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ineffablyendless · 1 month

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Two Graves.

Rated: G

Relationships: Nuala of the Faerie/Dream of the Endless|Morpheus

Tags: No Archive Warnings Apply, haunted surrealism, non-graphic mentions of blood, implied character death, post-TKO, so there's the acknowledgement of what happens to Morpheus, be warned.

Summary: Nuala dreams, and dances, and the Dreaming cries a dying melody. Then she wakes

A/N: HAPPY BIRTHDAY SWEET BUNNY, and to one of my absolute best friends on earth @nualaofthefaerie thank you for letting me participate in her birthday event even though I don't draw or anything and also have not participated in the Sandman fandom for the last couple of months. If anyone else is interested in reading about Nuala's birthday event and wants to try your luck writing her, you can peek at Li's post here .

Nuala is, at her core, a very tragic character in the comics, and this more than anything carved her spot in my heart. She is principled, strong, and kind, but what makes her appeal to me more than others is that unrequited, heartbreaking devotion. A girl that has so much to give so willingly, discarded and forgotten, and it makes me so angry. She kept trying, and it wasn't enough. This is a recurring theme in the Sandman. But the love was there, and it deserves to be told. In this fic I wanted to capture that fruitless yearning and her desperation and how she fights. So I hope it comes across well. This fic is less about Sandflower more so it is about Nuala.

Granted, Li had planned sweet things for a sweet girl, but I really wanted to write a ballroom dance scene straight out of The Labyrinth, and the angsty vibes from that particular scene spread through the entire fic and it turned out a lot more melancholic than I originally planned. And, uh, a lot longer too. So...win-win?

You can also read it on Ao3 :)

At the end, he comes for her.

(Just as he'd promised)

It stretches on endlessly. Infinity on the head on a needle.

She remembered being told once, that on their last breath, mortals would recall their life in flashes. Dominoes falling into place. Cluracan had laughed as he told her so, joking to her of their feeble and short lifespans. Should a Fae be allowed similar opportunities, recollection could stretch on long enough to fill another mortal lifetime, and the Fae in question would have tricked and swindled another breath, not unlike Sisyphus.

Alas, it was not meant to be. Fae were without souls, and the last of their breath returns them to nothingness. There is no great Beyond; only a change in form. A loss in consciousness. Not true death.

It sounded like plenty death to her.

At the end, her lover came to her in bits and pieces.

She would begin in empty, wandering halls, hearing his voice in the horizon. She was sure he would be in the library, she thought, if only she could find him. Sometimes she would be carrying some sort of burden; a basket of papyrus scrolls, or a simple stick of dustfeathers. Most times it is only her, and the silent patter of her cold feet on stone floors as she wanders and searches of a faint voice in the wind.

Outside, a storm brews, but it was not yet time for her to leave.

She finds the library eventually, and she chases his cape on the edges of her periphery. The maze of towering bookshelves consumes her, and she twists and loops through it's oaken pathways, up and down and side to side intertwined, like how they used to dance. She would hear his giggles, that taunting melody, and when she trails her fingers longingly down the spine of ancient times they shiver, and she yearns to come home.

Find me, little fairy, she hears him say on the wind, just as he had when she was young, and in love, and light with hope. You be my fox, and I your hare.

The panes creak and rattle from winds that whistle down oculus dome of the Endless Library, and often she must shield herself from the hail of rotten leaves and debris. Not once does she find Lucien. It escapes her mind. When she falters, she hears him chuckle, and she gets back up on her feet.

At the entrance of the ballroom, her aching feet pause.

Much like the rest of the Dreaming Palace, it is empty and silent, save for the storm brewing outside. Yet when she closes her eyes, it is a bustling cotillion, and she is dressed as a lavish queen; the empress of shadow and nightmares, and her King stands in the very middle of the crowd. Waiting for her.

Closer, my diamond. Step down, my jewel.

At times she would stumble on non-existant petticoats, and when she opens her eyes she is once more on the top of the stairwell, and her king bids her to come closer.

Her feet bleeds. Her skin dries. By the banquet, she sees a beautiful woman with haunted eyes full of woe. In the next second, her ghosts and her ankh is forgotten, and Nuala tries stepping down the stairs once more, eyes fully closed. It is not about her. For once, it is about Nuala, and her lover, and she still has time, that wretched all-father. For once, it is about Nuala.

The ballroom is empty, but she feels the crowd pushing and pulling and shoving and laughing, just as they do back in the Faerie, from whence she had been plucked and moved and gifted to a veritable stranger in a land of mysteries and fear. A place that used to be home, but wasn't truly.

Her King awaits, and she reaches for him, grasping desperately. He would hold her, she knows, and he will tell her that everything is alright, and for a moment everything would be. For a moment she would have a home, and her love was not grief. Nuala tries again, and they push her away, like spiteful tides. Again, again, again.

He touches her, and Nuala imagines her tears like glass and quartz. He touches her, but not quite; a phantom sensation, and she knows he is once more out of reach. This is a memory.

But her eyes are closed and storm howls and sings. The window panes drums her a beat. So Nuala cries, and bleeds and dances.

The crowd sways with her, and she falls against them. His phantom touches leads, and he twirls her, and spins her, and dips her. Her arms reach towards the Heavens, and when the music of the storm fails her, her lungs constricts and Nuala screams.

It is agony. Liberty. Longing. Love. Her feet step on the broken glass of smashed window panes and tears, and she can no longer tell between the empty ballroom and her ghosts. Their gazes become suffocating, and she escapes through the side door, into her garden, into the Dreaming.

Everything is dying. She is not so special.

Fiddler's Green is a torn up wasteland, and the watering holes are dried and destitute. The storm cackles, and she looks into the Faces of the Three Who Are One. They rip him apart with their teeth, the Love of her life, and Nuala sobs and begs and falls to her knees.

This time, it is he who reaches for her.

She looks up to see Morpheus-not-Morpheus, the blank fresh nothingness of the eyes she had loved since she had laid her own upon him, what felt like centuries ago.

Nuala clenches her eyes shut, hoping to see the man she loves and for everything to go away and leave her alone, yet still the Furies cackle and the Dreaming trembles in their wake, and her King is bleak and pale as snow.

When he touches her, he is the wrong sort of cold.

"Sweet Nuala," he pleads, and she turns her head from him. If her lover was to change in force and agony, she wants to be right there with him. "Gentle Nuala. Loving Nuala. Please, let me take you home."

She shakes her head, burying her hands desperately in her hair, streaked with debris and dishevelled from the winds. Her feet crack and bleed, and her cheeks stain with tears. Her breath shortens. There is no great Beyond, for a Thing like her. Her home was her Lover, and her Lover was dead.

"My Nuala," the new King whispers. "Won't you look at me, one last time?"

There were many things she could've said. They choke her and burns the back of her throat like nightshade and Ivy, yet still her heart blooms. She is angry. She is helpless. She asks him, "Why?"

"Why?"

"You were loved. I had loved you. My King, I had everything on offer, and had you simply reached out and tried we could have-I could-,"

Her voice breaks and fails her. His eyes, white as bone, soften like crushed velvet.

"My King," she asked. Around them, her dreams fall apart. "Why did you fall?"

He hums. "Would you have loved me if I couldn't?"

"I would have loved you. Nevertheless."

He looks away. "I am sorry." He says, and Nuala believes him.

She had given him everything, and it was buried alongside him. All that was left of her was her Dream of him.

"I'm ready." She finally says. "To wake."

The King steps forward, and he plants on her a sweet kiss. When she reaches for the pendant, when she had made her last wish -one last Dream- she could almost pretend it was everything she ever wanted.

"Thank you," she says. "For coming."

Daniel smiles sadly. "He had promised. You called."

She had.

"This dream is over."

And Nuala wakes.

