𝐓𝐇𝐄 𝐅𝐎𝐔𝐑𝐓𝐇 𝐓𝐎𝐎𝐋 | 𝐩𝐚𝐫𝐭 𝐢.
⊹ pairing: morpheus x reader
⊹ summary: you're missing, and morpheus nearly goes insane in longing and desperation in his search for you
⊹ tags: angst, morpheus copes (he doesn't) with you gone, established relationship
⊹ warnings: spoilers for 1.06, 1.07, & 1.08
⊹ word count: 3039
⊹ previous part: prologue/teaser
⊹ up next: part ii
⊹ now playing: everything i wanted by billie eilish
𝚒 𝚑𝚊𝚍 𝚊 𝚍𝚛𝚎𝚊𝚖 𝚒 𝚐𝚘𝚝 𝚎𝚟𝚎𝚛𝚢𝚝𝚑𝚒𝚗𝚐 𝚒 𝚠𝚊𝚗𝚝𝚎𝚍 𝚋𝚞𝚝 𝚠𝚑𝚎𝚗 𝚒 𝚠𝚊𝚔𝚎 𝚞𝚙, 𝚒 𝚜𝚎𝚎 𝚢𝚘𝚞 𝚠𝚒𝚝𝚑 𝚖𝚎
The first person Morpheus swallows his pride and asks for helping regarding your whereabouts, is his sister.
After enduring an earful from her not of not trusting her and being too prideful to ask for help when you were concerned, Death reassures him that she did not reap you in the years you were gone.
"I kept my word to you, brother. I did not touch Y/N. But I have reaped many who came across her," Death says.
"Y/N killed them?" Morpheus asks, surprised. Though the laws that keep an Endless from hurting mortals does not apply to you, you tried not to take their lives anyway.
"No. At least, not directly." Death drops her voice to a whisper. "The humans call her the Lady of the Whispers. She's a notorious serial killer, Dream!"
"Have you talked to her?"
Death shakes her head. "She hasn't allowed me to get close to her. I sometimes see her when I reap the humans she leaves behind, but she never says anything to me. She just runs away."
They are silent for a while. Morpheus aggressively throws a chunk of bread at a pigeon, hitting it on the head, while Death makes small conversation with a man playing soccer.
"I think she's using her powers," she says finally.
"She would never abuse it," he says immediately. He might not know what you were doing or why you were doing it, but his trust in your remains unwavering. There was a reason you possessed the power you did.
"You need to find her, brother," Death says. "Before someone finds her first."
She faces the street as a car collides with the man playing soccer. Unbeknownst to the man in question, he jogs over with the ball, whistling at how the car had missed him. Death gives him a warm smile and links their arms as she proceeds to explain while they walk away.
Morpheus' gaze darkens at her back, and for a moment, his eyes look like hot, twin white stars. "I know," he says quietly.
Hob Gadling is the second person he swallows his pride for you for.
"I haven't seen her since the last time I saw the two of you together a few centuries back," Hob says.
'A few centuries back' was when he and Hob had a fight after Hob accused him of being in need of companionship. In Morpheus' defence, he was more prideful then. More than that, to suggest he was lonely despite having you, his wife, was an insult to you that he would not stand for. It had been you who demanded he apologize, but by the time he followed you to the pub (his punishment had been your refusal to hold his arm) Hob was gone.
"You better show up here in a hundred years," you told him firmly.
"For you, my love, I will. Now give me your hand before someone mistakes you for not being taken for."
You lightly hit his arm. "Not for me, Morpheus! For Hob! He's your friend, whether you like it or not. And you need someone apart from me. Who will you have if something happens to me and we are apart?"
He hadn't glorified that question with an answer. He simply grabbed your hand himself and refused to let go.
His capture led him to missing his and Hob's next appointment and being late to fulfilling his promise to you. But here he was, fulfilling it, and you weren't here to see it or to finally offer your hand.
Morpheus sighs heavily as he straightens in his seat.
