Work Text:
“Make way, make way! Make way for a message for His Majesty,” a loud, out of breath voice rang through the campground, alerting everyone. It was late in the afternoon, several hours after the last battle, both armies had returned to their bases by now, tending to their wounded, paying as much respect to those fallen as one could in field conditions.
The endless string of noise came to a halt as people heard the messenger calling to all of them. Soldiers stopped in their chatter, cut all the arguments, sparring pairs put down their swords and even the injured in the healer's tents went quiet. Everyone held their breath, full of expectations of what news the carrier was bringing to their King.
There in the middle of the camp was his tent, standing in stark contrast to all the others, completely black with only a ruby red border. No one was inside at the time, save for His Majesty himself, sitting on the throne, resting his head in his hand. While the last battle left no physical marks on him, the exhaustion from the long fight and the unending conflict weighed him down. Fighting his eyes to not close, his body yearned for rest and yet he knew there was none for him. He could barely bring himself to sleep here, mind too restless, dreams too haunting.
How ironic, he thought to himself more than once. Him, the one who bears the name of the Lord of Dreams and still he couldn't get one peaceful night. Heavy was the mind and heart of King Morpheus, and it would only grow heavier.
He raised his eyes as he heard the messenger stop in front of the tent, spotting their feet through the small slit in the opening. He could hear them catching their breath and wondered how dire the news was for them to run here as if they were being chased. Hope, he told himself, he had to hope it was good news. Hope was always the last to remain.
By the time his guards looked inside to ask him if they could let the messenger in, he straightened himself on the throne, looking as peaceful and regal as ever. He was the one who brought hope to his subjects, what would they do if they saw their King sulking, tired, and defeated. “You are meant to be there for them as much as they are here for you. They serve you, feed your country, give it life. It's your duty to nurture that life, to give them reason to keep going,” that was what Hob once told him during their late night talks.
“Your Majesty, an urgent message for you.”
“Let them in, We shall hear them out.”
……………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………
“You´d think a man of your name would have no trouble sleeping and yet here I meet you, night after night, but perhaps it's because your parents had upset the Gods by daring to name you as one of Them,” Hob quipped when he had found him on the balcony, overlooking the city beneath the castle.
He didn't give an answer to that, only a brief glance as the other leaned against the railing next to him, back turned to the outside world, nursing a half empty goblet of wine in his hand.
“Tis´ a beautiful night, can see why you´re admiring it. August sky, one of the prettiest there is,” Hob smiled as he looked up, silent for a moment as he watched the stars sparkle until one of them dashed in front of his eyes and disappeared on the horizon. “That reminds me of something.”
He didn't wait to be asked to tell the story, he started right away, the same way he had done ever since they started spending their nights together like this. Or to be exact, ever since he made it his job to find the King every evening, to see if he was about to fight another sleepless night. He was met with protests at first, but with time his company was silently accepted.
“My old man always told me that if you follow a fallen star, you will come across a treasure. No ordinary one, no simple gold and silver, no coins like at the end of the rainbow. There, somewhere in the field will be the star itself, bright as the sun itself and more beautiful than the finest gem in the whole land, with power to bring you luck as much as you´ll need in your whole life and beyond.
When I was a wee lad I chased after them, sitting on the roof long into the night, observing the sky, off to the fields each time one fell. I wanted to bring it home, make us rich, and keep all the bad things from happening. But I never found any…a shame. I always hoped to put it up in my room, make it into a night light.”
He'd look at Morpheus here and there while he spoke, pleased with himself when he spotted the faint quirk of his lips, amusement in his eyes.
“I was a simple-minded child, can hardly blame me for believing it. It was a beautiful lie. But it has taught me something, you can never wait for what you want to fall from the sky, you must work for it, always.
I mean look at me. Have it all now, good money, great food, folk back home are well. Even have my star light now, commissioned a lamp like it. Stained glass, it's a thing of beauty, throws colors on the bedroom walls when you light the candle inside. Free to come and have a look,” he said as his smile widened, mirth in his voice, little bit of teasing even.
“You´re forgetting yourself, Robert Gadling.”
“Am I? Merely offering my King to view what I have done with his money.”
No answer, yet the raise of Morpheus´ eyebrow was more than enough for Hob.
“I give it to you, hard to leave this view, have the starry night underneath your feet. Perhaps next time.” Clouded in the darkness of the night, with only candles shining in the windows of the houses, one could hardly tell where the land ended and the sky began. And that wasn't even the biggest beauty in front of Hob´s eyes, there were things finer than fallen stars.