#dream of the endless #the sandman #sandflower #nuala of the faerie #choice of fic #nuala day #nuala birthday event #i bet my phineas and ferb followers are SOOOOO confused rn sorry gang #i contain multitudes #daniel hall

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magnusbae · 6 months

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I wanted you to stay. I wanted you to love me.

#I cannot say it was planned‚ but then again‚ nothing I do ever is.#A little doodle offering for you Noala girlies. I know it's a micro-circle but you all seem solid.#sandflower #nuala of the faerie #dream of the endless #the sandman #nuala sandman #lord morpheus #nuala #dream #buns.all #The first complete thing I actually did in infinite painter and not on photoshop— drawing on a tablet is challenging all my brain cells.#I struggle quote profoundly without my textured brushes haha #but it was fun nevertheless #buns.dd

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seiya-starsniper · 6 months

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On a dark and stormy night

Little non-explicit Sandflower prompt for my @monsterfucktoberbingobingo square - faerie

tagging @nualaofthefaerie cause you gotta 💖💖💖

AO3 Link Here, or read below:

-----------

It has been raining in the Dreaming nonstop for days.

Nuala sighs as another gust of wind rattles the windows of her bedroom, and another crack of thunder shakes the very foundations of the walls. She cannot sleep. She hasn’t slept well ever since Dream had ended his affair with Thessaly, the immortal witch.

Or rather, the witch had ended the affair with him. Hence, the endless bouts of rain.

Nuala tosses the covers off her body and lights the lantern next to her bed, having given up on sleep for now. Perhaps she could take a walk around the castle instead. Calm her nerves. Maybe even pour herself a glass of wine to help her sleep.

The castle halls are dark and dreary as Nuala walks through them, trying her best not to get lost. Still, she knows the halls and the stairways change frequently according to its monarch’s whims, and tonight seems to be no different. There are steps and turns she’s never seen before, and before she knows it, Nuala finds herself in front of a large wooden door with no other path forward. She considers turning around and heading back to bed, but something about the door calls to her, and so eventually, she pushes it open, surprised at how easily it gives underneath her hand.

She finds herself inside a small room with a roaring fire, sparsely decorated with only a single chair with a high back sat directly in front of the flames. Nuala smiles to herself as she moves towards the chair. This would be a fine place to escape the storm, the fire feels warm, and there are no windows inside the room so it seems to be a true escape from unpredictable weather raging just outside.

She jumps in surprise when she reaches the chair and finds it occupied instead of empty, as she expected.

“My lord!” Nuala cries out, when she realizes precisely who is seated in the chair. “My apologies, I didn’t notice you were there.”

Dream is curled in upon himself on the chair, his bare feet resting on the edges while his knees are tucked underneath his arms. His head is resting absently on a shoulder, and the dream king seems lost in thought for sometime before his eyes finally flit to meet Nuala’s. She doesn’t flinch underneath the intensity of the Endless’s gaze, but it’s a near thing.

“...Nuala,” Dream finally grunts, lifting a hand and gesturing to her to move closer. “Join me.”

“Yes!” Nuala squeaks, moving hurriedly to close the distance between herself and the small piece of furniture where the dreamlord has draped himself. As she approaches, the chair extends in length to accommodate her, effectively transforming into a small sofa. Dream rearranges himself to leave open a small space where Nuala can sit—sprawl, even, if she wanted to. She chooses instead to sit up straight, not wanting to look unseemly in front of Dream.

“My lord—” Nuala begins after some silence has passed between them. “Are you…are you quite all right?” she asks, already knowing the answer. Dream grunts and sits up slightly, shaking his head as he does so.

“I have been better,” Dream replies, before coughing into his fist, almost awkwardly. “But I suppose you already knew that.”

Nuala clenches her fists and nods, not knowing what else to do.

“Is there anything I can do to help?” she asks, blushing as she realizes too late how suggestive her words sound. Dream lets out a small huff of laughter before he turns to face her, leveling the faerie with an intense gaze.

“You say you wish to help…” he says, his eyes trailing downwards from her face to her neck. Nuala flushes as he continues to stare but does not say anything more. His eyes are practically blackened, and Nuala cannot help but wonder what about her he’s so focused on. Surely he can’t be thinking—? No, he’s only just ended another relationship, there’s no way he would think of her like that. Nuala pushes aside her lurid thoughts and only nods firmly, meeting his gaze head on.

“I do,” she answers, proud that her voice does not waver. “If there is anything you need, I would be—”

“And yet,” Dream interrupts her, and oh. When had he come so close? One moment he was on the other side of the sofa and now his face is directly in front of hers. His expression is now contorted in displeasure as he stares down at her, and Nuala does her best not to shrink and curl up in shame.

“You wear a reminder of her around your neck,” he finishes, right before he forcefully tugs the pendant Thessaly gave her from underneath her nightdress causing Nuala to shriek in surprise. Dream has never touched her so familiarly before, and the residual warmth of his fingers seems to burn where he touched her to get at the necklace.

Dream hums as he turns the pendant over in his fingers, considering. Nuala wonders if he means to destroy it. She wouldn’t be surprised if he wished to, and if he asked, she would hand it over, although she’d be sad to lose it. It really was so pretty…

“How long have you had this?” Dream asks, no, demands, his eyes darkening once more as he waits for her answer.

“N-n-not long, my lord, I swear!” Nuala yelps. “She uhm, I mean Thess—”

Dream growls and Nuala shrinks back, chastised. She remembered now how her lord had commanded no one speak her name in his presence. Another awkward silence falls between them before Dream sighs and releases his hold on the necklace, letting it drop back down to Nuala’s chest.

“My apologies,” Dream says, his eyes returning back to their normal color. “I know you were close with…her,” he finishes, nodding at the faerie to gauge her understanding of how to refer to his ex-lover. Nuala nods her assent and starts fiddling with the pendant herself, focusing on it instead of meeting her lord in the eyes.

“She was nice to me,” the faerie says. “The necklace was…a parting gift,” she admits, wondering if it’s a mistake to do so. She really liked Thessaly, she was always telling her stories and making Nuala laugh, even if the faerie really didn’t care for her complaints about Dream. And there were so many, it seemed. No matter what her lord seemed to do, it was never enough for Thessaly to be happy.

“A parting gift,” Dream spits out the last word as if it were poison. Nuala flinches, but only so slightly. It was clear their breakup was still a sensitive subject.

“I suppose she thought she could bribe you to leave me with pretty trinkets,” Dream continues, sniffing disdainfully as his gaze returns to the pendant once more. “I imagine she thought you would choose to leave with her if she gave you enough shiny things.”

“I—no, I would never!” Nuala insists, dropping the pendant from her hands immediately. She’s horrified that Dream would ever think such a thing. Thessaly was nice, but the Dreaming was her home, and her loyalties did not switch so easily.

“No—you are still here after all,” Dream murmurs. “Still, I don’t like this,” he says, right before he grabs the pendant once more and snaps the chain clean off her neck.

“Lord Morpheus!” Nuala cries unhappily. So he was going to destroy the pendant after all.

“Peace, little one,” Dream replies, holding up the pendant, undamaged, though the chain it sat upon is irreparably broken. Nuala silently mourns its loss but she supposes it’s better than the whole thing being destroyed. “I will return this to you,” he adds.

Nuala feels a surge of warmth as she reaches to take the pendant back, but Dream holds it just out of reach and shakes his head.

“Before that,” Dream says, “I would like for you to tell me a story.”

“A story, my lord?” Nuala asks, unable to hide her surprise.

“Yes,” Dream says, waving the pendant back and forth. “In exchange for your secrecy, you will give me a story, and I will let you keep this trinket now that I know it poses no threat.”

Oh. Of course that’s what he wanted to inspect the thing for. Of course.

“Are we in agreement?” Dream asks her, and Nuala nods eagerly.

“Yes, my lord,” she answers, and then she begins to think of a story that would be worthy of telling to the Dream King. She’s so lost in her thoughts and what to talk about that she does not notice Dream shifting his position until a weight makes itself known on her thighs. Nuala squeaks when she realizes Dream has lain his head down on her lap.

