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thestrangestinthisstrangeland · 2 years

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As We Lay Dreaming- chapter 11

warnings -talk of and hurt caused by losing a child

summary -Love is so complicated and comes in many forms. The past holds some heavy truths and we may not always be ready for what we learn, but in the end, when it's real, it does tend to find a way of working out eventually.

AN-For anyone who has not read the books, please know all of the gorgeous tension between Dream and Calliope simply does not exist in the books.

Because I wrote this part of the story months before the show came out, the Calliope I'm writing is from the books, in case you're a little confused as to why their dynamics or lack of are so different from the show.

But I think most of us can agree that the show version of Dream and Calliope deserve their own ff because, WOW!

AO3

masterlist

When I open my eyes, we say nothing.

I sit up and let him pull me from the bed, leaving my sleeping body behind to lift into the waiting arms of Morpheus, floating like a dream within a dream.

The light stroke of his fingers along my bare arm and the firm pressure of his hand against the small of my back are the perfect expressions of his love and his mood.

My eyes closed, head on his shoulder and hand holding the curve of his neck, I sink into the dark, swept away by the undercurrent of being ushered from the room.

For the first time, I am entirely free of the only person who could have kept us apart. No longer burdened with the waiting time, no longer worried that I might be pulled from my sleep too soon, I am here in the home I chose, with the one I love, all without fear.

In the waking world, I lay spent and happy in a deep sleep, unaware that Dream is leaving but blissfully ignorant in my big bed because I know that everything will be alright; I can feel it with every flutter of my eyelids and twitch of my limbs as I sink into r.e.m. I'll never truly be alone unless I want to be.

Holding his one hand with my two now, I let him take me, not to the bedroom door or even the window. Instead, we go to a door angled in the farthest corner.

Was it always there?

The wood molding is a deeply stained mahogany that shines in the lamplight of my room. I can make out the detailed carvings of faces. Breathing, smiling, frowning —sleeping. They are no one and everyone. They are the dreaming people of the world who rest in his realm, and this is one of many gateways into it.

The realization makes me step back; I have not stood at his gates, or door for that matter, in so long.

It makes me feel very small and very human.

I watch Dream raise his hand, as elegant as a pianist, but how he holds his power, contorted in his long fingers that reach and command, is frightening —he hesitates.

The way stays shut.

"Would you prefer just to sleep?" He asks without looking down at me. I think it's occurred to him that I might not want to come.

Do I? We've been together for a day and a night; that's hardly enough.

I step around him, holding his one hand tight, and find the concern carved deep in the brow of the Endless. I will smooth that line with a kiss later, but for now, I reach over and raise his arm again until he understands. I don't want senseless dreams I'll forget before I open my eyes. I want him.

Dream hides his relief, or so he thinks.

He keeps his head down but looks to the door again, brings his hand up, and with all the effort it takes a man to start a car, he opens the door. Together we step through into a light brighter than any I've ever seen or felt.

The instant freefall feels almost like flying.

It happens so quickly I don't have time to be scared. I blink, draw a breath, and then I'm here, standing in the back garden.

Surprised, I hold my arms out to find the slip is gone, and my gown is on. Tonight the black hangs from two silver drops of moonlight that rest on my shoulders, the fine fabric dips low down my back and clings to every curve. In the far windows, I catch a glimpse of my reflection and see that my hair has been braided down in six thick rows with bands of silver light woven through each plait. I am radiant.

More gifts from the Shaper. Is this how he sees me or how I see myself? Maybe it's a little of both; either way, he is so good to me…

I turn to thank him, but some of the dream things have already come out to greet us. They are little wisps that look something like cats? But they turn in on themselves in ways that make me shudder. Still, they are funny and harmless. One of the smallest tries to get me to chase it, which I do in vain until finally, the odd little thing leaps up onto my shoulder. The sound of its purring hits somewhere between a growl and the low rudder of an old boat.

I have to admit; I love that I've become so welcome here in this kingdom. It's strange to think there was a time I didn't know about it.

When I look up at Dream, I see that he feels the same.

I swear I can see tears sparkling along his black lash line-- and that is most definitely a smile.

"You're back!"

Talk about welcome. We turn to find Dream's closest friend and servant within the realm coming out to greet us.

"Lucienne!" We say in unison, cringing slighting at our — synchronized enthusiasm.

