Welcome to this latest instalment, which is a rather wild ride… here's hoping you can hang onto your hats!
This chapter is a Gilbert-focussed chapter, as is only fitting, as this also serves as the chapter dedicated to my incomparable Gilbert, Jonathan Crombie, and the remembrance of his birthday back on October 12th, which is the birthday I give all my Gilberts, whether stated explicitly or not. It is a beautiful thing, every year, to see how beloved Jonathan remains… and to know I share that feeling with so many Anne-girls here x
With love
MrsVonTrapp x
Chapter Eleven
In the arms of Morpheus
Sleeping while drowning, is how Gilbert would later describe it; the night and day and next night of being claimed by the undertow, disappearing soundlessly beneath the murky depths.
His fall to earth, accompanied by half the guest house roof and Anne's scream, had knocked him out cold, and the black, blank nothingness seemed to last till the tide began to rock him, and he realized he was flat on his back, either floating or being transported… looking up at the stars and the hazy halo of the passing streetlamps, with fuzzy head and indecipherable aches that sharpened into focus and intensity until his gasping groan roused a male voice.
"Nearly arrived – just hold on. There's a lad."
"Ahn… Ahn…" he attempted, before again succumbing to the darkness.
The lights were bright pinpricks piercing his skull, and he swirled around his own whirlpool of pain, not knowing if he had landed in hospital or Hell, mumbling incoherently and trying to direct whoever was prodding and poking him to the source of the indescribable agony. Leg… shoulder… head. Oh, dear God, his head. And his back. And his ribs…
The voices were calling from far away, indistinct, muffled… and in the meantime he must have thrashed about, because several hands now secured him, though he hadn't the energy to offer any resistance. He knew what the smell at his nose was, but was unfamiliar with the resulting fog that permeated mind and body, and then he was adrift on the sea as it opened up beneath him… the water whipped around him, furious, as the whirlpool fumed and frothed and funnelled, and he was sucked towards the roiling centre, falling through into oblivion.
He'd heard the whispers, fed through his ear to his brain, but couldn't grasp the words… couldn't hold onto them until they made sense…
He felt something stir the air around him. He blinked, opening his eyes, hesitant and confused, with a clear head and a pounding heart. All was dark, and he sensed… he wasn't alone.
His shoulder was tight, and he stood, rotating it slowly, breathing heavily through the discomfort, and in the next moment… nothing. Likewise his once-throbbing temples, and his aching, bruised ribs, and the slash across his calf that had forced him to limp several steps until he straightened in surprise, the gash gone.
He was recovered, thank goodness.
But where WAS he?
The air was surprisingly dank, and the walls as he stretched out the tips of his long fingers appeared rough and irregular, curved into a perplexing arch, and the uneven ground seemed to crunch underfoot.
"Ye gods, I wish I could see a THING!" he muttered to himself, and his hazel eyes were captured in a bright, sudden glare, as if an answered prayer.
Seeing it did not really make it any better.
He was in a cave, with the trickle of water sounding quietly in the distance and his bare feet buried in crushed seeds. He bent over, perplexed, and felt some of them, rubbed them between his fingers, lifted a few seeds to inhale them deeply, before he staggered backwards, astonished.
Poppy seeds. Opium.
To say this was strange was a laughable understatement… this was MADNESS. He had evidently journeyed from a fire into the pit of Hell. And then, the shocking thought.
Was this DEATH?
"No, you're not Death, obviously. That's your uncle," came a voice just beyond the beam of light, growing multicolored the more he squinted and then stared, amazed, the light shaping and transforming, reconfiguring as… a rainbow.
"Who are you? Who's there?" he demanded.
"Hey, easy, handsome! Don't shoot the messenger!" came a bell voice, eerily familiar, who tittered joyfully at her own joke. The rainbow twisted and bent around the figure, who finally came into focus. It was a woman… with wings. God almighty, it was an angel.
He really WAS dead.
"Don't be ridiculous," she rolled her grey eyes, as if hearing and answering his very thoughts. Her pale face grew luminous, and the blaze of her magnificent hair, red-gold as the setting sun, swirled and drifted around her as if on a breeze. "Have you been partaking of too many of your poppy seeds?"
"Anne?" his eyes widened, gazing incredulously.
"It's Iris…" she corrected. "And I have a task for you. So, rise and shine, Morpheus."
"M-Morpheus? What do you mean? What are you talking about?"
Call- Me- Iris raised a questioning auburn brow, her expression turning droll.
"I've crossed into the Underworld to reach you, and you want to have a philosophical discussion?"
"The UNDERWORLD?"
His question was strangled rather than shouted, and her lovely face transformed with pity.
"You've really had a hard time lately, haven't you?" she offered gently, her eyes large pools of sympathy.
"It feels that way," he sighed tiredly, running a hand through his long, long dark curls, realizing with a start they almost reached his shoulders.