“My lord?!” Nuala asks, her whole body feeling as if it were on fire. Could one self-combust in the Dreaming? She certainly felt like she was. Oh gods, how was she supposed to concentrate on telling a story now?

“Hmm?” Dream hums as if there were absolutely nothing out of the ordinary. As if this was something he did all the time. When Nuala looks down at him, she notices his eyes are closed and thank goodness for that.

“I—are you comfortable, my lord?” Nuala asks, hoping Dream cannot hear her how fast her pulse is jackrabbiting.

“I am,” Dream answers. “You may begin.”

#the sandman #dream of the endless #nuala of the faerie #sandflower #monsterfucktoberbingo #reposting because it wasn't showing up in the tags #seiya's monsterfucktoberbingo fills #seiya writes sandflower

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fauxraven · 1 year

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Age of the Wandering Fae [I]

pairing: Dream of the Endless x Nuala of the Faerie

summary: A thousand times of choosing others and the one time she chooses herself.

warnings: spoilers for the comics, only canon-compliant through the beginning of The Kindly Ones, Nuala is underrated.

word count: 5k+

dedicated to @nualaofthefaerie

Enter the Dream, weary traveller

There is a diamond teardrop resting upon her heart.

It shimmers against a sea of new galaxies and supernovas long since imploded.

There is a sapphire teardrop in her eyes.

It glistens like a pebble under the glare of a dying sun. Insignificant, in the infinite scheme of everlasting everything.

There is a ruby teardrop in the throne room. It drops like a dead planet, tumbling off the endless ocean of galaxies shimmering in his eyes.

The ruby bounces off the floors, falls out of her chest, skips across the fabric of the worlds and shatters at her feet.

Her brother had called it World’s End.

This is infinitely worse.

The heavy words linger inside what is left of a heart that’s been trampled time and time again. For the last time.

‘’What?’’ When she finds her voice, the word is small, inconsequential, to her likeness.

‘’Is there anything you wish to take away with you, Nuala?’’ He repeats, as if she could ever forget, ever dismiss the sound of his voice.

She shakes her head feebly.

‘’Very well. I would like to formally thank you for your service, these last three years. Give me your pendant.’’

‘’What?’’

This is not real. This can’t be real. This is a dream. A nightmare. She knows he’s just remade the Corinthian; she knows he would not—could not… let her go?

‘’Your pendant.’’

A slender finger touches her heart. The diamond teardrop sparkles, a pure white light emanating from within. The pale hand falls away with her hope.

‘’There,’’ he says, dark starry eyes sweeping over her own. ‘’For your loyal service. A gift. If in need, hold the stone with both hands and call me. I will come to you. You may have one boon.’’

Oh.

‘’You desire more than that?’’

No.

No, thank you, sire. Very kind of you, sire.

The diamond teardrop tumbles down a steep hill and joins the ruby at the bottom of a winding staircase.

At the very top of those stairs, lays the universe, in all its infinite glory.

At the bottom, lies her crumpled heart, a brother that has never deserved her and a dream lord who has never wanted her.

A dream lord who lets her go, the same way she came into his possession.

A dream lord who, just like everyone else in her life, will not fight for her.

Somewhere deep within the Garden of Forking Ways, Destiny of the Endless startles. A shackled hand flips through an ancient book of endless tales—flips and flips until his fingers smart, and then stops.

This is the moment that changes everything.

For the first time in the history of Time, Nuala of the Faerie decides to fight for herself.

‘’That’s all?’’

‘’You desire more then?’’

‘’Screw you.’’

She can barely see Dream’s eyes beneath the heavy bangs shielding his deathly glare, but the single star twinkles, twinkles against her odds.

Beside her, an unworthy brother stifles a laugh.

‘’Nuala, you jest! How I’ve missed this. But do leave some for—‘’

‘’No,’’ her voice has never been this stern, this cutting. Her cold eyes briefly find his dilated pupils. ‘’You left me here. No, you traded me. Offered me up like I was some sort of jewel. Less than—a… nothing. I was nothing to you. I always have been. Screw you.’’ A daring faerie finger jabs the Dream Lord in the chest. ‘’And screw you.’’

‘’You forget yourself, Nuala.’’

‘’I don’t even know who I am,’’ she replies quietly. And then the rest of the world falls away and Cluracan’s lulling voice disappears. In this new sheltered universe, there remains two people, huddled under the blazing light of a thousand stars. She isn’t even half of them. ‘’I warned you. I kept telling you but you wouldn’t listen. Was this really worth it? Was she worth it?’’

She recalls weeks of endless rain and aimless walks under his bedchambers, hoping to catch even the slightest glimpse of him. Tucked in a corner of the Dreaming, standing in all his ethereal glory on the highest balcony of the dream world, brooding as he's always been, she’d still spent hours watching him.

But in mourning, he’d seldom looked at her even though she’d only ever had eyes for him.

She’d visited the witch’s quarters many times after that, before they were erased, just so she could feel even briefly what it meant to be loved by him.

And he was sending her away.

She was tired of being ignored, she was tired of constantly fighting for someone who had no wish to fight for her. The worst of the worst: he had no malicious intent; he was simply doing this because it was all the same to him.

She wished it were all the same to her.

‘’You are out of line.’’

‘’I am not anything. To anyone.’’

She is testing him, she realises that, but she also longs for freedom, and she learns that she cannot have both. It had never been him and freedom.

Him or freedom. Always.

She thinks it’s funny; how she doesn’t realize it until after the words have left her mind but before they’re out of her mouth.

She wants freedom.

She wants to be liked, to know love. To be worthy.

She should have written that letter. It would have hurt less.

‘’I’m not leaving with you, Cluracan,’’ she says, still hanging on to Dream’s eyes. ‘’But I’m not going to stay where I’m not wanted and watch you destroy yourself.’’

She is crying now. The diamonds tumble and tumble across the rolling expanse of a hill, steeper still.

‘’I can’t do it. I won’t. I won’t do it—not when I’ve spent every day of the past three years completely in love with you.’’

The final diamond falls, plucked from her heaving bosom.

It shatters on the cold floors of the throne room, its deafening crack resounding in the empty room long after she’s vanished into the ether.

⬗ ⬗ ⬗

Cluracan is looking for his sister.

Titania, Queen of the Faerie, is scourging the planes for her loyal servant.

The Faerie Folk of all worlds are calling out to their kin.

The Dream King sits upon his throne, thinking.

Around him, all is utterly still.

The Dreaming is quiet, save for a few whispers and the occasional side-eye glance of a beady eye. Nothing has changed much.

In fact, nothing has changed at all.

Nuala of the Faerie-Folk has come. Nuala of the Faerie-Folk has gone. Everything that’s happened in between is nothing more than a fuzzy dream.

With a weary gaze, he glances at the growing pile of books gathering dust by a leg of his throne.

The Corinthian, in three old novellas, and two new tomes.

Mazikeen of the Lilim—her volume is thinner than the others, her dream web having only been activated some time during the weeks that followed Morningstar’s vacancy; thin, but incredibly insightful, for a demon at least.

The One Who Broke His Heart. Naturally, it isn’t what the title says but the matter is currently open to interpretation. Unfortunately, he knows that refraining from speaking her name will do him no good—she is only the latest in a long everlasting series—but he needs to feel the heartbreak, to mourn for a while if not forever.

His trusted librarian finds him neck deep in the thoughts of others. She carries a hefty pile of leather-bound volumes.

‘’My lord?’’

‘’Lucienne,’’ he sits up, surveying his friend with grave eyes. ‘’Is something the matter?’’

‘’I can’t be sure. These are all the books that Nuala has read, and those she planned to read. Where shall I put them?’’

The Dream King finds himself frowning. ‘’Whatever for?’’

Lucienne’s bespectacled eyes give a single blink. ‘’The search, sir.’’