Lucienne looks over the ever-present glasses balanced perfectly on the tip of her nose. She smirks at our mutual display of admiration and seems as amused by the sweetness as we are embarrassed.

"Yes." he says, sounding more reserved." I am-- we-- are."

"Things went well?" She asks, eyes darting back and forth between our faces as she waits for an answer. "You both look refreshed." She smiles.

Looking down at the little cloud of purring black on my shoulder, Dream gives it a pet before replying, "Nothing went wrong." He answers, looking at me. I know what he means by that. Needing to do what I did to my husband was not exactly "right," but it had to be done. The things that came after were better than expected, but all of it was born of a very dark situation.

Dream quickly turns to her. "Is that satisfactory?"

Humored by his lack of it, she bows her head, holding onto her half smile. "Of course, my lord."

Dream is content enough to continue on and raises his chin, "Tell me of my kingdom. Is everything well?" He asks, shedding the warmth that has wrapped us both so tight these past few days and heads inside.

"All dreams and every nightmare accounted for." She reports back, following him through the large doors and me with the little fluff on my shoulder at the rear. "You were gone and back before anyone but myself knew of your departure."

"I was worried after two occurrences so close together." He confesses.

"I know, my lord, but you were careful, as was I."

Dream pauses his steps and looks over his bare shoulder. The long coat is gone now that we're in the palace, replaced by draped fabric, same as mine, only his hangs like a waterfall of black to the floor while still rising like smoke to casually cover the parts it must. I am somehow even more aware of his body beneath, seeing his arm as he gestures and leg as he walks, than I am when he is naked and on top of me– or beneath.

"I know, Lucienne. Thank you. Your diligence is not in vain."

"Of course, Lord." She answers, and I can hear that she appreciates him acknowledging this in her tone.

As I move towards the hall, thinking we will go to his rooms, Dream instead walks with Lucienne towards the wall of windows, the stained glass casting colorful light over his white skin. I almost call for him, but I see how he stops again, drawing a curious breath before he leans in, "How is she?" I hear him ask very quietly, and for a moment, Dream is not here; in fact, he's a million miles away, perhaps in another world entirely.

"My Lord?"

"My last reason for leaving?" He glances back at me and I know I shouldn't be eavesdropping, but it's harder not to than it is to ignore them.

"Ah. Yes. She is well enough. Free, and I suspect that is all that matters." Lucienne replies at his side. They aren't shutting me out, but I'm not invited in.

Thinking on this, Dream turns, his face gone longer than usual.

After such a perfect night together, he starts for the lonely throne and begins the climb leaving me behind.

How odd. When I started to fall asleep, he'd held me so tight. Not to mention before that, when he'd seemed so happy to please me and me alone, that he'd refused my attempt to return the favor – the sight of his black hair against my thighs still sends a shiver through my belly– but that spark has flickered out. Not the love, just the lightheartedness. Whatever this is, it's clearly much bigger than sex.

"Is everything alright?" I ask the librarian.

"I think so." She leans closer. "You're safe. The children are well, yes?"

"Asleep and having sweet dreams," I smile.

"And the man. Reginald?"

The name is poison. I wish she could have avoided saying it, but I am in the dreaming. He can not hurt me here. He is in his own nightmare for now. "He won't be bothering us anymore."

She looks at me like she's reading the information from my thoughts. "I see. Well. It's not my place to say what Lord Morpheus feels or thinks…

"But?"

She finds me from the corner of her eye, "You know him now too, Glory, just as I do."

"Not like you, Lucienne. Not at all."

"No, but, you know him in ways I never will, nor do I desire to. The Lord Shaper may look one way while experiencing something very different on the inside. You love him as a woman does; you see into his head differently than I do. Go to him." She suggested. "Where he shuts me out, he might let you in. When he closes your door, mine will open. That is how it's done with one like him"

Her face is calm, but I see the wisdom in her eyes and follow her sight-line to watch Dream sink down onto the throne where he broods without missing a beat. "It was about me only a day ago. Funny how quickly it's become about him again. It's about him a lot, isn't it?"

"Yes." She says, looking at me.

With a deep sigh, I rub the fuzzy head of the creature still perched on my shoulder. "Go on," I whisper to my nightmare. "We'll play more later."

It gives a little whimper but vanishes in a poof.

