I Can be the Light

by RAM_writing

Summary:

When Jessamy was killed by Roderick Burgess, Morpheus waged war against the kingdom that protected him from justice. Now the war is over and Morpheus will do whatever it takes to ensure justice is enacted, but when he accidentally creates an unbreakable law that cannot be fulfilled, he is forced to engage himself to the Immortal Soldier, Hob Gadling.

However, their marriage causes a few more problems than they had anticipated. Can Hob and Morpheus find a way to navigate their unexpected marriage, or will their complicated emotions prevent them from saving the realm?

Notes:

• Inspired by Hope for Nightmare King by NathanWonderwolf

This is my first fanfiction, not my first written work, but we'll see how this goes. To be perfectly up-front, I'm very invested in writing this and exploring the story, I've got a vision and I need to enact it. However. I attend university. And have depression. So. I've written the first five chapters and will hopefully be able to continue at a steady pace, but that may not happen.

Thank you for reading, please enjoy.

Chapter 1: Death and War

It wasn’t much past noon when the sky started to darken over the heads of the army as they stood ready, prepared for war. A storm was threatening on the horizon. Winter was starting to set in. The wind blew cold and brutal as Hob looked over the men gathered before him, they had gathered from all corners of the kingdom, coming here to fight for their king and country. This war had lasted five long years, and Hob could feel its end draw nearer.

This whole thing is going to end, and soon, he thought, a shudder running down his spine as he spotted a flock of ravens in the distance.

Robert Gadling was no stranger to warfare, he had been alive for centuries, he has seen death and destruction before. He had been responsible for his fair share of it. He had led the charge to battle in the past. Robert Gadling understood, better than anyone alive, what warfare truly was. But even with all that knowledge, all that experience, he had not been prepared for this.

By some unknown stroke of luck, he had been granted immortality. Who had given him this gift, or what their purposes in doing so were, he did not know, but who was Hob to question the will of the gods. He had taken to traveling, never staying in one place for too long lest someone grow too curious. He had lived his life quietly, staying away from the center of things, preferring to marvel at the wonders of the world from the sidelines. Sure, his abnormally long lifespan had not completely escaped notice, people would still whisper tall tales about the Man Who Did Not Age, but there was never anything concrete enough to draw any unwanted attention.

But a few centuries back he’d stepped out of the shadows to join the army. Edir was at war, an ally was being attacked by vicious and terrifying forces who dreamed of the destruction of all mages. While Hob was no mage himself, he would not stand by and watch the wholesale slaughter of an entire people. He had joined the ranks of the infantry, protecting his sword-brothers as they fought side-by-side. He would have done that forever, Hob wanted no glory, he did not need any recognition but the loyalty of his friends.

However, as tends to happen in war, there was a battle. At least, that’s what they called it. Hob called it a massacre. His unit walked into a trap, the enemy fell upon them with the force of a maelstrom, and at the end, he was the only one left standing. Kinda hard to keep the whole immortality thing a secret after that. He was given a medal and a position in command, the goddamned king even paid him a visit. He helped lead the kingdom to victory. Edir and their Immortal Guardian.

After the war was over, the old king gave him a plot of land and a chest full of bank notes, with a promise that he would remain undisturbed. Since then, stories have been spreading. People from all over the world have heard about Edir’s immortal knight. How the knight came about his immortality differs depending on where the story originated. If it came from the blood soaked battlefields out on the plains where Hob fought, the stories said he had been given his gift while he fought for his fallen comrades. That he had stood against the tidal wave of soldiers, and when at last he had been struck down, Lady Death had brought him back to deliver her more souls. If the story came from the mountains, where the folk knew to fear the winter and left offerings to the creatures who walked those frigid nights, it would claim that he made a bargain with a troll. If he won in a game of knowledge then Hob would lay claim to the creature’s life force, and if he lost, the troll would lay claim to his. If the story came from a far, beyond Edir’s borders, in the kingdom whose forces had first encountered the might of the eternal soldier. If it was spoken with fear and a simmering hatred, then the tale would claim he was a demon, a dark being, brought about by the Nightmare King. They would claim he was a monster made to destroy, that he lacked a soul and so he could not die.

Hob used to laugh at that, he still does, though it has turned more bitter. For it is the Nightmare King who had dragged him to battle once again.

King Harold’s envoy had shown up at his doorstep, bringing news of war with one of the Endless, and a plea to take up the sword and once again lead Edir’s armies to victory. The Endless were a family, of a sort, mages so powerful they were more “entity” than “being”, and they had been alive for eons. After such a long existence with only six others to keep them company, no wonder they had grown attached.

No one knew why the king of the Dreaming had decided to attack his neighbor, there were suggestions that Edir’s king had insulted him, or that he had simply grown bored. But Hob didn’t need a reason for this madness to know he had to help, when the nightmare stepped out of your dreams and into reality, you could hardly refuse the call to action. He had grabbed his old armor, kept clean and ready by his diligent care, and headed off to the capitol to learn what he was being asked to do.

Now he stood, five years later, in front of his men, young and old, and readied them for the battle ahead. They had taken a defensive position while they waited for King Morpheus’ forces. The reports suggested that the full power of the enemy had finally been mustered, after years of being weathered down by what was not more than half of the Dream king’s numbers, the man had decided to end it.

This is what fueled Hob’s hatred. Morpheus had declared war on a kingdom much smaller and less powerful than his own, and he did not bother to conduct it. Content to let a fraction of his numbers break the hearts and spirits of Hob’s men, while he sat back and watched as the kingdom began to crumble. At first, Hob’s presence had been about evening the scales however he could, giving the kingdom he called home a fighting chance. But then, he saw the destruction that Morpheus was willing to dole out, the suffering he prolonged with his drawn out war that he easily could have ended the very year he started it. After that, Hob’s position as honorary general had been more about keeping the men on their feet for as long as they could and becoming the biggest thorn in the Dream king’s foot that had ever been. He would make Morpheus watch as he destroyed however much of his precious kingdom he could. He wanted the king to pay.

He watched as Morpheus’ forces drew near, a menacing ocean of black clad soldiers and followed by a shifting mass of ravens. The symbol of the Nightmare king, they were meant to pick clean the bones of his enemies.

Gritting his teeth, Hob let out a battle cry and led the charge.

— — —

The battle was fierce. Hob could barely hear himself think over the din of metal against metal and the screams of men. They’d been at it for hours now, man after man had fallen at the end of his sword, and his body was littered with wounds left on any other man, would have ended him. Hob slashed and stabbed his way through the enemy, slowly carving his way forward, until he could no longer tell whether the blood that coated his sword and armor belonged to him or the men he’d killed.

He knew that Edir’s forces were being weakened, the soldiers of the Dreaming had been too many. Slowly, the lines began to buckle, and the horn to signal retreat sounded from behind him. Hob glanced over his shoulder to see the army draining away from the field of battle, they had lost, they would surrender in due time. The war would finally end.

Good, Hob thought. But I’m not done yet.

He turned back to face the Dreaming’s army, still fighting the Edirian soldiers who had yet to disengage.

“Go!” He screamed at them. “Retreat, that’s an order.”

They glanced at him, but upon spotting the plum colored cloak that marked him as a general, they quickly pulled back and followed his directions.

“What about you?” one of the soldiers shouted back at Hob, seeing that he hadn’t taken his own advice.

“I’m fine, worry about yourself,” he replied, and continued to wade, alone, into the fray.

Hob’s done this so many times before. Hob understood the motions of warfare, he understood how to maneuver his body to provide the smallest target possible, all while finding the openings in his enemy’s guard. He’d been alive for a few centuries, he’s worked as a mercenary, he’s lived as a thief, he’s lived off the land, he’d been a soldier. Hob knew how to kill a man. In fact, he’d found he’s rather good at it. So, he didn’t think. He didn’t think about the movements he needed to use, he didn't think about his footsteps or his grip on the handle of his sword. He didn’t think about the deep and weeping wounds that had been cut into his flesh. Hob ignored the pain from the injuries that should have killed him, because he had a mission.

Kill the Dream king, or in the event that this was impossible, destroy as much of his army as he could before the blood loss took him into unconsciousness.

He engaged his latest opponent, but this one was different from the rest. Instead of being clad in the Dreaming’s characteristic black metal, this soldier wore a bright ivory cloak and only the most essential pieces of armor. But perhaps most intriguing, was that instead of a helmet which covered the face, the man before him wore a thick band of metal which obscured his eyes.

As soon as they traded blows, the men closest to them drew back, opening a wide space where they could move unimpeded. But Hob didn’t stop to consider why the other soldiers might have done that, he was lost to the fight. He had poured so much of himself into this war, into this fight, he wouldn’t be stopped now. The ivory soldier and him danced around each other, testing the waters, the other’s skills, engaging and disengaging.

Hob lunged. Quick as a viper, he tried to strike the man under his chest plate, but he barely even flinched. Just knocked the blade away with a casual arrogance. The man cackled, grinning, his teeth sharp and white.

“Making the first move, my my.”

Hob just snarled and moved forward again. Trying to push his opponent into making a mistake by trading a flurry of blows, back and forth, the ivory soldier giving ground easily. Hob knew better than to think he had the upper hand, this man played dirty, he just knew it. It was in the way his steps flowed smoothly over the dirt, the way he refused to stumble, the way he grinned like he knew a very funny joke at everyone else's expense. He kept a look out for any deception, any faint or fake that might give the other away. He didn’t expect an opening.

It wasn’t obvious, it looked like a mistake given its slight nature. It looked like Hob had finally found a way through the swordsman’s impeccable defense. It looked like an opportunity. So he took it. That had been a mistake.

The strange man had done that on purpose, it had been a trap, a very good one.

Hob didn’t even see him move. The man was just a blur, a flash of movement marked more by his sudden absence than by any actual motion. One second he was about to be nicked in the side by Hob’s blade, and the next he was barely a hair's width away, his sword buried up to the hilt in Hob’s chest. And Hob was staring at where his eyes should have been, the eyes which were obscured by the metal of his helmet, the breath driven from his lungs by the force of the impact. He tried to breathe in, to brace himself for the pain which he knew would hit, but the shredded ruin of his heart had stopped the flow of blood.

The ivory soldier slowly withdrew his weapon, stepping back a respectful distance before inclining his head to Hob in just the slightest fraction. Without the other man to lean on as his strength faded, Hob fell to one knee, snarling at the unintended sign of subservience. He glared at the soldiers who were arranged in front of him, refusing to let any of them think he was drained of fight. He wasn’t giving up. He would never forget what this war had done. He was, under no circumstances, surrendering. He could already feel his body trying to knit itself back together, the muscle fibers in his heart slowly, and painfully, mending.

That was when he saw the parting in the crowd. The head of night black hair, adorned with a crown of wicked spires. Morpheus, Dream of the Endless, King of Nightmares, rode his horse through the mass of blood and swords to stop in front of Hob Gadling. He looked down at him, his face impassive, as he stared at the soldier who refused to die. And Hob refused to look away, he glared daggers at the king, challenging him to pass judgment, to order him shackled, to do something, anything. Hob waited for the king to speak. In the end, all he did was look at the ivory soldier and gesture in Hob’s direction before turning his horse back around towards his camp.

That seemed to be enough. As soon as the king’s back was turned the ivory soldier slinged Hob’s arm over his shoulder and half-carried him back to Edir’s camp. The strange man dropped him unceremoniously at the foot of the first tent they came across. He went to go, but paused for a moment before saying, “You just entered a dangerous game Hob Gadling, I sure hope you’re prepared for the consequences.”

Hob was too busy choking on his own blood to respond, but he watched with narrowed eyes as the white clad soldier made his way back to Morpheus’ forces. He wondered what the man could possibly mean by that, but before he could get anywhere with the thought before the black that threatened at the edge of his vision began to overtake him. The next thing he saw was the sky dotted by ravens as he fell into unconsciousness.

Chapter 2: Revenge and New Beginnings

Summary:

Morpheus meets with the King of Edir and makes what could have been a fatal mistake, were it not for the convenient preseance of a certain knight.

Notes:

Quick TW: nothing too graphic but there is a minor character death, other than that there's not much.

Please enjoy, love you ;)

Morpheus was angry. Morpheus was always angry these days.

He knew that Lucienne and Matthew were worried about him, he knew the whole kingdom was worried about him, they had volunteered to march to war for a reason. He had been blinded by his rage and grief for five years now, and it was finally coming to an end.

It was the anniversary of her death, and Morpheus had decided enough was enough. He had refused to bring the full brunt of his forces to bear on the neighboring kingdom of Edir, not wanting to risk the death of any more of his people than was strictly necessary. The result was a five year long conflict that could have ended the very day it started, but Morpheus had wanted to give Edir’s king a chance to do the right thing, the honorable thing. Instead, he had quickly hid behind the might of Edir’s local immortal, General Gadling.

Before this mess, the Dreaming had been in one of its longest stretches of peace and prosperity. He had been… happy. It had been business as usual, and then on that fateful day, everything had been turned on its head.

Jessamy had been helping him repair the stained glass windows in the throne room. As his assistant she helped him keep the realm running smoothly, working close by his side to send messages and juggle diplomatic meetings. And as his friend, she had spent the majority of her three hundred years listening to his problems and berating him until he found his own solutions instead of relying on hers. She had been one of the most powerful mages he had ever had the pleasure of knowing, and the only one who he’d had the pleasure of calling his friend.

She had been his apprentice, his student. It was his duty as king of his realm to teach the magic users under his protection, to take on a pupil when possible and teach them as much as he could. Jessamy had chosen to continue her education under him as his assistant even after she completed her training, she wanted to take up more responsibility. They would have started her training on the nature of dream magic the week after it happened.

They had been talking. Jessamy was laughing, Morpheus would remember that moment for the rest of his long existence. It was burned into his mind, the sway of her black and white hair as she chuckled at something he had said. Her bright smile and the way she squinted when she turned to face him. The moment itself was nothing, an action, an occurrence which was in no way, out of the ordinary. It wouldn’t have been important, gone and forgotten like so many others if it wasn’t for what came after.

Morpheus had felt a light tugging sensation on his magic, he had frowned, confused. And then it had become a pull, and then a rip, and it had felt like his inner being was being twisted away from the space in which he stood.

Jessamy’s smile and bliss quickly morphed into worry and panic.

“Sir?” she had said. “Morpheus?”

But he hadn’t been able to say anything. The pain was immense, it encompassed everything. He was nothing but the pain, and the pain was him. He lost his grip on consciousness, and as he fell it was Jessamy who caught him. She clung tight to his body as it was ripped away from his throne room and transported to a dark, dank basement.

He doesn’t know what happened after that, after they landed in that horrible place. He had been well and truly out if it by then, the next thing he could remember was being alone in a prison of glass. Barefoot on the bare stone floor he had walked the perimeter of the thick glass walls that kept him from freedom, he could see a summoning circle surrounding the little room and the protection sigils carved into the floor. It was old magic that he saw there, old enough to have influence over him and his power.

Then there had been a commotion from outside the door to the basement where he had been trapped, and in strode a man. Tall, a stately figure, his hair had long gone gray but he walked with a sure and purposeful gait, and behind him, he drug Jessamy. She was bound in chains.

Immediately, Morpheus surged to the wall separating him from her, rage swelling in his heart at her treatment. He growled, deep in his throat. A warning.

“Ah, so you’re awake then?” the man questioned. “Good, good, I had some demands that I would ask of you.”

“Sir, don’t listen to him,” Jessamy begged. Her once fine features were made a mottley of bruises, and he could see they were more hidden under her clothes. She had been beaten while he had been unconscious, guilt rose in him to match his anger.

“Who are you to dare lay a finger on her?”

“I am Roderick Burgess, and there wouldn’t have been a need if she had simply cooperated with us. I had meant to summon Death, to get my beloved son back. All I wanted to know was who landed in my summoning circle in his place. As I have learned from your lovely lady here, you do not have that power,” he peered at Morpheus inquisitively. “But as long as I have you, I may still get something after all.”

“Even if you had been successful in your quest to summon Death, she would not have given you what you seek.”

“Maybe not, but I have a feeling you will. If you want to see your little pet here, remain unharmed at least.”

His gaze turned flinty as his eyes flickered between Burgess and his friend. He couldn’t let her get hurt at his expense.

Jessamy must have seen his resolve in his expression because she shouted at him in warning. “You cannot! Do not put the realm in jeopardy because of me, Morpheus. You know I’d rather die.”

“Would you now?” Roderick Burgess’s mouth twisted into a cruel facsimile of a smile. “Well that can certainly be arranged.”

From his waist, he drew a wicked knife and placed it gently against the delicate skin of Jessamy’s neck. Morpheus pounded against the glass in protest, desperately trying to call his power to his side. But he was bound in ancient glyphs and sigils, he, one of the most powerful mages alive, could do nothing to protect his friend. There was Old Magic here, how an amateur got a hold of it he did not know, but he had used it in its most wicked capacity. To bind and imprison.

“Give me… the power to bend reality to my will, or I slit her throat and force you to watch.”

Jessamy had shaken her head even as the blade kissed her skin, “You can’t, you know you can’t.”

It was true, Morpheus could not give such a gift, could not bestow such power, to anyone. It was too dangerous, the consequences too great. But he could not say that, he could not reason with this man, this monster. They both knew that.

“Jessamy,” he pleaded. It was useless, she could do nothing to save herself, she could do nothing to prevent what was about to happen. He didn’t want this. He would have given anything to stop the events which were about to unfold, but he knew in his heart, in the deepest part of his being, that he could not let her die. He would give away this dangerous power, he would doom his realm, the world, to the whims and fancies of Roderick Burgess.

