feels a small spark of hope when his husband jolts a little more awake -- one which is extinguished just as swiftly when his husband tells him the second part of the riddle... or is it a curse? Surely a curse. Regardless, he cannot make heads or tails of it, cannot see an obvious solution, and meanwhile Liem fades ever more. Cardan loathes the glazed, uncomprehending way Liem looks up at him, though not as much as he loathes catching his suddenly dead weight.
This time, he does swear. And then he says Liem's name, and shakes him, and swears again, louder, even though he already knows all of it will be futile. Liem's eerie, corpse-like stillness had become mundane and familiar in the months since their wedding, but right now -- when he is so limp and cool in Cardan's arms -- he cannot help but find it disquieting all over again.
My kind do not linger in the flesh upon death, Liem had told him, and he clings to the thought like a lifeline. If Liem were dead, Cardan would not be holding him like this. And so: he must be merely asleep. And those asleep can be woken.
But when he kisses his husband's cold lips, he can taste no poison save for his own darkening despair. He's never been particularly adept at magic, does not know how to break curses nor enchanted sleep. And yet, and yet-- Liem needs him. Liem has waited to tell him of his affliction, unfairly confident about Cardan's ability to remedy such.
Cardan cannot stand the thought of betraying him.
-----
What if we... sent someone into the dream? asks Benjamin Evans. He flushes defensively when everyone turns toward him. Well, Sorrel has sleep magic, doesn't she? Maybe it's worth a try.
I guess that would definitely interrupt something, muses his sister. Unlike Ben, she had only been summoned to Severin's private rooms after Cardan had burst in, Liem's unmoving form in his arms. He had been wearing his most imperious face and hoping it would cover up his terror. Judging by the sympathetic looks he's getting from the siblings, he suspects it hasn't.
Sister? asks Severin, looking at the sixth room occupant -- a giant tree woman, who is at once disturbingly human and entirely, overwhelmingly a tree. When she had first been admitted to the rooms, she had spent some time examining Liem, poking his chest with her bony branch fingers, looking at his hands, his face, rolling up his sleeves to touch his wrists. When she answers her brother, it is with a voice like wind whispering through leaves.
Gone, but still here. Gone, but alive. Lost in a deep wood of his own making.
But will it work? presses Severin. The tree woman considers this.
That is up to the seeker and sought.
Maybe we should send a few people, in case it's dangerous? proposes Sir Hazel. Her hand clasps the hilt of her sword. I can go.
This, finally, shakes Cardan out of his stupor. He can feel his anxiety churning, and on its heels his impatience. He cannot shake that blank look in Liem's eyes as the consciousness faded from them. He cannot fathom the fact everyone is talking like the worst thing in the world hasn't just happened.
He rises from his seat. ]
I shall go. Alone. And as soon as possible.
[ He can tell from the expression on the Alderking's face that he's about to protest. Presumably, it would be inconvenient if not one, but two heirs of different noble houses fell into eternal slumber while visiting his court.
Cardan cares not. He turns to Severin's sister, meeting her black eyes with his own. ]
Lady Sorrel. Can you send me there now?
[ After a moment, she nods her head, rustling her crown of leaves. ]
[Once he has delivered the message, Liem succumbs quickly to a deep and unbroken slumber. Not even the flicker of an eyelid betrays the character of the dream that has claimed him, leaving him silent and cold as the fey folk around him discuss what to do. One might take his stillness for peace, if not the peace of the grave.
But in Liem’s dreams, peace is nowhere to be found.
The dream Cardan infiltrates is set in a place that seems much like the Talbott manor, wearing its architecture and its furnishings—but the layout has no logic that could belong to reality. Doors open into room after room, eschewing corridor or stair in favour of an endless maze constructed only of parlours and dining halls, studies and washrooms and sleeping quarters, dance halls, music rooms, on and on with no order or organization. Even a door shut directly behind might lead to a new room if opened again, or even disappear entirely, leaving no way but forward.
Well, either that, or outside. Regardless of size or function, every single room in the maze sports tall, beautiful windows like those that look out from the Talbott manor’s grandest entertaining spaces, filling an entire wall with a gloomy predawn landscape that ever threatens to soften into sunrise. Escape by that route promises to be short-lived.
And in each room, an occupant: Iago looking up from his desk with a patronizing smile, asking if he enjoyed his time away. Doctor Samari, stethoscope draped around her neck, accusing him with her stare as she demands to know how he could be so careless. Gusairne tutting as he scribbles something in a notebook, muttering exasperatedly that he’ll inform the Lord Master of the change in schedule. Iago again, standing in Liem’s bedroom and thrusting forward a dazed looking human, steel in his voice as he says You’ll drink until I tell you to stop.
But whenever Cardan crosses paths with himself—lounging in bed, perched on Liem’s desk, standing scornfully with wineglass in hand—the facsimile takes one look at him and simply fades away, denying him both the truths and lies they might tell.]
[ This is not at all what he expected, and he knows not why. After all, it is so obvious: they spend much time at the manor, and most of Liem's work takes place there. Of course it is a likely place to find himself. The windows make for a surprising difference: where normally the house feels oppressive for its cavernous inner rooms and still air, now it is the forebodingly uncertain sky that looms large. Of course, Cardan is no vampire and thus fears no sunrise; to the fey, the grey ambiguity of dawn can only ever be appealing. But the message is no less clear for the fact he immediately ignores it.
Somehow, he had thought he would find Liem much faster.
He frowns at the first Iago, glowers at the doctor, and politely invites Gusairne to walk directly into the burgeoning sunrise. But it's not until a few rooms after that, when Iago offers him the limp mortal, that he feels the first discordant tilt in the dream's narrative. All the other reprimands had made some sense; this one does not. Unless...
Well, of course. It is Liem's dream. They are not expecting Cardan.
Which makes his own refusal to engage with himself a little strange. Perhaps it is only the dream fading out, unable to deal with the impossibility of two of him. Still, he cannot help feeling a touch of discomfort there, too.
