[ From the very first time he met Gusairne, Cardan has found the man appalling. He has reminded him of every servant who had pinched him when his mother wasn't looking -- which was most of the time -- of every impertinent courtier who'd ever snickered at his bare feet and threadbare clothing. And alongside this, he remembered the lessons ingrained in him from infancy: You are the High King's son. You will not tolerate disrespect; punish it viciously and painfully. Make others watch, so that they may learn.
Only, he had been new in the Talbotts' household, and unsure of his footing... and unwilling to overplay his hand, lest the master of this house also turned out to be fucking his seneschal.
But he is in no one's household now. Although, he doesn't mind it when Gusairne gets testy; all of this would be a little useless if he hadn't.
When he backhands Gusairne, it is almost perfunctory. Cardan doesn't even bother hitting him hard -- just enough to make a sound. After all, what would be the point? He's not trying to hurt Gusairne physically. That would take more effort than he's worth, and he wants to spare his knuckles.
The look he levels at the seneschal is cold and a little bored, like he's a chore to be crossed off a list. ]
His Grace has been far too lenient with you. Pay attention.
[ For a brief moment, when Cardan smacks the sour look off Gusairne’s face, the seneschal looks completely blank with shock. He’s not the only one; Liem stares too, startled by the abrupt interruption of Gusairne’s criticism of him. For some reason, though the seneschal’s face was the one that was struck, Liem feels his own grow a little warm.
But Gusairne transitions quickly from stunned shock to outrage.
How dare you! he sputters. One pale hand flies to his cheek in apparent disbelief of what just occurred. As he fumes, the sense of tension that has been hanging over Liem during this entire dream grows a little heavier, for no immediately clear reason. Does the light seem a little different, perhaps? Has the sky grown just a touch brighter?
Wary, Liem shifts closer to his husband. If he must make a quick exit, he cannot leave Cardan behind.]
Cardan… [Liem reaches for his hand, for the moment completely ignoring the offended vampire.] What are you doing?
[Whatever it is, it is making the sky blush and line the distant trees with gold—and Liem does not like that one bit.]
[ It is a little pathetic, how good it feels to finally wipe the smugness off the seneschal’s face. For a perfect, crystalline moment, Cardan basks in his own success.
Then, as usual, things go awry.
At Liem’s prompt, he will glance at the window, narrowing his eyes against the spike of apprehension. The cresting of dawn feels like a threat — and an admittedly powerful one. He cannot risk Liem, no matter how willing he might have been to risk himself. ]
I don’t think it liked that, [ he murmurs, mildly. And yet… and yet. He cannot shake the thought that a dog bares its teeth when imperiled. Surely, the dream must be fighting them for a reason.
His grip on Liem’s hand is tight — but his gaze focuses once more on the seneschal, and his other hand reaches out to fist in the man’s starched collar, yanking him unpleasantly close to Cardan’s face. ]
If you know aught, vermin, now is the time to speak, [ he hisses, no longer bothering to be particularly cool about it. Better Gusairne read the hatred in his eyes and recognize that he is serious. ] Do not think I am above dragging you out to watch you burn.
[ Gusairne is not real. It wouldn’t be murder. And he’s certain that part of him would find it viscerally satisfying.
Of course, he cannot leave Liem behind, but that’s not the point. ]
[Even in the realm of a dream, it takes considerable nerve for Liem to continue standing at Cardan’s side as the sun inches over the horizon, the golden glow in clear view through the broad windows. His grip on Cardan’s hand threatens to become bruising if he holds it any tighter—but he does not pull away, nor object as Cardan’s other hand fists in Gusairne’s collar.
Another petty indulgence. How like you, the seneschal sneers. His hand falls back to his side, and he remains unresisting in Cardan’s grasp, as though daring him to prove him right by dragging him outside just to indulge his anger.
It is more disrespectful than Liem has ever heard Gusairne be with Cardan, but he is too preoccupied to give the exchange his full attention, and continues to stare warily at the steadily creeping encroachment of dawn.
And how like you to demand of others, elf prince, when what you require has always been within you.]
[ For a brief moment, Cardan only stares hard at Gusairne’s sour face, his thoughts racing the golden light on the horizon. Within him? Something he must give of himself, then — or, perhaps, something he must do.
Regardless, it confirms the one thing he had most hoped for: he already has it, whatever it is. He can break the enchantment. For now, that is enough. His lips quirk; he will tip forward just enough for his breath to hit Gusairne’s pale ear when he whispers, ] Thank you, Gul Gusairne.
[ Then he discards the seneschal’s collar like one would an uncomfortably wet tissue, turning to face his husband, whose iron grip filters through only a little late. Cardan swallows down a wince, lifting Liem’s cool fingers to his lips, instead. ]
Let us go, husband.
[ Preferably to a room with a nice, big wardrobe, wherein he could shove Liem if absolutely necessary. ]
[The room to which Liem drags his husband, leaving the sour-faced Gusairne behind, is sadly barren of wardrobes—though not for lack of space. Of all the rooms they have yet visited, only this one looks remotely close to how it should: the giant windows looking out over the estate have always been one of the banquet hall’s pleasing features, though the view out those windows was always meant to be of a land draped in silver and shadows. By the time the sun began to peep over the horizon, the room would be long-abandoned for smaller, more private venues.
