Promises 2: First Sight

Promises 2: First Sight

Dark!Morpheus x (female)reader, fantasy/medieval AU, 18+

Master List

Dream of the Endless had been promised a bride.

I was serious about trying to update every other day! They will be short chapters, but whatever. At least for the first few bits. NOT EDITED. PRAY FOR ME, LOL Would you like a bardcore song suggestion to go with each chapter? Let me know in the comments. Enjoy!

First Sight

She walked into a golden scene of candle smoke and gilded lilies with mud on her boots and one stubborn myrtle leaf in her hair.

Hardly fine court attire, but folk she cared for called her in fear, so she rode in haste from the far side of Meiren, and she’d lost any need to impress the court a long time ago. She’d survived the worst they could do before the current king assumed his father’s throne, and it never hurt to remind them all that she was not part of their games or under their thumbs. So she didn’t stop to comb her hair, or dig out the myrtle leaf, or even shuck her stained green traveling cloak.

Hard as she rode, she didn’t arrive before the festivities began, and she spied the king sitting on the high dais beside his honored guest, for whom a second throne had been crafted. Clearly in haste. Probably merely the queen’s old seat altered to be less feminine. It looked cheap and small beneath its occupant.

Dream of the fucking Endless. King of Dreams and Lord of Nightmares.

He sat above the glittering host like the darkness behind the stars. Ethereal, unknowable, frigidly beautiful as only untouchable things could be.

Even seeing him there, in the flesh, she struggled to believe it. She couldn’t believe their fool king would go so far.

The King of Meiren didn’t hide the festivities’ goal in the invitations (threats and demands) he sent to his people. Dream would find a queen among the best and brightest of the kingdom, and the chosen would gratefully accept the honor.

Only ignorant fools courted the attention of the Endless. Her mother had been one such fool, and she only dared befriend the kindest of the seven. Dream of the Endless was far more terrible, and he sought more than a friend in the king of Meiren’s court. Yet mothers shepherded noble children dressed in their finest silks and velvets, the softest, sweetest things welcoming a stranger’s wondering caress. Family heirlooms dripped from ears and gleamed around fine throats, daring the eye to wander lower. Girls smelling of flowers and boys scented with fruit and musk turned the hall into a stinking hell of vanity and hubris.

Then there were her folk – the wiser birds with drab plumage clustering in the dimmest corners, away from the dances and merrymaking. Parents who wanted their children to live. Grandparents who understood some risks simply weren’t worth taking. Young lovers who were bound in heart and mind but not yet by law. The king’s greed would spare none if the Endless chose them. Though she had not received an official invitation, several families who knew her of old called for her help. Officially, she belonged to no fewer than five noble houses’ retinues for the event, but the guards wouldn’t have barred her entry even without their help.

No one turned a bard away from a party.

Though the long trestle tables had been ferried away by an army of servants to make room for dancing, the ghosts of a feast remained. The king planned the celebrations like a royal engagement. Seven wedding feasts. Seven days to inspire a force of nature to grow a heart and stitch it to another. She smelled grease from venison and partridge, the first victims of the king’s folly, and she hoped the only sacrifices. Better a thousand lambs, ducks, and cows than one of the young folk all dressed up for the fire.

She didn’t dither or ask for her charge’s insights before approaching the dais. Truth would always out. The king was not clever, and she trusted her own opinions of an Endless over any courtier’s.

Striding up to the throne, she waited on the verge of the crowd for the chamberlain to announce her. Her name. A few meaningless titles. Finally her occupation. She liked it best when the king was reminded she was a bard. That she carried an ounce of authority in any royal circle.

Neither king really needed any of it, of course. The Endless knew all, and she’d plagued the King of Meiren’s nightmares for decades. But manners were manners, and politics demanded performance.

She sank low, graceful as a willow frond, angling her face so the king would see the barest hint of her smirk. Not entirely mocking. But knowing. Far from a loyal subject’s easy smile or overwrought frown. The smirk made a game of her courtesies, drawing the king low to meet her, even as her knees brushed the floor and he remained in his throne. No threat. No demand. She asked for nothing. She told him what she was, where she stood, and how little power he wielded over her that she did not choose to give.