"Just because I haven't seen Y/N, doesn't mean I haven't heard about her," Hob says. Though the New Inn is boisterously loud, Hob drops his voice to a hush and leans forward. "I hear there's a bounty on her head."
Morpheus looks at him warningly. "Have you tried to claim it?"
"What? No! Of course not! The opposite. She's more my friend than you are. I tried to offer her refuge, but she never replied to my attempts at contacting her. I did manage to see her once by pure coincidence."
Morpheus doesn't bother trying to contain his eagerness. "How did she look? Did she say anything about me?"
"She looked terrible," Hob admits. "Exhausted and always looking over her shoulder. And no, she didn't say anything about you. She didn't say anything at all, actually. It was quite odd. Maybe her tongue got cut off—"
"I'll cut your tongue off, Hob Gadling, if you dare voice such insolent thoughts again about my wife."
Hob chugs the rest of his drink in apology. But Hob's words aren't the first time Morpheus heard you refusing to talk to anyone. The few dreams and nightmares who also caught a fleeting glimpse at you also reported that although you recognized them, you didn't utter a single word to them. A normal person would have taken this as confirmation that you had turned your back on your duties as his wife and Lady of the Dreaming. But Morpheus knew you. He had loved you for more years than you were official his. That, plus the murders associated in your wake, causes the suspicions in Morpheus to grow.
He needs to find you.
Sooner rather than later, if not for his sanity, then for the good of the waking world.
Morpheus enters his throne room, exhaustion and longing for you nearly bringing him to his knees.
He doesn't have the strength to walk all the way up his staircase, so he settles for sitting on the fourth step—your step—and drapes his coat around him.
His throne room is large and barren—a sign that your touch was missing. When you were by his side, you had conjured ivies to scale the walls and flowers to drip from the ceiling. The multi-coloured lights from the stained glass windows would blend nicely with the streaks of gold from the candlelights and chandeliers you had placed throughout. The mere presence of you brought him warmth.
Morpheus doesn't think he'd ever felt as cold as he does now.
Outside, he hears hushed whispers between Mervyn, Matthew, and Lucienne. They are debating whether not is the right time or not to ask him about you, or if that'll earn them a front row seat to being unmade.
Truthfully, Morpheus doesn't know what he'll do either. All he knows is that he's so tired and misses you, like a starving man longs for food or a drowning man desperate for air. The pain of missing you makes it hard to move, but it's the thoughts of you that threatens to drive him insane—neither is a good state to be in for the Endless responsible for everyone's dreams.
If they were drawing sticks, Lucienne must have pulled the short end.
She sticks her head past the door, not daring to take another step. "May I disturb you, lord?" she says, attempting to hide the fear in her voice by sounding cool and formal as she normally does.
Though he barely had two seconds to rest, he pushes himself up. "Speak, Lucienne."
She takes a deep breath before crossing the room to him. She talks about menial things first, like how Cain and Abel seem to have accepted his apology with Goldie and how the dream folk are planning to throw a celebration for his return, which they have invited him to come.
He says no. It was always you who dragged him to these things, and you are not there.
"What is it you really want to ask, Lucienne?"
"It's not only from me," she says slowly, "but your other subjects as well."
Morpheus already knows what she's going to say, and at the thought of your name, his exhaustion grows heavier against his limbs, threatening to send him to the floor.
"Now that your tools have been returned to you, and many of your subjects are back in the Dreaming, the dream folk are wondering where Lady Y/N is and why you have not come for her yet."
"I do hope that question is not from lack of faith that I have abandoned my wife," Morpheus says sourly, although he knows that is not the case. Lucienne had already been by his side when he met you. She witnessed the years he pined after you, counselled him into acting on his emotions and courting you, and it was she who officiated your wedding and watched the blissful years after. While he appreciated Lucienne's loyalty to him as his librarian, he also knows Lucienne and you had become close enough to be friends, to the point that she would sometimes let go of formalities and call you by her name. If anyone was to know how much you meant to him, it would be her.