As I gather my skirts, Lucienne turns and leaves in the opposite direction, both of us going down our separate paths.

I like the feel of my heavy gown as it drags up the cold steps behind me. The frayed and tattered edges are elegant in this place as I come to stop at his knees and curl my fingers under his chin, lifting his head so that I may look into the eyes that are not eyes at all but a galaxy of gloom and introspection. With a sigh, I have to chuckle. He is so pretty when he's like this.

"What a turn."I tease softly. "You know that you can tell me, right? I might not always understand, but I'll try."

I see some of that edge drain away, and he sits up enough to take me by the hips, and I stumble forward, letting him draw me onto his lap, which is a comfort; at least I know he wants me close. "You should not say things to stop me from feeling like I do." He complains.

"That's exactly what I should do if there's a chance I can make you feel better."

"I will be fine. Please. Are you hungry?"

"No, Dream, I'm not hungry."

"Perhaps Fiddlers Green? You should not have to sit here with me attempting to lighten my mood."

I laugh and brush his wild hair aside. "But I'm so good at it," I whisper in his ear, and then— I smell her.

The scent of olive groves and what once was.

She is ancient and forgotten but not by him. "Oh…" I draw back, and we lock eyes. I feel my heart stop, tiny cracks form, it threatens to break. "I see." I don't, not really. He wouldn't… I thought I was enough? Am I not enough? "Who is she?" I ask terrified to know.

He turns his face. He can not look at me? "Someone I knew. A very long time ago."

I know that tone. It is regret and heartbreak. It is loss and longing. "You loved her."

"I did"

I stare at his magnificent profile and wonder when it was. I try to understand what their time was like without him telling me and why he might feel the need to make time for her again because I know now that he's seen her.

"Dream, just then with Lucienne, you said you had another reason to leave the dreaming. Was she the reason?"

"Yes"

I think back. Sometimes it's hard to recall dreams while living inside another, but I'm used to it. When I think back, I can see him pulling on the gloves and the horrible mask so incredible I couldn't look away. "That's where you were going. When I asked you to help me."

"It was."

But I'm the one you love now! I cry inside my head almost certain thoughts can be heard here, but I hardly care.

Holding in the ugly emotions that stir, I look for any reason not to doubt him. He does not make me wait long. I've seen the look before. It's the shadow that falls over his face when he talks about the darkness that lives in the hearts of humanity. The vile things we are capable of. I lose that sense of dread and feel a new fear, not for us. For her.

Now I see, and I exhale the breath that nearly suffocated me.

"Is she safe?"

"She is."

"Will you tell me what happened?"

He leans on the armrest, balancing his chin on his fist with a sigh.

I wait.

"Her name is Calliope." Dream tells me.

Wait. I know this name— I think?

"She was being held in the waking world by the same cruelty that kept me bound."

My heart stops. He never talks about it so I never ask. Thinking of him locked away breaks my heart. "Time passes the same for my kind as it does for yours," He told me once. I never pressed him further.

Calliope. I know this name…

"She called out to me in a moment of pure desperation. I was her last resort. That I can say for certain."

My curiosity is piqued.

"I could not leave her there to suffer." He says more to himself than to me, "She says I've changed. Maybe I have. Either way, I know what it is to feel the torment of their captivity, and even then, I was not abused like she was… no woman should be left in the hands of that dark fate." I look over my shoulder at his hand on the other black armrest and how his white hand grips so hard I think he might crush the thing to dust.

As awful as it is because I know what it is he speaks of, I look at him and find a reason to smile.

He saved her. The cracks of my heart mend and I slide my hands over his chest and shoulders closing in to hold him, loving him, admiring him, thankful that time has apparently made him a kinder immortal.

With my forehead to his temple, I listen to him speak in a low voice, "I could not turn my back on her Glory. It would be wrong to treat the mother of my child with such little regard."

A wave of hot surprise washes over me.

I feel like I am touching cold marble. Stone I have never kissed or held never whispered to, never opened to, never had inside of me. I feel like I do not know him at all.

Before I can stop myself, I'm up and standing at the top of the stairs, only second guessing for a second before I start the descent.

Damn him and his dramatics, I can't even see the palace floor from up here, but as a mercy, Dream must wave his hand, and the winding stair becomes no more than three.

