-26-

"The Song of Orpheus"

"You need not come with me, Rose," said Dream, putting his cloak back on. Nuala was ready with his gloves. "It is none of your affair."

"What isn't?" I asked. "I thought you were going to deal with the Hell situation? Where are you rushing off to?"

"It is a… private matter. One that I must see to, in order to locate my helm. I would not wish to invite powerful entities to my realm without the proper defenses and safeguards in place."

"So it's about… Thessaly?"

Dream looked at me sharply then, frowning. "No." He took the gloves from Nuala and pulled them onto his hands. I thought that was going to be it, end of conversation - but then he murmured "...It's about my son."

"You have a son?"

"As I have said… it is none of your concern."

Delirium noisily licked and slurped at her fingers. "Oh yEAh, aNd mUseS. CaLLiOpe's hiS mOthEr. i wAnnA gO sEE ORphEUs tOO. i mEAn tALk aLsO, nOt jUst sEE. CAn i?"

"If you must."

Delirium took his gloved hand. Dream closed his eyes.

Nothing happened.

"uM DReam? We'Re stiLL heRe," said his little sister. "WhY aRen'T wE goiNg anYwHeRe?"

Dream opened his eyes, frowning, and then his face fell with an uncomfortable realization. He slowly turned to me, wincing.

I gave a very exaggerated sigh, just to torment him, and offered my hand. Miserably unhappy, he peeled off one of his gloves.

Delirium looked rapidly between the two of us. "WhAAT? DReaM, caN yoU noT dO iT bY youRseLf anYmoRe? ThE uM thiNGie yoU dO To gO pLaces, aNd maKe stuFF haPPen? iS iT broKen?"

Dream grimaced. "I am NOT broken," he insisted, and I tried not to laugh. "Delirium… you are my sister, and I love you dearly; but if you should speak once more out of turn, about something you know NOTHING about, then so help me I will make it so that you do not remember how to speak at all."

Delirium dropped his hand, angrily. "DoN't yoU daRe thReaTen mE," she warbled at him, pointing at his face, her mismatched eyes flashing. "HaVe yoU eVer gONe MAD, DREam? i CouLd DO thaT yoU knoW... i COuLd dO iT if I WANTED tO. YoU aRen't eVen weaRiNg yoUr HELMET riGHt noW. i'M onLy nOT cuZ yoU're mY bROther… iF yoU WEREN'T mY bROther, i'D sTeaL yoU aWaY iNtO mY reaLm, aNd i'D maKe uP faLse eXits foR yoU tO fiNd, sO thAT juSt whEn yoU thOUght yOU'd fiNaLLY goTTen OUT oF mY worLd yoU wOuLdn't bE OUT yoU'd juSt bE fURther IN."

I was suddenly, acutely aware of just how dangerous the funny-and-kooky little girl Delirium could be - but just as that was sinking in, Delirium turned to me and offered up one of her messy hands for me to take. I couldn't conceal my disgust looking at it - she noticed me recoil, and I had this moment of cold terror, where I wondered what would happen to me if she decided to take offense.

Instead of obliterating my sanity or something, she just licked her hand some more, wiped it off on her coat, and then offered it to me again - I sighed, shrugging, and resigned my hand to its fate.

With the other hand, I took hold of Morpheus'. He flinched, as pain seared up his arm and caused his muscles to seize.

Sand swirled around us.

And then we weren't in The Dreaming anymore.

-Daniel's Tale-

Pardon me, Mother - if I may:

Andros Rhodocanakis clambered awkwardly up the concealed stone steps, carved into the face of the island cliff, as he did each morning at dawn.

As many times as he had made the climb, Andros could never get over the honor daily done to him and to his family. Their privilege and their burden, as custodians, guards, and priests.

As witnesses to the miracle.

Each stone step curved deeply in the middle, eroded by his boots, and by the boots of ancestors.

He was the oldest now. Head of the family.

Reaching the top, he rested his hands on his knees, breathing hard the salty sea air. He was getting old. The windswept cherry blossom trees were beautiful in the dawn light - so too was the old, white marble pavilion that had stood amongst them across the many centuries.

In the pavilion's archway stood Andros' son-in law, Kris. He wore a large military-style gun slung across his shoulder, always prepared to scare off any visitors to their island; not that they ever had any, of course.

Occasionally they would spot a vessel sailing close, but it had been a very long time indeed since anyone had attempted to land. Andros' eyes weren't what they used to be, so he had to rely on those of his son-in-law and grandson.