More importantly, it means that Liem must be in the house, doing the same thing Cardan is. Disquietingly, his wedding ring is not reliably supportive of this theory: he has no clear sense of Liem's proximity, despite feeling the magic's familiar warmth pulse gently against his skin.
Well, if he cannot find Liem, then he will find the next most reliable person: Doctor Samari, whose reprimands feel almost comfortingly familiar. This time, however, Cardan will not simply breeze past her on his way to the next room. Instead, he elects to loom over her and ask, far more pleasantly than is warranted, ]
[The dream is clearly Liem’s, and somewhere within it, Liem must reside—but initially, he is nowhere to be found. The house’s endless interior seems to contain only other people from his life, all of whom harbour either criticism or demand to aim his way.
This is a piece of home, answers the doctor sternly, and it needs your attention.
As ever, she appears uncowed by Cardan’s looming, her sharp stare somehow contriving to be both assessing and patient, as though she has discerned some problem he is hiding and is waiting for him to admit to it. But is it Cardan she is judging, or the man whose dream this is?
Again, she speaks. Your absence endangers those who depend upon you for safety. You cannot continue to leave, and expect us all to be here when you return.]
[ He can feel his hackles rising the moment she turns that patient stare on him, as if she were speaking to a child. It reminds him of their first encounters, when he'd found her particularly irritating for making him feel vulnerable and stupid when he was already on his back foot.
Well. Except, he supposes, she's not speaking to him. Her admonishment only confirms it, because no one has ever been stupid enough to depend on Cardan for their safety. Still, the suggestion that it's Liem's responsibility to never leave rankles him -- as if it wasn't his safety that his husband is prioritizing. As if Cardan isn't the reason he's left his staff behind.
Cardan's mouth thins considerably. He doesn't say the first thing he thinks, which is, You don't own him. Still, he cannot quite suppress his sneer. ]
And yet here you are, unhelpfully full of lectures. Are you going to be useful or not?
[ ...well, she did answer his question. Technically. He's just not inclined to be charitable about it. ]
[The false Doctor Samari’s stare changes not at all in the face of Cardan’s accusatory riposte. She regards him with a slow, owlish blink, seeming to weigh his question for a moment before speaking.
You sound like your lord father.
Like Iago, she means. A man known for valuing what is useful, and scorning what is not.
How deep does the similarity run? If you are not careful, you may find your protection is no kind of safety at all.
Finally she turns away, her attention going to the little jars and vials and fine instruments that are the tools of her trade. She begins to sort through them, noting what she’s running low on in a cramped scrawl.
My use has always been to ensure the wellness of the people in my master’s house. Nothing more, and nothing less. But the one with the power to steward that wellness has never really been me. I am only human, after all.]
[ Cardan resists the urge to roll his eyes. She's probably not wrong; certainly his mannerisms have always more closely resembled his father-in-law's than Liem's, who is rarely rude even when it would be warranted. Still, something in his throat catches at the idea that his husband should hear such accusations coming from his own servants.
Perversely, he is torn between the desire to put her in her place and the strange need to represent Liem better than he ostensibly has. The latter instinct is, of course, absurd; she is a figment, not a person. There is no reason to care about anything she might think.
Except that he needs her help. He needs her to tell him where his husband is. ]
Excuses, [ he retorts, deliberately mild. He will not let a figment of Liem's dreaming make him defensive. ] The real you is hardly so feeble.
[ Certainly, the real her isn't so passive, either. For some reason, this makes Cardan a little insulted on her behalf, in addition to everything else.
Still, this is getting him nowhere. He doesn't know how truly human she might be -- but she thinks she is, and that might be enough. ]
There is a Liem Talbott here, and he is not me.
[ He doesn't like doing it to the mortals he knows. Nonetheless, on the next sentence his voice will change, will grow heavy and sweet with glamour. ]
[Figment she may be, but when Cardan speaks his reply, the doctor looks up in consternation—before her expression smooths out at the honeyed sound of his glamour-laced demand. So he is not, she agrees with mild surprise, as though only just noticing something that had been sitting plainly under her nose.
Now she rises from her desk, but rather than step away from it, the doctor spends some moments rifling through it, sifting through drawers filled with clutter that has no place in her office: teacups and tableware, finely embroidered handkerchiefs, pens from Liem’s desk, one of Cardan’s squirrelled-away bottles of oil, an unmelting snowball and rings heavy with gems. After some searching, she withdraws a single purple rose petal, dried out and faded, and offers it to him.
Find his crown, young prince, and you will be reunited. This token will help you find the right door.]
[ He's a little surprised it works, not that the answer she gives him is at all clear. He'll observe with interest the parade of trinkets she rifles through -- the snowball and oil bottle give him particular pause -- before accepting the dried petal from her hand.
For a moment, confusion reigns him; unlike himself, Liem has never been known to wear a crown. Then he recalls it: the floral wreath he'd presented to his husband on his birthnight, half a year past. Hellebores for triumph over slander, winterberries for protection, mistletoe for perseverence. And, on a whim, the roses that he had then thought merely romantic, blind as he was to the intensity of his own feelings.
Where had the crown ended up? Had Liem kept it, preserved in its box somewhere? He cannot recall.
He closes his fingers over the fragile petal, carefully, like he's caging a live insect. Then he looks at the mortal before him. Even here, in this dreamscape, she looks too real for him not to feel a pang of guilt. ]
Do the servants suffer worse? [ he asks, before he can think better of it. ] When he is gone away.
[Once the doctor has given Cardan his rose petal, the remaining knickknacks are shut back up in their respective drawers, restoring the illusion of the ordinary doctor’s office. The illusory Doctor Samari remains standing, though even so, she is so much shorter than Cardan that she can only continue to peer up at him from beneath her stern black brows.