Not so on this occasion. The banquet hall is set up for a party that appears to be in full swing, vampires in rare jewels and expensive fabrics dancing, eating, drinking, and gossiping all over the well-attired space. Some of them immediately sight Liem and hail him to exchange pleasantries, but Liem, still preoccupied by the watery gold light filtering over the line of trees on the horizon, makes for the nearest banquet table, deeming it large enough to hide behind in case of an emergency.]
Did you learn what you hoped from Gusairne? [Liem asks. What he’d really like to ask is What do we do now?, but that sounds a bit too pathetic to voice aloud, even if it is what he’s thinking. He does not feel any closer to figuring out how to escape this place than he had been before, and the sun’s recent energy is making him think that his intended stay here may not be as endless as he had initially supposed.]
[ Cardan makes a face at the hustle and bustle of the party; he was hoping for a quieter space, one where they could think. Though, he supposes, this is still better than a room occupied by Iago or another Gusairne, and at least the shrieks of ghost vampires should warn them of sunrise well in advance.
He almost reaches to snatch a champagne flute off of a serving tray, before thinking better of it. ]
He was more helpful than he wanted to be. [ Which is enough, or so he hopes. It has to be. ] He said the answer was within me, which means we already have it.
The faerie woman. She did not ask you to drink from her, did she? [ His blood would be a laughably easy answer, but incongruous to the puzzle as presented. Something he can give, or something he must do: he turns the options over in his head. What can he do that Liem cannot? Enjoy the sunlight, of course -- but that is a likewise unpoetic answer. Something to do with rest, something that interrupts Liem's search of it...
[The crowd of vampires does not much reassure Liem about the looming danger of sunrise. Had they been real, they would not be idling so blithely in front of the hall’s giant windows as the sky began to blush with dawn; he cannot trust that any of them will even notice the touch of day, much less be harmed by it, and he has no wish to find out in person how flammable his own dream self is.
But the banquet table feels reassuringly sturdy under his hand, and the tablecloth draped over its bulk is of a thick, quality weave. They will withstand a bit of sunlight, even if he can’t.
And Cardan’s assessment sounds like good news, if only they can figure out how to capitalize on it. Liem frowns, again trying to puzzle out what the answer to their escape might be.]
No, she was just persuading me to stay longer, and revel with some of her companions… though it might have been useful to sample it, I suppose. Perhaps then I would not have succumbed to her magic.
[Though he assumes Cardan’s blood would have a similar warding property, and drinking it regularly has not stopped him from getting cursed. And anyway, how would drinking from him in a dream accomplish anything of merit? At best, he would just end up feeling intoxicated.]
This is the most frustrating dream I have ever had, [he mutters.] It’s like it was designed specifically to thwart me, no matter what I try to get done.
[ Cardan's gaze slides off of Liem to consider the table for a moment. It is pleasingly wide, and on a secluded enough side of the room. It should work, indeed.
Ordinarily, he does not bother throwing up glamour before vampires, who have shown themselves stubbornly resistant. But when he moves his hand idly this time, it will only make festive sparks erupt out of every flower vase in the room -- all except for the ones closest to them. An easy enough trick, and quickly over; after all, he only needs the guests too distracted to notice his crouching down to slip under the table, intent on pulling his husband with him.
They might as well do it now. He wishes for at least a modicum of privacy.
Once in the relative darkness of their improvised shelter, he will fold himself into a cross-legged position. It feels odd, revisiting this scene. The last time he hid under a table, he was yet a small child, and the revel seemed much more turbulent around him. ]
I think we may have failed to consider what it was they were thwarting, exactly.
[Without any warning from his husband, Liem is just as startled by the sudden fireworks as any of the imaginary guests—but he follows Cardan’s lead, and by the time the illusory diversion is over, he has slipped beneath the broad table and is joining his spouse in sitting on the polished marble floor.
It is strange to be hiding beneath dining furniture this way. The sight of his princely husband sitting in the gloom beneath a dining table like a naughty child would be enough to make Liem smile, in circumstances less dire.]
How do you mean?
[Liem keeps his voice low, not wanting one of the party guests to follow the sounds of their conversation to their makeshift hiding place.]
If there was a pattern I noticed, it was only that everyone I’ve met in this place has demanded my attention. I suppose the one thing I have not been granted is a moment’s peace to think things through on my own.
[ He pauses momentarily, and then takes Liem’s other hand in his. His thumbs stroke the backs of Liem’s palms, a little restlessly. ]
I think, [ muses Cardan, slowly, feeling the words out as he says them, ] that you have pissed off someone quite clever, and that I have grown rusty at riddles. [ This should have been obvious far sooner. Far, far sooner. Perhaps if he hadn’t been so panicked — but that’s no excuse. ]
“May sleep find you quickly and your search be uninterrupted.” I thought it meant that I had to interrupt you — your sleep. And I do intend to do this. But in here… [ He makes a sweeping gesture indicating the room, the music, the din of voices, the (presumably) still threatening windows. ] As you say: hardly a shortage of interlopers jostling for your attention.
But you did not tell her you were searching for sleep. Sleep is what found you. What is the thing you are meant to be seeking, then?
[If Cardan has become rusty at riddles, Liem is a tool that was abandoned while still only half-finished. He never received any education on such topics, and while he has been wracking his brains for a clue to their escape, he will admit that the faerie’s curse itself has not been at the forefront of his mind. After all, the meaning seemed straightforward enough: She cursed him with sleep, and he had to find a way to awake from it.]
