Archive of Our Own ^beta

George was, by all means, a small boy. Man. He’d always been the shortest of his friends, the one with the boniest elbows and knees. As a twelve year old, he was orphaned when both parents were lost in the war against Gidra, the elven kingdom to the west. So, could anyone blame him for resorting to thieving? It was almost too easy; small hands slipping into pockets and bags, thin fingers barely doing more than grazing the market stalls. Eventually, the more sharp-eyed vendors took notice, however, and George had to leave his village in fear of getting caught.

He made his way through the land with no real goal in mind; he s tole the food he ate and the clothes he wore , and soon almost everyone had heard of the nomadic boy-thief. Villagers whispered about his looming stature and raven hair – in some villages he even had claws or horns. They called him a witch, a half-elf, a spirit – anything to separate him from them. In truth, he was shorter than two wine barrels stacked on each other, and his hair bore more resemblance to wet mud than the feathers of a raven.

In all his years of thieving, George only got caught twice.

The first time had been on a cold and depressing winter night. There wasn’t any snow, but the air was dry and bitter, which George’s lungs certainly did not like. He just needed a warmer coat, and he’d stolen coats before. All he had to do was sneak into one of the houses in whatever village he was staying in, grab a coat, and run.

It was just his luck that he decided to enter the house of the town sheriff: the town sheriff who’d just that day heard from the smith that a few knives had gone missing and was sitting awake in front of an open fire, waiting, in case the thief would strike again.

George spent that night in a cell, awaiting the stocks. As he sat there, wallowing in his misery, he decided it was time to leave the land he had grown up in. There was nothing keeping him there anymore – no family or friends, not even a horse. So when the guard went to take a leak, George picked the lousy cell door lock and slipped into the night.

A month of travel took him over the Elven Sea into the very same land where his parents had once died. It also took him to the second, and last time, he’d ever get caught.

-: ✧ :-

“Thought you could outrun me, did you?”

George struggled against the man holding him down. The stranger had George’s left cheek pressed into the dirt, and both his arms pinned against his back.

“Humans,” he scoffed. “I thought you were supposed to be smart?”

“Let me go!” George yelled.

“I usually advocate for your kind, you know?”

“Didn’t ask, don’t care, get off.”

With a laugh, the man suddenly stood up. He moved swiftly and silently; he was graceful – an elf.

The second George was free he rolled onto his back and glared up at his captor, who was tall, much taller than him, with a face made up of strong lines and sharp angles that were brought together by a pair of kind, green eyes. But that’s where the elven features ended. See, in all the stories George had heard from barmaids and travelling bards, elves were said to have long, silky hair the colour of newly fallen snow. But this elf, he had short sandy curls, peeking out from a black hood.

“What’s your name, thief?”

“Why would I tell you?”

“I’m Dream.”

George continued to glare at him. There was no point in getting up and running, the elf, Dream, was too fast. And what kind of name was Dream, anyway?

“Simon.”

“Liar.”

“It’s Simon!”

“Alright!” The elf held his hands up, urging George to calm down. “Where’s your bag, Simon ?”

“I curse you, elf.” George spat.

“You want to be difficult, hm? You can tell me all about cursing me later. For now, let’s get you back to my village and clean you up, yeah? You have leaves in your hair. In your everything, to be fair,” Dream smiled. “Your bag? I saw you had one. I assume that’s where our relics are.”

“I hid it. By a tree.”

“You hid your brown bag by a tree in a forest. Like a needle in a haystack.”

“If I wasn’t so stressed I wouldn’t have just… thrown it,” George scoffed, rolling his eyes. He stood up and brushed the dirt and leaves off his clothes as best as he could. His face was probably a mess from where the elf had pushed it into the ground. Tomorrow, there would probably be a dark shadow around his eye.

“If you had simply refrained from stealing you wouldn’t have been stressed in the first place,” Dream countered. “Simon, you stole artefacts and relics we’ve spent centuries upon centuries collecting. Family heirlooms! If you got away, you would have made quite the name for yourself.”

“If I give you the bag, can I go?” George asked, arms crossed. He had no desire to spend more time with this elf. Half-elf? Maybe that would explain the unusual hair. Ha! If Margaret, the baker from his home village, would have seen this. A proper half-elf. 

“Oh, no, no. I’m the head watchman of my village! I can’t just let a thief like you get away. I must bring you back and… handle you.”

“Sorry?” George blinked, arms dropping. “Handle me?”

George watched a grin appear on Dream’s face. He was handsome, for sure, but George guessed all the elves were. They were always described as ethereal, otherworldly. Dream was neither, George thought, but by Danu was he annoying ; standing there, hands on his hips with a grin on his full, red lips: the picture of confidence. George could bet every single one of those shiny things he’d stolen that Dream had every elf from his village in his pocket.

“I’ve never had to deal with this before if I’m honest with you. Our village is not a tourist destination; we rarely see a new face, and we certainly do not attract the attention of thieves and crooks. So yes, Simon, I’m taking you to my home, and I’ll handle you,” Dream said with a wave of his hand, as if  ‘handle you’ sounded any better after that explanation.

