Chapter Text
“I’ll tell you, I think I rather prefer my form of traveling,” Matthew’s voice resonates inside the still too empty Throne room and Lucienne looks in his direction right away, her heart swelling with gladness when she spots Lord Morpheus appearing in a whirl of sand.
Safe. Sound. Restored.
At least, she thinks gratefully. “Welcome back, my Lord.”
“Lucienne,” Lord Morpheus greets. “You sent a Raven.”
She squares her shoulders, holding his stare despite the uneasy feeling in her gut. “Yes,” she replies as calmly as she can. “As you kindly reminded me, Ravens are my dominion.”
Lord Morpheus huffs, a slight smile pulling at his lips. Lucienne’s heart does something complicated in her chest and she smiles back softly, warmth spreading across her body. “And good thing I came along!” Matthew declares proudly. “You did need a Raven, see?”
Lord Morpheus hums. “Perhaps you’re both right,” he agrees, looking around the room with a light frown. He hums to himself once more before closing his eyes, calling for his power and slowly but surely the room around them starts to change, reform. The walls restored, the floor pristine, the vitrals back to their glory.
So the quest went well. Perhaps even better than expected.
“I take it you recovered your tools, my Lord? Everything in order?”
“Quite,” Lord Morpheus says with a nod. “I am back to my full power, stronger than before even. The ruby is no more, but perhaps that’s for the best,” he announces, a small smile on his lips. “No need for you to freet, Lucienne.”
She stops herself from rolling her eyes. “If you say so, my Lord. Perhaps you’d like to inform your guest of your return, since he is in fact fretting .”
“My guest?” Lord Morpheus asks, frowning in earnest. “Hob Gadling is here?”
Lucienne nods. “You did say he was always welcome to visit,” she explains. “And both he and the Castle’s staff have taken your words quite seriously.”
Lord Morpheus frowns some more and Lucienne smiles, a little amused.
He really has no idea what he’s got himself into, does he?
There’s an actual banquet happening in the great hall, plates upon plates of food splayed over every available surface. The Castle is not short staffed and for the most part, they did stay in their posts in their Lord’ absence, so even though the room is currently only occupied by the staff, there’s a lot of them running around.
Hob Gadling stands in the middle of all, chatting amicably with those staff members brave enough to approach him. It’s clear he’s in a merry mood, judging by his loud voice and even louder laughter, his gestures grand and relaxed. He hasn’t noticed their entrance and Lucienne does her best not to scowl at the whole thing: it’s rare for the Castle to have visitors and guests shouldn’t go around throwing parties in the absence on their hosts, but she also doesn’t expect Lord Morpheus to be truly upset: he’s too fond of the not-mortal for that.
She thinks back to what Mervyn said and scowls at that. This will do nothing but fuel the gossip mill and, perhaps unsurprisingly, the nightkind are the worst kind of gossipers: by this time tomorrow, all of the Dreaming will have heard the rumors.
“Dream!” Hob Gadling exclaims, having finally spotted him and the room grows eerily quiet as soon as the rest of the dreamfolk lay eyes on their King too. “You’re back!”
“I am,” Lord Morpheus agrees calmly, hands linked in front of him, a placid expression on his face. “I see you’ve been busy.”
Hob Gadling smiles, a little sheepish, turning a light shade of red. “I might have gone a bit overboard.” He looks around the room, as if noticing all the food for the first time. “I just meant to make sure you were eating appropriately, since I knew you weren’t resting as you needed to.”
Lucienne very pointedly encourages the staff to vacate the premises with a look and despite the fact they’re obviously very interested in the exchange, they hurry to obey her.
By the time the staff has left, Hob Gadling has managed to coax Lord Morpheus into trying out some of the things he prepared, cheerfully sharing tales of how he first learned the recipe or stories of the times he’s prepared a particular dish before. Lord Morpheus nods along and while his expression remains mostly unreadable, Lucienne can see the warmth in his gaze, recognize the pleased way he holds himself.
She shows herself out.
Some moments are not to be witnessed.
