Sweet Dreams are made of this || Morya
The silence that hung in the air was blissful to Freya, who wanted nothing better than to cry her heart out and feel sorry for herself. Head on knees, her chest heaved when she shakily drew breath, the soft pit-pat sound of her tears falling to stain her wet pjâs. When he broke the spell of silence over them, she drew her knees closer to her. Deep down, Freya knew he was only trying to help but another part of her didnât really want to listen.
"Normality might be an illusion, but for onceâŠjust once Iâd like to catch a break,â she stressed, her blood shot eyes starring intently at him. âWhat would I give not to be a werecat or to have the sight.â
âOh Mordred,â she cried, edging closer back to him to lie her head down against his crossed legs. âSome nights I wake from the most terrible dreams and I knowâŠsomehow I know theyâre real.â
Looking across at her, Mordred knew she hadnât been listening to him the second she opened her mouth. But he needed to be supportive no matter what.
"Freya," he started quietly "You have to remember we have these gifts for a reason. We are different for a reason. And I know it sucks, and I know you never asked for it, but this what being a druid is. Its hard, and its messy and its downright terrifying ninety percent of the time, but trust me, wasting time wishing you were someone different when all you can be is who you are is not worth it in the long run."
Placing Clarent on the ground next to him he wrapped his arms around freya, as she sneakily found her way back to his lap. Watching Clarent run his body along side of her in pure cat affection Mordred listened to the fireplace beside them, Freyaâs voice the only other thing to be heard over it.
Hearing her finish Mordred couldnât help but let the silence wash over him. He didnât know exactly what to say, as he never had to counsel someone who had the sight before. But holding Freya made it seem all the more necessary for him to say something. running his hand along her cheek he looked down at her wondering what he could do to make this better. I mean dreams were tricky even in the normal wizarding world, add extra magic on top of it and yea you had a recipe for disaster.Â
"Well maybe they are real, for someone, somewhere. But they arenât real for you in this moment" He said quietly.
Gazing up, her big brown eyes focused on him alone, she timidly suggested, "But what...what if it's happened before? - centuries ago."
Instantly she regretted it, knowing she should never have mentioned it. All this talk of dreams and visions was cause enough for the re-surfacing of her stranger dreams. And as he caressed her cheek and advised her so reassuringly, Freya wanted to believe Mordred had all the answers though she knew deep down he would not.
"I mean," her voice more enforced, moving to crouch on her legs a better position for her explanation. "I've dreamt more than once before of these events. Sometimes a dark knight always with his helmet on, other times I see a battlefield with dead knights. Though usually I dream of a lady all dressed in a gown of blue and occasionally her friend...maybe enemy. I'm never sure."
"But I know they're real...or at least they were," her voice full of uncertainty. "Why would I dream of them if it was not important? Or I'm just acting crazy? Sometimes I feel like that!"
















