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Chapter Text

Dark wings dance against glass, beating at still air with a frenzied desperation. 

Dream looks up for the first time in so long. 

For the first time in so long he inhaled a deep breath that he had no need of, feeling air and a near forgotten hope fluttering in his chest.

This is what dreams are made of. This is what hope looks like.

He believes. 

Hope looks like a raven, his raven, come to free him from this dark nightmare that has entrapped him in the waking world.

Jessamy, his Jessamy , rages a furious war against the glass of his prison. Talons, beak, and wings strike at the glass. Trying to reach him as he himself reaches for her. 

He had thought she had left him long ago, how foolish of him. He should have had more faith. His raven, his devoted companion, had not left him.  

He feels then. Joy, happiness, and hope. Feelings he had denied himself in the dark empty prison which had held him for the past decade. His lips twitch pulling into an unbidden smile.

His fingers almost brush the glass when-

Bang.

Dream flinches at the sound.

Jessamy lets out a wordless cry of alarm.

He can almost see it. With eyes that are not the eyes of the mortal. 

He can almost see his own dream extinguished. A splatter of blood, brains, guts, and his raven falling to the floor. Dead. His hope dead, in a gory mess by the hand of a child with no concept of the crime they commited. It was a terrible nightmare.

But it is just that. A nightmare. A frightening and unpleasant dream. But it was not real. Not in this world at least.

Jessamy twists in the air above him, soaring up to hide among the dark shadows of the ceiling, aware of how close to his sister’s domain she had skirted. A wingbeat slower and Death would have claimed her.

Dream cannot take his eyes from her. His raven who holds him tenuously back from Despair. 

Another shot rings loudly. This one does not come near her.

Still Dream jerks. He feels the shot deep inside him as if it had been him it struck and not the stone ceiling. 

It was too dangerous for Jessamy to remain. To be trapped in the darkness of this basement like him. His bright little raven should not be down here. 

“Leave” he whispers, orders his raven.

There is a commotion at the stairs.

He hears it. The footsteps of more men. His gaolers have returned with Roderick Burgess. The father tears the gun from the hands of his son. He pushes the child who time had transformed into man away. Into the path of the guards with an angry shout.

He glimpses this as Jesssamy uses the clamor as her chance, soaring past them on quick wings. Roderick Burgess looks up too late. Jessamy’s sharp talons swipe out as the Magus as she travels by, leaving trails of blood across the man’s temple. Then she disappears from sight. 

Escaped. 

The man roars in anger.

Dream remains silent even as his thoughts roar with vicious delight and glee to see the crimson droplets fall from the twisted being. Spite, hate, and anger is all he can feel for the man who had bound him to this world and cage.

Jessamy is gone now. 

Dream has no interest in watching the small petty humans as they quarrel. 

His gaze instead returns to his prison. To the now empty spot where she had been fluttering before him as she fought against his captivity.

Dream stares at the spot she was. He sees something. A beautiful well of dreams and possibilities.

A crack. A small marr in the clear glass. So small that Dream, fingers pressed to the glass could cover it with even his smallest finger. Really no bigger than an ant the little mark was. A small blemish to his crystalline prison wrought by his Raven’s sharp beak.

It was a change to a prison which had remained unchanged for years. Dream wished only to look at it longer, to inspect it, to reach out to it and push.

But his captors were outside, unaware of Dream’s gaze in the small commotion that was the argument between father and son, but they were there. The father rebuking the son with sharp words and pushing at the guards who had abandoned their post.

If Dream paid too much attention to the crack, should he reach out and test the strength of his prison they would notice. They might fix it. The glass may be cracked, but the accursed circle that bound him remained unbroken. Until it was broken he remained mortal, powerless. He did not know if he could break the glass and destroy the markings of the circle before his captors would notice. Did not know how weakened his prison was. It was not yet the time to act.

Somewhere out there was Jessamy, watching, waiting, for her chance to return and free him.

And so he too would wait for her.

So Dream lowered his gaze to the floor. He hunched his body to the glass and let himself return to stillness once more. His dark eyes fixed on another change to his prison he had not noticed before. 

A white feather. Jessamy’s feather. His raven’s feather.

It had drifted off her likely when she had fled and he and his captors had been preoccupied with Jessamy’s departure to notice. Now the feather had settled on the floor beneath the glass. A beautiful splash of white on the cold gray stone floor. 

More beautiful than any feather off the wing of an angel. They would take it of course. As soon as they realized it was there. But for the moment Roderick Burgess’s focus remained on his son and the guards and theirs on the Burgess patriarch.

And so Dream shifted slightly, letting the shadows hide his face from his captors as his eyes remained fixed on that feather, the bright crystallization of his hope, and he allowed himself the smallest of smiles.

Chapter Text

They hunted her now with renewed vigor as they had done almost a decade ago. 

Twenty men combed the estate ground with guns at the ready, paid for by the coin of her Lord’s captor. Their weapons were far more dangerous than those of the past. Each of the men vying to be the one to collect her corpse and receive the bonus sum Burgess offered.

Shoot the fucking bird. Were his precise orders.

This she heard as she observed them.

As she watched her would be murderers scouring the grounds. She was not worried.

Yes, she knew the weapons they wielded were far more dangerous and deadly than those of the past. And yes, she knew they would not hesitate to shoot her. To them she was nothing more than a bird worth her weight in gold.

But for them to kill or harm her they must first see her. And the foolish men did not think to look up to the very roof of the estate and she was content to wait out her days there and move only under the cover of night. 

She ruffled her feathers against the sprinkling of morning dew that had gathered on her wings. Her gaze followed a familiar figure who she had been watching more frequently. Alex Burgess, her would be murderer. And the reason for her failure. She had been so close. 

Her Lord’s fingers had been almost touching the glass that her own talons scratched at. But she’d been forced to flee. Forced to leave him. By his own order.

She had left. But she would not abandon him. 

Below her, in the basement was her lord. 

When she’d first seen him again after a decade of separation her heart had been consumed with rage and horror.

How dare they.

How dare they sever his connection to the Dreaming and his power.

How dare the humans bind the King of Dreams. How dare they take his vestments and clothes, place him in a glass and steel globe, and watch him. Her Lord wasn’t something to be gawked at. They had hidden him away in a place so dark the sun did not reach.

And the whispers, the lies they spread for their own vanity and amusement. That they had the devil captured in the basement.

As if her King was not the most glorious creature in creation. He shaped dreams and nightmares. He whispered his visions and guided the sculpting of this world since time immemorial. To compare him with the devil was the greatest sin. He was not some twisted creature from hell.

Her rage had not been directed at her king. Never at him.

But her horror had been. To see his pale emaciated form, the dark flickering nightmares that lurked behind usually so bright eyes that held the stars, and the small flicker at disbelief on what was usually a near expressionless face. To see the weakness and near hopelessness on he who was always so powerful and the embodiment of hope. It had been horrifying to see him so diminished.

Trapped in darkness and the cold. While she was out here. 

Trapped in sunlight and warmth. 

She would swap their places in a heartbeat if only she could.

She desired so terribly to go down there. To try again. But it was too soon.

And her life was too important to abandon in a hastily thought out plan acted out of impatience and desperation. It was too important because it was upon her that her King depended. If she died, so too might his opportunity for escape. And for that Jessamy would never forgive herself.

So she would wait. Wait till time cooled the zeal of her hunters. Wait till they abandoned hope of killing her. She would wait till she was almost-forgotten once more.

The attention and lives of the humans were short. In a few months perhaps years most would give up.

But her heart clenched. It had already been so long and to choose to wait longer left a bitter taste in her mouth.

She wished she could find help. Lucienne would know what to do. Dreams and nightmares alike would amass to rescue their Lord if only they knew where he was bound. But they did not know.

Perhaps they thought Dream had abandoned them. 

She could not tell them otherwise. Could not ask for help. She was bound to her king, unable to leave this waking world for her powers came from her King’s, and Dream remained trapped. Powerless. And so she too was powerless.

No. Not powerless.

She might not have her ability to travel between this world and the Dreaming but she still had her own strengths. She had wings, talons, and beak. She had a form which felt not the changes of time. She had intelligence beyond most humans and wisdom cultivated over centuries. 

She would wait. Wait for the opportunity to try again. 

And next time she would succeed.

Chapter Text

It was almost painful to possess hope once more. Time seemed to pass all the more slowly and he couldn’t help his gaze flickering to the entryway, half expecting to see Jessamy soar in, and more than a little relieved she did not for now was not an opportune time. His guards were far too alert.

He moved slowly so they would not observe what it was he intended.

It took a day to shift his body against the glass. To press his back against where the crack was so his own pale skin could hide the blemish in the glass.

It took a day for them to notice and remove Jessamy’s feather from his sight.

It was his fault. His eyes could not leave it until the very moment it was gone. In the end the guards had been curious about what had attracted his attention.

It took a week for the excitement and anticipation that raced through him to calm. The humans did not see it for he did not allow it to show. He remained still and expressionless. 

Even when Roderick Burgess returned and vowed he would kill Jessamy he did not react. 

