Chapter Text
Desperate times call for desperate measures.
Lucienne takes a deep breath, repeating the words in her head like a mantra. It’s true enough, she supposes, but she wishes it wasn’t so. Or, at the very least, she wishes she wasn’t the one who was making all these difficult choices: she’s the Librarian, damn it all! She’s meant to help keep and look after the books, not to… do this.
You’re not meant to rule, a voice in her head mocks. You’re over your head, little birdie and it’s funny, because she’s a Raven, she’s not meant to have self deprecating thoughts. Unlike humans, with their joys and concerns and fears and their ability to change and adapt accordingly, she just is.
And what I am is the Librarian, she tells herself stubbornly, refusing to even glance at the Throne. She’ll find no counsel there and it’ll only increase her worry. Her Lord should have come back ages ago, so why hasn’t he?
And that’s precisely what she means to find out, is it not?
She bits her lip. She’s the Librarian and before that, she was Lord Morpheus’ Raven. She misses being his Raven, if she still was his Raven she would have never let him out of her sight. If she was still his Raven, she’d have made sure he was safe, w ould have kept him safe . And if she couldn’t have done that, she would have let someone (like the Librarian) know what was going on, not like bloody Jessamy who can’t be bothered to even send a fucking note!
Calm down, Lucienne, another voice says. Don’t blame poor Jessamy.
But she does. A Raven’s work is to serve as messenger between the Dreaming and the Waking, keep watch and inform of any disturbances. Lord Morpheus is missing and, for all Lucienne knows, he might be in trouble and she has no way of finding out!
Except--
She’s not his Raven, not even a Raven anymore. Some promotion, she thinks miserably, as she slowly climbs the stairs towards the Throne, resting a hand against the armrest, her gaze fixed on the vitrals behind it. Ravens aren’t meant to travel between realms without specific instructions, but sometimes they do all the same. If she was still a Raven--
But you aren’t. If you left, you’d be a dreamfolk wandering into the Waking. You’d be breaking the Laws. You’d be a criminal.
She closes her eyes, torn. Others have left, she thinks.
But you’re not like them, the voice replies. You’re faithful.
Yes.
But isn't that all the more reason to go?
“Do you really think he’ll come back?”
Lucienne takes a deep breath, making sure her expression doesn’t show any anger when she turns to face the newcomer. Mervyn isn’t on his own, she realizes, a group of dreams and nightmares have come along. “Of course he’ll come back,” she replies with a conviction she doesn’t really feel. She believes he’ll come back, or at least she desperately hopes so.
“It’s just that--” Mervyn starts, scratching the back of his pumpkin head. “It’s been awfully long, Lucienne.”
“Time moves differently in the Waking,” she argues, a strained smile on her lips. He’ll come back. “He wouldn’t abandon his duties. He wouldn’t abandon us .”
“It wouldn’t be the first time an Endless did,” a dream whispers behind Mervyn, hiding in between the crowd and a murmur of agreement spreads around the congregation. Lucienne forces herself to keep her shoulders relaxed, her expression placid. “The Dreaming falls apart and Lord Morpheus is nowhere to be found.” More murmurs of agreement and Lucienne’s expression hardens. “Why should we stay put, if he has left? Why should we continue abiding to his Laws, when he has forsaken us?”
“Enough!” the Librarian exclaims, imprinting her voice with as much authority as she can. She stands up straighter, shoulders pushed back, trying to make herself look bigger, taller. If she was a Raven, she would puff her feathers and caw loudly, but since she’s not, she must resort to this. “This kind of talk won’t be tolerated,” she says very seriously. “Be assured Lord Morpheus will be informed of any disobedience and he won’t be pleased. Whoever breaks the Laws, shall face our Lord’s wrath.”
“If he comes back,” a nightmare whispers darkly and the surrounding group nods, but don’t actually talk. Lucienne glares, straightening further.
“Out,” she instructs darkly, her voice filled with venom.
But as the dreams and nightmares leave, she can’t help wondering.
What if they’re right?
Lord Morpheus wouldn’t have abandoned us, Lucienne thinks, as she walks through the Library’s silent corridors. There’s no sleep in the Dreaming, at least not for its inhabitants, but they do grow tired and they do need to rest. Lucienne can’t afford to feel the first, because she certainly can not do the second.
There’s little use in worrying about the things you can’t change, she knows, but worry she does. The Dreaming grows emptier with each passing year, its constructions are starting to fall apart and the colors aren’t as vibrant as they once were. Sleepers who can no longer awake wander aimlessly, living borrowed lives, unaware of the real world they left behind and dreams and nightmares wander other realms, forsaking their duties, facing no consequences for their trespassing.
She doesn't know how much longer things can stay like this, before the Dreaming collapses.
She worries she’s soon to find out.
Lucienne was Lord Morpheus’ first Raven. She saw the realms, perched over his shoulder and she witnessed many great things and horrors. She brought him messages and she delivered his messages, she was there for the birth of many of his creations. She was there when the Dreaming began and so she supposes it’s fitting she’ll be there, when the Dreaming ends.
(Even if she hopes that day is still very far away.)
She doesn’t miss being a Raven, not exactly. She understands she was granted a great honor (even if it was one she would have never asked for), she knows her position is her reward for her faithfulness (even if sometimes it feels like a punishment). She would never question Lord Morpheus’ choices, because she knows there’s always a reason why he does what he does and while in the past she offered her input on certain matters, she was never offended when he didn’t listen, knowing he kept his own counsel.
She’d never go against Lord Morpheus’ orders. She’d never defy his Laws. She’d be an obedient subject to the end of her days. But--
He’s not here. She is. What’s left of the realm, requires her guidance. Because without it, even the most faithful of dreams and nightmares are lost. Because without it, those who remain, are lost and scared.
(She’s lost and scared and has no real wisdom to share. But she’s here and she’s all they have.)
So she’ll have to make do.
Desperate times call for desperate measures.
Indeed. And so she fears she must act, consequences be damned.
But what to do?