NOTHING EVER STAYS DEAD.

she does the same a short time after they arrive at skyhold. getting buried alive and fighting to get through the rubble of haven to find what’s left of the inquisition is hard on her mental health, as well as physical health, not quite used to putting her body through that much so soon after her tranquility was broken, when she never needed to do physical labor. it leaves her exhausted and unwell for a week after they arrive. 

❛ didn’t think you’d still be here. ❜     she drops onto the bed and it bounces with the movement, waiting a moment before falling on her back and grabbing a pillow to throw at the ceiling. and then another, and then another.     ❛ not that i mind or anything, i’m just surprised.  how did the, uh. ❜     the pillow drops back into her hands and she waves it around vaguely in @evilsought‘s direction,     ❛ demon stuff go. everything work out? are you okay? ❜          for jo! / sc.  

  How far they’ve come from the days of the circus. Once they’d both shied away from the beauties of the world, for differing reasons.  Her past had once weighed down on her so heavily.  But now her shoulders look like they’re significantly lighter, and – oh, she’s wonderful.

They watch with wide eyes as she stands under the rain, embraces the storm of her god.  As her wings unfurl, they witness her joy in its purest form for the first time – and it is beautiful.  It lights her up, catches on every blade of grass.  She laughs and they can’t help but laugh with her.

“ Yasha – oh, love, they’re beautiful! “ Delightedly they wrap their arms around her, beam bright as moonlight as they look up at her.  “ You can – actually fly with them, right?  Should we test them? “

she can scarcely believe the light wrapping around her, but she has fought her chains for so long, this feels like she has finally, finally freed herself. maybe she should be rewarded for it. 

sweeping them up into a hug, another laugh tumbling out of her. she can’t remember the last time she was this happy. molly looks more like an angel than she does in her light, and she hooks an arm under their knees and pulls them up into her arms with a nervous excitement lining her smile as she looks up at the sky. “let’s find out.” 

flexing the wings to get a better feel for them, yasha feels the strength both in the magic and her body, a welcome rush of confidence coursing through her. bending her knees, she grins at molly. 

“You would call anything good if the vendor batted their eyelashes enough.”   sometimes he thinks she simply wants people to be happy to see her. he is happy to see her without being bribed.

then again, his happy looks a little different: a deep sigh, a refusal to meet her eyes while he accepts exactly what she has been arguing him into the last five minutes. he bites the slice in half.

“I prefer peaches.”   matthew does not. he offers the other half to the raven.   “I wonder that you have not visited the orchards of the Dreaming, since my return.”

“i would not!” she protests with a laugh, bumping his shoulder with hers affectionately as she cuts another piece and tosses it in her mouth. “i have very high standards, i’ll have you know,” she teases. 

dream does not dignify her needling with a response. not only because she’s a little too correct. he was not sure what she would think of his request. she helped him once and buried a lover; whether it was his fault or not, it cannot have helped her perception of him.

“I do not use human currency, but I will — of course — make a good return for such a service.”   this is more familiar territory. her ancestor demanded much the same, and though he doubts a decent burial is high on this constantine’s list of priorities, humans cannot eat dreams only.   “If it must be something you can sell, then so be it.”

and…   “Thank you.”

she’s helped people who have done worse. despite the pain still stings with his presence, she blames herself for rachel’s death. not him. he’s just another example of the kind of shit mortal humans should never be exposed to. thus, her work. 

why is this night different from all other nights?

the house falls asleep.

since alex burgess dismantled his father’s order of ancient mysteries, it is rare that new faces come to gawk besides the guards, and dream ceased to care to remember them long ago. he noticed her, though. her face was almost familiar, like that of someone he knew hundreds of years ago. before the cage. before he had ever imagined there could be a cage. when he looked at her, he saw, for a single moment, her disgust.

but he had seen horror on the faces of others, through the glass, and no human ever acted on it; so he looked away.

and she — returned.

the house falls asleep. everything has changed.

after a century of helpless nothingness, isolated behind glass, he felt her. it was her blood hitting the sigil that altered it. as if the knife cut through him, he shuddered silently with her. and at her parting words, her little threat, dream of the endless, naked and alone and bowed over until his head could almost touch her, met his savior’s eyes once more.

is he free? no… not completely.

freedom and escape are not always one and the same. for the first time, there’s a crack in the wall. for now, he will take escape.

for hours, he gathers his returning strength waits to be sure the guards have not noticed the change. but at the end of a long shift, the strength of even the most caffeine-fortified human body begins to wane. then he strikes.

the house stays asleep for a long time.