His search will probably be brief enough with his little token, even if he doesn’t recall what became of his husband’s crown after that night. Most importantly, the petal will allow him to cut through the hostile chaos of the labyrinth and find his way to the room where the object lies. At that point, finding the wreath itself is up to him—but how hidden could it be?
Still, far be it from the doctor to deny Cardan the chance to linger here instead, dwelling on uncomfortable topics. The dream wants what it wants.
It is not uncommon for… accidents to occur during time the young lord spends away from home, she answers. Especially if his absence was not at Duke Talbott’s behest. You well know the guests who visit this estate are often vicious in their appetites, and the Duke is fond of indulgence.]
[ It's his fault for asking a question he doesn't really want the answer to. He keeps his facial expression carefully neutral as she speaks. None of this should really surprise him -- none of it does, if he's entirely honest. She is right: he knows what vampires are like, and he knows what Iago is like. He had just never made the effort to think about it, because it was unpleasant. Because he didn't need more complications in his life. Because, presumably, Liem had always just taken care of it and mentioned it no further.
After a silent moment, he will exhale. ]
I shall return him. [ Well, he was going to do that regardless. ] This I swear.
[ A paltry promise, but what else can he say? He cannot make things better than what they are. He has learned that lesson a long time ago.
And the conversation is distinctly uncomfortable, now, which is his cue to depart. He will give her a parting nod and turn to leave through the door he used to come in, the dried petal clasped protectively against his chest. ]
[With his fragile little token in hand, Cardan will find that when he passes back through the doctor’s office door, he is greeted once again by the familiar sight of his and Liem’s bedroom. This time, the man lurking within is another figment of himself, sitting in the bed as though just about to rise; the presence of the dried petal clasped to Cardan’s chest does not stop this new double from fading away just like the others before, a look of frustrated annoyance on his face.
The wall full of airy windows is an ever-present reminder of the room’s unreality, but most other aspects of the space are as they should be. The four-poster bed dominates the center of the room; the fireplace with its delicate metal screen sits well-stocked, though unlit; carpets pad the floor and shelves line the walls. And sitting in one corner of the spacious room, placed on a shelf alongside books and small bits of decor, is a little wooden box in which nestles a pale, fragile crown of thoroughly dried flowers.
Whether left in the box or taken from it, the crown seems little more than a withered memento of a night long past. But true to Doctor Samari’s assertion, it will not be long after the wreath comes into Cardan’s possession before a door clicks open and Liem hurries through it, his eyes darting warily at the steady grey of the windows before they fall on Cardan.
And slide away again as Liem creeps further into the room to look around, as though by refusing to look at Cardan, he can pretend there is no one else here.]
[ This time, Cardan meets his dream-self's frustration with smug superiority. It is an impostor; he is satisfied that it knows its place.
(And also, he doubts any of his tricks would work on a facsimile of himself, so it's good that he doesn't have to try and use them.)
...Locating the small box is surprisingly simple, though he is still startled at the swiftness with which the doctor's prediction comes true. He has only just taken it down to look at the dried crown when the door opens again and Liem hurries in.
It almost seems too easy. The wave of relief is so powerful it nearly hurts. It is only slightly dulled by the lack of overt recognition Liem gives him -- before Cardan remembers that, of course, his dream twin had occupied this room just prior. He frowns, drops his petal into the box and shuts it, so that he can tuck the whole thing safely under his arm.
Then he'll clear his throat, to get the roughness out of it, and move towards Liem. ]
Husband. [ What? What can he say? ]
...I must say, I thought the me in your dreams would wear fewer clothes.
[The sound of Cardan clearing his throat grips Liem with tension, no less sudden for all that he had anticipated this moment. Of course the Cardan waiting in this room has something to say to him; they all have. The knowledge only makes him more eager to scuttle back out of the room and continue his search somewhere else.
When he had first found Cardan in this maze, his worry had been eclipsed by relief that he wasn’t alone after all—that Cardan had joined him somehow, in the depths of his dream. But that relief had since been thoroughly extinguished, to be replaced with a gnawing anxiety that he cannot entirely dispel even though he knows this prison must be designed to unsettle him.
He does not stop when Cardan moves toward him, continuing through the room with his eyes flicking futilely about for some clue to his escape—though he cannot prevent himself from glancing at him again when he speaks. His weakness is that he can never ignore Cardan entirely, even when he knows that the man inhabiting this room is not real.]
Why? [he asks warily. Somehow, the observation must be the prelude to something hurtful.] Do you feel like I only pay attention to you when you’re out of them?
[It’s stupid to invite his own torment like this. It’s stupid, but he can’t stop himself from prodding at the wounds, just to see if they still hurt. Maybe eventually he’ll stop coming up with ways to torture himself. Maybe eventually he’ll get used to it, and it will just feel numb.]
[ Liem’s reply gives him pause; he had, somehow, not expected his husband to continue thinking of him as part of the dream. Surely his referencing it as a dream would make it obvious he wasn’t a part of the landscape? But perhaps the figments are self-aware, too; the doctor certainly had been.
He feels his brows start drawing into a frown and forces himself to smooth out his expression, instead. ]
Because, [ he starts, slowly, ] at least one of us is usually naked in mine.
[ Not that he dreams very often. And some of those are, he thinks, dreams borne of anxiety — ones where he shows up to a party to find he’s forgotten his trousers. But nonetheless.
He’s close enough to touch, now. He hadn’t touched anyone else here — it occurs to him — not even the doctor, letting her drop the petal into his palm instead. For a sudden, anxious moment, he wonders if his palm will simply pass through Liem’s shoulder instead of resting atop it. But it’s too late to take it back, and he wouldn’t, anyway. ]
[That Cardan takes no obvious swing at him, despite him opening himself for potential criticism, leaves Liem uneasy. He feels uneasy about the comfort he wants to draw from his husband’s presence, and about the yearning he still has for Cardan’s closeness, even though he has already determined that the dream means to deny him any of the things it might make him wish for. He doesn’t want to think of how the dream might torment him if he lets Cardan touch him in it.
