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cuckoo-on-a-string · 2 years

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Younger Gods: IV

Younger Gods Master List Dream x fem!reader

Chapter 3

Morpheus and Taliesin put their plan into action, and a storm god learns to dream.

Warnings: language, choking

A/N: First of all, this is BARELY edited, so I may come back and fix it later, but I wanted to get something posted tonight for personal reasons (that I'll discuss in a separate post). Secondly, you all continue to blow me away! I'm so happy to share this story with you, and I hope you enjoy as we slip into the next phase of the journey.

I definitely see/hear Taliesin as Michael Sheen, just in case you need a face.

The one-shot/new fic contest is complete, and the first will appear in the next few days. Super excited, so stay tuned for more details (and stories).

Chapter 4: This is an Intervention, Darling

She breathed in the endless dark, asleep but not dreaming.

Though it was kinder than the last visions she endured, it wasn’t pleasant. The hollow dark held her as she waited to wake, and the collar waited with her. Even in a space lacking all form, and barely aware as she was, the curse still whispered into place, chafing over old scars and biting into flesh gone soft. Once upon a time, she had callouses to protect the edge of her jaw, her chin, the tender places where neck and shoulder joined. But her dreaming self had no defenses, and she suffered fresh pains every time she surrendered consciousness.

She didn’t need the Nightmare King’s persecution to suffer.

Caught in the sticky dark of her subconscious, she had no idea of time. Maybe she rested a few minutes. Maybe days. The collar flexed, but it let her breathe when she kept still, and she had nothing to reach for.

It dawned on her – this might be the Nightmare King’s punishment. He’d promised kinder dreams, but she knew the shades of grey in every bargain, and this limbo fulfilled his words. With his sand locking her away from the waking world, he could leave her body to rot. She could die and stay trapped in his purgatory, wearing her collar forever.

She didn’t understand why, but her fear rushed to assure her the idea had weight. He didn’t need a good reason to punish her. Kings never needed a good reason, barely even an excuse.

The collar reacted, cinching tight until her breaths wheezed desperately through the empty nothing. Would it last forever? Would she fade alone? Could she suffer enough to satisfy them all – the dead fae king, the collar, the Endless?

If she’d learned anything, it was that she could always hurt just a little more.

“Oh, my little darling.”

The voice pressed through the shadowed fog like a touch, more sensation than sound. She felt the words and the warm voice behind them.

“How is she this far gone? Even if… she should still be eating, but she’s so thin.”

Her body gathered weight, remembered gravity, and a palm lined with musician’s callouses held her cheek. Smoke from a fire and rain on the window pulled her back to her senses, and she slowly blinked awake to find Taliesin’s bright, worried eyes anticipating her focus.

“There we are.” His thumb swept back and forth across her cheek, smoothing away the tears she’d shed in her sleep. A glittering rim of his own tears hung along his lashes, threatening to spill over, and she tried to reach out and comfort him.

But her arm was too heavy. She couldn’t move under the weight of familiar blankets piled over her.

She couldn’t even move her head, which felt impossibly dense, but she looked past her friend – to the fire she smelled and the rain she heard. She knew them. It was her cottage, the quiet home she’d abandoned after Dream’s shadow threatened to swallow her on the shores of the Dreaming.

“Home?”

“Yes.” Taliesin smiled. His voice trembled as he continued petting her, touching her like he could make everything better for everyone if he just kept holding her hand, stroking her cheek. “I used the key you gave me. You’re all safe and cwtched up on the couch. Everything’s going to be alright.”

But she’d been in the waking world. Hiding. And the Nightmare King had -

A sharp breath, she jerked the final inches to full consciousness, and jolted up. Fear made a potent stimulant.

And there he was, near the door, taller than the entrance, looking down on her with passive disdain that could flare into rage without warning.

Taliesin pushed her back down into the couch, pinning her into the cushions by the shoulders. Her hands flattened over his, trying to translate the threat with nothing but winded gasps and wide eyes. He shushed her, twisting his hands to hold hers once she stopped struggling. All the while, he kept murmuring assurances.

“He isn’t going to hurt you. No one’s going to hurt you. It’s safe. I’m here, and I won’t let anything happen. Can you hear me? Can you trust me?”

“I trust you,” she gasped. She didn’t necessarily believe him, but she trusted him.

“Good, good.” Stroking the sweaty hair off her face, he looked towards the Nightmare King. The back of the couch blocked him from view, but at Taliesin’s signal, he deigned to approach the fire.