On flat ground, I go to the first window and look out towards my swath of land, which is the only part of the dreaming that seems to stay the same. I find comfort in the black trees with leaves that shimmer emerald in the sun and the creatures that live there. Dream made them, but they are mine. I raise my head, thinking that if I were queen, they would know it...

I don't know why I'm standing here thinking of this now; I guess I need something to keep me from falling.

"Are you angry?" He asks from across the room, still sitting on his throne. He sounds like my reaction might have made him upset.

"No." It's not a lie. I'm really not. So what is this feeling? I won't say until I'm sure.

So the silence between us lasts for far too long.

Like I so often can, I feel my time with him fading.

"You'll wake soon." Dream tells me from his throne that now sits on the floor. His voice is flat, cold, distant.

"I know."

"And you would leave this way?" He asks. I think maybe he's appalled by it.

"I would." I tell him honestly, "That scent?" There it is again. Ancient and bright like sun-dappled fields of wheat and beyond it, the salty spray of ocean water. I find Dream over my shoulder. "It wasn't her at all!"

I feel something that's never happened to me for as long as I've been coming here. Closing my eyes, I focus on the feeling and realize it's more than that. It's a song, too distant at first, but then, when I look at Dream again, I can start to make it out enough to know where it's coming from.

The sound is so haunting I'm tempted to cover my ears. I've never heard singing so clear and strong and yet so faint. I still can't quite make it out. It's more like hearing someone else's memory– his memories-- a father's memories– Dream's.

"It was him. Your child." I do not gasp but the shared memories are so strong now I cover my mouth, feeling his grief. "Your son!"

I have never seen him look this way before.

It is the gutted face of sorrow and dare I even think it in his realm? Despair.

He does look at me then. He looks at me like I have betrayed him.

I am at his side in a heartbeat, lowering without hesitating, ready to beg for forgiveness just to never see that pitiful look again.

With tears in my own eyes and his face so cold under my palm, I try, "Please. Morpheus, please. I'm sorry. I didn't know… I didn't mean to… I never meant to bring those memories back. I didn't mean to hurt you." I try, but my voice is just a whisper. I chase the stars with my gaze, but he will not look at me.

"You will wake soon," He says again, staring off towards his grand hall, ignoring me, his woman on her knees and sorry, so sorry. Not for making him remember but for everything he's been through, whatever that may be. He's blocked out the details of it; all I'm privy to is the pain, and that alone is too much. Even worse is how he hides it and keeps it tucked away for reasons known only to him.

It's nearly too much for me. I can only nod, thinking this might be it, the moment Morpheus decides he can't have me here because I've trudged up things he can't bear to feel, but he takes my hand and kisses the heel of my palm, letting my fingertips graze his cheek as he looks down at me, and I am yet again reminded that I play with fire.

The stars burn, and I let them scorch me as the dreaming slips away.

I do not even get to say I love you.

The following morning brought drizzly rain and a wall of gray sky that kept the sun veiled behind it, making the pale yellow star look like an old hardboiled egg.

Far from settled in the new house, Glory lay in bed, staring out the window. It was time to get up, but she felt pinned under the weight of a heavy heart for reasons she just could not place. Sorry to say, this was nothing new. Life with her husband had readied her for mornings like this, so she shut her eyes, ignored the sky, and dragged herself from the comfort of the sheets and pillows before the kids could start their long list of demands.

Determined to conquer some early hour chores and piece the night together, she kept going over the best parts of her time with Dream, only to get stuck on the bad. It seemed every few minutes she would stop, half-folded laundry in hand, wondering what happened after walking into the palace.

It made no sense. She'd fallen asleep happy and naked in the arms of her love but woke with a deep feeling of having lost something or someone, both maybe. It tugged and tugged and tugged at her, yanking at her heart until she stumbled along the upstairs hallway, dropping the laundry basket as she clutched her heart and covered her face because all she could do was cry.

Glory raised her head, listening; thankfully, the kids were still asleep.

Why won't you let me see? She wondered, leaning against the wall.

But was it even him? Maybe she'd asked him to block her memories?

Some things from the Dreaming did naturally fade, forgotten like other thoughts or minor details of an ordinary day. But this was very different.

