The Cost of Pride (Ch. 9)
Chapter 9: An Eventful Night
Summary: An eventful night overshadows your celebration.
Tags: fluff, suicidal ideation, pregnancy, angst
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"The sky may be starless, The night may be moonless, But deep in my heart there's a glow. For deep in my heart, I know that you love me. You love me because you told me so." - Nat King Cole's "Love Letters"
The third day of your bed rest had been better. You woke earlier than needed to ensure that both you and Dream were fully clothed and decent prior to your maids’ arrival. They announced their presence loudly, anyway: knocking with heavy-handed raps, speaking at a much higher level than expected of lady’s maids. But you couldn’t fault them. Not after the compromising position they had found their monarchs in just the day before.
The physicians had examined you, and after a battery of tests, they agreed to discontinue your bedrest. You were glad to finally stretch your legs and breathe fresh air, while Dream was excited to wander through his realm with you on his arm for the first time in centuries.
And the time began to pass wonderfully. You were never without Dream. He accompanied you everywhere, and you him. He had even asked that you attend audiences with him.
“I – I’m not sure, Dream,” you had sighed, as he led you through the throne room with your hand in his. Your pace began to slow as he continued, but his hand remained ever firm in yours.
“You are the Queen of the Dreaming,” he stated, with his eyes set forward and his hand squeezing yours. He spoke with the utmost certainty as he led you to the seat of his power. “You are meant to rule by my side.”
“I know,” you began, hesitantly. “But I’m not sure that this is best,” you tried. “Perhaps reviewing disputes and proposals as I’ve been doing is enough.”
“The realm has prospered and benefitted from your dedication and service to its residents,” he continued. “It shall continue to do so as you greet it as its queen from atop your throne.”
And with that, he spared you the exhaust of climbing the stone stairway, by transporting both of you to the dais in a whirlwind of sand. With his hands now on your hips, he led you backwards until you felt the chill of carved stone at your knees. He pushed you to be seated gently, stepping back and smiling proudly at the sight of you where you were always meant be.
“This is very sweet, Dream,” you began, but your pursed lips and apprehensive eyes soured your words. “But those decisions were all made without any of the residents knowing whom they came from,” you explained. “They assumed the decrees came from you and they respected them as such.”
“You think they will not respect their queen as they do their king?”
Your lips curved to a polite, plaintive smile then. “I’m not certain the residents of the Dreaming see me that way,” you explained, softly. “‘The Forgotten Queen,’ they’ve dubbed me.”
His throat ached that news of the moniker had made its way to you. It served not only to diminish your position, but as a brutal reminder of his neglect of you. He had met its use with swift punishment, decreeing the term treasonous even during your estrangement. You watched his jaw tense and his fist clench at the thought that it had still been used. His outrage was sparked not only by the clear defiance of his will, but by the slight against you.
“It’s alright,” you soothed, and your hand went out over his fist, your fingers slipping into his palm as his anger loosened under your touch. “I can’t fault them for the nickname,” you added. “It’s quite apt, to be honest,” you shrugged. “And I’m alright with ruling from afar. With staying anonymous. I suppose that’s what my kind is known for now, isn’t?” You joked, as you reassured him with a smile.
He had always envisioned you sitting upon this throne beside him. The picture of elegance and strength at his side as he ruled his realm with your guiding hand. So the thought of once again ruling without you was entirely unacceptable. Especially if your apprehension was due to your perceived image within the realm.
“No,” he refused. “Your rulings, your guidance are invaluable tools I have grown to rely on as I rule my realm. If they respect the decrees and acts I have made in this time, then it is your judgment they respect,” he explained, but you remained unconvinced. He held both your hands in his then, speaking softly, but firmly, as he sought to eliminate any feelings of self-doubt or insecurity within you. “Once they see your power, hear your wisdom, they will raise you as their queen.”
You watched him apprehensively, before sighing softly. “Alright,” you agreed, with a hesitant smile.
Your first audience was the very next day.
