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“This way if you please, my Lord. She’s right down the aisle.”
Lucienne looks up from her book, having heard one of her assistants talking. She didn’t use to have any assistants, perfectly happy looking after her books herself, but now that she has some extra duties, thanks to her latest (allegedly) promotion she can not simply oversee it all on her own.
There are slow days however, dull even. Then again, considering all the excitement the Dreaming has seen since Lord Morpheus’ return, she doesn’t mind one bit. Besides, these kind of days give her the chance to catch up with her reading and she’s very much enjoying the newest addition to the Library, so she’s a tiny bit annoyed at the interruption.
“Hob Gadling,” she greets, as the not-mortal approaches and makes a mental note to talk to her assistants again about the appropriate way to address their visitor. No matter what the Castle’s gossip mill says, Hob Gadling is not King Consort and should not be addressed as if he had a title.
“Hey, Lucienne,” he greets, taking a seat in front of her, a luminous smile on his face as usual. “How are you doing?”
She puts down her book, giving him her full attention. “Fine,” she replies, watching him intently. “Is there a purpose to your visit?”
Hob Gadling rolls his eyes dramatically. “Can’t I visit a friend just because? Seriously, Dream doesn’t question my motives for visiting as often as you do.”
She hums. “I told you before, we’re not--”
“I’m going to interrupt you right there,” he interrupts and Lucienne glares at him. “We’re friends Lucienne. Now, you might not want to admit it and that’s perfectly fine, I’m nothing if not patient and I already waited a hundred years for Dream to admit that we were friends, so I don’t expect you to cave in a couple of months, but still…” he shrugs, still smiling. “We’re friends.”
She sighs, shaking her head but she suspects her amused smile betrays her real feelings on the matter. “As you say,” she agrees finally with a dismissive wave of her hand. “You’ve been fine, I trust?”
Hob Gadling smiles at her, a little amused and Lucienne is hard pressed not to glare at him. Small talk has never been her forte and she’s really not a people person; she tends to prefer her own company too much for that and it doesn’t help that when someone looks for her, it’s because they actually need something from her.
“What are you reading?” he asks, reaching for her book and turning it around so he can read the title. “I don’t think I’ve seen this one around.”
“It hasn’t been published yet,” Lucienne replies with a small smile. “The author has just submitted it to an editorial.”
Hob Gadling hums, frowning a little. “How does that work, exactly? Do you get the books as the story is first conceived or half done or--?”
“Some books never fully form,” Lucienne replies, pointing to her left. “There’s an entire section of the Library dedicated to those half cooked ideas. Some stories never get written down in the waking world, but their creators revise them often, so they do exist in the Dreaming as full books, with changing pages as time goes by. We get a lot of first drafts too.” She smiles, looking at the book on the table. “I’ll admit those are my favorites. There’s something very charming about the author’s unadulterated version.”
Hob Gadling is staring at the shelves on the left, a light blush covering his cheeks. “Stories, you said. Does that include--?”
“I’ve read your attempts of poetry, Hob Gadling,” she tells him with an amused smile and the human blushes some more. “It’s not half-bad, if a little generic,” she continues, teasing. “But sweet. Romantic.”
He huffs, amused, shaking his head. He’s a man prone to romanticism and he’s written quite a lot in his long existence, some efforts better than others, dedicated to various subjects through the years although of course, those written with Lord Morpheus’ in mind are enough to fill an actual book.
They sit in silence for a while, as he reads through the back of the book. “Rose Walker,” he reads outloud, frowning some more. “The Vortex? Or just someone with a similar name?”
“The one and the same,” Lucienne replies with a shrug. “It’s quite good, actually. I think you might enjoy it.”
Her interlocutor smiles, leafing through the pages. “Well, I’d like to borrow it once you’re done, then.”
Lucienne hums. “I think Lord Morpheus might take some issue with her description of the King in it, though,” she tells him with a smile that the not-mortal returns eagerly.