“Perhaps.”
They stayed there and talked, one telling his stories as the other listened, until the cold of the early morning came, chilling their bones, chasing them inside of the castle just like many of the King´s dreamless nights before.
……………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………
As the messenger entered the tent, Morpheus felt the air thicken, feeling like lead in his lungs upon seeing the man´s face. He looked distraught, terribly so. Had the enemy captured some of their men, demanding money else blood would spill? Were they to storm their campgrounds with another attack or had the army turned their interest to unguarded land?
“Come forth, speak, We should like to hear what news you bear.”
“I am most deeply afraid it will not be to His Majesty´s liking. For I have brought news terribly grim from the very heart of the capital, from the castle itself. There had been an assassination attempt in the court, Your Lordship,” the man began after he knelt.
Faces flashed in front of his eyes, he held his breath as his fingers dug into the wood of the armrests, even if not deep enough for anyone to notice. He kept himself from becoming rigid.
“The assassin was caught and is now awaiting punishment until His Majesty returns but… Ser Robert Gadling, Your Majesty´s right hand man, he has fallen a victim to the murderer´s dagger.” As those words fell out of his mouth, Morpheus felt as if said dagger had been twisted into his heart, time frozen.
Heavy silence hung above their heads until he found the strength in his voice to speak.
“We thank you for your service. You shall eat and rest before returning to the city... you are now dismissed.”
……………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………
“Already spent hours over the map, you´ve gone over every option. Take your eyes off it, you´ll need your head clear, not full, on the verge of bursting.”
The heavy door to the war room creaked as Hob closed them behind himself, cutting the sounds from the courtyard which were till now reaching Morpheus´ ears. A constant reminder of what was to come.
“Your men are almost fully readied, merely waiting for their King.”
“And a King shall not make his men wait for nothing.”
So he had learned a lesson from his stories after all. Tales of a common man aiding the King with his rule. It pleased him immensely, being able to help even if in a roundabout way because Gods knew Morpheus would never ask for his wisdom directly. Though bold of his own self to call his life experience wisdom.
“I asked for your horse to be readied too, now only one is missing his armour here.”
He walked over to where the whole set lay, picking up the black gambeson first. He laughed the first time he had seen it, it was frankly ridiculous, the stubbornness of the man about the colour of his clothes. Now it worried him more than anything, the pitch black stood out like a sore thumb among the others. An easy target.
Stepping behind Morpheus, he held the gambeson open for him, waiting until he slipped his hands in before holding up one of its arms.
“One good thing about the colour I must say. You won't have to get it washed after, no blood will show up on it,” he hummed as he pulled a thread through the metal eyelets. He wasn't looking at his work, fingers all too familiar with this action, instead he kept gazing at his King.
He reminded him of a statue, still and solemn, silent. Beautiful work of craftsmanship yet looking at it brought him nothing but heartache.
After the second arm was put on, he stood in front of the other, slowly lacing up the front, bare inches between them while he worked. He smoothed the gambeson down once he fastened the last bit, lips curling up in a small smile, though there was no joy in his expression. He spared a moment to simply look into the other´s eyes, those endless deep eyes which reminded him of a stormy sea, eyes that reflected all the stars in the universe at night. Eyes he hoped to see again.
“You offend me, you should know that. Leaving for battle without me. Should I think you don't enjoy my company or that you have no faith in my swordsmanship?” he asked as he brought forth the chainmail, the slight smirk still on his lips.
“Tis´ none of that. There needs to be someone to care for the castle and people of the city. I lay that responsibility upon yours and Lucienne´s shoulders…for I trust you the most,” Morpheus answered, staying still as Hob gently gathered his hair, fixing it in a ponytail as to not get it caught in the chainmail. Fingers barely brushing against the cold pale skin, as they swept the silky locks.
“An honor and yet, shouldn't the right-hand man be by his King’s side?” Hob argued as he straightened the chainmail, the cuirass followed as the next layer.
Silence hung between them, Morpheus parted his lips to speak but had stopped himself at the last moment, realizing his words would only inflict pain. Instead he stood there, suppressing the shiver that threatened to run down his spine when he felt Hob´s warm breath on the skin of his neck, as the man fastened the leather straps on his back.
“I rather you remain here, guard the place so I have somewhere to return to.” Someone to come back to.
