Work Text:
For the past two days, there’s been something hanging in the sky, dark stone gray and imposing, casting a chilling shadow across the land, and with the shadow, came the nightmares.
They hung in the air, hot and sticky like the most unpleasant parts of the summer heat, clinging to everything and everyone, infecting their dreams.
They seep in with the same flashes of choking blue water, flashing shadows and steel, and winding roots, and Seongwoong doesn’t understand.
Why the same nightmare?
There’s someone controlling the floating fortress, he thinks, watching as it lowers itself down onto the banks of the river, someone strange. The magic of the land itself seems as if it can’t decide whether it’s repulsed or drawn to the fortress and the stranger inside, and the foundations are soaked with the old ghosts of dreams.
And indeed, someone steps out, nightmares snapping at his heels, exhaustion tugging at the line of his shoulders. It’s visible even to Seongwoong, hidden across the river in the safety of the forest.
The strange mage sets out for the nearby town and Seongwoong resolves to follow him.
He…well. He doesn’t lose the mage, not really, but they head straight for the marketplace and Seongwoong balks at the idea of just prancing into the town, with all of those watching eyes and—nope.
He is fine in the forest, thank you very much. Maybe he’d have a better view of the man if he could clamber up into one of the trees above, but hooves were really not conductive to climbing, so Seongwoong resigns himself to scrambling up onto a cliff, nearly tripping thrice over the rough rockfall and settling down near the edge to watch.
He moves through the crowd, moving from stall to stall slowly, looking away every now and then to take in the surroundings.
For all the negative emotion and nightmares hanging off of him, he looks, for a moment, like any other Ionian.
An extremely tired one, if the way he kept stumbling and shaking his head, blinking quickly, was any indication.
That was…a little worrying. Maybe he was worried about the nightmares too?
Seongwoong watches the mage finish his shopping—food, mainly, and some clothing—and walk out of the marketplace. His legs are asleep when he stumbles upright, but the feeling fades quickly as he bounds after the mage, holding his censer close.
The mage looks really worrying, actually, Seongwoong watching with concern as he nearly walks into a tree, brows furrowed. He rubs at his eyes, squinting, a hand clenching tight—tight enough that Seongwoong smells the faint scent of blood on the wind when the breeze shifts.
And evidently, that’s not enough because he hisses, clenching tighter. Seongwoong feels his ears press flat against his head when he spots the red slowly beading in the mage’s hand.
He keeps walking and Seongwoong just has to wonder why they’re so afraid of falling asleep.
He follows the mage as quietly as he can and he thinks he’s doing a pretty good job until they reach the entrance of the fortress. The mage pauses and Seongwoong does too, crouched low in the brush.
His only warning is a low hum, dangerous and at a frequency that sets his teeth on edge, before a ball of dark energy is hurtling at his head.
Seongwoong yelps, ducking just in time, feeling it ruffle his hair.
“I know you’re following me,” the mage growls, another orb floating above their bleeding hand, their bags at their feet. “Show yourself.”
He throws the sphere and it forces Seongwoong to scramble out of the cover of the tree shade. “Wait!”
The mage doesn’t wait and this time, the orb nearly slams into one of Seongwoong’s hind legs, the energy snapping at his heel.
“I’m not trying to—”
He’s cut off again by a blast of energy, a pulse of magic that flings him backwards. He only barely manages to catch himself on his feet, clinging to his censer and reasoning really isn’t going to work, is it?
Seongwoong jumps out of the way of another orb, twirling his censer. The dream dust surrounding it thickens, and he winds up, swinging, sending a seed, humming with magic, flying at the mage.
He’s too slow to dodge and it slams into his chest, knocking him back a step as he cries out, the dust exploding over his skin, sticking to his clothes and hair.
Immediately, the dust starts to do its work and his eyes start to flutter shut.
“You,” he snarls weakly, crashing to his knees, swaying.
It’s the last thing he manages to say before he’s pulled under into deep sleep and Seongwoong sighs.