“Maybe we should begin tomorrow,” you had suggested, squeezing his hands desperately. “I would have more time to prepare, to review each resident’s history, and, and –”
“My love,” he had interrupted your rambling in a soothing tone. “My queen,” he corrected, with a smile. “You are more than qualified to meet with our audiences and offer counsel on their predicaments,” he assured you, his thumbs smoothed over your knuckles.
You hoped his confidence would be enough for both you and took your seat with a forced smile. The looming doors eased open, and Jessamy arrived to introduce the first audience.
You could see it as soon as he entered: the confusion and bafflement at your presence. The man frowned, glanced at each of you, then both of you, before bowing.
“My lord,” he greeted. “My lady,” he added, after a moment. “The rampant dreams of warfare have ravaged my fields,” he began. “Land mines have ruined my soil, trenches have been dug and my crops rooted out. I ask, my lord, that you direct these dreamers away from my lands or return my fields to their former state.”
“I shall restore your fields,” he agreed. “But directing dreamers away from the regions their subconscious minds seek out will not be not possible.”
You looked to Dream then, considering his partial denial of the resident’s reasonable request. You pressed your lips to a thin line, and after a moment of consideration, you forced yourself to cautiously lean towards him.
“Perhaps his fields could be made less suitable as a setting for their dreams,” you suggested, in a low whisper. “Maybe if they weren’t so reminiscent of the battlefields the dreamers see in the Waking World?”
You swallowed thickly as he turned to you, but the corner of his lip lifted and your worry vanished.
“Your fields shall be restored, but altered – in their appearance, only,” he decided, as he turned back to the resident. “They will contain otherworldly hues and imagery that evoke tranquility and serenity, rather than reminders of warfare.”
“Thank you, my lord,” he breathed in relief. He turned to you after a moment of thought with a relieved smile. “My lady,” he added his thanks in reverence, before bowing to you both and taking his leave.
Dream’s hand moved to your lap then, taking your fidgeting fingers in his own as he praised your suggestion. “And so easily you manage to improve my rule,” he breathed, peering at you with a mix of reverent awe and unyielding adoration.
Your skin warmed under his sound and feel of his admiration, and you turned coquettishly with a blushing smile. You looked to Jessamy then, requesting that she bring in the next audience. “Before he has the chance to act further on his adoration,” you thought.
He had spent every night in your bed, and the excitement of his arms around you never grew old.
Your heart still fluttered as he placed his arm over your waist and his hand settled over your stomach. Your hand still trembled as you interlaced your fingers with his. You still melted back against him as his chest pressed flush against your back. And your breath still hitched as you felt the low rumble of his voice from behind you.
“Perhaps you could move back to our chambers.”
You tensed in his hold and your apprehension seemed to freeze him, too, as he worried he had overreached.
“I think not, Dream,” you responded, quietly.
“You would like to maintain separate chambers,” he realized.
“No,” you insisted, squeezing his hand in yours and curling your toes against his. “I want to stay with you,” you maintained, but there was a reservation in your voice he held his breath in wait of. “But I can’t go back to that room,” you breathed. “That bed,” you whispered, brokenly, and you felt his throat bob behind you.
“Of course,” he sighed. “I – I hadn’t considered –”
You were quick to interrupt him, eager to stop any guilt or regret of his in its tracks.
“Maybe you could expand these chambers,” you suggested, nuzzling back against him. “And you could stay here.”
“Nothing would please me more.”
You had demanded full creative control over the nursery, to Dream’s chagrin.
It was to be a frilly, pink explosion of unnecessarily bright color, designed not only to soothe and intrigue your daughter, but make Dream cringe. He was certain of it.
But when it was finally finished, and you appeared in his study with an excited grin to lead him to the room adjoined to your chambers with giddy steps, he was pleasantly surprised.
No, he was thankfully surprised.
A stained glass window cast a beautiful mosaic of colored light across the floor. Murals of tranquil landscapes and various animals decorated the walls.