As he stepped into the flickering light, his eyes fixed on her again, and Taliesin felt her quaking in his grip.

“He’s going to help.” Taliesin pet her hair faster, burning off nervous energy. “We’re going to get the collar off of you.”

It would be the perfect moment for the King of Dreams to contradict the bard, raise his hand, and end them both. To invite nightmares into her home or fill their lungs with his sand. But he did none of those things. When he understood she was watching for his reaction, he offered the faintest nod, something so shallow it could’ve been mistaken as a trick of the light by anyone watching less closely.

“Why?”

She couldn’t trust him until she understood his motives. Mortal, fae, or Endless, the desires of the powerful mattered most, and he wanted something to do with her, something that required keeping her alive.

She couldn’t understand what he wanted when he advanced on her in the apartment, why he forced her to relive the worst of her past. This sounded like an answer. Something she may even believe. He’d thanked her for returning Matthew, and she knew he didn’t like the collar. He’d said as much. Maybe she could finally breathe easy – while she was awake, at least – if he offered a path forward, a plan, some future with intent and goals clearly communicated and understood.

Taliesin knew the question wasn’t directed to him, and he kept his own counsel as the Nightmare King considered. But he listened very, very carefully.

Heavy drops struck the window, and the ceiling rumbled with the storm’s percussion. But the thunder remained distant, an echo of fears Taliesin soothed with hands and words and warm blankets. Dream of the Endless tilted his head, ever so slightly, listening to both woman and weather.

“The bard speaks truly.” His voice felt like the dark clouds heralding a storm. Ominous and heavy with promise, but soft. “I mean you no harm, and we have entered an agreement to end the curse’s hold over you in order to protect the Dreaming.”

Yes, she could understand. He didn’t hunt her anymore; he hunted the magic that had so insulted him. Her hand rose to her neck, happy to find a scarf, but well aware of the horrors beneath.

“Taliesin?”

“Yes.” He squeezed her hand with a watery smile. “I volunteered, and I’m staying to take care of you until this is over.” Fingers traced the back of her wrist, over the scarf. “Until you’re free.”

“Taliesin.”

“Yes?”

She felt so much, and she had nothing left to cope with the relief, which weighed even heavier than the fear. Her voice came soft and small, like the child he would always see in her. “I’m very tired.”

He laughed, and she could hear all the tears and snot he’d swallowed in his voice. “I know you are. Go to sleep. I’ll be right here.”

It felt like her mind was slowly turning into lead. Heavy and malleable, it dragged her down into a place where only dreams and a persistent curse could find her.

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Taliesin watched her slip under, felt her hand go slack, and released a wavering sigh. How close did he come to losing her this time? Failing her? He couldn’t stomach the thought. Literally, his stomach turned and he swallowed down bile as he looked at his poor, starving rain cloud.

He sorted through his guilt with cautious hands, pulling up the blankets around her shoulders, ensuring the scarf wouldn’t strangle her if she turned – petting, and tutting, and generally making a fool of himself in front of the Dream Lord.

Well, let him look. This was his fault, too.

Matthew the raven spoke to him while his master followed Taliesin’s spell to the storm god’s hideaway. If Taliesin was a fool, he wasn’t the only one, and he at least had the good sense to acknowledge his mistakes. No wonder she’d fled. No wonder she’d snarled and clawed against sleep like her dreams were coming to kill her.

“Let her rest this time,” he said, eyes still on his friend.

“She is… weakened.”

It could almost be an admission of guilt, but only in the right context, only when held up to a waning moon in the first quarter on the seventh of June and tilted just so.

“She’s strong,” he corrected, finally looking over at the gaunt lord in the shadows. “Something is very wrong. The potion couldn’t have caused so much damage so quickly.”

Lord Morpheus straightened, and Taliesin was grateful he took the concern seriously. They’d need to trust each other to achieve their aims.

“You believe the collar is responsible.”

Even with the scarf, Taliesin could see the filigree edge of old scars above the fabric. Compared to the worst marks on her neck, they were nothing. He only noticed them because he knew where to look, what to look for, but his rain cloud couldn’t hide them all, no matter how hard she tried.

“I think it’s feeding on her.” He closed his eyes, giving his hope free reign to wrestle down his obvious faults. Punishing himself wouldn’t help his rain cloud, and she needed him. “I think it has been for a very long time.” He dropped his head. “And I didn’t even notice.”

What could she be, he wondered, without that curse? How far could she fly when a dead man’s will wasn’t choking the life from her?