He opened his mouth to acquiesce, but she beat him to it.

“Don’t.”

Somehow, she pushed her magic into the word. There must have been some flaw in the glyph work on her cuffs, there must have been a crack, or some other weakness or impurity. She must have known it was only enough for one, simple spell. Because she used it to freeze him. It didn’t last long, it didn’t have to, it just had to stop him long enough that it would be too late. The summoning circle and protection spells were meant to stop magic and mages from getting out, not from getting in, so her single spell held him fast inside that cage. It froze him solid as Burgess, unaware of the magic she had wielded, ran out of patience.

Morpheus watched as the knife cut into her flesh, as the man holding it wrenched the blade across her throat. He watched as Jessamy’s blood flooded out of the wound. He watched as she died.

And he watched as her blood poured over the stone, over the protection sigils, over the summoning circle laid down in chalk. He watched her blood wash away the barrier to his freedom.

He had felt his knees hit the ground, but it was far away. He couldn’t focus on it above the roaring of his blood in his ears. He couldn’t take his eyes away from Jessamy’s limp form as his power rushed back to him through the small gap in the circle. It hit him with force, making him sway from his position on the floor, but even that couldn’t tear his eyes away. He had been alive for eons, he had lost so much. But he had never lost like this. He had never had to watch as his assistant, as his friend, was violently ripped away from him. It left a hole, a shattered, fractured, thing where his heart had been. He was left empty.

And then rage filled him.

He still doesn’t remember what happened, it was all a blur of anger, grief, and a desperate desire to be home. He could have killed Burgess, he knows he could have, but he didn’t. He knows he came back to the palace, to the throne room. He knows he wandered away to find Lucienne. He knows these things because Lucienne had told him that’s what he told her. But he can’t remember telling her. She says it’s trauma, he doesn’t really care what it is.

What he cared about was that when he went to Edir’s king to request justice, Harold said no. Edir protected its nobleman, kept him from the justice of the Dreaming, and by doing so, claimed his actions as its own. The murder of his citizens, of his assistant, the capture and threatening of his person, were acts of war; they shouldn’t have been surprised when he declared it.

It wasn’t supposed to last five years, but Morpheus refused to put any more of his own people in harm’s way then was absolutely necessary. Edir was supposed to cave and honor his demands, but they didn’t. Instead, King Harold had added insult to injury and cowered behind the man his sister herself had touched. He had been aware of Robert Gadling’s existence after his sister told him of the man who refused to die, she had been amused by his confidence and decided to give him his wish. Every once and a while she would visit and tell him of the man’s latest strange decision, but he had never had much of an interest. Ironic, that it was now that same man who dragged out this conflict and refused to allow him justice.

He was familiar with how Edir framed the war, how they concealed his true purpose, he understood that Gadling wouldn’t know the extent of his actions. It didn’t keep him from disliking the man any less. But today was different, it was the anniversary of her death, and Morpheus could not wait any longer. He had brought his entire army to this battle, and despite the prowess of their immortal general, Edir’s army buckled quickly. Well, most of them did. For the majority of Edir’s forces the war ended when the retreat was signaled, for General Gadling, the horn signaling retreat meant going solo.

He might have even been a problem, had the Corinthian not been there. Morpheus could see it in his eyes after the Corinthian took him out of play, the hatred simmering under the surface, and he knew that it was personal. The General was committed to his people, it wasn’t merely patriotic vigor that drove him to fight past the sound of retreat, it was loyalty to the men he fought with. Vaguely, in the back of his mind, he thought, perhaps he could do something with that.

Most of the negotiations had taken place through mail delivered by his ravens, impersonal, they were separated from the brutality of war in their simple lines of ink on parchment. The terms of peace were battered out on separate sides of the battlefield, the Dreaming bullied King Harold into agreements he would never have considered if it hadn’t been for the devastating effects of his needless war. But Morpheus was determined to be fair, he didn’t want to take from the people this war had hit the hardest, he wanted to bleed the noblemen of Edir dry.

However efficiently the creation of the treaty had gone while communicating through his ravens, this last meeting had to be face-to-face. He had to look Harold in the eye when he demanded his price for the crime committed against him and his.

So Morpheus marched with a small procession, Lucienne at his side, to the agreed meeting place. A tent had already been erected by Edir, they had arrived first and he made them await his presence on what, only mere days ago, had been a killing field. So Edir’s soldiers arrayed themselves under the tautly drawn fabric, watching as he drew nearer and nearer, dread coiling in the pit of their stomachs. Morpheus could feel the power of their emotions wafting off of them, and his magic stretched out to meet it, to feel it, to feed it.

Carefully, he drew it back. He needed to focus now, he had one goal, revenge. He would make sure someone paid for Jessamy’s death.

“Welcome, your majesty,” Harold said tersely from where he stood, framed by bodyguards as Morpheus stepped down from his black stallion. Lucienne sniffed at the statement and he didn’t bother to respond to the other king’s placations either. He lost, he’d been defeated, Morpheus didn’t care to reassure him by respecting his position as ‘gracious host’. Instead, he found his gaze drawn to one soldier in particular.

From afar, all he could make out were his high cheekbones and his dark brown hair. But standing only a handful of feet apart as they were now, Morpheus could see that Robert Gadling also possessed beautifully chiseled features and deep brown, expressive eyes; they drew him in with the depths that they held. His face was hard, mouth drawn in a tight line. This was a man who was haunted, who, much like Morpheus, had seen too much of the world to believe the beauty in it would last.

“We had best discuss the treaty.” Saying those words helped him rip his gaze away from the general. He was not here to get distracted. He and Lucienne had argued about this meeting late into the night, planning out his demands, what he was willing to do to guarantee that Edir’s debt would be repaid. They had a plan, he would see Jessamy avenged.

Harold and Morpheus gathered on opposite ends of the small table centered under the tent, on the table sat the revised and edited copy of the treaty. A single amendment was to be added before their signatures would seal the agreement and put this conflict to rest.

“This war is a result of Roderick Burgess’s actions, and your refusal to give him up to face justice. He murdered Jessamy, he slit her throat, not your soldiers, not your people, but you let them acquire responsibility for it regardless,” Morpheus pronounced, starting to gather up his magic, letting it infuse his words with power, letting it make his next words law.

“My price for peace will be to take a life from Edir to do with as I please. Give me Roderick Burgess and I will consider this matter resolved.”

This was what Lucienne had tried to stop him from doing. All magic users were beholden to certain laws, specific rules of nature that should not be broken lest terrible misfortune befall you and yours. However, the Endless were different, yes, they had to obey the same laws, but the immense power that they held allowed them to occasionally create decrees of their own. It was draining and dangerous, if the wording was imprecise there could be massive fallout as a consequence. Together, he and his Librarian had decided on what he would say, accounting for potential fallacies and building in failsafes.

The power called forth by Morpheus coalesced behind him, fanning out to wreath him in impossible shadows. The Edirian soldiers stiffened, their hands tightening on the handles of their swords, their feet shifting to take a defensive posture. All but their general, he remained where he was, at the right side of his king. It seemed to Morpheus, that the old soldier knew what had transpired, knew the purpose of his magic and that his unphased blinking was meant to say ‘I am not impressed’.

King Harold glanced nervously at his advisors. “Your majesty, unfortunately, Roderick Burgess is dead. Has been two months now.”

Morpheus froze, a calm and impervious mask fell over his features, he had not expected that. Guilt suddenly flooded through him, it engulfed him in unending waves. He could not avenge his friend, he had risked the lives of his people for nothing, he had forged an unbreakable law which could not be fulfilled.

“What do you mean ‘dead’? We’ve been monitoring his residence, he can’t be dead,” Lucienne demanded.

“It, uh, was kept a secret,” another advisor replied.

What harm, what horrible calamity would befall the Dreaming because of him? He had failed. He had failed.

Somewhere on the periphery of his awareness Lucienne had come to his side, pressed up against him for support? Comfort? She was speaking in a low, droning whisper, but he had no idea what the words were.

The Edirian advisors twitched frantically. “Lord Burgess’s son is still alive,” one of them suggested.

“No. No, I will not punish a son for his father’s crimes.” It was bad enough Harold had forced him to war, he would not harm a child in the name of Jessamy.

Time was marching on, Morpheus could feel it. The longer his demand went unanswered, the closer everyone came to destruction. Panicking, he found himself pointing at the one person who had any real significance at all. Someone who had already felt the touch of the Endless.

“You. I will take you, Robert Gadling.”

— — —

Hob has seen a lot in his lifetime, and he’s learned a lot too. He learned he was no good at magic in his first century, absolutely useless, not a lick of power to his name, but by his third he learned he was good at finding it. Being chased by rumors of his immortality meant that he’d had to keep moving and spend time in the more secret circles of magic users. He’s seen a lot of magic and learned a lot about it. So when he heard the Nightmare king imbue his words with more power then Hob had ever felt in one place, he knew exactly what was happening. When someone was as powerful as the Endless, they could bend the laws of reality to suit their own whims, the only reason they didn’t do it all the time was that their decrees could just as easily destroy them as well as their enemies.

It was a dangerous play, but if Morpheus was telling the truth about what started this war in the first place, Hob couldn’t help but feel that perhaps the over-the-top insurance policy was deserved.

And then the king of Edir said it.

“Roderick Burgess is dead.”

And the world started to fall apart.

Hob’s mind raced, Morpheus hadn’t required Burgess’s life, just that if given the man he would ‘consider the matter resolved’. It was a promise, a guarantee that he wouldn’t go back on his word, that he couldn’t. But to fulfill the Nightmare king’s demand, a life still had to be given up, or else the consequences would be severe. This could cost the king his realm, it could destroy Edir.

But before he could truly panic over that realization, his eyes locked onto the piercing blue gaze of the Endless king as his finger landed, accusingly, at the center of Hob’s chest.

“I will take you Robert Gadling.”

Hob couldn’t breath, he couldn’t move under the weight of that ancient gaze. He was an ant, caught in an ocean. His world had been reduced to Morpheus, his glacial eyes, and the command in his voice when he spoke Hob’s name. The magic which had been saturating the air, waiting for the demand to be fulfilled, finally settled. Hob could feel it sinking into his skin, into his bones. He took a shuddering breath as it reached his heart.

“But he can’t die,” Harold spluttered, breaking the spell that had taken hold.

Morpheus barely turned his head to look at Harold. “I said I would take a life from Edir, not that I would end one,” was his only response, as if that explained everything. “The general will come to the Dreaming as my consort, it will fulfill the treaty.”

“And it’s what Jessamy would have wanted,” Hob thought he heard the king mutter under his breath.

Morpheus walked away, turning to speak to a woman with dark skin and glasses. Hob watched them walk away for a moment, his feet rooted to the ground, but the shuffling of the men around him woke him from his trance. He dashed forward, racing toward the Nightmare king.

“Wait,” he cried, reaching a hand out to grab his arm, but before he could get close enough the woman blocked his path. He let the hand fall, “Look, please, just… What happened?”

The woman’s eyes softened and the king glanced at him over his shoulder. Hob couldn’t really see his face, but he looked shaken, paler than he had before.

“What’s going on?”

Morpheus turned back. “Lucienne,” he was all he said before walking away once again.

The woman, Lucienne, smiled at Hob. “You’ll have time to say goodbye, to pack your things–”

“I’ve been fighting a war for five years, I don’t have any things.”

She paused, obviously as uncertain as he was with this situation. “How long do you need?” was what she asked. Her expression was gentle and understanding. This was a way out, or as close to one as he’d get, it was an offer to prolong this. Hob could say a year, more, if he wanted. But Hob had lived for centuries, he knows that life doesn’t stop or slow just because it’d be more convenient. And the more he thought about it, the more the blame for this situation seemed to land at Harold’s feet, he wasn’t eager to spend more time in his service. So he answered truthfully.

“Two weeks.”

“Are you sure?” Lucienne asked.

“Yes.”

She handed him a slip of paper. “We will meet you here… In two weeks.”

With that, she retreated back to her king. Hob stood there, watching the black-clad king ride back to his army. Soon he and his army would be marching back to the capital, the capital where Hob would be in two short weeks. Where Hob would be consort to the Nightmare king.

Chapter 3: Laws and Consequences

Summary:

Morpheus has a heart-to-heart with Matthew and Hob prepares himself for the long road ahead.

Notes:

Thank you for reading, I hope you like it! This chapter is a bit short but I'm pretty happy with it, my first time writing Matthew's voice so let me know what you think ;D

Morpheus sat on the steps of his throne room, letting the hours tick by and waiting for the inevitable to come true. The upcoming events have loomed on the horizon like the sword of Damocles, an unavoidable fate closing in on him. He hadn’t expected Gadling to choose to arrive so soon. Morpheus had thought, perhaps hoped, that he would have developed the same ambivalence to time as him. With an eternity of life to live, the decades could slip by without his notice, flowing over him like water parts for a stone.

Time doesn’t touch him like it does others, the power he and his siblings hold is so immense it soaks into their very bones, there are few who understand that kind of isolation, only a few who have lived long enough to see everything they knew crumble to dust while they remain unchanged. After what couldn’t have been less than six centuries, Robert Gadling had seen the death of everyone he’d known many times over and the world he’d known a few less than that. Morpheus had assumed that he also would have forgotten the immediacy that permeates all aspects of mortal life.

Contrary to his expectations, Gadling had declared then and there that he only needed two weeks to prepare for the uprooting of his entire life, for his move to the Dreaming, for a new future. His answer left Morpheus floundering. Why wouldn’t he postpone when offered as much time as he could need to prepare? Who is he? What has Morpheus gotten himself into? With such a short timeline to prepare, he panicked and immediately declared that the crowning ceremony would be a small affair followed by a feast, and only those with personal invitations could attend. The crowning ceremony which would also be a wedding.

Unfortunately, the wedding of one of the Endless alone would require weeks of planning, but this one also served as solidification of the peace treaty between the Dreaming and Edir, so Gadling would arrive with his king in tow. Harold’s presence would require the ceremony to be a formal affair, with all the finery and useless traditions. But, even the added headache of Edir’s king and the entourage he would undoubtedly bring, would not be the most painful part of the whole affair. Worse than that would be the oath he’d sworn to never marry again.

He and Calliope had not bound their relationship in legal terms, which allowed him to officially take Gadling as his consort, but as a mage almost on par with the Endless her love had tied them together all the same. After Orpheus, Calliope had been unable to bear his presence, the memories too much for her to bear. So she left, and soon the magic which had united them drifted away. The pain of losing both her and his son had almost been too much, and in an effort to lock away his heart from such unbearable loss, Morpheus swore to himself he’d never marry again. It seemed that all his promises were unraveling, falling apart, slipping through his fingers as he tried, desperately, to keep them.

Morpheus put his head in his hands, the weight of his actions bearing down on him.

“My lord?” The quiet footsteps of his head Librarian alerted him to her presence, he could feel her quizzical look, her incredulous glance over the rims of her glasses.

“Have I made a terrible mistake Lucienne?” he asked, not looking up.

He hears her sigh before the rustling of her coat tails settles next to him on the steps. “In truth, I do not know my lord. But I can tell you, with absolute certainty, that you did your best in the moment. Given the parameters of your law, you did the best you could to ensure the safety and happiness of as many as possible.

“Was the enacting of the ancient laws a mistake? Undoubtedly. Will this… arrangement be happy and peaceful? I cannot say. But were you mistaken in trying to avoid pain and unnecessary violence through whatever means you could? No, my lord, you were quite right to protect even the lives of your enemies from what could have been.”

Slowly, he lifted his head from where it lay to look at his advisor. “Thank you, Lucienne. Of course, you are right. I was… impudent. Convinced of my righteousness, I should have listened to you before. Then– this could have been… prevented.”

“Do not be too hard on yourself,” she said. “You could not have known the impossibility of your request. We will find a way to make this work, Robert Gadling will not be a prisoner here. I will make sure of it.”

Their comfortable silence was broken by a boisterous clamor from further down the hall.

“Boss, you will not believe this!” Matthew cawed. Morpheus had not wanted to take a new apprentice after Jessamy’s death, the grief had consumed him and the very thought of replacing her made his blood boil. Lucienne had tried to convince him, she was concerned for his well being after Roderick Burgess, she had wanted someone to look after him. But he had been unmoved. The ease with which he had been rendered powerless opened within him a need for protective isolation. He had refused to be looked after, to lean on anyone for support, but then Matthew had landed himself squarely in Morpheus’s responsibility in the middle of a war.

Matthew had been a citizen of Edir when the two nation’s armies had clashed in the middle of his town. Morpheus had been there, one of the few he personally attended in the beginning, when Matthew’s latent power had been unleashed. The fear, the adrenaline of being caught in the middle of a battle, had blown past the barriers to his power and unleashed it on his own people. Morpheus had felt it, seen its devastation, and known the fate that could befall whoever had been responsible.

Though it wasn’t his fault, the damage Matthew’s magic had done would likely have landed him a death sentence had Morpheus not found, and offered him a job. Despite originally being from Edir, Matthew had not hesitated to pack up his things and follow the Dream king to the capital. He liked to say that he owed his allegiance to the ruler who ‘elected to give a shit about him’ first, which just so happened to be Morpheus.

“Mervyn was trying to put up mistletoe instead of holly for the feast,” the young man continued. “But, lucky for you, I got it sorted. You know. I’m getting pretty good at this whole apprentice/ward thing.”

He came around the corner to the throne room with a skip in his step. “I think I deserve a raise.”

“You don’t get paid, Matthew,” Lucienne corrected.

“That’s what I mean. It doesn’t have to be much, maybe just a few coins here and there. You know, for good behavior or whatnot.”