She finds Lord Morpheus much later, sitting on the stairs of the Throne. It’s rare for him to truly sit at the Throne; for all he’s happy to remind his subjects that he’s a King, she suspects the title has always been more of a burden than anything else.
“Lucienne,” he greets, tone carefully neutral.
“My Lord,” she greets back, bowing her head.
“I’ve been doing some thinking,” he tells her, gaze lost in the horizon. “Almost eighty years of captivity left room for little else, but I must confess most of my thoughts circled around escaping and getting revenge.” He huffs, shaking his head. “I could have never predicted what I’d find upon my return. I’ve learned much in these couple of days and I am not sure I like the conclusions I’ve drawn.”
Lucienne doesn’t answer, she doesn’t think she’s meant to. “I knew the Dreaming must have been deteriorating. I saw my captors grow more cruel and savage, so I knew the effect it was having in the Waking world, but…” he trails off, shaking his head. “I’ve been distant, have I not? Cold, indifferent? Is that why so many of my subjects doubted me?”
Lucienne steps closer and hesitantly comes to kneel in front of him, placing a hand on his knee in what she hopes is a comforting gesture. “That’s is it, is it not Lucienne?”
She hums, because while she does agree, she doesn’t want to say it aloud. There’s no need, he’s not really asking: he knows it to be true. Lord Morpheus sighs, running his fingers through his hair in a frustrated gesture she hadn’t seen in a while: he keeps his cards so close to his chest these days. “The other day,” she begins and she doesn’t know why she’s saying this, but it feels important somehow. “When we were at Hob Gadling’s home and you showed up in the morning… your hair looked a little messier than usual.” She smiles as he looks at her with a little frown. She had known he wouldn’t like her commenting on his appearance, he can be vain like that. “It reminded me of the early days. Do you… do you recall…?”
“How you used to groom me?” he asks and the smile that comes unbidden to his lips makes something in Lucienne’s chest clench painfully. “I do, Lucienne. Your attempts were never very good, but they were appreciated.”
She laughs, because she can’t help herself. He leans his head towards her and she doesn’t hesitate to run her fingers through his hair. It’s very different from what she remembers, it feels different now that she has these soft human fingers rather than sharp claws. “I have been distant,” Lord Morpheus repeats, anguished. “My subjects don’t know me and that is my fault.”
She sighs, but doesn’t stop her motions. For all he likes to pretend he’s above needing comfort, Lucienne now knows better. She’s known all along, she supposes, but she has also learned (or rather relearned ) a lot of things in these few days. For a while, neither of them says anything, contenting themselves with sitting in silence. “The dreamfolk are my creation and my responsibility,” Lord Morpheus says after a while. “Their faults are mine, their weaknesses my own. I’m the only one to blame.”
“My Lord, you can not--”
“Who stayed, Lucienne? When I was gone, who stayed? Cain, Abel. You. All of you of the Dreaming, but none of you of my creation. None of you mine.”
Lucienne flinches, the words hurting something primal inside her. “I’m yours, my Lord,” she whispers, pulling away. She wraps her arms around herself, suddenly feeling very alone.
“No, you’re a Raven,” he argues calmly, shaking his head. He reaches for her hand, squeezing softly once. “I merely meant you don’t suffer from my shortcomings, Lucienne. I didn’t mean to imply anything.”
She makes a face, unhappy with the whole conversation, but unsure of what she can say. “The Castle’s staff stayed, for the most part,” she says finally, because she supposes she does understand what he means: she considers herself dreamfolk, but she’s not, not truly. She is of the Dreaming, but she’s of the few creatures here that wasn’t created by Lord Morpheus.
She’s his by choice, not by design and somehow the distinction feels important now.
“I do not delude myself by thinking that that had anything to do with me,” he tells her with a rueful smile. “I haven’t had much chance to speak to many, but I have it on good sources you did a most admirable job in my absence.”
She opens her mouth to argue and then closes it, looking away. She did what she could, she held the place together to the best of her abilities. It didn’t account for much, she doesn’t think, but perhaps at least she managed to make her fellow staff stay put.