The Dream Lord stepped closer, peering into the sleeping face of his raven’s savior. Taliesin couldn’t read the thoughts behind those star-bright eyes, but he practically heard them ticking over.

“If it can feast on the life of a demi-god,” he murmured, “it is indeed a threat to the Dreaming.”

“Glad to hear you’re invested in its destruction, then. So long as you’re equally invested in her preservation.”

“As I have said – ”

“You’ve made no promises and said precious little.” Taliesin stayed on his knees, embracing the position of a humble supplicant without surrendering to the king’s mercy entirely. Their tentative arrangement would only hold as long as they stayed honest. Forthright. No easy thing for a king. “You’re a monarch. I have served many, though few as seasoned as you. It is your right and your role to protect your domain, but I would remind you, Dream of the Endless, that whatever else my little storm cloud may be, she is a dreamer, and as such, she is under your protection.”

Lord Morpheus’s face shuttered, but not before a frown plucked his lips just a little lower and his brows pinched close.

Taliesin had given him something to ponder.

Finished with the king for the moment, the bard returned to his watch over the sleeping storm god, listening to the rhythm of rain on the window to ensure her dreams were easy. He had nowhere better to be, and nothing he’d rather do than keep her snug and comfortable in her world apart.

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As the storm god slept, Dream wandered the library. His eyes raked the endless shelves, looking for nothing in particular, hoping for every answer to his half-formed questions. It was not a task with which Lucienne could assist, though he hoped she could aid the bard in his quest for understanding.

Taliesin would come to the Dreaming when the girl woke, after he’d gathered information to guide their research from her next dream. The man took his vigil seriously and wouldn’t leave her side while she rested, defenseless, even in her own little realm. The bard’s words had given him pause, and though Morpheus hadn’t intended to harm the man’s rain cloud, he did make a point. And he had more interest in her future than the bard knew.

Had they cleared the crossroads?

He doubted it. Perhaps he’d pulled her back to a shared path, but he did not know where it led, and she did not stand at the crossroads alone. Some great doom still lurked ahead, and it would benefit them all if the demi-god walking the road beside him didn’t flinch at his shadow.

Matthew flapped down the aisle, falling naturally into step with his master.

“How’s the storm god?” he asked. “You find her?”

“Found and retrieved.” His eye didn’t leave the books, though his mind continued wandering. “She is in her realm with the bard. Asleep. At last.”

Matthew croaked approvingly, hopping by Morpheus’s boots. “You talk? She get it? She not scared of you now?”

If only it were so easy. She was a broken thing. The bard’s panic told him more than the starved body in his arms or the snarling storm she’d called to frighten him away. He knew the way of damaged creatures, but in the Dreaming, he could fix them – imperfect nightmares, shattered dreams. He could chase away night terrors from overwrought sleepers and ease their rest.

He’d broken things as well. He’d become the night terror and twisted the petty minds of mortals until they warped and bent to new and terrible shapes. But in this case, he had not meant the hurt he inflicted, and he must fix it to fulfil his function.

“We spoke, but we will have to see if she has conquered her fear when she next dreams.”

Clinging to a shelf a few feet ahead, the bird angled his head, like he needed a thought to tumble into a better position before he could voice it.

“Do you… want… ideas?”

“For what, Matthew?”

The bird sighed, fluttering to his next perch as Dream strolled past him, determined in his pointless search.

“For, I don’t know, starting off on the right foot? Scaring her just a little less this time?”

“Her fear is her own challenge to overcome.”

“Sure. But what about something new? The bard said she doesn’t sleep much. Always has nightmares. I get you need to study the collar, but if you throw her off with some kind of distraction first, she may let you get close enough to – you know – do that.”

Morpheus raised an eyebrow, pausing to give the bird the attention he clearly craved. “A distraction?”

“Dreams get weird sometimes. If she’s trying to understand what she’s experiencing, she’ll have a lot less bandwidth for panic.”

“It is an idea,” he said. “Perhaps.” Continuing through the library, he wondered what could distract the desperate little storm god from her fear of him.

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“Good morning.”

She woke again to Taliesin’s face, beaming without tears this time. He’d pulled up a chair beside the couch so he could keep hold of her hand without losing all feeling in his legs. An open book balanced on his knee, and a cup of tea sat on the end table at his elbow.

“Is it really morning?” The words felt gummy, and she licked her lips, cringing at the stale taste of a long sleep.

“It’s your world, so it’s any time you want it to be.”

The blankets held her down comfortably, and the couch felt better than she remembered. The beds in the hostels and bedsits must’ve been worse than she realized. Not that she used them often.