The hand on his shoulder is warm. The thought floats through his mind in the brief moment before he shrugs it off and turns to face Cardan fully, misliking the vulnerable feeling that having Cardan at his back stirs. Tension still bleeds into his voice when he speaks again, but he has no need to pretend at calm collectedness for a figment of his own mind.]
This isn’t that kind of dream.
[Truly looking at Cardan for the first time, Liem notices that despite the familiar setting of their bedroom, his husband is dressed as he had been in Faerie, before sleep had claimed him. How long ago now had that been? Hours? Days? He cannot begin to guess, and the uncertainty only brings further fears out of hiding, so he banishes the thought entirely. Whether or not Cardan can find a way to wake him, he will endeavour to escape his sleep by himself. This resolution is the only calming thought he has to fall back on, and he clings tightly to it.]
I can’t linger here. I have to get out.
[He has to get out because Cardan is depending on him. Because he made promises to him. And he needs to get out because he cannot stand to remain in this place for a single moment longer than he must.]
[ He’s solid. That, too, is a relief, even if Cardan finds himself immediately rebuffed.
It shouldn’t sting that Liem shrugs him off — it shouldn’t, and it largely doesn’t. No, the real danger, Cardan is rapidly realizing, is that his husband truly does not think he is real, and that said belief is making him less careful than usual. And why shouldn’t it? After all, for all he knows, the Cardan before him is but a product of his own tortured dreaming, not a living, breathing man who will remember every bit of their conversation.
It’s so terribly seductive. Even if he told Liem — as he has been trying to, albeit obliquely — his husband may very well think him a liar; he doubts his dream selves are compelled to tell the truth. And if he doesn’t try terribly hard to convince him, what secrets might Liem reveal? What might he show Cardan that he normally wouldn’t?
It’s wretched, it’s terrible, and Cardan cannot help wanting it anyway.
For a moment, he is very still, only looking: at the tense, unhappy slant of Liem’s shoulders, the guarded slant of his mouth. Cardan’s nostrils flare; under the fall of his long coat, his tail is restless.
Finally, he says: ]
You wreak such calamity upon my wicked impulses.
[ Testament to this: the fact he doesn’t simply drop the box, but shoves it hastily upon a nearby couch. He must divest of it, for the moment, because he needs both hands — how else is he to cup both of Liem’s chilly cheeks? And this he must also do, surely, because his husband is weak to such gestures, because this way he may be too startled to duck away before Cardan can lean close to kiss him, relieved and frustrated and longing all at once.
This might not make Liem believe him, either. But it will make Cardan feel a little better, and prevent him from calling his husband an idiot to his face. ]
[Liem understands nothing about what is happening now: not the mismatch of the room and the box and Cardan’s attire, not the lament his husband voices, and not the frustrated longing in the kiss that he cannot quite pull away from. The feeling that he is missing something important should bother him—but as ever, Cardan’s hungry kiss distracts his focus and steals his reason. He cannot quite resist the temptation to close his eyes and sink into that kiss for a fleeting moment, indulging in the comfort of tender hands cradling his face and soft lips on his own.
It feels so much like comfort. He would close his eyes against that thought, were they not closed already.]
What am I doing…?
[Now he does pull back, though he cannot bring himself to retreat out of Cardan’s grasp. Liem’s hands, now resting against Cardan’s chest, curl into unhappy fists. What does it say about him, that he is so easily tempted by the promise of Cardan’s affection, even when the real Cardan is waiting for him back in the waking world? He has laid this trap for himself and baited it with the illusion of what he loves best, and even that illusion is sufficient to snare him.
It is just that he has been trying to escape for what feels like days without any hint of progress. It is so hard to convince himself to refuse this brief moment of respite, even if it will inevitably turn around and bite him.]
[ It's gratifying, at least, to be successful in this. He could be standing at the lip of an active volcano, and it would hardly diminish his enthusiasm for kissing Liem -- maybe even the opposite. If there is one last thing Cardan wants to be doing when his eternal life ends, it would be this.
He is, therefore, a little calmer when Liem pulls away. Though not by much. His stare bores into Liem's pale, unhappy face, and the sigh that escapes him is exasperated.
Even if Liem had wanted to retreat, Cardan would not have let him do so willingly. As is, he only leans his brow against his husband's, not bothering to be particularly gentle about the impact. ]
I am real, you obstinate creature. Would your shitty illusions be this rude to you?
[ ...well, they might. He's only guessing based on the haughty stares and languid reclines as they faded away. ]
[The muted clonk of Cardan’s brow impacting his own startles Liem more than anything else in this dream yet has. His eyes again find Cardan’s face, sweeping over familiar features that are handsome even when alive with irritation. Yes, of course the versions of Cardan he meets in his dream would be rude to him—but so might his actual husband, if he found Liem in his dream, only for Liem to treat him like an empty figment. And, although the people Liem has spoken to in his dream have often seemed aware of the false nature of this maze, none of them have yet tried to convince him that they themselves are real.
Until now, that is. If this is faerie trickery, it doesn't fit the pattern Liem has come to expect. However…]
Cardan…! You can’t be here, [he insists. Treacherous hope wars against stubborn, unyielding suspicion as his fingers seize hard on the fabric of Cardan’s jacket.] If you are here… then who is going to wake me up?
[Even though he has been searching for a way out all this time as a way to keep himself sane, the idea that Cardan might be trapped in sleep just like him makes dread lurch in his gut. He hadn’t realized how much he’d been trusting in Cardan to fix things if he couldn’t find a way out. He hadn’t let himself acknowledge how much he’d been relying on it. If Cardan is just as trapped as he, how are either of them meant to escape?]