"Of course not, lord," Lucienne says, as expected, "but it has been days since you have returned to full strength. How can you bear to be away from her any more than you have to?"
"I cannot."
Lucienne pauses. "My lord?"
"I cannot bear being from her for so long," Morpheus admits, and he lets his tiredness show by taking his seat on your step once more. He sighs heavily as he looks up at her. "She is my wife, Lucienne."
"Perhaps you can ask your siblings—"
"No." Morpheus scowls at the idea. He had already done enough by asking Death and a human. If any of his other siblings found out he was incapable of finding you—Desire, especially—then there would be real cause to fear for your safety.
"I can still feel her," Morpheus murmurs. "She is somewhere out there, alive. I will find her, Lucienne. You can tell my subjects that their lady will be back."
"You know," Lucienne says after a pause. "That was the last thing Y/N said about you."
Morpheus tries not to recoil from what her words imply. According to Lucienne, you had not entered the Dreaming since your last attempt at rescuing him, which was also the day Jessamy died. As heartbroken as he was witnessing the death of his beloved raven, he was even more terrified at what could have happened to you that prevented you from protecting Jessamy. You never would have let her go down to that basement unguarded and unprotected. You cared for the bird more than Morpheus did. Whatever happened that day, whatever stopped you from going downstairs, must be linked to whatever you were running from.
But what? What could you possibly be running from?
Was it him? Had the century of being apart taught you that you didn't love him as much as you thought you did, and like his other dreams and nightmares, you took your shot at freedom and left? Was he the threat you were running from?
"I will find her," Morpheus repeats. "But wherever she is, she must be safe." Lucienne frowns but he continues. "No one knows who she truly is to me, and she would not have told others. She has to be safe—"
"She is not safe, lord Morpheus."
He looks up at her immediately. Suddenly, he's standing before her and Lucienne takes a step back in surprise.
"What did you say?" he asks lowly, the words scratching his throat.
"Forgive me, lord. I thought you were aware."
He shoots her a look, as if to remind her where he had been the past century. "Aware of what, Lucienne?"
"There is a bounty on lady Y/N's head."
Morpheus struggles not to stagger back. Was this another one of Desire's games? Perhaps Desire had looped Despair into one of their ploys? Though Desire had not been invited to the wedding, Delirium had been, and he had no doubt Desire's had intimidated their youngest sibling into telling them everything.
"For what?" he manages. "Because she's my wife?"
"For being your wife," Lucienne answers, "and for being one of your tools."
For a few seconds, he is unable to speak. He simply stares at Lucienne, waiting for her to say she was joking or mistaken, but she does neither. The secrecy of you being one of his tools was the only thing Morpheus had to reassure himself that you were safe. But if that was out, then...
Lucienne meets his gaze, reaffirming the truth behind her words.
"That's not possible," he finally says. "Few people knew of that ceremony. Fewer still attended and can confirm it happened."
"It was the Corinthian, sir."
The Corinthian. His pride and joy. His greatest masterpiece and the first nightmare you helped him with.
His rogue nightmare left a bitter taste in Morpheus' mouth. The Corinthian had been at the power transference ceremony—a sign that Morpheus truly loved his nightmare the most. His defiance was already heartbreaking enough, but now this? You? This was unforgivable.
Morpheus didn’t even want to imagine what sort of prize could be promised for the wife of an Endless, let alone for being one of his tools. Was that what he left you? Loneliness and enemies? Did you resent him for that? Was that why you had not returned or called to him for help? He had no reason for falling out of love with you in the century you were apart, but it seems that you had plenty of reasons to fall out of love with him.
"My theory is that something happened between him and her the day she ran away. What, I do not know. But Matthew reported the same thing: he heard whispers of a bounty placed on the wife of the Dream King by the Corinthian."
Rage simmered in Morpheus, and the Dreaming responded as such. Across his realm, the land trembled. Volcanoes bloomed and exploded, lava rapidly surging forth as a message to the Dreaming’s inhabitants that all was at the mercy of their king and his rapidly declining patience at his missing wife.