You showed him the reading nook, the changing station, the feeding area, the play area, the closet filled to the brim with tiny dresses of both bright and dark colors.
But you grabbed his hand and directed his attention upwards to part you were proudest of.
“And it’s clouds and sun now,” you began, craning your neck to the ceiling. “But at night, it’ll turn to the stars and galaxies,” you explained the stunning homage to his throne room.
You watched his raised brows and speechless form as he looked over every inch of the space. You pressed your tongue to your cheek as you folded your arms.
“You thought I was going to make the whole thing bright pink, didn’t you?”
His gaze lowered to you as he thought for a moment.
“No.”
“You did!” You breathed, and the room filled with the brilliant sparkling of your laughter. “I should turn this entire room rose pink just for that,” you threatened, as your hands moved over his shoulders to lock behind his neck.
“You wouldn’t dare,” he teased, his fingers closing around your hips.
“Wouldn’t I?” You wondered with a smirk, before your eyes fell to his lips and you leaned up to taste him.
The night of the celebration, you weren’t nervous. Of course you weren’t. The realm was well-aware of your reconcilement with Dream, and had even grown accustomed to your budding position as queen. The guest list had been kept relatively small: a function open to all residents of the Dreaming and a few select guests from outside of it.
But as the ceremonies ended and the festivities began, as you were expected to mingle and accept the well wishes of your guests, you found that the pit in your stomach wasn’t from nerves. It had been carved out by dread.
Dread, as they awkwardly congratulated you on your first child while unsure how to phrase a similar sentiment to Dream. Dread, as they discussed how excited you must be to become a parent, when Dream had been one for decades now. Dread, as despite every way you had both tried to move past this, it began to seem impossible.
So after he had watched you force one pained smile too many, he excused both of you from the guests you were greeting to lead you just outside of the celebration.
Before you could question his actions, the words fell from him.
“I’m sorry,” he whispered. “You said this event would be humiliating,” he recalled, and his eyes fell from you. “And I fear it has been.”
“Dream,” you sighed, your hands reaching for his. But before you could assure him you were fine, he rushed to offer you an out.
“I could end the function early,” he explained, glancing down at you. “I could announce that you needed to rest and dismiss everyone.”
“No,” you decided. “We are going to hold this function to its entirety and we are going to enjoy it,” you added, as you held his face in your hands and directed his eyes to yours. “Neither of us is to feel anything other than joy and excitement and pride as we celebrate the arrival of our daughter. Whatever our guests say or think or imply matters not. All that matters is that you are just as excited as I am to meet our daughter in a few weeks.”
Your thumbs brushed softly against the sharp lines of his cheekbones. He peered down at you then, and you frowned as he said nothing, remaining completely motionless. Your brow creased and your lips parted with the intent to call his name, but it turned to a soft moan as his lips crashed against yours. His lips were softer than usual, but he moved with urgency, desperation, as he tried to communicate every ounce of his excitement and pride in a single touch. His hands closed around your hips, holding you in place before him with a possessiveness that bordered on ownership.
He turned his head, desperately chasing your tongue when you made a soft noise in the back of your throat and pulled back. You sucked in a shallow breath as your hands fell to his chest and his hold on you eased.
“If all that matters is our joy and excitement,” he panted, looking deeply at you. “Then I suppose we should return to the function,” he relented. But his eyes fell to your swollen lips then and the way your tongue darted out to wet them. “But I must admit that I’m far more inclined to take you elsewhere,” he whispered harshly, at the junction of your neck.
Your breath hitched at the feel of his teeth nipping light at your skin, but with your hands at his shoulders, you managed to dissuade him with a light press.
“We have guests to see to, Dream!” You reminded him, with a laugh at his insatiable need for you. His lips turned to a disappointed frown at your words, but he eventually relented and placed his hand at the small of your back as he led you back inside. You leaned into the touch, resting your head against his arm with a soft sigh, when you spotted Vantaros dancing with a beautiful woman.
Your soft smile turned to a grin at the sight of him, and you led Dream over with your hand in his.