[ He can't help it; he grins, unfairly pleased with himself, at Liem's acknowledgment -- pleased, and relieved. His hands slide away from Liem's face, smoothing down his shoulders instead before Cardan wraps his arms around him altogether, pulling him insistently against his own body. Perhaps he should be worried, but he cannot bring himself to be just yet.
And the death grip Liem has on his jacket suggests that his husband could use an embrace. ]
Not for much longer, [ he promises, perfectly confident in the matter. ] I am here to break you out, husband.
[ He doesn't know how, not yet. Still, now that he's found Liem, nothing seems particularly insurmountable. ]
[It is the tight embrace Cardan pulls him into that causes the seed of doubt in Liem to finally take root. Although he had insisted to himself that the man before him couldn’t possibly be real, he had expected the truth to reveal itself cruelly, in the form of some sly comment delivered in a moment of hesitation. Cardan’s actions now have no place in this dream that seemed designed for torment, and Liem cannot make himself refuse the comfort he offers based only on blind paranoia.
Besides, he is always greedy to have Cardan’s pleased grin turned his way. Letting his husband fold him into an embrace, Liem rests his head against Cardan’s shoulder and inhales his familiar scent, unreasonably relieved to find that he smells just as he should. In this place where nothing has been as it should for the entire time he’s been here, that alone is a comfort.]
You know how we can escape?
[He cannot help the tiny bit of hope that sneaks into his voice when he asks. After all, if Cardan came here on purpose, he must have a plan. It would be incredibly foolish to just join Liem in what is obviously a prison of some kind without any idea of how to get out again. Cardan might be willing to do foolish things at times, but surely he wouldn’t be so hasty in this instance, at such unnecessary risk.]
[ He is well gratified by having Liem, solid and hale, back in his arms. For a moment, he only enjoys this, ignoring the vulnerable note in his husband’s voice when he asks his question — just as he ignored the way Liem had clearly expected Cardan to find a way to wake him from without. It cannot matter. Now that he’s inside the dream, the time for self-doubt has long passed.
And so he doesn’t let it creep into his tone when he speaks, as calm and collected as if they were discussing the weather. ]
This dream [ so Sorrel implied ] is of your own making, but the enchantment trapping you is not. You said you had told someone you were seeking rest. She bid sleep to find you, and that your search should be uninterrupted. Is that it? Did she do anything else?
[The answer Cardan gives him is not the kind of unambiguous confirmation he would have liked to receive. Despite the calm of his tone, Liem notes immediately that he hasn’t actually answered the question. From Cardan, who cannot lie, that kind of avoidance strikes him as conspicuous.
He finds himself even more grateful now for the comforting warmth of Cardan’s embrace. Even if everything else remains uncertain, at least his lover has come to find him and hold him close. That may have been foolish, but Liem would be twice the fool to scorn his touch now that he has it.]
I don’t think so, [he says slowly. Was there something important about that interaction that he’d missed? Could the clue they need to escape be something he’d overlooked entirely?] We parted ways after that. Nothing else about the interaction struck me as noteworthy.
Hm. [ He has to admit that he had hoped the answer would be more obvious by now, blind optimism as that had been. No matter; they don’t seem to be in imminent danger, and the dream has, so far, proved somewhat malleable. They’ll just have to try things until something gives.
Cardan’s hand comes up to stroke Liem’s hair, idly, as he thinks. It’s as soft as he remembers; the scent of Liem’s shampoo reminds him of every day he’s spent wrapped around his husband, breathing him in as he drifted off.
No dream nor curse will take that pleasure from him. In this, he is resolute. ]
What happened once you entered the dream?
[ He has some idea, given what happened to him — domineering fathers, irritated seneschals, scornful servants, and the like. Presumably it had been worse for Liem, who cared about those things. ]
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This time, he does swear. And then he says Liem's name, and shakes him, and swears again, louder, even though he already knows all of it will be futile. Liem's eerie, corpse-like stillness had become mundane and familiar in the months since their wedding, but right now -- when he is so limp and cool in Cardan's arms -- he cannot help but find it disquieting all over again.
My kind do not linger in the flesh upon death, Liem had told him, and he clings to the thought like a lifeline. If Liem were dead, Cardan would not be holding him like this. And so: he must be merely asleep. And those asleep can be woken.
But when he kisses his husband's cold lips, he can taste no poison save for his own darkening despair. He's never been particularly adept at magic, does not know how to break curses nor enchanted sleep. And yet, and yet-- Liem needs him. Liem has waited to tell him of his affliction, unfairly confident about Cardan's ability to remedy such.
Cardan cannot stand the thought of betraying him.
-----
What if we... sent someone into the dream? asks Benjamin Evans. He flushes defensively when everyone turns toward him. Well, Sorrel has sleep magic, doesn't she? Maybe it's worth a try.
I guess that would definitely interrupt something, muses his sister. Unlike Ben, she had only been summoned to Severin's private rooms after Cardan had burst in, Liem's unmoving form in his arms. He had been wearing his most imperious face and hoping it would cover up his terror. Judging by the sympathetic looks he's getting from the siblings, he suspects it hasn't.
Sister? asks Severin, looking at the sixth room occupant -- a giant tree woman, who is at once disturbingly human and entirely, overwhelmingly a tree. When she had first been admitted to the rooms, she had spent some time examining Liem, poking his chest with her bony branch fingers, looking at his hands, his face, rolling up his sleeves to touch his wrists. When she answers her brother, it is with a voice like wind whispering through leaves.
Gone, but still here. Gone, but alive. Lost in a deep wood of his own making.
But will it work? presses Severin. The tree woman considers this.
That is up to the seeker and sought.
Maybe we should send a few people, in case it's dangerous? proposes Sir Hazel. Her hand clasps the hilt of her sword. I can go.
This, finally, shakes Cardan out of his stupor. He can feel his anxiety churning, and on its heels his impatience. He cannot shake that blank look in Liem's eyes as the consciousness faded from them. He cannot fathom the fact everyone is talking like the worst thing in the world hasn't just happened.