Actually, Andros realized that was true in a lot of ways.

For one thing, Kris had enough hair to make those long dreadlocks of his. Andros did not.

Andros could not see a reason to walk about the island so heavily armed, as there was no one to impress with such a display except himself and the boy. Kris had come to them twenty years ago, fleeing a war in a far away land, driven by dark dreams; now he had others. Kris had drawn up plans covering almost all eventualities, up to and including a helicopter assault on the temple. Andros supposed that Kris could pretend to be a one-man-army action hero bodyguard in his head if he wished to - whatever made Kris feel stronger, safer, and better able to pass the long and lonely night hours was a good thing.

But Andros himself was not worried: the Priests of Orpheus had spent thousands of years perfecting the art of misdirection.

Kris noticed his father-in-law pausing at the top of the steps, and wandered close. "Papa, you're getting too old to be doing this."

"Nonsense," said Andros, waving him off stubbornly. "My father made the trek every morning until he was 80."

Kris just smiled. He knew better than to argue.

Andros rose, finally having caught his breath. "How was he tonight?"

"He slept for a few hours," Kris answered. "Then he wanted to look at the moon. And now he sleeps once more."

"Good, good… tell that half-wit son of yours that I saw him, when I was coming up the path. He should not be seen when he is on guard."

"He knows that, Papa."

"If he TRULY knew that, he would not let himself be seen. Beat him for me."

"He's too old for a beating, Andros."

"Beat him - and as you do, tell him that when they stole our charge, two hundred years ago, it was thirty years before he returned to us. THIRTY YEARS. It will NEVER happen again."

Kris sighed. "I'll make sure he remembers."

"Go down and eat, Kris. Get some sleep. See you at dusk." They clapped hands, Kris tagging out and Andros tagging in for the shift, as they passed by one another. Kris headed down the stone steps.

Andros approached the nearest cherry tree. Every spring day, while the trees were in bloom, he had picked a blossom from a cherry tree… and every spring day, for over sixty years, he had placed it on the lady's grave, as his father and grandfather did before him.

The name carved into the gravestone read: Lady Johanna Constantine, Born 1760, Died 1859, "Be to her Virtues very Kind, Be to her faults a little Blind."

His duty accomplished, Andros entered the pavilion.

Orpheus' eyes opened at his approach. They were grey and uniquely contemplative this morning, thought Andros.

"Good morning," Orpheus greeted him, pleasantly.

"And to you, lord. Kris thought you were asleep."

"No, merely thinking. Did you put the flower on her grave?"

"Of course."

"She was a remarkable woman."

"All women are remarkable."

"Please Chrestos, the East window. I'd like to see the sun rise."

Andros carefully placed his hands on either side of the pale and disembodied head of Orpheus, lifting it up from its place on the table, next to the flower vase. "I'm Andros, lord," he corrected, gently.

"Did I say… ? I'm sorry. I was thinking of your father."

Andros placed Orpheus' head on the window sill, balanced on the severed stump of his neck. "Grandfather."

"Ah… I'm growing forgetful... a good thing that my company is not the reason for your diligence."

"Then what is?

"The song."

Andros felt embarrassed. How could he say such a thing? How could he believe it? "That's not the only reason," Andros insisted. "You're a good friend."

A knowing smile played upon Orpheus' lips, and he looked sideways at his attendant. "But you'd still like the song."

Andros sighed; it was no use. Oh well... as long as Orpheus didn't think that he HAD to sing for his attendant's pleasure, Andros supposed it was all right to let him know that he appreciated it. "... If your lordship would grace me with it."

Orpheus' smile expanded. "Today will prove an unusual day."

He stared unblinking into the light… then, he opened his mouth and began to sing, his voice little more than a whisper. He sang to the sunrise, in a long-forgotten tongue.

Andros listened to the song of Orpheus, and the ache in his joints eased; the cold left his fingertips. In his soul he felt young again. This is what made him get up in the darkness and climb the steps, summer or winter, rain or mist… the song.

Meanwhile, Kris reached the bottom of the steps, and found his son in a hammock strung between two trees. He smiled - such a lazy boy. He could not bear to punish him though, no matter what old Andros said.

He approached the door to the hidden beach shack, when he felt sand blow against his back in an unusual manner: it was not a straight gust of wind, but a curving, whirling one. A twister? A dust-devil?