“What a tremendous idea. A very good way to never have to pay you indeed,” was Lucienne’s response, her voice soft like silk as she rose from her place on the steps. “I really should have thought of it myself.”

“Yeah, alright. You’re no fun.”

Bowing to Morpheus, she said, “I shall take my leave, there is much yet to be done in preparation for Sir Gadling’s arrival.” And with a look at Matthew she added, “Try to look after him, would you?” Before walking away.

Settling next to him, in place of Lucienne, Matthew asked, “What’s going on, boss?”

Morpheus sighed. “There is nothing ‘going on.’ I am simply thinking over my. Predicament.”

“The whole– Ah, getting-married-to-a-stranger thing?”

“Yes.”

“Look– I didn’t get to know Jessamy. But Lucienne told me a lot about her, and I know how people look at me and see her,” he shifts uncomfortably. “What I’m trying to say is that I know you swore to make Edir and that Roderick guy pay for what happened to her, and that you probably think this marriage deal is a betrayal of that vow. But, maybe what you really swore to get was justice. And based on what I know of who Jessamy was, I think… Well, I think maybe she’d see this as enough.”

Morpheus thought about his words for a moment. Matthew was loud and boisterous, but he could offer an unexpected amount of wisdom. Perhaps he was right, Jessamy never had been much for violence, an admonishing glare and a stern word were all she’d needed when she was alive. Maybe he could find peace with this. Maybe what had happened was enough.

“You.. might be right about Jessamy. Perhaps I was… distracted by my own grief.”

“Yeah, no, boss. I get it, we all get it. It’s not easy, losing people you love, and it’s worse when they’re taken from you. You need to blame someone, anyone. Everything about it is distracting, it would be grief if it wasn’t.”

“Thank you Matthew.”

“‘Course, happy to help,” he said as he stood. “Oh, also, I was supposed to tell you that Robert Gadling’s boat left dock about eight hours ago.”

Morpheus’s head shot up. “Matthew! It’s a ten hour trip from Edir’s port to the capitol!”

“Right…” he said, facing paling.

“They’ll be here in two hours?”

“Right.”

He takes a deep breath. “Okay, have the palace staff lay out the places for the feast, give the cooks a time warning, and for the love of all that is holy, tell Mervyn to focus on the throne room and only the throne room.”

“Yeah, on it boss!” Matthew hopped away and around the corner, eager to escape Morpheus’s glare.

Slowly, the king rose from where he sat vigil, and tried to prepare for his new eternity as he walked to his rooms.

— — —

Hob had spent the day of the treaty trying to convince his king that he did not need to be accompanied on the journey to the capital of the Dreaming. He knew, technically, that the upcoming marriage was a political arrangement and would therefore need to be overseen by both pastries; but he had hoped that someone would take pity on him and give him the dignity of presiding over it himself. It was his wedding after all, surely the word of Edir’s immortal knight would be enough. But it wasn’t.

Which is why Hob now owned more surcoats and formal jackets than he had over the course of his entire 600 years of living. And it is why he now found himself standing on the prow of the royal boat, wearing a long, expensive burgundy cloak trimmed with mink fur and a golden circlet around his head. He had spent the last two weeks madly memorizing all the most important dignitaries of the Dreaming and its allies, and the pre-approved script of correct diplomatic pleasantries. The past three days alone had been spent learning the right kind of expressions he should use until he could smile the perfect placid smile of a well-behaved queen in his sleep. He had been dressed to perfection, and was expected to act to perfection from now until… forever, possibly.

Harold was desperate to maintain the upper hand, the good opinion of the public, the stable, reliable platform of diplomacy. The Nightmare king’s choice to take a consort would have complicated things, but leaders like Harold always have plenty of loyal, docile, and predictable young nobles to throw into political marriages, so it wouldn’t have been hard to choose one to send as the sacrificial lamb. But choosing Hob had been something different altogether. Hob was immortal, he was unpredictable, he was unknown, and most importantly, he had no allegiance to Harold whatsoever.

So Hob had gone through a speed run of diplomatic training, drilled on everything from the right table setting to the most commonly preferred positions during sex. No detail had been spared, and Hob’s head was still spinning from the sheer amount of information he had recently consumed. He had found himself in the middle of a very delicate political situation, and as much as he didn’t care for Harold, he knew it was important that this didn’t go horribly wrong. So he learned the names of King Morpheus’s inner circle, and the traditions of the Dreaming, he learned what a royal wedding would entail and the dances he would have to perform.

Anger boiled in him. It sank into his gut and raced through his veins at the indecency of it all, he was not a man who jumped through hoops and came when called. He was a wanderer, a soldier, and the Nightmare king had claimed him as his consort on a whim. To narrowly avoid disaster. It was his own foolishness that brought him to such a choice, not Hob’s. He had invoked an ancient law, not Hob. And yet it was up to Hob to solve the problem created by the other man’s idiocy.

The knowledge of the crime that had pushed the king to such an extreme nagged at him, in the back of his mind the words ‘murder’ and ‘Jessamy’ kept ringing. The understanding of what it meant to lose a friend tried to worm its way into his heart. But stubbornly, Hob kept it out. Sympathy was a gift he was not willing to give, he had lost so many friends because of Morpheus’s war, he had been hurt and healed, he had watched suffering because of his war. He had been strong-armed into a political marriage to a man he did not know. He did not want to feel sympathy for someone who caused him so much pain.

So he bit his tongue and stewed in his anger. The anger was so much safer than the fear.

Chapter 4: Wedding Bells

Summary:

Morpheus and Hob both prepare for the upcoming ceremony, each unaware of the other's fears. Hob takes the first step to kinghood

"Harold walked through the door in a huff, Hob watched him in the mirror as he started to pace, 'I was to meet with you hours ago, and now you have someone to come and ‘collect’ me?' he cried. 'I am your king Gadling, you should respect me as such.'

Hob sees his eyes grow stoney, it has been a long time since he has had to don this part of himself and he had wanted to put it off for as long as he could, but today he was to be wed. He had run out of time."

Hob stepped off the boat behind king Harold, and behind them were a company of guards, before them, a greeting committee from the Dreaming was assembled on the dock. Of the three, Hob’s eyes locked on the ivory soldier from the battlefield. He was dressed in the same monochrome cream, instead of armor he wore a pleated coat and trousers, but his eyes were still hidden behind dark glass spectacles. Standing beside him was the dark skinned woman who had been with Morpheus at the treaty signing, and beside her was a new face.

“Welcome to the Dreaming, Robert Gadling,” the woman said, ignoring Harold’s presence.

“Thank you, my lady. And it’s Hob, please,” he replied smoothly, and added a short bow for the fun of it.

“Well then, Hob, you can call me Lucienne. This,” she gestured to the ivory soldier, “is the Corinthian. He is in charge of the palace’s guards and the top general in the Dreaming. And this is Matthew, the apprentice to, and ward of, Lord Morpheus.”

Hob puts the names to their faces and makes an effort to remember them. After the last encounter he had with the Corinthian, he would be hard pressed to forget him, Matthew was a young man with narrow features and an excitable energy. Lucienne, or course, was calm, like a rock in the middle of the raging flood he had been tossed into.

“Follow me,” she said, and they did. The other two fell behind him and Harold.

They were led from the dock, through the city, to the palace. The whole way Hob tried to disguise his staring. He had never seen a city like this before, it was full of conflicting architecture like each block had slowly been built over the course of centuries. There was no rhyme or reason to any of it, some houses were full of color and others were a study in earth tones. It was a chaotic kind of beauty, where each conflicting part found a way to fit in its own way. But the city was nothing in comparison to the palace.

The castle of the Dreaming rose out of the city in turrets and white brickwork. It was all whites and golds and grays. It took Hob’s breath away. He knew that Lucienne was saying something, perhaps it was something important, something about his upcoming wedding, but he couldn’t hear her over the rushing of blood in his ears. Seeing it in person brought everything into excruciating detail, his fate loomed large in front of him and for a moment his mind buffered.

Distracted, his foot caught on the edge of a cobblestone, but before he could topple forward the Corinthian caught his arm in an unusually strong grip, righting him. The man flashed him a predatory grin and leaned in, “Careful there, Hobsie. Wouldn’t want to bring you to my lord already scuffed up, would we?”

A shiver ran down Hob’s spine, “No, we wouldn’t.”

“Good man,” the Corinthian replied, clapping him on the back.

 

The rooms given to the Edirians were on the opposite side of the castle as the royal chambers. Whether they were arranged this way out of respect or a desire to keep the Edirians as far away from the king of the Dreaming for as long as possible, Hob didn’t know, he couldn’t even try to guess. But he felt grateful for the distance no matter the reason for it, the thought of spending the next night in the king’s bedchambers was too much. He knew the time would come, but for now, he was allowed to spend the next blissfully alone.

He closed the door behind him and collapsed against it, breathing in deep. With Harold and his guards all out of sight, he could pretend that they weren’t there, that they had never been there. He could pretend there wasn’t a script to follow, that there wasn’t an entire delicate peace balancing on his shoulders. Hob could pretend that he was here as a guest, as an embassy, that he could spend the next day exploring and admiring the city, the next night wining and dining and impressing his hosts. He could try and forget that from the moment he woke up in the morning, he’d be hounded by servants trying to get him to look as refined and noble as possible, as appealing as possible for a husband he’d only spoken to once before.

Carefully, he walked around the room. Compulsively, he checked the walls for hidden doors and peepholes, like he always did when staying in an inn or tavern. The old, familiar motions helped calm him. He ran his hands over the furniture, before finally approaching the bed. It was wide like most beds in a noble household, covered in soft sheets, absently, he wondered if it would be sheets like these that Morpheus would lay him back against.

He shoved that thought away and shucked off his coat and overshirt, kicking off his shoes he flopped back on the mattress. Not bothering with the rest of his clothes, Hob closed his eyes and let the lull of unconsciousness pull him under and away from the world.

— — —

Morpheus hadn’t slept.

It wasn’t as if he hadn’t tried, but everytime he tried to close his eyes thoughts of Robert Gadling and their upcoming marriage raced across the back of his eyelids. Eventually, he had given up trying to banish the thoughts and just resigned himself to making preparations for the next day.

He started by inspecting his wedding clothes, a fine linen shirt and a dark blue boned vest made up the base of the outfit, but the real centerpiece was the thick woven cloak that was meant to adorn his shoulders. It was dyed a deep shade of ebony with beautifully embroidered flames at the hem. They licked up from the end of the cloak in shades of orange and gold so bright they appeared to be eating away at the black of the fabric. The neckline was outfitted with raven feathers instead of the traditional fur lining, the raven was the sacred animal of the Dreaming, Morpheus and his magic had a special connection to the animals. Their appearance signaled important occasions, whether they were fortuitous depended on context, it was fitting for their feathers to be incorporated in his wedding.

Next, his attention was captured by the throne room. The columns were decked in laurel wreaths, and tapestries depicting the rise of him and his siblings, the Endless, were hung in the spaces between them. Candles were arranged throughout the hall, prepared to be lit the next evening. All in all, it was beautiful. And it was unreal.

Would this be there tomorrow? Or was he dreaming, was all this some fever-fed fantasy? Some concoction of his mind, some imagining of the future while he was really still in that glass prison below the earth?

They called him Dream, or they used to when he first came to power. And now he feared them. People had assumed that his abilities to bend reality to his will, to craft and manipulate the dreams of men, and shapeshift came from his connection to the ‘Land of Dreams’ and that he was the embodiment of that place. In truth, he and his siblings had simply blown holes in the fabric of reality with ill-advised spellcraft and as a result, become conduits of a short. They had responsibilities now, roles they had to fill, and they could draw power from the realms they were connected to. His older sister, Morana, helped shepard the dead and dying to their final resting place but could also restore life, or grant eternal life as she had with Gadling.

Morpheus had grown attached to the name after a time, and when it had come time to choose a name under which to claim kingship, he had chosen this one.

He turned away from the throne room, and spent the rest of the night at his desk writing the bills he had planned to put off until after Robert had been settled into his new role. He was still working on one of those proposals, when the pale dawn sun started to come through the window and Matthew burst through the door.

“Boss!” he called, sing-songing. “It’s time!”

He paused just past the doorway, looking towards the sitting room where Morpheus would normally be at this time. Sitting at his desk as he currently was, he was hidden behind the door.

“Over here, Matthew.”

The young man jumped. “You’re working? At this hour?”

“I couldn’t sleep.”

“Right, so was that ‘I woke up and couldn’t get back to sleep’ couldn’t sleep or ‘I didn’t even try’?”

Morpheus arches a single eyebrow in response.

“Lucienne would absolutely murder you.”

“Good thing she won’t know then, isn’t it?” he asks pointedly.

Matthew smiles at him in a rare moment of shared conspiracy. “The kitchen staff are about to start prepping the food for the feast and most of the servants are already swarming the halls putting the final touches together. The guests are supposed to arrive in the afternoon, Mervyn will set up the ballroom to receive them today, and… Oh, Lucienne wanted to speak to you about something,” he rattles out in one breath. “She’ll meet you in the library when you’re ready.”

With that, he disappears from view and closes the door behind him, leaving Morpheus in silence once again. He sighs and throws on an acceptable pair of trousers and a loose shirt before heading to the library. He passes a servant with his breakfast tray on the way and takes the opportunity to grab the bowl of fruit with him to his meeting.

The library is one of his most treasured places in the palace. A vast network filled, floor to ceiling, with bookshelves. Carved from heavy red oak, the shelves themselves are pieces of art, and with multiple rooms that span the entirety of the east wing of the castle, it was easy to get lost or distracted. No one knew the Library better than Lucienne, she had been the head Librarian for almost as long as the library had been there, and she was one of the only people Morpheus truly trusted. As such, she had the unenviable position as his advisor.

She told him the truth, and she was not afraid to give it to him to his face, unblinking. Lucienne was a force to be reckoned with, and one of the only people whose wrath he feared enough to actively avoid. So when Lucienne told him she needed to talk to him, he found it in his schedule to talk.

He found her at her desk, her office was located in the center of the library’s network of rooms and corridors. She wanted to be among the books, not separated from them in a removed room.

“Lucienne?”

She looked up, her expression softening slightly when her eyes landed on him. “Good morning, my lord.”

“Good morning. Matthew said you needed to speak with me, so I figured I’d do that first. Not much else to do today besides stay out of the way.”

She smiled indulgently. “Yes, I thought it best to discuss Sir Gadling before tonight.”

“Robert Gadling?”

“Yes, my lord. Please take a seat, sir. It was all very sudden, this engagement, and I think we need to discuss what will follow the wedding. You hadn’t planned on marrying to achieve peace between the Dreaming and Edir, and you haven’t had a spouse in a very long time. We’ve been operating under the assumption that there would never be a spouse for a very long time,” she sighs quietly. “All that is to say, Sir Gadling is here to fill a role that doesn’t exist, my lord. What will his duties be? What is his responsibility to the Dreaming? What kind of relationship are you hoping to have with him? My lord, what will this marriage be? Is it to remain purely legal or is it to be consummated?”

He blinked at the last question. “I– I hadn’t. Considered that, as of yet.”

“I didn’t think so.”

They sat in silence for a moment, looking out into space as if it would give them the answers to their questions. It would be so much easier if it could.

“I suppose… It would be best if Robert chose his duties. So the first few months could be spent introducing him to the realm.”

“And the marriage itself?”

Morpheus frowned. “I will not rape him.”

“I was not under the impression that you would, my lord,” was Lucienne’s soft reply.

“But. It is not good for power to remain… in flux.”

“I see.”

The idea of consummating the marriage was not something he thought of fondly. It had been a very long time since he’d done… that. But it had been his folly that had landed him in this marriage, he would do what needed to be done. Besides, Robert was a rather handsome man, it would be no heartache to lie with him.

Clearing his throat, he stood from his seat. “Thank you Lucienne, your counsel has been a great help, as always. But there are matters to be seen to.”

His walk to the door was interrupted by his Librarian’s last request, “Do be careful with him, Lord Morpheus. He is a good man, he wants to do what is best for his people, let him in. He may be good for you.”

“I will… consider it,” he replies haltingly.

He gives her a curt nod and makes his way out of the library. There is a wedding to be had.

— — —

Hob was woken up at midmorning by the arrival of a half dozen servants who drew back the curtains and bustled about setting his food up on the table by the window. One of them, a stern-looking woman with hair braided close to her scalp, was opening the wardrobe and inspecting the clothes inside.

Blearily, Hob sat up, rubbing at his eyes. “Can I help you?” he asked, his voice raspy from sleep.

“My name is Galut and you have a long day ahead of you Sir Gadling,” is her response as she continues to fuss with what’s hanging inside the wardrobe. “Your king wishes to speak to you, but that will have to wait until you’ve had your clothes have been fitted for the ceremony.”

“When is it?”

“The fitting is after breakfast.”

“No, I mean the wedding. When is it?”

The woman turns around, a baffled look on her face. “You don’t know when the wedding is?”

“King Harold is the one with that information.”

“And he hasn’t shared it with you?”

Hob eyes the other servants in the room self consciously, they had fanned out to the edges, making themselves as unobtrusive as possible, but he could see them sneaking glances at each other. “Uh, not yet.”

The woman, who is obviously high in the chain of command in the palace, scoffs. “Of course he hasn’t, why would he? The ceremony will take place at five, followed by a feast in the main hall which will last well into the night, but you and Lord Morpheus will leave once all the necessary pleasantries have been exchanged.”

“Not a big talker then?” He tries to joke, but it falls flat.

“Lord Morpheus is not one for meaningless conversation,” is all he gets in response before he’s dragged out of bed and instructed to eat.