He says nothing.

‘’Or—not? Forgive me, I was under the impression that we all missed her dearly. The Committee—‘’

‘’What committee?’’

‘’Well, not a committee per se but a few of the Dreamfolk have arranged to look in their own time. We all just assumed that’s what you’d want… be doing.’’

‘’Nuala has made her choice. She has left the Palace and the Dreaming. Willingly. The best way to care for her is to simply leave her be.’’

‘’But if even the fae cannot find her on this plane, surely—‘’

‘’That will be all. Thank you, Lucienne.’’

Lucienne bows and retreats to the library, leaving only her books behind.

The Dream Lord stares at the second pile for a long moment, long after the Whimsical Wind has settled in the Dreaming, long after the Gatekeepers have clocked out and the Palace remains silent still.

Nuala’s books are different, because he hasn’t read any of Nuala’s books for the simple reason that he has no idea what Nuala likes to read.

He doesn’t know anything about her.

He knows that she is faerie-folk. A fool’s sister.

He knows that she cleans the wide window panes of his throne room with a renewed dedication at least four times a day.

He knows that she tends to Fiddler’s Green sometimes and all that lay in his dominion.

He knows that she thinks she loves him. He knows that she is gone now.

But he doesn’t know where.

In the weeks that she has been gone, he’s chastised himself for not paying attention. For turning a blind eye to her feelings. He would not have returned them, but he would have been kind, understanding. After all, he was no stranger to heartbreak.

For an Endless, a supposedly omniscient being, he tended to miss the sign of the times.

Every. Single. Time.

The first book he thumbs through is nothing extraordinary. It’s a women’s magazine, with a few dog-eared pages on trendy hairstyles and photo shoots of film-stars who would not outlive the decade.

The second and third books are slightly more interesting. The Man who was Thursday, The Napoleon of Notting Hill, The Collected Works and Essays of Chesterton… most likely commissioned by Fiddler’s Green himself. She liked to read to him in the quiet hours of the morning—another thing he did not know.

Next come the classics: Jane Eyre, followed by its modern take Rebecca, the first edition of A Midsummer Night’s Dream which he’d commissioned, Orlando…

He flicks through these volumes like he’s read them a thousand times over. He probably has.

In the 2028 Edition of Moll Flanders, he stops.

On page 95, a feebly curled penmanship has carved a note below a bright fuchsia section.

Pretty.

Really love?

He understands what she means; he finds it strange, surely, but he understands nonetheless. He wants to give her the answer.

No. No, he does not love her. He lusts after her.

He feels sorry that she cannot tell the difference.

The last book is not a book at all.

It’s a collection of excerpts from Sylvia Plath’s The Bell Jar, tiny pieces of paper stapled together without a hardcover.

Inside, he finds a world of notes.

He remembers thinking that Lucienne could not know, lest she be furious and calls off the search. He doesn’t remember much of anything else after he reads through the faerie’s thoughts.

There are many-a-quote, by many authors, that he has remembered along the years. Words are dreams that remain long after the rest of the world has awoken.

For under a quote by Plath, lays a single word, a word that has never had much meaning to him to begin with. A word that could make or destroy him.

I felt very still and empty, the way the eye of a tornado must feel, moving dully along in the middle of the surrounding hullabaloo.

The tiny penmanship writes a single, hesitant word in the margin.

Dream?

Never, in his life, has he been more insulted. Never in his life has he been more understood.

Another similar instance draws his attention.

The silence depressed me. It wasn’t the silence of silence. It was my own silence. I knew perfectly well the cars were making a noise, and the people in them and behind the lit windows of the buildings were making a noise, and the river was making a noise, but I couldn’t hear a thing. The city hung in my window, flat as a poster, glittering and blinking, but it might just as well not have been there at all, for the good it did me.

Nuala?

Thessaly tried.

But Nuala of the faerie breaks him.

⬗ ⬗ ⬗

The Twilight Realm pales in comparison to the world she’s made of it.

Memories become stories become something else entirely, and Nuala has perfectly conveyed her memories through the glamour of her quarters.

He’d gifted her the piece of land the day he’d realised she could not leave. He’d crafted a small patch of greenery, but she’d cultivated the earth herself, coaxed the fauna into establishing residence and planted a lush garden in a greenhouse the shape of a heart. It was perfect. Beautiful. Peaceful. One of the most breathtaking places in the Dreaming. And he had no use for it.

Memories become stories. And he remembers a story about a lonely King on a throne of stars. A trusted librarian and the comforting hand of a friend on a cold shoulder.

What shall we do with her rooms, my lord?

The king’s pain, felt through the pelting rain: Erase them.

‘’Boss!’’

He’s never whipped around so fast in his entire existence.

He deflates; it is only Mervyn Pumpkinhead trampling on violet flowers.

‘’You are hurting them.’’

‘’Uh?’’

‘’The lilies.’’

As if on cue, a thousand petals unfurl and two thousand cries break free.

Merv clamps his ears shut—he doesn’t have any but the sentiment is certainly there—and sidesteps the clinging stems, desperately hanging on to his knees.

‘’That’s whack! Where’s all that energy when we need something done around this place?’’

The wailing only intensifies. They miss her, nearly as much as they all do.

‘’Enough.’’

The deep baritone is enough to send shivers down their stems; the flowers still, fussing quietly as they turn away from the Dream Lord to seek more sunlight.

To Merv, he offers his undivided attention.

‘’You requested an audience.’’

‘’I did? Oh, yeah, yeah, I definitely needed to talk to you, uh… where did I put the…’’

‘’Mervyn. State your business and what is has to do with me.’’

‘’I ain’t got any business with ya, honest. Uh, why do I keep losing everything, beats me. If these winged rats nicked it I’m gonna find tweezers and—there it is!’’

The gloved fingers of a dream find a box of night itself. The box is in the shape of a tiny rectangle that fits perfectly in Mervyn’s scarecrow hands. On the side he’s presented the king, a silver thread curls in on itself, spelling the letter M.

Wholly unimpressed, the king’s cool gaze sweeps over the object.

‘’What is this?’’

‘’A box? A gift, I guess. The kid’s been working on it since you lost the last one. Not sure how it works ya know—pixie dust or whatever.’’

‘’A gift?’’ Echoes the Dream King, midnight brow furrowing. ‘’Her kind are not known for their generosity.’’

In his experience, faeries’ gifts always came with strings attached. Conditions, prices, eternal damnation.

And yet out of all the faerie’s gifts, Nuala had turned out to be the most deceiving.

‘’I shall accept it.’’

The case falls open through no fault of his own—or Merv’s. It simply reacts to a series of words; a thought, long before it’s even been articulated.

And inside the box lays Nuala’s parting gift, a single gemstone encased in a gold pendant.

A ruby worthy of dreams.

⬗ ⬗ ⬗

On the day that marks the first year without her, the Dreaming rejects every dreamer from every realm known to man.

Its heart shifts—Fiddler’s Green, then the shores of Dream Country and a thousand grains of golden sands. From the Library of Dreams to the House of Secrets and the Cave of the First Woman; the heart of the Dreaming shifts and shifts, blurs and flies by in an ocean of light and unabridged colours. Its inhabitants grow restless as a flurry of landscapes keep disappearing, reappearing, vanishing and melting altogether in an endless loop. And still—no dreamers in sight.

He is indifferent to it all.

In his idle alcove above the worlds, the Dream Lord sulks.

It is his saddest anniversary yet.

It has been less than a turn of the Earth, but he feels her loss as though she has been gone for aeons. As do they all.

His subjects are not happy; he knows this. They haven’t rebelled, because they aren’t unhappy enough to attempt the unforgivable, but oddly enough, he wants them to. He wants them to take up arms and request audience—No! No more audiences, he can’t bear any more. He wants them to be angry enough to shake some sense into him; to force him to go after her, find her, convince her, bring her home. But they don’t. Because they care about her but just as all things—love dies out. Everything ends and time heals even the deepest wounds.

