𝖙𝖍𝖊 𝖉𝖗𝖊𝖆𝖒 𝖌𝖚𝖆𝖗𝖉 {𝖈𝖍𝖆𝖕𝖙𝖊𝖗 𝖔𝖓𝖊}
When a woman sets him free at the cost of her own life, Dream vows to honour her sacrifice and lay her to rest in the Dreaming, once it is restored... only things don’t quite go to plan when she reawakens unexpectedly.
Pairing: Morpheus x Reader (no y/n used)
Warnings: graphic violence, blood, angst, major character death. basically all the same nasty stuff that happened in the first episode.
A/N: not me showing up suuper late with starbucks but heeeeey gurl! yes this was jumpstarted by the old guard 2 release announcement and i have finally gotten a chapter done for all you lovely patient people! its longer than i originally planned as an apology and thanks for waiting, so lets hope the roll continues even though i have no idea where i'm going with this lol enjoy!
Gif made by me!
The first shot split the air with a crack, even amidst the sound of shouting, and the splatter of red across the glass of his prison was uncomfortably familiar to Morpheus.
His heart had not been inclined to hope for help since he had lost Jessamy, and though it still did not now, the similarity of the moment his loyal servant had been struck down was an uncomfortable weight.
The second took the woman to her knees, in a pose not unlike those who supplicated before him in the past, his subjects, in search of an audience with the King of Dreams and Nightmares, while her hand clutched at the new wound spilling red down the front of her body. Her eyes held his gaze, as it had since she’d found her way into the basement a few minutes earlier, and with the weight of resignation in his throat, Morpheus accepted he would now bear witness to another passing.
Yet it was not shock he found in her features, surprise at a life cut short, rather she seemed… focused; on living, he supposed even as she pitched forward like a puppet whose strings had been cut, until she reached for the binding circle beneath his cage. He dared not look too long, to linger on the markings that had helped keep him prisoner all this time, even now as she reached for them, but the hope bloomed in his chest heedless of the cost of the act.
The woman would die here, of that he held no doubt, yet that seed of hope sprouted that perhaps her sacrifice would not be completely in vain. In fact he swore it.
If she were to set him free, he would see that sacrifice honoured.
Another shot came, he unconsciously echoed the flinch she gave but she did not falter. With her own blood coating her hand, and, he suspected, what little strength she had remaining, she swept across the markings; distorting the edges enough to destroy the power they contained. As he watched her head fall and the light die in her eyes, for the first time in over a century, his power spilled beyond the edges of his prison.
Like a limb tight from disuse, he stretched his influence towards the guard whose gun was still raised. A push and more shots came, this time at the barrier separating them and finally it gave way, shattering under the joint pressure.
He was free.
Once the guards were taken care of, and his jailers sufficiently punished, Morpheus approached the still form of his saviour. With gentle hands, he gathered her close and stood, escape and his promise at the forefront of his mind; he would not leave her body at the mercy of the Burgess family. A mixture of emotions, gratitude, sorrow, anger, relief, all warred inside him as he turned towards the portal that would finally carry them home.
- - - -
“Sir! Sir!”
The landing was harder than he expected, but he held tight to the body in his arms, cushioning the fall with his own though he knew she was beyond feeling it. Footsteps and hands reached for him, turned him and he blinked up into the familiar face of-
“It’s me. It’s Lucienne.”
“Lucienne..” the familiar smile on his librarian’s face to his weak response was comforting and he reached for Lucienne’s hand, scarcely able to believe that, after so long, he was, indeed, home. The relief and joy gave way to confusion as he watched Lucienne’s eyes take in that her Lord was not alone in his return. With her help, he managed to stand while cradling his companion and soon the gates to his realm stood tall ahead, just as he had left them. The gates responded to his familiar touch and the feeling of coming home was so strong that it threatened to drown him.
Lucienne’s warning did little to soften the blow of seeing his realm darkened… destroyed… decaying right before his eyes. He knew damage had been done to the waking world in his absence, but to know it extended here too…
His concern was not only for his realm but those who resided within it. If the Dreaming had suffered so in his absence, then what of his creations? The dreams and nightmares that were constructs of his will? The staff he had promised protection and safety to, once upon a time? But the pain of seeing the state of his realm compared little to the hurt of Lucienne revealing many had simply believed he would so readily abandon them.