He rises from his seat. ]
I shall go. Alone. And as soon as possible.
[ He can tell from the expression on the Alderking's face that he's about to protest. Presumably, it would be inconvenient if not one, but two heirs of different noble houses fell into eternal slumber while visiting his court.
Cardan cares not. He turns to Severin's sister, meeting her black eyes with his own. ]
Lady Sorrel. Can you send me there now?
[ After a moment, she nods her head, rustling her crown of leaves. ]
Then let it be done.
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But in Liem’s dreams, peace is nowhere to be found.
The dream Cardan infiltrates is set in a place that seems much like the Talbott manor, wearing its architecture and its furnishings—but the layout has no logic that could belong to reality. Doors open into room after room, eschewing corridor or stair in favour of an endless maze constructed only of parlours and dining halls, studies and washrooms and sleeping quarters, dance halls, music rooms, on and on with no order or organization. Even a door shut directly behind might lead to a new room if opened again, or even disappear entirely, leaving no way but forward.
Well, either that, or outside. Regardless of size or function, every single room in the maze sports tall, beautiful windows like those that look out from the Talbott manor’s grandest entertaining spaces, filling an entire wall with a gloomy predawn landscape that ever threatens to soften into sunrise. Escape by that route promises to be short-lived.
And in each room, an occupant: Iago looking up from his desk with a patronizing smile, asking if he enjoyed his time away. Doctor Samari, stethoscope draped around her neck, accusing him with her stare as she demands to know how he could be so careless. Gusairne tutting as he scribbles something in a notebook, muttering exasperatedly that he’ll inform the Lord Master of the change in schedule. Iago again, standing in Liem’s bedroom and thrusting forward a dazed looking human, steel in his voice as he says You’ll drink until I tell you to stop.
But whenever Cardan crosses paths with himself—lounging in bed, perched on Liem’s desk, standing scornfully with wineglass in hand—the facsimile takes one look at him and simply fades away, denying him both the truths and lies they might tell.]
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Somehow, he had thought he would find Liem much faster.
He frowns at the first Iago, glowers at the doctor, and politely invites Gusairne to walk directly into the burgeoning sunrise. But it's not until a few rooms after that, when Iago offers him the limp mortal, that he feels the first discordant tilt in the dream's narrative. All the other reprimands had made some sense; this one does not. Unless...
Well, of course. It is Liem's dream. They are not expecting Cardan.
Which makes his own refusal to engage with himself a little strange. Perhaps it is only the dream fading out, unable to deal with the impossibility of two of him. Still, he cannot help feeling a touch of discomfort there, too.
More importantly, it means that Liem must be in the house, doing the same thing Cardan is. Disquietingly, his wedding ring is not reliably supportive of this theory: he has no clear sense of Liem's proximity, despite feeling the magic's familiar warmth pulse gently against his skin.
Well, if he cannot find Liem, then he will find the next most reliable person: Doctor Samari, whose reprimands feel almost comfortingly familiar. This time, however, Cardan will not simply breeze past her on his way to the next room. Instead, he elects to loom over her and ask, far more pleasantly than is warranted, ]
Where am I?
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This is a piece of home, answers the doctor sternly, and it needs your attention.
As ever, she appears uncowed by Cardan’s looming, her sharp stare somehow contriving to be both assessing and patient, as though she has discerned some problem he is hiding and is waiting for him to admit to it. But is it Cardan she is judging, or the man whose dream this is?
Again, she speaks. Your absence endangers those who depend upon you for safety. You cannot continue to leave, and expect us all to be here when you return.]
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Well. Except, he supposes, she's not speaking to him. Her admonishment only confirms it, because no one has ever been stupid enough to depend on Cardan for their safety. Still, the suggestion that it's Liem's responsibility to never leave rankles him -- as if it wasn't his safety that his husband is prioritizing. As if Cardan isn't the reason he's left his staff behind.
Cardan's mouth thins considerably. He doesn't say the first thing he thinks, which is, You don't own him. Still, he cannot quite suppress his sneer. ]
And yet here you are, unhelpfully full of lectures. Are you going to be useful or not?
[ ...well, she did answer his question. Technically. He's just not inclined to be charitable about it. ]
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You sound like your lord father.
Like Iago, she means. A man known for valuing what is useful, and scorning what is not.
How deep does the similarity run? If you are not careful, you may find your protection is no kind of safety at all.
Finally she turns away, her attention going to the little jars and vials and fine instruments that are the tools of her trade. She begins to sort through them, noting what she’s running low on in a cramped scrawl.
My use has always been to ensure the wellness of the people in my master’s house. Nothing more, and nothing less. But the one with the power to steward that wellness has never really been me. I am only human, after all.]
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Perversely, he is torn between the desire to put her in her place and the strange need to represent Liem better than he ostensibly has. The latter instinct is, of course, absurd; she is a figment, not a person. There is no reason to care about anything she might think.
Except that he needs her help. He needs her to tell him where his husband is. ]
Excuses, [ he retorts, deliberately mild. He will not let a figment of Liem's dreaming make him defensive. ] The real you is hardly so feeble.
[ Certainly, the real her isn't so passive, either. For some reason, this makes Cardan a little insulted on her behalf, in addition to everything else.
Still, this is getting him nowhere. He doesn't know how truly human she might be -- but she thinks she is, and that might be enough. ]
There is a Liem Talbott here, and he is not me.
[ He doesn't like doing it to the mortals he knows. Nonetheless, on the next sentence his voice will change, will grow heavy and sweet with glamour. ]
You will show me how to find him.
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Now she rises from her desk, but rather than step away from it, the doctor spends some moments rifling through it, sifting through drawers filled with clutter that has no place in her office: teacups and tableware, finely embroidered handkerchiefs, pens from Liem’s desk, one of Cardan’s squirrelled-away bottles of oil, an unmelting snowball and rings heavy with gems. After some searching, she withdraws a single purple rose petal, dried out and faded, and offers it to him.