When he turned about, he saw three strange and unfamiliar figures: a tall pale man with dark hair and cloak; a very young woman with mostly reddish hair streaked with blonde, wearing sleepwear pajamas like she'd left the house while sleepwalking; and a preteen girl, about the age of Kris' son, each lock of her hair a different color of the rainbow - she looked as though she'd slept in a trash heap in nothing but her underwear and fishnets, and came out wearing a discarded coat, bicycle shorts, and skirt.

Kris raised his gun and pointed it at them.

"Whoa, easy!" said the mostly-redheaded woman holding up her hands. Kris took note that she was the only one of the three who seemed the least bit alarmed by his action: the younger rainbow-haired girl looked only mildly curious about him and the gun, but no more so than anything else around her, and the tall man seemed completely unfazed.

"Stay where you are!" warned Kris. "One false move, and I will shoot!"

"WHat'S a faLsE moVe? iS iT veRy diFFeRenT froM a ReaL oNe?" mused the rainbow-haired girl, to no one in particular as she twirled and messed with her hair. She looked at the redheaded sleepwalker. "GrEeN mOuSe iCe cReaM waS thE WoRSt. i diDn't liKe ThaT aT aLL."

"How did you get here?" asked Kris.

"We walked," said the tall man, simply.

"You could not have walked here."

"Nevertheless, we walked."

"We came through your son's dream," said pajama-woman. Kris glanced carefully at his son, who was now fully awake: sitting up in the hammock, a handgun trained upon the stranger's backs, shaking only slightly.

"We hope you don't mind," said the tall, pale man. He spoke with power and authority - Kris wondered if this could be one of the old gods his father-in-law often spoke of.

"i miNd," said the weird girl. "shOUld've tAkEn tHe cAr, i thiNk. i'M a rEaLLY gOOd driVER…"

"There are no roads that lead here, little girl."

Rainbow-hair rolled her eyes and fixed him with a frown - her eyes were mismatched, one blue and one green, but both were inhumanly bright. "I mEAnt a flYing cAr, i'm nOt stUpid yOU knOw…"

"Just put the gun down," said the reasonable woman. "We're not here to cause trouble."

"I have come here to speak with my son. I believe he is here. Please

lead me to him."

"Your son?"

"Orpheus."

At the sound of that name, Kris lowered the gun.

Kris led them up the stone steps, without a word. His uninvited guests were silent also.

As they approached the temple pavilion, the redhead girl looked at the tall man - he was looking at the ground, and appeared deeply disturbed.

"Is something wrong, Dream?" she asked. Kris was beginning to put it together: perhaps he was a god of dreams.

"No. I am in fine spirits."

"You're shivering."

The man named Dream pulled his cloak tighter around himself. The girl placed her hand on his shoulder, and he glanced back at her - he could plainly see she was unconvinced by his words.

But just who was the girl? Kris wondered. She seemed like a regular mortal to his eyes, though strangely appealing - and without any particular features that justifiably made her so. A half-human daughter, perhaps? A lover?

He dismissed the latter idea outright - no, it was too absurd. As far as he understood it, a god would be too prideful to be seen walking upon the earth in this way, with their lover so ridiculously attired.

"I gave my word I would not come here," Dream told the girl, by way of explanation.

"To Orpheus?"

"To myself." There was a pause. "I'm afraid I'll have to ask the two of you to stay outside."

His preternaturally appealing companion nodded. "Alright."

"BuT I wAnt tO sEE hiM, hE's mY...cOUsiN? No, nEphEw! I wEnt tO

hiS wEddiNg…"

"We'll see him later," said the woman. "Let's go play. Those trees look nice, don't they?"

Rainbow-girl was in awe. "YoU wAnt tO pLaY...? Oh WOw. NObOdY evEr aSKs tO pLaY wiTH mE…"

Dream gave the young woman a faint-hearted smile of gratitude, before the rainbow-girl grabbed her by the hand and ran off for the trees.

Kris yelled into the pavilion. "Papa! We've got company!"

His father-in-law was sitting in a chair within. Andros looked up. "Eh?" he said, looking alarmed.

"He's my father, Andros," said the head of Orpheus. "I've been expecting him."

Andros blinked. "You warned me today would be unusual… you didn't say how much…"

"I know. Would you kindly allow me to speak to my father in private?"

"Of course, lord." Andros rose from his chair, as fast as his tired limbs would allow.