I have been seeking a way to wake up. I’d been assuming the dream was throwing up roadblocks to make my search more difficult.
[Is Cardan suggesting that’s not what he should be looking for? Liem cannot imagine what else the mystery thing should be. All he wants in the context of this nightmare is to escape, and return to the struggles and pleasures of the waking world. But if he’s cursed to keep searching without end, is his struggling just making the bindings of the enchantment wrap tighter?]
It was foolish of me to scrutinize her words, but neglect to consider yours. What was it you just said? You have not been granted one moment of peace.
[ Because the dream kept throwing problems at him -- and Liem, of course, can never simply ignore such things, not truly.
Is that why it hadn't liked his shutting up Gusairne, even momentarily? Would it intervene again now? He bites his lip, turning the problem over in his head-- but no. He should at least explain his theory to Liem. Surely there is enough time for this. ]
It's rest. You told her you were in search of rest, and she bid that the search be uninterrupted. But an uninterrupted search is an eternal one.
I think, husband, that we need you to take a nap.
[ A thing he can barely get Liem to do in the laziest and most undressed of circumstances, let alone in this chaotic, tense environment. But he cannot think of another interpretation that fits so well. ]
[As soon as Cardan mentions rest, Liem gets the sinking feeling that he may well be completely right. He had told that faerie that he wished to rest, and she had deemed that his search should not be interrupted. It makes perfect sense to him that he might have been cursed to seek even a moment’s respite in a dream meant to eternally deny him that very thing.
The problem being, of course, that the very thing he is being denied may well be his only avenue of escape. Liem frowns intently at his husband, drawing his legs up so he can lean against his bent knees.]
You may well be right, [he allows,] but how is anyone meant to nap in these circumstances? Someone will discover us at any moment.
[And even if they don’t, Liem doubts his ability to find rest while hiding under a table in the midst of one of his father’s parties. What if his father is here somewhere?]
Perhaps we should try finding a better room… one with one of your doubles in it, maybe.
[If Cardan’s presence chases his dream duplicates away, perhaps they could use that to find some privacy. Though that would still mean braving the threat of dawn once more. Liem doesn’t know how many rooms they can make it through before they’ll be forced to take shelter, and he absolutely doesn’t want to end up trapped in his father’s office with him.]
[ His toothy grin implies he's joking -- though, given what he will follow up with, perhaps that's not the case. ]
I used to doze off like this at my father's revels, when I was very small.
[ Under the table was a good place to avoid being trampled and jostled, and he'd learned to let the din lull him into sleep. Here, with his husband, he can almost imagine it being a cozy memory.
Regardless, Liem is right about their discoverability. Cardan doesn't trust the environment to leave them be -- but neither does he love the idea of taking their chances with the party outside, let alone the labyrinth of adjoining rooms. He frowns, releasing Liem's hands to run his fingertips over the wooden underside of the table. ]
Perhaps we could... ward this space.
[ He had never been particularly adept at that kind of magic, granted. But the dream has seemed willing to cede to his whims before; the worst that can happen is he will look very stupid, and someone will indeed discover them. The latter seems inevitable if they attempt to leave, and the former -- well, he's done far worse at parties. ]
[For all that he has no wish to curl up and sleep under a table in the middle of a crowded banquet hall, Liem is still willing enough to let his husband persuade him—if only because none of the alternatives guarantee a better environment in which to make their attempt. Though he can’t imagine himself dozing off in this kind of setting, he would feel quarrelsome and unimaginative for simply rejecting Cardan’s point of view out of hand, for no real reason other than that he feels uneasy about the idea of sleeping here.]
Perhaps I just lack practice, [he suggests, trying to match his husband’s lighthearted demeanour. After all, it always takes him a few nights to settle into sleeping in unfamiliar places. Clearly he just needs more experience with sleeping under tables.]
If you think that might work, I suppose we should make the attempt. We may not get a better opportunity than this.
[He lifts one idle hand to adjust the sit of the wreath on his head, for a moment worried about trying to sleep without inadvertently squashing any of it—before he realizes how absurd a thought that is when the wreath, like everything else, is only a figment of his dreaming.]
[ Cardan watches Liem's hand on the wreath and feels the inkling of a stupid idea. He was going to fumble about with some half-remembered warding spells, but--
But the thing about magic, he knows, is that it is best enacted with confidence. After all, what is magic but will given form? When he speaks glamour into being, it is only the world conforming to the shape of his words, the best it can. Every curse and every boon is but desire made manifest.
And if he must try to do something impossible, then he'd rather avoid a half-hearted attempt. ]
Let me borrow a piece of your crown.
[ He will reach out, still smiling, to pluck a piece of greenery from the wreath. ]
...did you know, husband, that mistletoe is parasitic?
It grows not in soil, but roots onto trees high above. Like the Folk, it is not a creature of earth, but of air -- carried by bird wing, making its home wherever it pleases.
[ Before he can think better of it, he once more raises his hand to the ceiling of their makeshift cave. In the waking world, he would never think of attempting this -- but here, in this space, where all is made only of will and thought -- perhaps it will work. Perhaps he can usurp power as he ever does -- by simply claiming it to be his, and daring anyone else to contradict him. ]
And I wish for my home to be here.
