Chapter Text
2016. The day after he had visited Hob once again, he saw it necessary to fix his wrongs. It was uncourteous for any being, regardless of status, to go against an agreement – be it verbal or written. The sight he was met with upon returning to the place of their centurial meetings was not a pretty one. This tavern, this establishment that had started off with humble roots in serving the common folk of the nearby village for the past 600 years had been left to rot in ruin, graffiti spanning the width of its walls.
Dream had almost given up hope of fulfilling the terms of his agreement, until he noticed a sign sprayed on the outer construction walls with an arrow pointing to the right indicating the location of the “New Inn”.
Hob Gadling was a sentimental man after all.
Seeing him, in the flesh, unobscured by the filtered lens of the Dreaming brought a smile to his face, to know that after all of this time, perhaps he did have an opportunity for like minded companionship in the heart of Hob Gadling. He didn’t mention the dreams he had been having, nor did Morpheus mention his visits. Next time, perhaps, he would knock on the door to the cottage and meet once more – on his own terms.
That was exactly what he did.
Their meeting went very smoothly. They caught up on the events of the past century, with Dream avoiding mentioning exactly where he had been. Before Dream was able to say his goodbyes, Hob admitted that he wanted to show Morpheus a trinket he had kept safe for over 100 years, one that he had meant to give to him at their last meeting, but that hadn’t occurred due to obvious reasons.
“What?” was Dream’s initial reaction, but being met with the fond but fearful eyes of Hob Gadling, he couldn’t refuse. Hob quickly packed up his exam papers into his messenger bag, tossed it over his shoulder and gestured for Dream to step outside.
“I don’t live too far from here, it makes it easier to travel to my lecture hall.” He smiled, picking up the pace of his walk slightly. His eyes never settled, neither did his hands, fidgeting with the strap of his bag or straightening his jacket.
They walked in silence, Dream matching Hob’s pace, hands clasped behind his back. When they reached the building, Dream stood back as Hob fumbled with keys, heart pounding. It felt familiar. The same green door, the same lined walls of photos and original artworks, books stacked on every available surface; the only difference between this world and the Dreaming was the exterior.
“Please, make yourself at home.” Hob smiled, disappearing into a side room to store away his bag and coat, he emerged a minute later, still as skittish as he had been the whole walk here. “Do you drink tea? I know you don’t eat but everyone likes a cup of tea.”
Dream raised an eyebrow, he hadn’t eaten anything for over a century, nevermind tea. Hob took no mind to Dream, turning his back to him and flicking on the kettle. “Living in London has its perks in regards to the ol’ tea trade, there’s this place near Leicester Square that has the fanciest collection of tea I’ve ever seen. And trust me,” Hob turned, partially to emphasise his point, partially to check Dream was even listening to him, “I know good tea.”
When he did turn back, he saw Dream looking at him from the living room, through the narrow doorway, eyes fixed on him. He looked like a doll, sat upright on the sofa, hands together in his lap, head tilted in his direction. Hob swallowed, noticing his mouth had dried up completely. “Uh, keep an eye on them, would you?” Hob carried the tray, with two identical mugs of tea, and placed it on the coffee table in front of Dream. “I’ll go and, uh, get your present.”
Dream nodded in response, settling ever so slightly back into the chair.
Hob stepped down each stair with purpose, holding some kind of statue draped in a tea towel. He kept his eyes on it, knowing the layout of his home by heart and stepping to the side seemingly at random to avoid stacks of books or papers. He placed the gift down next to the tray of tea, taking the teabags out and hurriedly rushing to the kitchen before they left a dripping trail of tea droplets in his path.
He sat down opposite Dream, leaning back in his armchair so far it was as if he could disappear into the fabric.
“I’ll let you reveal it… it is a gift for you anyways.” Hob smiled again, gesturing a hand to the hidden present. Dream reached out, lifting the towel to reveal a building, no taller than 6 inches. He recognised it immediately. It was a near-perfect recreation of the White Horse, all the way from 1389. They leaned a little closer, admiring the details of the windowsills and tiling, smoothing a finger over the tops of hedges and around the faces of the inn’s regulars. Inside was the scene of their meeting, although in miniature form. His sister, draped in blue robes, leant against a wooden pole, watching on as Dream makes their agreement to meet in that very tavern in a centuries time.