As a boy he watched his father’s men draw and quarter her. Now he must suffer her freedom in his court.

“Majesties.”

“I hope you do not bring trouble to my court.” The King of Meiren glowered down, playing the dread king. He wasn’t even a dying candle compared to the sun-bright force at his side. Not that he’d ever been a great power even before he dared weave himself into the story of an Endless.

She sprang up as lithely as she bowed. “Your majesty must think very highly of me indeed to think I could bring anything grander or more concerning than an Endless to your throne room.”

The human ruler tensed, but the eldritch ruler at his side…shifted. She’d sparked his momentary attention, and unlike the first king’s attempt to intimidate her, Dream’s look chilled her until it burned. His gaze, however, did not focus on her like a mortal’s would. His starry eyes saw too much for that. They swallowed her, washing her in the loneliness of the night sky.

Unfathomable. Incredible. Cold as stone and livelier than a sea breeze. Entirely inhuman and everything that led a soul to dream. That gaze made her ache for a shield to lift against him.

So. She offered the smallest, polite smile in recognition and returned to the mere human on the throne.

“A shame the years haven’t blunted your tongue,” the King of Meiren said, struggling to reclaim the authority she’d so neatly plucked from the conversation.

“I prefer to think of them as a whetstone, majesty.”

“I do not recall issuing an invitation in your name.”

“And yet I found my place through the names of others. Several houses requested my attendance in their support.”

Gods, he looked so petulant. But she’d laugh later. He wasn’t above sending a guard to run her through in the hall, and while she didn’t fear death, she didn’t enjoy pain. Or ruining good clothes. No need for more drama in this fraught production, anyway.

The best he could do was insult her clothes, eying the mud and bracken. “Clearly you came in haste.”

“But of course, your majesty.” Wide eyes and an innocent expression couldn’t bury the implicit insult entirely – she had not come for him, her very presence was a kind of defiance, and she would never ride so hard or long without care for her appearance to preserve him or his honor – but they did well enough. A little simpering would stay the blade, and any words said sweetly must be born, even if they soured the king’s stomach.

After all, she would outlive him and his kingdom both. She’d carry what stories she chose to the generations that came after, and no threat or sentence in his power to levy against her would give him back control of his legacy. At least he was smart enough to understand that much.

“Perhaps you should retire for the evening, then.” The king looked pointedly at her boots, reminding her they did not belong on his polished floors. She, in her rough clothes and wild hair did not belong. But she’d worked hard to ensure she never entirely belonged in places like these, always a step out of line, a loose thread that escaped the warp and weft of society’s patterns.

Othered and free for it.

“A most gracious suggestion.” Another, shallower, curtsy. Her eyes dipped to the floor but didn’t linger with any kind of reverence. “I take my leave.”

She moved back through the crowd, unable to disappear between the fine people in their fine clothes. A dark look touched her, stayed under her skin as she passed through the doors and turned down the hall, and she refused to name its owner. There was no time to fear him. Or – if she was very careful – reason to. She had plans to make and riddles to solve, and what was she to an Endless?

Her patrons would request her advice in the morning. She did, actually, need to wash the road off her gear. And her lute was in need of tuning. She retired to her work.

𓅨 Shifting Wings: Chapter Eight

Shifting Wings: Before the Raven Matthew, there was Jessamy, and Jessamy came with a little sister by the name of Adrienne. Dream adores his two little Ravens, but after over a hundred years of imprisonment and the death of Jessamy, Dream will find that he has not just lost his companion, but his beloved little Raven Adrienne no longer brightens the halls of his Palace. None of his staff wish to speak of where the Raven has gone, but the silent new resident of the palace is cause for question. After all, she was the one who aided in his release. If none of his subjects would help him find Adrienne, perhaps she could lead him to the whereabouts of the missing Raven. If only the woman wasn’t so flighty and hard to track down.

