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The passage of time was a strange thing, especially when one was aware of time that had been lost. Another winter had settled upon the kingdom of the Dreaming, and the one year anniversary of Morpheus’s kidnapping was rapidly approaching. Hob marked a significant change in his husband, his King, as the day drew closer- he grew skittish like a spooked horse, jumping at the slightest sound; his sleep became restless, plagued by nightmares that were part memory, part anxiety over what could have been; and no matter how many blankets and furs were draped about him, no matter how high the fire roared, he couldn’t seem to shake the chill that had settled back into his bones.
Morpheus withdrew into himself- he had already gained a reputation for being a just, fair, and kind King, if somewhat taciturn and reserved. But as the anniversary of his abduction drew ever closer he became as cold and distant as the frost that covered the gardens each morning. He snapped at his staff, even Lucienne and Hob, was curt and seemed to become all but unfeeling.
This in sharp contrast to Hob, who had looked forward to and enjoyed the winter solstice for as long as he could remember. The food, the decorations, the stories told around a hearth or bonfire late into the- year after year, these things kept him warm and hopeful through the longest night of the year and into the following spring, and there had been some very hard winters in his boyhood.
Hob felt for his King, his heart hurt more and more with every shiver and every night where he awoke gasping for breath, tangled in the sheets and furs. Morpheus needed new memories to associate with the solstice, and Hob thought he had just the plan. The challenge would be getting his scarred and frightened King to go along with it.
Two days before the solstice, the King and his Knight found themselves in their sitting room, sharing a chaise in front of the fire, each reading their own book. Morpheus had his feet in Hob’s lap, his legs covered with a thick fur, a quilt wrapped about his shoulders. “Darling,” Hob began carefully as he closed his book. Morpheus looked up, icy eyes curious. Hob took a breath; there was no eloquent way to ease into this, so he just dove in (as he did most other things).
“The solstice is coming up soon.” Morpheus tensed. Hob put a reassuring hand on his thigh and gave him a gentle smile. “It’s okay. I thought we could do something fun, make some good memories. I’m sure my friends in town will make their bonfire and feast like they have in previous years, they’ve said we’re always welcome.”
“They have to,” Morpheus ground out, “You are a High Knight of the realm and consort of the Dream King.” Hob couldn’t help his chuckle.
“You’re right, but I like to think they still consider me a friend as well.” He met his husband’s gaze, his face softening. “We don’t have to go, but I think it would do you good.”
“I am fine,” Morpheus spat before he could consciously form the words. “I do not need to attend a commoner’s solstice festival.” Hob’s face fell, more than a little wounded. He knew his love didn’t mean to be hurtful; he knew he was just lashing out in the same way an injured animal would at any hand extended, it didn’t matter whether that hand meant to help or to hurt. The scar on his shoulder twinged in sympathy. His gaze dropped sadly to the fur over Morpheus’ legs. The King had at least enough awareness to look slightly sheepish once his waspish tone registered. He was about to apologize but Hob got there first: “My love,” he whispered, gentle and tentative, “You’re not fine. Far from it. And I don’t blame you. No one expects you to be unaffected.”
Morpheus felt his throat close; Hob was entirely too forgiving and understanding at times. “I am the King,” he wheezed. “I have to be fine. My people and kingdom depend on it.”
“Our people,” Hob corrected in a whisper with a quick smile, “Our kingdom. You don’t have to shoulder it all yourself, my love.”
The King’s eyes dropped to his book, the words obscured by the tears that began to well up and burn his eyes. He hated feeling so weak, so adrift, feeling just as trapped as he did in that cell despite being in the palace, surrounded by all things and people familiar.
Hob gently eased the book out of his trembling fingers and set it on the chaise before wrapping his hands around the digits, trying to squeeze some warmth into them. He hated that terrified, haunted look in his husband’s eyes, the one that had only grown more present as the nights grew longer. “We knew this was going to be difficult.” As matter of fact as Hob’s words were, Morpheus’ chest constricted at how broken they sounded. “But the solstice is about coming out of the dark, the days growing longer and the promise of spring. It’s more than just a commoner’s party.”
Shame burned and constricted the King’s chest; inflicting his pain on Hob was hardly the way to help him feel better. In fact, it just seemed to be making things worse. The fire cracked and popped in the silence that followed, as if trying to fill the empty void between the two. “I…” Morpheus began tentatively. He swallowed hard past the lump in his throat. “If you wish it, I will accompany you to your friends’ festival.”
Hob’s beaming grin that glowed brighter than the fire made his nerves over the whole thing infinitely more bearable..