He could feel her. Their connection was like a faint thread. Her presence was something near tangible. Somewhere far above him.

She lived and Burgess’s threats remained empty.

But Burgess was no fool. He knew the danger Jessamy posed and was careful to ensure what had transpired, Dream’s near escape, would not repeat itself. Two more guards were added in his basement prison, eyes constantly scanning shadows and the entryway for Jessamy. They were more alert, their job more to keep Jessamy away than Dream entrapped. 

Burgess told him in great detail of the carefully crafted defenses he put in place. Of the twenty men who hunted Jessamy. Of the poisoned bird seed he scattered on the grounds, as though Jessamy was a normal Raven who would foolishly eat at what he offered. Of the shutters placed on every window so she could not enter.

Dream listened to it all, his face impassive, and did not speak.

The hope did not escape him.

Time passed, slowly and surely. 

Often his gaze drifted to the ceiling, a drab grey thing, somewhere out there he could feel her. A weakened thread that tied the two of them together. And he knew. That though she could not be by his side she remained close. 

Three months in he noticed a change. 

It took him some time because the guards held little interest for him.

But it was impossible to miss the numerous scratches that grew increasingly frequent on the faces and of his gaolers. It was even more impossible to not hear the mutter expletives regarding a certain raven.

And it was impossible to miss the dark shadows under Roderick Burgess’s eyes, the man’s increasingly short temper, as he stood before Dream and demanded he get Jessamy to stop. The man appeared exhausted, eyes so lacking in their usual sharp brightness, and Dream could feel that Roderick had not visited his domain in some time.

There was a twisted form of justice in it. That the man who would torment the sleep of others through his uncaring action of trapping him should in turn be denied that very sleep.

—-----------

Time passed with a bitter certainty that twisted sharp pangs of guilt into Jessamy’s heart.

She wanted desperately to free her luminary liege who remained shackled in the buried darkness, but she found no opportunity to do so. 

Her king had rotted down in the cold empty basement for ten years already and she vowed she would not allow him to do so for another decade.

She would free him. She would. She would.

But the guards were many, her hunters eyes were sharp, and the impertinent humans cautious.

The bitterness and anger shimmered deep inside her and one day, in a moment of resentment fuelled frustration she swiped sharp talons across one of the guards leaving his shift.

It happened quickly.

She had hardly been aware of her own actions. Enraged at the laughing man gesturing wildly to his colleague as they left the estate from their shift she had directed that anger she felt outwards. The anger of her own helplessness in freeing her lord. 

How dare the human laugh when he was an agent of her King’s suffering.

She dove down from her perch on a shuttered window sill flaring wings a moment before she slammed into the human. With a furious screech she had gouged sharp talons across the man’s bald head. 

The man had let out a pained cry of surprise arms desperately reached up to try to defend himself.

With a flap of her wings she was soaring up before his revolting hands could touch her. 

She had felt a vicious sense of glee and satisfaction at the warm blood that dripped from her talons. 

It was only right that those responsible for her King’s suffering suffered in turn.

It was the start for her.

The beginning when her dream to save her King made her become the thing of Nightmares for his captors.

Carnage and havoc she wrought upon the Magus’s home. Fire’s lit by unattended matches or improperly burned out cigars in the hopes of razing the place to the ground with its denizens in it. For flames could not harm her Lord in that cold basement. 

Guards and visitors were attacked by her talons and beak in righteous fury. 

Let them feel pain. Let them feel pain for all the Dreamers they hurt.

And to the Magus, Roderick Burgess, who had bound her King by ancient laws and tore him from the Dreaming she invited her own special torment.

She refused to allow the man a semblance of true sleep.

Without her Lord in the Dreaming to ensure the man suffered the nightmares he so rightly deserved she took it upon herself to make him suffer as much as she could.

It was only right that the one who had captured the King of Dreams not be allowed to dream.

She spent her nights outside his bedroom window, screeching and wordlessly giving voice to her rage, pelting the bolted window with rocks, and not giving him a moment of peace.

The man quickly placed a guard outside his window during the nights, but then it was the guard Jessamy attacked and tormented. Roderick Burgess found it just as hard to sleep with the sound of gunshots aimed at her and muttered curses as Jessamy’s own anger.

She was no nightmare, but she found she thrived on the warped delight that came from the man’s suffering.

It was in a way counterproductive to trying to get him and the estate to forget her presence. She had decided she would wait. And she intended to do so. Wait for her moment. But she saw nothing wrong with hastening events, forcing the humans to act as their tempers grew shorter and shorter.

Like a boiling pot about to overflow.

She would add more heat to the flames until something was bound to happen.

She would push the humans till they reached a breaking point.

And then one day…they broke.

Chapter Text

There was a victim to her harassment of Burgess that Jessamy had paid little attention to. Jessamy had thought the woman unimportant. 

She had personally cared nothing for Ethel Cripps, Burgess’s mistress, as far as Jessamy was concerned the woman was innocent. The human did not know of Jessamy’s Dream Lord trapped in the dark basement and had played no part in entrapping him. That she suffered from a lack of sleep due to Jessamy’s rage was an unintended consequence of Jessamy’s actions. 

Not that Jessamy could truly bring herself to care. There was an easy way for the human to remedy her problems and that included moving to another room or just leaving the monster that was Burgess. That she did not spoke of her love or foolishness. Or Jessamy later learned, cunning. 

The woman did leave. Approximately four months after her arrival Jessamy watched from a tree branch as the woman snuck away in the night. Jessamy had thought little of it. More preoccupied with finding a good stone to chuck at the Magus’s window than the woman who used the darkness as a cover, carrying a large sack over her shoulders. Jessamy was more impressed that the woman had stuck around such a deplorable man as Roderick Burgess for so long than the fact that she was leaving.

It was only once morning came that the true weight of the woman’s departure crashed into Jessamy. Filling her with guilt and horror and a sense of failure for not realizing just what the woman had taken with her.

When the first of Burgess’s panicked shouts sounded in the dawn, just when Jessamy was settling into a comfortable spot by the chimney to rest, the truth of Ethel Cripps crime was revealed.

In the initial outroar that had Jessamy fluttering to a nearby awning to better listen she had thought the women had robbed the man of wealth but as Burgess grabbed at the guard’s lapels, roughly shaking the still blurry eyed man shouting about sand, a ruby, and a mask Jessamy realized she had watched the woman make off with her liege’s belongings. 

Her King’s vestments of power were now stolen twice over and Jessamy did not know where the woman had gone. She had not thought to follow her in the night, her attention focused on Burgess.

She should have. Jessamy thought for a brief moment before banishing the thought. Her lord was her priority and concerns. Freeing him came before retrieving his possessions. While the woman had no knowledge of her true crime it would be her Lord’s and not Jessamy’s place to judge the woman. Retrieving the stolen tools would not help Jessamy free her Lord. Those tools could only truly be used by Dream, though man could use a semblance of its power with the prayer it would not corrupt or destroy them.  

Her mission was here. Her place was here. With her Lord. 

Jessamy nodded to herself, smoothing over a few ruffled feathers, as she watched as Burgess’s rage carried him away, deeper into the house, to Dream.

Bitterly she wished to follow him but did not. There were too many guards. Though after a few moments she couldn’t help a shiver of excitement as she watched two guards be sent off in a grumbling car to try to track down the Magus’s mistress.

Something was happening. Finally.

There was now only Burgess, the young son of Burgess, the staff, and three more guards and her would-be hunters in the structure. 

She flew around the house in great sweeping spirals, watching, searching, trying to evaluate her chances and guess at what might be happening in that dark basement. 

She wasn’t waiting long and yet it seemed an eternity. 

There was a minor commotion. The sound of slamming doors that had her alighting upon a shuttered window sill to look through the cracks and glass. 

She tilted her head in surprise, shock, and just the briefest moment of ecstasy that made her tremble at the sight that played out before her. As she peered through the windows watching a hallway there was the sound of carpet muffled footsteps, the sounds uneven, and then the three guards came into view carrying in between them a still Roderick Burgess.

The great Magus, the foolish and too-proud human, looked smaller than Jessamy had ever seen him. Propped between two men carrying him with a third desperately pressing a white cloth to his skull. Crimson blood leaked out beneath that cloth, dripping ruby droplets upon the carpeted floor. 

Roderick Burgess looked old, withered in a way he had not been ten years prior. He looked thin, pallid even, with dark rings that Jessamy’s grudge had created featuring starkly upon his face. He looked…weak. It hurt that such a pathetic being had managed to ensnare her King. 

It was a terribly beautiful sight that elicited both the greatest satisfaction and rage. For he would not live. She could see it already from the quantity of crimson blood that seeped the white cloth. But he was supposed to. He was supposed to someday face her Lord’s wrath not slip away into Death’s embrace. Where was the justice in that?

“I don’t think we should be moving him.” One of the men carrying Roderick Burgess murmured.

“Well we can’t exactly bring a doctor to the basement with that thing in there can we?” One of the man’s companions snarled as he shoved another white linen to the Magus’s head in a hopeless attempt to stem the bleeding.

“Is this good enough?” The third man huffed.