Warnings: Angst, Foreshadowing.

To Note: Morpheus/Dream x FemaleRaven!Reader, NAMED Reader (I like the name).

Word Count: ~2.3k

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Your fingers were smeared with charcoal as you furiously sculpted Lord Morpheus’s face upon your sketchbook page. With his image and likeness freshly ingrained within you mind, you were fervently drawing him in crystal clear detail with dark strokes of black and a shimmering cobalt blue that made his eyes come to life on your drawings. You didn’t understand why you felt this compulsive need to sketch him, to keep him in your memory. It was like he mattered to you. A silly notion. He mattered to the Dreaming, but to you personally? Surely you had gotten over your silly little crush on him by now.

The charcoal scratched across the page a few more strokes before you drew back your hand and stared at it. It was trembling. You glared at your limb in distaste and tightened your grasp on the charcoal. Surely you had more control over your body than this! You ground your teeth together, focusing on that needless tremble that you should not have. Perhaps it was a residual expression of your once feelings for the Endless being. How irritatingly needless.

“Cease this needless reaction,” You softly growled, clutching the charcoal tighter. It snapped and the two pieces fell to the floor of your tiny room. Staring at the broken charcoal, your eyebrow arched and you looked at your sketch once more. Lord Morpheus was beautifully sketched, his eyes vibrant with the stars that shone within, and Jessamy was perched on his shoulder… infinitely beautiful and stoic. The perfect raven. “You were always the better raven and sister, Jessamy,” You spoke before tearing the sketch from your notebook and setting it down in the pile of your other sketches, ignorant to the charcoal fingerprint you had left behind.

Standing in the middle of your closet turned bedroom, you looked around at the multitude of sketches you had up. It was, perhaps, obsessive of you to have nearly hundreds of sketches of Jessamy… both in her mortal form and raven form— and yet you couldn’t always control the compulsive urge to sketch her. You merely assumed that it was a side effect of your repressed emotions and shrugged it off. As long as you couldn’t feel the agonizing hurt of her death, you didn’t care what you spent your time doing.

You departed your room and crossed the space of your art studio, heading out to find Mervyn and hopefully, have something to do.

Lucienne had been out walking the sand dunes while you and Mervyn worked on clearing up yet another crumbling part of the palace. You and he kept the grounds meticulously clean from dust and debris, but that didn’t the palace looked any better at a glance. It still looked condemned, abandoned, faded with time. At times it became suffocating so she took walks… but this walk was different than the thousands before it. No, Lucienne could have sworn that she saw the familiar form of her lord, laying in a dune but a few hundred yards away.

So she ran. As fast as she could through the blackened sand until she could confirm with her own eyes that Lord Morpheus had indeed returned to the Dreaming.

“Sir! Sir!” She called out, hurrying to his side and crouching down. Lucienne scanned him for injury while rolling him onto his back. “Oh my goodness.” She breathed out, hardly able to comprehend what she was seeing, feeling. “Sir?” She asked as Morpheus stirred. “Sir, it’s me,” Lucienne reached for his hand as he looked at her. “It’s Lucienne.”

Morpheus gasped and coughed, still feeling utterly drained of his power.

“Lucienne,” He rasped weakly, holding onto her hand. He couldn’t hold back the relieving smile of finally being free and home.

“You’re home, my lord.” She said, feeling her own relief washing through her body. Morpheus was home, the Dreaming could finally heal, and you, Morpheus’s beloved raven that had withered to an empty shell, could finally begin to heal.

“I am,” Morpheus spoke as Lucienne helped him to his feet. The Morpheus took stock of his surroundings. He was beyond the ivory gates, beyond the walls of the glimmering city and palace. It was dead and desolate, there, empty. He was eager to open his gates and view his home once more.

Morpheus placed his palm on the Ivory Gates, feeling their warm and comforting hum of magic, his magic. It was nice to feel that touch once more. The gates began to part, rumbling and groaning from disuse.