“You don’t say?” he asks, grinning like a Chesire cat. “I definitely must read it, then.”
Lucienne does not support her fellow staff’s love for gossip, nor does she share their interest in their King’s love life. Or so she tells herself, because in all truth, she might be a little invested on seeing how things will work out with this particular not-mortal. Lord Morpheus’ has never been very good at keeping his relationships afloat and they end up in disaster more often than not, but she has high hopes for this one.
But of course, no one needs to know about that.
The banquet hall had sat unused for far too many centuries for Lucienne to properly remember the last time it was used. Lord Morpheus very rarely eats and when he does, he prefers to do it on the go, as it’s only a means to gather strength. When he happens to be entertaining company, he uses the smaller rooms closer to the kitchen, which are far more private (and easier to keep clean, in all honesty)
It seems however that no one informed Hob Gadling that such rooms exist, judging by the fact that whenever he shows up for dinner, he and Lord Morpheus can be found in the banquet hall. Lucienne would think the staff wouldn’t be too fond of this, since it means more work for them but it seems their love for gossip overrides every other consideration: what’s a little extra cleaning when they get the chance to actually spy on Lord Morpheus’ conversations with his human… friend?
Lucienne crosses her arms over her chest, giving the kitchen staff a very pointed look that sends them back to the kitchen in no time, murmuring to themselves, a little embarrassed and giggling as children that have been caught doing something they shouldn’t. Lucienne sighs dramatically, holding Tamaris’ (the Head of the Kitchen’s staff) gaze evenly.
“Really?” she asks, in her most disappointed tone that sends Tamaris giggling, shaking their head.
“Chill, Lu,” the dream tells her with an amused smile. “There’s no harm in a little spying, it’s not like they’re discussing anything important,” they say with a casual shrug. “It’s rather adorable, really. I hadn’t seen Lord Morpheus this out of his deep…” they trail off, considering. “Never, actually.”
Lucienne pinches the bridge of her nose. “It’s rude to spy on private conversations,” she says, long tired. “You tell your staff to stop it.”
Tamaris huffs. “Oh, you know how it is,” they say with another amused giggle. “Or have you succeeded in stopping your assistants from gossiping? I hear the King Consort spends a lot of time in the Library.”
Lucienne narrows her eyes. “There’s no King Consort,” she hisses, annoyedly. “You and the rest of the staff would do well to watch your tongue, Tamaris. If Lord Morpheus caught whiff of the rumors--”
Tamaris laughs, a little too loudly. “Oh, you think he doesn’t know? Cut me a break, Lu. Nothing ever happens in the Dreaming without him knowing,” they say in between chuckles. “If he minded, he’d have long ago said something.”
That much is true, Lucienne is afraid. Still, without any official pronunciations on the matter… “Nevertheless--”
“Tamaris?” Hob calls and the dream offers Lucienne one brief amused smile, before disappearing through the doors to see what the human wants.
“At your service, your Highness,” the dream greets and Lucienne makes a face. A quick peek through the half open door reveals both Lord Morpheus and Hob Gadling are much too busy staring at each other to pay any mind to the way the not-mortal has been addressed, especially since Tamaris has been smart enough to not look directly at either of them when speaking.
Lucienne snorts.
This is getting quite ridiculous.
“Ah, hello Lucienne! Fancy meeting you here!”
Lucienne opens her eyes, a small smile on her lips. She had been sitting in the gardens, basking in the warm sunlight, enjoying the lovely weather the Dreaming has been having for quite some time now. If asked, she would acknowledge that the not-mortal now standing in front of her probably has a lot to do with it, although of course no one would ask her.
She has made her stance on certain betting pools quite clear. She can not stop them, but she’s certainly not participating in all these ridiculous rumors.
“Hello to you too, Hob Gadling,” she greets, watching as the human sits in front of her. “I found the day was too lovely to spend it in the Library.”
