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samsalami66 · 9 months

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Part three of my royal au is done!! Very excited about this one, it got longer than the first two drabbles and got quite. Dramatic. You can find the first part here and the second part here.

Of course, as always, biggest thanks and love to my wonderful, singular @im-not-corrupted . For the beta and the encouragement and being my best of friends.

Also I have no idea how this is usually done, but I was asked to tag @solalasoforth in this part, so here goes that! I hope you enjoy this little angsty piece!

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The stars were painted high on the black canvas that stretched above the Dreaming, the pin-pricks of light each too beautiful to be something as simple and real as the night sky. No, the stars that day were stolen from a painting, the soft hues of purple and blue in their light a product of fantasy, of humans who had a tendency to make reality appear much more romantic than it actually was.

But somehow the beauty of this night was real. The stars were grazing Dream with artistry previously unknown to him, and he was nothing if not reverent of this singular night sky. If he were a better painter, perhaps Dream would try to capture this with colours that might rival the real thing, and yet never manage to do it justice.

He did not try to, in the end.

No, painting with oils had always been his youngest sister's forte. She loved colours about as much as Dream enjoyed a silent night, and the absence of such in Dream's clothing and room tended to make her sad. Her brows would furrow sometimes, her fine lips cast downwards, and then she would pin a pink flower to Dream's ear, which he wouldn't take off until the petals crumbled and fell, even if the little accessory was anything but proper.

It was no matter. After all, he was only second in line to the throne and therefore smaller missteps could be overlooked, as long as it did not damage the reputation of the entire family.

And since Dream's own reputation was already outrageous, he could allow himself to spend a quiet night in the gardens, head tilted towards the sky and eyes searching for the constellations he knew were hidden between the sheer endlessness of stars.

Hob was somewhere nearby, Dream knew, wandering around and chasing his own thoughts between roses and poppies, never leaving him out of sight for long. It was a blessing, to have this kind of safety, to fear for nothing as your life lies completely in the hands of another, and instead of dread, it only awoke elation in your heart.

There was a certain kind of giddiness when Dream thought of Hob watching him here, in the confines of this shared space, secluded from humanity and yet out in the open, to the feet of the stars. They would bear witness to every shy glance, every passing smile as their gazes met over a bush of roses, and every blush that would creep up their necks as they looked away quickly.

It was perhaps the finest game Dream had ever had a chance to participate in.

No wonder, then, that he was visibly disappointed when they were interrupted by a guard stepping up towards Dream, their face obscured by the shadow cast by their helmet, an unending darkness swallowing where a face would have been by day. The sight had something in his chest constrict uncomfortably, turn and twist the air in his lungs until all he was capable of were shallow breaths through a parted mouth.

The guard bowed sharply, a single tilt of their torso as the endless blackness remained turned towards Dream.

"My Lord," a dark but familiar voice started, and Dream let out a silent breath of relief as he could finally make out the shape of a sharp smile in the darkness.

"Corinthian, yes. What do you need?"

"Could I perhaps bother you for a short walk around the gardens? There has been something on my mind lately, and you have mentioned once that all… inquiries shall be reported to you directly."

Dream had in fact said this particular phrase to every new recruit they had, always adamant to be of some assistance as a regent, if only in the smaller ways of making the subjects of the Dreaming feel heard.

Knowing it was thereby his duty to give in to this request, no matter how much he'd rather sit and continue his little play with Hob, he simply nodded his agreement and pushed to stand from the bench he had been sitting on.

The Corinthian started into a direction and Dream simply followed, his gaze mostly fixed on the way before them. The path was hard to make out at night, and he'd rather not make a fool of himself and fall over a tree root without Hob nearby to catch him.

A few minutes passed before the Corinthian spoke, his voice carrying quietly through the trees of the royal gardens, his obscured face tilted towards the sky, hands clasped properly behind his back.

"I feel like there is a certain unbalance within the royal family, my Lord."

A furrow formed between Dream's brows, caused not only by the serious nature of the question, but also because he wasn't quite sure if the cherry tree to his right was the one near the library or the one between armory and the fountain.

"Why, royalty has never been known for its balance in things such as power, or even wealth. Please, elaborate, Corinthian."

No water could be heard running, so perhaps it was the cherry blossom at the library after all.

"You see, your brother, Destiny, he… he is not really the kind of man to lead, is he?"

Though has the fountain even been turned on for the year? A soft sheen of frost was still covering the ground they walked after all, and the gardener usually waited until the nights remained without frost before allowing the water to bend in its spectacular arches.

"My brother has been trained since childhood in the arts of leading a kingdom." Dream realised this wasn't a real answer to the Corinthian's question and quickly added: "But I do agree that he is certainly not a man made to rule. He is… quiet."

Besides him the Corinthian huffed a laugh, and Dream momentarily diverted his gaze from the darkness where he imagined a fountain might hide to look at the man's profile. It did not show much, but he felt like looking at the guard was important in this moment, somehow.