“Forgive me, sir, but…” Lucienne didn’t know how to tell Morpheus that his kingdom had crumbled to dust and ruin while he was away. Morpheus stared at her with questions in his eyes. “…the palace, the village” Lucienne sighed. “They are not as you left them.” The gate continued to move, revealing the desolation of Morpheus’s kingdom and palace.

All that remained were bare trees, long since dead, and skeletons of what used to be an extraordinary palace. The bridge connecting the town was crumbled and no longer usable, the lake that surrounded the once grandiose building was almost dried up and wind whistled, stirring up dust and sand. Morpheus was overwhelmed at the destruction his home, wondering what could have caused this kind of ruin. Where were his people? Where were his creations? His Dreams? His Nightmares? Where was Adrienne!?

“What happened here?” He asked, his voice strained with barely contained emotional devastation. “Who did this?”

In the distance a tower crumbled and fell to ruins below. More work for Blanche and Mervyn to clean up. Lucienne cleared her throat.

“My lord, you are The Dreaming,” She explained, regretting the knowledge that for Morpheus to know what had caused ruin to reign in his kingdom, was his absence. “The Dreaming is you. With you gone as long as you were, the realm began to… decay and crumble.”

“And the residents?” Morpheus questioned, his very being aching with physical pain. “The palace staff? Adrienne?” Lucienne bit her tongue at the mention of you, for with Morpheus’s return, he was sure to eventually find what you had done. You could change your appearance and name, but you were the beloved of Dream of the Endless, he would find you.

“I’m afraid most have gone.” Lucienne answered, wincing on the inside in fear of her lord’s reaction.

“Gone?” Morpheus repeated in disbelief.

“Some went looking for you…” Lucienne trailed off, dropping her eyes to the rocky ground.

“And the rest? Where did they go? Where did Adrienne go? Where is she?”

“The others thought, perhaps, you’d grown weary of your duties, as for Adrienne, she—” Lucienne cut off, not knowing how to explain you. Morpheus would take nothing but the truth of your whereabouts. “She remains, my lord, but does not spend her time in the company of others. She chooses solitude.”

“So the others think that I chose to abandon them?” Morpheus questioned in disbelief. “Adrienne believes that I willingly abandoned her, broke my promise and left her without word?” Betrayal was flashing across his face as his eyes burned with tears. “Had they so little faith in me? Did Adrienne believe that I would willingly abandon her with so little thought!?”

“Adrienne’s faith in you has not wavered in the one hundred and six years you’ve been gone,” Lucienne corrected Morpheus. “Do not question her loyalty and lo—” Lucienne paused. Yes, you were loyal to Morpheus, but only as a subject and raven now. The love you had for him you exchanged for a mortal body and the ability to search for him. Yes, Morpheus would not take kindly to hearing that you no longer held the capability of loving him. “She is loyal to Dream of the Endless,” Lucienne carefully replied. “And she is dedicated to being your raven, it is perhaps her deepest fault, she will die for you should it come to that.”

Morpheus flinched. Jessamy had already done so, he couldn’t bear the thought that you would make that a repeated event. Jessamy had been a dear friend and loyal subject. Adrienne was the one whom he loved with everything he had. He would not lose both of you.

“Adrienne, under no circumstances,” Morpheus said, his voice darkening with seriousness. “Is to ever risk her life for me. I forbid it.” Once again Lucienne held her tongue, for Morpheus had no idea what you had become. The only way you would ever accept those words is if Morpheus gave you a direct order. But he couldn’t do that if he didn’t even know he was speaking to you. Morpheus turned back to his decimated kingdom. “I made this realm once, Lucienne, I will make it again.”

Lord Morpheus had returned. You knew that much as you cleaned up the latest rubble pile of the palace. Lucienne had been out on her walk beyond the wall when she had found him. You were pleased that Lord Morpheus had made it back on his own. While you had left the water spicket open, you weren’t entirely sure how long it would take for the magic circle to be broken. Even then you weren’t sure how much power he had left, and didn’t know if he could even get himself back to the Dreaming.