He can feel his magic tugging him toward the dream—nightmare, maybe—but he ignores it for now.
Up close, it’s clear how tired the mage is, bags under his eyes and scratches on his arms where it seems like he’d tried to keep himself awake.
Luckily, he’s pretty light, and Seongwoong manages to pick him up.
It takes him a few tries to get into the fortress and to find a room with a bed—doors were not made for those with four legs—but he sets the mage down before scurrying out and bringing his bags back inside.
He doesn’t know what the many jars he finds in various closets do, but he does know, at least, what to do with the roll of bandages he scrounges up. It’s luckily clean, and he does his best to clean and wrap the mage’s scratches before hesitating.
The bed’s pretty big, the mage looking even smaller curled atop it in some kind of fitful sleep. Seongwoong’s censer hums insistently, and so, carefully, he nudges the mage over, kneeling down beside him on the bed, folding his legs up under him.
He does his best to clean his hooves off, brushing dirt and leaves onto the ground and he hopes the mage doesn’t mind that the sheets are getting a little dirty.
He settles in, holding his censer tight, and closes his eyes.
He opens his eyes to screaming, the smell of rot and decay in the air, and he gasps as he watches the tree he’s found himself standing in front of—ghostly pale and chiming a death toll as it shrivels—die.
Kneeling between its roots, hands buried in his hair as he bows over, is the mage.
Magic roars around him, a storm of chaos, dark and bitter and Seongwoong takes a step back.
Definitely a nightmare.
The mage’s head snaps up, eyes locking onto him immediately, and he startles.
“Um,” he says, and he doesn’t get any farther.
“ You, ” the mage growls, floating into the hair, a wind whipping around him. “You dare to trap me?”
Seongwoong blinks. “What?”
The mage hisses at him. “Let me go,” he warns, voice low and dangerous.
“I’m not keeping you trapped here,” Seongwoong protests, holding his staff close. “You’re just asleep! You’ll wake up in a few hours naturally.”
The mage evidently doesn’t expect that, recoiling.
His shock reverberates through the dreamscape, monochrome skies and dead ghostly tree melting away to something else.
Blue waters, winding vines, and floating shadows and the mage lands on the ground, stumbling backward.
“Oh,” Seongwoong says, looking around, hearing water splash gently when he shifts slightly. “So you are the person causing the nightmares.”
The mage bristles immediately. “Is that what you’re here for? To kill me?”
Seongwoong stares at him for a moment, wide eyed. “What? No! How did you even come to that conclusion?”
The mage’s eyes narrow further, though his hands are shaking when he presses them against the wall of stone and roots, and one of the shadows moves forward, into the center of the pool of water, something shaped like a misty dagger forming in their hand.
Seongwoong inches closer, looking down.
And there, in the water, floating as if peacefully asleep, is the mage.
A memory, then, Seongwoong thinks, watching as the shadow moves to stab down, only to disappear into a puff. They reform behind Seongwoong, moving forward again.
A looping memory, he amends. Another nightmare.
“Well,” he says slowly. “I’m not going to do that.” He holds his censer tighter, looking around again, taking a closer look at the roots, the pool of water, and the image of the mage stuck inside, those roots wound around his limbs as if keeping him trapped there, asleep.
And oh.
“That’s why you’re afraid of sleeping.”
“I’m not,” the mage—the one outside the memory—snaps immediately. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”
Seongwoong ignores that. “How long were you trapped in here for?”
He kneels down in the water, setting his staff down by the edge of the pool, reaching down to cradle head of the memory version of the mage.
“I don’t know,” The mage admits after a pause. “A century, maybe.”
“That’s a long time.”
He lets the mage’s head drop, tugging at the roots until they give way. From his place by the wall, the real mage watches, eyes still narrowed.
“Did you have nice dreams, at least?”
The mage lets out a bitter laugh. “What do you think?”
Seongwoong thinks of the dead tree and he hums, finally pulling the memory version of him free, and the dreamscape dissolves again.