"I will not be needing your assistance for the rest of the day. Please do what you like with that time." Andros nodded, dazed - this was unusual indeed. "And Andros?" Orpheus added. "Thank you. For everything."

Andros attempted a smile, but found he could not manage to say anything in response. He took his leave - and as he did so, he caught sight of the tall, pale man waiting outside. Yes: though the hair was darker, the skin was paler, and his eyes were far from human, the man did resemble Orpheus; they were undoubtedly father and son.

Dream passed within.

He saw the disembodied head of his son, on the window-sill. The golden sunlight shone upon him, as it always did in the days of old.

A long silence.

At long last, Orpheus spoke. "Do you remember what you last told me, father? "Your life is your own. Your death, likewise. Farewell. We shall not meet again.""

"I believe I said something like that, yes."

"Those were your exact words. I have had plenty of time to think on them."

"At the time, I meant it."

Orpheus assessed him with his gaze. "You have changed, since the old days.

"I doubt it."

Dream drew near to the head of his son. He lifted it up, cradling it with both hands. "I have something to ask of you."

"Your Helmet. I will tell you where to find it. But before that, you must promise to do something in return."

Dream looked away.

"You know what I ask."

"Yes. How I wish it were otherwise."

"Do you promise to do it, then?"

"I do."

Orpheus closed his eyes, solemnly. "You did not have to come to me to ask after the helmet - you could have simply asked the son of Roderick Burgess."

Dream was taken aback. "No. I could not."

Orpheus opened his eyes, and looked at Dream reprovingly. "Because you have trapped him in a Nightmare - yes, I know. My uncle-aunt knew that while your guilt demanded that you free me, you did not have any desire to free him - and thus they suggested you speak with me. But the path of vengeance is not a righteous one - it is a road that has no ending. You should not have punished the son for the sins of the father."

"Do you feel that is what I have done to you?"

"Perhaps. Only you know what is in your own heart."

Dream sighed. "So that is to be your answer then, Orpheus? I am to free the son of my captor, to find the answer I seek?"

"Only because that is the best way. But so that you do not feel cheated by our bargain, I shall also answer a question that only I may answer - one that you do not yet know to ask."

"What is that?"

"The whereabouts of your brother."

Dream scowled. "Indeed, you are very right my son - I have no reason to seek the answer to that question. My brother abandoned his realm. That is all."

"Nevertheless, you will want to see him - so too will Delirium. It shall be for the last time."

"Very well - you have told me. And while I am greatly displeased by the indirectness of your answer in regards to my Helmet, I have given you my word. Are you ready, my son?"

Orpheus' face took on a wistful expression. "It's strange... for many thousand years, I have prayed to all the gods and the forces that be, for death. For an ending. I never thought you would be the one to grant it. But now that it is before me… father, I am so very scared." He blinked, slowly, like a nod. "But yes. I am ready."

It was done.

Dream wandered out of the temple pavilion, a weary shadow. His arms hung limply at his sides.

He saw Rose, sitting against a tree, looking at the gravestone of Lady Johanna Constantine; he could feel her contemplating the possible connection between the deceased woman and the living man who shared her last name. Delirium was picking cherries, and tossing them into Rose's idly outstretched hand.

As he walked forward, Rose finally caught sight of him. "Dream?" she said.

"I have the information we need."

Delirium turned around, her hands and mouth full of cherries. "DiD...iT. Um. I dUnnO. CoST yOU anYthINg mAYbE?"

"It cost me a great deal." Dream avoided Rose's questioning eyes. He could not bear them. "Go and find rest in the house of Andros. We will not be leaving just yet."

"BuT i waNt tO gO iNsiDe," protested Delirium. "i waNt tO saY heLLo tO OrPheuS. oR gooDbYe. Or soMeThinG."

"It is too late for that, my sister."

Delirium looked at the temple, and an understanding seemed to take place. "OH. YoU diD iT, diDn'T yoU?"

Dream said not a word, and hoped that Rose would not ask for an explanation.

She did not.

Dream took a walk behind the pavilion, seeking a place that Rose's eyes could not observe him, and hoping that she would not try to follow.

She did not.

She took Delirium's hand instead. "C'mon, let's go." And for once Rose did as he bid her, and walked the path to the hidden beach shack below.

He knew not why she did so, but he was glad.

Dream sat down upon a bench. Birds were gathering, flocking, pecking through the grass in search of seed.

Within moments, a loaf of bread was offered to him. It was offered to him by the hand of his sister, Death.

