[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. ]
[If Cardan’s idea is to work at all, Liem will need to fully ignore all the noise and chaos of the dream around them, still pressing against his senses through the fabric walls of their temporary shelter—but conversely, he cannot let himself be swept up in his want for Cardan, or sleep will be the furthest thing from his mind. Already he is struggling to corral his restless desires in the appropriate direction, given that Cardan’s mouth on his skin ever sends yearning little thrills through his veins. Right now, he does not feel much like napping; he would much rather wrap around his husband and kiss him until that false sun has cleared the trees and burned all the revellers in this room to ash.
Being pulled into his husband’s lap and cradled against him does nothing to tame this desire. It doesn’t help that the curious ache in his chest is still lodged stubbornly between his ribs, and showing no signs of fading away.
Nevertheless, Liem presses his face against Cardan’s shoulder and breathes him in, tucking himself against his warm chest as he would on any morning as they were readying for sleep. His scent and his breaths and the rhythmic beating of his heart are familiar, even if the setting is discordant. Surely he can find it in him to doze at least a little.]
The dryest one you know, [he suggests, muffled against Cardan’s shirt. Does Cardan know any dry, dull stories? Surely even he must.]
[ Cardan laughs, letting his breath ruffle Liem's hair. ]
Alas, had I only thought to bring my copy of the Statutory Rules and Orders Quarterly. [ Well, Liem's copy, which has become Cardan's through the act of petty theft. He had swiped it early on in their marriage and never returned it; even now, it must be languishing in his unused quarters, where he'd left it to serve as a doorstop. ]
I am afraid you will have to make do with more exciting fare.
[ It should suffice, anyway. He's never been particularly deft at the telling of stories -- why bother, when Locke was around to spin and weave them like so much magic? The purpose is still mostly to distract Liem -- the drowsiness, Cardan imagines, will come sooner or later.
He lifts his hand to Liem's hair, so that he may idly pet his husband as he launches into the story: ]
In a land quite far away, some time ago, there was a kingdom ruled by a capricious king.
The king had many children, which was a business he found profoundly tiring. And so, naturally, by the time his youngest son had come of age to be wed, the king had no time at all for matchmaking -- he was far too busy pitting his other offspring against each other.
Instead, the king bid the youngest prince to climb to the roof of the palace and shoot an arrow into the sky. "Wherever that arrow lands," he chuckled, "that's where you should find your betrothed."
He thought himself terribly clever, of course, as all kings do.
[In the circle of Cardan’s arms, tucked against his warm chest, Liem lets himself smile at his husband’s obvious amusement. Maybe in Faerie, stories—like everything else there—are never dull. Perhaps the only ones Cardan knows are full of mystery and drama.
That’s fine. The low rumble of his voice should still suffice, as long as he keeps talking like this, with his fingers stroking Liem’s hair. He murmurs against his husband’s collar:]
All the princes I’ve met have thought themselves very clever, too.
[Liem can still hear the dancing and talking and singing and laughing ringing about the room. For now, though, with his eyes closed and Cardan’s breath tickling his skin, sheltered in their cave of drapery and mistletoe, it becomes possible to pay the crowd no more mind than he would raindrops pattering against a window. He takes a very small, slow breath, just to breathe in the smell of the man wrapped around him, and tries to think of nothing at all.]
[ Cardan arches an eyebrow -- but no, he shan't be distracted into flirting with his husband when he's trying to lull him into sleep. ]
...alas, not this one. This one is a dutiful, humble kind, and so -- instead of lying about the bow-and-arrow business, as any sensible man would have done -- he did as his horrid father asked.
But when the prince loosed his arrow into the sky, a sudden gust of wind caught it, taking it off its course...
[ And so he goes, describing the prince's long journey to finding his stray arrow in the clutches of a little crow with a broken wing. The crow bids him to take it as his betrothed, promising a reward if he so does. Because the prince is both dutiful and kind, he scoops the crow up in his hat, brings it home, and nurses it back to good health. Not even the court’s mockery of his bird bride dissuades him from his promise. And when the capricious king sets a series of impossible tasks for his children— ]
"...do not fret, my prince, and take rest," said the crow, "and in the morrow all will seem better." And, feeling a great weariness come upon him, the prince laid his head on his pillow and slept...