“Vantaros!” You called out, and he turned at the sound of you.
“There she is!” He cried out, with a grin that rivaled your own. He moved to embrace you as he normally did, but when he saw Morpheus behind you, his arms stilled.
You didn’t seem to mind, though, as you wrapped your arms around him without a second thought. He let out an awkward breath of laughter before his eyes connected with your husband’s. He released you then, stepping back and turning to his companion.
“This is Gwendolyn,” he smiled, and the young woman stepped forward to extend a delicate tan hand.
But you brushed it aside to embrace her instead, and let out a surprised gasp at your warm greeting.
“The woman who convinced the great Vantaros to settle down,” you breathed, pulling away to look at her with a growing smile. “Certainly your beauty would be more than enough to convince anyone of that,” you added.
“Well, I hope that’s not the only reason he’s planning on marrying me,” she teased, with a side glance to him.
“Of course not,” he assured her with a kiss to her cheek. “That’s simply the most important reason,” he finished, with a cheeky grin.
She rolled her eyes and turned back to you as she spoke. “This celebration is beautiful,” she breathed, with a glance around the space. “The food, the drink, the music? It’s all incredible.”
“Oh, this was all Dream,” you explained, before turning to him. And as Vantaros watched you look at Dream with bright eyes overflowing with pride and adoration, he understood why you had chosen him. After all, you had never looked at him with such devotion.
“Well, then, my kudos to you, my lord,” she tilted her head reverently to him.
“Thank you,” Dream smiled politely. “I believe you’re quite familiar with our cellist,” he added, and she exhaled with a soft shake of her head.
“I told you that was him!” She scolded Vantaros before turning back to watch the cellist’s fingers shift along the neck of the instrument. “He was originally from my village, before he grew too famous for his home,” she teased, with her eyes still fixed upon him. “My father spoke of him – they grew up together,” she added, before turning to you. “Could you introduce me?”
The agreement was on your tongue, but your smile faltered as you realized that the act would leave Dream alone with Vantaros. You smiled politely, with the suggestion that Dream introduce her, but he spoke up first.
“It’s alright, my love,” he smiled, but you still pursed your lips as you looked for any sign of reservation in his eyes.
“Alright,” you breathed, before leaning up to a press a kiss to his cheek. “Let’s go,” you turned to Gwendolyn, before slipping your arm through hers with a grin as you spoke of her upcoming wedding plans.
Vantaros and Dream watched in bated silence as the two of you approached the band.
“She told me of your decision to abandon your divinity,” Dream spoke, as you and Gwendolyn chatted with the cellist.
“I would gladly give up everything I am for her,” Vantaros smiled. “To be with her. That is what love is: sacrifice,” he added, before his gaze turned to you. “And if you truly love them, it won’t even feel like sacrifice.”
As Vantaros studied you now, he saw the light burn anew in your eyes. It brightened your smile and eased your laughter. And it convinced him that perhaps Morpheus had earned your heart back and lifted the melancholy from you. Centuries of heartache and hopelessness, and somehow, he had managed to earn you love back in only a few months-time.
“Do you believe she felt that way?” Dream wondered, as his gaze drifted to you. “When she sacrificed centuries of her life, her love, her happiness because of me?”
“No,” Vantaros decided, as he turned to Morpheus. “She felt every moment of the misery you caused her. And though she seems joyous now, I have no doubt that the pain you’ve caused her persists.”
In the earlier centuries, he would have had Vantaros’ tongue for such words. But in these recent months spent basking in your renewed love and forgiveness, he found himself allowing the slight without retaliation.
“Over time, perhaps that pain will fade. And I shall replace it with the care and affection I have always felt for her,” Dream hoped.
“‘Over time?’” Vantaros mocked Dream’s optimism. “There are some pains so great, wounds so deep, that can never be healed. And that is exactly what you have left her with.”
“I know what I have done to her,” he insisted. “I know how she has hurt because of me, and she shall never hurt in such a way again!”