“I think it’s time,” Lord Morpheus declares, standing up and Lucienne nods, figuring there’s no use in further delaying the inevitable. She knew her transgressions could not go unaddressed forever and at least now she knows he’s truly safe and sound. “I’ve done much thinking Lucienne and I have given your case due consideration. Partly because it was asked of me, partly because you deserve as much. You’ve been loyal and brave, Lucienne. While it is true the Laws are clear, I can not find it in my heart to condemn your actions.” He steps closer to her then, gently cupping her face. “I think, given the circumstances, an exception can be made.”
She huffs, mildly amused. “We’re not humans, my Lord.”
“No,” he agrees with a small smile, letting go of her. “But while they are flawed creatures, they occasionally make good points.”
Lucienne shakes her head, a small fond smile on her lips. She hadn’t been scared, not really: even if her future had held a few centuries of darkness, she had known it wouldn’t be eternal. Moreover, she had known her King wasn’t angry at her, had known he loved and trusted her still.
However, she didn’t actually want to get banished, so she supposes it’s all as well.
Even if she feels like she cheated somehow.
“Gather the staff at the banquet hall, I have a proclamation to make,” Lord Morpheus continues after a beat. “And call your Ravens, they have a message to deliver.”
“Yes, my Lord,” she agrees, bowing once more before she goes to fulfill his order, but stops at the door, hesitating. Perhaps she’ll be pressing her luck and it’s not like she wants to get involved, but-- “If you’ll allow me one last impertinence, sir…” He frowns, but nods, gesturing for her to carry on and she bites her lip, knowing she shouldn’t get involved, but-- “I think you should keep him.” Lord Morpheus arches an eyebrow, confused and Lucienne hurries to continue before she thinks better of it. “Hob Gadling, I mean. He’s good for you.”
Lord Morpheus huffs. “I thought my love life was of no interest to you, Lucienne.”
“It’s none of my concern,” she corrects gently, once more reaching for the door. “But I do want you to be happy, my Lord.”
Having said her piece, she leaves, hurrying to go fulfill his request.
The banquet hall is once again full of activity and Lucienne thinks it’s been a while since the Castle saw an actual party. Lord Morpheus has never been big on parties, actually, but the dreamfolk are generally speaking the party kind. Perhaps once things have settled a bit more an actual celebration could be held, although organizing it will be up to Lucienne. Not being much of a social butterfly herself, she’s not exactly thrilled with the prospect, but she does think it might do wonders for morale and seeing how things are currently going…
She could always recruit Hob Gadling’s help planning, she muses to herself. Somehow she thinks the human will be thrilled with the idea although that might only help fuel certain rumors and that--
She’s not getting involved any further, no sir. She’s said her piece and that’s all. She’s not getting involved, it’s none of her business.
She looks around the room, at the gathered dreams and nightmares. When she catches someone’s eye, she gets a smile in her direction; everyone here knows her and respects her and it shouldn’t matter, it really doesn’t, the only opinion that should and does matter to her is Lord Morpheus’ but--
She had never really thought about it. Did her fellow staff truly stay because of her? She doesn't know how to feel about it, she’s but the Librarian, a former Raven. She has always had some measure of authority, but she had always reasoned they listened to her because they assumed she was simply relying Lord Morpheus’ will, not that they listened to her because of some merit of her own.
It feels like another responsibility she’s not sure she ever wanted.
“Dreamfolk,” Lord Morpheus’ voice resonates in the room and the chatter dies instantly, all the gathered staff turning to look at their Lord who has come into the room. “Nightkind. My subjects and children,” he says, slowly making his way towards the center of the room, the crowds parting to give him space. “I’ve come back.” The chatter restarts, greetings and a chorus of we knew you would, we didn’t doubt it for a second and where were you Lord? filling the room.
“I was captured by humans blinded by greed,” Lord Morpheus says, waving a hand dismissively as if it was a matter of little importance and Lucienne can’t help arching her eyebrows: in all honesty, she hadn’t thought he’d share as much. As necessary as it is for the dreamfolk to know they were not abandoned on a whim, she had thought Lord Morpheus’ pride would not allow such a confession. “Regardless, now I am back,” he continues. “I thank you all for your faithfulness. It won’t be forgotten.”
