[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.]
[ He hadn’t dared wonder if waking Liem would also let him exit the dream — or if he might be left behind to wander someone else’s dreamscape. He’d just assumed he would be pulled along with Liem’s exit, since he had no other solutions for this problem. Stubbornly, he pushes the thought away even now, even as things get dimmer, more muffled. He can still feel Liem nestled up against him, and is that not the most important thing? Is he not the most important thing, the only real thing in this world of mirages? And so he keeps doggedly weaving the tale of the prince and his magical thread, of his journey to confront the evil witch who had hidden away her death—
Until the world shatters around them, and for a moment, he cannot breathe for the suddenness. And then Liem is gone, and then he is gone, and back, and real again.
He opens his eyes on his husband’s pale, startled face, and the relief that floods him is utterly uncontainable. It shows in his smile — radiant, unselfconscious even in the face of the surprised gasps arising somewhere off to the side, accompanied by Hazel Evans astonished, Fuck, I can’t believe it worked.
He’ll deal with it in a moment. For now, he has Liem back, and it is all he can do to stop himself from kissing him right then and there, like no one else exists at all. ]
[When Liem starts awake to find himself tucked against Cardan just as he would be on any other day, the disorienting suddenness of this new reality inspires a moment’s uncertainty that the whole thing wasn’t literally just a dream—not just the maze, but the scenario itself, including Cardan’s presence and daring rescue. Liem is in the midst of trying to sort out dream from reality when he is greeted by his husband’s radiantly joyous smile, and it is this that anchors everything he just experienced firmly as real happenings, as everything around him begins to slot itself into its logical place.]
Cardan…
[Relief shows on his face as he relaxes further into his husband’s embrace, and he would have held Cardan tight and kissed his smiling mouth if not for the sounds of gasps and low exclamations belatedly registering in his awareness. Liem goes still all at once, then sits bolt upright to spear the small crowd of people near their bedside with a look so fiercely penetrating it almost looks accusatory.
He asks tightly, with dignity he doesn’t feel,] Can I help you?
[ He doesn’t quite expect it — the way tension seizes his husband again, nor the chill tightness of his tone. He should have, of course; it occurs to him that he had neglected to mention to Liem just how he had found him in his dream, and that they are, perhaps, in a more intimate situation than he had expected. (When had Liem insinuated himself into his arms? He remembers going to sleep chastely apart from his husband, save for his palm on Liem’s chest, lest he err and end up in someone else’s cursed dream.)
…no matter. Cardan sets about sitting up, righting his crown as he does. For a moment, he considers whether it’s still worth pretending he and Liem are at odds — the Alderking surely isn’t stupid, and he’s starting to suspect a sort of low animal cunning in the twins, as well.
In the end, he settles for the safe option: playing the cad, regardless. He will affect a lazy, presumptuous drape over Liem’s shoulder, his grin entirely unabashed. ]
I am afraid it was me who wanted for help. [ His gaze flits to the tree woman, who remains utterly unreadable. Cardan inclines his head in the suggestion of a bow, never mind that he’s still sitting. ] Lady Sorrel was the one who conveyed me into your dream.
[ It was no strain on me, she tells him, with that whispery wind voice.
What happened? asks Sir Hazel, apparently undeterred by Liem’s discomfort and the rules of decorum alike. How did you get him out? It was so quick.
We barely sat down, chimes in her brother. He is flushed pink, as he nearly always is, for one reason or another. Cardan holds his gaze until he looks away. ]
[Unfortunately, though an audience is the last thing Liem would prefer to deal with just now, he can hardly shoo out the people who helped his husband break the enchantment on him, particularly as one of those people is the Alderking himself. Liem permits himself a brief moment of disgruntlement as Cardan drapes over him to remind him of their role in the affair, before he smooths his expression into something more appropriate for a personal visit from the local king and his closest companions.
Even if he is still privately aghast at the idea of any of them watching him and Cardan as they slept.]
If you aided my husband, then you have aided me as well, and you have my gratitude.
[His eyes roam from Lady Sorrel to the over-curious Sir Hazel and her brother, then to the Alderking. This is an unenviable position for him and Cardan to be in. Here they have found themselves in Lord Severin’s debt, when they had come here specifically to court his favour.]