[ He does not look up. He cannot tell if anything is happening -- if the plant's strange, finger-like roots are sinking into the walnut above and around them, growing improbably where they should not, claiming the furniture at Cardan's whim. This is what he wishes for, and he can only choose to believe it will work, because he wants his husband to wake. Because he wants him to be safe. He wills the whole of himself -- his anxiety, his indignation, his affection for his husband -- into this one need: to make his words solid. To make this space his, and so wrest back control over its bounds.
His gaze remains on Liem's, as if anchored there. ]
[There is no logical reason for what Cardan attempts to actually work. Parasite or not, a sprig of mistletoe cannot grow from the treated, long-dead wood of a banquet table. It would be like a vampire trying to drink from a desiccated mummy: pointless, maybe even unhealthy.
But Liem suspects that neither the dream nor his husband’s magic care terribly much about what is logical. As he watches Cardan borrow some mistletoe from his crown and lift it up to the solid walnut ceiling above them, he glimpses very little activity at first—but just as he begins to suspect that the plant cannot take root after all, the bit of greenery seems to sigh and shift, and the tiny sprig begins to spread, sprouting new shoots and unfurling new waxy little leaves. Liem has to glance away from Cardan and duck to avoid the new growth, lest he risk his crown becoming tangled up in the thicket of well-leafed mistletoe stems.
Will it ward away the interference of the vampires inhabiting this part of the dream? Liem has no idea—but Cardan clearly wishes it to be so, and surely Liem’s own subconscious wouldn’t gainsay him in this.]
Very nice, [he compliments, briefly observing the thriving plant with its vigorously spreading roots before his gaze is pulled, gravity-like, back to his husband.] I had no idea a flower crown could be put to such practical purpose.
Neither did I, [ murmurs Cardan, a little taken aback by his own success. Now he does allow himself to glance at the plant life he just pulled out of thin air and audacity -- and then laugh, a little disbelieving. For a moment, he wonders if this is what Mab felt like, raising islands from the sea. If she also hadn't quite expected it to happen, despite willing it to be so.
As usual, he wastes no time on doubting if the mistletoe will perform as a ward -- having accomplished some modicum of success, he is instead eager to push on with the momentum it provides. The growing was the hard work, surely; obvious symbolism should do the rest. No self-respecting dream would trample upon such a thing. Even if it did, well... that would be annoying, and Cardan doesn't want to think about it.
And so he will consider Liem instead, now even more wreathed in twilight -- then hold out his hands in invitation. ]
Come here, husband.
[ So Cardan may kiss him, as is tradition -- and also because he intends to offer Liem his lap for a pillow. This is their chance; he intends not to squander it. ]
[Liem pretends not to hear Cardan admit that he didn’t actually know his idea with the borrowed mistletoe would bear fruit. It seems to have worked regardless, and Liem has enough anxieties gnawing at him already without worrying that his husband has no idea what he’s doing. Following that train of thought is definitely not going to help him get to sleep.
Instead, he will shift carefully closer to his waiting husband, still avoiding the bushy growth that now claims the table directly overhead. Maneuvering into Cardan’s embrace, Liem cups his warm cheek with one hand as he claims the offered kiss, as much for his own morale as for the fortune such an indulgence might be intended to bring. And if he lingers a little there, well, surely he can’t be blamed for being hungry for affection, given the stress he’s been under of late.]
Are you going to help me fall asleep?
[The teasing query is breathed quietly against the curve of Cardan’s mouth, loath as Liem is to abandon it. Though he doesn’t say so aloud, he still doubts his ability to drift off under these rather hostile circumstances. Catnaps stolen in the privacy of his office are one thing, but he remains keenly aware of the din of people revelling all about them, muffled only by a layer of tablecloth.]
[ For now, he is more inclined to kiss his husband again, soft and deliberate. For all that they are surrounded by dream ghosts and impending sunlight, the darkness of their improvised shelter feels intimate. The words exchanged quietly between them are private. The way his breath brushes over Liem's cool cheek, the slide of his fingers into Liem's hair, Liem's hand on his own face -- he wishes to claim all those intimacies for his own.
And he wants to distract Liem, of course. There is never a time when Cardan doesn't want Liem's attention to be fully on him and him alone -- it's just that now this has become less of a desire and more of a necessity. He needs his husband to forget about the voices laughing just on the other side, about the perils still threatening them, and even (especially) about the fact that they need him to fall asleep. ]
But let me have this first.
[ Cardan will kiss him again, and then again after that -- tender but thorough, mapping the shape of Liem's mouth like the world's most dedicated cartographer. Unlike his scrupulous spouse, he ever finds it easy to lose himself in the way Liem fits against him. Even here, in this profoundly imperfect circumstance, he can't help reveling a little in the joy of having him all to himself. ]
[Despite Liem’s doubts, he finds to his surprise that under the determined assault of Cardan’s tender attentions, his awareness of the world outside their cloaked little refuge fades steadily to nothing. It is not restful; something about the gentle caress of Cardan’s lips on his own stirs familiar anxieties within him, making his chest feel tight with unnamed urgency. But his attention is effectively and completely diverted from anything that is not the steady hands holding him close, the heat of Cardan against him, and the soft kisses mapping his mouth.]
Cardan…
[Is this Cardan’s plan? To distract him so thoroughly that he cannot spare a single thought for anything else? He would think it a good idea, if not for how desperate his husband’s rarely-wielded restraint manages to make him. Everything in him trembles with the yearning to clutch Cardan close and whisper foolish secrets against the tender curves of his mouth. He has never felt less restful in his entire life.