He took the loaf from her, and began tearing pieces off of it. He tossed it before the eager birds.

His sister Death sat beside him. "Have you watched 'Mary Poppins'?" she asked.

"Mary Poppins?" he echoed.

"Yeah. You've seen it right? There's this song she sings…'Feeeed the birds, toppins a bag-'"

"No. I cannot say I have."

"You really ought to - it's supercalifragilisticexpialidocious! Y'know, great. Wonderful. Peachy keen!"

Death put her hands on either side of her face with a big smile. But Dream hung his head, and tore off more bread pieces.

"Maybe not everybody's thing, but y'know. Cute." She sighed. "Dream? Are you alright? What are you feeling?"

"I feel like nothing."

"I don't believe you. Your son's gone now - it'd be natural to mourn."

"You misunderstand. My realm is no longer under my control. My power is scattered. I am unable to kill Rose. What will I be, when I am no longer Dream?"

Death gave him a very serious look with her dark irises. "Dream, let me tell you something. And I'm only going to say it once, so you'd better pay attention." She slipped the loaf of bread out of his hands, and stood up. Dream waited for what she had to say. Then she yelled: "YOU ARE UTTERLY THE STUPIDEST, MOST SELF-CENTERED EXCUSE FOR AN ANTHROPOMORPHIC PERSONIFICATION ON THIS OR ANY OTHER PLANE!"

She threw the loaf of bread at him, angrily, and it bounced off his head as he gaped at her with shock. Death wasn't prone to yelling; in fact, this was the first time he'd ever heard her raise her voice.

The birds swarmed the loaf, happy to feast upon the entire thing unhindered.

Death wasn't finished. "Feeling all sorry for yourself, because your little game might be over, and you don't have the… the BALLS to go find a new one!"

"If this is about the Hell situation-"

Death made a sound of frustration, grasping the air with tense fingers. "Of course it isn't! You're my brother, you lummox! Didn't it occur to you that I'd be worried silly about you? And not just while you were captured - I'm STILL worried, maybe even more so than before: because NOW you're acting like if life doesn't go back to exactly the way it was before it happened, then you'll just give up on it altogether."

"I didn't think-"

"That's exactly it, you never think!" Death sat back down, and clasped his hands in hers. "I care about you, no matter what you are." She leaned forward, and raised her eyes to meet his, locking them into place. "And you know what? So does Rose."

Dream thought about that, his vast mind racing with utter confusion.

Rose?

What did Rose have to do with anything?

I ceased talking.

Nuala was leaned forward, more eagerly than she had been for this entire story session. "Well?" she said, rather impatiently. "What happened next, Dream Lord?"

My mother Rose chewed on her finger. "He's embarrassed," she teased.

"Why?" asked Nuala. "Because he was beginning to realize his feelings for you?"

"He did not realize them," I said. "Not then, and not for some time after."

Nuala let out her breath, frustrated. "Why are men so stubborn? It was so OBVIOUS that he'd grown to care for her!"

"Mm, careful - you do realize that you're shipping this incestuous relationship rather hard?" purred Desire.

"But they didn't know about that at the time!" Nuala protested.

"Au contraire, little fairy," said Desire, puffing smoke. "Dream didn't have the specific details, but he had ample reason to suspect that her fruit hung a bit too close to his on the family tree."

"I believe it would be too uncomfortable for my mother to hear a first-hand account of my conception, coming from the mouth of her own son," I very reasonably pointed out.

"Whoa wait, what did you say?" said Mervyn, eyeholes getting wide. "Am I understandin' right, that you can recount all the dirty details of yer mother and yer dad doin' the hokey-pokey?"

I was beginning to feel a bit defensive. "Yes, Mervyn, it is exactly as you so eloquently put it: I can recall any experience, from any perspective, which occurred at any point in time. I should have thought that was obvious by now."

"Holy mackerel, that's messed up. That's, like, one a'them edible complexes."

"The term you're looking for would be 'Oedipal Complex', Mervyn," corrected Lucien.

"Yeah, whatever. Egghead." He leaned forward eagerly, smiling at me with not only his mouth, but his eyes. "But ya got me hooked! Keep it comin', Boss!"

"You horrible, disgusting pervert!" cried Nuala, as Mervyn cackled. "How dare you show such disrespect for our late master!"

"Hey, you're one ta talk! Don't you tell me that you're not salivatin' to hear the rest of this story! 'Specially considerin' your own feelins fer the guy."