“You know nothing of how she’s suffered!” Vantaros laughed. “I was there for her when your actions wounded her deeper than you shall ever know!”
“I know she has wept and ached and mourned in those centuries, because she herself has told me,” Dream fumed. “And she would never lie to me!”
“Did you know how she sought to end her life because of you?”
His retort died on his tongue as he turned from Vantaros to you. He watched the way you rested your hands atop your belly, one hand soothing his child absent-mindedly as you listened to Gwendolyn.
And then he made the mistake of picturing it.
He wouldn’t have been the one to find you, of course. No, one of your maids would be the unfortunate discoverer. Alice, most likely. A shrill cry would have left her at the sight of you. She would have run screaming from your chambers, crying unintelligibly through the corridors as she sought assistance from anyone who could lend it. Not that there was anything to be done by this time.
Half the palace would know before he did. The news could scurry from one to another before anyone had the courage to notify him. Likely the responsibility would fall to Lucienne. She would enter his study or the throne room or whatever inconsequential location he could be in while you were upstairs never to move again.
What would she say then? How would he hear the news that would ruin him?
Perhaps she would be vague: “There’s something you need to see.” “Something’s happened.”
Or she would be direct: “The queen is gone.” “She is no more.”
It would be complemented by tactful words and respects, but it would hold the same devastating meaning.
He would race to your chambers, far too preoccupied for the thought of his sand to occur to him. His mind would race as he climbed the stairs: “Maybe she’ll still be there.” “Maybe my sister will not have taken her yet.” His heart would hope as he began to make promise after promise to you once again: “I shall love you and only you form this moment on.” “Earning your forgiveness shall be the only purpose of my existence.”
But it would all come crashing down as the knob turned under his hold and the door gave way to the sight of your lifeless corpse. He would know you were gone that very moment, but he would still rush over to pull you into his arms and feel you desperately for a pulse. He would fall against you then as every promise he made you, every sweet moment you had dreamt of together, was lost forever.
He would never have the chance to earn your forgiveness or your love. He would never have the chance to show you just how dearly he loved you.
His throat ached as his gaze dipped to your stomach. You would never have the chance to bear his child. To eagerly await and celebrate her arrival as you were tonight.
“She did?” He wondered quietly.
“It was after you had sired a child with your mistress. After you had denied her this,” he added, glancing around the celebration, “And given it so easily to someone else,” he recounted, bitterly. “She couldn’t bear to remain married to you. But she couldn’t leave you and violate her divinity. So death seemed her only escape,” he explained. “But I begged her not to. Not to leave me alone. And I repay her now by leaving her,” he thought bitterly, his scowl etching further he continued. “With you.”
His eyes never strayed from you. He watched you laugh, studying the way your nose scrunched and your eyes crinkled, listening to the beautiful sound of your joy drift through the open air.
You felt his eyes on you as you spoke to Gwendolyn and the cellist. You tried to ignore it, knowing that if you turned to look at him, the alluring blue of his piercing eyes would have you at his side in an instant. But you felt the realm thrum lowly around you, and your laughter died down to a frown as you turned to him.
His eyes locked with yours for a moment. A moment in which you seemed to sense his distress, his devastation with a single look at him. You knew him too well. Loved him too well.
A flash of your body in his hands flickered before him then, and he vanished in a whirlwind of sand right before your very eyes.
Your heart beat loudly in your ears and your stomach seemed to clench at the sight of him leaving you. After a moment of shock, you rushed over to Vantaros as best you could with your extra weight.
“What happened?” You asked, your eyes wild as you peered up at him. “What did you say to him?!”
“I told him how you sought to end your life after learning of his child,” Vantaros admitted.
In your shock, you seemed at a loss for a moment. Luckily, Gwendolyn seemed ready to berate him.
“Vantaros!” Gwendolyn breathed sharply. “How could you do such a thing?”
“Why would you tell him that?!” You cried out, your outrage overshadowing the constricting pain in your belly. “Why would you tell him that about me?”
