Chapter Text
The Dreaming was still. The lights from the bubbles and tendrils of sand throughout the realm were dimmed as the sun set. The night shift was called to tend to the dreams of the world for the next 8 hours or so to give day shift a break. It was a tiring day and the denizens were grateful for the rest. Even the Lord Shaper was attempting what one could call sleep next to his wife Calliope, in their shared chambers.
Her steady breathing was lulling Morpheus into a much needed rest when the growing crescendo of crying filled his ears.
“My love, your son is awake.”
“Before morning he is your son, Oneiros.” she said drowsily.
With a weary sigh, he got up from his place on the bed and materialized a shirt on to match his pants. The nursery wasn’t very far and as the light from the hall dimly filled the large playroom, a small boy no older than two could be seen standing in his crib. Tears ran down his squishy cheeks and his cries made Morpheus’ heart ache.
“I’m here Orpheus, Father’s here.” he said softly. Large hands grasped the child’s crib and slowly rocked it back and forth in an attempt to get the boy to sleep again. The motion only seemed to make Orpheus more upset though as the cries turned into shrieks loud enough to wake the dead.
“Alright, alright, up you go then.” The boy reached his arms up and his father took him into his, gently rubbing circles on his small back.
“Shhh, shh. You’re alright, you're safe little one.” The boy seemed to calm down enough, save for the stray hiccup every now and then. A rocking chair grabbed Dream’s attention and he sat down with a sigh. Orpheus snuggled into his father’s neck and said in a sleepy voice,
“Stowee.”
“A story?” Dream sounded almost surprised, but then again, his son was the product of a writing muse and a storyteller.
“Is that all you wanted?” The two year old nodded into the shoulder his head currently lay on.
“Very well. A story. What shall I tell a tale of?” Thoughts of a certain blonde muse came into his mind. Yes, that story would do just fine for the occasion. The Dream Weaver began to tell a story.
“Once long ago, but not too long, there was a King. This king was lord of sleep, of tales, ideas, and imagination.
“Papa!”
“Ha, that’s right, little one.”
‘One day the King was overseeing the creation of dreams when something caught his eye. There was a rather large surge of books materializing in the monarch’s library. Scrolls, letters, novels, and speeches were being written in dreams. The King was curious to know what was being used to inspire the mortals into creating these beautiful words, so he set off on a journey to the waking world. Traveling through the world, he saw many things. Some true, some false, and some in between the two. Finally, after quite some time, he arrived in Greece. While there, he met a man named Homer. Homer was a great writer and he had just finished a work called The Odyssey. It was a wondrous tale full of adventure, romance and tragedy. The King asked Homer this,
“Tell me, great poet, how have you come to write such beautiful words upon your papyrus?”
Homer replied,
“A muse sir, one of the nine came to me after a night of wooing and wine.”
“And where would one find this muse?” The king inquired.
“Upon the high Mount Helicon. It is there that the muse shall present them self to you.”
So the Dream lord set off to find this mysterious muse. Steadily he went up the mountain, climbing higher and higher until he could climb no more. As he reached the summit, a woman appeared to him. The lady took his breath away with a single look and he knew then that he had fallen in love.The stars in the sky could do no justice to the beauty in hers, her corn colored hair seeming to act like a sea, with curls waving this way and that. And when she spoke it was as if the world quieted to hear the faintest whisper of what she had to say.
“Mama!” little Orpheus exclaimed.
“Yes, mama.”
“Who are you that comes to my place of worship?” she demanded.
“I am known by many names, King of Dreams, Morpheus, Dream of the Endless, but you, lovely muse, may call me Oneiros. What shall I call you?”
“I am the muse Calliope,” she said. “One of the nine, Oneiros, King of Dreams. Tell me, why have you come to me?”
“I have come to sate my curiosity of the inspiration of mortals. I see now that it is you who gives them beautiful ideas in waking as well as in sleep.”
“I give them not freely, but to you I may make an exception.” It was then that he knew she too was enamored.
“I have no need for a muse, but a night with you would be my honor, lady Calliope.”
‘She held out her hand and he took it. The next day they were wed and some time later, you were born my son.’
By now, the toddler was fighting with all his might to stay awake. Morpheus smiled at this and shifted so Orpheus was laying on his chest. Rocking back and forth in the chair, he began to hymn a tune. It wasn’t any tune that was ever heard in the waking world, as Morpheus had heard it in a dream some thousands of years before. It was a soft melody and soon Orpheus was sound asleep.
“Sleep well, Orpheus.” said Dream.
Dream continued to hum and before he even knew what was happening, he drifted into not quite sleep, but a sort of rest, as he closed his starry eyes.
That was how Calliope found her two loves the next morning, father and son sleeping in the rocking chair with little Orpheus drooling on her husband’s shirt. She smiled softly at the sight and decided to leave them for the time being. Soon the Dreaming would be woken by the ever slow rise of the sun and another day of work would begin for her lover. For now though, she was content to simply watch them dream.