Find his crown, young prince, and you will be reunited. This token will help you find the right door.]
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For a moment, confusion reigns him; unlike himself, Liem has never been known to wear a crown. Then he recalls it: the floral wreath he'd presented to his husband on his birthnight, half a year past. Hellebores for triumph over slander, winterberries for protection, mistletoe for perseverence. And, on a whim, the roses that he had then thought merely romantic, blind as he was to the intensity of his own feelings.
Where had the crown ended up? Had Liem kept it, preserved in its box somewhere? He cannot recall.
He closes his fingers over the fragile petal, carefully, like he's caging a live insect. Then he looks at the mortal before him. Even here, in this dreamscape, she looks too real for him not to feel a pang of guilt. ]
Do the servants suffer worse? [ he asks, before he can think better of it. ] When he is gone away.
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His search will probably be brief enough with his little token, even if he doesn’t recall what became of his husband’s crown after that night. Most importantly, the petal will allow him to cut through the hostile chaos of the labyrinth and find his way to the room where the object lies. At that point, finding the wreath itself is up to him—but how hidden could it be?
Still, far be it from the doctor to deny Cardan the chance to linger here instead, dwelling on uncomfortable topics. The dream wants what it wants.
It is not uncommon for… accidents to occur during time the young lord spends away from home, she answers. Especially if his absence was not at Duke Talbott’s behest. You well know the guests who visit this estate are often vicious in their appetites, and the Duke is fond of indulgence.]
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After a silent moment, he will exhale. ]
I shall return him. [ Well, he was going to do that regardless. ] This I swear.
[ A paltry promise, but what else can he say? He cannot make things better than what they are. He has learned that lesson a long time ago.
And the conversation is distinctly uncomfortable, now, which is his cue to depart. He will give her a parting nod and turn to leave through the door he used to come in, the dried petal clasped protectively against his chest. ]
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The wall full of airy windows is an ever-present reminder of the room’s unreality, but most other aspects of the space are as they should be. The four-poster bed dominates the center of the room; the fireplace with its delicate metal screen sits well-stocked, though unlit; carpets pad the floor and shelves line the walls. And sitting in one corner of the spacious room, placed on a shelf alongside books and small bits of decor, is a little wooden box in which nestles a pale, fragile crown of thoroughly dried flowers.
Whether left in the box or taken from it, the crown seems little more than a withered memento of a night long past. But true to Doctor Samari’s assertion, it will not be long after the wreath comes into Cardan’s possession before a door clicks open and Liem hurries through it, his eyes darting warily at the steady grey of the windows before they fall on Cardan.
And slide away again as Liem creeps further into the room to look around, as though by refusing to look at Cardan, he can pretend there is no one else here.]
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(And also, he doubts any of his tricks would work on a facsimile of himself, so it's good that he doesn't have to try and use them.)
...Locating the small box is surprisingly simple, though he is still startled at the swiftness with which the doctor's prediction comes true. He has only just taken it down to look at the dried crown when the door opens again and Liem hurries in.
It almost seems too easy. The wave of relief is so powerful it nearly hurts. It is only slightly dulled by the lack of overt recognition Liem gives him -- before Cardan remembers that, of course, his dream twin had occupied this room just prior. He frowns, drops his petal into the box and shuts it, so that he can tuck the whole thing safely under his arm.
Then he'll clear his throat, to get the roughness out of it, and move towards Liem. ]
Husband. [ What? What can he say? ]
...I must say, I thought the me in your dreams would wear fewer clothes.
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When he had first found Cardan in this maze, his worry had been eclipsed by relief that he wasn’t alone after all—that Cardan had joined him somehow, in the depths of his dream. But that relief had since been thoroughly extinguished, to be replaced with a gnawing anxiety that he cannot entirely dispel even though he knows this prison must be designed to unsettle him.
He does not stop when Cardan moves toward him, continuing through the room with his eyes flicking futilely about for some clue to his escape—though he cannot prevent himself from glancing at him again when he speaks. His weakness is that he can never ignore Cardan entirely, even when he knows that the man inhabiting this room is not real.]
Why? [he asks warily. Somehow, the observation must be the prelude to something hurtful.] Do you feel like I only pay attention to you when you’re out of them?
[It’s stupid to invite his own torment like this. It’s stupid, but he can’t stop himself from prodding at the wounds, just to see if they still hurt. Maybe eventually he’ll stop coming up with ways to torture himself. Maybe eventually he’ll get used to it, and it will just feel numb.]
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He feels his brows start drawing into a frown and forces himself to smooth out his expression, instead. ]
Because, [ he starts, slowly, ] at least one of us is usually naked in mine.
[ Not that he dreams very often. And some of those are, he thinks, dreams borne of anxiety — ones where he shows up to a party to find he’s forgotten his trousers. But nonetheless.
He’s close enough to touch, now. He hadn’t touched anyone else here — it occurs to him — not even the doctor, letting her drop the petal into his palm instead. For a sudden, anxious moment, he wonders if his palm will simply pass through Liem’s shoulder instead of resting atop it. But it’s too late to take it back, and he wouldn’t, anyway. ]
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The hand on his shoulder is warm. The thought floats through his mind in the brief moment before he shrugs it off and turns to face Cardan fully, misliking the vulnerable feeling that having Cardan at his back stirs. Tension still bleeds into his voice when he speaks again, but he has no need to pretend at calm collectedness for a figment of his own mind.]
This isn’t that kind of dream.
[Truly looking at Cardan for the first time, Liem notices that despite the familiar setting of their bedroom, his husband is dressed as he had been in Faerie, before sleep had claimed him. How long ago now had that been? Hours? Days? He cannot begin to guess, and the uncertainty only brings further fears out of hiding, so he banishes the thought entirely. Whether or not Cardan can find a way to wake him, he will endeavour to escape his sleep by himself. This resolution is the only calming thought he has to fall back on, and he clings tightly to it.]