"Not really enjoyable being the God of Dreams, I take it."
He swallowed painfully, his fevered mind searching back through his remembered mythology. Morpheus, the God of Dreams. Who lived in the Underworld. In a cave.
He started to hyperventilate, breaths ragged and wheezy, searching for a way out of the cave, staggering forwards, stumbling, falling into air, before his wings beat against his ears and he was hovering above the ground.
"Morpheus!" she flew in the half-blink of an eye to his side, slim pale hand on his bare arm. He looked down at her clutching him, his breath catching.
"I can FEEL you," he gasped, incredulous, his voice breaking. "I can feel your hand on my arm!"
"Of course you can…" she smiled up at him, her grey eyes shining. "I'm here."
"You're here…" he repeated, gaining calm by the mere mantra of the words. "You're HERE…"
"Come back to me…" she whispered, almost lovingly.
He took a shuddering breath. "Pardon?"
"Come back with me…" she clarified. "Morpheus," she slipped her hand into his, "you must meet with your father. You've been summoned from Above."
They darted through the sky as fireflies, following one of two rivers threaded through the Land of Dreams, a place where only certain gods – the Olympians – could travel. And, he realized, certain messengers.
"You're a Messenger, like me," he finally ascertained.
"You're quick today," she gave a lightning-fast flash of a smile.
He had searched his sketchy memory, but had come up blank. "You're also a goddess." He thought he stated the truth here in every respect. Anne… Iris… was beautiful beyond belief, and when he looked at her his heart felt a rare joy. "The goddess of..?"
"Storm clouds!" she rolled her eyes.
"You're making fun of me."
"You are surprisingly lacking awareness of anything - and anyone - beyond your realm!"
"Well, I AM obviously busy and important," he risked a teasing barb in her direction, with accompanying roguish smile, the growing euphoria he felt to be with her, heart and body taken flight, making him bold. "I haven't the time to learn about everyone."
"Now you're making fun of ME!" she indicated, with a disappointed frown in his direction. "If I wanted to see a trickster I'd go spend some time with Eris!"
"Eris?"
"She only started the Trojan War, you know."
"But… I thought that was Paris, coveting Helen?"
"That's only the part everyone remembers. And the wooden horse. At the wedding of Achilles' parents – which Eris wasn't invited to, for OBVIOUS reasons, for all the Olympian gods and goddesses were there – she appeared anyway, and to deliberately cause mischief she tossed a golden apple, the Apple of Discord, into the crowd, saying it was for the most beautiful of the goddesses. Well, you have never seen such a ruckus in your life!"
"What happened?" he found himself unreasonably diverted by the thought of such a spectacle.
"There was such a great bickering over it, whilst she stood there laughing. Athena… Aphrodite… Hera… they all fought over the apple, claiming they should each be the rightful owner."
"Well, that's some pretty strong competition!"
Iris gave him a completely unimpressed stare.
"Finally Zeus, trying to be helpful, suggested that Paris, who was in attendance, select a winner. Aphrodite bribed him by OFFERING him Helen -who was already a wife mind you – and so he chose her to receive the apple."
"And everyone else received the war…" Gilbert surmised.
"Exactly."
"And you were at the wedding too?"
"Naturally."
They paused above their destination, and Iris shifted her look to below.
"Well, here we are. The Cave of Hypnos."
"Hypnos, god of Sleep… my father…" he gulped.
"Best not keep him waiting." He still held her hand, and she attempted to slip from his grasp.
"Will you come inside with me?"
She looked askance at him. "Together?"
"Please?"
He could not account for the sudden panic he felt at the thought she might leave him, terrified of navigating this strange new world without her.
Her grey eyes met his own, and something in them sparked an incredible green, flaring in response to his imploring gaze.
She nodded, once, little pointed chin angled towards him.
"And Paris, bribe or no, made completely the wrong choice," he replied throatily, his hand squeezing hers.
"Oh?"
"That apple should have been yours."
It took a moment – the single beat of her golden wings – for her to understand his meaning. The air hummed between them, a force unto itself, and then from behind her – literally FROM her – there burst a kaleidoscope of color, and a vast and beautiful rainbow formed, and there was no further doubt as to what Iris was goddess of.
She searched his face for a lack of sincerity, thinking he was trying to charm her, and found only truth.
Her sudden smile was blinding, and she tugged at his hand to urge him along.
"Come, son," an eerily familiar-looking man beckoned him, reclining languorously on a soft, inviting couch, in a darkened cave immediately shot through with light with a single beat of Iris's wings. A river flowed through its centre, trickling silently. The scent of poppies hung heavy in the air and grew wild and plentiful outside the entrance; his own movements already seeming more languid and slow, mere moments after entering.
"Dad?" he croaked, wonderingly, looking at a figure with John Bythe's short brown-grey hair grown long, and without any measure of the life and vigour he so knew and admired.