I have little experience with enchantments, [he admits,] but from the moment I fell asleep, I was obliged to wander some kind of labyrinth. I don’t know how long I would have been trapped there if Cardan had not found me and helped me escape.
[ This is all, of course, very interesting, but since Cardan was there, he doesn't need to hear about it again. And although he certainly owes present company a debt of deep gratitude -- less the part where one of Severin's subjects cursed his husband to eternal torment -- he is seized by a deep and abiding need to be elsewhere. With Liem. And none of these other people.
He barely remembers what nonsense he spins up in order to hustle Liem away -- it's elegant enough of an escape, at any rate. To his credit, Severin remains gracious, and the rest of his entourage follow suit; certainly there will be consequences for all this, but the Alderking is clearly willing to delay them. Cardan is almost more grateful for that than he is for the rest of his assistance.
The entire way back to their rooms, he cannot bring himself to let go of Liem's hand. When he finally, finally shuts the door behind them, Cardan will sag against it, as if suspicious of it bursting open again just to spite him. His eyes are on Liem -- his eyes haven't been capable of being anywhere else for the past hour -- but he finds himself having to hide the sudden uncertainty spreading through him. Now that the crisis is over, he doesn't quite know what to do with himself. Or with his husband, for that matter. ]
[Loath as Liem is to offend the local royalty who helped Cardan free him from his enchanted purgatory, he is still more loath to remain amongst them and the human siblings only to discuss all that he just experienced. When Cardan makes his excuses so they might retreat back to their rooms, Liem is glad to follow along, making polite goodbyes to those gathered and accompanying Cardan back into the warren of hallways honeycombing the magical hill.
For the duration of their journey back, he too is unsure what to do, other than regain the privacy of locked doors between them and the rest of the palace. By the time Cardan has shut those doors behind them, however, Liem is certain of one thing, at least, he would like to do without delay.
Drawing nearer to his husband where he sags against the door, Liem reaches for him and pulls him down into a long, heartfelt kiss. His hands cup Cardan’s warm cheeks, framing his face as Liem stares up at him.]
You came for me. [Relieved and happy, he leans against his husband, letting his familiar heat soak comfortingly into him.] You found me and you got me out, just when I needed you to.
[ As ever, the caress of Liem’s mouth is a balm; he sighs into it, allowing himself to let go of some of the tension that has made its home in his bones. Yes, Liem is right: they’re both here. They have made it. He has his husband back in his arms again, hale and, it seems, joyous.
Cardan’s smugness should have known no bounds. But, strangely, the unease doesn’t fully recede: it gets worse, even, when Liem praises him. He’s immensely glad that his tail is securely stowed, because its twitchy agitation would surely betray him immediately. He is not calm, and he doesn’t understand why, nor what’s wrong with him besides. ]
I told you I would, [ he tells Liem — though this, implies, truthfully, a confidence he no longer feels. He has to close his eyes and breathe Liem in, tipping his face to brush his mouth over his husband’s silver temple. This, at least, is a soothing distraction. He should not — and cannot — afford to be thinking about all the things that could have gone wrong with his attempt at rescue.
His arms wind tighter around Liem, a little helpless. It’s stupid. He’s done it. Why is he worrying about what could have been? He cannot make sense of it, nor why Liem’s happiness seems somehow undeserved. ]
You did well to keep awake until I got back here. I don’t know how you managed— but I am grateful.
[ The fact this only reminds him of the terrifying way Liem had gone totally limp and unresponsive in his arms is peripheral.
[Even as Liem relaxes into Cardan’s embrace, letting go of the tension that has gripped him ever since he opened his eyes in his dream prison, he cannot quite ignore the anxious tickle of shame at having forced his husband to save him from his own error.
He is glad, so glad, that Cardan was right and that everything is now going as well as he might have hoped; and he refuses to tamp down his relief, lest he seem sullen and ungrateful. But even so, he still feels the weight of the day’s urgency and anxiety, and he knows what his father would say about his clumsiness. What he did say on at least one occasion, in the dream.
He was careless. Because of that carelessness, he put at risk not just himself, but Cardan as well.]