“You better return then; I'd hate to live in this damn castle alone.”
“I plan it no other way. We will meet here again, Robert Gadling.”
……………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………
He disappeared from the camp almost like a ghost, he felt that way too. Chilled to his very core, hollow and unfeeling at the same time, as if he had no body. Only his personal guards knew where he had gone, into the meadow behind their grounds. Both swore to give him privacy at his request.
His arms fell lax by his body as he walked through the high grass, fingers grazing it and yet it was as if his sense of touch had left him, barely registering any of it. Only flinching slightly when a lone rose bush pricked him.
Roses, Hob had brought him a few once, ruby red they were. He kept them, dried them even, they still hung on the wall of his bedroom to this day. But now he wasn´t sure if he would be able to bear to look at them anymore. But he would certainly not have the heart to get rid of them.
He stopped by a lone tree in the middle of the field, sunk to his knees, resting his body and face against the trunk. It was cold and so was the air and everything around him. Cold like his castle would now be once more.
Pressing his hand against the wood he screwed his eyes shut, a tremble taking over his body as he dug his fingers into the bark. A shaky breath, first tears spilling, running down his cheeks. They stung.
It was never meant to end like this. He selfishly kept Hob away from battle just for this reason, he had feared that here he could get hurt or captured, not even daring to think of the worst. And somehow Death had still slipped from his grasp, he’d failed to keep it away from the man.
“I´m sorry…my friend,” he whispered as he opened his eyes, gazing up to the darkened sky. Heavy gray clouds hung above his head, rain falling on the horizon and soon over the meadow as well. The sky itself wept for Robert Gadling and he cried with it.
……………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………
“Such a stunning face and still you are determined to keep it crumpled up with that perpetual frown of yours. Suspected you of not knowing how to smile for a while.”
He was teasing him again, and for some time now Morpheus suspected it to be a private game of Hob´s. The man curious what words would elicit a reaction.
“Reflects more on your poor ability to perform as a court jester.”
“Oh I was a wonderful jester when I first came here, had everyone laughing, everyone besides His Royal Grumpiness. But I learned what the problem is with you.”
Morpheus raised his eyebrow, finally looking up from the book he had been reading. Even here in the top floor of the library, tucked away in a corner by a window, Hob had managed to find him. He never failed, especially if the King was feeling gloomy, it was as if he could sense his mood.
“And what would that be?”
“You hide it, hide yourself, from others. From those in your court, from your people. A King who hates to be seen, seen for who he truly is on the inside…and I have found a way past the mask you wear.”
“You flatter yourself.” He sounded almost offended and somehow at the same time there was a hint of amusement in his voice.
“But I don't, no, no I don't think I do. I´ve seen you smile, you allowed me to. Allowed yourself a friend.”
Morpheus closed his book with a loud thud, shooting Hob a sharp glance. “A friend…a King needs no such thing.” He put the book away, rose from his chair, making a step to walk past the other and outside of the library, but Hob obstructed his way.
“Everyone needs a friend, mighty Kings and common men alike. And that much more they need a kindred soul when their head is heavy with that many responsibilities. I am merely offering you companionship; you don't have to walk the path of your life always alone.”
“You think yourself capable of that? A man hired as a jester fancies himself a spot by the King's side,” now it was pure amusement in his voice, almost bitter. But a sour tone was nothing to deter Hob, he was too stubborn of a man for that.
“Oh I think I am mighty fit for that position. Let me and I will prove myself,” he smiled brightly, challenging glint in his eyes as he extended his hand forward with the offer.
Morpheus thought about it for a moment before his lips twisted into a smirk. “Very well, let us see how you shall do as my right-hand man, Robert Gadling.” This should prove most interesting.
……………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………
It wasn't too long after the terrible news when a new message came. One that would make everyone cheer and celebrate, something the King couldn't bring himself to do. The enemy was offering peace, crawling to him on their knees after another lost battle, hoping to at least come out of it with their skin intact since their pride was already torn to pieces.
He wished to see them bleed, punish each and every one of them for their defiance, for daring to raise their arms against him. He was a King, appointed by the Gods. They were all beneath him, they had no right. But a voice in the back of his head kept him from his vengeance. “There's only so long you can rule through striking fear in others. A tyrant is always brought down from their pedestal, no matter the means. Be understanding, offer compassion, be forgiving. You will earn their hearts and respect and that's always stronger than any amount of fear.”