He has always been impervious to Time.

Ancient eyes trail over the silver trees below. The window is dirty, fogged over with aeons of neglect and frosty winds whipping over the glass, succeeding pelting rain and sparkling rainbows.

The change in his humour has done nothing for the Dreaming.

The winds come and go, briefly clearing the skies for five glorious burning suns, and then finally bursting into fat droplets of bloody monsoons.

Undecided is the weather, a pattern it’s inherited from its creator.

The rainbow appears again, a quick flicker of warmth in the winter landscape. He feels the warmth from within. It takes the shape of a ruby, gleaming against his dark robes. It hums a soothing lullaby that only he can hear in moments of doubts. It stills his nerves and fills his heart with joy.

He does not remember when it started.

He does not remember many things about her at all.

But he remembers the feeling bubbling in his chest. A passion of some sort; probably anger, quite possibly anguish, had overwhelmed him. He remembers the new new Corinthian and a mishap that oddly resembled the old old article. He remembers the rage, the darkness, the light. The shimmering light of a thousand suns, hot as an iron in the palm of his hand, burning through his anthropomorphic personification, through the heart of an Endless and obliterating his burgeoning ire right in the bud.

The Corinthian had first learned about clemency that day; he applied it himself many times since then.

It had happened again. Once in the library, when he’d caught one of Mervyn’s unsavoury spiels. The Pumpkinhead was sent on his way, unharmed.

It wasn’t until a most incredulous episode that he'd acknowledged the truth.

A black bird in the shape of a blonde-haired little girl had trespassed on the dreams of a fat burly god.

The god looked upon the freckled little girl with glowing eyes, distributing candy like curses on Walpurgis Night.

She held out a red plastic bag, marked with the generic brand of a human supermarket and the burly god grinned and let a handful of sweets fall into the bag.

The girl suddenly reached up and pulled his white beard.

‘’Trick or treat or trick, Mr. Claus?’’

‘’That is enough.’’

The bearded god stilled, spun and found the shadowed figure of a brooding Endless.

‘’Untamo?’’

But Untamo was not looking at him. The gaze of the God of Sleep was cast past him, upon the fiddling little girl.

‘’What is your business here?’’

‘’Just—wanted to meet him.’’ The Cuckoo shrugged, clinging to her plastic bag.

‘‘He ought not to be disturbed before the season.’’

‘’But-but it’s All Hallows’ Eve! Barbie has always loved All Hallows’ Eve!’’

‘’Barbara is no longer part of you. Per your choosing.’’

‘’You’re not fair! You’re the meanest meanie, mister!’’

‘’Untamo?’’ Interrupted the bearded god who’s only ever a god once a year, as he scratched his bearded chin. ‘’I feel I should not be here.’’

‘’Indeed you should not; off you go, Pukki.’’

The bearded man disappeared; the house of gingerbread remained, and the Cuckoo and the Dream Lord, making good of the scenery. They fell inside the house somehow, shielded from the frost by thin windows and a crackling fire. The Cuckoo sipped on a hot chocolate mug, lounging in a sofa by the Christmas tree, watching the Dream Lord as he surveyed the fire burning up in the hearth, hands firmly clasped on the armrest of a wooden chair.

‘’You have chosen to remain a child.’’ He observed after a quiet moment, eyes still trained on the burning wood.

‘’I wanted to see Santa,’’ she argued. ‘’I don’t always look like this.’’

‘’And yet you have the mannerism of a child.’’

She took a gulp of her lukewarm drink.

‘’You vowed never to return.’’

‘’I haven’t! This isn’t the Dreaming, silly! You’ve closed off your realm to the humans. Better off, methinks.’’

‘’The Dreaming isn’t locked. Admission is simply… pending.’’

‘’Waiting for your little lady love, perhaps?’’

The Cuckoo remained insightful, even from the body of a child. An insightful and evil spirit that had only ever longed for freedom, for recognition. A mirror of her. It’s only the little things that remind him of her.

‘’She is not my love.’’

‘’Who’s the child now?’’

And then, he spoke the words that had weighed him down for a year.

‘’I am looking for a faerie. Do you know where she might be?’’

‘’Why should I?’’

‘’You have left the Dreaming. You have carved a path of your own, severing your physical as well as spiritual form from the place in which you were born. You know how she feels.’’

‘’No one really knows how she feels. I’ve never been slighted like an old sock before.’’

His jaw ticked.

‘’But my question was really: why should I tell you?’’

He leaned forward, eyes shining with renewed interest. ‘’You know, then?’’

‘’The Cuckoo knows things. Things that were told to her. Whispered by the wind and… other things. I might tell you, for a price.’’

He didn’t hesitate. ‘’Name it.’’

The Cuckoo grinned. ‘’Martin Tenbones.’’

And so, he granted the Cuckoo one final boon.

She did not know—not entirely. She redirected him to a hobgoblin huddled under a mossy bridge in a humid part of Ireland, buzzing with tourists.

Many riddles and a clipped lock of Endless hair later, and he’d found himself on a wooden deck at the end of the world. An enchanting creature beckoned him closer with a crooked finger peeking through a sturdy nest of wet rope. He set her free in exchange for knowledge.

His road was paved with many more such instances, but none of them led anywhere. None of them led to her.

They’d all seen her in passing, a mere peek from a tiny hole in an old brick wall, but none of them knew where she was, how she was faring. If she was happy and thriving or just as miserable as him.

The ruby was his only constant companion, trailing like a burst of light in a sea of darkness.

And that is when he finally understood. In his search for her, of all things.

Distress was something the Dream Lord knew by heart, and she’d offered him a way out. She’d offered him a piece of her soul, perhaps without even meaning to. Without consent nor want—only with love.

In the here and now that separates the Waking from the locked gates of the Dreamworld, he glances out a window and holds the ruby to his chest. It hums in his hold, whispering soothing nothings to him.

He lets his eyes drift shut. And tries, one last time.

‘’You called to me?’’

He remembers saying those very words once, in a different setting, more monotone, more assured, but he had not felt this relieved.

He turns to her, sees her, and breathes in. She stands in his chambers, a year later, summoned out of desperation and longing. His own desperation and longing.

‘’Nuala.’’ The way he says her name nearly breaks the whole of the Dreamworld. Outside, whipping winds blow through the trees, slacking against the window. He takes a moment to observe her. He’s been looking for her in the dreams of others; never to find her. But she is here now and he can see her and realise that she looks different. Prettier. ‘’You’ve changed your hair.’’

‘’It’s called a haircut, you should try it sometime.’’ She shrugs. ‘’I don’t use the glamour anymore if that’s your question.’’

‘’It wasn’t. I am pleased to see you.’’

‘’You have summoned me.’’

She stands too far away. Out of reach. The closest he’s been to her in a year.

‘’So I have,’’ Her brown hair barely brushes her shoulders in shining locks of varying lengths. She is dressed in a simple cotton shirt and silk shorts, of the latest human fashion. Sleepwear, he notes with a melancholy grin. ‘’Much has happened in your absence and I merely wished to—‘’

‘’What do you want?’’

He blinks, stopping just shy of her. He lowers his treacherous hand—yet another thing that has escaped his notice—and stares at her.

You, a voice whispers in the back of the ruby.

‘’I do not understand.’’

‘’The ruby,’’ she reaches up and rests a small hand over his aching heart, drawing a sigh from his chest. ‘’It grants you one boon. In return for the kindness you have offered me. I shall grant this boon now.’’

In the quietness of his chambers, he frowns. ‘’I do not want a boon. I want you, Nuala.’’

He searches her dark gaze with his own. He had never realised just how dark her eyes were.

‘’Is this your wish, Dream Lord? For me to come back to the palace?’’

‘’It is.’’ he squeezes her hand over his heart. ‘’More than anything, it is.’’

She averts her gaze for a moment. ‘’Anything else.’’