His fingers are gripped tight in the fabric of Cardan’s jacket as he lets out an unsteady breath between kisses.]
This is a trap of a different kind… and it is working.
[ It's not quite what he expects. The way Liem clutches at him would be less alarming if not for the strain of tension still positively vibrating through his husband's body. He cannot guess at the source of it. Liem so rarely balks at affection; Cardan did not expect it to happen now, of all times.
He pulls back just far enough to scan Liem's face, trying to make sense of his expression. ]
Liem.
[ What's wrong? he wants to ask, but as they are inside Liem's nightmare, the question seems foolish. Instead, he will attempt to extricate those clenched hands from his lapels -- so that he can unfurl the tense fingers, carefully, and then press his mouth to Liem's cool palms. ]
Is that a bad thing? [ is what he asks instead, managing to sound only curious instead of worried. Surely, if Liem must be trapped by something, Cardan's kisses are preferable to a dream in which everyone is hellbent on making him miserable. ]
[Liem’s eyes flutter open to fix on Cardan as his husband pries his hands away from his jacket and presses warm kisses against his palms. His heart feels somehow both frantic and clenched tight in his chest as he stares at Cardan with a strange, sudden greed, his cold, unsteady hands still clasped carefully in Cardan’s warm ones.
He wants so desperately for Cardan to love him. It is selfish and stupid and pointless to wish for, but he cannot weather Cardan’s careful touch and gentle, deliberate kisses without yearning with all his heart for Cardan to regard him as someone worth cherishing. He wants it more with each tender caress of the mouth brushing his skin, and although it may not be intentional, it is cruel for Cardan to make him feel like the centre of his world, when Liem knows that cannot possibly be true.
How terrible, then, that Liem cannot bear for him to stop.]
No.
[No, he wants to fall into Cardan’s trap, regardless of how dangerous and foolish it might be for him to do so. No matter how much it might hurt him or how much trouble it may cause, he wants Cardan’s attention and affection, and he wants Cardan to keep looking at him just like that, with that intent gaze and his breath warm on Liem’s skin.]
[ He doesn’t know what to make of the intensity of the look Liem gives him. It makes him uncertain, for a moment, of his own path forward — a thing he cannot afford to be, not when Liem is counting on him to be their lighthouse out of this storm.
But this is an easy thing to fix, at least. Pretending at certainty has become so natural for him; it takes no effort at all to smile at Liem, to lean in and brush careful kisses over the slant of his cheekbone, his temple, his brow. He presses Liem’s palm to his chest, splaying those cool fingers over the rhythmic thumping of his heart. ]
Then let me lead you astray. [ And away from this place, if nothing else. His murmur is quiet; close as they are, Liem will surely hear it as much as feel it rumbling through Cardan’s chest. In a moment, he will rearrange his legs so that he can pull Liem more insistently against him and into his lap, cradling him in his arms.
If his husband is going to sleep at all, then this is probably the way. ]
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no subject
Only, he had been new in the Talbotts' household, and unsure of his footing... and unwilling to overplay his hand, lest the master of this house also turned out to be fucking his seneschal.
But he is in no one's household now. Although, he doesn't mind it when Gusairne gets testy; all of this would be a little useless if he hadn't.
When he backhands Gusairne, it is almost perfunctory. Cardan doesn't even bother hitting him hard -- just enough to make a sound. After all, what would be the point? He's not trying to hurt Gusairne physically. That would take more effort than he's worth, and he wants to spare his knuckles.
The look he levels at the seneschal is cold and a little bored, like he's a chore to be crossed off a list. ]
His Grace has been far too lenient with you. Pay attention.
no subject
But Gusairne transitions quickly from stunned shock to outrage.
How dare you! he sputters. One pale hand flies to his cheek in apparent disbelief of what just occurred. As he fumes, the sense of tension that has been hanging over Liem during this entire dream grows a little heavier, for no immediately clear reason. Does the light seem a little different, perhaps? Has the sky grown just a touch brighter?
Wary, Liem shifts closer to his husband. If he must make a quick exit, he cannot leave Cardan behind.]
Cardan… [Liem reaches for his hand, for the moment completely ignoring the offended vampire.] What are you doing?
[Whatever it is, it is making the sky blush and line the distant trees with gold—and Liem does not like that one bit.]
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Then, as usual, things go awry.
At Liem’s prompt, he will glance at the window, narrowing his eyes against the spike of apprehension. The cresting of dawn feels like a threat — and an admittedly powerful one. He cannot risk Liem, no matter how willing he might have been to risk himself. ]
I don’t think it liked that, [ he murmurs, mildly. And yet… and yet. He cannot shake the thought that a dog bares its teeth when imperiled. Surely, the dream must be fighting them for a reason.
His grip on Liem’s hand is tight — but his gaze focuses once more on the seneschal, and his other hand reaches out to fist in the man’s starched collar, yanking him unpleasantly close to Cardan’s face. ]
If you know aught, vermin, now is the time to speak, [ he hisses, no longer bothering to be particularly cool about it. Better Gusairne read the hatred in his eyes and recognize that he is serious. ] Do not think I am above dragging you out to watch you burn.
[ Gusairne is not real. It wouldn’t be murder. And he’s certain that part of him would find it viscerally satisfying.
Of course, he cannot leave Liem behind, but that’s not the point. ]
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Another petty indulgence. How like you, the seneschal sneers. His hand falls back to his side, and he remains unresisting in Cardan’s grasp, as though daring him to prove him right by dragging him outside just to indulge his anger.