Another chorus of assurances and pleased reactions. Without thinking, Lucienne has stepped closer to him, taking her place at his back as usual. “Several matters required my attention upon my return, but now they’ve been dealt with. However, I’ve learned that in my absence, many of yours left their posts, many doubted my return.” There’s a soft chorus of wary and nervous agreement and Lucienne looks around the crowd, gathering their reactions. While all of the gathered here remained true, there’s no denying they had their own doubts and fears. “So now it must be decided what to do about them.”
There’s tension in the air and Lucienne finds herself thinking of what Hob Gadling said. I do know a thing or two about wars and revolutions, you know, and I can tell you resentment never works out for Kings. The nightkind would never dare to pull such a stunt, she’s certain, but they ought not to resent their King anyway. (She refuses to think of the Corinthian and his actions, surely he’s more of an exception than the rule?)
The silence extends for what feels almost too long, no one daring to move, everyone waiting for the next words. “I’ve given the matter much thought,” Lord Morpheus finally continues. “The Laws are clear, no room for interpretation.” Another murmur of agreement, although reluctant. “However, the circumstances were unprecedented. That is my fault, I should have taken precautions. I will take precautions going forward,” he carries on, looking at Lucienne very pointedly and she frowns. She notices the rest of the staff is watching her too, with small, knowing smiles. “But for the time being… Lucienne, have you gathered your Ravens?”
“They’re here, my Lord,” she says and the Ravens caw immediately, making their presence known. “At your service.”
“Let them carry my message then: to every dream and nightmare who forsook their duty and left the Dreaming, should they come back freely and willingly, their trespass shall be forgiven. Those who do not return however… they’ll have to face the consequences.”
The Ravens caw their understanding and they take off right away, splitting evenly without any prompting. Lucienne watches them go, half listening to the chattering around her: for the most part, the Castle’s staff sounds pleased with the resolution.
She’s pleased herself, she must admit, if a little wary of the precedent it sets. “Dreamfolk, nightkind,” Lord Morpheus starts again, getting their attention back. “While I did not stay away out of my own volition, I did leave you alone, aimless and purposeless. It shall not happen again,” he declares solemnly. “You may go back to your duties, now.”
A chorus of Yes, Your Majesty resonates across the room and slowly the room empties, leaving only Lucienne and her King. She says nothing, keeping her hands linked in front of her, waiting for further instructions. “What do you think of my resolution, Lucienne?” he asks her calmly, staring directly at her.
“A wise course of action, my Lord,” she acknowledges, nodding her head. “A fair one,” she adds and then offers him a small, knowing smile. “You did think about it.”
Lord Morpheus huffs, shaking his head. “As I said, humans make fair points, on occasion.”
Lucienne smiles.
“News travels fast,” Lucienne says, watching from the balcony as the first group of dreams and nightmares return. They walk slowly, reluctantly, half expecting to be struck down where they stand for disobeying, she suspects.
“We’ll need to conduct a census,” Lord Morpheus says quietly, watching the procession in silence. Even in the distance, the dreamfolk recognize their monarch and most bow their heads at him after spotting him. “I don’t expect we’ll be missing many, but…”
“The Corinthian showed up briefly after you left for London,” she informs him. “I expect he’s not done with whatever he’s doing.”
Lord Morpheus hums. “I’ve said it before and I’ll say it again: I created every dream and nightmare in this realm, Lucienne. Their faults are entirely mine. The Corinthian’s poor design is nothing but the result of me being too proud to see any fault in it.”
Lucienne doesn’t agree, but she knows arguing the point will get her nowhere. “I don’t like him,” she says stubbornly instead. “I know you said he was your masterpiece, but I’ve never liked him.”
Lord Morpheus smiles at her, a little amused. “So you’ve said,” he replies. “But that’s a problem for the future. Today, we should enjoy this victory: the Dreaming has been restored and my subjects are returning.”