Following breakfast is a flurry of activity. He bathes and dresses in some of the finest cloth he’d ever worn, the dark green fabric hugs his form and lays heavy across his shoulders. Then the tailor arrives and Hob is ordered to stand in a dozen different ways as the sun creeps higher in the sky and starts its slow descent. A cloak of rich purple is draped around him, and then that too, is hemmed and mended.

Food is sent for and he eats quickly so as not to disrupt the servants’ alterations for long, he lets them flit around and offer different fabrics and jewelry to the gruff woman who has overseen it all. He only notices the forearm braces he’s been given when they are being tightened around his wrists, and he stares at himself in the mirror. They’ve woven metal chains through his hair and around his head in a makeshift circlet, and the laces of his shirt have been drawn taught down his chest. His boots are a supple leather inlaid with delicate metal designs, he hadn’t registered putting them on.

He looks, for lack of a better word, kingly. He looks like he is about to be married to one of the Endless. More importantly, he looks like he was meant to. Beneath these layers of cloth he could no longer see the frightened boy he used to be, desperate for every scrap of life he got. Wearing this, he could almost pretend he was born royal.

He looks away.

“Is Harold still waiting?” he asks Gault.

“I can have someone fetch him, if you need?”

“That would be lovely, thank you.” Resolutely, Hob stares at his own reflection in the mirror. He was about to marry one of the Endless, it was about time he became comfortable with the fact. Taking a breath, he remembered the six hundred some-odd years that he had lived before this day, he was Hob Gadling, the immortal soldier. He had weathered centuries, he could weather marriage.

Harold walked through the door in a huff, Hob watched him in the mirror as he started to pace, “I was to meet with you hours ago, and now you have someone to come and ‘collect’ me?” he cried. “I am your king Gadling, you should respect me as such.”

Hob sees his eyes grow stoney, it has been a long time since he has had to don this part of himself and he had wanted to put it off for as long as he could, but today he was to be wed. He had run out of time.

“You are my king, for now,” he said slowly, turning around. The servants still in the room, instead of shrinking against the wall as they would in Harold’s palace, seemed to expand their presence. It was as if they were snakes, rattling their tails in warning. Harold paid no notice.

“You are Edirian!” he roared. “As long as I rule you are mine.”

Hob feels the corners of his mouth twitch. Foolish child. He steps down from the tailor’s stand. “I am over six hundred years old Harold, your lifetime means nothing to me. I have lived under kings long before you, and I will live long past you. I fought in the war, I followed your direction, because I had been under the impression you were defending people's lives. I have since been disillusioned.”

“What– But you can’t,” the king stuttered.

It only took a few short strides to bring him chest to chest with the man, and he leaned into his space. “I can do. What I damn well please, your majesty. I am getting married today, and I recall you being partially responsible for that.”

Abruptly, he pulled back to circle the table and take a seat. Lounging in the chair, he picked at the fruit bowl. “I thought it best to make things clear before the ceremony tonight, make sure we know where we stand. You protected that scum, Roderick Burgess, to protect your own reputation. You put your citizens at risk for your own pride. And your actions placed me in just the right spot to act as your free ticket to peace.”

He bites down on a strawberry.

“So you and I are done. I will do what I can to protect Edir’s interests, not yours. I will marry the King of Dreams and Nightmares. I will share his bed. I will play nice and be diplomatic, I will remember all the names of the foreign dignitaries, and I will remember the steps to all the right waltzes. But I will do none of it for you. Do you understand?”

Harold opened his mouth but Hob cut him off, “No– Don’t answer that.”

“Tonight, we will not speak. You will do whatever it is that you were planning on doing, but you will do it without me.” He gestures at the door with a wave of his hand, “You can leave now. Go.”

And, with an open mouth and wide eyes, Harold turned and went. As soon as the door clicked shut Hob dropped the arrogant angle of his chin and the self-assured tilt of his shoulders.

“Alright, what’s next on the agenda?” he asked Gault, and it might have been his imagination, but as the servants got back to choosing the extra details of his outfit, she seemed to be appraising him a little more closely. A slight glint of satisfaction in her eyes.

Notes:

Sorry this chapter's a bit late, chapter six has been giving me some trouble (it really doesn't want to be written, the little bugger). Hope you enjoyed this one!

Chapter 5: The Wedding Night

Summary:

It happens, Hob Gadling marries Morpheus, king of the Dreaming.

The stained glass windows of the throne room had reorganized themselves to depict a new scene, Morpheus saw himself in the leftmost panel, a tall figure of black, one arm extended to the empty space on the right. The middle panel was composed of a full moon laying heavy in the center and a field of poppies at the bottom. The right panel was conspicuously empty.

He stood in front of what had once been one throne, now there were two. One had an elegant back, carved from white marble, arching into a spearpoint far above the head of whoever would sit in it. It bore his sigil, displayed proudly at the top. The other was formed from the same marble, but it was plain and exhibited little detail. It had been made in anticipation of the night's events, but there was yet a soul to carve and shape it, so for now it stood bare and empty.

“Sir?” Matthew asked from one of the entrances.

“Yes, Matthew?”

“The guests have all arrived and Gault says that Robert Gadling is ready, Lucienne is ready to start the ceremony. Are you?”

Matthew was difficult, he didn’t like to follow directions, he absolutely refused to see Morpheus as anything other than an employer. He could be headstrong and he never practiced his magic outside of his lessons. But, inexplicably, he seemed to care about Morpheus. He went out of his way to ensure that things would be alright. He asked, he talked incessantly, and it helped.

“Thank you for your concern, Matthew, but I am alright,” he tells him, smiling slightly. “You can inform Lucienne that the guests may enter.” He took his place in the center of the dias as Matthew disappeared from view.

Soon, the guests filed in, led by Lucienne who would be presiding over the ceremony. Most were denizens of the Dreaming, the Major Arcana, like Gilbert who lived in Fiddler’s Green, important officials like Cain and Abel, and respected citizens like Johanna Constintine who gave him a two fingered salute when she met his eyes. They, along with the small entourage Harold had brought with him, gathered at the sides of the throne room, leaving an empty corridor down the middle for the new king to walk down. Their chatter filled the room, lifting up to the ceiling, Morpheus ignored them and kept his eyes trained on the doors opposite where he stood.

Lucienne climbed the steps leading up to the thrones and took her place between the two. “My lord,” she murmured.

“Lucienne.”

She opened her mouth to say something, but the gong of the clock hitting five cut her off. Abruptly, the chatter quieted, and the sound of the double doors pulling open cut through the silence like a knife through butter.

Gault walked through first, technically she was one of the Major Arcana, but she preferred to spend her time working so she held the honorary position of what Matthew called ‘palace manager’. She wore a beautifully tailored suit that perfectly complemented Lucienne’s.

“Introducing, Sir Robert Gadling, formerly of Edir, soon to be King Consort of the Dreaming,” she announced in a clear, ringing voice. And from behind her, Robert emerged.

He was breathtaking. There was no other way to say it.

Morpheus was dripping with extravagance, rubies adorned the metal braces on his arms and the rings on his fingers, chains were draped along the folds of his cloak, and silver hung from the piercings in his ears. The crown on his head was crafted from black obsidian and rested at his temples, menacing and deadly. But Robert was a portrait in simplicity. The clean lines of his cloak and the stiff folds of his shirt emphasized the lines of his shoulders, broad and strong. The length of his stride left the hem of his cloak fluttering and drew attention to the power in his thighs, the turn of his calves.

As he came closer, starting up the stairs, Morpheus could see the fine metalwork that had been woven in his hair. He met Morpheus’s eyes and held them as he walked. The intensity of the gaze forced air out of his chest. Robert knelt just before he reached the dias, in a single, smooth movement, he brushed his cloak aside and fell to one knee, his head bowed. Insanely, he found himself missing the presence of those dark brown eyes.

“Citizens and guests of the Dreaming,” the Librarian began. “You have gathered here today to bear witness to the wedding of Lord Morpheus of the Endless, ruler of the Dreaming, King of Dreams and Nightmares, the Lord Shaper, and Sir Robert Gadling, the Immortal Soldier of Edir, favored by Death of The Endless. You are here to witness the entwining of their souls according to the ancient laws.”

She looked at him and addressed the both of them, “In the taking of these vows, you pledge yourself in the service to the realm, to protect it and its people, and fight alongside them in its defense. Will you proceed?”

“I will,” Morpheus replied.

“As will I,” Robert said, his voice was soft but it rang through the hall. His head remained bowed so he did not see Lucienne’s smile.

“Well then, Robert Gadling. Do you take Morpheus of the Endless as your husband by the old laws and the new, in all realms and all realms to be? Do you promise to commit yourself to your union and walk, hand-in-hand through the trials of life?”

“I do.”

“And you, Morpheus, will you take Sir Robert Gadling as your husband, by the old laws and the new, in all realms and all realms to be? Do you promise to commit yourself to your union and walk, hand-in-hand through the trials of life?”

“I do,” he said, and he could not help the warmth that crept in at the edges of his words. At Lucienne’s nod he summoned the power of the Dreaming and formed it into a black metal crown. As the magic coalesced into the dark material, it formed little engravings of suns cresting the horizon and gold beads along the rim.

He held the new crown aloft, lighting the light catch on its intricate design. “With this crown, I name you, Robert Gadling, King Consort of the Dreaming, my husband and chosen companion.” Slowly, he brought it down, just above his head. “With this crown, I promise to protect you, to care for you. With this crown, I claim you as my own and as such, I share with you my power.”

Carefully, Morpheus lays the crown on the head of his husband, but before he can withdraw Robert catches his hand and brings it to his lips. His mouth is hot against his skin, and it sends a shock up his arm.

Just as quick as he caught him, he lets Morpheus go, and finally, finally, raises his gaze. Those honey brown eyes met his and he felt that shock again.

— — —

When Hob took his place to the left of his husband the crowd of people erupted in applause. It didn’t go on for very long before Morpheus signaled for silence and said, “I believe there is a feast to get to.”

The two of them led the way into the dining hall, Morpheus with his head held high, the hem of his flame adorned cloak flowing out behind him, and Hob at his side. The king kept his space as they walked, leaving a good foot in between them, his rigid posture cold and distant. Hob forced himself to look forward, keeping his feet moving and refusing to dwell on whatever intentions were behind the other man’s behavior.

Instead, he set his shoulders and walked to the table at the back of the room. It was the one rectangular table in the hall, aside from the long ones pushed up against the walls which were laden with meat and fruit and all kinds of foods. The rest were round, fitting five or six people, and spread across the empty space. It was, by far, the strangest layout for a feast that Hob had ever seen, but no one else seemed to pay it any attention so he kept his questions to himself and followed Morpheus and Lucienne’s lead.

At Morpheus’s table were he, Lucienne, who sat to his right, Matthew, who was next to her, the Corinthian, Gault, on Hob’s other side, and an affable looking man who seemed to be growing wildflowers in his hair and moss from his beard.

Whereas everyone else retrieved their own food from the tables along the wall, servants brought out the meals for everyone at the king’s table. They were served a marvelous leg of lamb and roasted vegetables, along with a mug of what looked like mead. Hob ate in mechanical silence, letting the jubilance of the guests wash over him. He cut the meat, stabbed a vegetable, chewed, and washed it down with a sip from his drink, all while keeping his inquisitive glances on the crowd and not the man to his right.

His rote pattern was broken when Gault tapped him on the arm. He looked over to find she had gotten up and was now offering her hand in what might have been a suggestion, but came off more like an order to join her.

“Come, you should talk to the guests, gods know lord Morpheus won’t.” She said it so easily, a fact well acknowledged. And Morpheus barely even looked at her as she spoke. It was slightly baffling, the way he allowed himself to be discussed by his own staff, but Hob was not one to look a gift horse in the mouth, so he took her invitation and let her lead him into the gathering.

“Lord Morpheus does not see the value in small talk, so it will be useful to have someone a little more likable who represents the crown,” Gault told him. “But you should probably try some more of the food before opening that can of worms, here try some of this.”

She proffered a glass of red liquid that had come from one of the tables. “It's fruit juice, pomegranate to be exact. And this,” she handed him a small tray of assorted pastries, “is the pride and joy of the head cook. Make sure you like them.”

He accepted both with a blink and downed the juice first, it’s good, tart but refreshing, and nibbles on the pastries as Gault takes him around the room, pointing out different foods and explaining when they’re likely to be served. When they reached the end of the line he said, “You aren’t just a member of the palace staff.”

She looks bemused. “No, I’m not.”

“Would you mind enlightening me?”

“I’m one of the Major Arcana.”

Hob’s eyes widened at that, “One of the Arcana? Then why were you wasting your time with me, surely you had more important and more pleasant things to do with your time?”

“More important than preparing my future king?”

He stopped. “Well– I suppose–”

“You don’t think of yourself as a king, do you?”

“No,” he replied. “Not in the least.”

“You will, in time. It will become natural, trust me. I know what it is to change.”

“You do?”

Gault sighs and picks up a glass of some alcoholic substance from the table closest to them. “What do you know of how we Major Arcana came about?”

“As far as I know, you’re supposed to be similar to a duke?”

“Close. Before Lord Morpheus created us, we were human, but we were different. The creation of the Dreaming, the kingdom, affected us, opened us. Morpheus had to corral pieces of the Dreaming’s magic, he needed someone to hold it so it didn’t start destroying itself, so he came to us, asked if we would be willing to take it.

“I was so empty after the border of the Dreaming came down, it was like this hole had opened up inside me and I jumped at the chance to fill it. And it did. The magic that rests in the land I hold dominion over is anchored within me, it filled me up and I was terrible. The magic was terrible, it was harsh and barren as the earth it was a part of, as cold as me. I could be no more and no less than what I was, than what I was made to be, but then I started to change. It took a long time for me to think of myself as anything other than one of Morpheus’s nightmares, but I had a new nature. And I’ve come to think this one fits me more.”

“You’re… connected to the land?” was all Hob could think to say in response, what Gault had said, it reminded him of himself in many ways. The hunger, the terrible nature, the metamorphosis, all things he has known in the past. He never had been satisfied with the life of a farmer or a craftsman, he’d always wanted more, more, more. When he had first learned of his immortality he had been insatiable, a devil in human form, but that had waned after a time, he had stopped his ceaseless lust for riches and grown to see life itself as a treasure.

“Yes, I’m connected to the land,” Gault said. “But only the land that Morpheus gifted to me, instead of a legal claim, it’s like a magical influence. We can alter the climate of our provinces, secure their borders, make them harder or easier to traverse. We can terraform to a point, but only Gilbert has any real skill. He prefers to forge a personal connection with his land, so much so that it’s leaching out of him.”

“I’d take heart in your words Lady Gault, but I’m not tied to the kingdom the way you are. I have no magic of my own, no deep connection to kingship in the way you are connected to your post. I don’t know if I’ll be able to become what I should be.”

She hummed. “I’ve seen you, Gadling. I think you are much more prepared for the role than you know.” And with that, she wandered off into the crowd, leaving him to find his own way back to the king’s table.

— — —

When Robert returned to the table, the tension that had built up in his shoulders slowly drained away. Lucienne and Gilbert had also wandered away in the time it took Robert to return, leaving him alone at the table with the Corinthian, who was busy watching the men in the crowd of guests. Gault was still off, somewhere, probably causing trouble or winding up Mervyn, but she could fend for herself. Robert on the other hand, was still unknown to Morpheus. He felt better being able to see his new husband and judge his welfare for himself.

He was thinking of asking Robert about his conversation with Gault, when Johanna Constantine sat in the empty chair to Robert’s left. The Corinthian looked away from the crowd to watch the interaction, trouble brewing behind his predatory smile.

“Gadling,” she started, eyes sharp. “How are you? Haven’t made any enemies yet have you?”

“Constantine,” Morpheus warned.

Robert immediately stiffened, eyeing the two of them as they glared at one another, before forcibly making himself relax. He reached out a hand to Johanna and smiled warmly. “Forgive me, I don’t believe we’ve been introduced.”

Constantine took it, pleased. “Johanna. Johanna Constatine,” she said. “I’m the local occultist, I study magic and the other realms.”

“Lovely to meet you Lady Johanna.”

“Oh, Jo, please. No one calls me Johanna, except Grumpy over there,” she told him, laughing.

“Then you must call me Hob.”

“Alright then, Hob. Now, you have to tell me, how on earth did you end up engaged to our Lord of Dreams?”

He looked at Morpheus, as if asking for permission to answer. Morpheus kept his face impassive, Robert (he had not yet given him permission to use his small name) could answer if he wished, it was his decision.

He cleared his throat. “It was a bit of a coincidence really, right place, right time kind of thing. Edir needed something that would ensure their pledge to peace, my hand in marriage happened to be it.”

That was… a generous description of the events which had led to Robert’s being here. But if that was the story he wished to tell, Morpheus wouldn’t correct him. Constantine however, was not easily convinced.

“Please,” she snorted, it was very unlady-like. Not that she’d ever been all that happy to earn the title. “Nothing is ever that cut and dry when it comes to Morpheus, and it must have taken a miracle to get him to agree to a marriage.”

The Corinthian barked a laugh.

Robert looked stricken at the continued questioning, so he decided to save the man from answering. He leaned forward, into the other man’s space to glare at their uninvited guest, he could feel the heat radiating off of Robert’s body as he spoke. “Johanna, I would appreciate it if you didn’t abuse my husband on the very night we’ve been married.”

“I was just asking questions.”

“Yes, and you and your questions can find another time to indulge your curiosity.”

She huffed though the smile on her face did not falter. “Fine, I’ll leave you to it then.” She got up, but before she could turn to go she said, “At least let me make it up to you, you must be looking forward to some peace and quiet.” She grabbed a glass and a piece of silverware.