Some had sought him out, yet none had succeeded; that thought drew his attention back to the woman in his arms and his devastation gave way to determination. He would fix what had been wrought in his absence and restore order to both realms, as was his duty.
“I made this realm once, Lucienne. I will make it again.”
- - - -
His palace lay in shambles, colour having leached from its very existence, the sky above his throne dark despite the twinkling of stars and, with each account Lucienne gave, his devastation was torn all the wider. And yet, she remained, steadfast in the belief that he would return and that he had not abandoned them. Her loyalty inspired admiration and gratitude in him, a vindication of the choice he’d made long ago to take her in as a member of his staff. He made a note to reward her for her loyalty and her attempts to protect the Dreaming in his absence, even as he approached what remained of the steps to his throne.
It was the only surface still relatively intact and not covered in debris; the only place he could lay down his saviour safely.
“My lord…” the librarian trailed off hesitantly, as if still deciding how to phrase her question before settling and he turned in time to see her spine straighten as if to brace herself. “While I am glad to have you return to us, I cannot help noticing you have not done so alone.” The pointed look at the woman now behind him felt a little unnecessary, who else would Lucienne be referring to, but he was surprised her curiosity had been held at bay this long. Then again, they’d had other matters to discuss.
“At the cost of her own life, this woman released me from my imprisonment,” he began. “I brought her here to honour that sacrifice. To lay her to rest under the guardianship of Fiddler’s Green. In peace…” the dream lord trailed off, sadness and disappointment etched into the marble of his features as he glanced at the body laying atop the makeshift altar. A decaying wasteland was not the deserved resting place of one to whom he owed so much.
Lucienne was quiet for a few moments, obviously considering this revelation before the librarian nodded solemnly. “Fiddler’s Green is no longer in the Dreaming,” she announced and he resisted the urge to flinch. One of his most loyal and beloved creations, he had not expected Fiddler’s Green’s absence but once the Dreaming was restored, he had faith they would all return. Well, those who still held some loyalty would, he concluded, his mind returning to the reason he had left the Dreaming in the first place. The Corinthian would need to be dealt with also but the Dreaming had to come first.
With that thought in mind, he reached out with what power remained within and attempted to reshape the room in which they stood. To his dismay, it was so scant and brittle; his control shattered within moments and with the falling of debris, so too did the Dream Lord. It became painfully apparent to them both that until he had his tools, his power would not be fully restored.
Which meant he would need to discover the fate of his tools after their theft. The Fates would know, loathe as he was to admit it. He could not restore his realm, not even this very room. He would not have the power to summon them and asking his siblings was out of the question, as he told Lucienne. His knowledgeable librarian however had an answer for his next question; a creation of his that remained whole and he stood from his perch upon the stairs.
“Then let us go-”
The pained groan that came from behind suddenly cut off his statement, louder in the destroyed throne room for its unexpectedness, and both the King and Librarian swivelled abruptly to seek out the source. Impossibly, it came from where it should not have; the woman lying in still reverence upon the stairs.
Only… she was not still now.
- - - -
As it tended to happen when she woke, the first thing she knew was pain.
Dying did tend to be a painful affair, so that wasn’t completely shocking. She hadn’t had a peaceful one as of yet in all honesty but that didn’t make the experience any more fun. Bullets particularly sucked because sometimes she gained awareness before they’d finished working their way out of her body, like now, and so there was little she could do except grit her teeth and wait for the burning to end.
This one was particularly bad; it must have lodged into bone or something and despite her instincts, and knowing better, she groaned aloud as the bullet finally worked itself free of her flesh. With a deep inhale, her eyes opened to look upon… the night sky? No… those were ruins around her and for a moment she wondered if the person she’d set free had destroyed their prison as punishment; she wouldn’t have blamed them if they had.
The crunch of glass under foot grabbed her attention and she jerked upright on instinct; unfamiliar surroundings and the vulnerability of not being alone during her reawakening caused her adrenaline to kick in sharply. She immediately reached for the knife usually stowed on her thigh before recalling she’d put the habit aside while infiltrating the Burgess estate so as not to arouse suspicion. A gardener with a knife holstered on their leg was not exactly typical.