Lucienne hums, continuing to watch the procession in silence. “Have you given the matter of Alex Burgess’ punishment any thought?” she asks after a while. “And the others?”
“I would have thought you had taken care of him already,” Lord Morpheus says, watching her from the corner of her eye. The subject displeases him, but Lucienne isn’t sure if it’s because he’s angry or ashamed.
“I have,” she replies with a shrug. “But I thought perhaps you’d want something a bit more permanent?”
Lord Morpheus considers this, before shaking his head. “I trust he’ll be punished accordingly,” he says with a finality that tells Lucienne to drop the subject. “All those years I remained captive, I thought of nothing but vengeance,” he tells her softly, almost reluctantly. “I thought nothing else would bring me peace,” he continues and Lucienne watches him in silence, unsure if he expects her to say something. “I understand my duty to all living creatures, but I’ve never liked humanity much, despite all of my dear sister’s attempts to endear them to me.”
Lucienne huffs. “You do like one human,” she points out and huffs at her King’s small fond smile. “For all Lady Death complains about the twins’ games, she’s certainly not above them.”
Lord Morpheus hums, leaning against the balcony. “My captivity didn’t help with my opinion on humanity, but…” he trails off, shaking his head. “There’s good in them, Lucienne. There must be.”
She hums in acknowledgement, although she’s not fully convinced. “For what it’s worth, I do like that particular human too.”
Lord Morpheus huffs, amused. “Are you joining the betting pool, then?”
“What betting pool?” she asks and then groans as understanding draws upon her. “ Mervyn, ” she complains, frustrated although there’s a trace of amusement beneath. “I’ll talk to him, my Lord. To all the Castle’s staff.”
He shrugs casually. “If you feel you must,” he agrees, straightening up and turning to fully face her. “I said earlier I’d take precautions, should the time come I have to absent myself again.”
“My Lord--”
“I know you do not particularly relish the position, Lucienne,” he tells her gently. “But I am afraid I must ask this of you: after all, you’ve proven yourself not only a loyal subject, but a true friend.”
She twists her lips unhappily. “I’m of the dreamfolk, my Lord. I’m at your service.”
He smiles at her, patting her shoulder compationably. “I do hope it will never again come to it, but if it does, I’m confident the Realm could not be in better hands.”
Lucienne hums. She also hopes it’ll never come to that again. She did not enjoy having to make decisions, she did not relish to be in charge. But she’ll do her duty, to the best of her abilities.
She looks at her King, who’s gone back to observing the procession of returning nightkind and smiles, feeling at peace. He’s back, he’s safe and sound and the Dreaming thrives once more.
What else could she ask for?
“So, no eternal darkness for you, huh?”
Lucienne hums, continuing rearranging the books on the shelves. Books in the Dreaming have a habit of disappearing if you’re not careful with them and while it’s rare they might end up where they shouldn’t, it has happened in the past. “I suppose I should thank you for it?”
“Not really,” Hob Gadling replies with a shrug. “But I’m glad it worked out for the best.”
Lucienne pursues her lips. She’s still not convinced of that and the fact that she’s been given new responsibilities doesn’t really feel like she’s off the hook: all her promotions have a way of feelin more like a punishment than anything else.
(She does not resent them, not as such. But she’d be much happier going back to being a simple Raven and she’s sure Lord Morpheus knows it but at the same time he trusts her and well… that’s the important bit, isn’t it?)
“Is there any particular reason for your visit?” she asks, after a long tense silence.
“I’m just visiting a friend,” Hob Gadling replies with a mighty roll of his eyes. “You’re not very familiar with the concept, are you? Friendship?”
Lucienne does take offense to that. “You’re human, Hob Gadling. I’m of the dreamfolk. It’s not quite how it works.”
He considers this briefly, before shrugging. “Well, it only took Dream a few centuries to admit we’re friends,” he tells her with a grin. “I’ll wear you down, you’ll see.”
She chuckles, shaking her head. “You’ll find me harder to convince,” she replies airily, making the not-mortal laugh.