Nuala looked devastated. Her eyes shone with tears. "Shut up, Mervyn."

"Now see, I'd say 'right back at ya, Toots', but if I did you'd start accusin' me of bein' a shovelist."

"I think you mean 'chauvinist'," Lucien offered.

"I disagree, I think he found the exact correct term to describe himself," murmured Desire. "He is, undeniably, a shovelist."

"Point is it's a double standard that a guy like me can't tell a woman ta shut up, and has ta just take it when SHE does it - cuz that just ain't fair ta NOBODY."

"Especially not whiny little bitch-pumpkins," snarked my mother Rose.

Mervyn opened his mouth wide, scandalized, and pointed at my mother. "Ya see?! D'ya see the injustice playing out here, right in front of yer very own eyes?!"

"Calm yourself, Mervyn. Calm down, all of you." I stood up to address them, petting Goldie. "Clearly this part of the story is too inflammatory to everyone's sensibilities, and is impossible to tell without upsetting everyone; therefore, I shall simply skip forward, and leave the details to each of your own own imaginations-"

They all protested, loudly, at the same time - some simply groaned, but quite a few of them yelled 'NOOO!' in somewhat of a dismayed and panicked voice.

"Oh bollocks," growled Cain. "Now look what you silly children have done! We're going to have to IMAGINE all the gory details ourselves!" He gestured at Abel. "Do you have any idea how unfair that is to my poor brother Abel?"

"Oh th-thank you, how k-kind of you," stuttered Abel, before taking on a perplexed frown. "I th-think…"

"I AIN'T GOT NO IMAGINATION!" yelled Mervyn. "THE BOSS DIDN'T GIVE ME ANY!"

"OoH i haVe oNe!" said Delirium, shifting momentarily into Delight. "But I don't even have to use it to make up anything, cuz I KNOW all about their trippy bouncy fun! So lemme tell the story! Pleeeez? I'll tell it REALLY GOOD!"

"No thanks," said Mervyn, crossing his arms. "I don't want no loopy poetry thrown in there."

"Guys," Rose said, "relax - I'll tell the story of how it happened."

Everyone calmed down at once.

Except for me, that is.

I resumed my seat on the marble bench, and tried my very best to make myself believe that the story I was about to hear was not about my own parents.

I may be a cosmic being of nearly infinite second-hand knowledge, but there still remains in existence some subjects that have the power to cause me a not-insignificant degree of discomfort.

-Rose Walker's Tale-

I couldn't sleep.

Delirium and I were up in a loft in Andro's Beach shack house. Delirium was twitching every so often and mumbling incoherently, sometimes punctuated with a giggle - she was fast asleep.

Dream had not come back to join us. I wondered what he was doing.

Without making too much noise on the floorboards, I made my way down the ladder, past where Andros and his family slept snoring (mostly Andros - Kris and his son were silent), and out the door.

I wasn't exactly trying to find him - there was a really nice beach nearby, and I figured that I'd take a walk alongside the waves. There were no city lights out here, so I could see a dizzying amount of stars across the dark dome of the night sky. The ocean was pitch black.

The wet sand was sticking to my slippers, and the saltwater was soaking through the plush material. I decided I was better off without them, and tossed them backwards in the general direction of the beach shack. I'd retrieve them later, on the way back.

The clammy coldness of the wet sand on my bare feet was rather soothing. The damp night air that blew around me was too, though I still held my sleep robe tightly around me and shivered. The breeze whipped through my hair and tried to force its way into my eardrums to give them a sound and hurtful beating. But it was strangely refreshing - it was as if the quailing inside my mind and chest was quieted for the moment, calmed by the cold and the power of the air; or at least, it allowed me to be distracted for the moment.

And then I saw him.

He'd taken off his dark boots and his jeans and discarded them on a rock, and he was wading into the dark roiling ebbs of the water wearing pretty much only his cloak, gazing out to sea and the night sky.

His feet and legs were pale white - I don't know why, since it wasn't a surprising thing considering the rest of him was like that as well, but it struck me a bit funny to see them. I admonished myself a little bit for that - he looked so sad, and on a much deeper level than his little pity-party underneath the raincloud. That I just couldn't take seriously. But this wasn't just simple moping. This was… grief.

He didn't look back at me, but he was aware of my presence. "Unable to sleep?" he asked me.

"Yeah."

"I am able to remedy that for you, if you wish it."