[ Each time, after the prince falls asleep, the crow throws off its feathers to transform into a sharp-tongued knight who solves the king's riddles quite handily and cleverly. The prince, who is not without guile, catches on to this soon enough. Eventually, when the king holds a ball, he begs the knight to appear as a human — and so the knight does, throwing off his feathers to be at his prince’s side. So taken is the prince with him, that, in a rare moment of selfishness, he sneaks home to burn the feathers while his betrothed is occupied at the ball.
Of course, this proves to be a monumental mistake. When the crow knight discovers this trickery, he is dismayed — lamenting that, had the prince only waited long enough to wed him, the curse that turned him into a bird would have been broken. Instead, he must return to the witch who had cursed him, never to see the prince again… ]
[The experience of being told a story like this—not just by Cardan, but by anyone—is foreign enough that Liem is hard pressed at first to even consider sleep. Though the low, familiar cadence of his husband’s voice does comfort him, he realizes to no real surprise that he is greedy to hold onto this rare little moment, and even as the tension begins to ease from his body, rest does not come to him.
He simply listens, and feels Cardan’s warm breath and gentle caress—and when the light filtering through the tablecloth grows stronger, and the noises from the banquet hall begin to sound less like a party and increasingly like a vicious brawl, he devotes every ounce of his attention to the man wrapped around him, making Cardan the eye of his own personal storm. No matter how unnerving the sounds and the play of light and shadow surrounding them might become, as long as the voice in his ear remains steady and the arms around him keep him close, none of it can touch him.]
[ It is disquieting; though Cardan’s voice stays low and calm, though he does not let the commotion nor the increasing variety of screams interrupt him, his heart cannot help but speed a little. He remembers, unbidden, that the kind of revels where he felt compelled to hide were much like this — savage, chaotic things that seemed to have spun out of control entirely. And yet that could not have been the case, for his father and his siblings permitted them to continue. As a child, he had pushed his fear down; it was normal, surely, for things to be this way. The fey who were frightened, who protested — they were the ones who got hurt, sometimes very badly. So he only stayed hidden instead, telling himself that it was clever to spy on everyone else, anyway.
Ultimately, this is no different: if he pretends that nothing out of the ordinary is happening, then so can Liem. If he keeps talking, if he keeps petting his husband’s hair and cradling him close, if he acts as if his story is the most important thing Liem could be listening to — then it will be so, surely. (And is it not? This is what they are relying on for their escape, after all.)
Part of the reason he chose this particular tale is because it is long: having lost this beloved, the prince must now mount a rescue. It is a lengthy journey, First, he makes unlikely allies of a duck, a fox, and a bear, all of which he spares from his bow and arrow, despite starving for food. After this, the prince arrives in the domain of a forest hag with a taste for making princes into soup. Being a terminally good boy, however, allows the prince to charm the hag with his impeccable manners and penchant for housework.
After he spends two weeks sweeping the hag’s floors, chopping her wood, and cooking her dinner, she gives him a ball of magical yarn. ]
“Follow the thread as it unwinds, and it will lead you to that which you seek. But beware, foolish boy: the witch holding your lover has taken her death and hidden it away inside a golden needle. This needle you must find and break, else your life is forfeit.”
And so, the prince ventured on…
[ He finds himself unwinding the story just a little — adding detail, lenthening some parts of it. They are not so far from the end, and all this time his husband has failed to seem particularly drowsy. Though, it is difficult to tell, with Liem. After all, his breathing cannot change; he only goes preternaturally still and quiet, which is not a large change from how he is now. ]
[Liem’s one bit of fortune is that despite the noise and the unnerving strangeness of his dream, he is very tired. For what has felt like the better part of a night, perhaps even longer, he has been wandering this maze in frantic pursuit of an exit that did not want to be found, denied even a moment’s refuge from the demands of virtually everyone he has ever known. For that entire time, he has clung to a constant state of alertness; if he could only release it now, he is confident the weight of his weariness would drag him down.