“I think so. Let’s put him down.” The first man responded.

“Gently” the one holding the increasingly red bandages admonished as they lowered Roderick Burgess to the floor.

“Charlie go call for the doctor” One of the men ordered as he stood but the command was half hearted. They all knew Roderick Burgess was not long for this world.

There was a soft flutter of wings and Jessamy turned, expecting to see a bird flying by her but in the morning light she could not spot any avian companions in the trees.

Jessamy returned her gaze to the happenings in the interior of the manor and blinked in surprise.

There was a fourth person suddenly standing beside the guards and still body of Richard Burgess. Someone who Jessamy was certain has not been there before.

Dark skinned with a bright ankh around her neck and a mane of curly hair. A small smile tilting her lips. The woman looked down at Roderick Burgess before glancing away at the stone walls for a moment. Except Jessamy felt that the woman was looking past the walls, her gaze turned to where the basement and the Dream Lord was trapped.

The newcomer felt vaguely familiar. Had Jessamy seen her sometime before? Her presence evoked a strange feeling of both comfort and fear.

Strangely the other humans did not react to the woman’s presence. They did not cry out, demand who she was, they didn’t even appear to see her. 

Jessamy started slightly in surprise as Roderick Burgess’s eyes blinked open. The man gazing up at the dark woman.

“I’m here to take you away.” The woman said, fixing her warm eyes on Burgess.

Burgess sat up, except he didn’t. Jessamy blinked, seeing a strange double image. In one blink Burgess was laying motionless on the floor, in the other he was sitting before the woman.

“Who are you?” Burgess demanded, struggling to his feet.

The woman arched her brow and offered an impish grin. “Haven’t you been looking for me?”

“Death” Burgess whispered wide eyed.

The woman’s grin only widened.

“My son. Give me my son. Give me my son and I will free your brother.” The man tried to bargain.

Something changed in the woman’s stance. She did not move. Her expression did not change. And yet something was different.

The air itself felt colder. Jessamy shivered.

“Did you think capturing my brother would endear me to your plight? You have the wrong sibling for that I’m afraid.” Death replied.

“My son. All I want is my son. Please.” Burgess reached out desperately, fingers clutching at the woman’s arm.

Death tilted her head, her gaze scrutinizing the man before her.

“Give me my son back.” The man demanded.

Death smiled gently, her dark eyes glittered like the night. 

“ No.”

Death looked up. Her midnight gaze met Jessamy’s. Death winked. 

Instinctively, without knowing why Jessamy turned away.

She felt something brush against her skin. She shook as she felt it. The momentary surge of power was so similar and so unlike her Lord’s.

She turned back around and Burgess and Death were gone.

Or rather Death and the soul of Burgess were gone. His body remained. 

“I think he’s dead.” One of the guards whispered.

Dead. Dead? 

Bitterness clawed at Jessamy’s heart.

The sharp slam of a doorway drew her and the guards attention as Alex Burgess strode into the room. 

The youth’s face was troubled and he glanced once at the corpse of his father before shifting his gaze to the guards. Eyes turned with an effort of will to what truly commanded the boy’s attention.

“He’s dead.” A guard said softly. After a moment of hesitation he added. “What do you want me to do now Magus?”

“I…” The young Magus shook his head uncertainly. “I need time to think.” 

He walked away leaving the perplexed guards with his father’s corpse.

Jessamy took to the air watching a moment later as Alex Burgess stalked out of the house, eyes troubled as he headed for the gardens.

Jessamy blinked. The guards and Burgess were gone. 

Dream was alone. 

Now was her chance.

She had been distracted as the rest of the household had been by the Magus’s death. But now was her opportunity to save her Lord and she would not allow herself to fail again.

The issue of how to enter the building was a non issue for it was summer and the guards had failed to consider an entryway. She swooped up and her gaze shifted to the chimney she had been intending to rest beside before. 

She rode the winds, circling the opening distastefully for several long moments. She wasn’t exactly eager to use this entrance, but it was the only way.

She dived down, feeling the cool drop in temperature as sunlight gave way to shadowed stone. The leftover ashes and soot clung to the sides and she held her breath as she passed. Her feathers clipped the walls for a moment threatening to send her descent out of control. Then the ground was racing towards her. She flared her wings at the last minute and stirred up a puff of dark ashes that followed her into the living room. 

She paused upon the wooden edge of a chair and glanced around. The place was empty but for the snarling face of a taxidermy lion. She turned away from the creature’s uncomfortably fierce gaze and shook herself leaving a small dusting of ashes before taking to the air once more. The path was familiar. 

The doorway to the basement was yawning open almost in invitation as she followed the small trails of bloody droplets on stone.

She didn’t hesitate.

They hadn’t closed the gate either as she swept into the room.

And there he was.

As ethereal and inhuman as ever. Huddled in the smooth floor of his glass prison, nearly glowing in the dim light he could have easily been mistaken by a mortal for either an angel or a devil. Dark lidded gaze that held the stars in their depths were fixed on the small puddle of blood by his cage made from where the Magus had fallen.

With no one but her king present Jessamy cawed loudly to announce her presence. The call echoed triumphantly in the empty cavern. 

Those eyes that held both dreams and nightmares in them snapped to Jessamy as she soared over the dark moat and alighted upon one of the chains holding his glass prison up.

“My lord. My king.” Jessamy murmured as she bowed before him. “I have come.”

Dream looked upon her form, midnight eyes looking at her with a strange intensity Jessamy had never seen before. His eyes glistened and if it were any other being she might have suspected they were tears but they could not be. For in the eternity she had known him this great being had never shed tears. The King’s lips twitched into the smallest and yet largest smile Jessamy had ever seen upon the immortal’s face.

“ My Raven .” Dream whispered. The words cracked strangely.

Jessamy shivered.

Dream rose to his knees, his long pale fingers reaching out to Jessamy on the other side of the glass.

She jumped back into the still air slamming her body to the glass, gaze fixed on the small crack she had made not so long and yet forever ago.

“The circle” her Lord’s voice was weaker but the intensity in his gaze was stronger as they flickered from Jessamy to the ground.

She followed his gaze and for the first time noticed the golden circle filled with unfamiliar runes that had been camouflaged by the gloom and her own focus on the glass prison. She had not noticed it before. She wished she had.

She tucked her wings in, dropping like a stone to the cold stone floor. She landed a little clumsily in her eagerness. She did not waste a single moment. Talons, beak, and wings tore and beat at those golden lines. Scratching thin groves through the magic spell and leaving a dusting of gold upon her feathers.

With each scratch she felt the whispers of the Dreaming go louder and she felt stronger.

It had been hardly a few moments of a struggle before…

“ Stop,” Her Lord commanded.

Jessamy froze, one foot still off the ground from where she’d been scratching at the lines of the trap. She looked up questioningly to her lord but his gaze was not on her.

Jessamy slowly lowered her leg as she turned her head to see what it was that held her Lord’s gaze.

Alex Burgess stood on the other side of the still water seperating them his eyes filled with horror and terror as his gaze flickered from Jessamy up to her Lord’s dark gaze.

The human trembled before the unbridled hate and anger directed upon him from the endless being.

Alex Burgess took a hesitant step back. 

Jessamy thought the boy’s reaction was like a rabbit trapped before a wolf. Burgess knew this was not a being he could overcome or flee from.

Fear, resignation, and acceptance. They flickered in Alex Burgess’s blue eyes.

The man didn’t say anything. He only let out the smallest sigh of resignation before he turned away. 

He did not beg for his life nor for mercy. Perhaps he recognized the futility of such a course of action.

The human merely left.

Jessamy watched the boy leave. Bang. The sound of a gunshot from four months earlier echoed in her mind. She wondered if things had gone differently had the boy not missed. Had she died. Would her Lord have remained trapped here?

They were alone again. Her Lord and I.

Jessamy glanced down to the now broken golden circle and the empty doorway.

“The boy…what will you do to him?” Jessamy asked. Alex Burgess had tried to kill her, but beyond that he had not played a part in trapping her lord here. 

Morpheus said nothing. A pale hand reached out, index finger pressing against the small crack, and the glass fractured. Spiderwebs of white crawled along the smooth surface like frozen ice breaking.

Jessamy hopped backwards.

A moment later there was a great shattering of glass. Jessamy raised her wings to shield herself but the action proved unnecessary as not a single fragment came close to her.

Smoke and dark light poured out of the prison as her King leapt out with the grace of a lion. Pale feet met cold stone and walked across sharp glass with little concern. For the broken glass could not harm him.

There was the sound of a soft inhalation of breath. “He tried to kill you.” 

There was a strange undercurrent of rage to the voice that Jessamy had never heard before. She dared to glance up but her Lord’s face was as expressionless as it ever was. Beyond the strange almost blue glow to his gaze Jessamy could glean nothing of her Lord’s thoughts.

“It was his father’s orders.” Jessamy pointed out.

“It matters not.” Dream rose to his full height. His form seemed to flicker, the darkness reaching for him, flexing around him.

