Hello all! Just a quick disclaimer, this story will only build on The Sandman Netflix series and does not require any other pre-reading. It will deviate from the graphic novels (with some tiny exceptions) but I hope you enjoy it.
**Author's Note, edit 2: Originally, I had written this as a retelling of Calliope's story with Lord Morpheus but I just watched the 11th episode on Netflix and adored it… I want this to be incredibly separate and so I have chosen to focus instead on the Three Muses, to make their tales very different. I hope you enjoy the changed narrative to picture the characters however you like!
[It is hard to believe there are still words to be said now that you're gone and now that I'm dreading everything I have to write from now on – losing a muse.]The shoreline of the Dreaming could be turbulent at times. Dreamers who tossed and turned in their beds, even while their consciousness picked themselves off the sand, caused strong winds and stinging sandstorms. Gault's butterfly wings were unerring despite the conditions, and she dived towards the very edge to try and settle some of the most upset of the dreamers. A little boy, maybe ten years old, stood in wonder at the tall blue butterfly-like woman with constellations under her skin. The gusts that had been tearing at his hair and clothing calmed gradually, falling aside in a murmur. In the Waking World, the boy lay still on his side, drool starting at the corner of his mouth.
There amongst the dreamers was a woman in a maroon floor-length dress, the weather buffeting it around. She was smiling and waving at some of them as they emerged, handing them small tokens from bags and a wagon she towed behind, like a peddler selling their wares. As they took one, some of the dreamers dove back into the waters, their gift clutched tight in their hands, shimmering slightly.
Gault was puzzled. This was no mortal dreamer and the strange deities who frequented different realms needed to be treated with respect. She hovered closer, trying to see the being's face. The being waved her over, but even demons could pretend civility when it suited their needs. Gault approached with caution, staying high in the air.
"Hail there!" the stranger called. "Did Lucienne send you?"
Gault fluttered closer. "No. You are?"
Closer inspection revealed at the woman seemed human-like, with chaotic hair that fell over her shoulders in chocolate waves. She wasn't particularly tall amongst the human sleepers but something about her radiated an otherworldly power. Her dark eyes were bright, clever and filled with hope.
"One of the Muses," came her response, over the winds. "I was informed your master has returned and the Dreaming is safe again."
"Stable, at least," Gault admitted drily. "You seek shelter here?"
"It's alright Gault," came Lucienne's voice and Gault peered down to find the unflappable librarian trekking below. "Mel is my guest; I can show her to the palace from here."
Gault watched as Lucienne beckoned the stranger over the sands, towards the grass where her cart would be easier to manoeuvre along the great bridge and up towards the palace. The Muse had a shimmer to her not unlike her trinkets, pearlescent at certain angles, like flashes of sunlight from underwater. Lucienne was as sure-footed as always across the black sands, but the woman stumbled, stopped, and addressed some of the dreamers so their progress was slow. She had a curious effect on some of the mortals – even if she didn't approach them some would blink and stare after her like she was their guiding light, and some would go slack and clasp their heads as though struck by a frightful headache.
Matthew the raven coasted by, flicking past Gault's ear to get a better look at the stranger.
"That's the latest one?" he squawked.
"She's a Muse." Gault's tone was curious, halting.
"She's the only Muse," Matthew replied, before flapping away to follow Lucienne. "Didn't you hear? The mortals captured and killed all her sisters."
At least that explained the Muse's choice of residence – if there was anybody who could offer her shelter and protection from that sort of fate, it would be the Lord of Dreams. Gault noticed Matthew was still talking and hurried to follow him in the air.
"… inspiration, you know, like for creative folks? When I was a person, god. I would have loved a brilliant idea, just once…" Matthew was chattering away to himself. "And all this time it was a bunch of people going around giving out inspiration like a sample's sale at the showgrounds! Incredible!"
They soared over the edge of the forest, leaving the gentle lulling sounds of the ocean behind, crossing over the great gates to see the rest of the country sprawl beyond. Everything had withered when Dream had been captured but you could see the line of young saplings starting to form – the new seedlings spreading out across into the mountains of the Dreaming. It had not yet recovered fully but was well on its way. Morpheus's seat of power - his palace - had been his most crucial restorative project. The spires and towers were back garbed in most of their former splendour, with some modifications that their king had seen fit.
Matthew was smaller and faster, so he was always going to make it inside the palace first. Well before the visitor, Matthew swooped down through the open doorway between the gargoyles and the unicorn (no dragons or gryphons had yet substituted those that had rotted away on the front gates, but Morpheus was looking for a replacement) to wing his way before the throne.
The Lord of Dreams and Nightmares was sprawled across it, deeply engrossed in a book across his lap but lifted his eyes when the raven approached. He was immobile save for one pale hand that flicked the pages aside, an imposing black silhouette against the marble throne. His presence was subtle but held an edge to it that his subjects were always just a tiny bit wary of; not the kind of being you would want to casually insult or affront in a huryy.