It is more disrespectful than Liem has ever heard Gusairne be with Cardan, but he is too preoccupied to give the exchange his full attention, and continues to stare warily at the steadily creeping encroachment of dawn.
And how like you to demand of others, elf prince, when what you require has always been within you.]
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Regardless, it confirms the one thing he had most hoped for: he already has it, whatever it is. He can break the enchantment. For now, that is enough. His lips quirk; he will tip forward just enough for his breath to hit Gusairne’s pale ear when he whispers, ] Thank you, Gul Gusairne.
[ Then he discards the seneschal’s collar like one would an uncomfortably wet tissue, turning to face his husband, whose iron grip filters through only a little late. Cardan swallows down a wince, lifting Liem’s cool fingers to his lips, instead. ]
Let us go, husband.
[ Preferably to a room with a nice, big wardrobe, wherein he could shove Liem if absolutely necessary. ]
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Not so on this occasion. The banquet hall is set up for a party that appears to be in full swing, vampires in rare jewels and expensive fabrics dancing, eating, drinking, and gossiping all over the well-attired space. Some of them immediately sight Liem and hail him to exchange pleasantries, but Liem, still preoccupied by the watery gold light filtering over the line of trees on the horizon, makes for the nearest banquet table, deeming it large enough to hide behind in case of an emergency.]
Did you learn what you hoped from Gusairne? [Liem asks. What he’d really like to ask is What do we do now?, but that sounds a bit too pathetic to voice aloud, even if it is what he’s thinking. He does not feel any closer to figuring out how to escape this place than he had been before, and the sun’s recent energy is making him think that his intended stay here may not be as endless as he had initially supposed.]
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He almost reaches to snatch a champagne flute off of a serving tray, before thinking better of it. ]
He was more helpful than he wanted to be. [ Which is enough, or so he hopes. It has to be. ] He said the answer was within me, which means we already have it.
The faerie woman. She did not ask you to drink from her, did she? [ His blood would be a laughably easy answer, but incongruous to the puzzle as presented. Something he can give, or something he must do: he turns the options over in his head. What can he do that Liem cannot? Enjoy the sunlight, of course -- but that is a likewise unpoetic answer. Something to do with rest, something that interrupts Liem's search of it...
He eyes his husband, his gaze assessing. ]
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But the banquet table feels reassuringly sturdy under his hand, and the tablecloth draped over its bulk is of a thick, quality weave. They will withstand a bit of sunlight, even if he can’t.
And Cardan’s assessment sounds like good news, if only they can figure out how to capitalize on it. Liem frowns, again trying to puzzle out what the answer to their escape might be.]
No, she was just persuading me to stay longer, and revel with some of her companions… though it might have been useful to sample it, I suppose. Perhaps then I would not have succumbed to her magic.
[Though he assumes Cardan’s blood would have a similar warding property, and drinking it regularly has not stopped him from getting cursed. And anyway, how would drinking from him in a dream accomplish anything of merit? At best, he would just end up feeling intoxicated.]
This is the most frustrating dream I have ever had, [he mutters.] It’s like it was designed specifically to thwart me, no matter what I try to get done.
[That’s supposed to be Cardan’s job.]
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Ordinarily, he does not bother throwing up glamour before vampires, who have shown themselves stubbornly resistant. But when he moves his hand idly this time, it will only make festive sparks erupt out of every flower vase in the room -- all except for the ones closest to them. An easy enough trick, and quickly over; after all, he only needs the guests too distracted to notice his crouching down to slip under the table, intent on pulling his husband with him.
They might as well do it now. He wishes for at least a modicum of privacy.
Once in the relative darkness of their improvised shelter, he will fold himself into a cross-legged position. It feels odd, revisiting this scene. The last time he hid under a table, he was yet a small child, and the revel seemed much more turbulent around him. ]
I think we may have failed to consider what it was they were thwarting, exactly.
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It is strange to be hiding beneath dining furniture this way. The sight of his princely husband sitting in the gloom beneath a dining table like a naughty child would be enough to make Liem smile, in circumstances less dire.]
How do you mean?
[Liem keeps his voice low, not wanting one of the party guests to follow the sounds of their conversation to their makeshift hiding place.]
If there was a pattern I noticed, it was only that everyone I’ve met in this place has demanded my attention. I suppose the one thing I have not been granted is a moment’s peace to think things through on my own.
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[ He pauses momentarily, and then takes Liem’s other hand in his. His thumbs stroke the backs of Liem’s palms, a little restlessly. ]
I think, [ muses Cardan, slowly, feeling the words out as he says them, ] that you have pissed off someone quite clever, and that I have grown rusty at riddles. [ This should have been obvious far sooner. Far, far sooner. Perhaps if he hadn’t been so panicked — but that’s no excuse. ]
“May sleep find you quickly and your search be uninterrupted.” I thought it meant that I had to interrupt you — your sleep. And I do intend to do this. But in here… [ He makes a sweeping gesture indicating the room, the music, the din of voices, the (presumably) still threatening windows. ] As you say: hardly a shortage of interlopers jostling for your attention.
But you did not tell her you were searching for sleep. Sleep is what found you. What is the thing you are meant to be seeking, then?
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I have been seeking a way to wake up. I’d been assuming the dream was throwing up roadblocks to make my search more difficult.