‘’Pardon?’’

‘’Choose anything else and I shall grant it.’’

He blinks again. She finds it fascinating, the way his starry eyes twinkle with confusion, the way he looks at her now, as if seeing her for the first time. It breaks her heart.

‘’I do not want for anything else.’’

‘’Choose.’’

‘’I won’t choose.’’

‘’Then I’ll choose for you,’’ she breathes over his lips. ‘’I believe in free will, do not make me a hypocrite, Dream Lord.’’

‘’I was under the impression this was what you wanted. Forgive me.’’

‘’No. I can’t. I haven’t. I stand by what I said, I deserve better.’’

‘’You do. You deserve the world.’’

‘’Then let me have it. Coming back to resume my duties would only kill me again.’’

He smiles then, a true smile that shines through dimensions; because he’s found the flaw in her design, and she would not dare refuse him now.

‘’You misunderstand me, Nuala. I wish for you to return, yes, but you would not be resuming your duties in my kingdom.’’

‘’What then?’’

‘’You would be mine.’’

She frowns. ‘’Your servant?’’

‘’My lover,’’ he hangs on to her hand, so tiny in the palm of his. ‘’My partner. My everything, if you so wish.’’

Nuala of the Faerie has learned much in her year of self-discovery.

She’s learned that the world is so much brighter and bigger that she’d imagined. She’s learned that humans aren’t as terrible as their dreams. She’s learned that they can be kind and welcoming. She’s learned that she can be confident and beautiful in other people’s eyes with no need for deception. She’s learned that she’s free and funny and she looks pretty in the mirror and clever and like she knows what she’s doing. She’s learned that she can be enough for someone.

‘’Are you mocking me?’’

‘’I would never,’’ he replies, solemn in his claim.

‘’Why are you doing this?‘’

‘’Nuala, I would never.’’

‘’No, you would not. But Cluracan would. Has he sent you?’’

‘’Your brother worries for you; as does your queen.’’

‘’Titania is my queen no longer. But Cluracan’s sent you then?’’

He grips her hand tighter. ‘’No. No, I am here of my own volition. I have called you here to share my feelings. Because you deserve that much from me. Because I—‘’

‘’You didn’t fight for me. I fought for myself.’’

‘’You did. I am so proud of you, Nuala. But you don’t have to do it alone anymore.’’

She wants to pull away. She really does but he holds her tight and his gaze holds her even tighter.

‘’I’m not alone. I have friends. And a landlord. And a dog.’’

‘’A dog? We could have a dog.’’

‘’I don’t want your dog.’’

He draws even nearer, until her breasts brush against his hard chest. He is here, real and he’s just told her he loves her, so why can’t that be enough?

‘’You could have me.’’ His lips graze the shell of her ear and trail over the pale skin of her neck, lingering on her cheek. ‘’Let me fight for you. Let me protect you. Let me love you.’’

His lips find hers; she does not fight him. She lets him love her. Again and again. And again.

She lets him in greedily, swallows his love and his sighs, scratching his scalp lightly with her free hand, wanting, needing to draw more from him. He’s a reserved being, her dream king, but he moans reverently into her mouth and she kisses him deeper.

He wants her on the bed. He wants her on his lap. He wants her on his throne. And above all he wants her in his life.

She wants him too, badly.

She licks into his mouth—he tastes like he smells, sparkling stardust and the sweet sour taste of a burning nova.

She tastes like herself. Candy floss and roses and love love love.

It’s been a year without oxygen. A year without worries. A year without her. It’s both the best and worst thing that’s happened to him.

But she has changed. She has learned to stand up for herself. She has learnt more than in a millennia.

He loves her for all that she was before; he loves her for refusing her fate, changing her odds. He loves her for who she is today and her lips and her caresses and her tongue—

‘’I adore you, Nuala. Stay here, with me.’’

She swallows his plea. She swallows his hopes and dreams and his heart. His own hand lingers over that very spot, long after she’s vanished again, leaving him alone in his empty quarters.

In the end, she chose herself.

A/N: I could not fit the smut so… part two 👀 ?

I couldn’t fit the smut so… this might just turn into a two-shot ;)

Nuala is such an interesting character, but so underrated (and for what?)

She’s kind and devoted and really just wants to be loved!

76 notes · View notes

rey-jake-therapist · 6 months

Text

Sandoctober 2023

Day 18: Change

Title: Dream a little dream of us

Characters: Nuala the Fairy, Johanna Constantine and Hob Gadling

One-shot fic inspired with the prompt proposed by @orionsangel86 🖤

Tagging @nualaofthefaerie because I spent an awful time fearing I didn't write her in character and would love to hear your opinion. I chose Haley Bennett to represent Nuala because you said she gave you Nuala vibes :) Also there are some things I wrote that I would have surely omitted to mention if you hadn't written about it before... The Ice Maiden mention is one of them 🖤

And @writing-for-life because you seemed interested 🖤

Disclaimer: this fic and its summary contain major spoilers from the comics!

It all started with an idea: Johanna, Hob and Nuala walk into a bar after Morpheus' death...

For the needs of the story and to simplify things, Johanna replaces Thessaly so she did pretty much the same thing as Thessaly in TKO, but for a much better reason. I'm NOT trying to make up excuses for the witch through Johanna, they're too distinct characters. Johanna's not selfish, she's also not a TERF, in my headcanon she actually dated Wanda at some point and mourned her as much as Barbie did. SHE'S NOTHING LIKE THESSALY, PERIOD.

Morpheus dated both Johanna and Hob at different times :)

SUMMARY In the wake of Morpheus’ death, Johanna Constantine, Hob Gadling meet in a dream at the Green Dragon Tavern, where Nuala the Fairy works. They discuss the influence that Morpheus had on their lives and the love they had for him, as well as their remorses. Despite being unable to change himself, he changed them, mostly for the best. Written as a contribution to Sandtober2023. RATING: general audiences PAIRINGS: references to past Morphanna, Dreamling, Sandflower and beginning of... Nualanna? (Johanna/Nuala) TW: several mentions of a major character's death (Morpheus) STATUS: complete LINK AO3

Johanna Constantine was the first to arrive. She had no clue why she'd ended up in New York, being a Londoner, with no recollection of being summoned for a demon situation overseas. However, the moment she walked into the Green Dragon Pub, she sensed she wouldn't be alone for long. Much to her surprise, the pub was deserted, save for her and the bartender, a lovely brown-haired woman cheerily humming as she polished a glass behind the tall wooden bar.

Approaching the bar with a friendly greeting, Johanna couldn't help but notice the glass the bartender was drying was so spotless literal sparkles emanated from the glass, like something out of a cartoon. In any other place, she might have been taken aback, but she simply assumed the bartender had a knack for cleaning and ordered a bourbon. To her amazement, a bottle seemed to materialize in the bartender's hand, and she couldn't help but smile.

Just then, the creaky door swung open, revealing a man who appeared just as perplexed as Johanna had been when she first entered the Green Dragon Pub. A faint grin played on the bartender's lips as she poured Johanna's bourbon and mumbled, "Ah, I was beginning to wonder when you'd show up."

"I didn't expect to be awaited, but I can't say I'm surprised," the man, who Johanna found rather handsome despite not being her usual type, casually joined her at the bar, gesturing to her glass. "I'll take the same, if you please."

The bartender smirked this time and snapped her fingers to give the man's glass a magical fill of the amber liquid. He raised an eyebrow but made no comment.

Johanna suddenly noticed the girl's pointed ears and exclaimed, "Wow! You're an Elf, aren't you? I always dreamt I'd meet one, never thought I would!"

"I am indeed an Elf," the charming bartender confirmed with a slight smile, "We've actually met before; you even gave me this," she continued, displaying the crystal pendant hanging from her neck. "But it's no surprise you don't recognize me now. We're in a shared dream, and Hob never met me even though we shared another dream recently. People here often call me Nuala the Fairy, but please, just call me Nuala," she added, extending her hand.