“Excuse me, everyone,” Johanna called out, ringing the fork against the crystal of the glass she held, gathering the attention of everyone in the room. “The first thing I would like to say is thank you to our wonderful hosts for putting together such an extravagant feast for us to enjoy,” she paused to let the crowd cheer. “The second thing is… Congratulations! Our king has finally married!”

The crowd roared, and she turned to face the two of them. “We wish you the happiest union, and we wish we could celebrate with you all night. However,” she dragged out the word, looking at the guests suggestively. “The sun has set and our hosts have a long night ahead of them. Perhaps we should let them get to it.”

They all cheered and Johanna gestured for Robert and him to rise. “It might be easier to go along with it,” Robert murmured, leaning into Morpheus so he could hear. He could feel a flush blooming on the back of his neck. Silently, he nodded his agreement, and they both followed Johanna’s lead.

The jeers of the people gathered in the hall followed them out, but as soon as the doors were closed the sound was swallowed and all that was left were the clicks of their heeled boots on the tiled floor. Morpheus led the way, navigating the halls with ease, even in the dim light. He tried to use the walk as time to plan what he would say once they got to the rooms, but his thoughts were interrupted by each tap of Robert’s shoes, the reminder of his presence. He didn’t know how to handle this situation, he didn’t know what he was supposed to say.

When they stepped through the door to what would be their quarters, he made sure to keep space between him and Robert. He may not know what to do, but he knew what he wouldn’t, he knew the lines he wouldn’t cross.

With a half-hearted wave of his hand he gestured to one of the doors leading out of the sitting room. “The bedroom is through the one on the left.” Instead of showing his husband the room he walked to the wine cabinet, he didn’t drink often but tonight he needed a glass of red to get through this. Slowly, he opened the bottle and poured it in one of the delicate crystal glasses he kept stocked. He looked down into the depths of the blood red liquid and took a swig.

Turning around, he was met with the sight of Robert Gadling mechanically taking off the layers he was wearing. The cloak and jacket were already hung on the back of one of the chairs and he was slowly unlacing the collar of his undershirt.

“Robert–” he choked out.

He looked up. “Wait. Please,” he walked forward, reaching out to capture Robert’s hands with his own. “That’s– We don’t have to do that tonight.”

Robert just looked at him, eyes searching his face in confusion. Isn’t this… Don’t we have to?”

“Robert–”

“Hob. It’s Hob.”

Morpheus breathed and brought Hob’s hands to his mouth in a reciprocation of his own kiss. “Hob. We are not doing this tonight. I won’t touch unless you want me to. And as king, if I decide this fulfills the treaty, then it does.”

He slips past, laying a hand on his shoulder as he does. “It’s late, we should get to sleep.”

“Your wine?”

“It’s yours if you want it,” he said over his shoulder and walked to the bedroom. He changed for sleep and crawled under the covers, eager to put the day away and start anew.

It was a long time later when he felt the other side of the bed dip with the weight of his husband. He felt him shuffling under the sheets and his closeness settled something inside him. He closed his eyes and drifted off to sleep.

Notes:

thank you for reading, I've been having a blast writing this! Just finished writing chapter seven as I post this and i'm pretty proud :D

Chapter 6: Mistakes

Summary:

Hob gets to talk to Matthew and Lucienne, and starts to understand how to navigate the whole marriage thing. Morpheus and Hob talk.

Notes:

Sorry for the long delay, I started making some progress in my novel so I had to double down on that for a bit, plus, finals have been kicking my ass. But there's a light at the end of the tunnel! Summer break!

Hope to have plenty of time to write :)

The morning light crept through the windows of the bedroom and slowly lured Hob back to the waking world. His awareness grew in bits and pieces, first was the soft rustle of the sheets that covered him and the gentle glide of them against his skin. Then came the greater space of the bed, larger than his one at home, he was all alone and had space to stretch out so he did. The barely there ache of using muscles left static after a long night burning in his limbs was a glorious sensation, a deeply human pleasure that he’s never grown tired of in all his years of living. Finally, he opened his eyes and memories from the night before returned in a wash of anxiety.

He’d been married yesterday.

It wouldn’t have been so confusing if the rest of the night had gone as he had assumed, as a wedding night was expected to go. He had been prepared for that eventuality, he had accepted it, understood the necessity of it. For the marriage to remain unconsummated was jarring to say the least, the carefully constructed plan he’d made has been left ungrounded, would his next steps remain the same, or would they have to change? Hob didn’t know, and he didn’t know where to go to find out.

He groaned and turned over onto his back, staring up at the perfect ceiling, so at odds with his mind. Eventually, his gaze turned to the plates of food that had been left for him. There was evidence that there had once been more on the tray, a handful of plates which had been picked over, crumbs littered one, a few grapes left on another. Morpheus had evidently eaten his fill, long ago too based on the coolness of the side of bed he’d been sleeping on.

Breakfast might be a good first step, Hob decided.

The food left out was light fare, an assortment of fruit, coffee which had long gone cold, and some simple muffins and pastries. It was delicious, every bite of fruit was crisp and flavorful, each piece of the muffins he ate were moist and they fell apart with ease, Hob had rarely had the pleasure of a slow, unhurried breakfast. Even when he’d been left to his own devices on the farm, he’d always had something to do, some task to rush off to before the sun climbed too high in the sky. But today, he had nothing but time. Time to think. Time to enjoy. Time to relish each flavor that found itself on his tongue.

He supposed a good next step would be to find Lucienne. She had the run of the place, and had seemed kind enough to take pity on him and show him the ropes. How he was to find her, well, that was another question. A question which could only be answered once he had gotten dressed.

 

In the end, Hob chose rather simple clothes, a comfortable pair of trousers and a nice shirt, the finest thing he wore was the green embroidered vest he’d decided to don. It was made of a thick, stiff material and was covered in little designs of foxes and flowers. He liked it, it was one of the pieces he’d picked out himself when Harold had insisted on getting him a whole new wardrobe. It reminded him of his childhood, of his days spent wandering in the forest, innocent and unaware of anything outside the borders of his village. His life had been peaceful then, he could use a little of that peace right now.

He walked out of the room and promptly cracked his nose against the head of a young man barreling down the hallway.

“Holy shit!” he cried. “Are you alright?”

“Matthew?” Hob asked, clutching the bridge of his nose. The watering of his eyes blurred the scene in front of him, obscuring the face of Morpheus’s apprentice.

“Hob! Oh god, boss is going to kill me.”

“Where were you going that you had to move that fast?”

Matthew’s hands were patting him down, making sure nothing else was broken or damaged. “I’m so late for my meeting with Lucienne, you have no idea. Fuck, she’s going to kill me too. Double murdered, that’s me.”

Blinking hard to clear the tears, Hob asked, “Could you show me the way to Lucienne if you’re seeing her anyway?”

“You can use me as an excuse for your lateness, and I won’t mention the almost breaking my nose,” he adds in as an added bonus.

“You would? You’re serious?” Matthew asks, bouncing around with excess energy. “Yeah, definitely, I can show you the way. Follow me.”

Excited, he rushes ahead and Hob follows as the man makes continuous loops around him as they walk through the twisting hallways.

“So you’re visiting Lucienne? She’s really great. Super scary, but great. And she’s like the only person who can talk any sense into the boss. She’s been here forever too, his first apprentice. Did you know that?” But Matthew doesn’t give him any time to answer, Hob doesn’t know if there’s anything that could stop him once he gets going. “She was the first person Lord Morpheus taught– the first person he trusted enough to teach. And she decided to stay on, as the Librarian. She’s been here since the beginning, she’s basically one of the major Arcana, in terms of political clout at least. She doesn’t carry any of the Dreaming.”

He continued to jabber as they wove through passageways and up and down stairs. It’s only due to Hob’s long history as a woodsman that he didn’t lose track of where they were, and even then it was a near thing. The palace felt almost as if it were a living thing, the hallways were haphazard, some would curve, others were as straight as an arrow.

Eventually, they came to a stop in front of a grand set of doors which Matthew pushed open, not even caring to pause in his rant about the way the Library functioned. Hob was only lending half an ear to the lecture, instead, most of his attention became focused on the towering bookshelves in front of him. The ceiling was curved, leading up to a beautiful array of skylights around the centerpoint; there was even a second story to the room which extended out from the room they had just entered. It was clear that this was the heart of the palace, and it was beautiful.

“Lucienne’s office is in the center,” Matthew told him. Hob hadn’t realized that the other man had paused in his incessant conversation. “Come on, this place is an actual labyrinth. The first time I tried to navigate it I got stuck for two days, eventually they had to send Mervyn to come get me.”

Dutifully, Hob followed him to the Librarian’s place of work.

“Lucienne!” Matthew called as they walked into the circular space that Lucienne used as her base of operations. “I know I’m late but I– uh– I ran into Hob, and he wanted to talk to you.”

The bespeckled woman looked up from the papers she was reading. Peering over the rims of her glasses, she eyes first Matthew, then Hob. Calmly, she folded her hands in front of her. “Matthew, you can start with the books over there,” she inclined her head in the direction of a mostly empty shelf with a single tower of thick volumes. “You know where to set up.”

“Right on,” he said, already walking over.

Then, the full power of Lucienne’s stare fell on him. “Is there anything you need help with, my Lord?”

“I thought I told you to call me Hob,” is all he can think to reply under the intensity of her attention. Her impeccable neatness and single-minded ferocity are intimidating, even to Hob who has seen all kinds of authority.

“That was before you married my king,” she replied. “But if your request remains then I would be happy to use your name, Hob, over your title.”

Carefully, he approached her desk and took a seat on the chair across from it. “I was hoping to talk to you about something.”

“Matthew said as much, and I had expected it, though I’m a bit surprised to see you so soon.”

“I know,” he sighed. “I was just hoping for some… guidance?”

She sits back. “On what?”

“I’m not quite sure what it is that I’m meant to be doing,” Hob admitted. “I’ve never been in this position before, I’ve lived a long life, I’ve done and seen a lot of things, but it didn’t take me long to learn that royalty was not something I’m overly fond of getting involved with.

“I suppose, what I’m asking is, what is my purpose here? Am I to be left to my own devices? Do I have a role to fill? I know I’m here because marriage fulfilled the requirements of the law the king Spoke, but how far does that law go?”

Lucienne’s expression warmed, and she leaned forward to clasp his hands in her’s. “I should have guessed that Lord Morpheus failed to… communicate this information to you last night. My lord is not known for his way with words, he is… unsure on how to best approach this situation.”

“Right, it was all a bit– well, hasty,” he said, the Librarian grimacing slightly in agreement.

“The consequences of enacting the laws of ancient magic were unforeseen, yes. We had not expected to return to the Dreaming with a new monarch, and Lord Morpheus was not prepared for such a change. Currently, the role of a second monarch is yet unknown, there may be certain tasks the Dreaming could require you to fulfill, or there may not.”

“So, you don’t know.”

“You could certainly help on the diplomatic end, drawing up further agreements for trade with Edir, restoration efforts, making nice with Edirian nobles. If you want. But there’s certainly time to discuss where you’d like to focus,” her voice was gentle, reassuring, she wanted to give Hob hope. He knew that, but it didn’t help overly much, he still had no idea what kind of man he’d married.

“Thank you, Lucienne. I appreciate it, truly, but I have to know… who did I marry?” it’s almost pleading, the way he said it, but Hob needed something, anything. Some clue to tell him what to expect from the eternity he’d found himself in.

For the first time since he’d known her, Lucienne faltered. He got the impression that it didn’t happen often. “I– I, um– I wish I could tell you, Hob. But– It’s really not my place. Morpheus– He’s– I can say this, Lord Morpheus is steadfast, he is a good friend, a worse enemy. When he loves, it does not weigh lightly upon him, and that has caused him pain in the past. If you want to get to know your husband, I suggest you speak to him.”

“Yes, right. Of course, I shouldn’t have pushed you, you are a loyal friend Lucienne. Thank you for speaking with me,” Hob stood, ready to take his leave. But at the last second he turned back to ask one last thing, “One more question.”

Lucienne looked back up from her papers.

“Could you tell me where to find him?”

— — —

The wind gave no quarter. It was furious and freezing. Morpheus let it yank and tug at his cloak, whipping it behind him like a slack sail. It bit its way through his thick coat and down into his skin. The sky was a burnished silver, snow threatening to fall as the clouds gathered overhead, soon, the landscape would be covered in a silent blanket of white.

He had meant to spend the day in his study where he could write out the obligatory “thank you for attending” cards and take some time to reorganize the funds he was sending to the provinces of the kingdom. Instead, he had sat down and found it impossible to focus. His mind kept circling the unknowns of Hob Gadling, his husband, and the future. He’d never been envious of his elder brother’s ability until that moment, to know what the coming years would hold seemed now, to be the greatest gift. Hesitancy was not a feeling Morpheus was accustomed to, usually he was so sure, so steadfast, after so many millenia, to falter now was as off-putting as losing a limb.

The walls of his study had started to close in on him, his thoughts to choke him, so he had made his way to the grand balcony at the front of the palace in an effort to wash away the cloying feeling of anxiety. With the open expanse of his kingdom in front of him, Morpheus could close his eyes and focus. His awareness could spread out, into the ground, and through the lands that were his, in mind, spirit, and body. They were as connected to his being as each of his fingers, such was the consequence of accidentally pulling the realm of dreams into physical space.

Out of all his siblings, Morpheus was the only one to rule a physical kingdom. Morana’s realm still existed on another plane of reality, it was the same for Desire, Despair, Delirium, and Destruction. They were connected to the nature of things they’d fused with, their essence, their purpose, not to any particular area of land. Morpheus was just as connected to his realm as any of his siblings were to their own, but the Dreaming had been so close to physical reality when his soul had become one with it, that the process had torn it into this plane of existence.

Destiny’s burden was perhaps the most unique out of the seven, he had no real “realm,” just access to the threads of the universe, to their directions, but his power was so heavy that it bled into the space around him. There was a small plot of land where time didn’t proceed as normal, where sometimes, you could see what would happen before it did.

Morpheus had always thought it a very lonely office to hold, but what he wouldn’t give to have that solitude, that consistency, the reassurance of always knowing how the next moments would play out.

He was pulled out of his contemplation by the sound of the door to the balcony opening behind him. Its quiet creek out of place enough to rouse him from his reverie.

Lucienne was the only person who really knew about his habit of coming out here when he really needed to think, so when he turned around to face the newcomer, he had expected to see her face. But it was not Lucienne’s familiar round face that greeted him, rather it was a countenance that he had yet to become accustomed to.

Hob was closing the balcony doors behind him, a quizzical look painted on his features. He was wearing only a thin shirt and vest, not enough to protect him from the bitter cold of the wind, but he didn’t shiver. Instead, he calmly walked to the railing beside him, pausing to look out over the city and the rolling hills and forest beyond it.

“It’s beautiful,” he said.

Morpheus just stared at him for a moment, watching as the cold brought a rosy tint to the other man’s cheeks and as the wind flattened the shirt against his broad shoulders. “Yes,” he responded, finally. “It is.”

They stand there, together, for a while. The minutes ticked by, and gradually Morpheus let his shoulders return to their previous relaxed position, he let himself adjust to the new presence when it became clear the Hob wasn’t in a rush to speak. The night before, the knowledge of the other man’s proximity had driven his thoughts into perpetual motion, but here, in the open air, it felt companionable. The lines of Hob’s body like his sister’s comforting hand on his shoulder, like Lucienne’s warm gaze, like Matthew’s chatter.

It reminds him of Jessamy.

“I was married once, you know.”

Morpheus jerked his head to look at him, he hadn’t expected that. Hob kept his eyes forward, off into the distance.

“Her name was Elenor. It was before I joined the army, we met while I was masquerading as a small-time member of the gentry in one of the smaller cities.” He shook his head, “I can’t even remember which one, if it’s even around anymore. She was smart as a whip, could talk circles around me. I loved her with everything in me, and when she died, well that’s right around when I joined up.

“I couldn’t take living in that place after, I’d thought I’d never get married again, couldn’t take that kind of heartache,” he turned to look Morpheus in the eyes, there were tears welling there. “I owe it to her, to the country that she loved, to make this work. If you’re willing to try.”

There was a long pause, and then he asked, “How did you meet her?”

At first, Hob just blinked at him. Then, a soft smile started to turn his lips and he leaned his forearms back against the railing, stretching his legs out before him. His head tipped back, allowing the wind to toss the bronze waves. “I was invited to a gathering, a birthday party, I think. There was food and dancing and gossip, and I was in the middle of it all, breathing in the energy of humanity, all its little quirks, all the ways everyone else created it. I think I was eating when I heard her, she was reaming out someone for one offense or another. I was curious, so I eavesdropped.

“I don’t remember what she was saying, it was so long ago now, but I remember it was poised, elegant, the kind of insult where you could tell you were supposed to take offense, but you couldn’t be quite sure what to. It was brilliant. I might have fallen for her right at that moment, but it wasn’t until we talked that I knew I wanted to see her again.”

Hob sighed, laughing at his past self. “Luckily, we were invited to some of the same functions after that, it wasn’t long before we were completely head-over-heels for each other. She was my better half. I’m worse off without her,” he said wistfully. “As much as it broke me to lose her, I wouldn’t trade those years for anything.”

Morpheus just nodded along and listened attentively. He knew he should tell his husband about Calliope, the story of one past love for another, an exchange of trust, but he couldn’t bring himself to do so just then. What had transpired between him and Calliope, it would always weigh heavy in his heart, and he couldn’t bear the idea of letting that pain go yet.