~X~
On the eve of the solstice, Morpheus and Hob silently dressed in their least conspicuous and warmest clothes, cloaks of dark wool covering their frames. Night fell quickly, and just before dinner, they snuck out of the palace hand in hand- Hob couldn’t help giggling as he recalled their first stolen kiss in one of the servants’ passages mere moments after he had been dubbed an esquire of the Dreaming. So much had changed since then, and yet some things had remained as they were over a year ago.
Hob found himself growing slightly anxious as they made their way to the block of boarding houses he had once called home- his friends were good folks, if a bit thick sometimes, and he hoped they wouldn’t make too much of a fuss over having the King and his Consort at their fire. He wanted this to be an escape for Morpheus, not a reminder of who he was and what he had been through and just how much heavier the burden of rule had seemed since then.
Morpheus’ grip on Hob’s fingers grew tighter as they drew close enough to see the glow of the bonfire and hear the raucous laughter of those already gathered. The beams and railings of all the boarding houses lining the square were hung with pine garlands and evergreen wreaths dotted with holly leaves and berries. As they approached the roaring bonfire, they could see trestle tables arranged end to end along one side of the square courtyard, practically groaning under the weight of all the food they held- roasted fowl and game, bowls of fruits, hand pies with every sweet and savory filling imaginable, roasted vegetables, even some spun sugar candy; not to mention the three barrels of mead on one table, with six more on the ground waiting their turn.
Groups of twos and threes danced to music from a guitar, fiddle, and pipe while others talked and children chased each other around the tables and groups of adults. Elders had brought out chairs and benches, and had scattered themselves around the square, chatting with each other over plates of food and keeping watch over the children out of the corners of their eyes. Teenagers hovered awkwardly around the trestles, trying to have conversation as they twirled their hair and fidgeted with the hems of their tunics.
Hob grew more excited as they drew closer, his steps practically bouncing. He felt Morpheus press closer to his side- the King usually didn’t like large crowds of people he didn’t know. “I know this song,” he murmured eagerly into Morpheus’ ear through the wool of his hood, his toes tapping of their own accord, “Was my favorite as a kid.” He paused to glance briefly around the square. “Let’s find Adrian.”
He pulled Morpheus by the hand towards the tables, eyes seeking his best friend.
“Oi! Hobsie!”
The call came from a woman refilling her tankard at one of the barrels of mead as she closed the spigot. Morpheus laughed softly through his nose with a murmured, “Hobsie?” Hob rolled his eyes as he turned to the woman.
“No one’s called me that since I was four, Jo,” he ground out playfully as he stepped close enough to give her a companionable shove. She expertly kept her tankard from spilling a drop as she absorbed the blow and shoved him right back, laughing the whole time. “Yea, well, I get special dispensation.” Hob laughed and wrapped his free arm around her shoulders in a quick hug.
“Johanna,” he began with slightly more formality, “Let me introduce you to-”
“Dream.” Morpheus cut across him, tentatively holding out a hand for her to shake. Johanna peered under his hood as much as she could see, dark, clever eyes narrowing slightly. She put the pieces together as she shook his hand- Hob had brought his husband, the King, to their festival, as incognito as a King could get. Keep it casual, got it.
“Dream,” she repeated with a knowing smile. “Glad to finally meet you. ‘Ol Hobsie’s been almost disgustingly happy since the two of you married.” Hob rolled his eyes again, and Morpheus thought he saw a flush smear across his cheekbones.
The King smiled with a gracious nod of his head. Hob sputtered for a moment but continued, “Uh, yea. Dream, Johanna’s family owns the Constantine Apothecary, they supply the palace.” Morpheus nodded again.
“Thank you, for your family’s service to mine.” Johanna waved him off and took a generous sip of her mead.
“Ain’t nothing. Royal patronage was the only reason we kept going when others had to close up. Some of them have gotten back on their feet, luckily.” Johanna was about to say something else but Hob cut across her: “Jo, have you seen Adrian?”
Johanna nodded, taking another swig. “Yea, he was helping old Hettie with the wreaths, should be back any minute now.” Hob gave her another affable shove before taking Morpheus by the hand and half dragging him to a corner of the square where approximately seven elderly men and women had formed a little corral of sorts for the infants and toddlers with their toys. The children were all babbling and crawling and stumbling over each other, but no one was crying, which was always a good thing.
Adrian was helping Hettie into the empty eighth chair, a pile of leafy wreaths at his feet. Once she was seated, he scooped them up and deposited them in one of the few empty spaces on the tables before brushing small bits of stray leaf and twig off his shirt.
Hob dragged Morpheus over to the table and yelled, “Adrian!”