“I did have a reason to visit, though,” he says after a while and Lucienne raises her eyebrows. “I take it you know of Alex Burgess’ passing?”
Lucienne makes a face. “Yes. A real tragedy.”
Hob Gadling huffs, amused. “He was an old man, with an old heart. It must have been quite the nightmare, to give him such a fright to stop his heart,” he says with a smirk. “We humans are fragile like that.”
“So it seems,” she agrees with a shrug. “He got off too lightly, if you want my opinion.”
Hob Gadling nods. “Perhaps. Be as it may… Well, I won’t bore you with all the details, but there has been an investigation going on as a result of the check I gave him and when he died… Well, Paul McGuire decided to liquidate all his assets, to pay off the legal fees and whatnot.” Lucienne frowns, unsure of what it means. “The point is… I might have found myself in the possession of a certain grimoire.”
Ah. “Indeed?” she asks, a considering expression on her face. “And what do you plan to do with that?”
“I don’t know, actually,” Hob Gadling replies sheepishly. “Obviously, it’s in everyone's best interests that it doesn't fall into the wrong hands, so I thought about hiding it somewhere safe, but the problem is that as long as it exists, there’s always the chance of someone else finding it.”
“You want to destroy it?” Lucienne asks, the Librarian in her horrified at the thought. At the same time--
Hob Gadling laughs. “Of course you wouldn’t like that idea,” he says with a chuckle. “Neither do I, to be totally honest, I oppose the burning of books out of sheer principle, but in this case… it might be for the best?”
Lucienne sighs. “Yes,” she agrees quietly. As long as the book exists, there is always the threat that someone with ill intentions will find it again and while she’s only mildly fond of a couple of her Lord’s siblings, she wouldn’t wish any harm upon them either.
“Alright,” Hob Gadling says, nodding. “Also… umm… Among the assets there was a collection of stuffed animals and… umm… well. I had to rehome most of them, because they kinda give me the creeps to be honest, but I thought… well… I don’t know what the appropriate procedure would be. Should I… bury her?”
Oh. “You have Jessamy?”
Hob Gadling hums. “Yeah. It felt… wrong that she ended up decorating another rich dude’s house, you know? Gathering dust and mostly forgotten, so I thought… well…”
Lucienne blinks. She can feel tears in her eyes, even if she can’t quite place the emotion in her chest. Dreamfolk don’t die, not really: they’re banished or undone and remade, so there’s no body left.
But Jessamy had been in the Waking and while her essence has returned to the Dreaming, to Lord Morpheus’ embrace (or at least she desperately hopes so), she did leave a body behind.
It shouldn’t matter what happens to it now. It’s a carcass, a shattered recipient that should mean nothing. But hadn’t she been angered at seeing it on display in Alex Burgess’ living room? Hadn’t she thought it was disrespectful?
“Have you finished your inn?” she asks and realizes her voice breaks just the slightest bit. Hob Gadling frowns in confusion, but nods. “Perhaps you could place her there. She’s after all of the Dreaming and a Temple in the Waking… it should fit her nicely.”
Hob Gadling frowns some more and it occurs to Lucienne he doesn’t know he’s built a Temple by the Old Laws. Still, he doesn’t ask and she doesn’t explain. “Alright,” he agrees instead. “If you think that’s best… I’ll find her a nice spot.”
Lucienne hums, turning her attention back to her books. “Thank you,” she says and her eyes still feel a little wet, but she doesn’t think she’s going to cry, not anymore. “Lord Morpheus should be in the gardens, if you wish to see him. He’s doing some renovations there.”
Hob Gadling smiles brightly at the prospect. “When don’t I want to see him?” he asks her and Lucienne rolls her eyes. She told Mervyn that the betting pool was off, but perhaps she should have joined it instead of dissolving it. It’s not like the dreamfolk uses any real currency, but bets can be fun all the same. “I’ll see you around, Lucienne.”
She hums once more, watching from the corner of her eye as he disappears around the corner, a light spring on his step, humming some cheerful song to himself.
She thinks once more that her King’s love life is none of her concern.
But she does like that human quite a bit.