"No, uh… it's a self-imposed insomnia. No offense, but I have a thing against sleep."

"Mm, I understand. It has always seemed ironic to me, that those who

fear Death's realm should travel so confidently in mine." He glanced back toward me - not directly facing me, but just enough that he could show me he was earnestly listening for my response. "Do you find me callous, Rose?"

Normally I would take this as an invitation to be snarky. But I didn't feel like it just then - it felt like that would be too cruel. So I shrugged. "...I don't know."

Dream looked away and stared into the beyond again. "I have lived for thousands of human lifetimes; I have seen countless worlds, and witnessed their fates unfold in Reality, and in the private worlds of their dreamers. I suppose certain things are easier to accept if one does not care."

"I think you do. Care."

Dream actually turned to face me full-on then, his face agonized with pain. "You would say that, even after all I have done to cause fear and harm to you and those you care for?"

"It doesn't matter," I told him. "You're sorry about it, and you're going to help me fix it. Right?"

He nodded, still distressed. "...Yes."

I stared down at his pale feet, and those calves that were as smooth hairless as polished marble. "I don't know what it's like to be you. How can I possibly judge?"

"You've managed to do so on a near-continuous basis thus far," he said, archly. I gave a slight rueful snicker at that. Then both of us got serious again. "You got a taste of what it was like, as the Vortex," he reminded me. "Your powers are growing. Very shortly, you will know exactly what it is like."

"Really?" I said, encouraged. "Because I was wondering… if maybe it was possible for us to rule the Dreaming together… ?"

Those dark, wet, seal-like twinkling eyes widened. "Is that what you would wish for?"

It was impossible to tell whether his reaction was a positive or negative one, so I barrelled on ahead and hoped for the best. "Sure, why not? I have nothing left here: my mother's comatose; my boyfriend's gay and going to leave me for good once I get his eyes back; one best friend's dead, one I've caused so much trouble to that she's probably better off without me, and the third one took off to go become a place." I paused. "Wow. It sounds even crazier when I say it out loud…" Not wanting to get off-track, I tried to brighten. "Think about it: I could give you a break from your duties sometimes…"

Dream turned away brusquely. "I do not need a BREAK," he said, with maximum harshness. He seemed to be seething with rage. Uh-oh, I thought - I must have really offended him. Yeah, real smart telling the King of Dreams that you want him to relinquish half his realm authority to you - and moreover, imply that you'd be able to handle it all just fine without him. Great job, me.

"You truly think," he rasped, "that being an Endless will make your empty life more fulfilling?"

"Well, I don't know," I said, starting to get a little defensive - I mean sure, I might have just told him how little I had going on in my life to help sell him on this idea of mine, but he didn't need to make me sound THAT pathetic. "But… I'm kinda getting used to it."

Dream covered his face with his hand. I thought at first that he was face-palming over my stupidity or something, but then I realized his lips were parted, and his shoulders twitched - he was weeping.

I suddenly felt really bad for him. I don't know what possessed me to do this - I could have just placed a comforting hand on his shoulder, or something more appropriate like that - but instead I got very close, and slipped both my arms around his waspy-thin waist, hugging him.

He reacted, shocked. "What are you doing?" he asked, bewildered.

Somehow I felt right about this, even though it was odd. I pressed my cheek against his back. "Tell me what Orpheus said," I demanded, quietly.

"Only that I owed him a boon." He was still standing rigidly still, like he was waiting with trepidation to see what I'd do next.

"What did he ask of you?"

"His death." That first part came out strong, but the next didn't: "I… granted it."

That took a few moments to sink in with me. "Oh god," I breathed. He'd had to kill his son - not out of anger, or self-defense, but out of compassion. I couldn't even fathom what that was like. I held him tighter - I could feel how labored his breathing was becoming, and I knew it was not because I was squeezing him too hard. "You loved him, didn't you?"

"Yes. As any father loves his son." He let his head hang low. "Rose…" he said, with a voice becoming hoarse with emotion, "I'm afraid that I have become dreadfully inept at being callous."

"Then don't try to be."

Dream placed a hand on mine, gratefully - but I could feel it searing him like a hot iron, and he winced in pain.

"Dream...!" I cried, and tried to pull away from him - but he just gripped my hand tighter.

"It does not hurt that much," he assured me. He turned around and embraced me, his head sinking into my shoulder. The dark strands of his hair were brushing my face - I'd intended just to smooth the strands away from me, but instead I ended up tenderly combing my fingers through his hair.