(If only he could discern if the path they were on now would turn back towards Hob or further into the dense tree-line. Dream did not usually get lost in the gardens anymore, but the filter of night made every tree look similar to the one on their right, every rose held the same shade of dark gray as the other hundreds down the path, even though he knew some of them to be of rosy pink and some to be the dark red of blood. They all looked the same now, and it made his skin crawl.)

(And where, in the holy name of the Lord above, did Hob go?)

"Yes, I figure 'quiet' describes the Crown Prince quite well," the Corinthian shook his head to himself, and Dream imagined a grimace twisting on his face. "Unlike you, Sire, he does not know how to command a room."

Compliments had never sat well with Dream, so he decided to ignore this particular part of what was said. "What are you suggesting, Corinthian?"

"I suggest, my Lord." He pauses there, the telltale sound of someone wetting their lips in absolute quiet sending a chill down Dream's spine. It felt, well, mocking, however a simple act such as this one managed to convey any emotion at all. The chill was there, though, an unwell feeling that crept through his blood and had it run cold. "I suggest you clear the path for your rightful regency."

The words rang in his ears, their meaning registering only several moments later when Dream felt bile rise in his throat to the point where he slowed down so as to not upset his stomach further.

"And by that, you mean killing him. You suggest murdering my brother so I might take the throne."

Each syllable rolling off his tongue felt like the vilest of acids, like the bite of a deadly serpent into the hot flesh of his mouth. He wanted to spit it out, get rid of its foul taste, and imagine that his mind was not already poisoned to the point where breathing seemed like too hard a task.

"Yes, my Lord, that is exactly what I am suggesting."

A ringing, loud and clear, echoed through his mind. His vision darkened – fat, ugly spots that grew larger every time he blinked.

He needed Hob. He needed Hob right there, to place a strong but kind hand on his shoulder and tell him that his thoughts had drifted again, to ask if he was still with him and throw an adorable lopsided grin into his direction. And Dream needed to blush and nod, embarrassment in his tone as he apologised, just to see Hob's smile gentle and his hand squeeze on his arm.

But Hob was not there, had run off to God knows where and left him alone with an armed guard who proposed murdering a part of Dream's family.

The Corinthian was proposing treason.

Dream was going to be sick.

"You. You cannot believe that I will approve of this, Corinthian. You think me capable of conspiring against my own brother?"

There was only a slight raise in his voice, a pitiful cry for help, as he stared at the Corinthian's profile, hands shaking on his sides even if his voice remained otherwise calm.

Images of what the Corinthian would do to him in order to keep him from talking, from telling his family what transpired out in these gardens, flashed through Dream's mind. His throat cut, blood soaking the damp ground in the early morning hours. His youngest sister screaming as she looks upon his cold and lifeless body, his eyes staring up to the sky, unblinking.

Hob, kneeling next to his body, crying in silence, his vow of protecting Dream for naught.

"I believe you to be a smart man, my Lord."

The words were a threat. A blade held to his throat, an eyebrow cocked in expectant silence.

But Dream was no traitor.

He would not betray his family, his elder brother, who taught him to read and write, who showed him the beauty that was the written word.

The brother who had always known what was wrong when Dream was upset, who had always consoled him with the knowledge that life was partly set in stone. That there were some things that simply could not be changed, no matter how hard Dream had kept trying. Some things were unchangeable by their very nature.

As were some people.

Dream, it seemed, was unchangeably, incorruptibly loyal.

"I believe you might have overestimated my intelligence, Corinthian," he murmured, quietly resigning himself to his fate, to the words written in his volume of Destiny's books.

Beside him, the Corinthian sighed as if he had been given a most tedious task, as if killing his Prince with the dagger on his belt did not prove to be interesting enough to require his full attention. And Dream guessed it really wasn't. Fighting had never been his strong suit. Destruction, he had been the fighter of them all, the one who would have given this traitor a thorough beating for his attempt to hurt their family.

But he was just Dream, incapable, good-for-nothing Dream, who would not even raise his fists to defend his very own life when it was threatened, because he knew better than to fight a lost battle.

And yet, when the blade came for his heart, Dream took a step back.

Not because he thought he could win.

No, Dream stepped back because he knew Hob would be furious with him if he did not try.

Trying is already half the deal! He heard Hob's cheerful voice in his head, a reminder of when he had been pulled from his back during one of their training hours, Hob a sea of patience as he guided Dream through wave after wave of parry and attack. You must try before giving up. Otherwise you will never know if it would have worked!

The blade slashed harshly into Dream’s chest, leaving a cut so deep in its wake that he felt pain bloom behind his eyes, and, for a moment, the back of his eyelids seemed to be lit by the sun herself.

Dream did not hear himself scream, not until a second cut joined the first and he tumbled to the ground. Blood soaked his clothes and made them stick to his body, the liquid viscose and hot where it poured over his chest. There was so much of it, so much blood running in little rivers down his ribs and pooling beneath his back, staining the earth beneath him brilliant red.

And, by God, did it hurt.

He had not known pain like this existed.

Had it been like this for Hob, when he got injured while jousting at the festival? Had he, too, felt like he would empty his stomach any second, the cramping of his body in response to the pain too much to bear?

