Author's Notes: The gates mentioned in the title are brought up in the Preludes and Nocturnes arc of Sandman, in "Imperfect Hosts". Normal dreams pass through the ivory gate, while the horn gates let only the truth through. The fic is set long before either canon. Pre-Fred!Illyria could be male, female, or something even more interesting, but I went with 'it' because with a being that asexual, it seemed natural. Constructive criticism is welcome.
The humans dreamed of guidance, of mysteries solved, of a fount and a form for the passions that drove them; the humans dreamed of gods, and so their gods came to be.
Illyria buried Its lower spines in the earth as It gazed on the feasting grounds. Powers of many realms had come today to seek Hell's favour or secure a promise of peace, but Illyria's gaze fell particularly on the human gods. They wore the shapes of the creatures that had made them, dainty and delicate; Illyria hungered to erase the taint they brought to Its home, but could do nothing but dig deeper into the ground to assure Itself of the raw strength of Hell.
This earth and the blood spilt on it had birthed Illyria. It could not bear the rabble that trod on it for the sake of paltry negotiations. Everywhere the little gods behaved as the humans did, rutting with whatever was available, gorged and soaked from the feast, flaunting their slivers of power as if no one could have more. Lucifer's desires to trick and trade had led him far from a path that Illyria would willingly follow.
It turned Its attention away from the thick of the feast and found that another man-shape caught it, though this one was as pale as mist and too tall and thin to be human. Soon enough the other returned Its gaze.
"Demon..." said Dream of the Endless. "Why do you stare at me?"
"My name is Illyria. You should remember it, Lord of Dreams," It said. "And I stare at you because I tire of staring at your children, and wonder why you would birth such things."
Something glittered in Dream's eyes. "My children, demon? What children?"
His voice was almost pleasant, devoid of all but the smallest signs that his pride was rankled. Illyria did not dream; the Dream King needed to be careful of It and those in Its power, and there were many of those at the feast. Illyria saw that one of the Endless was wary of It, and stretched Its wings to their full length in contemptuous pride.
"These weaklings pieced together from the dreams that you rule. Your children who claim and do not deserve the name of god." Illyria displayed Its stained copper claws. "I am god-king of many lands in many worlds. I have gone through blood and bone for my power. These aspirant gods could never approach me, or even the lowest of demons."
"You believe so? After all ... their nature is rooted in dreams. There is power there." The warning in Dream's voice was quiet, but far sharper in his gaze.
"I have wondered," Illyria said, "whether these gods walk from the Dreaming and into the worlds through the gates of horn or through the gates of ivory. But it does not matter. They are nothing but lies either way. Dreams, stories and hopes: all are lies. So are these worthless god-things."
Illyria expected a fight to follow these words and readied itself for one with a certain anticipation. But Dream only said, "Perhaps you're right. Perhaps all dreams - even the ones that pass through the gate of horn - hold something of lies as well as truth..."
Stars sparked deep in his eyes, and he smiled.
Illyria knew of the prophecy that foretold Its freedom; the Drogan whispered to the demons in his keeping, promising that they would not escape as easily as the seers had dreamed. When the sealing spells allowed Its thoughts to cluster together long enough, Illyria wondered if Its capture had been orchestrated by the King of Dreams, or if he only wished to humiliate the demon who had insulted him by providing the only key to Its freedom.
When Illyria was released from bondage and stood in the world once more, It wondered how long it would take to raise an army that could march against the Dreaming. Even the Endless could not be allowed to believe that they were beyond retribution.
The prophecy, Its disciple said, told of a thousand-strong army that priests had bound to await Its resurrection. Illyria strode towards it with the knowledge that this was the beginning of Its new empire.
When It saw the army in a hall turned tomb, crumbled soldiers with a faint scent of magic around them, It remembered laughing stars.
And so Illyria was taught that even lies held truths.