“Oh by Morrigan… just let me go!” George grumbled. Could he not just show Dream to the bag and then be on his merry way?

Immediately, Dream’s eyes darkened. Oh fuck. George straightened his back and stared into them, not about to back down from a challenge.

“This land is vast, George. Someone will always be on your heels, ready to jump you the second you let your guard down. In this case, consider me that someone. Really, you should consider yourself lucky that it was me. I have men in my village who would have killed you on sight,” Dream rumbled, stepping close enough that he had to look down at George. “Now let’s go .”

-: ✧ :-

George and Dream searched for almost two hours before finding George’s bag nestled between the roots of a giant oak. By then, the sun had nearly set, and George was tired and starving. Dream, however, looked like he could walk for another two hours without food and rest. George wondered if that was an elf-thing or a Dream-thing.

As Dream went through the bag, George sat down on the hard ground and leaned back against the oak. If he closed his eyes he’d probably manage to fall asleep, so be busied himself with observing Dream more closely as he rummaged.

Dream couldn’t be a full elf, George decided. While he did have the pointy ears and distinctive features, his hair set him aside. George wondered if Dream got teased for it. Humans sure considered being half-elf a tragedy, but maybe it was different for elves. They won the war, after all.

Suddenly Dream said up much straighter and turned to George. He was holding a clear glass bottle with a red, thick liquid inside.

“Simon,” he said. “Do you know what this is?” 

“Uh…” said George eloquently. “Jam?”

Dream laughed almost hysterically and ran his free hand through his hair, causing the hood to fall off.

“This is medicine. It’s worth– I can’t even tell you. It’s priceless, Simon.”

“What does it do?” George asked curiously, sitting up straighter as well. How could a small vial of medicine mean so much to Dream that he looked like he was going to laugh, cry and throw up at the same time?

“It’s for Ispolnyayemyy Vysol . Execrable Efflorescence in your language. Surely you must know it?” Dream said as he pocketed the vial.

“No. And… I’m not just saying that. I haven’t.” 

“It has many different names, but I’ve always known it as Execrable Efflorescence. It’s almost magical, and truly one of a kind. Long story short, let’s say you fall in love with me, but I don’t feel the same-”

“Hang on!” George protested. “Why do I have to fall in love with you ?”

“Fine. Let’s say I fall in love with you, then, and you don’t love me back. Then my lungs would, and it’s true, I know it is because I’ve seen it, grow flowers! Your lungs grow flowers. The first symptom is coughing up flower petals; after that, you have a week.”

“To live?”

“Yes. Unless, of course, you confess your love. If you don’t, you die. There is no other cure, but the medicine you stole helps with the pain and the side effects. There’s a woman in my village who has it right now. It was her medicine you took, you see. She’s almost 200, and on her fifth day of the illness, but she refuses to confess.” 

“You elves took lovesick to a whole new level,” George scoffed.

Dream chuckled, rising to his feet. “The sickness exists in your lands too, Simon. It must just be even rarer there than it is here.”

“They’re not my lands,” George said, rising as well. “I left.”

“So are these your lands now just because you’re here?”

“That’s not what I meant.”

“Let’s forget our differences for now. I’m taking you to my village now; you’re probably starving.”

-: ✧ :-

It was dark when they reached the elven village, a village that wasn’t much to see. In the dark, George could spot only around ten buildings, and he doubted that there was more to see in daylight.

George was taken to one of the outlying houses. He had assumed that Dream would take him to some sort of cell, but it became clear to him as he was led inside the house that Dream had taken him to his home. 

The house seemed to only consist of two rooms. The first one, where you entered, seemed to be the bedroom, George thought. And the study, and also the good room. Practically everything but the kitchen and dining room, although judging by the plates that crowded the desk together with stacks of books, scrolls, and maps, Dream did eat in here as well, despite the lack of a proper dining table. But who was George to judge? He didn’t even own a house, let alone a table specifically for eating.

“Cozy,” George said.

“Thank you, thief,” Dream replied, dropping George’s bag carelessly on the floor. George thought it was careless, at least. All that whining about how important those artefacts were just to toss them on the floor? “Make yourself comfortable,” he continued. “I’ll see if I have anything to eat.”

George barely had time to get his shoes, which were borderline too small, off his aching feet before Dream called him into the kitchen - the other room in Dream’s house.

He dropped his shoes by the door and padded into the kitchen on socked feet.

“Please do sit down,” Dream said, not looking up from whatever it was he was doing. “Unfortunately all I can offer is cold soup and this morning's bread.”

“That’s okay,” George said, sitting down by the small table placed just underneath one of the windows. A part of him felt like he should question Dream’s hospitality; he did just try to rob them after all. “Why are you so kind? Why am I not in a cell?”

“It’s February, would you really prefer an underground cell with no warm fire in sight over this?” the elf asked.