Down, through the syrupy layers of Cardan’s lulling voice and warm, gentle touch; beyond the reach of the cacophony battering the cloth-thin walls of their refuge. He lets go of everything else, letting that heaviness settle over him, making everything else seem hazy and remote.
Even so, notes of that chaos reach him, the piercing crash of breaking glass or a sudden shriek of pain making him start in Cardan’s embrace, tense for a wary, confused moment before he can force his body to relax. He does not need to concern himself with anything happening beyond their tiny little refuge. Let the storm of his dream rage all it likes out there; it cannot touch him, or his husband. They are beyond it, and within the circle of Cardan’s arms, he needs nothing else.
And so he sinks slowly deeper, accompanied by the familiar scent and thumping rhythm that invites him into sleep on every other morning. For a moment, his drowsy contentment is accompanied by a conspicuous dimming of the light all around them and a distorted muffling of the noise, much like the vagueness that just precedes the onset of unconsciousness; if anything, this only enfolds him further into senseless repose.
Then, everything shatters: the hall, the table, the polished-stone floor, and he falls with a heart-stopping lurch as the ground drops out from beneath them—
So he can startle awake, wide-eyed and disoriented, to find himself again in Cardan’s arms, in the soft, earthy quiet of the faerie palace under the hill.]
![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
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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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Being pulled into his husband’s lap and cradled against him does nothing to tame this desire. It doesn’t help that the curious ache in his chest is still lodged stubbornly between his ribs, and showing no signs of fading away.
Nevertheless, Liem presses his face against Cardan’s shoulder and breathes him in, tucking himself against his warm chest as he would on any morning as they were readying for sleep. His scent and his breaths and the rhythmic beating of his heart are familiar, even if the setting is discordant. Surely he can find it in him to doze at least a little.]
The dryest one you know, [he suggests, muffled against Cardan’s shirt. Does Cardan know any dry, dull stories? Surely even he must.]
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Alas, had I only thought to bring my copy of the Statutory Rules and Orders Quarterly. [ Well, Liem's copy, which has become Cardan's through the act of petty theft. He had swiped it early on in their marriage and never returned it; even now, it must be languishing in his unused quarters, where he'd left it to serve as a doorstop. ]
I am afraid you will have to make do with more exciting fare.
[ It should suffice, anyway. He's never been particularly deft at the telling of stories -- why bother, when Locke was around to spin and weave them like so much magic? The purpose is still mostly to distract Liem -- the drowsiness, Cardan imagines, will come sooner or later.
He lifts his hand to Liem's hair, so that he may idly pet his husband as he launches into the story: ]
In a land quite far away, some time ago, there was a kingdom ruled by a capricious king.
The king had many children, which was a business he found profoundly tiring. And so, naturally, by the time his youngest son had come of age to be wed, the king had no time at all for matchmaking -- he was far too busy pitting his other offspring against each other.
Instead, the king bid the youngest prince to climb to the roof of the palace and shoot an arrow into the sky. "Wherever that arrow lands," he chuckled, "that's where you should find your betrothed."
He thought himself terribly clever, of course, as all kings do.
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That’s fine. The low rumble of his voice should still suffice, as long as he keeps talking like this, with his fingers stroking Liem’s hair. He murmurs against his husband’s collar:]
All the princes I’ve met have thought themselves very clever, too.
[Liem can still hear the dancing and talking and singing and laughing ringing about the room. For now, though, with his eyes closed and Cardan’s breath tickling his skin, sheltered in their cave of drapery and mistletoe, it becomes possible to pay the crowd no more mind than he would raindrops pattering against a window. He takes a very small, slow breath, just to breathe in the smell of the man wrapped around him, and tries to think of nothing at all.]
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...alas, not this one. This one is a dutiful, humble kind, and so -- instead of lying about the bow-and-arrow business, as any sensible man would have done -- he did as his horrid father asked.
But when the prince loosed his arrow into the sky, a sudden gust of wind caught it, taking it off its course...
[ And so he goes, describing the prince's long journey to finding his stray arrow in the clutches of a little crow with a broken wing. The crow bids him to take it as his betrothed, promising a reward if he so does. Because the prince is both dutiful and kind, he scoops the crow up in his hat, brings it home, and nurses it back to good health. Not even the court’s mockery of his bird bride dissuades him from his promise. And when the capricious king sets a series of impossible tasks for his children— ]
"...do not fret, my prince, and take rest," said the crow, "and in the morrow all will seem better." And, feeling a great weariness come upon him, the prince laid his head on his pillow and slept...