And just like that, they had drawn up a treaty. Morpheus´ kingdom gained new territories, was granted a tribute of peace in gold for the next ten years. Two signatures on the parchment, two wax seals and with one shake of hands the war had finished. They could go home.
It would be a journey he dreaded, but not nearly as much as what he would find at the end of it. People were surely waiting for him, the capital preparing to welcome him and the army, the castle doing the same but… The one he wished to see the most upon his arrival wouldn't be there, his absence impossible to overlook.
During the ride he wondered if things could have turned out differently had he decided to take Hob with him, if he listened to his words. There was no denying the man was skilled with the sword, being a mercenary for years before coming into his service. He had lived through and survived so much, but still Morpheus had feared him losing his life in a battle.
Would the assassin still be sent out, would they still find their way to him, deliver the killing blow or could he have altered this fate. Perhaps be there, help fight the killer off. The thought that he could have done something, it made him feel as if it was him who had Hob´s blood on their hands, the assassin merely an instrument to this tragedy.
´And you worried I´d be the one not coming back…´
……………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………
“Here, a letter from Ser Robert Gadling for his Majesty,” a messenger said as they handed him the wax sealed envelope. It was one of the first messages he had received from the capital since he had left, since this whole damned war campaign started.
Thanking the man, sending him off, he poured himself a glass of wine before sitting down to read what Hob wrote to him. Lucienne was always the one sending him reports of the state of things and so he was a little uncertain of what to expect.
My dear friend,
I write to you now, hoping this letter will find you in good health. Much news has reached us of your fate and that of your men. And for all of them are positive so far, my heart cannot help it but to be concerned for your wellbeing. I have seen plenty of wars in my lifetime and fought in just as many, I know all too well how the tide of things can turn at any moment.
I pray to the Gods that no such fate will meet you and I wish there to be more I could do to assure your safety. I do not hold it against you, asking me to stay here with Lucienne. Endlessly capable woman she is to be sure, but I would never wish it upon her to have to handle everything here alone. I hope I aid her well even if matters of managing a whole kingdom at times of war are beyond my expertise.
Still, still I wish you would have taken me with you, allowed me to stay by your side. Sleep would be easier every night, knowing I am near and capable of protecting your life if someone comes to threaten it. Like this I can truly only pray, hope the Gods will hear me out and be kind to you in these trying times, even if so often they aren´t when you wish to rest.
Our nightly talks, I find myself missing them a great deal, there is no one quite like you, my friend. I cannot find a better conversation partner here, no one listens as well as you always do. So forgive me if this letter is longer than it should be, please, indulge a lonely man a bit of rambling, for he is now missing his second half.
In here all is well, even if tension hangs in the air every waking hour, all expecting news from the battlefield, all hoping the war will be over soon even if it has just started. I wish for it too, though I know it to be less than unlikely. Still, a man can dream. Dream a better time and place, one in which we can talk and act freely, one in which there will be no need for separation. Perhaps one day there will be such a world, one we can maybe help create for those who come after us.
Be well, my dearest friend, and be cautious. I plead you like I plead the Gods, return to me, alive and of good health. There are still so many stories of mine you are yet to hear, I would hate for them to go untold.
Forever, yours truly,
Ser Robert ´Hob´ Gadling
This was one of the many letters which he would receive from Hob over time, letters which to him were like a meal after days of starving. They fed the drive in him to keep going, to keep fighting. He couldn´t disappoint his friend, he had to return like he had promised the day he had left.
……………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………
The ride through the streets of the city was just like he had expected, loud cheering, flowers being thrown under the feet of their horses, being handed to them, people bowing, thanking them. An endless joyful celebration. Everyone welcomed back home their beloved, children running into the open arms of their fathers. Nothing but happiness in the streets could be heard, for the bright cheers silenced the cries of those finding out their loved ones had lost their lives to the war.
Arriving at the castle, Lucienne was already awaiting him by the main gate, ready to give her congratulations and inform him of what had happened during his absence. But he merely raised his hand, stopping her before she could speak.
“It shall wait, We should like to rest first…and We shall be left alone until We say otherwise.” He wished to see and speak to no one. The absent presence of his friend already proved too much; it had brought the all too familiar stinging to his eyes. And Hob was right, he desired for no one to see him in an emotional state, in tears least of all.
Dismounting in the stables, he gave a gentle pet to his horse, running his hand over their side. They had served him well, deserving of all the rest and spoiling a royal steed might get.