Instead, he said, “I should. Apologize to you. I could only feel rage after what happened to Jessamy. Justice had been denied to her for so long. When I heard that Burgess was dead, after I had already demanded payment, I did not think.”

Hob glanced over at him, waiting silently as he decided on his next words. “I am sorry, Hob. That I have given you no more choice than I had at the hands of Roderick Burgess. But I do not know if I can be forgiven for that.”

Something behind Hob’s eyes softened, shifted, like he was seeing someone new. Morpheus didn’t know what to do with the emotions that welled within him in response. He’d lived a long life, he’d made so many mistakes of which he’d come to bitterly regret, for which he could not forgive himself. He knew he didn’t deserve forgiveness, but that couldn’t keep him from wanting it, from hoping Hob would give it to him. It wasn’t fair of him to seek such a thing in Hob, who could not truly know or understand the depth of his wrongs.

“I’m not so sure about that.” Morpheus’s stomach dropped at Hob’s kind words, guilt spread through his chest over the extent of the grace his husband was unknowingly giving. “I think everyone deserves a second chance, I’ve needed my fair share of them over the years.”

“I’m afraid I’ve used all mine up a long time ago.”

“Not from me you haven’t. No, look at me. I’m serious, if you’re willing to try and make this work, I’ll give you all the second chances you need.” He was staring at him with such open sincerity, Morpheus almost couldn’t take it. “It’s what Elenor would want me to do. It’s what I want me to do.”

“You extend to me too much kindness.”

He harrumphed softly, crossing his arms across his chest. “Well, it’s mine to give,” he said petulantly. “I can extend it however I wish.”

In the end, Morpheus decided not to argue, and he let the conversation lapse into silence, dissolve in the biting wind, and drift away with time. Perhaps this would work, perhaps the two of them could be more than strangers, maybe they could be friends. Perhaps. Maybe.

He would not push, he decided. He’d done enough already, had gotten them engaged, married. Hob would lead the way, Morpheus would take his cues from him and go no further. To hurt him more than he already had, that would be a sin no amount of repenting could wash away.

“We should go inside,” he broke the silence. “It would be disadvantageous for the Dreaming’s new king to come down with hypothermia the day after the wedding.”

A smile. He’s gifted with a smile in return for his poor joke. And as far as Morpheus was concerned, it was worth more than the most precious of jewels.

Chapter 7: Tales

Summary:

Hob has a dream and learns a thing or two about what it means to the new king of the Dreaming.

Notes:

The Plot is starting to emerge. A chapter or two more and we'll finally start to see the implications of Hob and Morpheus's marriage!!! :D

This is exciting

The candle light flickered softly, leaving the simple wooden cabin bathed in a deep orange. Hob could feel the rough wood underneath his bare feet, the delicate warp of the grain, its little ridges and valleys made plain to him in the sensation of touch. He could picture the pattern in his head, clear as day.

Slowly, he became aware of the rest of his surroundings. The strong waft of pine from the windows left ajar, the night air blowing lazily in and settling along the floorboards. He knew, somehow, that the darkness outside was caused not by an overcast sky, but by the new moon. His legs burned with the aftereffects of a long day at work, and when he held up his hands to inspect them, he found the skin hardened by years’ worth of calluses, dirt caked under his fingernails and lining his palms.

There was a knock at the door.

He opened it slowly, and revealed a cloaked figure wreathed in shadows.

“Hello,” she rasped. “May I come in?”

“Yes, of course,” Hob replied, smiling warmly as he ushered the stranger in. “There’s not much, but I can offer you a place to sit.”

He led her over to the table and chairs which now sat in the corner of the room, they were bare, unornamented, but sturdy. When they sat, the thin black fabric that covered her, also obscured her face, but Hob got the distinct impression that she was smiling at him.

“Who are you, stranger? What brings you here?” he asked her.

“I could ask you the same, I’ve been here for years now. But you, you’re new. I haven’t seen anyone new.”

“What do you mean?” his brow furrowed and he tried to peer through the veil of shadows.

“I’ve been here ever since I left the other plane. I know this place, I know these woods, I know what’s supposed to be here. And you and your cabin weren’t here the last time I was through this part of the forest,” his strange guest answered. “You’ve built something, you’re changing it, I want to know why.”

She leaned forward with her last statement, forcing Hob to sit further back in his chair in order to retain a polite distance. The woman was insistent, demanding, but her imposing presence seemed to flicker slightly, like she wasn’t completely there. Like she wasn’t solid in the same way the floor under their feet was, or the chairs on which they sat.

“Who are you?” he asked again, firmer this time.

The candle light almost grew in intensity as the woman drew her hood back, hitting her figure just so. When she leant against the back of the chair, the black and white of her hair was revealed, and so was the still weeping, open gash in her flesh which almost cleaved her neck in two.

 

Gasping, Hob bolted upright in the bed. His hands flew up to clutch at his neck, to feel the smooth, uninterrupted skin that acted as proof that his own head was still attached. The air felt too thick, it clung to him, pressing in. He struggled to draw breath, to relieve the pounding ache in his chest, to expand his lungs.

Uncaring of the body which had just awoken beside him, Hob threw himself from underneath the covers and landed hard on the ground. He put his back against the wall, letting the cool stone bleed the warmth from his body, and took a deep, shuddering breath. And then another, and another after that. Slowly, the urgency and panic which had gripped him, began to abate, leaving him wrung out and jittery.

He let his head hit the stone behind him as he gained mastery over his breathing again, he could see Morpheus peering at him intensely from where he still sat on the bed.

“Are you. Alright?” the king asked, haltingly.

“Yeah–” his reply was cut off by a short bout of coughing. “Yeah, I’ll be fine. Just a nightmare.”

He could feel Morpheus’s frown deepen. The last few days had been spent in each other’s company, they didn’t do much, there had been no more swapped stories, not much conversation, and nothing in the way of more– intimate– contact. It was nothing more than passing the day reading or working in the same room, but as the days passed, Hob could feel himself settling in. He was growing comfortable around his husband, in the sharing of space.

And in that time, he had learned of Morpheus’s tendency to glare disapprovingly at anything and anyone that confused or perplexed him. A small part of Hob, one that he tried to keep resolutely stored away, thought it an adorable aspect of the man’s personality. And he knew that his frown was now aimed, squarely, between Hob’s eyes.

“Really, I’ll be alright.”

“If you’re sure…”

“I am.”

Hob didn’t want to discuss it right now. He’d had many nightmares over the course of his life, particularly after that first war, and he had been no stranger to violence when he’d joined up. He’d spent the majority of his first few immortal decades as a bandit, stealing from whichever unlucky soul happened across his path, but until he joined the army, he’d never seen it on such a large and overwhelming scale. Memories from that war had continued to plague him over the centuries, they had lasted all the way to his next one.

But he’d never experienced something like that. That dream had been too real, too substantial, too exact. Waking up had felt like freefall. He was still reeling from the sudden shift in reality when he climbed back into bed. He could still feel the weight of Morpheus’s gaze, so he took careful, deep breaths, and willed himself to fall back asleep.

— — —

Two nights later Hob found himself sitting in a chair that seemed slightly familiar, the way its wood dug into the small of his back, the way the grain flowed under his palms, it was as if he would know it anywhere. Slowly, he started to remember.

It was fuzzy, the partial memory of the room. He recognized it somehow, was it from a dream? Hob thought so, he remembered a room, a room and a woman. And this was the same room, but this time, although there was the same soft, warm light illuminating even the corners of the space, there were no actual candles. There never had been. The light simply was.

A knock sounded at the door, and Hob answered it.

On the other side was the woman.

“You’re here again too.”

“Again?” he couldn’t see her face, it was still shrouded by her hood, but he could hear the surprise in her voice.

“You were in my last dream.”

She brushed past him, into the house. “Was I? Well, how far have we gotten then? Do you know about the oaths?”

His brow furrowed. “I don’t even know your name.”

She turned back to him, “Oh, so this just started then? Well, in that case, let us sit.” She directed them back to the chairs Hob had just left vacant, “I have much to tell you.”

Together, they took their seats. “So… What is your name?”

“Jessamy.”

“Like, Morpheus’s Jessamy?” Hob asked, shocked, because she was supposed to be dead. But then again, maybe she still was, this was a dream after all, anything could be possible.

“Yes, ‘Morpheus’s Jessamy’.”

“Why are you here?” It was an absentminded question, he didn’t really expect an answer from the woman who was more likely than not, a figment of his own mind. But he got one anyway.

“I know that it’s been a while since my death, but Morpheus is still my friend. I am still his raven, his apprentice. So… I’ll be there to help the man he now calls husband. I’ve learned a few things since leaving the mortal realm, I know things about the future. I’m here to help you, Hob. While I still can.”

“‘While you still can’? What does that–” he broke off as the pit of his stomach suddenly fell out from beneath him. For a second, it felt as if he was in freefall, toppling forward into a great abyss. And then it was over, and he had never left his seat. “What the fuck?”

The hood of Jessamy’s cloak was pushed back when he looked back at her, revealing the nasty gap in her throat. Her eyes were wide, surprised. “The integrity of the dream. It’s failing.” She looked at him, confused. “I thought you were married?”

“We are.”

“Then how–” she stopped. “Because you’re not married.”

Hob scoffed. “I can assure you that we are. I was there myself, actually.”

“No, you’re not. Not all the way, at least. Not according to magic–

 

Hob came to, this time without the gasping and clawing that followed the last dream. This time, he only opened his eyes to the darkness of the bedroom and laid there, thinking, until the sky outside the windows began to lighten and the weight next to him in the bed began to shift.

Then, he closed his eyes and pretended to be fast asleep so he could think a little more.

— — —

The next night he sat in an armchair in the sitting room and stared at the fire. Hob’s eyes were heavy, they nearly fell shut every time he blinked, but he wouldn’t let them. These dreams were too real, too tangible. They were dangerous. And Morpheus had noticed.

He didn’t want to explain, to tell his new husband that he was seeing his dead apprentice in his dreams. He didn’t want these visions to be real, he didn’t want them to be false, there was no way to win, no way to avoid whatever it was that lurked in the depths of his unconsciousness. Unless he never slept.

The plan wasn’t perfect, hell, it wasn’t even good. But it was all he had. Hob didn’t like being backed into a corner, he was not the kind of person who could operate from a position of complete disadvantage. He needed to find a way out, a loophole of some kind, he needed a way to understand what was happening to him. Unfortunately, the longer he turned his particular predicament around in his head, the more it seemed his only solution was to be in the very dream he so desperately wanted to avoid.

Reluctantly, the next time he blinked, he let his eyes stay shut. And quietly fell into his subconscious.

 

The cabin was small and cramped, yes, but it was comfortable. Despite the bare walls, thin windows, and lack of furniture to adorn the place, it somehow still exuded a rather welcoming atmosphere. Hob was at peace in his little cabin out in the middle of the dark woods. But, most importantly, he was alone.

At least, for the moment. Someone was coming. They would knock on the door, breaking the wonderful silence, and then Hob would let them in, upending the solitude. But they wouldn’t be a bother, he knew that, in fact, he thought he even found himself looking forward to the event.

He knew things about the future that he really shouldn’t have known, and he shouldn’t have known he shouldn’t know them either. But he did know them. Things like how the person who would knock on the door was a woman, a dead woman, who used to be called Jessamy. Like how she had a gash in her neck, and how her voice was rendered raspy because of it. He also knew that she wouldn’t know how much he knew. And that she had only so long to tell him something.

He didn’t know what ‘the something’ was though.

The knock came, and he opened the door.

“Hello, Jessamy.”

She looked surprised for a moment, her eyes widened and her shoulders tensed. But then she relaxed and straightened her back as she asked, “Where are we?”

“We got to about where Morpheus and I are married, but how we also, apparently, aren’t married. I think the status of our marriage was affecting the ‘integrity of the dream’ or something like that.”

“Oh, well in that case,” she told him while brushing past, into the cabin. “You must not have consummated the marriage.”

“What?” he balked. “What does that have to do with anything?”

“Magic doesn’t adhere to the whims of humankind,” Jessamy explained. “It has old, ancient ways of working.”

She gestured for him to sit with her, letting her hood fall back, “When you swear an oath of that magnitude to the Dreaming, and the Dreaming swears one back, you become bound to it. That’s what happened to Morpheus in the first place, or something like it, that’s why he wields the power of the Dreaming as his own, and it’s the same for all his siblings. When you married him, it also happened to you, although at a much lower level.”

Hob put his hands on the table, steadying himself for a moment. “Wait– So, I married… the Dreaming– Like, the place?”

“Not exactly, the realm, the plane, the place, whatever you want to call it, is entangled, infused, with Morpheus’s soul. You married Morpheus, king of the Dreaming, which links your souls together for life. But it just so happens that he can’t make a vow as an entity separate from the Dreaming,” Jessamy said. It seemed that she was going to leave the matter there and move on, but she must have seen the confusion written into Hob’s face because she sighed and tried again.

“It’s like how a person can’t do something without their heart, they carry it with them, it is a part of them, and in a very real way it is them. If you marry that person, you aren’t marrying their heart, or any of their other internal organs, you marry them. They just also come with their heart. It’s the same for Morpheus, except as a side effect of marrying him, you inherit a bit of the Dreaming’s power, like gaining extra strength in your own heart if we continue with the analogy.”

“I have power?”

“You will,” Jessamy corrected. “When you’re married, by the standards of the ancient laws, not human ones.”

“So how did the last dream fail because of our not being officially married?”

Jessamy pursed her lips, “Well, okay, you have some power. Oaths mean something, even if you can’t wield any actual magic, you can still… direct it, and it can still bind to you even if you can’t bind to it. So, what little power you do have is currently, unconstrained. You can’t gain mastery over something that doesn’t really belong to you, and it won’t belong to you until the oaths are sealed.”

Hob sighed. “Well that's wonderful.”

He leaned back in his chair and stared up at the ceiling. He had magic now, in some capacity, at least. But he wouldn’t be able to control it until he had sex with the king of the Dreaming, what great luck he had.

Jessamy was still watching him. She hadn’t moved from where she sat, and now that he thought about it, Hob didn’t think she was breathing. Then again, why would she have to, she was dead, and this was a dream. And she was still watching him.

He looked at her. “That isn’t why you’re here, or at least, that’s not the only reason, is it?”

She was quiet for a moment before finally saying, “No, it’s not.”

“So what’s this other bit of knowledge you wish to deliver upon me?”

The woman opposite him shifted nervously in her seat. “I can’t— I can’t tell you much. It’s strange, being dead. I didn’t do it like most people, I kind of… slipped under the radar because of all the warding in the basement. Morana didn’t show up to escort me, so I wandered, eventually I started walking between realms and I met… someone.

“He knows things… about the future, and about the past. I spent most of the last few years with him, and I learned some of the things he knows. Things about you, and Morpheus. Things I can’t tell you because it could put you in danger, because it’s against the rules, that’s another thing I understand more, now that I’m gone. The rules, before everything, they were hindrances, but now they feel sacred, holy, fundamental.”

“I don’t understand what you’re trying to say.”

She leaned forward, but as she did so the edges of her cloak seemed to fray and blend into the shadows of the cabin. “I’m telling you that something is coming, and if you have any chance of surviving it, you and Morpheus have to talk to each other.”

“I’m trying,” Hob pleaded. “Believe me, I’m trying.”

The fraying effect crept inwards, rendering Jessamy’s figure waverly and insubstantial. “I know, but it’s not enough. You have to trust each other. That’s imperative. Trust each other,” she told him as she continued to fade.

“What’s happening to you?”

She glanced down at her hands, out of which color had already begun to leech. “Oh, I don’t have much more time left. I’ve already been around for five years past my time, and it’s taking a lot of energy to continue here, in your dreams.”

Reaching out to take his hand she said, “It’s alright, really. I knew this would happen, I’m prepared. Just… tell him I’m proud of him, yeah?”

“Yes,” Hob nodded. “Of course, I’ll tell him”

Then she was gone. And the dream followed soon after.

Chapter 8: Power

Summary:

Hob tells Morpheus about his dreams, and they both learn what it will take for their relationship to move forward.

When Morpheus woke in the quiet light of dawn, he found Hob half-dressed in the same chair he’d been in when he’d gone to bed the night before, staring blankly at the smoldering ruins of the fire that had been burning. He hadn’t followed him to the bedroom after all, just stayed here for the night.

Somewhere within him, Morpheus felt a pang of hurt. He’d been trying, he had. But Hob had recently taken to wandering the palace halls and spending the days alone, outside in the dying gardens. He knew something was wrong, the dreams his husband had been having were troubling him, but Morpheus couldn’t do anything about it until Hob asked. Interfering before then would be an overstep, an infringement of his privacy, and Morpheus refused to cross a line like that.

He paused in the doorway, watching Hob from a distance. Even from there he could see the bruising under his eyes, the last few nights of restless sleep had taken its toll.

“Good morning,” he greeted Hob softly. “Did you get any sleep?”

“‘Morning,” Hob replied, exhaustion thick in his words. “We should talk.”

Morpheus’s brow furrowed and he lit the candles in the room with a curt gesture of his hand. “Is there something wrong?”

“No, not really. Just– please sit?”

Not knowing what else to do, he did as Hob asked. “What is this? Are you alright?”

His husband sighed, and finally turned to meet his gaze. There were tears in his eyes. “I’ve been having these dreams, I didn’t think they were anything but nightmares at first, but… But they were so real, so visceral, I could feel them.”

Morpheus made to talk, but he was cut off. “I know it’s not you, don’t worry about that. The thing is… I met Jessamy.”