[Is Cardan suggesting that’s not what he should be looking for? Liem cannot imagine what else the mystery thing should be. All he wants in the context of this nightmare is to escape, and return to the struggles and pleasures of the waking world. But if he’s cursed to keep searching without end, is his struggling just making the bindings of the enchantment wrap tighter?]
Are you suggesting that I should stop looking?
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It was foolish of me to scrutinize her words, but neglect to consider yours. What was it you just said? You have not been granted one moment of peace.
[ Because the dream kept throwing problems at him -- and Liem, of course, can never simply ignore such things, not truly.
Is that why it hadn't liked his shutting up Gusairne, even momentarily? Would it intervene again now? He bites his lip, turning the problem over in his head-- but no. He should at least explain his theory to Liem. Surely there is enough time for this. ]
It's rest. You told her you were in search of rest, and she bid that the search be uninterrupted. But an uninterrupted search is an eternal one.
I think, husband, that we need you to take a nap.
[ A thing he can barely get Liem to do in the laziest and most undressed of circumstances, let alone in this chaotic, tense environment. But he cannot think of another interpretation that fits so well. ]
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The problem being, of course, that the very thing he is being denied may well be his only avenue of escape. Liem frowns intently at his husband, drawing his legs up so he can lean against his bent knees.]
You may well be right, [he allows,] but how is anyone meant to nap in these circumstances? Someone will discover us at any moment.
[And even if they don’t, Liem doubts his ability to find rest while hiding under a table in the midst of one of his father’s parties. What if his father is here somewhere?]
Perhaps we should try finding a better room… one with one of your doubles in it, maybe.
[If Cardan’s presence chases his dream duplicates away, perhaps they could use that to find some privacy. Though that would still mean braving the threat of dawn once more. Liem doesn’t know how many rooms they can make it through before they’ll be forced to take shelter, and he absolutely doesn’t want to end up trapped in his father’s office with him.]
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[ His toothy grin implies he's joking -- though, given what he will follow up with, perhaps that's not the case. ]
I used to doze off like this at my father's revels, when I was very small.
[ Under the table was a good place to avoid being trampled and jostled, and he'd learned to let the din lull him into sleep. Here, with his husband, he can almost imagine it being a cozy memory.
Regardless, Liem is right about their discoverability. Cardan doesn't trust the environment to leave them be -- but neither does he love the idea of taking their chances with the party outside, let alone the labyrinth of adjoining rooms. He frowns, releasing Liem's hands to run his fingertips over the wooden underside of the table. ]
Perhaps we could... ward this space.
[ He had never been particularly adept at that kind of magic, granted. But the dream has seemed willing to cede to his whims before; the worst that can happen is he will look very stupid, and someone will indeed discover them. The latter seems inevitable if they attempt to leave, and the former -- well, he's done far worse at parties. ]
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Perhaps I just lack practice, [he suggests, trying to match his husband’s lighthearted demeanour. After all, it always takes him a few nights to settle into sleeping in unfamiliar places. Clearly he just needs more experience with sleeping under tables.]
If you think that might work, I suppose we should make the attempt. We may not get a better opportunity than this.
[He lifts one idle hand to adjust the sit of the wreath on his head, for a moment worried about trying to sleep without inadvertently squashing any of it—before he realizes how absurd a thought that is when the wreath, like everything else, is only a figment of his dreaming.]
What can I do to assist, husband?
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But the thing about magic, he knows, is that it is best enacted with confidence. After all, what is magic but will given form? When he speaks glamour into being, it is only the world conforming to the shape of his words, the best it can. Every curse and every boon is but desire made manifest.
And if he must try to do something impossible, then he'd rather avoid a half-hearted attempt. ]
Let me borrow a piece of your crown.
[ He will reach out, still smiling, to pluck a piece of greenery from the wreath. ]
...did you know, husband, that mistletoe is parasitic?
It grows not in soil, but roots onto trees high above. Like the Folk, it is not a creature of earth, but of air -- carried by bird wing, making its home wherever it pleases.
[ Before he can think better of it, he once more raises his hand to the ceiling of their makeshift cave. In the waking world, he would never think of attempting this -- but here, in this space, where all is made only of will and thought -- perhaps it will work. Perhaps he can usurp power as he ever does -- by simply claiming it to be his, and daring anyone else to contradict him. ]
And I wish for my home to be here.
[ He does not look up. He cannot tell if anything is happening -- if the plant's strange, finger-like roots are sinking into the walnut above and around them, growing improbably where they should not, claiming the furniture at Cardan's whim. This is what he wishes for, and he can only choose to believe it will work, because he wants his husband to wake. Because he wants him to be safe. He wills the whole of himself -- his anxiety, his indignation, his affection for his husband -- into this one need: to make his words solid. To make this space his, and so wrest back control over its bounds.
His gaze remains on Liem's, as if anchored there. ]
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But Liem suspects that neither the dream nor his husband’s magic care terribly much about what is logical. As he watches Cardan borrow some mistletoe from his crown and lift it up to the solid walnut ceiling above them, he glimpses very little activity at first—but just as he begins to suspect that the plant cannot take root after all, the bit of greenery seems to sigh and shift, and the tiny sprig begins to spread, sprouting new shoots and unfurling new waxy little leaves. Liem has to glance away from Cardan and duck to avoid the new growth, lest he risk his crown becoming tangled up in the thicket of well-leafed mistletoe stems.