But in the library, Morpheus remains eerily still. "You may go conduct that census now, Lucienne," he says.
She stands there for a few more moments, as if wondering whether she should press the problem that was you. Thankfully, her years of servitude has taught her of his limits, and she departs with a dip of the head.
Morpheus waves his hand, locking the doors behind her. Only then does he released a long, exhausted breath as he sinks to his back on your step. A hot tear spills over his cheek as he touches the step, remember the days you and him have spent on it. Talking sometimes, kissing on others. He can feel your lips on him still, but it's starting to fade like a dream.
He is drowning in his grief for you. If missing you had not been enough, now he is plagued with fear that perhaps you did not want to be found. Did you blame him for your predicament? Did you hate him? Morpheus doesn't think he'd be able to handle not seeing love in your eyes if you look at him? And if he sees resentment, he thinks that might just break him.
How painful it is, he thinks, to grieve for the living. How unbearably painful it is.
It takes Lucienne a few days to conduct the census.
When she finishes, Morpheus is in a slightly better mood. She talks about the census first, then the three major missing arcana: Gault, the Corinthian, and Fiddler's Green. One was unsurprising, the second expected, but Fiddler's Green was hurtful. It was in Fiddler's Green he had married you, after all. Now he had lost another part of you.
When Lucienne brings up the vortex, Morpheus is smiling as he corrects her on the vortex not being an 'it' but a 'she'.
Lucienne eyes him suspiciously. "You don't seem worried."
"Rose Walker will be my answer and solution," Morpheus declares.
"But she is a vortex. She is not a solution. She is one of our problems!"
"You said it yourself, Lucienne. She is a vortex. Sooner or later, she will bring them all to her: Gault, the Corinthian, Fiddler's Green. My wife."
Lucienne is struck silent for a few moments, and he can see that is she is torn between listening to her duty as the Dreaming’s librarian and her loyalty to you as her friend. In the end, she picks duty, and Morpheus does not blame her for that. Neither would you, if you heard her. After all, you would have said the same thing.
"But she could destroy the realm first," Lucienne says nervously.
"I will take that risk if it means finding her. I've built my realm once and rebuilt it another time. With my wife back at my wise, both will be easier to accomplish."
"But sir—"
"I will hear none of this any longer. You may go tell my subjects that the Lady of the Dreaming will be returning son." Morpheus smiles towards the ceiling at his conjured image of Rose Walker. "I will ensure it."
When Rose Walker dreams her way to his throne room, uninvited but welcomed, Morpheus' worry about the vortex' growing powers is superseded by the hope that you will find your way to her soon enough.
"She shouldn't be here," Lucienne says agitatedly.
"No," Morpheus says, eyeing his solution with fascination, "but I should like her to stay."
As he explains to her what and where she is, he thinks of you. "I need you to look for someone for me, Rose Walker," Morpheus says as he finishes circling her. "Y/N. She is neither a dream or a nightmare. She is my wife. When you find her, you must tell me. But first, I need you to tell her something."
Morpheus bends close and Rose and whispers the words into her ear. he waits for her to nod in understanding before straightening.
"But how will I know who she is?" Rose asks. "Do you have a picture?"
Morpheus turns towards the painting on the wall of you. He points to the marble statue in the midst of the water fountain that is of your body, which he had carved with his own bare hands from memory. Then he summons a flower to spiral down from the ceiling and land in Rose's palm. All mementos of you.
"Believe me," Morpheus says with a smile. "You'll know it's her. My wife is...unmistakeable."
"Can I have her name, at least?"
"Y/N," Morpheus says tenderly. He always says your name that way. Borderline a reverent whisper like you are the goddess he's praying to. "Her name is Y/N."