[ Each time, after the prince falls asleep, the crow throws off its feathers to transform into a sharp-tongued knight who solves the king's riddles quite handily and cleverly. The prince, who is not without guile, catches on to this soon enough. Eventually, when the king holds a ball, he begs the knight to appear as a human — and so the knight does, throwing off his feathers to be at his prince’s side. So taken is the prince with him, that, in a rare moment of selfishness, he sneaks home to burn the feathers while his betrothed is occupied at the ball.
Of course, this proves to be a monumental mistake. When the crow knight discovers this trickery, he is dismayed — lamenting that, had the prince only waited long enough to wed him, the curse that turned him into a bird would have been broken. Instead, he must return to the witch who had cursed him, never to see the prince again… ]
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He simply listens, and feels Cardan’s warm breath and gentle caress—and when the light filtering through the tablecloth grows stronger, and the noises from the banquet hall begin to sound less like a party and increasingly like a vicious brawl, he devotes every ounce of his attention to the man wrapped around him, making Cardan the eye of his own personal storm. No matter how unnerving the sounds and the play of light and shadow surrounding them might become, as long as the voice in his ear remains steady and the arms around him keep him close, none of it can touch him.]
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Ultimately, this is no different: if he pretends that nothing out of the ordinary is happening, then so can Liem. If he keeps talking, if he keeps petting his husband’s hair and cradling him close, if he acts as if his story is the most important thing Liem could be listening to — then it will be so, surely. (And is it not? This is what they are relying on for their escape, after all.)
Part of the reason he chose this particular tale is because it is long: having lost this beloved, the prince must now mount a rescue. It is a lengthy journey, First, he makes unlikely allies of a duck, a fox, and a bear, all of which he spares from his bow and arrow, despite starving for food. After this, the prince arrives in the domain of a forest hag with a taste for making princes into soup. Being a terminally good boy, however, allows the prince to charm the hag with his impeccable manners and penchant for housework.
After he spends two weeks sweeping the hag’s floors, chopping her wood, and cooking her dinner, she gives him a ball of magical yarn. ]
“Follow the thread as it unwinds, and it will lead you to that which you seek. But beware, foolish boy: the witch holding your lover has taken her death and hidden it away inside a golden needle. This needle you must find and break, else your life is forfeit.”
And so, the prince ventured on…
[ He finds himself unwinding the story just a little — adding detail, lenthening some parts of it. They are not so far from the end, and all this time his husband has failed to seem particularly drowsy. Though, it is difficult to tell, with Liem. After all, his breathing cannot change; he only goes preternaturally still and quiet, which is not a large change from how he is now. ]
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Down, through the syrupy layers of Cardan’s lulling voice and warm, gentle touch; beyond the reach of the cacophony battering the cloth-thin walls of their refuge. He lets go of everything else, letting that heaviness settle over him, making everything else seem hazy and remote.
Even so, notes of that chaos reach him, the piercing crash of breaking glass or a sudden shriek of pain making him start in Cardan’s embrace, tense for a wary, confused moment before he can force his body to relax. He does not need to concern himself with anything happening beyond their tiny little refuge. Let the storm of his dream rage all it likes out there; it cannot touch him, or his husband. They are beyond it, and within the circle of Cardan’s arms, he needs nothing else.
And so he sinks slowly deeper, accompanied by the familiar scent and thumping rhythm that invites him into sleep on every other morning. For a moment, his drowsy contentment is accompanied by a conspicuous dimming of the light all around them and a distorted muffling of the noise, much like the vagueness that just precedes the onset of unconsciousness; if anything, this only enfolds him further into senseless repose.
Then, everything shatters: the hall, the table, the polished-stone floor, and he falls with a heart-stopping lurch as the ground drops out from beneath them—
So he can startle awake, wide-eyed and disoriented, to find himself again in Cardan’s arms, in the soft, earthy quiet of the faerie palace under the hill.]
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