Dream smiled, not taking his attention off of the small building for a second, even while Hob rambled on about how long it took to make and that “human brains weren’t made to remember 700 years ago”. The idea that someone would consider their meeting so significant to the point where they would remember everything in such explicit detail, down to the height of the candles, astounded him, left him speechless.
“Thank you, Hob Gadling. This will not go unappreciated.” And there it was, the feeling of understanding and appreciation. Not even his own family cared about his absence, but then this man, this mere mortal given an eternal life, had presented him with a gift that expanded beyond the small building he had made. He had given them what he had been so reluctant to accept all these years. Companionship.
“You flatter me, sir.”
The hesitation on his tongue, after all this time, after all that Hob had cared for him, he still refused to call him by his name.
“Dream. Friends don’t call friends ‘sir’, Mr. Gadling.”
“Is that what you are, then? A dream?”
“No. I control dreams. Every single one is maintained each night for the sake of humanity.”
Hob went red, quickly grasping for his mug, sipping tea while staring into the black liquid to avoid meeting Dream’s eye. “Must be very busy, then…”
“It is not as time consuming as you might think. Although as Lord of the Dreaming, there are some… external issues that take more time to correct.” His smile dropped, thinking of the impending vortex he had come to distract himself from. “Have you ever had a nightmare?”
Hob shook his head, at last looking up from his cup to meet Dream’s piercing gaze. “No, no I haven’t, not in the last couple centuries…” the cogs turned in his head, clicking together to gather the intricacies of Dream’s words, “I guess I have you to thank for that, then.”
“That you do.”
“Next time we meet, if your schedule allows, may it be in less than a century?” Hob bit the inside of his lip, hoping not to have them leave on another argument.
“Of course. My schedule is always malleable for a friend.” He stood from his chair, deciding to look a little closer at the pictures on his wall. They were identical to the ones from the Dreaming, organised slightly differently but the images were all the same. Hob and his adventures across time, painted portraits in every style and material with a multitude of historical figures, slowly moving into flash photography in more recent years. Among them, was an uncharacteristically different image, a replica – or more likely the original – drawing of the pair that Constantine used to identify them in 1789. It sat among the others, framed and sealed, as if it was a relic of history worthy to sit amidst the rest.
“Like what you see?” Hob stood behind him, cup of tea in hand, “It took forever to get all of these framed without destroying them in the process, you’d never guess how fragile some of these are.” Hob pulled in a sharp breath, noticing how close they were, and how Dream hadn’t pulled away. He clearly knew how close they were, he even gave Hob a smile from over his shoulder.
“You’re a very sentimental man, Hob Gadling.”
“When you have an opportunity like I do, you have to acknowledge what came before you, otherwise what’s the point?” He stepped beside him, shoulders inches apart.
“I missed your insight.” Dream admitted, eyes analysing the frames and details of each and every picture on the wall, each incarnation recognisable by the wide smile and unmistakable spark of life in his eyes. “In my absence, my opinion of humanity dwindled into disdain. Thank you for reminding me of the reason we met to begin with.”
“I live to serve, Lord Morpheus.” Hob said with a grin, jovial tone dismissing any real servitude Hob may believe Dream is entitled to.
As much as Dream would have preferred to stay and reminisce on times gone past, he had a vortex to quell. Before he left, he drank the tea Hob had made, appreciating the blend of aromas that created a sweet taste in his mouth. A reminder of the world Hob dreamed of, forest pine and wildflowers.
“I shall see you soon, Hob Gadling. Perhaps sooner than you think.” Dream smiled, standing opposite his friend, he put a hand on the other man’s shoulder, shocking Hob at the contact.
“See you soon, Dream.”
He walked out of the door and down the street, but before Hob could gather the courage to chase him and call him back, he had disappeared from the waking world.