Chapter Text
Forever was a long time, even for a god. Most could attest to that, as eternity was a concept impossible for a mere mortal to grasp. Time is just a fleeting notion, a whimper in the face of an endless black sea, stretching out like an infinite road that the King in Yellow was bound to walk on, twisting and winding without fail. It only took so long before one has seen everything, every turn and twist on this vast expanse, to the point it becomes nothing more than a road to walk on.
It was his duty to bear.
The crown weighed heavy on his head. He had seen civilizations fall, he’d been in battles where he’d been left in tatters, he’d seen humans grow up, have kids, only to die. For him, death and pain were inevitabilities, where you can only set aside for varying moments at a time. For him, the suffering of ants didn’t concern him. He’d seen it all after all, so hearing tortured screams and cries were simply notes to a song already sung. Pushed forward by the weight of responsibility, there was a sense of prevailing emptiness that struck the stark reality of his immortal existence.
The monotony of it all left him with a chronic sense of melancholy, an overwhelming sense of boredom, leaving him itchy and uncomfortable in his own skin.
So when he saw a human in his garden, while his first instinct was to banish the naive thing to the dark world for stepping into a god’s territory, he kept his wits about him and calmly watched as the human blindly shuffled through the hedgerows and flowers.
He’d punished others for much less disgraceful deeds, and he’d been enraged by much smaller circumstances. However, what filled him upon seeing this human wasn’t a feeling of insubordination, but intrigue. The king considered it mercy when he didn’t immediately smite the man upon entry, but in truth, what it was, was curiosity. The human’s eyes kept closed, maneuvering through the clean shrubbery with precision and skill, as if he’d done it thousands of times before.
There was a prevailing ferocious courageousness about him, his chest puffed strong, his ears twitching at the slightest hint of sound, his hands hovering over his pocket protectively. He looked careful yet fascinated, the human’s eyes widening with amazement as the soft grass nestled in between his blistered toes. A relaxed softness overcame him, his lips curling upward into a small smile as he knelt down to feel the flowers below him.
Suddenly, the king couldn’t hold it in anymore.
“Who are you?”
It was a genuine question, not asked out of malice towards the human’s insubordination. He floated to the corner of the hedges, to appear and sound as earthy and mortal as he could. It was an odd want for a god to have, to want to appear mortal, however somehow, he didn’t want to scare the human off.
However, despite his efforts, the human nearly got scared out of his skin, jumping up from his crouched position, taking a hand to his dagger and pointing it in the direction of his voice.
“God! What— Who’s asking?” The human growled, as if he were a cornered animal, a calm desperation written behind his eyes.
He had a strange way of speaking, softer around the edges, his words not as hardened as most humans he interacted with, a unique infliction familiar on his tongue.
The king had only now realized that the human was shaking.
He could hear the man’s heart thrum feverishly in his ears. The human wanted to survive, it was built into his bones, but what differentiated him from others was that the king could feel it. He could feel the force of the sheer will of the human, the lengths he was willing to go in order to stay alive. How his scarred hands marked the pain and suffering he’d endured, in order to continue living on another day. The king tilted his head.
The markings looked like paintings.
“Who I am is of no concern to you.”
He was grateful the human couldn’t see, as his current form would only prevent any further conversation. It felt as if he were coaxing a stray animal to stay, luring it with nuts and berries. It was a frustrating feeling, but his impatience only spoke immaturity. After all, he had all the time in the world. The king kept his voice calm.
“What you need to understand is that I have no intention to hurt you.”
It was a hard statement to believe, even for the king, after all, benevolence was unnatural to the god of insanity. Yet, every word spoken was nothing short of true, as hard to believe as it may be.
After all, this was entertainment, just as easily, the king could send this little human to a fate worse than death.
He was in full capacity to destroy his mind and dissect his brain, yet however a foreign curiosity washed over him, a sense of unfamiliarity new and fresh. The human couldn’t see what he really was.
The human wasn’t scared.
Of course, the human was a little defensive, fearful for his life, as most would be in the dreamlands, but there was none of that eye-gouging, skin ripping absolute terror the king was accustomed to every time a human had the misfortune of meeting his gaze.
This was different. The king was just another creature roaming the dreamlands to him.
“Do you really think I’ll believe that? I’m not stupid.” The human hissed, reminiscent of a cat.
His ‘r’s’ sounded soft, pliable and flimsy. It had only occurred to the king, just now, that this was the longest conversation he’d had without royal courtesy involved.
“You’re free to believe me or not. I will not prevent you from leaving.” The king wasn’t entirely sure what he said was a lie. “However, I’d like to say if I wanted to hurt you, I would’ve done so already.”
The king knew he said something right, as the human remained stiff, just for only a moment longer, before he dropped his dagger to his side with an exaggerated sigh.