That name hit him in a wash of ice. That name from that mouth was like a sword through the heart, an arrow through the throat, a needle through the eye. Dread poured down his spine, anger coiled in his gut, grief clenched around his chest. He could only grind out a single, “What?”

Hob face drained of color, but his jaw clenched in obstinate determination. “She was there, in my dream, and she talked to me. She told me– She told me–”

He stepped forward, crouching by the chair to look Hob directly in the eyes. Tension was threading through his limbs, he could feel his hands trembling. “What did she say?”

“She told me our wedding vows had given me access to the Dreaming, to its power, but… that it was ‘unconstrained’. She said that– that something was coming, that we had to trust one another to survive it.”

Morpheus stared into Hob’s honey brown eyes and knew he was telling the truth, he felt it deep within his being. A ringing truth within himself. The Dreaming agreed.

“How?” is all he could manage.

“I’m not really sure, but she wanted me to tell you that she was proud of you.”

That was when he crumpled. The pain, the hurt, everything that had followed him over the last five years like a choking cloud, that he had only been able to escape by running. What had always caught up with him in the end, leaving him shaking and weak. It consumed him, entirely. Then, Hob was there. A hand on his shoulder as all his carefully constructed walls crumbled down around him. A tether to the physical world as his magic roiled within.

“Hey,” he said. “It’s going to be alright. We can do this. We can do this.”

Morpheus took a steadying breath. Steeling himself, he rebuilt those walls, brick by brick, breath by breath. He looked into Hob’s brown eyes and strengthened his resolve. His connection to the Dreaming had confirmed the truth of what Hob said, he had gained some measure of power through their oaths, and something was coming. Now that he was focusing, Morpheus could feel some distant gathering of power, like a looming storm cloud just on the edge of the horizon. But it wasn’t enough to know it was true, he had to understand why.

“We should go to Lucienne.”

His husband nodded. “Right, yeah. Lucienne.” He paused. “But, maybe after breakfast?”

— — —

They met Lucienne at the atrium in the middle of the library. Hob followed Morpheus as he led the way through the place, he hadn’t remembered enough of the twists and turns it took him and Matthew to get there and the longer he could hide behind his husband’s imposing black coat the better. The upcoming conversation was going to be a nightmare, Hob just knew it, the last thing he wanted was to look Lucienne in the eyes and ask if he was really going to have to sleep with Morpheus.

So far, he’d been able to keep that bit from the king. He hadn’t asked if Hob knew why he wasn’t able to control the magic, if he had an explanation for why the marriage would give him access to the power but no ability to control it. And Hob certainly wasn’t going to volunteer the information.

Lucienne had prepared her office for their arrival, there were three chairs set up in the center, a notebook laid out, ready to record. She was already sitting, and gestured for the two of them to do the same when they entered.

“You wanted to ask me something, you said?”

Hob nodded and Morpheus spoke. “Yes, Hob has informed me about… his dreams,” he said, looking at Hob before continuing. “He mentioned that he’s seen Jessamy.”

Her face went slack in shock, eyes shooting from first Morpheus, to Hob. “Jessmay?” she managed, voice choked with feeling.

“She was telling me about the future, about… our marriage,” he told her, gesturing between him and Morpheus.

“I– I suppose it’s possible,” she said, taking off her glasses. “I’ve read about spirits being trapped between the layers of reality, lasting after death. But– It just doesn’t make sense. Why make contact now? Why not before, or later? And why– I mean no offense Hob– but why you?”

He shook his head. “If it helps any, she mentioned spending time with someone, someone who knew the future, who knew about our future. That’s why she talked to me, she wanted to warn you, but if she shared more than she was supposed to it would put you two in danger. I get the feeling she wouldn’t have been able to say no if you asked.”

“Someone who knew the future?” Morpheus asked him.

“Yes, but she didn’t share anything else about him, just that he taught her things.”

The two of them shared a look, one Hob couldn’t read.

“What else did she say?” Lucienne questioned.

“Well,” he tugged at his earlobe, “she mentioned that, apparently, the marriage gave me access to the power of the Dreaming, but not control over it.”

“You’ve done more research into the nature of the Dreaming than anyone else,” Morpheus said. “You know more about its intricacies than me. Do you have any idea how this is possible?”

She leaned forward in the chair, staring at Hob. “You have access to the Dreaming’s power?”

“Uh, yes.”

“That shouldn’t be possible. The Dreaming isn’t an open system, you can’t just enter it.” She paused and leaned back. “Unless… Hob, can you sense the Dreaming? Can you manipulate it? If you close your eyes and look inward, can you feel it? Like an extra limb? Like a riot of emotions that don’t really belong to you?”

Hob tried to do as she said, he closed his eyes and tried to focus inwards. But there was only himself, only everything that had already been there. “No, there’s nothing else. I don’t feel any different, just tired.”

“Tired?”

“The dreams, they’ve been… hard. When I wake up it's as if, instead of sleeping, I’ve been out in the fields.”

Understanding started to blossom in Lucienne’s eyes, a small smile spreading across her mouth. Her expression, which was usually open, if not tinged with exasperation, now hid a hint of impish amusement.

She huffed out a laugh and looked at Morpheus. “My lord,” she started. “Did you imbue the words of your vows with the power of the Dreaming?”

Morpheus’s brow furrowed. “Of course I did. That’s how the vows of the Endless are done, that way they are binding.”

Then she turned to Hob. “I’m afraid you’ve been on one end of a very unbalanced agreement.”

“What do you mean?” Hob asked, exchanging a confused look with Morpheus.

“The oaths you and Lord Morpheus swore are designed to represent an equal sharing of power and dedication in the marriage, but only one of you was actually able to implement that. For that kind of magic to work, for that kind of bond to form, the soul must be made vulnerable, the connection sought,” she gave Morpheus a small smile. “You, my lord, were able to manually create that connection between the two of you, but Hob was unable to reciprocate.”

“So the Dreaming is connected to him. But not the other way around?”

“Exactly.”

“Wait,” Hob held out his hands, taking a second to process. “What’s the difference?”

Lucienne grimaced. “When this kind of bond is created, you give over power, energy, memories– it can vary– but something is always taken in return. But because you didn’t mirror the process, you can’t actually receive anything.”

“But I can be taken from?” The looks on Lucienne and Morpheus’s faces were enough of an answer. “That’s why I’m tired, I’m being drained by our marriage vows.”

He sat back and tongued at his cheek. “So… how do we fix it?” he asked. Morpheus also turned to look at the Librarian, awaiting her answer. Under both their gazes, she flushed and looked away.

“You’re not going to like it,” was her answer. Hob’s stomach sank, any hope he’d had that there was another way out of this drained away. He could feel his heart rate rising as dread flooded his veins.

“We have to consummate the marriage, don’t we?”

Lucienne looked at him, shocked and incredulous. Morpheus’s eyes swung back to meet his, the surprise in them evident. “Jessamy might have… said something about that. Are you sure that’s the only way?”

“You don’t have any magical ability, Hob. You don’t have the skill to manually create a connection to another soul,” Lucienne said gently. “Do you know a more efficient method to connect two souls? To have two people offer each other themselves at their most vulnerable than sex?”

Hob sighed, “Not really.”

“Technically, it’s not a required method for the connection to be forged. But for two people who can experience that kind of attraction for each other, it is the fastest. And until you balance out the scales, the Dreaming will continue to drain you of your energy, it won’t kill you but it’s not safe to sustain for a long period of time.”

“Right,” Hob said, and he met the eyes of his husband from where he sat in his own chair. He got up and started to pace.

There was a sound as Lucienne rose from her own place. “I’ll leave you two to talk,” she said awkwardly, and walked away.

Silence lapsed, and Morpheus stood.

“I hope–”

“No, it’s okay. I understand. I get it,” Hob cut him off, thinking of their wedding night and his absolute refusal of Hob’s attempts to honor their arrangement. “I just, I was really hoping there’d be another way. Lucienne said it wouldn’t kill me, we can do it the long way, I wouldn’t want to sleep with someone I wasn’t attracted to either.”

Morpheus frowned. “Do you really think so lowly of yourself?” he asked gravely.

“I’m sorry, what?”

“I know that I was adamant we not… well. But, surely you do not think me, completely unaffected by the sight of you?” His gaze slid over the length of his body, heat rising within it.

“Wait, wait,” Hob laughed nervously. “But you don’t– do you?”

“I have taken both male and female lovers in the past,” Morpheus said, almost affronted. “Did you think? Why would I propose an arrangement in which I could not reciprocate?”

Hob scoffed. “Why would you propose an arrangement you didn’t plan on consummating?”

The other man balked for a moment, his jaw working as he formulated a response. “That was… a lack of foresight, I failed to think that far ahead. I did not want to force you into anything you did not want.”

“So… That night. You didn’t want to because… you didn’t think I knew I could say no? There was no other reason?”

“Hob,” Morpheus said, his voice dark and hot. He took a few steps towards him. “If you asked, I would fuck you here and now. Does that answer your question?”

Hob gulped. “Yep, that works.”

“Good. Then I only wait for your guidance. When you’re ready, I will be here.”

Hob focused on his breathing, in and out, in and out, and out and in and out. His vision started to fade to static at the edges and he said, “I’m going for a walk. I’ll just– I’ll just be out.”

He lost track of the turns he made as he strode out of the room with long, purposeful steps. The clicks of his heels against the floor crackling through his mind like cracks of lightning in a storm. When at last, he looked up from the ground, he found himself out in the garden proper, alone but for a lurking ivory presence at his side.

“You look lost,” the wolf commented.

“I’m not sure if I’d like your brand of help,” Hob snapped back.

The Corinthian just laughed. “Oh, I see how it is. I just thought you might like to blow off some steam.”

Hob gritted his teeth and looked at him. “Why would you think that?”

“I don’t know too much about you Edirians, but I recognize a predator in need of a chase.” His implication that the two of them were cut from the same cloth, that they both sought the scent of blood, chafed uncomfortably. “Can’t offer a hunt, but I figure you won’t turn down a bout or two?” he asked.

Something inside him grew very still at the offer. But the thought of feeling a sword in his hand, the comfort of sore and overworked muscles, the familiar rhythm of a contest, proved too much to turn down.

“Why not?” he said.

The Corinthian gave him a sharp and hungry smile at his words, and Hob knew that his answering smile was just as sharp, if not as predatory.

Chapter 9: Lust, Blood, and Love

Summary:

This is where it gets going!!! They FINALLY get together! Yay! This is a pretty nerve wracking chapter for me, first time writing smut, but I'm pretty happy with how it turned out, hopefully you agree. Thanks for reading ;)

Notes:

CW for explicit content, I will be updating the tags to reflect this update, if you want to skip this it begins after the second POV change. I'll include a section at the end of the chapter that will explain the plot relevant information that happened in this bit.

Hob gritted his teeth against the sting of the sweat dripping into his eyes. He stared down the Corinthian who stood across from him, grinning widely and running his tongue along his predatory canines.

They re-engaged. Their swords ringing as they clashed, once, twice. The Corinthian pulled a dirty piece of footwork and left a harsh red cut across Hob’s bicep while he spun out of his reach. Hob knew he was toying with him, it was all he’d done over the course of the last two hours, refusing to give the bout his all.

“Come on,” Hob demanded. “Why won’t you fight me?”

Ah, ah,” he replied, pacing up and down the sparring pit across from him. “You know why, you’re off limits.”

Hob just growled and charged the other man, forcing him to make a move.

“You know,” the Corinthian commented as they traded blows. “If it were me, I wouldn’t find it so difficult. I may not have eyes, but you don’t need them to know he’s sex on legs.”

Hob just grunted. It had been a mistake to tell the Corinthian why he needed to blow off steam, he should have deflected or lied. But it was too late now, now the other man kept needling him, again and again, ‘Why would you say no?’ ‘What on earth had led you to deny yourself the opportunity to taste the Dream king’s flesh?’ and ‘it’s possible to say no?’ had been some of his favorite lines so far.

“Why’s this so difficult for you, seriously?”

“I suppose,” Hob replied, parrying the Corinthian’s blade. “That it’s just a lot to take in. No one likes being issued an ultimatum.”

The Corinthian snorted as his sword came to rest at Hob’s throat, effectively winning the bout. “We both know that’s not why.”

“Just shut up,” Hob snapped angrily, and the Corinthian finally gave up. They’d been on the pitch for hours now, working till exhaustion overtook his bones and dragged his feet to the bench. Hob needed a break, he needed to sleep, he needed to rest, but that wasn’t going to happen. Or it would, but it wouldn’t help any, not with the Dreaming draining away his life force. Not when the very realm he ruled over didn’t believe he had given something of himself in return for its king’s hand in marriage, so it took what it thought it was owed.

His eyes followed the Corinthian as his alien body stalked toward where he sat, his long, lean limbs moved with a predator’s grace. Expending no more energy than was absolutely needed, always a moment away from unsheathing the claws currently kept hidden. He watched as the Corinthian turned away to unwind the cloth wrapped around his head, he watched as the water was tipped to wash his face. The Corinthian felt him staring.

“Want to see?” he asked playfully, but Hob could see the muscles of his back were tensed. “Careful, curiosity can be dangerous.”

“My curiosity doesn’t matter,” Hob replied. “Your’s does. Do you want me to see?”

The Corinthian laughed. “Clever, I’m reminded why I like you.”

Hob waited, but the Corinthian’s back remained turned, the cloth wrapping remained at his side. “Well?”

Slowly, he turned. First his head, then his body followed cautiously. Hob fought back any reaction, keeping the alarm, the panic from his features. But he figured the Corinthian knew all the same, he doubted he could keep the emotions from his blood.

In place of his eyes were two gaping maws, filled with sharp, malicious fangs.

“It’s not pretty,” he said. “You know, I’ve never seen them properly. One moment my eyes were there, the next they were gone, color and patterns replaced with scent, smell, taste. I can’t see paintings or drawings, sculptures are rather bland nowadays, the only great artworks I can appreciate are the ones carved out in blood.

“I never really cared for beauty before the Dreaming came to this land, before I dawned the great mantle of power of the Arcana. I’d never seen the point, never had the time. The hunt was all I could see, the pursuit of respect, power, fear. Now, that’s all there is. Sometimes I wish I’d spent a little more time looking at those dusty pictures.”

“Corinthian–”

“No. I don’t need your pity. I need you to understand,” he said. “You are a king of the Dreaming now, you are a part of it, you can’t go back. We have all become something, it has taken from all of us, you aren’t alone in that. But it gives too.”

Hob was silent for a moment, taking in the Corinthian’s words. “Thank you.”

“You’re welcome,” the Corinthain said. “Now I have something else I have to do.” He got up and walked away.

 

Hob thought about the Corinthian’s words, he thought about them as he washed up that day, he thought about them as he spent the night in the library, he thought about them as he paced around the palace. He thought about them when he asked for another spar. He thought about them as he landed on his back in the dust again and again.

The Corinthian had him backed up against the wall for the third time that day, his sword grinding against Hob’s own. Each time they met in the ring, another round started, he got weaker. He was suffering from the exertion of yesterday’s long hours of fighting and the little sleep he’d gotten the night before. He was suffering from another day gone by not reenforcing his vows to Morpheus.

The Corinthian noticed. Leaning into his space, he drawled, “So what is it then. Lay it on me. Why do you really not want to fuck Lord Morpheus?”

“It doesn’t have anything to do with Morpheus, actually,” Hob snapped, struggling to push the man off of him.

“Oh?” The Corinthian cocked an eyebrow. “A lover from back home? Or is it some other mortal sensibility that keeps you from enjoying yourself?”

“It has nothing to do with the sex,” he spat as he finally pushed the Corinthian’s blade away, opening up space for him to engage once again. “It’s the side effect. The power.”

“That’s a good one, I almost believed it too. What’s the real reason?”

Hob blinked at him as they traded blows. “That is the reason.”

“You’re serious. You’re serious? What is wrong with you? Did living so long as a mortal break your brain?” he asked.

“What, no!” He ducked a swing. “What are you talking about?”

The Corinthian backed away and said, “People don’t fear power, they crave it. The need for power, control, influence, it drives the human race. It pushes them forward, forward, forward, towards their own destruction. It can’t be possible for you humans to fear it.”

“Then maybe I’m not all that human after all,” Hob retorted.

The Corinthian snorted but dropped his blade and motioned to call an end to the bout. “No, make it make sense. Explain it to me.

Hob sighed, “It’s– I’ve lived my whole life like this. I’ve never been special, I’ve never been able to use magic. I was never any different from before I had this immortality, I still feel pain, I’m not any stronger. I’m human, plain and simple, I just don’t die. The unknowns all that power brings… I don’t know. It scares me.”

“You’re worrying too much.”

“Am I? No offense, but are you aware of what you look like? Receiving the power of the Dreaming took your eyes, it changed the shape of your bones, it changed you. Can you really say it won’t do the same to me?”

The Corinthian stilled, hurt wafting off of him. “Right. Sure.”

Hob sighed. “Hey, I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have–”

“No, no, you’re not wrong.”

“Still.”

They stood there quietly for a while, with only the sound of the birds and the bustle of the market down below the palace gates to fill the space. They sipped water and watched as the sweat dried off of their skin. Finally, the Corinthian broke the silence.

“You’re still being ridiculous. You really think that you aren’t different after your six hundred years of immortal life? Sure, the power might change you, but this marriage was always going to change you. You knew that from the beginning, it isn’t any different now just because the change happens after sex and not with the wedding vows.”

“Did– Did you just give me advice?”

“Yes, and here’s another piece,” the Corinthian said, stepping closer and leaning in with a secretive smile. “Stop hiding yourself away. You want him, I can tell, don’t deny yourself something just because it’s awkward for you. Just take it, you’re a hunter, a warrior, you always have been. Embrace it. Get what you want.”