“No. But-”

“None of that!” Dream turned around with a bowl in each hand and a slice of bread balanced on the edge of each one. He placed one of the bowls in front of George before sitting down, taking the second bowl for himself. “Think of this as house arrest. In my house.”

“Have you really never been robbed before?”

“As I said… there’s not much to our village and elves are not the thieving kind. But, by the God’s, Simon, the way you speak makes it seem like all humans are!” Dream laughed. George kind of hated that laugh, kind of hated Dream, to be fair. His aura of confidence and carelessness just didn’t sit right with him.

“It’s George.”

Dream’s lips fell, but only for a split second before he was grinning at George again. He bit off a piece of bread and chewed it for an uncomfortably long time before swallowing.

“ You’re George, I’m assuming,” he said, all casual. “Are you gonna eat, or what?”

To avoid replying, George dug into his food.

He could barely remember the last proper, homecooked, meal he’d had. There was something about sitting at a table and being able to take his time with the food that made George feel warm inside, despite the soup being cold.

They ate in silence. Dream would sometimes ask questions. Simple ones like ‘where are you from’ and ‘how old are you’, but George pretended not to hear him.

He wondered how long this stupid house arrest would last.

-: ✧ :-

Two months. The house arrest would last two months.

After George and Dream shared their meal of cold soup, they had gone to bed. At first, Dream had offered up his bed, which George had flat out refused. So they had shared it. It wasn’t too difficult.

The next day Dream had put a blindfold on George and taken him to the village elders, who turned out to be Dream’s parents, for an official sentence. He should probably have counted himself lucky that he had Dream fighting for his side, however, seeing as his mother thought George should be executed at once.

After three whole hours, George got sentenced to two months of house arrest. In Dream’s house.

On the way back to Dream’s, a blindfolded George had complained. What was he even going to do inside for two months? ‘Chores’ had been Dream’s response.

-: ✧ :-

George was just about exactly one month into his punishment, and he could not be more ready for it to end. He spent his days mindlessly stalking around Dream’s rooms, dusting what needed to be dusted, wiping what needed to be wiped, washing what needed to be washed. It was a dull, seemingly endless cycle of mundane tasks that George had never even thought about before. What’s there to dust when you’re always on the run? But Dream seemed pleased enough with the results.

On the one month mark, Dream came home from wherever he went during the day much earlier than George had expected. Meaning that Dream found him carefully looking through one of the books on Dream’s desk, something he’d been strictly forbidden from doing with no explanation. George guessed Dream just liked being annoying, because he couldn’t understand the books anyway, seeing as they were all written in el'fiyskiy, the language of the elves.

“Hello, George,” Dream said, closing the door behind him. “Having fun?”

“Uh,” said George as he quickly closed the book and got up, backing up from the desk. “Sorry I… I just get so bored! You go away for hours and–”

George was cut off suddenly when Dream bent forward with the force of a dry cough. That was certainly new: Dream had gone and gotten himself a cold! Only fair, thought George. 

“Are you alright?” he said, eyes narrowing in concern. “Do you want something warm for your throat?”

Dream looked at him with red eyes, shaking his head as the last wave of coughing rattled his ribs. “I’m fine,” he croaked, voice like gravel. “Sorry. You were gonna say?”

“I’m sorry for reading your books, but it’s boring to just… sit here,” George sighed, slumping his shoulders. “Dream... you gotta understand.”

Dream nodded and slipped out of his coat. “I do, George. Would you maybe like... to care for the garden, too?”

George almost said no, just to say no, before he stopped to think. Garden? That’s outside.

“You’d let me go outside? Unsupervised?” he questioned.

“Do I need to worry?” the elf asked him as he moved further into the house: towards the kitchen to get dinner started. “If you run, I’ll catch you.”

George followed Dream to the kitchen. “You needn’t worry. I’ll behave,” he said, taking what had become his seat by the table.

Though they didn’t speak much, George liked to sit in the kitchen while Dream cooked. He tried to tell himself that it was because he wanted to make sure the stupid elf was not poisoning him, but he knew it was because he had grown to enjoy his company.

“Good,” Dream said as he went about preparing their dinner. Cooking was the one chore George had not been given, seeing as George had never cooked a meal in his life. “I need to harvest the potatoes and the vegetables for the spring festival this week, so they must be well taken care of.”

“Spring festival?”

“I told you about it, but I assume you weren’t listening. As usual,” Dream mused, throwing a pointed look at George over his shoulder.

“Maybe if you said interesting things I’d listen,” George shrugged. He made sure to smile, though, so Dream would know that he was joking.

And Dream sure laughed, which made George laugh as well. Although once again they were cut off by Dream’s horrible coughing. He turned away from the vegetable’s on the cutting board and coughed into the crook of his elbow. George watched him and found that he even felt worried .

“Dream, those coughs don’t sound too good,” he remarked but made no effort to get up and help him. He couldn't let Dream know he cared. 

Finally, Dream cleared his throat and turned back to the vegetables, ignoring George’s words. “The spring festival is one of the biggest and most important events of the year. We dine and drink and dance. It’s wonderful: tarts and pies. My mother makes an amazing peach pie.”