“How long was I asleep?”

Taliesin pursed his lips, glancing away to the naked beams along the ceiling, like he’d find a calendar there. “Three days, give or take.”

“Wow. Fuck.” She let go of his hand, bending up in an enormous stretch – fingers and toes splayed, every joint popping.

Taliesin patted her knee through the covers in time with his words. “You did very well, and I’m very proud of you.”

Frankly, she didn’t know what to do with his praise. Never had. She spent too long learning when one hand offered a gift, the other delivered a slap. Taliesin would never hurt her. She knew that. She held both truths in her heart, and they fought each other.

She kicked off the blankets to sit up and change the topic. But she moved too quickly, and her head spun.

“Steady.” Taliesin balanced her by the shoulders, waiting for her hand on his wrist – a gentle signal to let go. “You’ve slept, but now you need food.”

She wanted to argue purely for the sake of her dignity. He was in her home, and technically her guest, but he was bustling about, moving furniture, and fetching soup he’d made in a pot over the fire like their roles were reversed. But if sitting up made her dizzy, she didn’t want to guess how jumping to her feet would feel. He meant well. He was trustworthy. She’d settle for petulant glares.

When he returned with a bowl of broth and lifted the spoon for her, though, she drew the line.

“If you try to spoon-feed me, I will bite you.”

Taliesin grinned, returning the spoon to the bowl as ordered. “There’s my rain cloud.”

With a pillow in her lap to support the bowl, she managed to feed herself perfectly well. Taliesin hovered, ready to intervene if the bowl shifted to an angle he didn’t like, but she didn’t spill it, and she returned the empty crockery with entirely too much pride.

“Thank you,” she said.

“For?” The high, drawn-out word demanded more.

“The soup.”

“And?” He used the same tone. Now that she was fed and rested, he’d be taking his pound of flesh from her hide.

She ducked her head, muttering at her knees as she traces vague shapes in the pillow over her lap.

“Oh, you can do better than that.” He took a seat beside her on the couch, warm and solid but demanding, too.

“I should’ve… let you know…”

“That you were on the run from Lord Morpheus? That you were letting the potion kill you? That you only slept once in the three months prior to our meeting? Why, yes! You should have.”

“Sorry.” And she was sorry that she worried him, that he had to get involved. She was grateful to be breathing, too. But she couldn’t muster the right attitude to really apologize for it all. She had too much respect for her sense of self-preservation. It had kept her alive too many times before.

Taliesin shifted closer, so their shoulders pressed together, and took her hands to hold between his roughened palms. “I’m not blaming you. He’s terrifying. I am stopping you. This is an intervention, darling. You are very trustworthy with other people. You are not so trustworthy when it comes to your own needs.”

This time, she prepared to argue. She even opened her mouth. But Taliesin just lifted his eyebrows and her valiant defense of her questionable life choices evaporated. Instead, she cleared her throat, breaking eye contact like a coward. He won the round. He won the war, really.

That was okay.

No storm raged. Precious little rain fell. Only the rare tear of condensation rolled down the windowpanes, and the precipitation was easiest to see in the puddles, where tiny drops echoed out in perfect circles over the gray sky’s reflection.

She did eventually manage to stand without help, and Taliesin let her clean herself up in the cottage’s little bathroom after her three-day nap. But after that, she had to sit again. He brought more soup, and she slowly finished the second bowl, stomach uncomfortably full. It was like a stiff muscle, he explained, and she’d only reclaim full function if she was willing to suffer a little. The vague ache didn’t even count as suffering, as far as she was concerned.

Eventually, the hazy grey sky turned orange and red. Her pocket world had no cardinal directions, and the colors ringed the horizon. They watched the blue evening creep in together, tea in hand, until she felt drowsy again. When Taliesin ushered her back to the couch, she groused, “I just woke up.”

“You’re healing.”

He didn’t go back to his chair, but sat at the far end of the couch, settling pillows along his knees and hip. She wondered – with a frisson of fear up her spine – what horrible thing he thought she would need so much comfort over. But she’d missed touch, and warmth, and comfort from someone else’s arms, so she curled up with her head on his lap anyway.

As he arranged the blanket to better cover her shoulders, he said, “Lord Morpheus will meet you in your dreams this time.”

She froze, and his hand wandered up to her hair, keeping contact as he reminded her by touch of his presence. He was her sentry, a guard against anything and everything if she’d let him.