“He might have come down here to free you.” Jessamy had seen no gun in the child’s hands this time. Her rage had always been directed to the older Roderick Burgess, the one who had captured her Lord, never to his son and yet strangely she felt her King felt a greater anger to the boy.

“He did not.” Dream said it with certainty. “He feared me too much.”

Jessamy hesitated unsure if it was her place to speak further but there had been such defeat in Alex Burgess’s gaze she felt she should try. “He did nothing.” She murmured before shivering as dark eyes fixed upon her with such rage. It was not directed at her and yet she felt cowed from it just the same. In that moment she felt pity for the young Burgess.

“He did nothing? He stood aside even when he knew something was wrong. That is precisely his sin.” The King of Nightmare’s voice was soft but filled with condemnation. 

Jessamy knew not to say any more on this topic.

Her Lord had judged him guilty. It was clear there was nothing she could say to convince him otherwise.

His dark gaze shifted, becoming almost…gentle as he stared at her for several long moments. He raised his arm and Jessamy did not hesitate to flap up to rest upon it.

She felt the familiar electrifying thrum of power beneath her feet as she held onto her King gently. 

“You did well.” Morpheus stated.

Jessamy fought the urge to preen at the praise, so rare, from her lord.

The pride she felt evaporated with a thought as she recalled her earlier failure. “My Lord. I must confess that I have failed you. I could not free you earlier and your tools were stolen under my eyes.”

“The woman.” Morpheus took a shuddering breath. “Yes. Burgess said so. It was no fault of your own. I will retrieve them shortly. You did well.”

The repeated praise had Jessamy blinking in surprise. She’d expected some anger for her failure, but Morpheus seemed far less concerned with his tools than she’d have thought. 

“But first I will deal with matters here.” The cold words sent a trill of fear through her as she knew that Alex Burgess and the guards would be facing her King’s judgment. 

“Return to the Dreaming. Tell Luciene to prepare for my arrival.”

He wanted her to leave him? Jessamy hesitated. They had just been reunited to leave him so soon it seemed wrong. And he was weakened. She was certain of this even if his gaze was as imperial and cold as ever.

“My Lord…” She began hesitantly. She didn’t want to leave his side. She knew he was strong. She knew as he was the mortals were no threat to him. And yet…

“You do not need to see this.” Morpheus said firmly. “ Leave me .” There was only cool command in his final words.

Jessamy obeyed. She did not wish to and yet he was her liege. Her wings beat at the air for a moment gazing at the pale impassive face and the fiercely burning eyes.

She turned away. It almost hurt as she felt the world shifting around her. The waking world gave way to the familiar memory of the world of Dreams. The winds caressed her in welcome and the world almost seemed to rejoice at her return. The soft humm of the familiar power hummed beneath her feathers and as she soared to the majestic castle a gentle voice whispered to her.

“Jessamy… thank you. ”

The quiet words chased her into the Dreaming.

Chapter Text

He felt her departure and her arrival like the soft brush of feathers on skin as she left the world of the waking and entered his domain. The Dreaming whispered to him, coiling around him, eager to welcome him back. He could feel it once more, the buzz of so many minds connected to him in dreams and nightmares. The soft croon of his domain was a calming lullaby that he did not yet acknowledge, that he refused to allow to soothe the rage and hatred currently coursing through him.

He could feel the strange stirring of wakefulness at the edges of his eyes tugging them open as thousands of dreamers who had been trapped in the Dreaming too long, trapped as he had been in his prison of steel and glass, blinked open sleep crusted eyes to shouts of alarm and shock.

He could feel the strange ruin that thad crept upon his kingdom while he was trapped, he felt it in the weakness in his limbs, and the worry in his heart. There was much work to be done. His world had changed and he needed to investigate just how. 

Recovering his vestments was another priority but he did not yet know the location of Burgess’s mistress. That would change. When darkness fell and the woman slipped into his domain he would find her and take back what was stolen from him.

But not yet. First there was another matter to take care of. 

Vengeance. For the ones who had hurt the dreamers and his kingdom so. For the ones who had chained him to this world in a prison of frozen sand and cold steel, imprisoning him in some cage to be watched like some animal.

Bang. 

He flinched at the sound that echoed through him, the memory, that had overlayed itself upon the present just moments ago and haunted him still. Alex Burgess stood before the doorway gun in hand and aimed at his raven. Or rather that had been the vision he had seen when he’d noticed once more the child at the entryway with his raven preoccupied with rescuing him.

It was that which had commanded them to stop.

It was that which had sent a trill of fear through him greater than any he’d felt even when he’d woken to the realization of his own captivity.

He’d sent Jessamy away because of that fear. As long as his raven lingered here she was vulnerable. She was not Endless like him. 

And Dream could not bear to see his small symbol of hope fall. Not after all she had done for him. Not after she had stayed by him so long.

The Dreaming was safe. There were none who would dare harm his loyal raven there. 

And sweet Jessamy did not need to see as he tore apart the mind of the one that had attempted to take that which was his. His hope.  

She wouldn’t like to see him hurt the boy. Her cautious argument in defense of the child had made that clear.

And yet this vengeance was what he had dreamed of in the dark loneliness of the past decade. The death of Roderick Burgess could not appease that hunger. He would not let this feeling slip away.

And so now he would hunt.

The darkness embraced him at his call. Shadows rising up to clothes him, rejoicing in his presence as he reached out. The quiet purr of billions of minds caressed his consciousness, echoing so many dreams and nightmares awaiting his command. They poured into him, through him, almost painful because of the decade of disconnect.    

A part of him relaxed and then the realization truly hit him. He was free. 

There was the cool press of uneven stone beneath his feet, the caress of a stale breeze coming from the open doorway, and he was breathing again.

He’d had no need to breathe, no point to it when there had been no air in his cage. And yet now his chest rose and fell in gentle unnecessary movements that seemed to fill him as he tasted the fragments of the waking world inside him. 

He felt the oddest impulse to laugh. He did not know the last time he had done so. If he’d ever done so.

But the freedom was intoxicating, swirling in his mind with a heady sense of Delirium. A gift of his sister perhaps, an overexcited welcome and cheerful joy to see him free once more.

Or perhaps that was just his imagination. It was hard to guess Delirium's thoughts.

What he could feel was Death’s power. It hovered over the manor, fading away slowly. It seemed Roderick Burgess had already left this plane. He could not chase the mortal into his sister’s domain for a reason so foolish as vengeance. Even the Endless could not venture safely into Death’s domain without her guidance.

The world had changed. He could feel it. 

He himself had changed. He knew that too. 

Never had he felt such hate and bitterness. 

He reached out to those fearful minds and jumbled thoughts near him and he wrenched their consciousness into his domain.

There was a brief burst of dizziness, of weakness, that accompanied the action. His power was greatly depleted, both by time and the loss of his own tools. He should return to his domain.

But not yet.

Like a prowling wolf he stalked forwards slipping first into the minds of the guards. 

The men and women who had stood by and merely watched. Worse. Had been paid to merely watch him. They had never lifted a hand to attempt to aid him even in a situation they knew to be wrong.

They were little more than soldiers, puppets, following the will of another. His anger was focused less on them but at the same time they were not innocent. 

He could feel gaping holes in the Dreaming from minds who had died in his realm, in a strange state not at all peaceful, their escape cut off from them, trapped as he had been, their consciousness had torn at the Dreaming in a futile effort to return to the waking world. In the end their life, their consciousness, had fizzled away, not meant to permanently live in his kingdom. Their death had not been the peaceful end sometimes granted by his realm where his sister would enter to collect their beings and sweep them away. These were deaths, sufferings, that should not have happened.

And the guards had played some part of it. So he trapped them in his realm, listening, watching and yet unable to do a thing, but remain where they were. And he commanded his nightmares to come watch, to jeer, and to look upon his jailors in their prison of glass and steel that he had created for them. 

And he left them there. In a decade's time they might awake from their nightmares. If they survived that long.

He slipped into the last dream of those he wished to condemn. Savoring the way the energy whispered to him, the dream was malleable, ready to be molded by his hands. He had saved the best for last.

He prowled forwards on soft paws. He was powerful. Almost. Lean muscles shifting in perfection with each pace under silky fur. He guided Alex Burgess like a lamb to slaughter. 

Then he conjured forth his throne to sit in it and mettle out his judgment. As the Burgess youth cowered before him Morpheus paused.

Blinked.

He had not decided Burgess's fate. He had dreamed of it. So many pretty twisted fantasies to keep him occupied over the decade. Until four month ago however, all these had been directed at the late Magus.  

And then…

Bang.

Dream flinched.

Jessamy lives. He reminded himself even as that horrible nightmare continued to torment him.

His first plans for the younger Burgess had been a swift end. Like the bite of a bullet. Allowing his nightmares to tear the boy apart. Later his plans had been to trap him in eternal sleep for the remaining duration of the child’s life. It was both less and more cruel than the fate of the guards. It seemed right.

But Jessamy would not want that. It was Jessamy that the child had attempted to hurt. And his Raven had made it clear with her words that she did not resent the human for it. 

Dream considered the trembling fearful human before him.