Had he, too, felt like the angels would come for him, grab his hands and carry him off towards either Heaven or Hell, a sooner end than he was prepared for?

Had he been scared as well?

Had he cried?

Dream knew he did.

He cried, undignified sobs shaking his body as he blinked through the onslaught of tears in his eyes, each a river of resignation.

The tears were of pain, of sorrow. They were for his dear sisters, who he would not get to hug goodbye on his deathbed. Oh, how devastated Delirium would be, to lose her older brother so soon. She had always rather adored him, had tried desperately to spend more time in his presence than he ever allowed. Regret curled deep in his gut as he remembered all the times he had sent her away, especially when they were children. She had been… much, to his tired adolescent brain. A whirlwind of energy, never to sit still for more than a moment.

He wished he had indulged her more often, now.

Oh, but this wasn't the only thing he regretted, now that he lay in the cold, waiting for his final blow.

No, he regretted many things, from not ever standing up against his father when his siblings or… or friends were attacked to never admitting to having said friends.

Friend.

His one true friend.

Yes, this was perhaps what Dream regretted most. Running from his feelings. Running from Hob. And then, not running, but not admitting either. Being too frightened, too self-centered, to allow this thing between them to bloom. It would have been so easy. Three words, always at the tip of his tongue, but always, always swallowed back down, hidden again behind the corners of his heart where none would ever find them.

And now?

What good did this cowardice do now?

He was dying, dying and regretting past chances for he had been too much of a fool to speak his feelings.

Idiot, he heard himself say, and while this notion was once spoken towards his love, it was now undoubtedly most fitting for himself.

Though… perhaps his Knight had not lost the title entirely.

For as his vision blurred and blackened further, he saw a flash of glinting silver before his eyes, a familiar blade catching the hues of blue and purple in the night sky and reflecting them in defense of Dream, as the familiar sound of two swords meeting in a harsh blow reverberated through the air.

He gasped, from pain and surprise, as a figure stepped over him, their body blocking him from the sword that would have brought his early end, and he knew all too quickly that this was his Hob, his Knight, his loyal love.

And he was coming to his defense, like an idiot.

Dream wanted to speak, wanted to command Hob to flee and leave him to die, because he was not worth this devotion. He was not worth Hob's safety, his life, but the man was foolish enough to risk both anyway in order to protect him.

Idiot.

He could not talk. All that came out of his mouth were strangled sobs, something that edged on a scream, got caught on a plea, and ended up sounding more like a whimper than anything else.

Weak. Too weak to talk, to fight.

Too weak to keep his eyes open, to see if Hob was dying or living. Dream liked to think that Hob was alright, that his love would soon swoop him up in his embrace like a damsel that had to be saved from their terrible fate. He liked to think that Hob would tell him how everything would turn out well.

Reality and fantasy were two separate worlds.

Where in Dream's fantasy Hob's hands on him would feel like a hot bath on cramping muscles, like the soothing touch of a damp towel during a fever, his hands felt more like hot iron pressed right into his ribs. The touch hurt, and only his weakness kept him from thrashing out.

"Dream!" He heard Hob's lovely voice bellow, and even loud and frantic, it was enough to warm Dream's very core. "Dream, you bloody nitwit, don't you go dying on me now!"

"I…" Dream started, but it came out airy and strangled. Brown eyes stared down at him with fear and concern, making his stomach twist uncomfortably and a frown settle between his brows. Fear did not sit right on Hob Gadling's face. Laughter and smiles did, they would make the dark brown shine with amber specks, tiny tidbits of gold hidden in the grounding earth that were Hob Gadling's eyes.

He missed catching the gold reflections, wished, in fact, to see them one last time before the darkness on the edge of his vision caught up with him and plunged him into seas of nothingness.

So, he tried again.

"Hob, I… I am sorry," he whispered, this time less airy and strangled.

"Not a clue what you're apologising for, dove, but whatever it is, save it. I need you to focus on staying alive."

Always so full of hope, his love. Not even in the face of death would he give up on this spark that kept the endless fire in his eyes burning.

Dream wanted to reach out for the fire, wished to catch a fragment of its warmth to keep with him in the darkness.

Perhaps it would guide him through his end, provide him with a spark of hope to light his way to the other side.

His fingertips left red smears in their wake as he reached for the fire and caught Hob's cheek instead. It was wet, not with blood but with tears, and he wanted desperately to wipe them away, but his hands shook too much and were too drenched in blood to do any good.

Still, he tried.

Because his knight could not cry over him, his knight did not deserve to cry over anything, ever. He deserved sunshine and warmth, all the things he so readily gave to other people.

"I love you."

Because Hob deserved to be loved, and to know that he is, too.

"I love you, Hob."

The darkness he was plunged into was heavy. Oppressing. But there was a light calling out to him, stretching its rays to guide him through the dark.

Sunshine.

Hope.

There was Hope.

#dreamling #the sandman #hob gadling #dream of the endless #knight!hob #prince!dream #royal au #im sorry for the open ending #actually. im not though #suffer #i had so much fun writing this #the working title of this was STABBY STAB STAB ITS TIME TO BE A DEAD DREAMY WEENY

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