He hums, looking around himself, smiling at the gardens. “I’d have thought the weather is always lovely in the Dreaming, particularly in the castle. I get the outside might get affected by the dreamers moods, but the castle--”
“The weather is subjected to Lord Morpheus’ moods,” she replies with a shrug. “While often pleasant, it can get quite terrible from time to time.”
He huffs, a little amused. “Oh, I bet. He can be… well,” he smiles, shrugging. “So this sunny weather means he’s in a particularly good mood?” he sounds curious, but also perhaps a tad sad and Lucienne frowns.
“Are you alright?” she asks, feeling quite confused. Human’s feelings can be very complicated and even more volatile than her Lord’s (which is saying a lot, actually)
He chuckles, a bit embarrassed. “Oh, yeah, don’t worry about it,” he says, waving a hand dismissively, but as Lucienne continues staring at him, he sighs dramatically. “It’s silly really. I mean, of course I’m glad Dream is happy,” he tells her which just makes her frown some more because what? “But just… eh… What's all this talk I keep hearing about a King Consort?”
Oh, goodness. “Who have you been talking to?” she asks, making a mental note to have yet another talk with the staff about how inappropriate this particular bit of gossip is. Not that it’ll help one bit, she suspects: after all it’s not like Lord Morpheus, or Hob Gadling for that matter, do much to discourage the rumors.
Of course it seems Hob Gadling is a bit confused about the gossip, so there’s that.
He shrugs. “No one in particular,” he replies, staring at his hands. “No one has said anything to me, but I keep hearing mentions of him and I just… I wondered,” he chuckles, shaking his head. “Silly, right?”
Lucienne is not getting involved. She’s not. “You need not to concern yourself,” she tells him, pinching the bridge of her nose, wondering when did her life became a cheap rom com. “It’s just idle Castle’s gossip. The Dreaming does not have a King Consort.”
“But Dream is seeing someone?”
Oh, fuck’s sake. “It’s not my place to answer that,” she says, doing her best to keep her irritation out of her voice. “I suggest you ask him yourself.”
Hob Gadling sighs, lying down on the grass, staring at the cloudless sky. “It’s silly, I know. I mean, I figured rather early on he wasn’t interested, so it’s not like I… I mean, he’s attractive, obviously and I like him very much, but it’s not like I’ve been pining like a tragic heroine in a romance novel. I just… with everything that has happened I thought… it was stupid of me, of course, but…”
Lucienne wants to scream but she has to settle for sighing loudly and dramatically. She doesn’t want to get involved, but the human’s tone is so damn sad-- “I don’t think Lord Morpheus knows what to do about you,” she says, interrupting him. She doesn’t want to get involved, she doesn’t think it is her place to do this, but-- “In the past, his romances have always been… immediate. There’s no build up beforehand, they tend to jump directly to the…” she scrunches her nose, looking for the correct word. Somehow sex doesn’t sound appropriate, although that’s more or less the truth. “You know,” she settles for and Hob Gadling looks mildly amused at her struggle, but nods. “Which is probably why they fall apart so quickly. He feels a lot and he falls fast, but he doesn’t know how to keep it burning past the original spark because there’s no real basis for his affection.” She sighs, shrugging. “You are friends. And I’m sure he’s not entirely sure how to go about it, but you’re doing well keeping things going on your own so… there.”
Hob Gadling is smiling, although there’s a wistful edge to it. “You’re right,” he says after a while. “We’re friends and that’s better, isn’t it? After all, relationships come and go, but friendship… yeah, I know. It 's fine.”
That’s not at all what Lucienne meant. Of course them being friends is important, but her point was--
Oh, nevermind that. She ought not to get involved anyway.
How is this her life?
“What’s going on here?” Lucienne asks, watching as the construction crew carries a bunch of items across the hall, talking excitedly among them.
“Good morning, Lucienne,” Mervyn greets, looking up from the blue prints he’s revising with Hob Gadling of all people. “We’re just revising the blueprints, making sure everything is right before we start actually working on it.”