In the end Alex Burgess’s greatest crime was cowardiance, a fear instilled in him by his father, a fear he had learned to bow to since childhood. A shackle and cage nearly as powerful as the one that had held Dream for the past decade. But Alex Burgess had broken free in the moment he stood against his father and in the moment he had not allowed that fear to consume him as he turned away. As he allowed Dream and Jessamy to leave even knowing he would suffer for it.

Dream clenched his fist as he rose. His next words were soft, nearly empty even as fury continued to burn in his eyes.

“You may live your life. Not because I forgive you, I do not and never shall, but because Jessamy wished it.” 

The boy’s eyes widened in surprise and disbelief.

Dream took a shaky breath. “But from this day forth you are mine. When you leave this mortal plane, it is not my sister who shall take you but I. I will summon you to my side. You will become one of my Ravens. You will serve your penance for your crimes to me and my realm. Someday you will face Jessamy again and when you do I suggest you thank her for your pathetic existence.”

He turned away. From the man and the dream.

He dared not look back for the certainty that should he do so he would be unable to curb his anger. Instead he tugged at the dream around him, drawing energy from it.

And then he reached out to that alluring lullaby echoing through him and succumbed to its pull.

When his eyes blinked open once more it was to the soft comforting embrace of golden sand and the triumphant song echoing through him. He was home.

Chapter Text

As she soared over the golden sands and lush fields of green to the colossal castle crafted of dreams and nightmares Jessamy observed the devastation and ruin beneath her.

The Dreaming had suffered greatly in her Lord’s absence.

There were patches of gray wilting forests, areas that were slowly being reclaimed by golden sand, the walls stood tall still but the stone had cracks within it, small but noticeable. It was also impossible to miss the quietness of the place. As Jessamy soared over familiar haunts and houses it became even more obvious that many of the denizens of the Dreaming were missing. Had they left?

She rode the eager winds that guided her to the palace, the strange seat of her Lord’s power. Her own wings beating quickly in a building excitement.

Home. She was home. 

It had been more than ten years since she’d last flown through these dark halls. Drifting from shadows and through doorways that existed where they should not. 

The library was the same. Carefully maintained in a way that could only mean that its administrator remained.

She twisted around rows upon rows of bookshelves dancing past shelves filled with heavy tomes that sprung from the walls, floor, and even ceiling. It was beautiful in its chaos. A billion stories and dreams recorded in the great halls. 

And then she turned the corner to a familiar figure bent over as they poured furiously over a book.

Jessamy let out a loud caw of greeting.

Lucienne whipped around, coattails flapping in the motion, and the librarian looked up.

“Jessamy!?” Her name was uttered as both an exclamation of shock and a question of hope.

“Lucienne!” Jessamy exclaimed, unable to hide her joy at seeing her familiar friend.

“You have returned!” The wide smile on her friend’s face brought a great gust of happiness and calm to Jessamy. She flapped down to land upon the table beside the book Luciene had been reading, the large tome now cast aside as Lucienne fixed all her rapt attention upon Jessamy.

“Where have you been? I had feared…Our Lord is he well? Are you well?” Lucienne’s gaze was searching as she reached out gentle fingers to gently brush Jessamy’s feathers as if reassuring herself this was real and not an errant dream.

Jessamy cut off the stream of words that escaped the Librarian’s mouth. “I am well.” Was she? Jessamy wasn’t quite certain. Physically she was unharmed so what she said was no lie. She didn’t allow herself to contemplate just what the word well entailed too long because that would mean acknowledging her own feelings of guilt and helplessness that her Lord had been trapped so long. Instead she quickly shifted her attention to her response to the next question. 

“Lord Morpheus is….” She stumbled over her own response. Physically he had appeared diminished from his time in captivity and his physical form was merely his personification of his self. That he appeared diminished, that he appeared so weak did not bode well. He had been held captive like some animal for more than a decade. Then there had been the strange emotions and rage she had glimpsed in her lord as well as the almost uncharacteristic praise. Her Lord was most certainly not by any definition of the word well. “Alive.” She finished lamely after a moment of hesitation. A moment later she felt rather silly with the choice of word because of course Dream was alive, he was an Endless, and immortal personification of Dreams and Nightmares he couldn’t die. 

Lucienne’s lips thinned at Jessamy’s response. Her gaze flickered with concern.

“Our king sent me ahead to prepare for his arrival.” Jessamy hurried onwards. “He should be returning shortly. He is merely…tying loose ends.” Jessamy tore her thoughts away from the vision that flashed before her gaze of a fearful child holding up a gun with its barrel still smoking. 

“He is returning.” Lucienne breathed. She tilted her head back and smiled. “That is good news. Already the Dreaming seems to be faring better.” 

“It has changed.” Jessamy spoke slowly. Her words are almost a question.

Lucienne smile slid away and she sighed wearily. “I’ve been trying to maintain order, but without Morhpheus it has been hard. Many have feared that we had been abandoned like the Prodigal. And then a year ago Gault and Fiddler’s Green went missing. Since then the realm has been fracturing even quicker. I had feared-” Lucienne stopped and shook her head. “But when Morpheus returns I am certain they shall also return. Could you tell me what has happened to you while you have been away from the Dreaming?”

Jessamy hesitated. She was uncertain if it was her place to tell what had transpired in the past ten years. To talk of her Lord’s imprisonment without his consent. She was certain he would not be pleased. 

But Lucienne was loyal and the most intelligent being Jessamy knew and Jessamy was certain that Dream would need the Librarian’s aid and support going forwards. It would be necessary to rebuild the kingdom and find its denizens. If Lucienne could understand what had happened she would know better how to approach her Lord. And Jessamy thought Morpheus would need his ally.

Morpheus had sent her to prepare for his arrival. The truth was a necessary part of this preparation. At least she hoped Lord Morpheus would understand this reasoning.

She started slowly, haltingly, beginning with cornering the Corinthian before being dragged away with old magic and then Dream’s entrapment. The next ten years she swept over because essentially nothing had occurred. She couldn’t help the frustration from entering her story as she spoke of her failed attempt and then finally her success.

Lucienne was silent throughout though her expression shifted from surprise at the Lord’s entrapment, to rage at his captivity and the situation, and then to sorrow. 

Jessamy had only just finished “and then he commanded me to return to the Dreaming” when the very Dreaming seemed to shudder, the air going still, the ground trembling, and then with a soft exhalation it calmed. But Jessamy could feel the way her very blood danced. Dream had returned.

It was impossible to not know where the Lord was in the Dreaming as the very place seemed to revolve around him. 

Lucienne straightened, brushing her hands down her jacket to ensure her attire was unwrinkled, and then the Librarian took a step forward. It was not too dissimilar to walking through a doorway, a single step and she was somewhere else entirely. Jessamy followed the Librarian. A single flap and she was by her Lord’s side as Lucienne ran beside her.

“Sir!” Lucienne exclaimed in fear and worry.

Jessamy’s heart skipped a beat at the terrifying sight of her Lord lying immobile in the dark sands.

She landed beside him in a spray of black sand cawing her fear and worry.

“Sir! Oh my goodness.” Lucienne reached out with careful hands to turn Dream’s still form to look upon his face. “It’s me.”

Morpheus’s eyes flickered open, the Dream Lord moved sluggishly. Hand reaching out towards Lucienne.

“It’s Lucienne.” The Librarian carefully clasped the Dream Lord’s hand.

“Lucienne.” Dream breathed. And impossibly he smiled.

That expression of joy on his normally impassive face sent alarm through Jessamy.

“You’re home. My Lord.”

“I am.”

Dream’s head turned slightly to Jessamy. Offering another too bright smile as Lucienne helped him to his feet.

Dream turned walking slowly but with sure footsteps through the sand towards the large gates to his kingdom. Lucienne and Jessamy followed behind him.

Dream raised his hand and at his command the enormous gates opened to reveal the diminished kingdom beyond it.

“Forgive me sir. But the realm…the palace…they are not as you left them.”

 Dream turned away from the sight before him to Lucienne. “What happened here? Who did this?”

Lucienne spoke “My lord you are the dreaming the dreaming is you. With you gone the realm began to decay and crumble.”

“And the residents? The palace staff?” Dream was already aware of their absence. How could he not be when he was this very world?

“I'm afraid most have… gone.”

“Gone?” Dream repeated. A slow flickering light glinting in his eyes. 

“Some went looking for you.” Lucienne responded.

“And the others?” Dream asked his voice impossibly soft.

Jessamy trembled as she watched. She could almost feel the mounting fury.

Lucienne spoke only truth as with an unshaking resolve she continued to speak. “They thought perhaps you had grown weary of your duties …and.”

“What abandoned them? Had they so little faith in me?” True anger crossed his face now. “Do my own subjects not know me?”

“If I may sir. It would not be the first time one of the endless…”  

“Enough. I will not have dreams and nightmares prey on the waking world. I will bring them all back.” Dream stood tall as he once more faced his broken world. “I made this realm once Lucienne. I will make it again.”

He stepped forwards passed the gates and Jessamy took flight as she followed Morpheus and Lucienne.