"Nuala, Nuala... that name does sound familiar," Johanna replied. "I'm Johanna Constantine, a demon hunter, but you can call me Jo. You already know that, I assume." Johanna shook Nuala's hand, finding it as soft and warm as Nuala's smile. She couldn't help but notice once again how strikingly beautiful her dream friend was. It struck her with a pang of longing that Nuala reminded her of Rachel, the woman who had lost her sanity and life because of her.

The man shook both women's hands and introduced himself with a strong British accent. "Nice to meet you both. I'm Hob Gadling, I mean Rob! Wait… Just call me Hob. What can I say about myself? I'm nothing special."

"You may be human, but you're also immortal! I'd say that makes you pretty special," Nuala wisely pointed out.

Hob began to ask how Nuala knew about his immortality but stopped mid-sentence when he saw Nuala's lips curl into a mischievous smirk. He and Johanna exchanged knowing glances, realizing that questioning Nuala was futile.

Johanna took another generous sip of bourbon and grumbled, "A Faery Elf, an immortal, two Brits in an empty pub in Boston... Of course, it couldn't be real. Oh well, it's still better than my usual nightmares, I suppose."

"Dreams are quite real," Nuala gently corrected. "Just because we're not in the Waking World doesn't mean the moments we live here aren't real. But I sense you already understand that."

"Yeah, and no offense, but you sound a bit too much like a guy I used to know. Correction: an anthropomorphic personification of a man I used to know. Whatever. He's gone. I sort of... killed him," Johanna mumbled.

"I know you believe you did, but rest assured that you didn't kill him any more than I did," Nuala responded, her smile fading as sadness overtook her. Hob, who had been quietly listening to the conversation, appeared almost on the verge of tears as he added,

"Or more than I did."

Bewildered, Johanna looked at her two companions. "So, this is about him, huh? We're all here because of Morpheus! At first, I thought I was the one dreaming of you two, but it seems we're all sharing the same dream at the same time, aren't we? But why?" She asked Nuala abruptly. The faerie simply shrugged.

"Not long after he passed away, I had a dream where I saw him. Morpheus," Hob chimed in. "You know, it took this guy more than six hundred years to finally give me one of his names. I heard he had plenty. Anyway, I thought it was just a dream, but now I'm beginning to think he's the one who's playing tricks on me and on you. For some reason, he wants us to meet."

"He's dead," Johanna stated coldly. "I remember. I was at his funeral, met his exes, and we talked about him. It's all very bizarre." She took another sip of her bourbon, which was quickly mirrored by Hob.

"The three of us were indeed at his funeral; we just didn't have the chance to meet until now, which is rather curious, come to think of it. But Dream is an Endless, he can't truly die. Morpheus may be gone, but he was just one facet of Dream... Lady Johanna," Nuala explained, a hint of sadness in her smile. The way Nuala addressed her triggered a sudden realization in Johanna.

"God, I recognize you, Nuala! Of course! You lived in the castle, and you even cleaned my room. I remember giving you my pendant because you were so kind to me. I'm delighted to see you again!" Johanna exclaimed.

"I'm glad you girls are reunited, but it still doesn't answer why I'm in this dream. I don't know either of you. What's the purpose of all this?" Hob inquired, growing a bit impatient.

"Should there always be an explanation for our dreams? I thought it was quite the opposite," Nuala wisely observed. "I don't think we're here for a specific reason, except perhaps to remember Morpheus one last time," she suggested.

"What a condescending prick he was," Johanna groaned before downing the rest of her drink in one go. She stared at the wall behind Nuala, her brown eyes brimming with profound sadness.

Nuala couldn't help but giggle. After leaving Faerie with nowhere to go, she had wandered for weeks until her lonely footsteps led her to the Mundane world of humans. It took time to adjust to a world devoid of magic, but she grew fond of its strange inhabitants and, in the case of humans like Johanna, their brutal honesty.

"It's not wrong," Hob admitted with an amused tone. "He was cold, distant, and often rude, but I still enjoyed his occasional visits. Before he passed, we saw each other more frequently, and we even... shared a moment after he found me at the White Horse."

"You can say you fucked him, Hob. Nobody's going to judge you," Johanna quipped.

"At least one of us might be jealous," Nuala whispered with a faded smile.

"Yeah, I get that," Hob chuckled. "For a while, I thought maybe we were meant to be more than friends. I seriously considered it. But he was so reclusive! I found out he had a son at his funeral, for God's sake. In the end, it didn't work out for me. Long story short, we didn't want the same things. It's a shame, because he was the only one with whom I could share six hundred years of personal history, and I still miss him for that. All the people I loved… They all died without knowing who I really was. My girlfriend, Gwen... She's fantastic, fabulous even. I don't know how I still find it in me to fall in love with people who I know will die eventually," he chuckled briefly, then his face become serious as he whispered, "Maybe I should tell her. Tell her everything. She won't believe me, nobody ever does, and she'll hate me after she knows what I did for sure, but she deserves to know the truth, I know. Morpheus was the only one who knew, and now he's gone as well. Maybe I should tell her..."

Johanna, who had been listening attentively, nodded and shared, "After Morpheus got his sand back, I didn't think I'd ever see him again." As she spoke, vivid memories of a rainy London night flashed before her eyes – the intensity of his blue stare, his otherworldly beauty, and the unsettling feeling that he could see right through her soul. She realized, though it was unclear how, that Nuala and Hob perceived those memories with the same clarity. A bit flustered, she continued, "I hate to admit it, but my attraction to him was immediate and all-encompassing, and I knew he felt the same. He told me I would stop having nightmares, and he kept his promise. When he visited me one night, I thought he wanted another service and told him, 'Screw you! Leave me alone, let me sleep!' But he came back the following night, saying he just wanted to talk." She sighed and continued, "'Turned out we had a lot more in common than I thought. He knew that, it’s why he came to me. He was used to giving orders, but he knew that wouldn't fly with me. His natural authority was quite arousing, but I wasn't afraid of him, and I spoke my mind. He liked that about me. We were both stubborn and passionate, and the moment he touched me, I felt he would fucking ruin my life and I would do the same to his, but that didn't stop us."

Nuala confessed, "I never got to know him as intimately as you did, and I wish I had. Hearing your story, I think I understand a dream I had shortly after he passed away better. I had just left Faery with nothing but my regrets and no idea of what to do next. I felt incredibly lonely. Morpheus appeared to me and said that in different circumstances, we might have been very happy together, but he had nothing left to offer me, and one day, I would be thankful he never considered me in that way. I woke up thinking it was just a dream and that I was fooling myself, but now I realize it might not have been just a dream. It was really him, right?" She looked inquisitively at her new friends, hoping they might have an answer, but they were all equally uncertain.

"Maybe it was him... maybe it was a dream sent to us by the new Dream, who knows. He appeared one last time in my dreams and said he didn't hold a grudge for what I did, but there's no way it was real," Johanna responded with a hint of bitterness. "You know what Joan Crawford said about love? 'Love is a fire. But whether it's going to warm your heart or burn down your house, you can never tell.' And she sure knew what she was talking about! I still don't think it was really love that I felt for Morpheus. For a moment, it seemed logical for us to be together, but that's because we both messed up everything good in our lives and disappointed everyone who cared for us. Of course, it wasn't that clear in my head at the time. I was so confused about everything then.

"I remember, when I was in Rachel's apartment the last time I saw her, I hallucinated her... She was alive, just as beautiful and vibrant as she was in my memories, and she had been told that I was a selfish, ruthless coward who ruined everything I touched. It was painful to hear, but it was also the truth, you know? It was my hallucination, but it was caused by his stupid sand. Now that I'm here, I can't shake the feeling that this whole conversation was as much about him as it was about me. Does that make any sense?" Johanna questioned.

"Yes, it does," Nuala and Hob replied simultaneously.