“He deserves to know how deeply he’s hurt you! He deserves to know the damage he’s done!”
“He’s trying!” You cried out, exasperatedly. “He’s trying to make up for all of it, and he doesn’t need to hear about that!”
“There is no making up for what he’s done to you!” He insisted, his voice rising with his anger. “He violated the very thing you are held sacred for! He laid his hands upon you and he threw you to the ground!” He exploded.
You winced then, but at Vantaros’ words or the squeezing pain in your gut, you weren’t certain. The guests turned at the sharp sound of his voice, the musicians’ hands stilled, and every conversation seemed to pause mid-sentence.
And your skin burned with humiliation and embarrassment as you felt every eye turn to you for some sort of response. The entire function seemed at a standstill, awaiting your command as the host.
“I – I’m so sorry,” Vantaros breathed. “I never meant to –”
“You’re right,” you finally nodded, your distant gaze turning to focus on him. “He did. He did that,” you admitted quietly, almost to yourself. “But he would never do such a thing again. And I would never let him. I understand that you wish to protect me from the pain he’s caused me, as you have in the past. And I will forever be grateful for what you have done for me in those times,” you assured him. “But it isn’t necessary anymore.”
You inhaled sharply then, setting your shoulders back and your head high, as you topped it all off with a tactful smile.
“Please, everyone, carry on!” You ordered in a light voice. You nodded to the musicians and the servers, and with their services resumed, the celebration seemed to continue with nothing amiss. You turned back to Vantaros then, your tactful smile replaced now by a pained one. “It was lovely to meet you, Gwendolyn, and to see you, Vantaros, but I must go,” you explained, before turning towards the castle.
His throne room was closest, so you searched there first. Each step was a hike, and with the new stabbing pain in your belly, every moment felt an eternity. You arrived at the looming doors with lumbering steps and heavy breaths, groaning as they opened to reveal complete emptiness. With a deep sigh, you turned instead towards his study.
You opened the door with one hand, and the other held tight against your aching back. It didn’t seem to ease you pain though, which had turned now to a gripping, cramping ache. You lumbered through the space, peeking around every corner, to no avail. Your next deep groan at the sight of failure turned to a sharp inhale as your pain became too sharp to ignore. You grit your teeth then, heading to the door and to search your chambers.
You made it two steps up the staircase. Your hand gripped the railing and you could have sworn you heard it crack beneath your fist. Your other hand went to your thigh as you doubled over and hissed in pain. Your eyes shot open as you felt it. They made their way slowly to the marble steps beneath you and an uneasy breath slipped from your lips as you spotted the water that puddled between your feet.
“Dream?” You called out, shakily. “Dream!” You cried out, your head rising to whip around as you searched desperately for any sign that he had heard you. “Dream!”
“Ma’am?”
You turned to find Alice approaching you.
“Are you alright, my lady?” She asked, as she placed the stack of towels in her hands aside.
“I – I think I need to go to the medical wing.”
His hand trembled over the bedsheets, his fingers grazing over your side of the bed.
You would have done it here, according to your dreams. You would have used a deadly combination of toxins and blades to your wrists to ensure that despite your divinity, your death would be certain. The sheets he sat upon now would be stained red with your blood. Your head would lie upon this pillow, your eyes shut and never to open again. Your chest and lips never to take in another breath. Your skin, never to warm again and fill his hands.
He heard you call for him then, and she shut his eyes against the sound.
You had looked at him with such concern when he disappeared from the festivities. Undoubtedly you had returned to the palace to find him and comfort him by allaying the remorse he felt. But he didn’t deserve that. He didn’t deserve to have you soothing him with soft words and gentle touches as you eased the burden of his guilt.
He swallowed thickly as he heard you call for him not once, not twice, but three times.