Morpheus’s gaze was once more expressionless as they walked. The Dream King’s gaze however, flickered over the crumbling structures and gray grass. They made their way slowly to the castle, Lucienne and Jessamy two dark silent shadows to the fallen King.

Morpheus came to a sudden stop before the long stone bridge to his castle.

“She is here.” He straightened.

“Who?” Lucienne said with a blink.

“Ethel Cripps.” Dream turned to them. “I must retrieve my strength if I am to rebuild my realm. I must take back my vestments. She walks in my world now. I shall follow her back to the waking world through her dreams.” 

“I will accompany you.” Jessamy said with a respectful inclination of her head.

“No. You will remain here.” Her king’s words uttered without hesitation made her stomach turn uncomfortably.

As a raven it was hard to frown but she ruffled her feathers in agitation with the closest approximation her form allowed. “My Lord?” She asked in confusion. “I am your raven. Is it not my job to remain by your side?”

“Your presence will not be necessary.” Dream’s gaze was on the tossing oceans beside them. 

He planned to go alone? Jessamy swallowed with a suddenly dry throat. He would leave her behind?

“My Lord. This woman has been with the Magus the past four months. It is possible she may have learned magic. She could be dangerous.” Jessamy flared her wings nervously. Now wasn’t her place to speak, not when her Lord had already made his choice, but she couldn’t help seeing the vision of her Lord trapped in the cold and the dark, alone. She couldn’t let that happen. Not again. “I do not mind accompanying you.” In fact she wanted to. She had to.

She couldn’t just stay here.

Dream turned to her with brightly blazing eyes.

“You are not to follow me. That is an order.” There was a strange sharpness to his words and when he looked at her there was the shine of stars in his dark gaze.

Jessamy shivered before flaring her wings and ducking her head in the raven equivalent of a bow. “As my lord commands.” She murmured as she tried to push down at the panic building in her chest. 

Lucien glanced from Dream to Jessamy and then back to Dream. Her gaze was thoughtful. “Would you like me to send a different raven to accompany you?”

“No. That is not necessary. Jessamy is my raven but she is not needed for this errand.” Dream said firmly. “I will return shortly.”

Had he not said similar words ten years ago? Before the two of them ended up lingering in the waking world for so long?

So desperately she wished to say something, to follow him, but her orders were clear. But they felt wrong. This wasn’t like the order to return to the Dreaming. It felt like he was telling she could not help him.

She was meant to be his companion. To serve him. This felt like being cast aside. It felt like the bitter taste of failure. Was she meant to wait here for him? To be unable to do a thing? She felt hopeless. 

“Lucienne, watch over Jessamy.” There was a command and also a threat in Dream’s voice.

And then the shadows and sand rose up around him, encircling him for a moment before falling away. And Dream was gone.

Jessamy hesitated. “Do you think I did something wrong?” She asked the librarian softly, her wings hunching up around her. 

“I am certain you did not.” Lucienne said firmly. 

“Then why will he not let me accompany him? Why ask you to watch over me? Does he not trust me to follow his orders?” She couldn’t help feeling miserable.

Lucienne reached out and gently scooped Jessamy into her hands.

“I am certain that is not it. You remained with him for ten years. It isn’t a lack of trust. That is not it. It cannot be that.” Lucienne exhaled. “Our king has changed.”

So Lucienne had noticed the change too. 

Ten years was both an eternity and a blink of an eye for one such as her lord. But ten years being trapped in the dark, cold and alone could change anyone.

“Am I meant to just wait here instead?” Jessamy didn’t want that. To do absolutely nothing.

“Come. You can accompany me in trying to track down some of our residents. I am certain now that Morpheus has returned so too will they.” Lucienne placed Jessamy upon her shoulder as she began crossing the bridge.

The residents. Jessamy could be of help to the Dreaming even if she could not watch her King. If the residents returned the realm would strengthen as would her King. 

She smoothed out her feathers quickly with her beak.

“I can search for Fiddler’s Green!” There. A purpose. She could be of help. She would not fail her Lord again. Would not wait for ten years that amounted to nothing. “I will not be long. An hour perhaps two. I doubt Morpheus will notice my absence.”

Lucienne came to a halt. “Are you certain that is wise?”

Wise? Probably not. But she had spent the last nearly ten years practically helpless, unable to free her lord. Morpheus was free now but remaining still, the thought of doing nothing, evoked the same sense of helplessness. She refused to accept this feeling. So she would keep busy. As a raven she could travel to the waking realm. She could help in this search. 

Gault and the Corinthian were nightmares, and since they had fled the Dreaming there was a very real possibility they would not take kindly to her presence should she find them, they could be dangerous. But not Fiddler’s Green. Fiddler’s Green was always a gentle being who would never harm another. She could find him and encourage him to return. Of course finding Fiddler’s Green was like finding a needle in the haystack, the world was vast and she had only a few hours to search, but at least she would be doing something.

“Yes. I will begin the search for Fiddler’s Green.” Jessamy said firmly.

“Jessamy. I do not believe that would be wise.” Lucienne shook her head. “Our Lord ordered me to watch you and while you are in the waking world you will not have Dream’s protection.”

“I will be careful.” She would not be disobeying Dream’s command. She wasn’t following him and she had remained after he left. Not long but she had remained. Now she would go out and help her Lord however she could. Her course decided the panic, fear, and worry that had been bubbling away inside her gave way to determination. She would help.

With a flap of her wings she leapt from Lucienne’s shoulder.

“Jessamy wait!” Lucienne called out

But Jessamy was already soaring away. The skies of the Dreaming gave way to the dark clouds and night sky of the waking world.

Chapter Text

The small house was dark and quiet, its occupant oblivious to his presence as they walked through dreams in his realm. 

Dream took a moment of calm to observe the house and the woman.

The house was spacious from what he could conjecture based on the size of the room. It was also strangely large and empty. It was as if its inhabitant had just moved in, the mess of living localized around several packs strewed around the bed. He saw no magical circles, amulets, traps, or other tools that hinted of the woman possessing dangerous knowledge of the arcane that could harm him but he did not try his chances by foolishly seeking out danger. 

While he might be tempted to search for his vestments he also was not eager to test the cunning of the human before him who had succeeded in deceiving Roderick Burgess. He was certain that while not visible the woman had some sort of protection for surely she suspected that if not him, the Burgess estate would be searching for her due to her theft.

The woman in question herself slept peacefully for the moment, shrouded in the comforts of his world, but that could change with the flick of a finger if he so wished it. But not yet.

Ethel Cripps’s chest rose in the deep steady breaths of sleep. Burgess’s mistress clutched with one hand at the thin summer sheets she lay wrapped in while the other hand held a chain of some sort hung from her neck. Her form illuminated from beams of moonlight drifting in through an open window. She was pale, but healthy. As was the second life just beginning within her. 

Roderick Burgess’s child no doubt. The thought brought a bitter taste to his mouth, but the child was innocent of his father’s crimes. Not like a certain other son of Roderick Burgess, the thought of whom filled him once more with rage. He pushed it aside, remembering Jessamy’s soft pleas for the boy.

He had to focus. He would retrieve his vestments, hunt down the citizens of his realm and ensure their return, and then rebuild. 

He took a deep breath that he had no need of. It would be over soon. Then he would return to the Dreaming, to Jessamy, and the pleasant hopes of sleeping minds. 

“ Wake ” He commanded the mortal, his voice echoing in two worlds.

With a soft gasp Ethel Cripps shot upright in her bed.

The woman immediately spotted him, but then Dream had done nothing to conceal his presence as he stood over her. 

“It’s you!” Her words came out strangled. A confirmation to the fact that she knew who he was, that she had been aware of what her lover had trapped in the basement. And she had not lifted a finger to help him. 

Dream wondered if he should resent her for that but found he could not. It was clear she thought him some terrible monster even while she basked in the honeyed softness of sweet dreams that came from his realm. It made sense that a monster was meant to be caged and Ethel Cripps had never actually laid eyes upon him before.  

“I have come for that which is mine.” Dream stared at the woman. 

He watched a multitude of expressions flash across her face. Terror, anger, sadness, expectation, and maybe the smallest sliver of hope. Her fingers tightened upon her necklace, holding it like a lifeline.

The woman shook as she slowly stood. “What happened to Roderick Burgess?”

“Dead.” Dream said impassively. Hiding the turmoil and rage within that the man had escaped Dream’s grasp in entering his sister’s realm.

The woman flinched.

“Though not by my hand.” Dream admitted. “He escaped my vengeance. Had he lived his death would have come to him far slower.”

Ethel Cripps took a deep breath, steeling her nerves. “Have you come to kill me?” She asked.

“Death is my sister’s domain not my own.” Dream tilted his head in a way he knew would catch the moonlight and give him an ethereal glow. “But that does not mean I cannot invite great suffering upon you.”

Ethel Cripps stood taller. Her hand moved, removing the chain still clasped in her hands, she brought it up so that Dream could see it, shifting her fingers.

“This is-”

“The Amulet of Protection” Dream said, lowering his head slightly to inspect it. He did not doubt its authenticity and this confirmed his suspicion that the woman was not unprotected.