“Sounds nice, I suppose. I’ve never really had the chance to dine and drink and dance before, so it’ll be fun.”

Dream paused his slicing. “George…” he turned around to look at him, sitting at the table with one leg pulled up against his chest, arms wrapped around it. He was wearing Dream’s clothes - he didn’t have any of his own. “I don’t think you’re invited.”

“Oh,” George said. There was an icy feeling in his chest, but it was not disappointment; it couldn’t be.

“I thought-”

“It’s okay, Dream.”

Dinner and bedtime were quiet and awkward affairs that night.

“Sorry about the books,” George whispered into the darkness after Dream had blown out the last candle and crawled into bed.

Dream coughed, again, before replying, “it’s okay.”

-: ✧ :-

The next day, Dream came home at his usual time. George was still outside in the garden, digging around in the dirt, trying to figure out what was what. Dream had told him that morning, but George had been preoccupied, staring at the way Dream’s curls moved in the early spring breeze. 

“Come inside, will you?” Dream called.

George brushed off his knees before following Dream inside.

A day outside had been surprisingly nice. Dream’s house was far enough away from the village centre that George couldn’t see much of it, and it didn’t help that the rest of the village seemed to have been built at the top of a hill, either. But it had been nice to breathe fresh air and feel the sun on his pale skin. Besides, the cold wasn’t as harsh when you knew you had a warm fire to defrost in front of later.

What would he do when the house arrest ended, and he was free to go? For the first time since he lost his parents, George had a home. The thought scared him just as much as it pleased him. Dream was a strange roommate, yes, and this new cough was slightly annoying, but the bed was warm and soft, the food tasted okay, and the fire burning never went out. It was safe.

“Did you get the cough checked out?” George asked. He pumped their sides together as Dream pulled open the wooden door.

“Yes. Just a cold,” Dream dismissed.

Side by side, they took off their outerwear and hung it off before going into the kitchen together. George took his seat, and Dream started the dinner. 

For a few minutes, they were quiet.

“I spoke to my parents today,” Dream said, breaking the tense silence.

“How nice,” mine are dead. 

“I asked them if you could be invited to the festival.”

“Dream! You didn’t have to do that! It’s fine, honestly,” George protested.

“You should be there, George. Whether you like it or not, you’ve lived here for a month now. You’re a part of this village, so you deserve a seat at the table.”

“It would be dumb to go, I’ve never even been outside your house,” George argued. He got up and crossed the room to Dream. “Dream, come on, you know it’s dumb.”

He turned to look at George. Neither of them spoke for a few moments, just stared each other down.

“I want you there,” Dream said finally.

And George really wanted to go, but it felt so foolish. Who was he to go to an elf festival after he stole their favourite shiny trinkets?

George was just about to speak, to argue, when Dream was once more forced to bend over with the force of his cough.

“Dream, by Morrigan, I’m making you tea,” George said sternly, leaving no room for argument. He turned away to get a cup and the tea leaves, and when he turned back around, Dream had fortunately stopped coughing. “What’s that?” George asked.

In his hand, Dream had a small pink petal.

“Must have been stuck in my hair or clothes. Sorry about the coughing, I don’t need the tea, George,” Dream said gently as he put the petal in his pocket. Weird, thought George, to save a petal.

“If you don’t drink the tea I won’t go to the festival.”

Dream laughed and turned back to his cooking. “Fine, stubborn little thief, I’ll drink your tea.”

-: ✧ :-

That night, when they laid side by side in the pitch black of night, George felt happy. Dream had accepted the tea, and in just a few days, George would be going to a festival – an elven festival. 

“George, you awake?” Dream whispered. George just hummed softly in response. There was no real reason to be so quiet; they were the only two in the house after all. “I told you about Derevo Pravednosti , right? That big tree that does the little earthquake , as you called it.”

“Yeah, you did.”

George had woken up on his first morning in the village in panic. The ground had been shaking, and in his disorientation and panic, George had forgotten where he was. He had managed to wake his bed-mate, of course, with all his wailing and kicking. Dream had laughed, because he was a real asshole, before explaining to George that it was Derevo Pravednosti , whatever that meant, and that it happened every morning. It was a sign of good fortune for that day, and apparently, good fortune came every day if you were an elf.

“The tree shook the day you stole our things,” Dream said, still quiet.

“It probably knew you’d get your things back,” George replied. “What would you do if the tree didn’t shake one day?”

“Find the cause and eliminate it.”

-: ✧ :-

Dream’s cough worsened over the next day, but neither mentioned it. After dinner, they went to sit down in front of the fireplace in the front room with a cup of lemonade that an elf named Alyssa had given Dream.

“You’ll like Alyssa,” Dream said as they got situated with pillows and blankets.

“Will Alyssa like me?” George asked cautiously. He was still on the fence about the festival, but Dream had taken his tea, and that was their deal.

“Of course! What’s not to like, hm?” Dream grinned at George.