As if I could sleep without you there, [he retorts airily, despite the small bloom of pleasure at Cardan’s praise. Then, softer, he admits,] Besides, I did not wish you to return to only the cold welcome of my senseless body.
[How would Cardan know what had happened, then? He might think something terrible had befallen him, without any clue to what had occurred, or whether Liem would ever rouse again. What if he felt abandoned? Liem could not inflict such a thing upon him.]
[ He is terribly torn between the itchy, horrible need to find something to soothe his nerves with and the way he can feel his husband relaxing against him. Cardan does not want to disturb him, not after all of his recent trials, but staying like this is becoming increasingly untenable.
He lifts his hand to Liem’s hair in an attempt to distract himself, stroking through it. The cold welcome of my senseless body makes him close his eyes. No. No, he would not have taken that well at all, and he does not want to think about it now.
He desperately wishes to shake the jitters that seem to have, belatedly, made their home in his bones. He doesn’t understand why this is happening now, the one time he’s successfully managed to comfort his husband without screwing things up along the way. It feels like a curse of its own, this inability to be the person Liem needs. He can only lean close and breathe Liem in and hold him close, and hope it goes away, and hope his husband attributes his hammering pulse to happiness — or maybe that he doesn’t note it at all. ]
You should rest, [ he will say, in the end, because it’s the sensible thing to say, and not any of the stupid things he’s thinking about. ] It seemed like you were in there for a long time.
[Nothing could please Liem more after his ordeal than Cardan’s arms around him, Cardan leaning close to breathe him in and Cardan’s fingers stroking his hair. His husband must have been displeased indeed to have Liem stolen from him in that way—and maybe also a little rattled, because despite the affection in his embrace, the heartbeat filling the quiet between them has not slowed appreciably from the pace it had set during their hurried journey here.
Liem cannot be surprised. He too is unsettled by the reminder of how unexpectedly and how quickly things might spiral beyond their control. Perhaps he is not the only one who could benefit from comfort right now.]
I shall.
[Turning his head, he brushes a kiss against Cardan’s wrist. Then Liem pulls back until he can look up properly at his husband, trying to catch his expression.]
Once I have expressed my gratitude properly. Come—the doorway is hardly the place for either activity.
[ Though the touch of Liem's soft mouth on the sensitive skin of his wrist is ever a balm, it is, still, not entirely successful in redirecting Cardan's thoughts. Only long practice allows him to school his face into something resembling smugness. Cardan raises an eyebrow. ]
And what have you planned, husband?
[ He will unpeel himself from the door, grateful for the excuse to move. His hand finds Liem's, again, twining their fingers together as he crosses the room -- not towards the bed, not yet. His proclivity for drink is well known, and the low little table in the sitting room is well outfitted with intoxicants. He forgoes goblets in favour of picking two bottles up with one hand -- both of them far headier than anything he would have chosen for Liem's enjoyment. Well, if his husband wishes to drink, he can simply drink from Cardan. ]
[Surprise finds Liem when, after moving away from the door, Cardan takes a detour to grab some of the liquor in the sitting room before anything else. It is rare for his husband to spare much thought for drinking when Liem is actively vying for his attention; he wonders at the significance of this choice just now, so soon after their return from the labyrinth dream.
Liem, however, is not easily distracted.]
What do you think? [he asks, determinedly towing his spouse further into the suite, towards the private refuge of the bedroom. Cardan may drink if he so wishes, but Liem is not inclined to wait around for him to do it here.]
I’ve been wanting to have you to myself since the revel. [His intemperate wanting is likely what got him into trouble in the first place. It seems only appropriate, now that the trouble has been dealt with, that they be able to finally taste their reward.] I am not so weary that I would crawl into bed and forget my ambitions.
[ Even despite his struggles, Liem’s charming insistence on herding him towards bed draws a soft laugh from him. How rare, for his husband to be the insatiable one; it makes a tentative warmth bloom in his chest, distracting him from the anxiety therein. ]
You are ever indefatigable.