"Morpheus didn't think he was worthy of love because he failed his son," Nuala murmured, overwhelmed by a wave of emotions. "Deep down, I believe he never forgave himself for abandoning Orpheus when he needed him most. Then he had to end Orpheus's life with his own hands. How do you ever recover from that?"

Johanna nodded, her voice carrying a heavy burden of guilt. "I've never forgiven myself for losing Astra, even if it's not something I would admit outside of a dream. Astra wasn't my daughter, but I was like a mother to her. She trusted me to protect her, and she died, and it was all my fault. I didn't pull the trigger, but it felt as if I had. It still does... Morpheus merely made the nightmares go away. For a while, I had this small glimmer of hope that maybe we could heal together, but it was barely a band aid. After a while, when I looked at him, it was like staring into a mirror, and I didn't like what I saw. He probably felt the same! That's why I waited for hours for him to come, eyes wide open, but he was too busy working or so he said... My exes would say he made me taste my own medicine," she let out a wry chuckle and confessed, "they wouldn't be wrong."

"I didn't know the entire story of Morpheus and Orpheus when I was brought into the Dreaming by my brother - who hadn't bothered to warn me I was Titania's gift and might never return to Faery," Nuala began. "I had no opinion on the King of Dreams because I didn't know him at all. There were whispers that he had an affair with Titania eons ago and that he was very cold and distant in his speech. But I had no interest in gossip back then; I simply lived my life... I was known as the Ice Maiden. I was considered one of the most beautiful fairies at the Seelie court, can you believe that?"

"I absolutely can! The more I look at you, the more I regret that we're in a dream. If it were real life, I'd be asking for your number because you are incredibly beautiful," Johanna admitted, taking a deep breath, her gaze dropping down to Nuala's lips. The fae blushed and giggled, her charm only growing stronger in Johanna's eyes.

"Beauty in Faery is so crucial that for a long time, I was convinced that when Morpheus removed my glamor, he had made me ugly. It took me a while to realize what a tremendous favor he had actually done for me. I was finally allowed to reveal my true self completely. It's not that I wasn't truly the Ice Maiden; I will always be the Ice Maiden. But in Faery, that's the only role I could play. No one cared to know the real me, Nuala. I understand why you say that Morpheus wasn't always a good person, and I'm not saying these words aren't true, but it's not how I want to remember him. He was always considerate with me, never asking anything of me, even though he had every right to, given that I was gifted to him. Before I left his realm, he granted me a boon and told me I could use it to summon him whenever I wished. He kept his word, even though it put him and the Dreaming in great danger. I wanted to help him, but…”

Nuala paused to wipe away a few tears from her eyes and continued,

"I don't think anyone could have helped him at that point. I confronted him, told him he wanted to be punished for what he did to his son, and he didn't even attempt to deny it."

Hob muttered, "I can't believe I'll never see him again. He was the only constant in my life, you know? I could be honest with him about what I was and the life I led. He saw me at my worst and still," Hob paused, chuckled, and went on, "put up with me! Knowing him... it changed me, and not just because he and his sister, Death, made me an immortal. He opened my eyes to some of my wrongdoings. I know I owe him years of terrible nightmares, but I'm grateful he did that because, in doing so, he made me a better person, I hope! Not that there's anything I could do to cleanse my conscience and receive absolution for all the suffering I caused out of greed. But at least I stopped seeing people solely for what they could do for me."

Hob's eyes welled up with tears, and he couldn't hold them back any longer. "He helped me see through my bullshit, but when it was time to help him, I failed him. He visited me shortly after Audrey's death, probably because he needed a friend to talk to. But what did I do? I made it all about me, about my grief! I asked him to... something impossible, I was delusional! When I realized he was in profound pain too, it was too late. At first, I thought maybe I had hurt him by talking about a woman I loved, but when I attended his funeral, I understood. It was so much deeper than that! Maybe I could have helped him find another way out, maybe I could have prevented his death! But I made it all about myself because I'm a selfish jerk... always have been..." Unable to finish his sentence, Hob broke down in tears.

"When I heard he was in trouble, I used the boon he had given me to call him. I foolishly thought I could help, but what could a little elf like me have done? He told me it wasn't a good time, but I insisted, so he left the Dreaming to visit me. Later on, I hated myself for being so selfish then. I wanted him to run away with me. I even asked him to love me in return as a boon!" Nuala swallowed hard and shook her head. "If I hadn't called him, maybe he would have had more time to resolve things with The Kindly Ones without having to die to protect his realm... Lucienne kept telling me it wasn't my fault, and I know she's right, but deep inside, there's always this voice whispering, 'it's your fault, Nuala, your fault...'." She, too, began to cry and covered her face with her hands.

"Oh shut up, you two... None of you are to blame. If anyone must shoulder the blame, it's me! Don't you understand? I'm the one The Kindly Ones called upon to protect Lyta from Morpheus. They told me she was in danger because she had requested them to kill him. They said he had taken her son away from her, and that her son was dead because of him. This poor woman was desperate and had nearly lost her mind. I couldn't let him harm her! I know what it's like to lose a child you care about, and I was angry at Morpheus because he knew it too, yet had done all these things to her! I had the power to protect her, to place her in a magic circle so he couldn't touch her, and so I did it," Johanna confessed.

Her hands gripping the wooden bar, she continued, tears still held back,

"I can't deny I was still bitter about the way our affair had ended, and I wanted to hurt him. When he came for Lyta, I said a ton of hurtful things that I now regret. I refused to give the woman to him, so he left after an empty conversation. Apparently, he had been informed that this meeting would take place, likely by his brother Destiny. I had no idea things were that dire. I swear to God that if I had known he had no other way to get out of this mess, I wouldn't have helped Lyta, or I would have tried to make a different deal with The Kindly Ones, I don't know!" As she spoke, Johanna's emotions finally overwhelmed her, and her tears flowed freely.

Nuala stepped out from behind the bar and embraced Johanna, both women still sobbing uncontrollably. Hob joined them, wrapping his arms around them. In a tender embrace, they let it all out. No more words were spoken, just the three of them, crying together. If it had been the Waking World, and if someone had entered the Green Dragon Pub at that moment, they would have assumed a catastrophe had occurred. But it was a dream, a very realistic one, and it was a relief to finally mourn the man they had all loved in their own unique ways and to release all the repressed emotions. They were three different people dreaming at the same time, yet their minds and hearts were connected as they shared the same dream. The pain was real, but it felt good to share it with people who felt the same loss. Morpheus had changed them all. When they’d awoke, they would have to navigate through their lives, finding their way through the darkness that shadowed their paths. Maybe they would try to find each other in the Waking World. But for now, and until the dream ended, they were together, and that was all that mattered.

There was nothing any of them could have done to prevent Morpheus's death, and they all knew it. Morpheus had embraced his sister Death when she had come to take him. He had sought a way out, but he didn't believe he could change. He wanted his realm and his subjects to remain safe, but they wouldn't be as long as he was alive because he saw no redemption for himself, or so he believed.

At his funeral, they had witnessed his lifeless body transform into a shining star. Maybe he will shine above us for the rest of time, guiding our steps. Or maybe he will finally get to become… Something else.

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I know you have a little life in you yet I know you have a lot of strength left I know you have a little life in you yet I know you have a lot of strength left I should be crying but I just can't let it show I should be hoping but I can't stop thinking Of all the things I should've said That I never said All the things we should've done Though we never did All the things I should've given But I didn't Oh, darling, make it go Make it go away Give me these moments back Give them back to me Give me that little kiss Give me your hand I know you have a little life in you yet I know you have a lot of strength left I know you have a little life in you yet I know you have a lot of strength left I should be crying but I just can't let it show I should be hoping but I can't stop thinking Of all the things we should've said That we never said All the things we should've done Though we never did All the things that you needed from me All the things that you wanted for me All the things that I should've given But I didn't Oh, darling, make it go away Just make it go away now Kate Bush - This Woman's Work

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