“That’s not even a little funny, Dream.” George squared his shoulders and stared into the fire. Not that Dream in all his elven glory would understand, but George was not the happiest with what Danu and Brigid had given him. A nose that didn’t go with the rest of his face, hair that never looked washed and a body that just wouldn’t grow. 

“I’m not joking, George. You’re a nice friend to have,” Dream said. His voice had taken that tone it often did when he spoke to George; kind, but with an edge on the wrong side of being condescending.

George looked at him, incredulously. “Friend?”

“Are we not friends?”

George shrugged. Were they friends? They probably were. Maybe Dream could ask his earthquake tree since it seemed to know so much. 

“If we aren’t, I’d like us to be,” Dream continued.

“I don’t know if I’ve had a friend before,” George admitted quietly.

And if that wasn’t something. George had been on his own for ten years, and no matter how deep he dug, there were no memories of friends from his home village. There were faint memories of kids his age, of course, but he felt wrong calling them his friends. George didn’t even know their names or their faces.

“Why did you start stealing? I’m assuming you’ve done it for a while.”

“Ten years, I've done it for ten years. My parents died in the, um, war. I’ve been alone since then. No one in my village wanted to take me in, I guess. I don’t remember much,” he said, chuckling awkwardly. “I stole to survive. I never took more than what I needed. I have no desire to get rich; I just want to survive,” George kept his words soft as if speaking too loudly would hurt him. He hated thinking about his past; talking about it was worse.

“Survive or live?” Dream asked.

George frowned at him, “what do you mean?”

“There’s a difference. You were stealing to survive, not to live. You didn’t make friends, apparently. Did you stay long anywhere?” George shook his head, and Dream continued. “No permanence. You weren’t living George. What’s surviving when there’s no life to live?”

Dream coughed. They didn’t mention it, nor did they speak about the four little flower petals that fell to the ground. They both knew exactly what it meant. 

What’s surviving when there’s no life to live?

George looked into the flames and wondered who it was Dream loved, and why he didn’t just confess. What would George do if Dream died? And why did the thought of Dream being in love with someone hurt just as much as the idea of him dying?

-: ✧ :-

George and Dream had breakfast together the next morning, which was unusual. Dream was usually up with the sun while George slept into the later hours of the a.m. before getting up to start on the list of chores Dream left for him.

Neither of them said much besides ‘pass the butter’, but the silence wasn’t that tense; it wasn’t as awkward as George had thought it’d be.

It wasn’t until they were both finished eating, and George was taking care of the dishes that Dream spoke.

“I’m sorry about yesterday, George. I feel like I spoke out of turn. I made our evening quite sad,” Dream sighed.

George dried his soapy hands on a towel and turned to Dream. “It’s okay. You were right, to be honest. What’s surviving when there’s no life? I just hadn’t thought of it like that before. I was so determined just not to die. I wanted to show my parents that I would be okay without them. I bet they’re laughing at me right now. Or crying. Their son is living with an elf, for Danu’s sake,” George laughed, but it sounded surprisingly wet. He turned back to the dishes quickly, not wanting Dream to see him cry.

“It was wrong of me to attack you like that, though. Especially when I… relate to it myself,” Dream murmured. 

“You relate to it?” George asked incredulously. He stuck his hands back into the warm water and continued washing their bowls and cups. “You have a family, Dream. And a home. You’re– you’re very lucky.”

“I know, trust me!” Dream was quick to say. “But George… I feel trapped here. You - humans - see us elves as– as these serene, peaceful beings: a friend to drink tea with. But you, more than most, must know that we’re cruel, brutal and uncaring. We went to war with humans over seemingly nothing,  and we killed thousands upon thousands. And let’s not forget that my mother wanted you dead for what you did. I’m expected to be like that! Like her! I’m expected to sentence petty thieves who don’t even know what they’re taking to death . If the tree doesn’t shake the ground, I must find the cause and get rid of it; banishing is not enough. Apparently.” There were tears in Dream’s eyes. George realised that he wanted to reach out and dry them, catch them before they could fall, but he stopped himself.

“There is so much they expect of me,” Dream continued, “there’s a burden weighing me down with every step I take, and it keeps getting heavier. But you, George, you're the first breath of fresh air I’ve breathed in years . The way you… carry yourself, the way you speak! It’s new, and it’s exciting. I want to travel to see the world. Like you have.”

“Like I have? I’m sure there’s a better perspective than that of a thief constantly on the run,” George put down the last bowl and dried his hands again before turning to face Dream just as he fell into another coughing fit. Petals, small and dainty, fell to the wooden floor.

“If I wasn’t… me . The things I’d do, George. The places I’d go and the things I would say,” Dream mumbled, eyes locked on the petals. “I can only imagine the stories you have to tell and the things you’ve seen.”

“Can’t you just take time off and go? Have you never asked if you’re allowed to leave?” George queried, eyes on the petals as well. Confess, Dream, George wanted to say. He wanted to scream it. Confess, because I don’t know what I would do if you died. George counted the days in his head. Four had passed since the first coughing, meaning Dream had three more days. Seventy-two hours – then he’d be gone.