Will it ward away the interference of the vampires inhabiting this part of the dream? Liem has no idea—but Cardan clearly wishes it to be so, and surely Liem’s own subconscious wouldn’t gainsay him in this.]
Very nice, [he compliments, briefly observing the thriving plant with its vigorously spreading roots before his gaze is pulled, gravity-like, back to his husband.] I had no idea a flower crown could be put to such practical purpose.
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As usual, he wastes no time on doubting if the mistletoe will perform as a ward -- having accomplished some modicum of success, he is instead eager to push on with the momentum it provides. The growing was the hard work, surely; obvious symbolism should do the rest. No self-respecting dream would trample upon such a thing. Even if it did, well... that would be annoying, and Cardan doesn't want to think about it.
And so he will consider Liem instead, now even more wreathed in twilight -- then hold out his hands in invitation. ]
Come here, husband.
[ So Cardan may kiss him, as is tradition -- and also because he intends to offer Liem his lap for a pillow. This is their chance; he intends not to squander it. ]
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Instead, he will shift carefully closer to his waiting husband, still avoiding the bushy growth that now claims the table directly overhead. Maneuvering into Cardan’s embrace, Liem cups his warm cheek with one hand as he claims the offered kiss, as much for his own morale as for the fortune such an indulgence might be intended to bring. And if he lingers a little there, well, surely he can’t be blamed for being hungry for affection, given the stress he’s been under of late.]
Are you going to help me fall asleep?
[The teasing query is breathed quietly against the curve of Cardan’s mouth, loath as Liem is to abandon it. Though he doesn’t say so aloud, he still doubts his ability to drift off under these rather hostile circumstances. Catnaps stolen in the privacy of his office are one thing, but he remains keenly aware of the din of people revelling all about them, muffled only by a layer of tablecloth.]
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[ For now, he is more inclined to kiss his husband again, soft and deliberate. For all that they are surrounded by dream ghosts and impending sunlight, the darkness of their improvised shelter feels intimate. The words exchanged quietly between them are private. The way his breath brushes over Liem's cool cheek, the slide of his fingers into Liem's hair, Liem's hand on his own face -- he wishes to claim all those intimacies for his own.
And he wants to distract Liem, of course. There is never a time when Cardan doesn't want Liem's attention to be fully on him and him alone -- it's just that now this has become less of a desire and more of a necessity. He needs his husband to forget about the voices laughing just on the other side, about the perils still threatening them, and even (especially) about the fact that they need him to fall asleep. ]
But let me have this first.
[ Cardan will kiss him again, and then again after that -- tender but thorough, mapping the shape of Liem's mouth like the world's most dedicated cartographer. Unlike his scrupulous spouse, he ever finds it easy to lose himself in the way Liem fits against him. Even here, in this profoundly imperfect circumstance, he can't help reveling a little in the joy of having him all to himself. ]
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Cardan…
[Is this Cardan’s plan? To distract him so thoroughly that he cannot spare a single thought for anything else? He would think it a good idea, if not for how desperate his husband’s rarely-wielded restraint manages to make him. Everything in him trembles with the yearning to clutch Cardan close and whisper foolish secrets against the tender curves of his mouth. He has never felt less restful in his entire life.
His fingers are gripped tight in the fabric of Cardan’s jacket as he lets out an unsteady breath between kisses.]
This is a trap of a different kind… and it is working.
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He pulls back just far enough to scan Liem's face, trying to make sense of his expression. ]
Liem.
[ What's wrong? he wants to ask, but as they are inside Liem's nightmare, the question seems foolish. Instead, he will attempt to extricate those clenched hands from his lapels -- so that he can unfurl the tense fingers, carefully, and then press his mouth to Liem's cool palms. ]
Is that a bad thing? [ is what he asks instead, managing to sound only curious instead of worried. Surely, if Liem must be trapped by something, Cardan's kisses are preferable to a dream in which everyone is hellbent on making him miserable. ]
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He wants so desperately for Cardan to love him. It is selfish and stupid and pointless to wish for, but he cannot weather Cardan’s careful touch and gentle, deliberate kisses without yearning with all his heart for Cardan to regard him as someone worth cherishing. He wants it more with each tender caress of the mouth brushing his skin, and although it may not be intentional, it is cruel for Cardan to make him feel like the centre of his world, when Liem knows that cannot possibly be true.
How terrible, then, that Liem cannot bear for him to stop.]
No.
[No, he wants to fall into Cardan’s trap, regardless of how dangerous and foolish it might be for him to do so. No matter how much it might hurt him or how much trouble it may cause, he wants Cardan’s attention and affection, and he wants Cardan to keep looking at him just like that, with that intent gaze and his breath warm on Liem’s skin.]
No, not at all.
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But this is an easy thing to fix, at least. Pretending at certainty has become so natural for him; it takes no effort at all to smile at Liem, to lean in and brush careful kisses over the slant of his cheekbone, his temple, his brow. He presses Liem’s palm to his chest, splaying those cool fingers over the rhythmic thumping of his heart. ]
Then let me lead you astray. [ And away from this place, if nothing else. His murmur is quiet; close as they are, Liem will surely hear it as much as feel it rumbling through Cardan’s chest. In a moment, he will rearrange his legs so that he can pull Liem more insistently against him and into his lap, cradling him in his arms.
If his husband is going to sleep at all, then this is probably the way. ]
Shall I tell you a story, husband?
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