[ He will raise the hand in his to his lips, brushing his mouth against Liem’s knuckles. Part of him is desperate to have what Liem offers him now; he wants to lose himself in his husband, wants to forget about the past few hours entirely. Already, the velvet and silk of his clothing feels too constricting; he wishes to be free of this, too.
Soon, soon. Just as soon as he can calm his racing thoughts. ]
[Pleased with Cardan’s fond acquiescence, Liem smiles at him as warm lips brush his hand, and draws back further until they have reached the edge of the broad, soft bed. Without looking back, he seats himself upon it, gazing up at his lover with a considering keenness in his eyes.]
Is it ambitious to desire that which is mine?
[He sweeps his gaze over Cardan’s body, already imagining his hands undoing the layers of his clothing and sliding beneath. He would like very much to lure him into bed and finally have his husband all to himself, with no king and no courtiers and no schemes to demand their attention. He had left the revel wishing insinuate himself into his husband’s arms, to trade kisses and gossip and lose themselves in each other until sleep claimed them, content in their shared embrace.
But he does not envision sharing such pleasant idleness with his husband now. The events of the morning have put them both in a poor mood for it, so he will have to adjust.]
Before we rest, [he decides,] I wish to bathe with you.
[ He blinks, taken by surprise with the unexpected request. It’s strange how Liem can make even this — a perfectly mundane activity for a married couple — sound enticingly laden with promise. It’s his earnestness, or perhaps it’s the weight of that careful consideration. When it sweeps over him, Cardan feels his mouth go a little dry.
Liem is doing a valiant job of pulling back his attention. Cardan sets one bottle onto the side table, then rests his knee between Liem’s thighs, making the bed dip a little as he reaches up to undo the lacings at his own throat. His pulse is still racing; freeing it feels immediately less oppressive, though he isn’t done. His eyes meet that deliberate blue gaze, and he doesn’t have to try very hard to make his smile wolfish with hunger. ]
It’s not ambitious, [ he counters, answering Liem’s earlier question, ] so long as you claim it.
[ The thing that’s Liem’s.
He will uncork the other bottle with his teeth, before tipping his head back to drink deeply from it. His throat moves as he swallows, for a moment transfixed only by this; by the time he lowers the bottle and wipes at his mouth, he will have drunk close to half of it down. His exhalation is a little shaky.
It’s not quite enough. Still, the immediate relief is so powerful he might have wept with it, if he were capable. ]
[Liem cannot remember the last time, if there was ever such a time, that he saw Cardan like this: so restless that his agitation distracts him even from Liem, even when they are close enough to embrace. Had he been like this all those months ago, the day Liem had never come to bed, and had found Cardan passed out in the stables that evening? Had he felt the same on the night before their wedding, when they had spent all night at the same party and yet scarcely crossed paths at all? Perhaps.
But still Cardan’s gaze is hungry, and when he lowers the half-emptied bottle from his lips, Liem needs only pull him a little closer to press his mouth to the exposed skin at the front of his throat.]
This is mine, [he murmurs against the intemperate pulse there, and slides his hands down Cardan’s flanks, to his narrow hips. Though he must at least turn on the bath to achieve his wish, he keeps his covetous hold of his husband for another moment.
He says quietly, as if to himself,] And I am yours.
[ With the heat of the liquor spreading through his veins, he feels a little more like himself -- a little less like some wild, frenzied creature trying to claw out of his own skin. This, too, is a relief. He wants to be here, wants to feel Liem's mouth on his throat and his hands on his body. ]
Yes, [ he murmurs, to both. He is Liem's, and Liem is his, and no curse nor plot could possibly change that now. The fingers of his free hand wind into Liem's hair as Cardan fields a wistful shiver, and then lets himself sink into his touch a little more. ]
I would not know what to do with myself if it were not so.
[ He is so terribly, terribly glad that Liem is here. But this is not the time to talk about that -- it would surely only bring down the mood. After all, his husband seems eager to put his ordeal behind him. So Cardan will only take another drink, and then he will lean in and kiss Liem, with the deliberate, ardent dedication of a man sworn to a sacred duty. ]
[Liem feels the tightness in his chest release just a bit as his husband shivers and shifts against him, warm fingers threading through his hair. He cannot be sure this means he has brought Cardan any kind of peace, but even if he has just given him a focus for his restlessness, that will suffice. Just as long as Cardan doesn’t have to be alone with his feelings, whatever they might be.