ɪɴ ᴛʜᴇ ɴᴇxᴛ ᴘᴀʀᴛ…
Your throat is throbbing. You touch your throat gingerly, and you don't need a mirror to know that the handprints of that man are visible against your skin. But even as you cough, the motion raw against your raw throat, you don't stop running.
You catch sight of a hotel, and you feel relief as you turn away from the road and bolt up the hill to the building. It'll be easier to hide in one of the many rooms, but the guarantee of people in the hotel was cause for concern. But as long as you keep your mouth shut, all should be fine.
You slow into a walk as you pass a trio of people in the parking lot. Name tags dangle from their chest, one of who is named, The Music Teacher. In the centuries you've been alive, you've never heard such an in-depth and seriously spoken topic about their favourite methods of cooking barbecue and collecting grills.
As you hurry inside, you pass by a sign that reads: CEREAL CONVENTION.
ᴛᴏ ʙᴇ ᴄᴏɴᴛɪɴᴜᴇᴅ…
09/03/22 𝗲𝗱𝗶𝘁: 𝗂𝖿 𝗒𝗈𝗎 𝗋𝖾𝖺𝖽 𝗍𝗁𝗂𝗌 𝗉𝖺𝗋𝗍 𝗐𝗂𝗍𝗁𝗂𝗇 𝗍𝗁𝖾 𝖿𝗂𝗋𝗌𝗍 24 𝗁𝗈𝗎𝗋𝗌 𝗂𝗍 𝗐𝖺𝗌 𝗈𝗎𝗍, 𝗍𝗁𝖾𝗇 𝗒𝗈𝗎 𝗆𝗂𝗀𝗁𝗍 𝗁𝖺𝗏𝖾 𝗋𝖾𝖺𝖽 𝖺𝖻𝗈𝗎𝗍 𝗈𝗇𝗒𝗑 𝗍𝗁𝖾 𝖻𝗅𝖺𝖼𝗄 𝗃𝖺𝗒. 𝗂'𝗆 𝗈𝖿𝖿𝗂𝖼𝗂𝖺𝗅𝗅𝗒 𝗆𝗈𝗏𝗂𝗇𝗀 𝗁𝗂𝗆 𝗍𝗈 𝗆𝗒 𝗈𝗍𝗁𝖾𝗋 𝗌𝖾𝗋𝗂𝖾𝗌, 𝗌𝗈 𝖽𝗈𝗇'𝗍 𝖻𝖾 𝖼𝗈𝗇𝖿𝗎𝗌𝖾𝖽 𝗂𝖿 𝗒𝗈𝗎 𝖽𝗈𝗇'𝗍 𝗌𝖾𝖾 𝗁𝗂𝗆 𝗂𝗇 𝗍𝗁𝗂𝗌 𝗉𝖺𝗋𝗍 𝖺𝗇𝗒𝗆𝗈𝗋𝖾 𝗈𝗋 𝖺𝗇𝗒 𝖿𝗎𝗍𝗎𝗋𝖾 𝗈𝗇𝖾𝗌!
𝗮𝘂𝘁𝗵𝗼𝗿'𝘀 𝗻𝗼𝘁𝗲: 𝗐𝗁𝗒 𝖽𝗂𝖽 𝗍𝗁𝗂𝗌 𝖽𝗋𝖺𝖿𝗍 𝗋𝖾𝖿𝗎𝗌𝖾 𝗍𝗈 𝗌𝖺𝗏𝖾 𝗍𝗐𝗂𝖼𝖾? 𝖺𝗆 𝗂 𝖻𝖾𝗂𝗇𝗀 𝗉𝗎𝗇𝗂𝗌𝗁𝖾𝖽 𝖿𝗈𝗋 𝗍𝖺𝗄𝗂𝗇𝗀 𝗌𝗈 𝗅𝗈𝗇𝗀 𝗍𝗈 𝗉𝗈𝗌𝗍? 𝗈𝗋 𝖻𝖾𝖼𝖺𝗎𝗌𝖾 𝖿𝗈𝗋 𝗈𝗇𝖼𝖾, 𝗂 𝖽𝗈𝗇'𝗍 𝗁𝖺𝗏𝖾 𝖺𝗇𝗒 𝗌𝗇𝖺𝗋𝗄𝗒 𝗌𝗆𝗎𝗍𝗍𝗒 𝖼𝗈𝗆𝗆𝖾𝗇𝗍𝗌 𝗂𝗇 𝗍𝗁𝗂𝗌 𝗈𝗇𝖾?