“With this you cannot harm me. I am protected.” The woman stated.

“It will protect you.” Dream acknowledged. “I cannot harm you while you are in possession of the amulet. But I need not physically attack you to bring you suffering. Return my vestments to me or you shall never know another night of peaceful sleep. You will be plagued by nightmares for the entirety of your brief mortal life.”

“If I do you will leave me alone? You won’t punish me?” The woman shook her head, already mistakenly certain of his intentions. She truly believed him a monster. 

“You were not the one to trap me in this world, you may have stolen my vestments and yet you did not steal them from me. So yes. Return to me what is mine and I will let you and the innocent babe inside you live. I shall not haunt your dreams nor attempt to harm you. I give you my word.”

The woman blinked rapidly. “What?” She breathed in surprise.

Dream stared at the woman in slight puzzlement trying to deduce what of his words had not been clear.

“The babe?” Ethel Cripps stammered with wide eyes and a panicked expression.

Had she not known? Dream tilted his head. He supposed the life growing inside her was still quite young. “You are with child.” He stated uncaringly.

The woman before him let out a strangled gasp. She stumbled back, a hand reaching to her stomach.

Dream allowed the woman a minute to come to terms with her own situation, waiting for her to make her choice.

“I want to.” Ethel Cripps murdered. “I would return them. If I could. But I can’t.” Her gaze was teary.

Anger flared in Dream, but he smothered it swiftly, forcing his rage down as he continued to listen.

“The ruby” The woman took a deep breath. “I have it. I will give it back. If you let me…us…go. But I don’t have the helmet or the sand. Not anymore. I sold the sand and I traded the helm away for the amulet.” Her words trembled as her gaze rose to meet her own.

There were no lies in her eyes that Dream could observe. 

The anger surged within him once more that she would barter away what had never truly been hers.

“To whom did you sell the sand and trade my helm?”

“I…” Ethel Cripps hesitated. “I sold the sand at the London Market. I was selling a few of my other belongings as well. I had intended to buy fare to flee to America to escape the Magus but I suppose if you are here that is no longer necessary. I do not know the woman’s full name but she introduced herself as Constantine and seemed to recognize your sand.”

Lady Johana Constantine? Dream pushed away the flicker of annoyance that name evoked. He would have been glad to have never had to deal with that particular human again but if nothing else the woman had a healthy appreciation for his power and would likely return the sand to him. Though he suspected their encounter would be quite troublesome. 

“And my helm?”

“Traded away.” The woman repeated as she averted her eyes.

“ To whom?” He demanded.

“A demon.” The woman wrung her hands fearfully.

Hell. This meant his crown was in Hell. 

Dream took a deep breath to maintain calm. He pushed his feelings on the matter far away for the moment. “Do you have a name for the demon who you traded it with?”

“Choronzon.” The woman responded quickly.

“And my ruby?” 

Ethel Cripps hesitated. “If I give them to you will you let me go?”

Dream considered his response for a moment before replying. “Yes.”

The woman stumbled over herself as she hurried to a cabinet which opened to a safe. She fiddled with it for several moments, shaking so much that it took her three attempts to open it. A moment later and she opened it revealing his brightly glistening ruby.

Dream stepped forward and the woman moved out of his path.

“I… will we be safe?” The woman begged for confirmation.

“Your dreams and your lives are your own.”

He took his ruby placing it on its rightful place on his neck a dark cloak formed around him at his command. He turned away from the woman. He had got what he could from her. Attacking her would only bring harm to him and there was no reason to twist her dreams when her transgressions were not truly intended against him. 

If anything, though not intentional, the woman’s actions had aided in freeing him. Her theft had given Jessamy her opportunity to save him. He was not ungrateful. The woman would live as would her child. Her dreams, whether pleasant or less so, would be guided by her own slumbering thoughts. 

A good portion of his own power had been recovered with his ruby. Next he would search out Constantine and retrieve his sand. 

The sound of flapping wings from the open window drew his attention. His heart leapt inside him as fear and hope snapped his attention to the window.

The dark form of a crow winged past.

It was not Jessamy. 

Though in the darkness of the night for a moment it had looked like Jessamy, but it could not be for Jessamy should be in the Dreaming. She was safe. There was no cause for worry.

Dream reached out. Searching for a different slumbering mind. He found it. Johana Constantine’s rest was uneasy, haunted by her past.  The shadows rose above him.

As the darkness engulfed him he could not help but wonder.

What did it say of him that the simple sound of the flapping of wings evoked such hope and fear within him?

Chapter Text

There was something both incredibly insulting and amusing in being pelted with small bits of bread.

“Here birdy!” The young child called out her hazel eyes fixed on Jessamy. The kid’s pigtails swayed in the gentle night breeze and the child’s face was full of youthful cheer as she tossed bits of bread at Jessamy and the small army of pigeons that was quickly assembling in the park. The mother looked on with a smile from where she was seated on the bench, hands clasped with those of an older man, and head leaning on the man’s shoulder.

Jessamy perched upon the rim of the park fountain, letting the cool water lap at her feet and the night chill soothe her burning muscles. A quick break. She needed one before she would resume her search for Fiddler’s Green.

Jessamy would not describe herself as plump but she had spent the better part of the last decade nearly stationary. Her flights had consisted of short trips around the Burgess Manor and she had never ventured far from the estate grounds, tethered to the area by her bound King. Her wings had gotten less exercise than they had in the past and so it made sense that these longer trips with greater duration in the air tired her quickly and made her muscles ache. 

The last hour had involved a near aimless search in which she’d flown from one side of London to the other without any real direction. She didn’t even truly know what it was she was searching for, a man or perhaps patch of green, but the burning ache in her wings was effective in pushing away the intrusive thoughts that whispered of failure and doubt.

Of course the very moment she acknowledged that, they returned as well as the guilt. The deterioration of the Dreaming felt like her fault, she had not freed Dream earlier, and people had died because of that. Lost forever in the world of the Dreaming until their lives and souls slipped away. And her Lord’s weakness and current mission was also her fault, for she had failed to stop Ethel Cripps from taking Morpheus’s vestments when she’d had the opportunity, if not knowledge, to do so.

It was her fault. All of it. Dream might not say it but he had to have thought it, why else would he leave her behind?

The thought brought the panicky guilt to the front once more and with a loud caw she took to the air, her wings beating furiously to carry her away from the disappointed child and her own guilty conscience. 

The next hour was spent once more flying around the city, peering through darkening windows at the sleeping form of the mortals, as the evening darkness gave way to full midnight. Time drifting by her unmarked and unheeding, she paid it little attention. The last thing she wanted to feel again was her own helplessness as all she could do was wait.

So she flew. Beating her wings against the empty night and cold darkness. Desperately she flew, her thoughts a frenzied mess of misery. 

She flew until she found herself in the exact same park as she had been what was now hours before, her wings trembling with exhaustion and barely capable of holding her aloft. She was too tired to even land properly. She only succeeded in slowing down enough that when she hit the cobblestones it was with more of a muffled thump that jarred her bones, but left her otherwise unhurt instead of a bleeding pile of muscle and feathers.

She didn’t bother to move. She was practically blind to the world with the overwhelming exhaustion that was consuming her. She merely lay on the blissfully cool stone breathing heavily, her wings flared around her in a mess of feathers.

She was unaware of the hurried footsteps that approached her. Of the shadow cast by the streetlights that loomed over her. Of the man that crouched down, hands reaching for her.

But she snapped to awareness as she felt warm fingers scoop her up and her very blood felt the strange power in those hands. 

Jessamy was a creature of the Dreaming and she could sense the strange power in the grip that held her. A power that could not possibly belong to a mortal.

She panicked. She lashed out, flaring her wings and writhing in an effort to get free.

“Whoa. It’s okay there birdy!” A man’s voice sounded near her. The words only caused her struggles to grow.

She spotted a small patch of pale flesh and without thinking lunged towards it. Her beak snapped out and she ripped into the finger. There was a spurt of blood, a pained cry and she was released.

She flapped quickly to a nearby tree perching upon a tall branch before turning to look at her attacker. 

“Bugger!” The man shouted a surprisingly outdated swear word as he brought the bleeding finger to his eyes to inspect the sharp gash Jessamy’s beak had left. From his pocket the man drew out a handkerchief, another slightly outdated action, that they wrapped around the bleeding appendage.

“Ill mannered bird, aren’tcha?” The man said, clicking his tongue and shooting Jessamy an annoyed glare. The man plopped down on a bench, free hand still holding the handkerchief as he attempted to stem the flow of blood from his injury. 

From the safety of the trees Jessamy shot the man a glare of her own. She smoothed out several ruffled feathers in an effort to calm herself. A bit calmer now she turned her dark eyes to inspect the man closely and she couldn’t help but feel the strange presence of power coming off him was a somewhat familiar one, she recalled a dark woman with a bright smile and silver ankh necklace around her neck. That woman had not been an enemy Jessamy felt this instinctively, but that did not mean the man could not be.

“I was just trying to help.” The man shook his head with exasperation. “Although I will admit I might have deserved that. It was kind of stupid just grabbing a bird wasn’t it?”