So he kisses him: gentle—but so, so hungry. He wants Cardan to know what he does to him, how the simple agreement of Liem’s statement makes him feel desperate to somehow earn this closeness he never expected to have. He wants Cardan to be glad that it’s Liem he wedded, and not someone else.
And he wants Cardan to keep kissing him like that, no matter what troubles may befall them because of this partnership they have cultivated.]
I want my hands on you.
[Those hands wander Cardan’s clothes, seeking fastenings to undo. He recalls the feeling of being wrapped gently up in Cardan’s arms, warm against his chest with his steady voice in his ears, and feels impatience throb hard against his ribs.
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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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Until the world shatters around them, and for a moment, he cannot breathe for the suddenness. And then Liem is gone, and then he is gone, and back, and real again.
He opens his eyes on his husband’s pale, startled face, and the relief that floods him is utterly uncontainable. It shows in his smile — radiant, unselfconscious even in the face of the surprised gasps arising somewhere off to the side, accompanied by Hazel Evans astonished, Fuck, I can’t believe it worked.
He’ll deal with it in a moment. For now, he has Liem back, and it is all he can do to stop himself from kissing him right then and there, like no one else exists at all. ]
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Cardan…
[Relief shows on his face as he relaxes further into his husband’s embrace, and he would have held Cardan tight and kissed his smiling mouth if not for the sounds of gasps and low exclamations belatedly registering in his awareness. Liem goes still all at once, then sits bolt upright to spear the small crowd of people near their bedside with a look so fiercely penetrating it almost looks accusatory.
He asks tightly, with dignity he doesn’t feel,] Can I help you?
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…no matter. Cardan sets about sitting up, righting his crown as he does. For a moment, he considers whether it’s still worth pretending he and Liem are at odds — the Alderking surely isn’t stupid, and he’s starting to suspect a sort of low animal cunning in the twins, as well.
In the end, he settles for the safe option: playing the cad, regardless. He will affect a lazy, presumptuous drape over Liem’s shoulder, his grin entirely unabashed. ]
I am afraid it was me who wanted for help. [ His gaze flits to the tree woman, who remains utterly unreadable. Cardan inclines his head in the suggestion of a bow, never mind that he’s still sitting. ] Lady Sorrel was the one who conveyed me into your dream.
[ It was no strain on me, she tells him, with that whispery wind voice.
What happened? asks Sir Hazel, apparently undeterred by Liem’s discomfort and the rules of decorum alike. How did you get him out? It was so quick.
We barely sat down, chimes in her brother. He is flushed pink, as he nearly always is, for one reason or another. Cardan holds his gaze until he looks away. ]
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Even if he is still privately aghast at the idea of any of them watching him and Cardan as they slept.]
If you aided my husband, then you have aided me as well, and you have my gratitude.
[His eyes roam from Lady Sorrel to the over-curious Sir Hazel and her brother, then to the Alderking. This is an unenviable position for him and Cardan to be in. Here they have found themselves in Lord Severin’s debt, when they had come here specifically to court his favour.]
I have little experience with enchantments, [he admits,] but from the moment I fell asleep, I was obliged to wander some kind of labyrinth. I don’t know how long I would have been trapped there if Cardan had not found me and helped me escape.
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He barely remembers what nonsense he spins up in order to hustle Liem away -- it's elegant enough of an escape, at any rate. To his credit, Severin remains gracious, and the rest of his entourage follow suit; certainly there will be consequences for all this, but the Alderking is clearly willing to delay them. Cardan is almost more grateful for that than he is for the rest of his assistance.
The entire way back to their rooms, he cannot bring himself to let go of Liem's hand. When he finally, finally shuts the door behind them, Cardan will sag against it, as if suspicious of it bursting open again just to spite him. His eyes are on Liem -- his eyes haven't been capable of being anywhere else for the past hour -- but he finds himself having to hide the sudden uncertainty spreading through him. Now that the crisis is over, he doesn't quite know what to do with himself. Or with his husband, for that matter. ]
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For the duration of their journey back, he too is unsure what to do, other than regain the privacy of locked doors between them and the rest of the palace. By the time Cardan has shut those doors behind them, however, Liem is certain of one thing, at least, he would like to do without delay.