Adrian’s head snapped up and he looked around for a moment, confused and a little adrift, before he saw Hob heading towards him with his husband in tow. He opened his arms as wide as his grin and wrapped his best friend in a strong embrace.
“It’s so good to see you!” Adrian said into his shoulder. They let go of each other but Adrian kept his hands on Hob’s shoulders, looking him over. “Seem to be doing well for yourself,” he finally proclaimed, as if announcing the value of a piece at auction. Hob laughed and clapped him on the shoulder.
“Adrian, I don’t think you’ve officially met my husband.” Hob gestured to Morpheus. “This is Mo- Dream.”
Adrian blinked twice as Morpheus held out his hand, but like Johanna he put the pieces together relatively quickly (even if not as quickly as Johanna). “Dream,” he repeated, resisting the deep seated instinct to show deference to his betters- not just his better, the Dream King. “A pleasure to meet you, really. And thank you for coming, we’re glad to have you.”
“Thank you, for inviting me,” Morpheus replied quietly, gently pulling his hand out of Adrian’s grasp. His throat was starting to close up with nerves; despite being under the stars he seemed to struggle to get enough air in his lungs.
Hob laid a gentle hand on his lower back, warm even through the layers of his clothes. “Yes, thank you,” he echoed with a smile. “Think I’ll take my husband to get some food, did Nell make her beef and bacon pies?”
“Yup, they’re going fast.” Adrian laughed as he pointed to a plate near the middle of a table, a scant six hand pies left on it. “Better get one before they’re gone.”
Hob was dragging Morpheus to the table without another word. He crowed with joy as he grabbed two of the pies and handed one to the King. “Nell’s beef and bacon hand pies,” he proclaimed with something like reverence, “Beef, bacon, and probably magic because I’ve never tasted anything so good, not even at the palace.” He crammed half the pie in his mouth and took a bite, chewing with a moan similar to one Morpheus had heard in their bedroom. The bliss on his husband’s face was almost divine.
Morpheus took a tentative bite of the pie, and the flavor of juicy beef and bacon dusted with a potent mixture of spices burst across his tongue, warming him from the inside. His nose began to run and he felt heat in his cheeks. He blinked in shock- not only did it taste good as Hob had said, but he felt a pie-shaped ball of warmth settle in his stomach and radiate gently outward. He took another bite, bigger this time but still refined.
Hob almost mourned how quickly he ate his first pie as he grabbed another, intent on savoring this one. He was surprised to see Morpheus taking reserved but enthusiastic bites of his own. His silhouette practically glowed in the firelight, the way he was positioned making it look like the smoke was rising from him and not from the burning pile of wood. He looked like an angel of the night, one who enjoyed beef and bacon pies. Not for the first time, Hob found himself utterly smitten with Morpheus Aeterna.
Morpheus finished his pie and delicately licked the crumbs off his fingertips. When he was done, he noticed Hob staring at him, half of an unfinished pie in his hand, a dopey grin on his face. He blinked twice and gave him a ‘what?’ kind of shrug. Hob just laughed with a love-struck sigh. He held out his free hand to his husband, who took it without hesitation. “You’re beautiful,” he murmured once his husband was close enough to hear, “Most beautiful man I’ve ever met.”
The flush on the King’s cheeks turned from the pink of the pie’s warmth, to red with the warmth of Hob’s regard. Hob brought him to the table creaking under the barrels of mead and grabbed two tankards in one hand, filling them at the same time like he’d done it dozens of times- to be fair, he had. He handed one to Morpheus and raised his own in a toast. “Happy solstice, my love. May we have many more.”
The King’s throat closed up again; he couldn’t bring himself to repeat Hob’s words, but he did nod before taking a sip of his mead. The honeyed liquor burned sweetly as it went down, once again surprising him as it seemed to warm him from the inside.
Hob brought the two of them back to the fire, where the music had been replaced with storytelling. An elder gentleman stood with his back to the fire, animatedly telling a fairytale to the gaggle of children seated in front of him, the adults and teenagers seated on benches behind the kids. Hob smiled when he caught the gist of the story being told- the story of the sun and the moon and how they came to be in the sky. “Darren’s always the first to go,” he whispered to Morpheus, “And he always tells this one. He’s told it this way ever since I can remember.”
Morpheus adjusted his hood so he could hear better while still keeping his face in shadow. He knew the story- everyone in the Dreaming has heard it at least a dozen times in their life- But it had been told to him by a tutor, more concerned with whether or not he could remember the key events, as if it were a battle or a family tree. Darren told it like a fairytale, with different voices and excited movement.
