((I'm a Dream/Morpheus writer who's looking for a Nuala to write/RP with! If you're a Sandflower shipper who likes slow burn RP's, reach out! I'd love to find a regular writing partner for these two. ^_^
Here's a sample of something small I wrote.))
A gift.Â
Dream had not asked for one, nor would Queen Titania believe him in want of one. It was politics. Obligation presented as courtesy, and nothing more. Refusing such a gift would have been taken as an insult to Faerie, resulting in the withdrawal of the goodwill he'd worked centuries to restore -- something he was not quick to forfeit, given the relativity of the Dreaming to the realm of Fae. But seeing as this particular gift was alive, he'd felt he must object. A crafted charm or relic, he would have had no option but to accept, shouldering the unspoken contract of a debt owed.Â
But a sentient life?Â
The Dreaming was not Hell. It required no payment of souls, nor did he have use of them. When his realm was in need, he answered its thirst by giving of himself, creating dreams - or nightmares - that may fill the role necessary for the task. Souls belonged in the Waking World, only visiting when their hosts slumbered, finding inspiration in his touch. They did not stay past their keep.Â
"With respect to your queen, I cannot accept," he'd said, aware of the inevitable fallout, but unwilling to take ownership of the Fae he'd met the night prior -- the Lady Nuala. It had been her diplomacy that ultimately influenced his choice to entrust the key to Hell to the Heavenly hosts, as well as the abolition of Faerie's tithe to Hell. Faerie owed her more than it would ever acknowledge.Â
"Reject the Queen's gift, if you will, but she will not be best pleased," the emissary, Nuala's own brother, claimed. "Nuala, if she returns to Faerie, risks her severest displeasure." So the Fae had as little say in the matter of her fate as he did. She was but a pawn in the hand of her Queen. "She's yours now, Sire. To do with...as you will."
The words festered. Did Titania imagine him so feeble as to require playthings? So cruel as to delight in subjugation? A thousand nightmares bloomed at the implication.
"If the lady does not wish to stay-" he began...
But the fool cut him off. "I am afraid she has no choice in the matter."Â
And then she spoke. Quiet, steady, certain.Â
âThe lady does wish to stay, Lord.â No pleading in her tone. No despair. Exile transfigured into defiance. Dreams of something greater than the clipped wings Faerie had allowed her. A spirit refusing diminishment, even in chains. He was silent then, for her will was plain. He would not take a slave into his realm...but he would not deny a soul who chose to dream beyond the limits imposed upon her. With her head held high and emotions guarded, she continued, "I would far rather be received here as a gift than return to a queen and a brother who would think so little of me that he would give me away."
"Very well," he replied, the ghost of something similar to fondness hidden in his eyes. "It would be an honor to have Lady Nuala remain with us...as our guest."Â The first flesh and blood guest in an age.Â
The first since Calliope left.
Since Orpheus.Â
Â
The thought was background noise, eaten up by the humm of the Dreaming. He focused instead on what was immediate -- what was before him-- dismissing Cluracan with praise for Nuala, expecting word would make it to her Queen.Â
But there was one remaining issue to address -- that of Nuala's Glamour.Â
By its very nature, the Dreaming defined reality, and reality was cheapened by little magics that mask the truth. Within his realm, Dream's priority was authenticity, embracing the essence of what was, and not what one perceives as desirable. And so, he'd asked her to remove it, expecting her to balk, faeries being the vain, prideful creatures they were. But instead, he found himself surprised when her only concern was for upholding her duties to her Queen -- the Queen who's Court she no longer served. After a simple reminder, she'd let it fall away, standing before him as she truly was. No veil. No deceit. Just Nuala.
Titania had thought her imperfect -- in need of fixing. How little she understood.
Nuala was...beautiful.
And for a brief moment, the Dream King actually smiled.Â
---
For some time, Dream watched Nuala from a distance, curious as to how she would adapt to life within his realm. Unlike the other occupants of the Dreaming, she was entirely alive. Not mortal -- no, he would not diminish her so -- but not dream, nor nightmare, nor archetype. She was not formed from the eternal rhythm that pulsed in him, but possessed her own rhythm -- that of a beating heart.Â
It set her apart within the Dreaming, a discordant note in the great chord. And yetâŚnot discordant. He found he did not mind the sound.
She sought always to be useful. Where all his creations knew their given purpose, she had yet to find hers, ever hesitant to overstep in her uncertainty of her place. As his guest, he'd offered her freedom within the palace, yet she insisted upon finding work. It was admirable. Also peculiar.Â
No other faerie he had known carried such restraint. Most he had encountered were drawn to Desireâs essence, indulging without thought, intoxicated by the sweetness of their own wants.Â
In her, Dream saw a surprising...kinship. A fidelity not only to those she served, but to the task itself, as though she could not imagine living otherwise. In that, she mirrored him more closely than she could ever know -- a soul shaped by duty, whether chosen or imposed. In her quiet persistence, he glimpsed a reflection of himself. It gave him pause...
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