He pulled back to gaze at me. From far enough away they were just dark, shiny pools, but this close, those eyes - those spacey eyes had worlds within them, orbiting around bright twin stars. I had to look away from those eyes, because otherwise I felt like I'd fall head-first right into them.

My eyes drifted downward, and unfortunately landed on his mouth.

His lips were perfectly shaped, I realized - like they had been lovingly carved by an idealistic sculptor… and like a marble statue, they were the same pale, slightly translucent color as the rest of him.

They didn't look real. That's the weird excuse my brain made for touching them.

My fingers ran lightly across his lips, and found that they were in fact made of flesh and not stone.

Soft, sensitive flesh.

Suddenly, my lips were pressed against his. I'm not sure which one of us initiated it - I think it might have been me - but it happened. I do know that he's the one who began to kiss me deeper, despite the pain it was causing him, and to draw me into his cloak.

However, while this was very Dracula-esque move on his part, it was me who was vampiring him, sapping his strength - we fell to the sand (or more like he fell, and took me with him), and I set upon him with aggressive kisses.

You might think I was doing this because I felt bad for him and was trying to comfort him, but no - for some reason, the fact that he was wincing in pain each time my lips stung his skin was thrilling, and made me want to do it all the more.

I never knew, until that point, that I was a freakin' sadist.

Apparently kissing his neck that way was too much for him, because he summoned up his remaining strength to grab me tightly, and rolled me under him so that he was on top.

I'm not really sure how he did it, but he pulled every article of clothing off of me in quick succession (the clothes gave way without a fight - I don't think there was so much as a rip or tear in them, I think the threads just unraveled themselves at his commanding touch) and then he tossed them aside. The only thing shielding me from the cold night air was his cloak.

Gazing down at me, those spooky eyes locked again with mine.

Up until now, this had seemed like the most natural thing in the world - I was just letting myself get swept up in the current, devoid of conscious thought or reason. Now my lulled brain was finally catching up with me, and it was going 'wait, what's happening…?'

A bit of exhilarated fear leapt in my chest, but it was too late for my conscious mind to intervene, or to spur me to bail out on this - Dream took hold of my face with both hands, and kissed me deeply. Both my hands went into his dark hair.

And then he pressed into me.

Ebbing… like the waves I could hear lapping along the shore, though faster paced.

His cool skin against me.

His mouth lifted away from mine, and we stared into each other's faces.

But his face seemed to change - with every crash of the breaking waves, I saw a different face. They were faces he had worn with others, in different times and places… Victorian Dream, wearing a halo of dark romantic curls… Dream of the Middle-East, Dream of the Far-East… Tribal Dream, his skin dark but ashen, his dark hair rolled into thick dreadlocks... Cat-Dream, the white whiskers around his face blending into dark fur...

But they were all, unmistakably, him.

The same attitude, the same starry eyes.

And then it happened: I slipped and fell into those eyes.

The worlds and stars within them sped past me. I felt like I could almost see glimpses of those worlds, and glimpses of what he was like in those various iterations… but it was too fast. I couldn't comprehend them at all before they were gone, replaced by even more memories and sensations blazing through my mind.

Cold water roiled and frothed over me, bringing me back with a shock - the tide had come in and washed over us. I gripped him tightly, gasping into the shoulder of his cloak.

He held me as it ebbed, and then subsided.

He laid me back down, and rolled away from me.

"Wow," I said, catching my breath. "That was… trippy."

Dream was grabbing his discarded jeans and boots from where he'd left them on the rock - and I was suddenly very aware of how exposed I was. I noticed the water pool around my clothes, which he had carelessly tossed aside onto the sand - they were caught in the waves and drawn down the beach, out to sea.

"Fuck-!" I said, reaching out to them uselessly.

"Leave them," he told me. He removed his cloak, and cast it over me.

I couldn't wear it like he did, though - he still had a shirt on, and he didn't offer it to me. So I tied the cloak around me like a toga as I got up. "Let's get back - Delirium might wake up and wonder where we are."

Dream was lying on the sand, looking like putting his pants and boots back on had used up every bit of energy he had left. I grabbed his arm and pulled - he tried and failed to get up, sinking back onto the sand, exhausted. "Seems I shall be going nowhere for the time being," he said.

"That's fine," I said, and I laid down beside him. "Then I won't either." I nestled my head into the crook of his arm, and dozed the rest of the night away.