I can’t linger here. I have to get out.
[He has to get out because Cardan is depending on him. Because he made promises to him. And he needs to get out because he cannot stand to remain in this place for a single moment longer than he must.]
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It shouldn’t sting that Liem shrugs him off — it shouldn’t, and it largely doesn’t. No, the real danger, Cardan is rapidly realizing, is that his husband truly does not think he is real, and that said belief is making him less careful than usual. And why shouldn’t it? After all, for all he knows, the Cardan before him is but a product of his own tortured dreaming, not a living, breathing man who will remember every bit of their conversation.
It’s so terribly seductive. Even if he told Liem — as he has been trying to, albeit obliquely — his husband may very well think him a liar; he doubts his dream selves are compelled to tell the truth. And if he doesn’t try terribly hard to convince him, what secrets might Liem reveal? What might he show Cardan that he normally wouldn’t?
It’s wretched, it’s terrible, and Cardan cannot help wanting it anyway.
For a moment, he is very still, only looking: at the tense, unhappy slant of Liem’s shoulders, the guarded slant of his mouth. Cardan’s nostrils flare; under the fall of his long coat, his tail is restless.
Finally, he says: ]
You wreak such calamity upon my wicked impulses.
[ Testament to this: the fact he doesn’t simply drop the box, but shoves it hastily upon a nearby couch. He must divest of it, for the moment, because he needs both hands — how else is he to cup both of Liem’s chilly cheeks? And this he must also do, surely, because his husband is weak to such gestures, because this way he may be too startled to duck away before Cardan can lean close to kiss him, relieved and frustrated and longing all at once.
This might not make Liem believe him, either. But it will make Cardan feel a little better, and prevent him from calling his husband an idiot to his face. ]
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It feels so much like comfort. He would close his eyes against that thought, were they not closed already.]
What am I doing…?
[Now he does pull back, though he cannot bring himself to retreat out of Cardan’s grasp. Liem’s hands, now resting against Cardan’s chest, curl into unhappy fists. What does it say about him, that he is so easily tempted by the promise of Cardan’s affection, even when the real Cardan is waiting for him back in the waking world? He has laid this trap for himself and baited it with the illusion of what he loves best, and even that illusion is sufficient to snare him.
It is just that he has been trying to escape for what feels like days without any hint of progress. It is so hard to convince himself to refuse this brief moment of respite, even if it will inevitably turn around and bite him.]
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He is, therefore, a little calmer when Liem pulls away. Though not by much. His stare bores into Liem's pale, unhappy face, and the sigh that escapes him is exasperated.
Even if Liem had wanted to retreat, Cardan would not have let him do so willingly. As is, he only leans his brow against his husband's, not bothering to be particularly gentle about the impact. ]
I am real, you obstinate creature. Would your shitty illusions be this rude to you?
[ ...well, they might. He's only guessing based on the haughty stares and languid reclines as they faded away. ]
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Until now, that is. If this is faerie trickery, it doesn't fit the pattern Liem has come to expect. However…]
Cardan…! You can’t be here, [he insists. Treacherous hope wars against stubborn, unyielding suspicion as his fingers seize hard on the fabric of Cardan’s jacket.] If you are here… then who is going to wake me up?
[Even though he has been searching for a way out all this time as a way to keep himself sane, the idea that Cardan might be trapped in sleep just like him makes dread lurch in his gut. He hadn’t realized how much he’d been trusting in Cardan to fix things if he couldn’t find a way out. He hadn’t let himself acknowledge how much he’d been relying on it. If Cardan is just as trapped as he, how are either of them meant to escape?]
This place is a prison…
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And the death grip Liem has on his jacket suggests that his husband could use an embrace. ]
Not for much longer, [ he promises, perfectly confident in the matter. ] I am here to break you out, husband.
[ He doesn't know how, not yet. Still, now that he's found Liem, nothing seems particularly insurmountable. ]
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Besides, he is always greedy to have Cardan’s pleased grin turned his way. Letting his husband fold him into an embrace, Liem rests his head against Cardan’s shoulder and inhales his familiar scent, unreasonably relieved to find that he smells just as he should. In this place where nothing has been as it should for the entire time he’s been here, that alone is a comfort.]
You know how we can escape?
[He cannot help the tiny bit of hope that sneaks into his voice when he asks. After all, if Cardan came here on purpose, he must have a plan. It would be incredibly foolish to just join Liem in what is obviously a prison of some kind without any idea of how to get out again. Cardan might be willing to do foolish things at times, but surely he wouldn’t be so hasty in this instance, at such unnecessary risk.]
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And so he doesn’t let it creep into his tone when he speaks, as calm and collected as if they were discussing the weather. ]
This dream [ so Sorrel implied ] is of your own making, but the enchantment trapping you is not. You said you had told someone you were seeking rest. She bid sleep to find you, and that your search should be uninterrupted. Is that it? Did she do anything else?
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He finds himself even more grateful now for the comforting warmth of Cardan’s embrace. Even if everything else remains uncertain, at least his lover has come to find him and hold him close. That may have been foolish, but Liem would be twice the fool to scorn his touch now that he has it.]
I don’t think so, [he says slowly. Was there something important about that interaction that he’d missed? Could the clue they need to escape be something he’d overlooked entirely?] We parted ways after that. Nothing else about the interaction struck me as noteworthy.
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Cardan’s hand comes up to stroke Liem’s hair, idly, as he thinks. It’s as soft as he remembers; the scent of Liem’s shampoo reminds him of every day he’s spent wrapped around his husband, breathing him in as he drifted off.
No dream nor curse will take that pleasure from him. In this, he is resolute. ]
What happened once you entered the dream?
[ He has some idea, given what happened to him — domineering fathers, irritated seneschals, scornful servants, and the like. Presumably it had been worse for Liem, who cared about those things. ]
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