“When I was younger, sure. But my parents are the village elders; I’ve been training to take their place since I learned to read,” there was a solemn smile on Dream’s lips, and George hated it. Where was that confident Dream from just yesterday? “Before that, when I was younger, I spent my days in the forest. I would run around, pretending that I was exploring the world. The trees were my enemies, my foes, and I– I was happy. There was something so… fascinating about the unknown. And deep down, I’m still that child who wants to discover the world.”

“Run away,” George said - as if it was that simple. “Run away with me.”

“No! I- I can’t just run, George. I’m not- No. And with you? They’ll notice and track me down! I’m the next in line after my parents; they’d track me to the ends of the earth!” Dream exclaimed, throwing his hands in the air. There was another cough, and another petal fell to the floor. “Besides,” Dream fixed his gaze on George, “I am not allowing you to risk your life for me.”

“Who said anything about risking our lives?” George said petulantly, arms crossed.

“George. If they catch you-”

“I don’t care,” George declared, cutting Dream off. He took a step closer towards the elf and looked up at him. “I don’t care. By Morrigan, Dream. I do not care.”

“You don’t care,” Dream repeated as if he didn’t quite believe what he was hearing. “You… don’t care? You’d run and take me with you?”

“Yes.”

“Out of this place?”

“I’d take you anywhere you’d want to go.”

“I don’t think I understand.” 

They were barely speaking above a whisper, and somehow they had ended up close enough that George could feel Dream’s breath on his face. He thought about the girl Dream was in love with and the petals he coughed up for her; if he didn’t confess soon, he would die. 

“What is it you don’t understand?”

“I-I haven’t been good to you! I was the one who captured you for heaven's sake. I-”

“You gave me a home, Dream, now I owe you. Do you want to see the world or not?”

“Yes, I do. But- but we haven’t packed or planned!” The tears spilled over, and George watched Dream cry. This time he couldn’t stop himself, however, and reached out and wiped the tears away. Dream froze at the touch, and George started to retract immediately.

“Sorry,” George mumbled.

“No, it’s fine.” 

They said nothing for a few moments and just looked at each other. There was a warmth in George’s chest, paired with a desire to lean forward and- and what? Kiss Dream? Dream who was so deeply in love with someone who didn’t love him back that he’d developed a magical illness. George wondered distantly if it was Alyssa he loved.

Once more, it was Dream who broke the silence. “Do you really think we could do it?”

“There is no doubt in my heart,” George said; and he meant every word.

Dream sighed, taking a step back. He slumped into one of the chairs by the table and looked at George with that solemn smile from before.

“Humans,” he said before another coughing fit took over. There were more petals now. George decided that he didn’t like Alyssa if it truly was her Dream loved. No, George resented her. She was killing him, killing his Dream. “Okay.”

“Okay?” 

“We’ll talk more about this later. I must get to work, alright? Think about this, George. Think about it carefully.”

Without another word, Dream was gone.

-: ✧ :-

They were running. George’s ears were ringing, and he couldn’t hear anything but the wheezing of his lungs. Distantly he could hear Dream, coughing so hard he was barely running upright. Even further away was the thundering of hooves. 

They should have stayed. Dream should have confessed. They should have just stayed. 

It had been earlier the same day, barely two hours prior, that Dream had slammed open the door to his house and startled George who was sprawled out in their bed, mending a pair of socks. 

“Dream!” George exclaimed. “Dammit… I pricked my finger.”

He studied his thumb, pressing a little on it to watch a bead of blood form.

“The tree,” Dream wheezed, “it didn’t shake the ground. They’re coming for you.”

-: ✧ :-

They had made their plans during dinner the previous night. They’d slip away during the festival and never look back. They had packed two bags, and Dream had spent the night cooking foods that would last them a while. 

First, they’d see the Elven Sea, and then they’d travel further inland towards the bigger cities before making their way towards the orc settlements in the mountains. They had plans to cross the water and travel around George’s lands too.

But now it was all for nothing. 

-: ✧ :-

Despite his years on the run, George had never actually gotten very good at running . Since he turned fourteen, he’d suspected that there was something wrong with his lungs, but there had never been an official diagnosis; George couldn’t afford one. There was also the fact that his legs just sometimes didn’t want to listen to his brain, and therefore George often found himself falling over the smallest of roots and rocks. So when there was a loud thud followed by a wheezy cough, George was almost surprised to realise he was still running and not laying face down on the ground.

George looked over his shoulder and saw Dream, clearly in pain, rolling onto his back.

“Dream! Get up!” George yelled, running back to Dream. The elven riders were catching up.

“I… I can’t, George,” Dream wheezed. His eyes were unfocused, scanning every inch of George’s face.  “Run, go. You can–” he was cut off by a slight cough, “–still do it.”

“I’m not leaving you!” Did Dream really expect George just to leave him behind and run after everything Dream had done for him? If Dream had just confessed, they could have been far gone by now. “Why didn’t you tell her?!” George demanded. “You’re dying! Why didn’t you confess?”