Silence descended then, and he turned back towards the side of the bed your lifeless corpse would have laid upon. The dream had been so vivid, so visceral, so detailed. You had mixed the concoction so easily, placed the blades so methodically, as thought with great forethought. Your hands never wavered, your fingers never shook. You were so certain in every moment, every aspect of the dream. And there was something in the underlying fabric of this. Most dreams existed ephemerally. Suspended between the threads of reality, close enough to mimic it, but always maintaining a gossamer sheen to its appearance and feel that kept it separate. But the fibers of this dream longed to be. They longed to force their way to reality, to make themselves true.
“My lord?”
His hand tensed around the sheets at the interruption.
“I am not to be disturbed,” he announced, his voice reverberating through the chambers and outside to the meek young maid.
“I – I understand, my lord, but –”
“Clearly you do not understand if you remain still in my presence!”
His voice and will combined as one to shake the floors. Imogen let out a frightened gasp, but pushed forward.
“The – the queen has gone into labor, my lord,” she explained, quietly.
He was at the door in an instant, the bed and your desolate dreams forgotten at the impossible words.
“You’re mistaken,” he insisted, looking down her. “She’s still three weeks away.”
“I – Apologies, my lord, but I’ve just come from the medical wing. The – the doctors have confirmed it.”
He swept past her immediately, flying down the stairway, and rushing towards the medical bay. He wasn’t one to run, but with his sand momentarily forgotten, this seemed the fastest way to get to you.
He didn’t have to look for a specific room; he simply followed the sound of your screams, and as he approached the room that held you, his heart broke as he heard your scream interrupted by a frantic cry.
“Where is he?” You had practically sobbed.
He was on you in an instant.
The door had barely flung open when he raced over to you. Your hair was slick and sticking to your face with sweat. Your face was flushed and your chest rising erratically. But it was your eyes, wide and filled with relief at the mere sight of him, that quelled any fear that he would hurt you once more. His arms encompassed you then, and your arms, tired as they were, wrapped desperately around him. But another contraction hit and your hold on him constricted so tightly you could have sworn you heard a crack from his chest.
Your daughter wasn’t only early, she was quick.
You had only just released Dream from your hold, falling back against the bed in exhaustion, when the physician announced that her head was visible. You were barely aware of Dream’s hand in yours or the soothing words he was trying to calm you with. There were dark spots obscuring your vision and your focus lingered entirely on distant commands to push and forcing your body to comply with the instructions.
Your final cry came with extreme pressure and blinding pain, but was met with excited gasps and breaths of relief. You felt the warmth of Dream’s hand slip from yours as he presumably left your side to return with your daughter.
But as your heart finally stopped pounding in your ears and your vision returned, you noticed something was missing.
“Why isn’t she crying?”
A smack sounded, then another. And your heart dropped as a mocking silence followed.
“Why isn’t she crying?” You asked again, your eyes darting from one physician to the next. You sat up as far as you could to try and see your daughter. “Why isn’t she crying?!”
They couldn’t seem to answer. They looked from you, to each other, then back to physician who was holding your daughter. You caught sight of Dream beside him, watching as the physician turned her on her side and tried once more.
“Dream,” you wept, looking desperately to him. He turned to peer at you and the helplessness that creased his brow and wet his eyes broke you. “Please,” you cried. “Do something,” you begged him.
His throat bobbed as his mouth ran dry. His lips parted, though he had nothing to say.
But another smack, louder this time, sounded and a shrill cry echoed through the room and rendered your heart whole.
And all your worries and pain left you in a shaky breath of laughter.
“She’s alright,” you breathed, your eyes shutting against the glorious sound of her wails. “She’s alright, isn’t she?”
“Yes,” Dream assured you, his gaze fixed on his daughter as the physician checked her over once more. “She’s perfect, my love.”
You melted back against the bed then, your breath evening and your mind slowing down as the fear and pain left you. Alice placed a cool towel to your forehead and you thanked her with a low breath as it refreshed you and the fog of labor lifted. And suddenly you realized how empty your arms were.
You opened your eyes and found Dream still at the far end of the room, standing speechless and entirely enraptured by the small bundle in his arms. He couldn’t seem to move, with the way he was frozen in place, and he couldn’t seem to speak, with the way his lip were parted with nothing to say. And a soft smile spread across your face at the sight of him so mesmerized by your daughter.
