Archive of Our Own ^beta

“Oh, you think?” Jude snarls, though Cardan thinks she's much less intimidating with a bright red nose from excessive rubbing and balls of tissue scattered on the bed.

Cardan doesn't know what to make of the situation; faeries hardly get sick in Elfhame—unless, of course, one would get poisoned—the thought makes Cardan's stomach turn, having experienced a poison's effects firsthand, but he doesn't think that that applies to Jude, who is currently glaring holes into this head.

“Fantastic, you ask me to take you to the human realm to look around and I catch a flu the first day I'm here, this is just great! Outstanding! Amazing!” she says, her voice sounding strange and stuffy, before collapsing back on the small bed.

Cardan has gotten a bit better at picking apart the lies from truth (Jude had explained the concept of sarcasm to him, to which he is fascinated but also baffled by), but hearing her say lies so blatantly will never fail to catch him off guard.

“Perhaps we should go back to Elfhame and have you treated by the healers?”

“If you make me stand, I will throw up on you.” Jude says, covering her face with a pillow, groaning.

Cardan tries to assess the situation.

Jude wears her older sister's clothes, a stark difference from the usual glitz and glam of the gowns she wears for the royal court in Elfhame. Instead, she is tucked in a red sweater that looks like it faded in the wash, and white pajama bottoms. Her hair is tied in a bun with tendrils falling in her face, and she is warm to the touch, her temperature showing in the faint blush on her cheeks.

Somehow, that doesn't make her less enchanting in his eyes.

“So we're staying here, then?”

“Like I said, if you make me move even an inch, I will vomit on you, and you are going to hate me and exile me again.”

Sick Jude is a talkative Jude, Cardan surmises. He wonders if it's the muddled sense of thinking that comes with a fever that loosens her tongue, but he simply chuckles and sits on the side of her bed, placing a gentle hand on hers.

“I wouldn't do that, love.”

“As if.”

“I can't lie now, can I?” Cardan asks, taking in the tiny bedroom.

Jude had lived in the room for a while, during her exile—though one could hardly tell from how plain it is. The walls are painted in ash gray, the wooden floorboards creaky. There is an empty closet on the opposite end of the room and a tiny window whose only view is the exhaust fan of the building next to theirs. The air seems stale, as if Vivi had not visited this room since Jude vacated it. He knows why there is hardly a trace of her in the room, no unique markings or belongings significant enough for her to keep in the tiny space—she has never considered this place home. Jude had always known her stay was temporary in the human realm, and that she had always belonged in Faerie.

She belonged with him—though in that time, she didn't know it yet.

“Why are you smiling like that?” Jude peeks from the pillow, and Cardan grins wider, shaking his head.

“Just thinking of something, my queen.”

“You think?”

“Don't wound my pride like that, love.”

“Well, it looks like we're stuck here for the day, aren't we?”

Jude sneezes, and Cardan jumps, startled. He turns to her but she swats him away, covering her face with a tissue.

“What—”

“I look disgusting! Don't look!” Cardan hears a blowing sound and a tiny cough, and the bed creaks. He turns again, finding her on her side, curled up in a ball clutching the pillow.

“Err, Jude, dear—”

“I know, I know, humans are so weak, why are you even sick, I get it, Cardan. Give me a day or two and I'll be back on my feet.”

Cardan frowns. “That wasn't what I was going to say.”

“Well then, I'm saying it for you. That's what you folk think of humans, anyway, right? Some queen am I. Maybe you'll see me like this and realize you should have put a ring on Nicasia when you had the chance.” she mutters ruefully, burying her face into the pillow.

Cardan is sure that it's the fever talking now—Jude is always careful not to show cracks through her armor, and even Cardan has not seen all facets of her.

Still, her mentioning Nicasia unsettles him. Does she truly not feel how he adores her?

Cardan doesn't want to hear anything she'll regret telling him once she's come to. He doesn't want to hear it unless she confides in him willingly.

He stands up, catching Jude's attention, and heads for the door.

“Where are you going?”

Cardan pauses, hand on the doorknob, and gives Jude—whose nose is wrinkled and hair is a tangled mess—a warm smile.

“You must be hungry. It's almost noon, after all. Let me find you something to eat.”

~*~

It dawns on Cardan that he has absolutely no clue how to cook—least of all, in a human kitchen. He stares at the monstrosities that are the pots and pans (why they're made of steel and iron, he doesn't even know), or the magical cooking place that lights fire at the press of the button (the label says stove but that word means absolutely nothing to him).

And stars forbid he touch any of the ingredients Vivi bought to cook—why do humans (particularly Taryn, in this scenario) eat things with so much salt?

In the end, he decides he doesn't want to be killed by two angry Duarte sisters for blowing up the apartment, he gives up and trudges to the nearest convenience store, where he is bombarded by awful store lighting and an array of canned foods to choose from.

His eyes fall on the small plastic cups of noodles that lined the bottom shelf of the aisle, and he bends down to choose.

Chicken, beef, pork, seafood—what in the world?

How could there be so many flavors for the same packet of food?