Dream’s eyes finally met George’s, and he smiled almost painfully. “Confess to who?”

“Alyssa! Why didn’t you tell her you loved her so you could-” George’s clasped a hand over his mouth to silence his cry. “You’re dying, Dream–”

“George.” Dream reached out and cupped George's face with one trembling hand. “I’m not in love with Alyssa.”

George desperately grabbed Dream’s hand and pressed the knuckles to his lips. “Then, who? Maybe it’s not too late! We can– we can go back! It’s gonna be okay.”

Dream turned his face to the sky. “It’s you. I– I love you. I always have. Every day, George, I’ve felt nothing but love for you. You’re the first good thing that happened to me in years.

“Me? N–no, Dream. I– not me.” George couldn’t think. He killed Dream? All this time, it had been his fault? George felt close to throwing up, but the elves were getting closer; George could hear them. They had to continue. “Dream? Get up. We have to keep going; they’re getting closer.”

There was no reply. Dream’s eyes were closed, but a smile was frozen on his lips.

George remembered the first week of house arrest when he had hated that he had to share a bed with Dream. After years of being on the run alone, he wasn’t used to the sounds of another person sleeping: the loud breaths and the tossing and turning.

At that moment, George would have returned every piece of gold he ever stole to hear Dream draw another breath into his lungs. Just one more.

“Get up!” he whimpered. “Get up, for Danu’s sake! Dream we have- we have to keep going! They’re almost here.” George looked in the direction of the noise. He could see the elves now. There were six of them, led by a woman with flowery pink hair. She was beautiful even from a distance. In a desperate attempt to flee, George wrapped his arms around Dream’s torso, but his legs weren’t strong enough to stand up. He pressed his face into Dream’s matted locks and whispered desperately. “Please, Dreamie. Get up. For me, hm? I love you. Please just stand up. There– There’s still time. I love you, Dream, come on. Wake up, goddamnit!”

The riders stopped abruptly not too far away from where George was sitting, clutching Dream’s limp body to his chest. The pink-haired woman slid off her horse and unsheathed her sword.

“Don’t hurt him!” George yelled. He scrambled to get away, but his legs couldn't take them far. “Please! It’s all my fault! Please, just don’t hurt him. Don’t hurt him.”

The woman raised her sword, and suddenly everything went black.

-: ✧ :-

George hurt everywhere. Truly everywhere. He sat up with a groan and slowly blinked his eyes open. There wasn’t much to look at, so George assumed he was in a cell back in Dream’s village. Someone was probably on their way to take George to his death. Two months ago, George would have fought tooth and nail to get out of this cell, to avoid death, but now George found that he couldn't care less.

He had lost Dream. Even worse, he had killed him. Dream had been in love with him, and George hadn’t loved him back hard enough. George didn’t even know what love felt like. Was love the warmth he felt in his chest? The warmth that was now gone: that had left the second Dream did? Was it the way his body tingled when Dream ruffled his hair or teased him? Was it the feeling of home that Dream gave him? George wasn’t sure, would never be sure, not with Dream out of this world.

He heard steps approaching, and his head snapped up. The woman from before appeared from around the corner with a grim expression on her face.

“George. My name is Alyssa,” the woman said. “How are you feeling?”

So that was Alyssa? George almost smiled. Dream had thought the two of them would like each other. If he only could see them now, standing on either side of a cell door.

“How do you think I’m feeling?” George scoffed. “I’m in pain. My muscles hurt; my heart hurts.”

“The heart is a muscle,” Alyssa said

“I don’t care,” George said, looking at his hands. There was mud caked under his fingernails. “Will it be painful?” He asked quietly.

“Will what be painful?”

“My execution.”

Alyssa hummed. “The elder’s haven’t decided your fate yet, young thief. They want to speak to you.”

She led George through the underground tunnels that made up the village’s mostly unused prison. They didn’t speak, which George was completely fine with. He had nothing to say to a woman whose friend he killed anyway.

George was once more taken to what he had assumed was a court building. He didn’t know, and he couldn’t read the stone carvings above the door. Asking Alyssa wasn’t an option.

“Wait,” Alyssa said when they were just outside the doors. “Don’t lie to them, George, if they ask questions. Dream’s their son. You might be a thief, but I see that there’s honour in your heart.”

All George could muster in reply was a weak ‘okay’ before Alyssa opened the doors. George entered first, followed closely by Alyssa.

George recognised most of their faces since his last time, but the faces of Dream’s parents were burnt into his brain. They stood in the middle of the room with expressionless faces, ready to give what would probably be an execution order. It was only fair, George thought. I killed their son.

“Thief!” Dream’s mother raged. George felt bad for not remembering her name, for never asking Dream about his family. “You stand before us, accused of prepyatstvuya derevu pravednosti, of hindering the tree of righteousness! A crime that is punishable by death and death only.”

George wasn’t sure he was following. What about the fact that he killed Dream? Was the tree more important to this woman than her son?

“I-” he opened his mouth to speak. “I’m sorry- I’m so sorry. I don’t understand!”