It reforms into a village, small but bustling and the mage visibly startles at the sight of it.
Seongwoong picks up his censer and shakes himself, water droplets flying everywhere. “Sorry,” he says, when the mage turns to stare at him.
“This is—I haven’t—”
A child runs by, face blurred but laughing, and the mage presses his lips together, trembling. The child then stops in the middle of the road, turning and looking up. “Who are you?”
The mage exhales shakily and Seongwoong tilts his head, ears perking up a little. “I’m…”
Someone in the distance calls, voice muffled, and the kid looks over their shoulder. “Oh, I have to go. Bye!”
They sprint off and Seongwoong waits, twisting his censer idly in his hands.
“I forgot how happy I used to be before I had…this,” the mage says, looking down at his hands.
“Your magic?”
The mage snorts. He repeats, “What do you think?” He clenches his hands into fists. “You saw what happened to the ghost willow.” The dreamscape shakes, flashing to memories of dead trees, to looming shadows and indistinct shouting voices, to blue waters.
“I…saw,” Seongwoong says hesitantly, shifting from side to side. “But I don’t understand.”
The mage side eyes him. “If I tell you, will it make you go away?” Seongwoong shrugs. “I’d say you were some weird trick by the Spirit of Ionia to keep me stuck here if you didn’t just throw…what did you throw at me, anyway?”
“Swirlseed,” Seongwoong answers promptly. “Sorry. I didn’t know how else to make you stop trying to kill me so I, um…did kind of make you fall asleep. I promise you’ll wake up normally though,” he adds quickly when the mage rears back.
He pauses, then sighs. “Fine. It’s not like I can do anything about it but believe you,” he grumbles.
“You’d probably wake up faster if you slept regularly,” Seongwoong helpfully informs him, and the mage rolls his eyes. The dreamscape flashes to the blue waters again and the mage tenses.
“Whatever.”
“I’m serious! I can promise you right now that you’ll wake up in a few hours. I’ll wake you up if you sleep more than a day.”
The mage narrows his eyes. “So you can—”
Seongwoong cuts him off firmly because nope. “You need the sleep.”
“I’ll be fine.”
Seongwoong levels an unimpressed look in his direction. “You nearly walked into a tree.”
“Only once! Maybe twice.” The mage puts his hands on his hips. “That’s not that many times.”
Seongwoong opens his mouth to retort, notes the stubborn set of the mage’s jaw, and closes it. After a pause, he just settles on, “I’m still not going to help you wake yourself up. How long were you awake for anyway?”
The mage squints. “Maybe…three days?” He shrugs. “I had to come down to get some supplies.” Then he shakes his head. “Doesn’t matter. How long are you going to keep me here?”
“As long as you still need the sleep. Not longer than a day though, if you’re really afraid of not waking up again.”
“I’m not afraid,” is the immediate response, and Seongwoong ignores him again, looking around the blurry village. It’s…well. It’s dreamlike, for the lack of a better word, all bright colors and muffled sounds, no clear faces for them to memorize, if they wanted to.
“Was this your home?”
The mage’s mouth starts to curl into a snarl, and he scoffs, turning away. “Close enough.” He takes a step away from it, and the dream dissolves again, reforming into a forest, a ghostly-pale tree looming before them, long trailing branches waving in the wind. Immediately, he startles backward, breathing hitching as it starts to wither, magic crumbling away to nothing.
Seongwoong feels his ears press down flat and he skitters back a few steps, clutching at his censor tighter.
“Stop.” Seongwoong spares a moment to glance at the mage as he speaks up, voice tight. “Stop it. Take me out.”
“This is your dream,” he replies, nervously backing up further when the ghost willow wails, dying cry shivering out through the magic in the air.
“And you brought me here,” the mage snarls, whirling, his hand clamping down on Seongwoong’s wrist. “Take me out.”
The grass beneath their feet starts to blacken and die too, and the mage doesn’t let go, tugging Seongwoong closer.