𝖺𝗇𝖽 𝗐𝗁𝗒 𝗂𝗌 𝗍𝗁𝗂𝗌 𝗉𝖺𝗋𝗍 𝗌𝗈 𝗅𝗈𝗇𝗀? 𝗍𝗁𝖾 𝖺𝗇𝗌𝗐𝖾𝗋𝗌 𝗍𝗈 𝖺𝗅𝗅 𝗍𝗁𝖾𝗌𝖾 𝗊𝗎𝖾𝗌𝗍𝗂𝗈𝗇𝗌 𝗂𝗌 𝗀𝖾𝗇𝗎𝗂𝗇𝖾 𝖼𝖺𝗎𝗌𝖾 𝖿𝗈𝗋 𝖼𝗈𝗇𝖼𝖾𝗋𝗇. 𝖻𝗎𝗍 𝗐𝗁𝗂𝗅𝖾 𝗂 𝗁𝖺𝗏𝖾 𝖺 𝗆𝗂𝖽𝗅𝗂𝖿𝖾 𝖼𝗋𝗂𝗌𝗂𝗌 𝗈𝗏𝖾𝗋 𝖿𝗎𝖼𝗄𝗂𝗇𝗀 𝗍𝗎𝗆𝖻𝗅𝗋, 𝗂 𝗁𝗈𝗉𝖾 𝗒𝗈𝗎 𝖺𝗅𝗅 𝖾𝗇𝗃𝗈𝗒𝖾𝖽!
𝖿𝗒𝗂 𝗂 𝗀𝗈𝗍 𝗌𝗎𝗇𝖻𝗎𝗋𝗇𝗍 𝖾𝗑𝖼𝖾𝗉𝗍 𝖿𝗈𝗋 𝗈𝗇𝖾 𝗅𝗈𝗇𝗀 𝗌𝗍𝗋𝗂𝗉 𝗎𝗉 𝗆𝗒 𝗅𝖾𝗀 𝗐𝗁𝖾𝗋𝖾 𝗂 𝗉𝗎𝗍 𝗌𝗎𝗇𝗌𝖼𝗋𝖾𝖾𝗇. 𝗍𝖺𝗅𝗄 𝖺𝖻𝗈𝗎𝗍 𝗍𝗁𝖾 𝗎𝗀𝗅𝗂𝖾𝗌𝗍 𝗍𝖺𝗇 𝗅𝗂𝗇𝖾 𝖾𝗏𝖾𝗋. 𝗍𝗈𝗈𝗄 𝗁𝗈𝗍 𝗀𝗂𝗋𝗅 𝗌𝗎𝗆𝗆𝖾𝗋 𝗅𝗂𝗍𝖾𝗋𝖺𝗅𝗅𝗒. 𝗌𝖾𝗇𝖽 𝗉𝗋𝖺𝗒𝖾𝗋𝗌.
╰┈➤ 𝘤𝘩𝘦𝘤𝘬 𝘰𝘶𝘵 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘧𝘰𝘶𝘳𝘵𝘩 𝘵𝘰𝘰𝘭 𝘮𝘢𝘴𝘵𝘦𝘳𝘭𝘪𝘴𝘵!
╰┈➤ 𝘤𝘩𝘦𝘤𝘬 𝘰𝘶𝘵 𝘰𝘵𝘩𝘦𝘳 𝘣𝘰𝘰𝘬𝘴 𝘰𝘯 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘴𝘢𝘯𝘥𝘮𝘢𝘯 𝘴𝘩𝘦𝘭𝘧!
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