“Mother!”

A door at the back of the room opened.

“Dream?” Dream died.

“Mother, what is this?! Let George-”

“ Dream, ” George breathed.

“George!”

George had no idea who moved first, or how he ended up in Dream’s arms halfway across the room. He just knew that suddenly he felt warm again. Safe. George knew that he was crying, but so was Dream; it seemed. Because when Dream cupped his face and kissed him, he could taste their tears, mixed.

“I’m sorry,” George sobbed into Dream’s mouth. “You died , I’m sorry.”

“George,” Dream said, pulling back just slightly, “it’s only day six.”

“But I don’t- I don’t understand. Why were you sick? I-I feel the same, Dream. I love you,” he cried. If the feeling was mutual, then Dream shouldn’t have been sick, wasn’t that what he had said?

“I know, sweetest,” the elf said gently. “I can explain it later, alright? I must speak to my mother first.”

George had forgotten entirely that they weren’t alone in Dream’s cottage, alone at home. “Oh, right,” he mumbled and took a step back from Dream.

Dream immediately turned to his mother, his face now twisted with anger. “I will not let you execute him,” he rumbled.

“Son-” Dream’s mother began.

“No!” Dream yelled.

“ Drevo pravednosti ne pokolebalo zemlyu, synok. Posmotri, k chemu eto nas privelo. My dolzhny priznat' yego vinovnym i ustranit' ,” Dream’s mother said, switching to the elven language.

“ YA yego lyublyu. Eto vse, chto vazhno, mama, ” Dream replied. He pulled George closer, holding him to his chest while he stared his mother down. “ Izgonite nas. My uydem do nastupleniya temnoty. ”

“ YA ne progonyu syna! ”

“Please…” said George. “I-I don’t know what you’re saying, but I beg of you. Let me live. For the first time since I was a child, I feel like I can live, not just survive. That’s thanks to Dream.”

Judging by the look on Dream’s mother’s face, George should have stayed quiet.

-: ✧ :-

After only 40 minutes of discussion between the elders and the elder council, George and Dream were banished. They were given 4 hours to pack up their belongings and leave the village. Alyssa gave them a horse and a wagon, which they loaded up with what they could. Dream seemed to prioritise his books over furniture, which George questioned. The elf just brushed him off.

George watched Alyssa and Dream say farewell from where he was perched at the back of the wagon. His heart broke for both of them. Dream might not have been in love with Alyssa, but he clearly loved her. What if Dream would regret leaving? George tried not to think about it, but it was a difficult thought to ignore. It was George’s fault that Dream almost died, that he was banished from his home and separated from his friends.

“ Idite s mirom i siloy, ” Dream grinned. He pressed his forehead against Alyssa’s, and she repeated the words back to him.

Alyssa slipped something into Dream’s pockets and said, “ Kol'tso. ” Dream nodded at her and took a step back.  “ Ne zabyvay menya, ” she said. It sounded like a plea.

“ YA ne smog by, yesli by poproboval, sestra. ”

-: ✧ :-

That night they set up camp in a clearing. Tomorrow they would reach Shchit, one of the bigger cities in the elven lands.

Dream gathered wood, and they made a fire. It reminded George of that night in the house. Even though it was just a few days ago, it felt like months had passed. It was strange to think that a few months ago, George had been a thief without a home, stealing to survive. He hadn’t been living, just like Dream had said. It was almost scary, the way the elf knew him so well.

“George, sweetest. You’re crying,” Dream whispered. They were sitting huddled together by the fire, and George had rested his head on Dream’s shoulder. “Are you alright?”

“I’m sorry,” George murmured, “for all of this.”

Dream pressed his lips against George’s hair. “I could have stayed if I wanted to.”

“Then I’m sorry about the sickness. I don’t understand why you got it when I loved you back.”

“Have you ever been in love before, sweetest?” Dream asked. He cupped George’s face in both hands so that he could look at his face. George looked into Dream’s kind and gentle eyes and shook his head. “I don’t think you… knew. That you loved me, I mean. And so the sickness grew. It’s not your fault.”

“If I had known–”

“Then I don’t think we’d be sitting here. I think we’d be in the cottage. Three weeks would have passed, and you would’ve gone. The sickness gave us a sense of… urgency ,” Dream smiled softly at him before he started laughing. “I can’t believe you thought I loved Alyssa.”

“She’s the only one I knew that name of!” George argued, crossing his arms. “And frankly, she was quite beautiful.”

“George, she’s like my sister.” 

“How was I supposed to know, hm?”

Dream shrugged and said, “I do regret not showing you my village. I may have hated it, but it was my home.”

“I will be your home now,” George whispered.

They sat in silence for a few minutes, George’s head once more on Dream’s shoulder. The darkness around them felt like a blanket, and the cold felt so far away, just like in the cottage. There was a small part of George’s brain whispering that the cottage had never been what gave him a feeling of home.

 “Can I kiss you?” Dream asked after a while.

George nodded, and as their lips met, he knew that everything would work out. He was home.