“It was.” Jessamy nodded. The shot of adrenaline had driven away her exhaustion leaving her wide awake as her heart raced in her chest.

The human’s mouth dropped open in shock and surprise. “You can talk?” He asked incredulously. The man reached up, uninjured hand slapping his cheeks as if to make sure he was awake.

Well she’d already spoken. She might as well keep going. “I can talk.”

The man stared at her with wide eyes. “I thought you were a crow or something but maybe are you a parrot? Are you someone’s pet? Hang on, I have a cracker somewhere I think.”

Now that was very insulting. At this point Jessamy was certain the man before her was not a magus or practitioner of magic like Burgess had been. Or if he was he was certainly the most dim witted one she’d ever met.

“I am not a parrot.” Jessamy snapped. She really probably should not be speaking to this mortal, but irritation at her own failure to find Fiddler’s Green and the wasted time as well as the man’s brazenness had her releasing some of the pent up frustration at the man. Besides it was not as if the man could really tell other humans about her speech without sounding demented. She puffed up, flaring her wings. “I am a raven.” She announced proudly.

“Huh.” The man shrugged. “You look more like a magpie.”

Jessamy clacked her beak loudly not voicing her threat and the half dozen insults that came to mind at his words.

“Ah. I didn’t intend it as an insult though I suppose it might have come across like that.”

“You do not seem as surprised as I thought you would be to see a talking bird.” Jessamy remarked.

“Well I knew a friend once who had a talking parrot. Though you do seem far more intelligent than that bird. The parrot mostly just shouted obscenities.” The man scratched at the small covering of stubble growing on his cheeks. “I’ve also seen some weird things. Don’t get me wrong. This is strange, but I’m not certain it would break my top ten weirdest moments.”

“Really? Not even the top ten in your mortal existence?” Jessamy eyed the human critically. “You have lived an odd life.”

“Heh. I suppose I have.” The man smiled fondly with eyes looking far away. “So what are you doing here little Raven? And what has you looking so gray?”

“I’m looking for someone.” She did not address the man’s second question.

“Oh? Anyone in particular? I happen to be rather well connected. Maybe I might know the person.”

“Have you seen, met or even heard of someone by the name of Fiddler’s Green?” Jessamy asked after a moment of hesitation.

“I can’t say I have.”

“Have there been any large fields of green or waterfalls that you know of that have appeared in the last year or so?” Jessamy asked.

The man blinked. “Not that I know or have heard of.”

Well it was worth a shot Jessamy sighed.

“I am looking for them.”

“Are they a friend?”

Was Fiddler’s Green a friend? They had always been friendly. Always welcoming her presence into their vast fields of lush green vegetation and bubbling waterfalls. And yet they had betrayed Morpheus by leaving the Dreaming.

“I suppose so. Maybe.”

“Anything else to go on? I can try helping you look.”

“Nothing.” Jessamy shook her head glumly.

“And do you know their rough whereabouts?”

“I am fairly certain he is somewhere in this world.” Jessamy responded.

Her answer brought a long pause to their conversation. “Now that is a rather odd answer. You do know this world is quite vast? With more than a billion people?” The man said it cautiously, not intending to offend.

“I know.” Jessamy fluttered over to perch on the top of the bench by the human. They were surprisingly easy to speak to, both patient and understanding in a way she had never seen before. The conversation and mix of adrenaline and exhaustion provided her the courage to approach the man.

“Well I can try asking around. I do know quite a lot of folks, more than a few owe me a favor, the perks of being a frequent patron at an inn.” The man chuckled. “Maybe they will know this Fiddler Green of yours.” 

“Thank you.” Jessamy said softly. “I knew this was likely pointless.” She admitted, ducking her head to avoid the man’s kind eyes.“But I couldn’t just stay where I was and do nothing. I know I am unlikely to find the one I am searching for but I had to do something.”

“To keep busy and not dwell in the past?” The man’s brown eyes were looking far away, lost in his own past. “I understand that feeling.”

And Jessamy got the sense that he did. Whatever sorrows or horrors the human had seen he knew well the need to flee from it all.

“I apologize for biting you.” Jessamy said solemnly.

The man chuckled. “Think nothing of it. I probably deserved it and I heal quickly. Doesn’t even hurt anymore.” He raised his hand removing the handkerchief to show his finger, the bleeding had stopped and the gash had already scabbed over. The rate of healing was unnaturally quick for a human.

Jessamy thought of asking him about his healing and the magic she’d sensed, but it somehow seemed rather rude, especially considering her attack when the man had only intended to help her as was now quite clear.

Instead she remained silent. The man too was quiet for a time gaze on the dark sky and shifting clouds.

“You know.” The man said after several peaceful minutes “I’ve found that there is a big difference between doing something and running away. And many times I’ve ended up running away when there was something I could have actually done to help. Both people who cared for me and tasks I could have done that I left behind.”

The man was hardly discreet as he glanced sideways at her, but she felt his words strike true and bury deep within her. She was running. From her misery and fear and guilt. Finding Fiddler’s Green was simply the flimsiest of excuses to hide this fact. But the truth was she hadn’t wanted to stay in the Dreaming, hadn’t wanted to see the damage her Lord’s absence had caused. She could have been useful even if she had not been by Morpheus’s side, could have helped Lucienne, instead she’d essentially run away.

She jumped down from the top of the bench to the sitting area so she could get a better view of the man. He looked ordinary for the most part. Dark hair, tanned skin, a rumpled suit, a serene expression and too-old eyes. He seemed wise beyond his years, or beyond mortal years. Through their brief conversation he had somehow achieved an uncanny understanding of Jessamy’s situation.

“You are a strange human.” Jessamy declared.

The man tilted back his head and guffawed. “Says the talking raven.”

Jessamy gave a soft caw , the raven equivalent to a chuckle.

They settled once more into a comfortable companionable silence.

It was interrupted however by a loud rumbling sound that emanated from the human.

Jessamy tilted her head as the man let out a sheepish laugh.

“I guess I’m hungry. Time for a Midnight snack, late night treat, or early breakfast munchies- whatever you may want to call it” the man shrugged. The man’s hands went to his suit coat, patting at the pockets. “I think I brought something.” 

Jessamy realized she had not eaten in some time now. At least not since last night, the night before her Lord had been freed. The human’s hunger only reminded her of her own.

“I do know I asked earlier but would you like a cracker?” 

There was no offense or belittlement in his voice. It was an honest question.

Jessamy hesitated, torn between her hunger and distrust in humans. What if the cracker was poisoned or this was an elaborate trap?

The man did not wait for Jessamy to respond, already removing from his pocket what looked more like a cookie wrapped in some plastic rather than a cracker. As she watched he unwrapped it and broke it in two, eating half and offering the other half to Jessamy. Cautiously she took it with one talon and tasted a small piece of it, now content in the knowledge it could not be poisoned.

It was some sugary baked good that tasted heavenly as it filled her stomach. 

“It’s more of a biscuit really.” The man said as he chewed. 

“Thank you.” Jessamy mumbled between bites as she proceeded to devour the offering. She cast a sideways glance at the man. “What are you doing out so late? I thought most humans were sleeping at this time.”

The man chuckled. “Couldn’t sleep. I have problems with sleeping sometimes. Too many thoughts and memories. I could have started on grading some of my papers but wasn’t really in the mood so I just went out for a late night walk around London.”

Jessamy inspected the man. “For your kindness I will ask my King to bless you with peaceful dreams.”

The man chuckled. “Your king? I was not aware ravens had kings. It sounds as if you have an interesting story. Would you tell me your tale?”

Jessamy considered the man’s request and then shook her head. She did not have the time for it. Her story would span several centuries and she had already been in this world several hours. She had to return to the Dreaming. She couldn’t keep running. 

“Not today. Perhaps another time. I must go.”

“So soon?” The man asked, sounding slightly disappointed.

“Thank you for your time. And the food. And the company.” Jessamy added the last bit after a moment. “It was nice talking to you.” She said honestly. She felt calmer now.

“And you.” The man returned. “May I ask your name?”

But Jessamy did not answer as she took to the sky flying higher and higher and then past the veil. She returned to her own world with the bitter sting of failure still there, but dulled by the momentary companionship she had shared with the human and the determination to help the Dreaming.

Alone on the bench now the man looked out at the slowly brightening sky, smiling softly at the tranquility of it all, and at his own strange encounter with the talking raven. 

He watched the sun rise fully from the horizons and the city begin to wake before he stood. He threw the plastic wrapper for the cookie into a bin and carefully folded his bloodstained handkerchief back into his pocket. 

He inspected his finger, scratching idly at the itchy scab which fell away to reveal nothing more than a pale silvery scar.

Humming cheerfully, the man turned and began the trek back to his home.

A half hour later the man stopped before a dark inn and removed his key from his pocket to open the door. 

Pausing before the doorway he remarked quietly to himself.

“Well if the Stranger ever makes an appearance again at least I’ll have something interesting to tell him. A talking Raven.” 

Hob smiled and shook his head. “I wonder if he’ll believe me.”