“None of us understands why the collar manifests in the Dreaming,” he continued, “but he wants it gone, and that’s good for us. For you. To be painfully blunt, he could kill you in the waking world and never worry about the damn thing slipping into your dreams ever again, but he hasn’t, and that tells me we can trust him.”

He gave her time to process, but he didn’t allow time to spiral back into mindless fear. “Do you trust my judgement, rain cloud?”

She shifted, trying to find a position that would force her heart to slow down. “Yeah.”

“I’m glad. All you have to do is sleep.”

“What if he takes me back to the grove?” Her face felt hot, and her voice sounded wet. In another minute she’d be crying into the pillow. “I can’t go through that again.”

His hand froze for a moment, but he recovered quickly, brushing away her anxieties with a level head and steady tone. “He won’t. He didn’t find what he needed there. But if he tries, tell him no.”

Snorting, she rolled over to hide her face in the back of the couch. “Like that would stop him.”

“It had better.”

Iron underlined those words, and that was the most comforting thing she’d heard all day. Taliesin would go to war over her, would face up against an Endless to keep her sane. If Taliesin wasn’t afraid of a fight, then she had nothing to worry about.

“Okay.”

He hummed. “Okay.”

After the jolt of adrenaline he’d caused, it took a while to drift off. She stared into the fire until the wavering flames hypnotized her, listening to Taliesin’s old Welsh lullabies as she tried to find her way to the gentle, heavy feeling that marked the gates of sleep. Every time she came close, the path veered, and she found herself staring into the flames again, twitching towards consciousness and Taliesin’s voice.

But, eventually, guided by fatigue, she drifted away from the warm cottage and the careful hand. The collar grew into place, and she slipped into a waiting dream.

A quarter moon peeped between the trees. The nocturnal forest shone bright as day to her sensitive eyes, and she stretched to feel her claws sink into the loam. Grey paws all but disappeared into the shadows, and her ears perked at the susurrus of wind and small animals creeping through the leaves. She’d been still for too long – in all shapes – and she pounced after the first dry leaf to tumble past. It crunched beneath her with a smell like the sleeping death of late autumn, and she lunged after another and another, batting them with abandon until a soft, red maple leaf caught on her claws.

She shook and shook her paw, but the damn thing wouldn’t come free until she ripped it away with her teeth in frustration. It did not taste as good as it smelled, and she sat up, licking her whiskers to chase away the flavor of tree.

A rumble from above startled her sideways, and she leapt on all four paws away from the sound.

Looking up, she saw an enormous cat resting in an oak with eyes brighter than the moon watching her. His gaze struck her like a car’s headlights, and she froze, the hair on her back pricking up in alarm.

“You make a clumsy cat.”

She knew the voice and the presence. When the King of Dreams leapt down from his tree, she recoiled. Her own short hiss startled her, and she cut it off with choked sound of confusion. She was a grey barn cat, and that made sense, but she was a demi-god asleep on the couch, too. As she worked through her confusion, the great cat came a step closer. She forced herself still, remembering Taliesin was with her, even if she couldn’t sense him, that he’d keep her safe and fight an Endless if he pulled the same stunt twice.

She sat, though the raised hair along her back wouldn’t fall flat again.

The Dream Lord mirrored her, peering literally down his nose, and she could tell without words that her hiss had displeased him.

At least she hadn’t run.

Yet.

“You know me, little dreamer.”

Her tail curled around her feet. “Yes.”

“And you know yourself.”

“Yes.”

“Good.”

She could hear he meant it in the bright note folded around the word, and she imagined his regular shape may even have smiled. But only a little.

He rose and turned, walking into the woods. She followed the implicit command and pattered after him, keeping low, wary of his big paws and glinting claws. Tree frogs sang around them, filling the silence with a throbbing drone. For a little while, he let her trail behind him, but when they reached a clearing, he looked back for her.

“Walk beside me,” he said. “I would speak with you.”

She moved lightly through the long grass, all silvery under the moon, and wondered that the Dream Lord’s eyes didn’t cast shadows in the dark. His strides covered much more ground than her little legs could match, and she trotted to keep up with his sedate pace. Though he towered over the weeds, they swallowed her entirely, and even though she drew even with him, she couldn’t bring herself to draw any closer to his side.

He stopped, looking out over the grass with another rumble. “Are you hiding? Shall I hunt you again, little dreamer?”

The bright note hung in his voice, but even if he was teasing, any idea of the great cat with glowing eyes springing down with claws out terrified her.

“No! No.” She slunk closer, sharing the narrow track he followed, ears pressed back, belly nearly scraping the ground. “I’m right here.”