Walking outside, he looked up to the towering walls of his castle, finding the windows of his chambers. He stopped himself as he spotted a human silhouette in one of them. A person stood there, and he felt as if they were looking straight at him. But through the thick glass and the distance between them he couldn't tell who they were. Blinking, the shadow had disappeared, and he could only wonder if it was his mind playing tricks of him.
Would he now be seeing him everywhere he went? He had already confused the voices of others for Hob´s. Heart soaring with joy for that brief moment until his mind caught up, reminding him of the grim reality. Was he going mad?
Winding stairs and long dark hallways, the way to his rooms had never felt this long, never this lonely. Never before it had struck him how empty the corridors were, how void of light. Hob tried to tell him, tried to show him. He recalled clearly the day the other had brought him to his wing in the castle, proudly showing off how he had decorated it. Painting and candleholders, fine fabrics and masterfully crafted furniture. His quarters had never lacked comfort and color, warm and welcoming to everyone. What was now to become of them?
He leaned with his bodyweight against the door to his bedroom, too tired to use his strength to push. They gave in, opening with a soft creak, letting him in.
He ran his eyes over the room, taking it in, seeing how nothing had changed since he’d left. Everything on his desk was in order, the bed was made, the armchair by the window emp—
He chuckled, a quiet broken sound, as his eyes fell on the person sitting in his spot. He had truly gone mad. What other explanation was there for seeing a dead man in front of him?
Hob was looking at him, warm eyes and soft smile, he looked paler than usual but well besides that. A cane was leaning against the armchair. “You´re late, the season of falling stars is over,” he hummed, pushing himself off his seat, one hand coming to grasp the cane. “Had to watch them alone this year, for the first time in ages.”
He only stared at the man, unable to bring his body to move. Only by some miracle he had found it in himself to speak, heart hammering in his chest. “ I…I´m sorry. ” A ghost, was he speaking to a ghost?
“Oh please. You´ve returned, we have the next year,” Hob shook his head, walking over to him. “You are alive and so am I, there's still so much waiting for us.” With that he closed the distance between them, standing in front of Morpheus, his hand coming to rest on the King's shoulder. A warm hand, a hand of a living man, a hand that had weight to it. Weight under which the other found himself falling to his knees much to his friend´s confusion. The cane hit the ground at the same time as the King.
His hands were shaking as they came up to grasp Hob´s arms, half expecting them still to simply go through him but no, they met solid mass, soft silk warmed by the heat of the human body. “You are alive…you live,” he whispered, voice trembling the same way his body did. Fingers slipped down the soft fabric of Hob´s sleeves until he touched his hands, taking them into his own as if the other would disappear if he didn't hold onto him strong enough.
There was an expression of pure confusion on Hob´s face at first, one that quickly mixed with worry. “Alive? Of course I am alive, why wouldn't I—oh… oh, my dear Morpheus, what have they told you?” The sight of the King on his knees, clutching his hands like a lost child, tears in the corners of his reddened eyes, that was a sight that could break hearts and Hob´s was certainly breaking.
He didn't need an answer, he could imagine it just too well what news had gotten to his King. He could wonder how that had happened, how such a message could be sent without anyone making sure if it was actually true. He was attacked, hurt, yes, was still recovering but at no point was he—Gods.
“I should be the one apologizing,” he sighed, chest heavy with guilt for something he had no power over, slowly raising Morpheus´ hands, lips brushing against his knuckles. “I should have seen to what news you received, should have found out about the mistake sooner. Ease the worries in your mind or better yet make it so you never had to hear such news in the first place.” Slowly he sank to his knees as well, letting go of the trembling hands only so he could cup the tear-stained face.
Warm lips press a kiss onto Morpheus´ forehead, pulling a gasp out of him, his eyes falling shut. He laid his hands over Hob´s, leaned into his touch, relishing his warmth, the soft scratch of calloused skin against his cheek.
“You live. You truly live.”
“Of course. You promised to return to me and I to keep a place for you to return to… someone to return to,” he murmured, smiling gently when those deep teary eyes looked up to him, drying his cheeks by running his thumbs over them. “I´ll always be here, waiting, no matter how far away and for how long you leave, my dear Morpheus.”
“An offer most generous, I shall take you up on it…Hob,” he said before smiling too, before leaning in to press their lips together. An unsure, shy kiss into which they both melted after a moment. When that happened, the world exploded with color and yes, Hob was right, so much out there was waiting for them, there was so much to live for.