Later, over breakfast, Glory opened the box the poor Dream King had avoided. She put those dishes away, occasionally glancing across the kitchen to watch her children eat their toast and drink their milk, curious about the magically stocked fridge. She sure as hell hadn't been to the store, but she recognized the brands, and some of the bags even said Brown's Grocery on them.

She needed to speak with Josiah tomorrow when she went back to work, she noted with a raised brow and sure, maybe a little smile too, but her thoughts were soon back on the pressing thoughts at hand.

One of the boys shouted for her to look at something silly he could do, and she gave a half-hearted "mmhm" As she wandered out of the kitchen, leaving the box and the noise.

There was a name she knew but couldn't remember. It had been there, right on the tip of her tongue since she opened her eyes. Now it was louder than all the other chaos combined; it was stuck in her head like the end of a tune you can't quite remember.

It took her all day, but finally, after settling in and nearly forgetting about the feeling, she found her way into the last room of the upstairs hallway on the left.

It was actually something Loretta told her that brought her up here. "If you got a song stuck in your head, you gotta listen to it to get it out. If you can't, listen to something better!"

The room was a small study with a desk and a chair, a large window, and a lot of books. It would be her favorite room in the winter, she thought with a wistful smile as she turned a circle to look around.

One day she might ask Dream who lived here before she did, but some part of her didn't want to know.

Finger gliding along the spines of the books on the shelves, she realized she'd been searching for something when she found it and pulled the book down.

Greek Mythology.

The glossary was full of words and names that meant nothing to her. She skimmed over them until, finally, one stuck out.

Calliope.

That was it.

She knew this name…

Youngest of the nine muses, Calliope was the daughter of Zeus.

A warm breeze blew in the room.

Glory felt an ancient sun on her skin and heard the chatter of women. She closed her eyes and harps played. The music of lyres and the aulos floated through the air, filling the room with songs from times that were nothing now but stories or textbooks.

Glory pressed her fingers to her lips. She could taste herbs, fresh bread... she could hear the names of children being called—one in particular.

Calliope was once a muse to Homer and the mother of Orpheus.

Glory opened her eyes, balancing the book in her hand.

Orpheus.

Funny how pages like this can leave out the details. Things can sound so black and white when you read them. Like that last line, you'd never know he had a father. You'd never know his father still drowns in sorrow but keeps it hidden from everyone who loves him.

She looked back down.

It never said 'wife of Morpheus', but then books like this don't know of such things. Probably for the better, although she did find it sad that truth could become nothing more than myth and legend, written down and sold off as stories to entertain with all of the heart bled dry.

Some part of her felt very cold and very lonely, like she'd never been seen or heard and never would be.

There was a change in the air at that moment. The house shifted around her as if it responded to her silent fear.

Glory realized her memories of last night had come back.

Why had she blocked them in the first place? Perhaps because she feared the loss of her own children as any mother might, and to see him like that was too painful. But as she stood in the empty room --that sick feeling creeping into her belly--she realized it was that Dream's pain was not so distant. The darkness that reached out and touched her felt all too familiar.

Her children were alive and well, laughing and playing in the house he'd lovingly given them, and yet, the song of Orpheus had consumed last night like the cold black waters of the open ocean stealing her children from her arms, and she could not imagine why.

She'd fallen to her knees before waking, apologizing for making him remember. But in those last moments, before she'd opened her eyes, she said something. She could hear her own voice now.

She'd looked up at the Dream King and simply said "No," not to him, to the agony that matched his, and he had understood.

Bless him.

Glory snapped the book shut.

Memories can be so cruel-- and these were not her own. Some other person, some poor parent she truly pitied and would never forget, had been asleep in the dreaming and somehow shared a loss with Glory too. That was the only explanation.

Thankfully. Mercifully, she could move on. Maybe, when Glory saw him tonight, she would ask Dream to let them rest without those awful memories to haunt their sleep.

She glanced down one more time and truly hoped he'd done the same for his ex-wife.

The book landed on the desk with a thud.

Any hint of Calliope and Orpheus and the pain of losing him was gone like she'd switched off the tv, and Glory went downstairs to her children.

#the sandman comics #sandmancentral #dream of the endless/ original female character #dream of the endless fanfiction #dream of the endless/female character of color #dream of the endless romance #dream of the endless in love #king of dreams #the dream lord #the dreaming #prince of stories #morpheus of the endless #he has a kind heart #but it’s been broken so many times #so has hers

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