Now she mourned the loss as she angled her body defensively towards the threat.
It took a moment for recognition to wash over her at the sight of the man she’d set free, but then he’d been naked at the time and now he wasn’t and… well she figured she could be forgiven for needing a second to reconcile the two appearances into one. At least her attempt to free him had been successful.
His surprise was subtle, compared to that of his companion as she finally realised they weren’t alone anymore, but this one wasn’t dressed in the uniform of the guards who’d killed her.
“You live.”
During her spontaneous rescue attempt he hadn’t spoken a single word. Of that she was sure because her first thought upon hearing that deep, silky tone was that she would definitely have remembered hearing it, even while dying. In reality she knew nothing of this man before her, save that he’d been imprisoned, and perhaps it had been for some good reason not apparent to her, however nothing deserved to be kept in a cage as he had.
“Yes,” she replied simply. Any hope that her resurrection may have gone unnoticed and dismissed as a simple mistake was lost in that moment so she might as well admit it. She expected the question from him but instead it came from his offsider and she glanced for a moment at them before her eyes returned to the man… being before her.
“How?”
“Just lucky I guess,” was her glib answer even as his eyes pierced her, obviously seeking and she had never felt so studied before in her admittedly long life. He exuded a quiet power that was both seductive and terrifying, as if with the same look he coaxed her closer and warned her away and were she mortal, her body would no doubt have been torn between the two feelings. Instead she simply raised her chin, in dual defiance and daring and even having only met this man moments ago, she thought she saw a flicker of amusement in the depths of those pale eyes at her reaction.
“You are one of the deathless.” That voice came again, flowing and suffused, she thought, with a combination of pleasure at his own cleverness and surprise at the information.
It was a name she had not heard used in a very long time, and it momentarily jolted her back through flames and blood and chants of witchcraft, a distance overtaking her gaze that, unbeknownst to her, was not lost on her companions.
“I’ve been called that once or twice,” she said finally, hesitantly as though she still possessed a secret to keep. “And what do they call you? Tall, dark and brooding?” It was a weak attempt at humour, at changing the subject and focus onto something not her miraculous resurrection and return to the living.
“He is Lord Morpheus. Dream of the Endless. Lord of the Dreaming. King of Dreams and Nightmares,” the… well this one was probably a valet or something if he was supposed to be a king or lord or whatever, rattled off and a snort escaped her before she could stop it.
“Let me guess. He’s also an aquarius and likes long walks on the beach?”
They looked at her with a combination of annoyance and confusion, and she figured her joke hadn’t been appreciated. “Okay, Lord Morpheus,” with a hum, she continued, the title dripping with as much reverence as she was capable of, which wasn’t very much in all honesty. “I’m glad to see you’re out and about. I wasn’t sure if breaking that circle would be enough, magic can be fickle like that," she shrugged, glancing around at the ruins they stood within. The changing dark sky above and the light shining in the windows were her first clue this wasn't the Burgess house torn asunder, and for a moment she wondered where the Dream Lord had spirited them off to.
Nowhere ordinary, she’d be willing to bet; an Endless kept in a cage for who knew how long, but whether this was some dream realm or a very fancy basement of his own, she wasn’t inclined to stay. Setting the Dream Lord loose hadn’t been on her agenda and the reason she infiltrated the Burgess mansion still remained. “But you’re as good as new and I have places to be so, if you’ll excuse me,” she sidestepped the dark figure and was greeted by even more ruins
“You can’t leave.” The valet spoke again and she resisted the urge to roll her eyes.
“I really-”
“I owe you a debt.” Morpheus spoke, cutting off her response and it felt final, absolute, as if it explained why she couldn’t go and really there would no doubt be benefits to having one of the Endless owe her, but that also felt like it would come with a lot of problems and attention she was disinclined to invite into her life as it currently stood.
“It's ok really. Consider it my act of charity for the year. We’re square. Now if you could just show me out, I’ll be on my way.”
“You cannot leave.”
- - - -
Tag list (if I missed anyone apologies, it's been a while);
@ladymoon666 @carrietrekkie @forwheat-is-wheat @intothesoul @boofy1998 @ponyboys-sunsets @adishax @minicoop12 @solinarimoon @guilteapleasures