“Working on what?” she asks, frowning in earnest and approaching the pair.
“My rooms,” Hob Gadling replies with a smile, although he looks a bit confused. “To be totally honest, I’m still not sure about the whole thing, Merv. I don’t want you to trouble yourself--”
“It’s no trouble, Hob Gadling, sir,” the pumpkin man dismisses. “It’s our pleasure. We’re always building new wings and rooms for Lord Morpheus’ sweethearts and this time around we’re not going to have to tear it down after a week, so--”
“Mervyn!” Lucienne exclaims, scandalized and annoyed because he can be quite impertinent but this is too much. Hob Gadling is just staring at him, looking somewhere between confused and embarrassed, a light blush spreading across his cheeks.
“Just saying the truth, Loosh,” the pumpkin man says and Lucienne narrows her eyes at him. He just smiles at her, unrepentant. “So, what do you think, boss?” he asks Hob Gadling and the human hesitates, turning to look at the blueprints once more.
“Eh… I’m really not sure,” he replies nervously. “I don’t… I mean, it feels a little… I don’t need--”
“‘Course, ‘course,” Mervyn replies, a bit impatient. “But the thing is Lord Morpheus said we needed to build you a set of rooms and so we will regardless, and I’d really rather just do it once, so I’d very much like to get your input, my Lord.”
Lucienne feels like bashing her head against the wall. Of course this is all Lord Morpheus’ idea, of course he sees nothing wrong with having a wing built for his human friend, of course he doesn’t care one bit about the rumors spreading like wildfire.
No, of course not. That’s Lucienne’s job.
Except it isn’t. And she wouldn’t care, if they weren’t quickly approaching dangerous territory. It’s one thing for the Castle’s staff to gossip about Lord Morpheus’ love life, it’s a completely different animal for the Dreaming to accept they now have a King Consort. A King Consort has authority, a King Consort will have power over the Dreaming. The dream folk will have a new ruler to obey and that--
That’s dangerous territory, really. Belief matters in the Dreaming, that’s what shapes and gives power to dreams and nightmares. So it doesn’t matter whether or not Hob Gadling actually consorts with Lord Morpheus, once the nightkind accepts him as King, he’ll be and that’s a mess Lucienne doesn’t want to deal with.
So she’ll have to talk to Lord Morpheus.
She’s not anticipating that conversation.
“My Lord,” she greets, walking into the Throne room and scowling as she sees her King staring outside one of the windows, a smile on his lips. She knows exactly what lies in that direction and so she has a good idea of what (or rather who) he’s staring at.
“Good day, Lucienne,” he greets, not moving from his place. “You seem upset.”
Upset doesn’t begin to cover it. “I’m happy for you,” she starts, because she figures it’s important he knows that her annoyance doesn’t come from the fact he’s got himself a new love, she’s just concerned about the implications. “But you need to make up your mind, my Lord,” she declares sternly, because it’s clearly too late for a subtle approach. “If you want him to be your King Consort, then that’s perfectly fine but you have to tell him. Because otherwise he’ll be granted power he doesn’t understand and who knows what will happen if he doesn’t know he has that power?”
Lord Morpheus turns to her, scowling. “You dare to speak to your King like that?”
Lucienne sighs. “I’m afraid you leave me no choice, your Majesty. For the good of the Realm, I must speak out,” she declares, holding herself as tall as she is, willing her voice not to shake. She hates it, she absolutely loathes being this impertinent, but she really has no choice.
Lord Morpheus turns his back to her, scoffing and Lucienne sighs. “My Lord--”
“You’re dismissed, Lucienne,” he tells her sharply and next thing she knows, she’s standing outside the Throne room, the doors locked behind her.
Goodness, but love makes him unbearable!
She doesn’t want to get involved. She has already gotten too involved.
Oh, why does this keep happening to her?