His long tail swished behind him as he studied her, unmoving. “Do you still believe I wish to harm you?”

“I don’t pretend to know what measureless depths of pain the Endless can endure,” she said, “but if you pull me back through all that one more time, I don’t think I’d survive it.”

One mighty step closer, and she dropped flat. Even though those luminous eyes had already fixed on her, every instinct insisted she make herself smaller.

He responded by lying down, literally sinking to her level.

“I find it interesting,” he said. “You do not perceive yourself as others do.”

What did that mean? She relaxed enough to lift her head, curious. “Who?”

“Your friend Taliesin dreamed of you as a kitten. A playful little thing he tried to coax out from under the steps.”

She looked at her paws again, sinking her claws into the earth just to watch them curl out from the pads. “And this is how you see me?”

“No. This is how you’ve dreamed yourself.”

Could that be right? That couldn’t be right. She’d never seen or felt things like this when she slept before. Even when the Sandman kept the nightmares back, she rested in darkness.

“But – I don’t think I know how to – dream, I mean.”

“This is a shape I chose,” he agreed. “But once I’d drawn the shape of the dream, your own mind added the details, including your vision of yourself.”

“Oh.” She relaxed a little more, dropping her chin to her paws as she watched a firefly blink above the long grass. The frogs weren’t so loud, away from the trees, and when her ears twitched around, she was sure she could hear running water. A stream. She might even smell it. “I’ve never… dreamed like this before.”

“I know.”

Slowly, telegraphing every motion, he climbed to his feet. She stood with him, calm again and ready to continue.

“There is something I would like to try.” He turned back to the path. “Follow me.”

Instead of sauntering along like before, he bounded across the meadow, and she nearly lost sight of him before she jerked into motion.

He was right. She was a clumsy cat. Clumsy and small, but she did her best. Springing over hidden logs, pouncing up to see over the grass when he drew too far ahead, winding along the shortest routes to catch up again.

The sound of water drew nearer, and she saw the edge of the meadow, where the water had worn it into a little cliff. The Dream Lord cleared it easily, leaping over the chasm without pause. She, however, had spent most of her energy over the wide meadow, taking half a dozen steps for every one of his, and she hesitated at the brink. But she couldn’t stop herself, and she threw all of her strength into her hind legs as she left the ground.

The golden collar around her neck squeezed. She flinched midair and knew she would fall short of her goal. One paw caught the bank, scratching deep into grass and loose rock that wouldn’t hold. She slipped back, heading towards waters roaring more like a raging river than a gentle stream.

And then she wasn’t falling. Teeth gently pinched the back of her neck, just below the collar. They lifted her up and away from the danger. As she dangled from the king’s mouth, he moved a few dozen yards back from the crumbling bank. Frozen, she only squeaked when he finally set her down again.

She hunkered in a cat loaf, too embarrassed to look up at him. “Sorry. I just got tired, and then the collar – ”

“Tired? In a dream?”

She blinked, at once both human and cat – and terribly confused. “Is that not supposed to happen? Don’t people rest in dreams?”

“No. Not like this.” He hadn’t backed away after he released her, and she’d been too shaken to put space between them. Coming even closer, he looked at her neck. “Taliesin told me a theory.”

He hadn’t shared it with her before she went to sleep. It must be bad, then. “What theory?”

The King of Dreams settled back on his haunches. He looked regal. Severe. “He believes it is feeding off of you. I think I agree with him.”

The collar squeezed again, like it could hear them, and she tried to paw it off without thinking. Its revenge was swift. Brutal. Thorns pierced her fur as it pulled even tighter, strangling and bleeding her as payment for her offense.

Actual animal sounds of distress peeled through the twilight dream world, and she rolled through the weeds as she struggled to free herself, to stop the pain, to breathe properly. It was a good thing they’d moved so far from the water or she’d have tumbled in.

A rumble very different from the others – more growl than purr – thundered above her, and a massive paw settled on her ribs to force her still. She could barely keep her eyes open, and she looked frantically into the patient light of the Dream King’s gaze.

“I promised you kinder dreams, little storm god. But I’m afraid this dream is over.”

A blink, and the golden eyes disappeared.

She woke in the grey pre-dawn, the fire burned to embers, Taliesin snoring with his head thrown back on the couch.

Safe. Whole.

Just as they’d promised.

Chapter 5

#morpheus x reader #dream of the endless x reader #dream x reader #the sandman #sandman x reader #sandman fanfiction #Younger Gods #youngergods

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