"The Muse has reached our shores, my Lord," Matthew called out, fluttering to rest high on the back of a darkened lantern. The light was always eerie in the palace, a combination of the filtered sun through the stained-glass windows behind the thrown and a vision of the night overhead, reflections of galaxies twisting in a purple sky. Great stone pillars wove a path to the staircase, atop which their Master was seated.
Dream said nothing. Lucienne had been the one to petition on the being's behalf for safe refuge – the Waking World no longer as safe as the Dreaming for one giving out inspiration to mortals. Fortunately, Lucienne had suggested, the Muses had periodically worked from the Dreaming before, although Dream could only vaguely recall some of the sisters in the past. All of them were dead now, save for one – one trying her utmost to complete the work delegated to all siblings. It was an impressive feat, but it did explain much about how mortals insisted on recycling old ideas more frequently – they had done irreversible damage to the source of much of their true creativity.
Lord Morpheus often reflected on how the actions of the few mortals with ill intent often injured the entirety of realms without even being aware of the fact. Matthew fluttered, restless and curious but strove to hold his tongue. Too many questions got you banned from the throne room for weeks, as he had found out to his chagrin before.
Moments later Lucienne was entering through the doors and Lord Morpheus closed his books, placing them to one side. He was curious to see if this being would hold reservations about the pact of those who sought his realm – one which stipulated that no harm could come to any of the Dreamers on his lands.
At the base of the steps, Lucienne crossed her arms and addressed the throne.
"Sir, this is Melete, one of the Muses who seeks to reside in your realm temporarily."
The Muse dropped into a deep, graceful curtesy where she sunk almost all the way to the floor. "My Lord Morpheus," she raised her head slowly. There was no mistaking the fear in her eyes. Dream was not unused to the reservations of newcomers. "Thank you for this audience."
"Temporarily?" was Dream's query, directed at both Melete and Lucienne.
"I did not want to assume you would grant permanent residency straight away," came the Muse's firm answer. "Also… I have never worked solely from the Dreaming before, my lord. I have yet to see if I can… long-term."
Dream's eyes slid to focus on Melete. She was no presumptuous daydreamer, this one.
"I understand you are the last of your sisters."
"Yes." The word was full of pain but clear.
His stare brooked no argument, his voice was soft but strong. "You remain in danger?"
Dream noted the way her fists tightened on her gown, the way she lowered her gaze to the floor. But her words did not carry any hint of a lie. "I will always be in danger, no matter where I am. Beings of all realms covet the ideas I keep."
Lucienne cleared her throat. "My lord, the risks to the Dreaming are minimal. It is only Melete herself that could be… captured."
Dream was no fool – Lucienne was deliberately tapping into his empathy, having suffered such a fate himself for a century. But the Endless were far more resilient than lesser beings and he had not after all been able to deliver much to the warlock that had caged him, other than his regalia. The man had begged and pleaded without stopping for gifts Dream was in no position to provide. If the mortals had been able to hurt him to achieve their ends, he had no doubt that his enemies would have equipped them with the tools to do so.
"Take precautions," he warned in his customary soft tone that carried his power within it. "But you are welcome here for as long as you see fit. I will show you how to navigate the waters of the Dreaming in due time."
"Sir…" Lucienne's hiss betrayed her surprise. His generosity at a personal tour through the waters of mortals' dreams was no small offer. Dream held back his amusement as Melete struggled with her words.
"Thank you, my Lord," she finally managed. "But I wouldn't want to waste your valuable time…"
Dream stood suddenly. "If there is any threat to anyone under my protection," he asserted, cutting off her spluttered words of protest. "I should see to it myself."
A heavy silence fell as his audience understood there would be no arguing with him. Finally, Lucienne broke it, shuffling into her customary short bow.
"As you wish my lord." She adjusted her glasses. "I shall see to some lodgings for our newest addition."
Melete shot Dream a look of confusion but remained perfectly polite, bowing low and adding her gratitude before Lucienne guided her away, talking quietly about a dock and a cottage. Matthew twisted his head and coasted down to land on the steps, eyeing his master's stare at the Muse's retreating back.
"Didn't know you took people seeking refuge," was the raven's comment.
"It is unusual," Dream admitted quietly. "But not unheard of."
"Did you… want me to keep an eye on her?" Matthew requested, tapping at the floor. "Just in case?"
Dream fixed his stare on the bird, his face expressionless.
"Ask Lucienne," Dream finally responded, turning back to the discarded volumes at his side. "I have other work to do."
Matthew shook his feathers and dove away, lifting easily into the air. Against the night's visage, he was almost impossible to discern, but then he cawed and dove after the librarian, down the hallways of the palace.
Dream of the Endless was once again absorbed in his reading and appeared to give the new guest no further thought.