But he had and was now touring the ruin and destruction of his palace while you and Mervyn worked with the Wyvern to clean up what you could. Without his tools and much of his power, Lord Morpheus would not be able to return the realm to its natural beauty. It was merely a waiting game. Sweeping dust and rubble, you glanced up when Mervyn lumbered over to you.

“Just got word, Loosh wants you to pull a few books from what we have, she and Morpheus are working on solving our ruin problem.” You stopped sweeping and raised an eyebrow.

“And how are books to help with that?” You asked cynically. “His power resides within his tools, nothing shall change until he regains them.” Mervyn shrugged at your words.

“Hell if I know, kid, I’ll take over sweeping, run along before Loosh barges over here and starts snapping out orders.” You inclined your head and passed the broom to Mervyn before picking your way across the mostly clear courtyard. Most of the library was already gone, had been for a while, but a few books remained. You weren’t sure what Lucienne wanted from them since it was Lord Morpheus’s tools that he needed, but you knew which books she was going to want.

You fluttered your way to what was left of the library, a mere single bookshelf of only about eight books. You plucked the volume that Lucienne was going to want and held it against your chest. Striding through dilapidated halls, your face remained blank as the subtle and smooth voice of your lord reached your ears. It was as dulcet as you remembered, intense in a way that drew those listening in. You had liked listening to it, had liked it when he read to you. Emerging from a crumbling alcove, you strode over to Lucienne with purpose, ignoring the moping Endless sitting on the ruins of the spiral staircase that once led to his throne and your old perch.

“The book you requested,” You explained, offering Lucienne the heavy leather book while Morpheus stared at you, his eyes focused on the streak of white at your temple. His thoughts of his ruined kingdom shifted to you, the woman who he was certain, had intentionally left the water spicket open just enough to break the binding circle.

“Ah, thank you, Blanche,” Lucienne said, taking the book and opening it immediately.

“If that is all,” You said, taking a step back to leave.

“Will you not stay?” Lucienne probed you, searching your eyes for some semblance of your old self who would have been all over Morpheus the moment he returned. Nothing. You were about to respond when the sound of another piece of the palace breaking off and hitting the ground echoed throughout the throne room. Your head titled to the side.

“I’m afraid I’ve just become quite busy,” You answered flatly before inclining your head. “My apologies, Lucienne.” You then gave your lord a head bow. “Lord Morpheus.” With that you turned on your heel and strode away, planning on finding another broom to clean up the palace’s latest mess.

The moment Blanche departed the throne room, Morpheus was turning his gaze back to his librarian.

“Lucienne, who was that?” He asked, his sharp blue eyes, still ringed with red, observing her closely. “This is the first time I recall seeing her within my domain.” Lucienne cleared her throat and adjusted her glasses.

“That, sir, is Blanche,” Lucienne explained, feeling troubled about lying by omission to her lord, but wanting to respect your wishes for your previous life and name, to remain dead. “You need not worry about her or her loyalty, she has chosen to remain when others have left.”

Morpheus examined Lucienne, she clearly trusted you… but Morpheus was still wary. Very wary.

“She has no empathy, Lucienne, and yet you say she poses no threat to us or our kingdom.” The Endless pointed out.

“Blanche has remained here faithfully, for the last one hundred and six years, helping Mervyn maintain the palace as best as they could when others have left. Yes, she does not feel, but her loyalty to this realm and to you, is unwavering.” Morpheus took in that information. Surely he would have noticed one so loyal as Blanche, certainly with her hair color so remarkably similar to Jessamy and Adrienne’s feathering.

“She was the one who aided in my escape,” Morpheus commented, thinking Blanche over further. “One who I do not know, aided me when my own people could not.”

Lucienne’s heart was breaking within her chest, for all she wanted was to blurt out who Blanche really was, and how Adrienne had done everything she could to find Morpheus and return him home… and she had. She wanted to tell her lord that the one he loved had been relentless in her search for him, and had not stopped until she found him. But how could Lucienne tell Morpheus that the woman whom he loved, could no longer love him back?

Date Published: 6/21/23

Last Edit: 6/21/23

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