He hesitates. Then in a single move, yanks his arm out of the mage’s grip. “Okay,” he says, holding his censer. “Let me try…”
He closes his eyes, thinking of budding dreams, of soft light while spirits flit around his head, and rough bark beneath his fingers.
The magic of the dream stirs, and the mournful dirge cuts off.
Cautiously, Seongwoong opens his eyes, straightening when he takes in the familiar garden. Delightly, he says, “It worked! I didn’t think it would,” he adds on softly, feeling the soft grass brush against his legs.
Beside him, the mage is looking around too, twinkling lights reflected in his eyes. “What is this?”
“My home.” He hops over a tangle of roots, leaning his staff against Mother Tree to cradle the wide petals of a blooming dream. Seongwoong looks up.
Here, in his dream, Mother Tree is still healthy, leaves full and branches strong. There’s no half-healed wound from where his dream had been carved off by human steel, and there are no nightmare burls leaking darkness and pain.
“Oh,” the mage says quietly.
“I was a dream once, you know,” Seongwoong says after a pause. “One of Mother Tree’s.”
The mage squints a little. “Your…you’d let me get close to her?”
“Why wouldn’t I?”
“I don’t exactly have a good track record with trees,” he says looking up at the rustling canopy. “Especially not with trees people care about.”
Seongwoong shrugs, picking his censer back up. “It’s just a dream, but…I don’t think you’d hurt her. You didn’t hurt the ghost willow on purpose either, right?”
The mage scoffs. “It doesn’t matter if I killed it on purpose or not. I can’t—I can’t control my abilities. It’s dead either way.”
“I think it matters.” Using the top of his censer, he reaches up and gently bends a branch down to watch the dream slowly bloom, soft golden light spilling from the core of it. “Isn’t it worse to choose to be evil? You can always learn control. You didn’t kill me earlier, even if you could probably have just overwhelmed my magic like with the willow.”
The mage looks away. “I still could have,” he mutters, “if I wasn’t tired.”
Seongwoong lets go of the branch. “You would have collapsed, sooner or later,” he points out. “Even if you were afraid to sleep.”
“I just…” the mage sighs, shoulders slumping a little. “Every time I close my eyes, I can feel water—” he practically spits the word “—and roots, and—”
“You don’t know if you’ll wake up again?” The mage nods, eyes tracking a slowly blinking firefly.
“But…” he says slowly, holding his hand out for the firefly to land on, “this is the nicest dream I’ve had in years. And it’s not even mine. I don’t think I have any anymore.”
“That’s not true,” Seongwoong immediately protests. “Everyone has them. They’re just shy, sometimes. You just need to help them come out.” The mage doesn’t seem to believe him, an eyebrow raised, so he adds “I’ve seen countless dreams come in. They can be angry or sad or grieving, but they can also be happy. People don’t just dream one dream.” He pauses. “I can help you, if you’ll let me. Here,” and he holds out his hand.
He nearly thinks the mage will reject him, back away and tear the already fragile fabric of Seongwoong’s dream open, but after a moment, he hesitantly takes it.
“Are you sure this will work? Dreams work off of memories and I…don’t have many nice ones.”
“That’s okay,” Seongwoong says, kneeling down on the soft grass folding his legs beneath him as the mage sits cross legged, “the darker the nightmares, the brighter your dreams will be.”
He feels the flower on top of his head, closed since he’d stepped into this dream, start to unfurl. The mage lets out a soft gasp. “Oh,” he says, staring at the flower.
Seongwoong stops. “You okay?” When the mage doesn’t say anything, seemingly having to tear his eyes away from the flower, he adds, “I promise I won’t hurt you and you’ll wake up after this is over.”
“I…I’m fine,” he says faintly after a second. “I’m just—you’re—” he shakes his head violently. “Nevermind.”
Bathed in the golden glow, his face looks like there’s more color back in it, a flush on his cheeks, and Seongwoong smiles at him. Strangely, that seems to make him flush more, but he puts it out of his mind as he reaches further into the mage’s mind with his magic.
He can feel the dream already, waiting to bloom.