Lucienne has refrained herself from forming any impression on any of Lord Morpheus’ lovers, because she knew his love life was of no concern to the Dreaming. She wishes to see him happy, of course, but as long as the train wreck that is his love life only affected the weather around the Castle, she saw no real reason to get involved.
Until now, that is.
Still, Lucienne hasn’t brought the subject up again. She has continued fulfilling her duties, reporting the going ons to Lord Morpheus as it’s expected and keeping her opinions to herself. Everytime she walks into the Throne room she can see him tensing, getting ready for an argument, but so far she has refrained herself from starting it. The tension is almost unbearable, but she truly doesn’t wish to argue with her King and she hates it when she must.
She’s not in the wrong, she knows and she suspects he knows it too, but he doesn’t want to acknowledge the truth of her words. He’s working through his feelings for Hob Gadling, she’s certain and that’d be a good thing normally: he has a tendency to throw himself headfirst into relationships without giving them much thought which is exactly why they tend not to work out but in this particular case…
Well. This is not a regular case, is it?
On that particular morning, she’s giving her usual monthly report, when the door to the Throne room opens rather abruptly and a disgruntled and slightly panicked looking Hob Gadling strolls in. “Oh, hey Lucienne,” he greets after spotting her, an embarrassed smile on his lips. “Sorry to interrupt, but we need to talk” he tells Lord Morpheus, still looking somewhat worried.
“As you can see, I am a preoccupied at the moment, but--” Lord Morpheus begins, because those are probably the most dreaded words in the history of relationships and Lucienne is fairly certain that while he’s been working on figuring out his feelings for the not-mortal, he hasn’t actually decided to talk to him about them.
“Yeah, okay, sorry, I just need to know… did we accidentally get married or something? Did I do something that tied us down for eternity or some such nonsense?”
Ah, Lucienne thinks. It was probably only a matter of time before he figured it out by himself, she supposes, even if she had been hoping it wouldn’t come to that (mostly for Lord Morpheus’ sake, but she was also a little worried for the not-mortal)
“No,” Lord Morpheus replies, plainly, without offering anything else and Lucienne pinches the bridge of her nose. Must he make everything so difficult?
“Right,” Hob Gadling says, looking somewhere in between annoyed and amused. “So what’s with your people calling me King Consort? Because I’m fairly sure we’re not consorting.”
Yeah, Lucienne is not staying for this conversation. She quickly dismisses herself, offering her King one bow and a very pointed look on her way out, hurrying down the hall so she might not end up accidentally hearing something she has no intention whatsoever of overhearing.
Hopefully they’ll actually talk now and she won’t be forced to get involved any further.
After all, Lord Morpheus’ love life is none of her concern.
“You know, a hint would have been nice,” Hob Gadling tells her, the next time they see each other. Lucienne has been diligently working on her reports and has very pointedly not been listening to the Castle’s gossip, particularly those rumors regarding where a certain not-mortal and Lord Morpheus have been spending the last week (namely the first’s newest rooms). “Friends tell each other when they’re being oblivious idiots.”
“Indeed?” she asks, putting her report away for the moment. “I suggested you talked to him.”
He huffs, dropping himself on the opposite chair. “Oh yes, very helpful indeed. I came to you with my romantic woes, baring my heart to you and you--”
“It wasn’t my place to speak of such things,” she argues, crossing her arms over her chest. “Besides I also told him to talk to you,” she adds sulkily. “It’s not my fault neither of you actually heed my advice.”
Hob Gadling chuckles good naturedly, shaking his head. “Well, on the bright side, we’ve finally figured things out,” he tells her with a brilliant smile. “It’s been a very enlightening week.”
Lucienne makes a face. “While you insist we’re friends, I really rather not hear details of your newfound love life,” she says primly. “There are things a Raven is better off not knowing, particularly when it concerns her Kings.”
Hob Gadling chuckles, but there’s a thoughtful expression on his face. “Yeah, I’m not sure how I feel about that bit. What exactly does the role entail?”
Lucienne sighs.
Just what she has accidentally got herself into?