The tension in his face remained, his brows knitted together, but his shoulder slacked, his body every so slightly relaxing.
He no longer registered the king as a threat.
It was a peculiar feeling, not one riddled in annoyance or disgust, but a shared trust between them. The human faced the king’s direction, his face scrunched, before turning his back to the god, continuing to search the garden curiously.
“…You make a good point.” He brushed his fingers against the neatly trimmed hedges, dried blood staining his fingertips. “I’m assuming you’re the keeper of this garden, right?” He was intelligent, far more knowledgeable than most humans were. The king had to suppress an impressed laugh. He liked intelligence. “It’s very beautiful. I don’t think I’ve encountered grass in this realm yet.”
“The Dreamlands are beautiful if you know where to look.” The king kept calm as he hovered at the human’s height, watching him sit down, the human holding his stomach in an arm. “While it may not be very habitable to mortal beings, it has a charm to it that can only be appreciated through a refined taste.”
“Refined taste.” He mocked. “I’m sure I would like this place more if I had more bloody things to eat.” He grumbled, frustratedly.
It had only occurred to him how thin this human looked, it was almost frightfully grotesque how his collared shirt fit him too big, hiding his depleted muscles underneath. He looked like the husk of a man, even the glint of light in his eyes was dull, a mere replication of something that once was there.
The king moved closer, keeping his gaze trained on the man, allowing his robe to flow as it rustled through the grass.
The human’s guard came just as quickly as it fell, flying up from his seated position like a frightened bird, almost comically jumping back in surprise as the king moved towards him, like a trained fox, hovering elegantly through the brambles. It didn’t take much to admit the king was besotted in his eyes that were full of sorrow.
The human’s unused gaze swallowed him like a vacuum, ubiquitous in nature, spread across the garden like a growing light. He had overwhelming emotion written in his expression, yet at the same time nothing showed more than a whisper. The king wanted to understand that emotion, to read him like a wonderful book, and allow that unpleasantness to fall to the wayside. It had occurred that in the short time they'd met, the king had never seen him smile.
He manifested an apple, holding it loosely by the stem.
“I have a morsel of food for you. Consider it a rare kindness.”
The human’s expression brightened, led by his primal cravings and animalistic desires.
The king was not subject to these bodily whims, however seeing the ravenous desperation in his gaze screamed sublime, the beauty burning brightly behind his corporal form. The human’s tight face wavered, his consciousness overcome by hunger.
It was as if he were scavenging for scraps, while not entirely trusting of the king’s intentions, he reached out his hand, to which the king quickly pulled it away, out of reach.
“Ah, my apologies.” The king found it amusing how quickly the human became irritated.
“You do not get to toy with me! Especially when it comes to food!” He barked, like a petulant dog, as if some important part of him was ripped away at the last second. The king found it curious how quickly humans seemed to grow attached to little things that could rot by the wave of his hand.
“I’m simply proposing an offer to you, in which I think you might find interesting.”
Now, this gathered the human’s attention, however it brought a tremulous nature to his hardened expression, ruminating carefully over the king’s words. He tread conversation with caution, a luminescent glimmer of his adroit resourcefulness hidden behind his dull eyes.
“An offer?” He handled his words delicately, an uncomfortable tension threaded through his body. “What offer?”
He believed the king had malicious intent, and in any other circumstance the human would have been correct, but the human couldn’t possibly understand how lucky he was. The king was feeling bored today, and that thankfully came with wiggle room for insubordination. The human humored him, and for that, he was allowed mercy.
“I will give you this apple in exchange for your name.” Suddenly, it was as if his mask refused to speak, as there was a note of uncertainty, which the reason for his hesitation was frustratingly unclear. “I only ask for your name as it would be rude of me to make your acquaintance without calling you by your proper title.”
Only through his words that weren’t commanded by his knowledge through his lips was where he understood the nature of his sudden insecurity. It was deemed improper for a king, much less an eldritch god king, to know the name of a subject, especially if that subject were neither a follower of his, nor a man of high standing. Simply, this mere man was beneath him and his attention, for even if he was made into a cultist or dancer or pet, the memory of his dirt stained face would suffice in recognition.
An identity was attached to a name, and only equals deserved identities. Though, however mannered and great of a king he may be, he wanted to know his name.
And the most execrable part of it all was he wasn’t entirely sure what about this human enraptured his attention. In the minutes of meeting him, he’d found himself ensnared in his insolence, and in doing so, it had only made him like the human more. On the same note, the king was ensnared in the human’s careful deliberation of words, waiting with bated breath, ready to inscribe his name on the inside of his own skull.
“...It’s Arthur.” His suspicion understandably never abated, as kindness was an alien concept to Dreamland residents, but the king was thankful he took him up on his deal. Arthur. Arthur. It was a lovely name, was it not? “Arthur Lester. And you?”