Hob scoffed. “And how would you know?”

The Corinthian just tilted his head, observing him. “You don’t live for as long as you have lived, without that spark– without hunger. Hunger so deep in your bones you don’t even know it’s there,” his voice grew more fervent. “But I do, I can taste it, and Gadling, you’re filled to the brim.”

His jaw worked as he tried to find something to say to that. It was true, he had always wanted more from life, another adventure, another story, another meal. He’d always had something to push him forward, year after year as the centuries dragged on, to keep him living lifetime after lifetime, to push him through the wall of enemies that sought to kill him. He’d always wanted the next year, no matter the horrors or hardships it might bring, there was simply too much of life to ever have enough of it. But a part of him reeled at the comparison to the Corinthian, a part of him that was too afraid of the answer to ask the question, a part of him that had always wondered if he even counted as human anymore.

“So what? You think I’m like you, then?”

He shrugged, “No, I think you’re more than you’re willing to admit. I think that scares you. I think, for someone who’s lived so long for the future, you’re a little too hung up on the past. You think you’re supposed to be afraid of what you could become, so you are, but you’re not supposed to be afraid of anything anymore, so don’t be.”

Then he walked away, leaving Hob alone in the sparring ring.

— — —

Hob hadn’t been sleeping in their room for the past two nights and Morpheus was starting to get worried. He wanted to give his husband time, time to process what had happened, what they had learned. He didn’t want to push too hard, he didn’t want to risk Hob hating him, he didn’t know if he could survive that.

Morpheus had been watching Hob. He had been since he’d walked off with the Corinthian in the gardens, since he’d learned the truth of what their marriage really entailed. It hadn’t been easy to let Hob go. Morpheus had wanted to show him his beauty, to convince him that he belonged in the Dreaming. He had wanted to help, but he knew that none of his words would do anything. He simply had to wait.

So he watched. He watched Hob and the Corinthian spar, he watched them antagonize each other, he watched as Hob grew weaker, the one-sided link continuing to drain him of his energy. Morpheus watched as his husband struggled with a dilemma he could only begin to understand.

Now, he found himself taking tea with Johanna Constantine, who had shown up unannounced and uninvited at his door. Her appearance, however unwanted, was not surprising; Luicienne had called for her on various occasions to drag him out of a particularly dour mood. As his first raven and Librarian of the Dreaming, Lucienne often took it upon herself to act in the interests of the country, and much to Morpheus’s dismay, she seemed to find his emotional regulation to be one of them.

Johanna was the one person who refused to respect both his position and his power. Although she was mortal, her death would be held off by two or three centuries as a consequence of her immense power; but she would die all the same. But ambitious as she was, those measly centuries had not been enough and she had figured out a clever reincarnation spell. She would die, and be reborn, memories intact. He is still not sure how she’s gotten that by Morana, if she had at all, Death had many reasons for the things she did, and sometimes she picked favorites.

The two of them, Dreamlord and overly ambitious mortal, had been at odds in the beginning, it hadn’t been until around Johanna’s third lifetime that they’d formed a truce of sorts. And now she was a confidant, a friend. One of the few beings who had seen and known Morpheus for long enough to know him, yet she stuck around and kept caring. She was more than willing to explain, in great detail, how Morpheus fell short of her every expectation, but she didn’t bother to hide her affection either. Begrudging as it might have been. Johanna was direct and didn't hide what she knew, plenty of people might be able to read the Dream King, but she was the only one who announced what she saw. It was refreshing, and off putting, and somehow they remained friends.

They sat together, at a table just large enough for the two of them, sipping fresh tea from simple, clay mugs. “Well,” she said at last, breaking the steady silence. “You’ve really gone and fucked it up, haven’t you?”

His knee-jerk reaction was still to find solace in anger, to wrap himself in the cloak of fury and defend himself. Even after all these years, having friends, having to trust and accept fault, was still new to him. He didn’t want to talk about it, he didn’t want to split himself open and let her dig through the pieces, the hurt of it was too hard. The mistakes he’d made were too plentiful and they were irreparable. But he had made a promise to Lucienne, a promise to try.

“I rather think I have.”

Johanna shook her head, “You Endless can’t even do weddings properly, those have to come with extra baggage too. Poor Gadling, he didn’t know what he was getting himself into, did he?”

The question was innocent enough, Morpheus knew she didn’t mean to wound him. But it struck deep in his heart anyway. He had single handedly changed the course of Robert Gadling’s life, he was going to be responsible for the change to Hob’s fundamental nature. Who knew what other forms of havoc he could bring?

Johanna saw her words land, and her eyes grew wide with their own regret. It was not an expression he was used to seeing on her. “Good god, I’m sorry Morpheus. I didn’t mean that.”

“No, no,” he waved away her apology. “You aren’t wrong. He had no idea what would befall him when he married me.”

“And neither did you,” she said sharply. “So, tell me, other than your usual ‘I have transgressed and cannot be forgiven’ drama, what are you so scared of that Lucienne called me?”

He sat with that question for a while, and Johanna let him. She didn’t push or hurry him to find an answer, trusting that he would give it in time, when he had one to give. They drank tea and ate pastries in silence while he thought. What was it that terrified him so? Why was Hob’s rejection weighing on him so heavily?

He cannot help but think of Calliope.

“I suppose,” he starts, speaking slowly as the words come to him. “What troubles me foremost, is not the ruin I may have brought Hob in my impulsiveness, but…” he trails off. It is a lot, what he is planning to reveal. Calliope and Orpheus had been long before Johanna’s time, but she knew of his first spouse and son, what she did not know was the scar he still bore from the ordeal.

“I worry that if Hob turns from me, if he grows to hate or resent me, it will prove Calliope right. It will prove myself right. That I am, at heart, unable to be loved as I love in return.”

His friend's face softened at his admission, the strength of her sadness and worry deepening as he spoke. “Oh. Morpheus– You can’t–” She took a breath. “You’re both wrong, you’re both so wrong. But– you really care about him, don’t you?”

Morpheus shifted uncomfortably. “Well, of course I do, he is my husband.”

“Yeah, but it was a political marriage. I expected you to bear it with the same polite grace you do in all other relationships, not… fall in love.”

“If it helps any, I didn’t expect it either.”

Johanna huffed a pained laugh, “I’m really not sure that it does, actually.” She looks into his eyes pointedly, “Look, I know you won’t believe it from me, and you probably won’t believe it from Hob either, but there is so much of you that can be loved. Even I found myself caring about your sorry ass, if that can happen, you don’t need to worry about Hob.”

Morpheus nodded his thanks when the doors to his chambers opened with an unceremonious bang. Startled, he jumped to his feet, gathering his power around him and Johanna as a shield, readying to use it as a dagger. But his defensive preparations came to a grinding halt as Hob entered his line of sight.

He was stripped down to his shirtsleeves, breathing hard, with a slight sheen of sweat glistening on his exposed skin. Which, with the first few laces of his shirt hanging loosely, was quite a lot in comparison with the usual court attire.

Something happened to Johanna’s eyebrows as she glanced between the two of them. “Hm– I think I’ll be on my way now. Ta for now, Dreamlord,” she called as she walked out. Morpheus couldn’t help the clench of jealousy when he noticed the appreciative glance she gave Hob as she walked by, but it came with an odd swell of pleasure when she sent an impressed look to him over her shoulder.

“Morpheus,” Hob said, and that was all it took for him to give his husband every ounce of his attention.

— — —

“Morpheus,” Hob breathed.

He’d stayed in the sparring ring after the Corinthian left, he continued to work himself down despite how tired he already was. He needed a solution, and answer, something to turn him in the right direction, because he was lost. To be truthful, he’d been lost for a very long time, maybe ever since Elenor and his son died, the war had given him a purpose for a time, but that was over now. Now, he was married to a king who didn’t need him, there was no place for him here, not yet, Lucienne said as much.

So where did he go? Where did he turn? The Corinthian told him to do what he wanted. What was it that he wanted?

That was how he found himself here, in his and Morpheus’s rooms, asking for a purpose.

“Hob,” Morpheus’s voice was warm and dark. Hob sunk into it for a moment.

He took a breath, bracing himself to continue. “I’d like to be involved in the negotiations with Edir,” he said, and moved forward towards the king.

Morpheus nodded. “Okay.”

“And I can’t stay in this palace forever, I have to get out, move. Maybe I can work with diplomatic meetings moving forward, I’m good with people, they like me.”

“That can be arranged.”

“And,” he said, stepping chest to chest with him. “I’d really like to kiss you right now.”

Standing as close as they were, Hob was just a few hairs-breaths taller, allowing him to look slightly down into his husband’s eyes as his last words hit home. The king’s gaze darkened. The color of his eyes didn’t change, nor did the lighting of the room. It was in the power Morpheus held close to his skin. As the closeness of their bodies grew, the power within him rose to the surface.

The king stood, silent and imperial as their eyes locked. Morpheus took a single, ragged breath, and Hob used the time to take in his appearance. He wore another long robe, as was his preference, and it was dyed a deep indigo with intricate constellations embroidered into the fabric. Its folds lay flat against his chest and were cinched tightly at his waist. Hob could feel the heat in his blue gaze as Morpheus watched him admire his body.

His husband looked down his nose at him and asked, “What was that?”

“I’d like to kiss you.”

“Then do so,” Morpheus instructed.

Hob did.

His husband’s lips were cool when he kissed him, his body unyielding, his hands unmoving. Hob withdrew, worried he’d misstepped or done something wrong. “Are you alright?” he asked.

Morpheus opened his eyes and blinked at him, he cocked his head, almost birdlike. “Yes, why?”

“You’re so… tense.”

He worked his jaw and glanced away. “Yes. I can be… intense. I wouldn’t want to push too far. To be too much too soon.”

Hob brought his hands to Morpheus’s face. “No. I want you, all of you. I’m not afraid to see you, Morpheus. Don’t restrain yourself, I want this to be you and I, I want to see you.” He punctuated the words with a searing kiss, and this time, Morpheus returned it.

This time, the kiss burned. Morpheus ran his fingers through Hob’s hair, threading through the overgrown strands before tightening at the base of his neck. The sensation pulled a moan out of him, heat and fire racing down his spine straight to his cock. Hob’s own hands gripped Morpheus’s waist and pulled him closer, pressing them together.

Slowly, Hob started trailing kisses down Morpheus’s neck, nuzzling at the hollow of his throat, letting his breath ghost over his skin. He scraped his teeth against his husband’s pulse point, then nipped him there, soothing it with a gentle lick. This brought a low rumble of approval from the other man, and the sound only encouraged him. Redoubling his efforts, Hob started tugging at Morpheus’s belt and smoothly guided him towards the bedroom where he brought them up against the bed.

The backs of Morpheus’s knees had just brushed the mattress when he spun them around, pushing Hob onto his back and looming over him. This gave Hob a first row seat to watch as the king let his robe fall around him, leaving himself in only a light undershirt and linen trousers. Then, Morpheus turned his attention to Hob’s clothing. Deft fingers took apart the laces of his pants, and moved on to caressing the backs of his calves as he loosened his boots, one by one, and slipped them off his feet. The next thing Hob knew, Morpheus was leaning over him, hands sliding up from his knees, across his thighs, and under his shirt. The king’s hands were cool, just as his lips were, and Hob shivered as they worked their way over the planes of his belly and the barrel of his ribs. His fingers paused for a moment when they reached his nipples, but moved on, tracing the lines of his chest.

“Remove this,” Morpheus ordered, and Hob scrambled to obey. “Keep your hands by your sides,” he continued. “I want to look at you.”

He complied as Morpheus bent down to remove first his stockings and then his trousers and undergarments. Hob sucked in a breath as the waistband was pulled over his hardening dick, brushing roughly against his sensitive skin and scraping by his thighs. He lay there, completely devoid of cover, his expanse of skin left to chill in the open air. He was laid bare, in contrast to his fully clothed husband, who took the time to let his eyes rove over his body. Taking in every inch of exposed flesh and spending an inordinate amount of time below Hob’s waist, the intense scrutiny left him biting his lip and keeping himself from moving.

Morpheus stood, aloof and unaffected, or so it seemed. If Hob looked closely, he could see the unsteady rise and fall of his chest as he stepped closer. Moving slowly, almost reverently, Morpheus reached out and stroked a single finger up his thigh. The smooth fingerpad followed by the light scraping of the fingernail that came behind it, moved up, up, up, until the top of his hip bone. The sensation shivered through Hob’s body. Then, Morpheus repeated the movement up his other thigh. Hob let his head fall back, watching it was too much, too excruciating.

The next thing he knew was the feeling of Morpheus’s hands rubbing up his legs to grip at his hips, holding them down against the mattress as his body moved up, over Hob. His loose shirt whispered against Hob’s skin as he bent to place open mouthed kisses to his abdomen. Slowly, oh so slowly, those kisses moved towards his chest, Morpheus’s legs coming up to straddle him, and then a tongue was playing with his nipple. Hob gasped, unable to contain the shudder running through him, that earned him a sharp bite in response. He was having difficulty keeping his hands where they were supposed to be.

“Go ahead,” Morpheus murmured, his mouth against him. “You can touch me.”

Hob sighed in relief and let his hands grab at Morpheus’s waist, rubbing his thumbs into the tensed muscles of his stomach. Morpheus hummed, pleased, and moved his gentle ministrations to the other nipple.

“Please,” Hob begged. “Let me kiss you.”

Instead of answering, Morpheus just brought his own hands up to Hob’s face. One cradling the back of his head, the other laying at his throat. He lay his whole weight against Hob’s body and gave himself over to the kiss, his tongue filling Hob’s mouth, swallowing his groans. His teeth bit into his lip, the pain drawing Hob’s attention as one of his hands drifted down and wrapped around his cock, already slick from precum. In retaliation, Hob grabbed at his shirt, dragging it up, forcing Morpheus to free him so the sleeves could slip over his hands.

With Morpheus’s body no longer in the way, Hob sat up and started sucking a mark into the skin of his husband’s neck, making sure to sooth the red and aggravated spot with his tongue when he was satisfied with it. He ran his fingers over Morpheus’s slim body, skimming over his ribs. With a mischievous grin, he pinched Morpheus’s nipples in between his thumb and forefinger, drawing forth an affronted look from the king. Hob just kissed it off him.

“Tell me what you like. I want to do this right,” he whispered sweetly.

A small flush formed across Morpheus’s cheeks and chest, and he turned away. “I’d like to fuck you,” he said, still looking askance. Then, meeting his eyes, he said, “I’d like you to come screaming my name.”

Hob gulped and started working at the laces of Morpheus’s trousers. “Yes, please.”

A smile crept over Morpheus’s mouth, and there was a look in his eyes, something hungry and all consuming. A wicked side of his husband was revealing itself, one which was sly and dominating. Hob found it extremely arousing. Quickly, Morpheus shucked the trousers and revealed his own cock, hard and standing at attention.

With renewed vigor, Morpheus pushed him down into the bed. His mouth captured Hob’s while his hand wrapped around his dick, providing some much needed friction, the sensation made Hob melt. Moving the both of them further up the bed, Morpheus grabbed something from the drawer of his nightstand. When he brought his hand back, it was slick with lubricant, Hob nearly fainted at the sight, knowing what was coming next. Gently, Morpheus guided Hob’s knees to his chest, exposing his hole to the chilled air, kissing him all the while.

Morpheus drew away as he pressed the first finger in, watching Hob’s every reaction as the digit began to move in and out. The penetration, however small, was thrilling. Morpheus was inside of him. They made eye contact and Hob’s breath hitched, distracted by the beauty of the man taking him apart at the seams, his regal nature, his power, the seed of need that the sight of him planted in Hob’s gut. Morpheus added a second finger, and Hob hissed through the stretch as they curled within him, pumping in and out, brushing ever so slightly against his prostate. The pleasure grew and grew as Morpheus stretched him out, adding a third finger shortly after the second, watching him as his back arched, seeking more.

“Are you ready?” he asked Hob.

“Yes! Yes, please!” he cried. “Morpheus, please. Please, fuck me.”

“As my husband commands,” he rumbled, his voice deep, reaching into Hob’s core.

Slipping his fingers out of his ass, Morpheus bent his head and pushed himself inside, stroking Hob’s cock as he entered, maintaining a stream of pleasure even as he was split open. The stretch was overwhelming. It burned. It filled him. It sent waves of pleasure through him. Morpheus paused, letting Hob have time to adjust to having him inside, then he started moving. Burying himself to the hilt in one smooth motion, before gliding out just as easily, leaving only the head of his cock in Hob’s ass.

Hob gasped, the feeling washing over him. And then Morpheus did it again. And again. And again. And again. Then the movement became continuous, constant, and rhythmic, and Morpheus caught Hob’s mouth with his own. Soon, Hob lost himself to the pleasure, and it was just skin on skin, mouth on mouth, tongue and teeth, and the feeling of being opened from within. As the pressure in his gut built with the pleasure coursing through his veins, Hob could feel a singing thrum vibrate through him. Like a cord being struck, a wire being plucked, it shook in him, and another answered from the air caressing him. A rumble of deep power resonated from Morpheus, its waves moving from him and into Hob. It sang with the thrumming cord in Hob’s own blood.

“Give in, Hob,” Morpheus told him. “Open yourself.”

So he did. He closed his eyes and let himself spill over, into the world. And he felt the Dreaming welcome him as he came.

Notes:

Not a whole lot happened that's actually relevant to the plot in the Explicit Content bit, besides the fact that Hob opened himself to the Dreaming and he was able to form a connection with the magic, so he should be able to control his magic and his life force will no longer be drained away! Yay!