Drawing nearer to his husband where he sags against the door, Liem reaches for him and pulls him down into a long, heartfelt kiss. His hands cup Cardan’s warm cheeks, framing his face as Liem stares up at him.]
You came for me. [Relieved and happy, he leans against his husband, letting his familiar heat soak comfortingly into him.] You found me and you got me out, just when I needed you to.
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Cardan’s smugness should have known no bounds. But, strangely, the unease doesn’t fully recede: it gets worse, even, when Liem praises him. He’s immensely glad that his tail is securely stowed, because its twitchy agitation would surely betray him immediately. He is not calm, and he doesn’t understand why, nor what’s wrong with him besides. ]
I told you I would, [ he tells Liem — though this, implies, truthfully, a confidence he no longer feels. He has to close his eyes and breathe Liem in, tipping his face to brush his mouth over his husband’s silver temple. This, at least, is a soothing distraction. He should not — and cannot — afford to be thinking about all the things that could have gone wrong with his attempt at rescue.
His arms wind tighter around Liem, a little helpless. It’s stupid. He’s done it. Why is he worrying about what could have been? He cannot make sense of it, nor why Liem’s happiness seems somehow undeserved. ]
You did well to keep awake until I got back here. I don’t know how you managed— but I am grateful.
[ The fact this only reminds him of the terrifying way Liem had gone totally limp and unresponsive in his arms is peripheral.
He desperately needs a drink. ]
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He is glad, so glad, that Cardan was right and that everything is now going as well as he might have hoped; and he refuses to tamp down his relief, lest he seem sullen and ungrateful. But even so, he still feels the weight of the day’s urgency and anxiety, and he knows what his father would say about his clumsiness. What he did say on at least one occasion, in the dream.
He was careless. Because of that carelessness, he put at risk not just himself, but Cardan as well.]
As if I could sleep without you there, [he retorts airily, despite the small bloom of pleasure at Cardan’s praise. Then, softer, he admits,] Besides, I did not wish you to return to only the cold welcome of my senseless body.
[How would Cardan know what had happened, then? He might think something terrible had befallen him, without any clue to what had occurred, or whether Liem would ever rouse again. What if he felt abandoned? Liem could not inflict such a thing upon him.]
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He lifts his hand to Liem’s hair in an attempt to distract himself, stroking through it. The cold welcome of my senseless body makes him close his eyes. No. No, he would not have taken that well at all, and he does not want to think about it now.
He desperately wishes to shake the jitters that seem to have, belatedly, made their home in his bones. He doesn’t understand why this is happening now, the one time he’s successfully managed to comfort his husband without screwing things up along the way. It feels like a curse of its own, this inability to be the person Liem needs. He can only lean close and breathe Liem in and hold him close, and hope it goes away, and hope his husband attributes his hammering pulse to happiness — or maybe that he doesn’t note it at all. ]
You should rest, [ he will say, in the end, because it’s the sensible thing to say, and not any of the stupid things he’s thinking about. ] It seemed like you were in there for a long time.
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Liem cannot be surprised. He too is unsettled by the reminder of how unexpectedly and how quickly things might spiral beyond their control. Perhaps he is not the only one who could benefit from comfort right now.]
I shall.
[Turning his head, he brushes a kiss against Cardan’s wrist. Then Liem pulls back until he can look up properly at his husband, trying to catch his expression.]
Once I have expressed my gratitude properly. Come—the doorway is hardly the place for either activity.
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And what have you planned, husband?
[ He will unpeel himself from the door, grateful for the excuse to move. His hand finds Liem's, again, twining their fingers together as he crosses the room -- not towards the bed, not yet. His proclivity for drink is well known, and the low little table in the sitting room is well outfitted with intoxicants. He forgoes goblets in favour of picking two bottles up with one hand -- both of them far headier than anything he would have chosen for Liem's enjoyment. Well, if his husband wishes to drink, he can simply drink from Cardan. ]
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Liem, however, is not easily distracted.]