He hadn’t thought this far ahead. “You can call me…” A name. A name no one knows. A name no one here calls him by, nor a name someone common would know. Dreamland residents preoccupied themselves with mysterious nicknames for their beloved and adored king. The King in Yellow. Majesty. The King of Insanity. However, one name that was unknown to all was… “Hastur.”
“Hastur.” Arthur repeated his name as if tasting it on his tongue, contemplating the feel of the word on his lips.
Hastur hung on his every last syllable, somehow sucked in by his enchanting expression. He hadn’t heard himself called his true name in years. Of course, he’d heard it in passing by both acquaintances and enemies, a certain manic outer god coming to mind, however to hear it on a human tongue, from one who doesn’t know the power his name truly holds, made him shiver in joy.
“Can I have my apple now?”
Hastur snapped himself out of it. “Of course.”
He held it out, and for a brief moment their hands grazed. Arthur was comfortably warm, the heat radiating off of his mortal body, or maybe it may be just because Hastur’s touch was icy cold. Hastur wondered if the passing moment had affected him as much as he did, but if his touch had affected him, it didn’t show on his strong, stone cold face. Instead, his focus was on survival, as most humans were focused on in the Dreamlands, and what more could describe survival than food?
So, with his slender, lithe fingers, he plucked the apple from his grasp and took a bite of it, gnashing his ivory teeth and devouring bits and pieces of the thick skin.
Maybe Hastur could keep him. Maybe he could trap him here and feed him apples and roasted pork and human food forever. Allow his wounds to heal and his skin to be washed. It wasn’t out of the realm of possibility that the garden’s hedge maze could forever twist and turn, leaving the human entirely at the mercy of Hastur, stuck in a machination of his own design. He wanted to do it, it was an urge so untamed, Hastur kept still to divert his energy to keep his possessive instincts in his body, trapped behind his ribcage, to never see the light of day. Hastur liked watching Arthur eat, because it reminded him how fragile he was, and how badly he was made to be protected.
Suddenly, the human stood up, finishing the apple, turning towards the exit.
And, on cue, everything inside of Hastur came out, unwillingly, at once.
“Where are you going?” He needed to stay here, with him. Was Arthur to defy a king, much less a god? It was dangerous outside, did Arthur not understand that? He most certainly has, especially with his various dreadfully painted scars. Did he not understand the gardens could protect him? Was he really that dull? There was a rising panic in him he hadn’t felt in eons, a tidal wave of indescribable horrors burning and tearing through his soul, threatening the consciousness he stands on, giving way to a primal desire to conquer, to consume.
“You’re not leaving, are you?” The logical part of him understood that it took much more time for a human to trust, and a human to grow attached, however he lived in delusions, and his mind weaves tales that Arthur wanted to stay here, with him. “Why are you leaving?”
Arthur remained calm. Hastur could feel his rising discomfort, at the little ways his lips curled into a frown, his eyebrows furrowing and unfurrowing, little unpleasant micro expressions such as that.
“Why do I need to stay?”
And there, the human, Arthur Lester walked the way he came, his back poised and straight as he made his way way calmly through the twisting and incomprehensible garden landscape. Hastur thought for a split second how easily it would be to keep him, like a caged bird, within the machinations of his garden. He never realized how badly one would want to trim a bird's wings. After all, the outside world was dreary and dangerous, filled with starvation, hurt and suffering.
The human was fragile, and with a single, unfortunate accident, his spine could be severed, or his head could be bludgeoned, or he could be shot through the heart, so on and so on.
It would only make sense for Hastur to keep him in here, underground, bubbled in the shelter of his arms.
To allow him to grow in his garden and prosper, and allow his wounds to heal, washed by his glistening clear fountain water and fed by his filling fruits. Birds rarely knew better, so at times it was necessary to keep them pocketed away inside his realm of safety. However, a nagging feeling left him frozen, staring ahead as Arthur walked away. Entrapping him in his apparent benevolence wouldn’t soothe him, but instead it would scare him. Hastur knew well how feral animals didn’t take kindly to being controlled and stripped of autonomy, and deep down he understood the willpower within this man was far too great to be challenged.
It was his third act of mercy for the day.
He allowed him to leave.
Hastur made his way back to his palace, for a king would never neglect his duties for a measly mortal, much less a human. It was almost as if nothing had ever happened. What came as a surprise to him as he reached his throne, upon being greeted by several dancers and cultists following his feet, kissing the ground he touched, was that the king never realized the nature of his isolation. Only when he was in real company, was when he understood how alone he truly was.
Arthur.
Arthur.
A wonderfully fitted human name. He was ineffable, a beautiful enigma that the king wanted to study, to understand, to watch fly. He would come back for more, wouldn’t he? All the king had to be was patient. After all, the garden had much to provide.