*

in the past, should he have needed to find a mortal, he would have done so in their sleep. that was when the waters of the dreaming obeyed him, instead of threatening to crash over and drown what little of his power remains. without his tools, it is little enough. but in testing his new limits, he discovers that he need not sift through dreams to find her.

it will require him to leave the dreaming again.

lucienne wants promises from him which he cannot give, any more than he could return burgess’ son from the dead. “you only just returned. if you go back — how can you know that you won’t — ”

“What? Be captured again?”   he asks, and her mouth tightens with unhappiness. softer:   “Lucienne, I am still bound.”   he leaves the rest unspoken: That is why I must go.

so morpheus turns up his collar against the london rain, his face just as gaunt and ghostly as it was in the cage. he hates it, the binding, as it gouges and pulls like despair’s fishhook in his belly, and he lets it draw him closer to a magic user whose name he does not know. when he finds her, he feels the hook give a vicious little twist — or perhaps that’s his own bitter soul — of satisfaction.

he doesn’t touch her, doesn’t even approach. only waits for her to turn and see him once more.

“Tell me.”   his eyes flare with stars.   “Have I given you cause for regret?”

johanna constantine does not startle. surprise, sure. but for as long as she can remember, she’s never felt the rush of fear she’s supposedly supposed to have when something sneaks up on her. it’s a trick that’s help her fast on her feet, quick as a whip when she needs it most. 

still, she doesn’t expect to see him. but it only gives her pause for a moment, a quick sweep of his form with her eyes before she carries on her job. she’s got a meeting.

“dunno,” she answers honestly as she passes him, ”s’pose not.” her tone indicates that her response is the end of the conversation. 

she didn’t think she’d see him again. if she focuses, she could have mentally followed his progress from the waking to his realm and back, but she hasn’t been keeping close tabs on him. the bind lets her know if he should kill, and she’s been willing to forgive anything that happened in that fucking house. 

orpheus.

for dream of the endless, the name is a wound, and though the song is not for him, it is so familiar that it begins to bleed him. even as an infant, orpheus’ laughter and crying were beautiful. musical. prophetic. he used to create new dreams just to get the child to laugh a song.

on morpheus’ coat, the leaves on the vines wilt and blow away, even as new ones grow. listening, hurting, dying, and coming back to life. that’s about as marked an emotional response as anyone gets from dream.

“I have heard,”   he says, with difficulty,   “that you were his advocate. I would… thank you for that.”

even knowing what happened after, gratitude is not enough.

“And hear more.”

“as he was mine,” she responds, wistful as she leans with the breeze. the melody sings in her bones, a song of love from long ago that keeps her alive and thriving. “he was kind in a way that asked for nothing in return. as a goddess, and especially in that time, i felt like every mortal i met wanted something from me. hell, everyone wanted spring back, gods included. but he was grateful for what i could give when i could give it. that’s why he stayed with my mind. not his music, like hermes might tell it.” 

holding out her hand, a red flower blooms in her palm. instilling a bit of her immortality into it, she offers it to dream. “he had this rag he carried around--- whenever his mind wandered, he’d form it in his hand to be shaped like one of these flowers. and when he sang, this is what he bloomed. it’s the first gift hades ever gave to me. you keep this one, brother.” 

why must they turn every word into trial by combat?

“For you I would create an ocean. Waters whose depths cannot be plumbed and which no mortal can see the ends of, but will always long to find. It will be their passion to ride its storms and swells. Some will drown; that is the nature of storms. Others will keep seeking. That is the nature of people.”

if this is to be a game, then it is their move. what could desire do with that?

“for me?” there’s a coy smile playing at their lips, chin propped up by their fists as he weaves them an idea. 

“but brother! i am no mortal. i am hunger. i am what lurks at the bottom of your oceans, eating all that gets close and biting the mortals that explore where they should not go. i am the reason the mortals keep seeking, the need to know. i will find every corner of your waters, even if i have to devour everything in the process, even if it takes a thousand years.” 

“There are demons among my subjects. Masquerading as nightmares, they prey upon my dreams and mortals through them. We have found remains of their… feedings.”   he hesitates. to admit the weakness in the defenses of his kingdom feels like — is — a weakness in himself. an ache.   “Once, I stationed guardians at all my borders, to prevent such an… infestation. But the best have gone, and the spies are inside the gates. I need — ”

he’s been looking past her, but now the twin stars of his eyes glint and fade as he meets her gaze. stubborn, annoyed, but perhaps not unwilling. he doesn’t know. he doesn’t know how to know, except that ordering her about the last time ended in chasing her and doing things by her rules, anyway.

“I am asking. For your help.”

“oh.” she’s both surprised and relieved that it’s what she usually deals with. mostly, at least. 

but she frowns when he focuses on her again, unsure if she’s more comfortable with him looking at her or at something else, as if he can’t bare the sight of her. surprise, surprise, another immortal’s bloody weird. 

“wow,” she says immediately after he finishes. “that must have been hard for you. i’m almost willing to accept just from that. i’m impressed, really,” she adds, unimpressed and deadpan.