What do you think? [he asks, determinedly towing his spouse further into the suite, towards the private refuge of the bedroom. Cardan may drink if he so wishes, but Liem is not inclined to wait around for him to do it here.]
I’ve been wanting to have you to myself since the revel. [His intemperate wanting is likely what got him into trouble in the first place. It seems only appropriate, now that the trouble has been dealt with, that they be able to finally taste their reward.] I am not so weary that I would crawl into bed and forget my ambitions.
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You are ever indefatigable.
[ He will raise the hand in his to his lips, brushing his mouth against Liem’s knuckles. Part of him is desperate to have what Liem offers him now; he wants to lose himself in his husband, wants to forget about the past few hours entirely. Already, the velvet and silk of his clothing feels too constricting; he wishes to be free of this, too.
Soon, soon. Just as soon as he can calm his racing thoughts. ]
…and ever ambitious.
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Is it ambitious to desire that which is mine?
[He sweeps his gaze over Cardan’s body, already imagining his hands undoing the layers of his clothing and sliding beneath. He would like very much to lure him into bed and finally have his husband all to himself, with no king and no courtiers and no schemes to demand their attention. He had left the revel wishing insinuate himself into his husband’s arms, to trade kisses and gossip and lose themselves in each other until sleep claimed them, content in their shared embrace.
But he does not envision sharing such pleasant idleness with his husband now. The events of the morning have put them both in a poor mood for it, so he will have to adjust.]
Before we rest, [he decides,] I wish to bathe with you.
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Liem is doing a valiant job of pulling back his attention. Cardan sets one bottle onto the side table, then rests his knee between Liem’s thighs, making the bed dip a little as he reaches up to undo the lacings at his own throat. His pulse is still racing; freeing it feels immediately less oppressive, though he isn’t done. His eyes meet that deliberate blue gaze, and he doesn’t have to try very hard to make his smile wolfish with hunger. ]
It’s not ambitious, [ he counters, answering Liem’s earlier question, ] so long as you claim it.
[ The thing that’s Liem’s.
He will uncork the other bottle with his teeth, before tipping his head back to drink deeply from it. His throat moves as he swallows, for a moment transfixed only by this; by the time he lowers the bottle and wipes at his mouth, he will have drunk close to half of it down. His exhalation is a little shaky.
It’s not quite enough. Still, the immediate relief is so powerful he might have wept with it, if he were capable. ]
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But still Cardan’s gaze is hungry, and when he lowers the half-emptied bottle from his lips, Liem needs only pull him a little closer to press his mouth to the exposed skin at the front of his throat.]
This is mine, [he murmurs against the intemperate pulse there, and slides his hands down Cardan’s flanks, to his narrow hips. Though he must at least turn on the bath to achieve his wish, he keeps his covetous hold of his husband for another moment.
He says quietly, as if to himself,] And I am yours.
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Yes, [ he murmurs, to both. He is Liem's, and Liem is his, and no curse nor plot could possibly change that now. The fingers of his free hand wind into Liem's hair as Cardan fields a wistful shiver, and then lets himself sink into his touch a little more. ]
I would not know what to do with myself if it were not so.
[ He is so terribly, terribly glad that Liem is here. But this is not the time to talk about that -- it would surely only bring down the mood. After all, his husband seems eager to put his ordeal behind him. So Cardan will only take another drink, and then he will lean in and kiss Liem, with the deliberate, ardent dedication of a man sworn to a sacred duty. ]
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So he kisses him: gentle—but so, so hungry. He wants Cardan to know what he does to him, how the simple agreement of Liem’s statement makes him feel desperate to somehow earn this closeness he never expected to have. He wants Cardan to be glad that it’s Liem he wedded, and not someone else.
And he wants Cardan to keep kissing him like that, no matter what troubles may befall them because of this partnership they have cultivated.]
I want my hands on you.
[Those hands wander Cardan’s clothes, seeking fastenings to undo. He recalls the feeling of being wrapped gently up in Cardan’s arms, warm against his chest with his steady voice in his ears, and feels impatience throb hard against his ribs.
With an effort, he forces himself to be calm.]
But first, you must let me start the bath.
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