“Dream?” You called out, knowingly. He turned as the sound of your voice brought him out off his stupor. “I’d like to hold her, too, you know.”
“Of course,” he breathed, before making his way over to you. “Though, you have spent the past eight months carrying her. And I’ve only had a few minutes, now,” he murmured, his eyes falling across her impossibly small eyes, and her tiny nose. His fingers drifted through her hair as he studied each intricate, miniscule detail.
“Then at least sit here,” you conceded, shuffling over in the bed to make room for him. “So that I can see her.” He obliged your request without another remark, to your relief, and turned his hold so you could see her. “Oh,” you gasped, softly. “She is perfect,” you breathed, your hand moving ever so gently, ever so lightly to pet her cheek. “Oh, my baby,” you cried. “You’re perfect, my darling.”
“Here,” he whispered to you, turning to you as he finally conceded her to you. He placed her delicately in your arms, and you couldn’t help but place a kiss to her cheek, then her forehead, then her nose, before holding tightly against your chest. “Have you finally settled on a name?” He wondered.
He had asked you this months ago. But you had assured him that the moment you held her in your arms, you would know it. You would cradle her, you cry over her, your heart would burst over her, and you would know exactly what to call her in that moment. So without taking your eyes off of her still-shut eyes, you smiled softly as it came to you.
“Meritana,” you decided. “Bringer of joy and splendor. The fruits of a well-lived life,” you explained. “She has brought me a great joy I had no longer thought possible,” you smiled, as your finger rubbed gently against her cheek. She turned in her sleep, leaning her face against your touch and you let out a small breath of disbelief at the act.
“She seems to like it,” Dream noted, the corner of his lip twitching at her subtle affection. “Meritana it is,” he agreed.
The physicians had suggested spending the remainder of the night in the medical wing, but you assured them you would recuperate much faster in your own bed. So Dream transported the three of you to your chambers, and as you settled into the bed with Meritana in your arms, you frowned as Dream remained just outside of it.
“What’s wrong, Dream?”
“This is where they would have found you,” he breathed, recalling his time here just a few hours ago. “After what Vantaros told me, I searched your dream journals,” he admitted, his voice a vague murmur as his mind filled with the various versions of this horrifying act you had dreamt.
You stilled then as you realized which dreams he spoke of. But you watched the way he couldn’t bring himself to near the bed or even look at you, and you couldn’t bear it.
“Would you come over here?” You asked him, gently, but he couldn’t bring his unworthy form any closer to you. “Please,” you begged him, and the sound of your desperation seemed to work. “It didn’t happen, Dream,” you breathed, as he took his place beside you. “I’m here. I’m here with you, my love,” you soothed him with a soft smile. “We both are,” you smiled, as you gazed down at your daughter.
“Because he stopped you. If it weren’t for him,” he tried, but he couldn’t seem to continue. The sight of your lifeless body in his arms flashed in his mind then, and the lump in his throat prevented him from speaking. “I wouldn’t have either of you,” he cried softly, as he tore his eyes from his daughter.
“He stopped me. That’s all that matters,” you insisted, turning your head to try and catch his gaze. “I didn’t do it and I am so grateful for that. Because I finally have everything I have ever wanted: you and her,” you explained. “Isn’t that all that matters?” You wondered, but he still couldn’t seem to look at you.
“And what happens the next time I hurt you?” He asked. His hand slipped from yours then and you breathed brokenly at his act. “When he is dead and gone and there is no one left to stop you?”
“You will be,” you assured him. You adjusted her in your hold, and Dream’s hand came up to secure her as you held her in one arm so that your other hand could hold his face. “When he is gone, you will still be there for me. You will always be there for me, Dream. And you will never hurt me again,” you breathed, as your thumb brushed across the sharp line of his cheek. “And I know this, because you have told me so.”
Next Chapter ->
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