Cardan grabs one of each, loading them in his arms before placing them on the counter, where the cashier lady simply raised an eyebrow at him before scanning his items. After hastily grabbing for the pocket change Vivi had left them before going to work and paying for them, Cardan lugs up the plastic bag full of noodles, and a few other food items that caught his eye on the store aisles —The humans had somehow managed to create a snack item from a cheetah? With different flavors? Fascinating—and he tries to decipher the instructions on the side of the cup.

“Heat water? Alright.”

That shouldn't be too hard. Cardan grabs one of the gigantic gloves that Vivi had called oven mitts, poured water in the kettle and lit the stove.

“Cardan?” Jude asks, her voice muffled.

“What is it, Jude, dear?”

“Where are you? What are you doing?”

“Making you something to eat, love, just wait a few moments.”

“You're what?”

“Do you have any flavor of preference?”

“A what?” Jude sounds exasperated now, and Cardan decides to make a suggestion.

“Is chicken alright?”

“...I guess?” she replies, disbelief still dripping in her voice.

Cardan wasn't sure if he wanted to laugh or be offended at her disbelief, though he supposes he can't blame her. He doesn't answer, instead pouring the boiling water carefully in the plastic cup. He mixes the seasoning carefully, cringing at the salt that brushed his fingers, before taking it to the room.

“What the—” Jude's tired eyes flit from him to the cup in his hand, not even bothering to hide her confusion.

“I wasn't sure what you wanted, but I remember Taryn saying soup is good for mortals who are sick?” Cardan sits on the bed and gingerly places the soup on top of the pillow on Jude's lap.

“So this was what you were doing?”

Cardan grins sheepishly. “I suppose so. Go on, eat.”

Jude stares at him with a raised brow before grabbing the silver spoon from his hand. She takes a bite of the noodles and Cardan watches her in anticipation.

“It's a little bland...” she murmurs, taking a sip of the soup.

“My hands are a bit tied. You mortals love eating your salt, don't you?” he teases.

She makes a face at him. “It makes the food taste better.”

“I'm sure it does.”

He watches as Jude chew on the noodles, slowly finishing the soup, and he becomes fixated on a strand of hair that falls on Jude's face. Cardan reaches out and brushes it away,  tucking it behind her ear. His lips quirk as he starts tracing the curve of Jude's ear, so different, so human—

“Do you have to always remind me that I'm a mortal?” Cardan startles to see Jude glaring at him, her soup forgotten. She bites her lip and glances away, cheeks still painted pink, though he isn't sure if it's just the fever doing it anymore.

“Jude...”

“I know, okay? I know that I'm mortal. I know that I'm not like you...”

“And why does that matter?”

“Would you not rather have a faerie bride? Someone like Vivi, or Nicasia—”

Cardan scoffs, and Jude raises a brow, eyes fiery. “Well, I think Vivienne would rather eat a rat raw than even consider me of being her partner. And why must you always bring up Nicasia, love?”

Jude stays silent, lips pursed, and Cardan sighs.

“Jude, dear, look at me.”

She continues to stare at the wall behind him, and Cardan touches her cheek lightly, directing her eyes to him.

“Jude, you must know how much I love you, don't you?”

“Cardan...”

“Because you're acting awfully a lot like you don't, aren't you?” Cardan smiles softly, and Jude closes her eyes, skeptical, as if the words are something she's not used to hearing.

“You wouldn't think I would go through all this trouble for just anyone, do you? Certainly not Nicasia, or any other faerie you could name. I'm convinced the cashier at the store you call a 7-11 despises me now.”

Jude snorts at his joke, almost involuntarily, and Cardan forges on.

“I've loved you even before I knew what love felt like, I think. It just took me a humiliatingly long time to realize it.”

“Am I the one with the fever or is it you, because you seem delirious—”

“I see no one else but you, Jude. I couldn't look away if I tried.”

“You're exaggerating.”

“I can't lie, darling Jude.”

Perhaps Jude will smack him for this once she gets the strength to. Perhaps she wouldn't even remember the things he said to her because of her fever, or she would be too embarrassed to ever acknowledge how she acted. Perhaps she would make fun of him with her so-called sarcasm as soon as she gets well.

Cardan finds he didn't mind.

He retracts his hand and nods to the soup, signalling her to finish it. She simply stares at him, and Cardan couldn't read her. He worries he's said too much—that he's taken advantage of her vulnerability from her sickness and he opens his mouth to apologize.

Then Jude wraps her arms around him, and Cardan could only gape as she pressed her body against his, and buried her face into the crook of his neck.

“Thank you, Cardan.”

Cardan's heart starts to pound as he feels Jude's breath tickle his nape, and he presses a hand on her hair.

Her kisses are a commodity that he treasures far more than any gold his kingdom could ever give him, but this...

Their hugs are few and far in-between. He wraps his arm around her waist and pulls her closer. He listens to her heartbeat, fast and loud, and he realizes it matches his own. Whatever he's feeling, she feels it, too. He breathes in her scent, memorizing every curve of her body against his, resting his chin on her head. Cardan shifts, and Jude's arms tighten against his. His pulse skips, and he smiles.

They stay like that for a while, and Jude's breathing slows, though her hold on him stays firm. Cardan cranes his neck and finds her fast asleep.

He plants a kiss on her hair.

“Anything for you, Jude. Anything at all.”