Chapter Text
The Dreaming was a maze, a never-ending, forever-expanding puzzle whose pieces came and went with its dreamers. None knew the full extent of it except for its ruler. Dream of the Endless had no need for a map to explore his own creation. He could feel the gentle breeze blowing over the expanse of Fiddler's Green and the bite of the everlasting snow sitting atop the highest mountain of his realm without ever having to leave his throne. He would navigate the dream waters with ease, shaping this or that sleeping fantasy at will. Some dreams he'd never alter. Some he'd cut short. Some he'd seen countless interations of. Some he would visit more often than others. Too often, perhaps.
His steps made no sound against the blanket of leaves and branches covering the ground. He could easily have hidden behind the thick tree trunks surrounding him, but there was no need. Dreamers hardly ever noticed his presence. He was but a shadow in the corner of their eyes, gone the moment they paid attention to it.
Those woods were not a recent creation. For as long as humans had existed, they'd dreamt of them. To them, forests had long been a place of mystery and danger, sometimes sacred, often feared, where one could easily get lost, or worse. They told stories of wolves and faeries to their children, who, in turn, dreamt of gnarled trunks and beasts awaiting along dark winding paths, ready to pounce.
This, however, was not a nightmare. The traitorous woods of folktales had given way to a much more inviting sight. Nicely spread trees and a clear path welcomed wanderers with a promise of adventure and wonder ahead. The sun, descending upon its golden hour, shone through crimson leaves like a thousand fragments of stained-glass. Soon, the sun would set, and the moon would be full and bright, waking fireflies from their slumber to light the dreamer's way, as one follows the stars. Such was the King of Dreams' design.
He could feel the dreamer's presence bringing the forest to life. His eyes followed the path. There was a rustle of leaves. The glimpse of a silhouette between the tall trees. He stood merely a yard away when she walked past him, her eyes full of light, her white dress painted red by the sun-soaked canopy. She was humming to herself, and the Dreaming responded, the melody floating through the leaves.
Dream was nothing but a part of the scenery to her, there yet unnoticed. That was for the best. There was no need to interrupt what he knew to be a long-awaited deliverance from the Waking world. Still, she walked on and his gaze followed, detailing the sprigs of ivy woven in her hair that travelled down her back. If she walked down to the end of the path, she would find a meadow and a bonefire waiting for her. She would be called "sister" by the women who lit it, and would be welcomed into their coven. And when she would press her hands to the earth, she would feel its exalting vitality flowing through her, blessing her with gifts that struck terror into the hearts of God-fearing men.
No need to disturb such plans. Soon, she disappeared among the trees, leaving the faint echo of her tune behind. Dream smiled briefly to himself.
"Come, Jessamy," he called.
Jessamy, perched on a high branch, opened her wings at once and flew down to her master.
"So soon?" she croaked with the hint of a tease.
"Other duties await," he said, ignoring her tone.
He gave one last glance to the path, tracing the line that vanished beyond the trees, and they were gone. The dream waters washed away the canopy of red leaves, leading them to other dreams and other dreamers. Dream had lost count of them by the time he returned to palace. He desperately longed for a moment of respite, however brief, but as he entered the throne room, he knew that would have to wait a while longer. Lucienne stood at the bottom of the staircase leading to his throne, a thick book in her hands.
Centuries had taught him that was never a good sign.
"Welcome back to the palace, my Lord!" she greeted him. She sounded nervous. Not a good sign either.
"I scarcely left, Lucienne."
His steps echoed through the throne room.
"I suspect you did not leave the library solely to greet me."
"You suspect well, my Lord."
Dream joined her at the bottom of the staircase.
"I'm listening."
"I was completing the dream diaries inventory when I came across a peculiar volume. I thought I'd bring it to your attention."
She showed him the book, turning the leather cover towards him. It bore the name of the dreamer it belonged to. A familiar one. The image of ivy-braided hair and red leaves flashed in his mind.
"Go on," he encouraged, though part of him already knew all too well which issue Lucienne wished to discuss.
"It is full of dreams, my Lord. It'sꟷ" she stopped herself, realising her poor choice of words. She pushed her glasses up her nose. "It is filled only with dreams. Not a single nightmare, for years."
Dream's eyes went from the book to Lucienne. He could count on her to notice every single detail, even those he wished to keep to himself.
"It is not an oversight on my part, Lucienne. It is by design."
"By design?" she repeated, incredulous. "My lord, far be it from me to pass judgment on the wayꟷ"
"And yet you are about to."
Lucienne lowered her eyes respectfully, but did a poor job of hiding her frustration. Dream gently wrapped his hand around her shoulder, giving it a light press. He knew better than to vex his head librarian.
"Speak your mind."
"My Lord... two thousand three hundred and forty two nights, six years and a half of dreams without a nightmare to break the cycle, is that really..." she stopped herself again, trying to find the right word. "Advisable?"
"Your devotion to the realm and its rules honour you, Lucienne," Dream said, offering her a small smile. "I can assure you this dreamer has nightmares in abundance, but you won't find them in this volume."
"My Lord?" Lucienne furrowed, confused.
Dream turned towards the stairs and walked up the first few steps.
"The Waking World is full of its own nightmares. They may not resemble those of my own creation, but the terror they inspire is just as potent." He paused, his mind wandering to the horrors he had read and seen for centuries. The horrors he'd read in her book. "It is vile, what humans are willing to do to each other. For nothing. Sometimes just because they can."
"You wished to balance the scales," Lucienne mused out loud.
"There will be nightmares, Lucienne," he promised, continuing his ascent towards the throne. "Soon enough, when those of the Waking World subside, nightmares will return to her."
"How can you be certain her waking nightmares will cease?"
"Such is the nature of nightmares. There will come a day when the scales will tip over and the Universe will require balance from her. The choice will be hers then, just as with any nightmare: face it or succumb to it."
"And if she succumbs to it?"
Dream did not answer. Only Destiny knew what lay beyond that crossroad. The Waking World was not his to shape or command. But it could, undoubtedly, be lead in the right direction.