Morpheus found himself absorbed in the remainder of the tale, and the entire tale after that, gasping along with the children. Hob just stood behind him, arms wrapped around his husband’s waist, keeping him warm from the back while the heat of the fire washed over their fronts. Morpheus couldn’t see, but while Hob listened to the tales, his gaze remained hazily fixed on some point within the tufts of Morpheus’ hair, utterly besotted.
When Darren finished his second tale, his eyes found Hob, and he held out a hand in invitation. “Gadling!” he cried joyfully, “It’s been a long while since we’ve seen you around the fire. Care to tell us a story?”
Hob was taken aback and spluttered into Morpheus’ hair as he stammered for words. The children had all turned around and were loudly pleading for a story, their parents peeking expectantly over their shoulders. Even Morpheus had peered back at him. “You should,” the King murmured. “It is tradition.”
All the air left Hob’s lungs in a happily resigned sigh. Morpheus was right- it was tradition, and he had specifically brought them here to create new solstice memories for his husband. “Alright, alright,” he said with a chuckle, ducking around the hem of the King’s hood to plant a quick kiss on his cheek.
The crowd applauded as he picked his way to the front and took Darren’s spot in front of the fire. He rubbed his hands together, racking his brain for a story to tell. He feared not doing his favorite myths and fairytales justice, so he told a slightly embellished version of the story he knew best- the story of how he met his husband.
He painted the portrait in a slightly different frame, a story of a lonely, sorrowful knight rescuing a fae prince that had been trapped by an evil wizard who wanted the fae’s power for himself. As thanks, the prince offered to take the knight back to his realm, to serve as his personal guard and live an immortal life in the faerie realm. Of course the knight and the prince fell in love and had many other adventures together, some of which he alluded to. He did different voices as best he could and used his cloak to add excitement to his tale, but he was nowhere near as enthralling as Darren or some of the others- or so he thought.
The children of course were eager and attentive listeners, their parents politely following along. But one pair of icy blue eyes just couldn’t look away, not once their owner realized just what story Hob was embellishing and painting with a slightly different brush.
It was their story, in as many words, and to hear Hob proclaim it with pride, with the devotion and love given to a fairytale that held a special place in his heart, it filled his chest with a sort of fuzzy contentment that almost startled him with its unfamiliarity.
Everyone cheered loudly when Hob’s story was done. He made his way back to his husband’s side as the next person began their tale. Morpheus immediately took his hand and pressed a kiss to calloused knuckles. “That was lovely,” he choked softly, the words heavy with emotion. Hob let out a bashful little laugh.
“Not my best work,” he said with a self-deprecating smile, “But I’m glad you enjoyed it.”
They stayed for many more stories and many more tankards of mead and many more conversations with friends, until the gray haze of dawn had just begun to smudge the horizon. At that point, the fire was carefully and thoroughly banked and doused, the remains of the food and drink cleared away, the tables and chairs returned to the boarding houses they had come from. Hob had immediately jumped in to help his friends. They gave Morpheus a wide berth until old Hettie asked- or rather ordered, in the way that old ladies do- for him to help her shuffle up the stairs to her room. Morpheus couldn’t refuse a request like that, so he helped her totter into the house at the far end of the square and up the stairs to her room, the old woman chattering to him the entire time.
It was nice, to be treated as a person and not Morpheus the Dream King.
Once Hettie was safely tucked into her bed, Morpheus went back to the square, where Nell was pressing a sack of what he now knew to be beef and bacon pies into Hob’s hands as if he were still a child. Morpheus smiled fondly as Hob thanked her and said farewell with a warm embrace.
Once his eyes had found his husband, Hob held up the sack as if it were the spoils of war, an excited grin still splitting his face open. How his cheeks weren’t aching, Morpheus had no idea. “Apparently Nell made us our own batch of pies when she heard I was coming.” His free hand bashfully tugged at his ear lobe. “She said I need to get some meat on your bones.”
Morpheus snorted softly as he adjusted his hood.
Once the square was entirely clear, folks drifted back to their homes to rest until lunch, and the rest of the day would be relatively relaxed. Hob said his farewells, then took his husband’s hand and started the walk back to the palace.
They snuck back in the way they had come out, tired but still filled with the same thrill as when they snuck out. Once back in their rooms, Hob rebuilt the fire and laid out the pies on a tray in front of the hearth until they woke- he knew they’d be having them for lunch in a few hours.
Morpheus fell into bed almost immediately- his cloak and outer layers were haphazardly thrown on the floor, and he buried himself under the covers before Hob had begun to undress. He was almost asleep by the time his Knight had climbed into bed beside him.
Hob gathered Morpheus in his arms and pressed a tender kiss to his forehead as he drifted off. A chill still lingered on the King’s skin, but for the first time in weeks, Morpheus’ sleep was untroubled.