"It's FATHER, to you! Show some respect!" snapped a shadowy presence to the right of Hypnos, emerging with a scowl on his handsome, equally recognizable face, brown eyes wary and velevety tones – those which had tormented him for two years – harsh with derision.
"Settle, Phobetor…" Hypnos yawned, as another, familiar younger man, fairer and with a pleasanter aspect, clapped him on the shoulder somewhat warningly.
"He is our brother," the other figure reminded, mildly.
"Stay out of my business, Phantasus," the first figure advised. "Morpheus and I have a dispute that lasts centuries, and he is not going to be allowed to forget it!"
"Darlings, please!" a woman to the other side of Hypnos interjected.
"Mother?" his reply was strangled, hazel eyes blown wide.
"And who is this?" Phobetor's speculative gaze drifted past him to Iris, and he reflexively tightened his grip on her hand.
"Iris, thank you for journeying here," Hypnos began, ignoring the uncomfortable undercurrents felt by them all. "You say Hera sent you with an important task for Morpheus?"
"Yes, indeed," Iris fluttered before him, approaching Hypnos, bowing reverently and offering a pitcher of nectar suddenly materialized, and which she wasted no time in serving to himself and his wife.
"Hera sends me with a mission for Morpheus," Iris ventured, turning back to him fleetingly. "It concerns Alcyone and her husband King Ceyx. He has just died – drowned in a shipwreck caused by a mighty storm, on his way to consult the oracle at Delphi over the troubles in his kingdom. She has prayed to Hera every day for his safe return, and she will be devastated by this sad news."
"Sad news indeed," Hypnos nodded. "How may my son be of service?"
"Hera wishes Morpheus to inform Alcyone of her husband's death, through the gentlest means possible."
"In her dream," he stated gravely, feeling his throat close over.
"Yes…" Iris turned to him, her eyes watchful. "You have the great gift of appearing other than yourself."
"Gift… or curse?" he asked quietly, expression unfathomable.
"My son will of course honour this request, and end the uncertainty of the widow queen Alcyone," Hypnos instructed. "Morpheus?"
"Yes, Father," he almost sighed. "I do as commanded."
"I offer humble thanks to yourself and Morpheus, on behalf of Hera, Queen of the Gods," Iris acknowledged, departing swiftly before him, whilst he was aware of Phobetor's narrowed eyes on them as he followed.
They flew away silently, his heart heavy, and Iris took his hand again without demur, as if she might help him carry it.
"Were they… close, this couple? Or was it merely a marriage of one royal to another, or of business and politics, as most mortals' marriages are?" he finally asked.
Iris looked troubled. "You think so little of such unions? Or of mortals in general?"
He frowned, brows pulled together. "I have been inside enough mortal dreams to know the ways of their world."
His answer only perturbed her further.
"They had a pure love, Morpheus. Hera would not direct me come, and bid you to help, and have us cross the realms otherwise." Her look to him was long and longing. "Do YOU not wish to marry?"
He was quiet for many moments. "I used to think so."
"And now?"
He struggled with his answer. "Marriage appears to be a small amount of happiness measured against a large amount of pain, not to mention worry, and grief, and loss, and sacrifice. That does not seem an enjoyable prospect to me."
"Why do you do this? Why do you invite me in just before, want to hold my hand, want me to come with you to your father, and then… turn so dark?"
"DARK? I am from the Underworld, Iris! I live in a CAVE. Darkness is my environment and in my nature. I am not god of happiness and light and … rainbows."
His voice broke on the word, and she turned her grave grey gaze back to him.
"You are god of Dreams, Morpheus. Dreams offer hope, guidance, messages, comfort… YOU do that, Morpheus! THAT is what you are."
"Dreams may be nightmares, too."
"Leave THAT one to your brother," she rebutted quickly. "And you talk about rainbows… but they too are a mixture of the elements, of opposites. You need the sun, certainly, but a rainbow cannot come without the rain before it."
He sighed. "Are you always this stubbornly optimistic?"
She gave him a delightfully coquettish look. "Is it working?"
His own smile was a flash of its own unexpected sunlight.
"Yes…" he squeezed her hand again. "When I am with you, my work… it does not feel so burdensome." He gave a long-lashed, hazel eyed glance, suddenly bashful. "And the idea of marriage might not… seem so…"
"Unappealing?" she grinned.
"Impossible," he offered.
"Well, one cannot believe impossible things…" * she laughed. "And I HAD heard you were rather impossible, Morpheus."
"And now?"
"Now I realize you are not impossible… and I also realize that I believe in you."
Morpheus fulfilled his task, to come to Alcyone in her dream, transforming himself into her departed husband, dripping with seawater and with a haunted look in his eyes. He whispered to her of the terrible storm, of the wrecked ship, of himself as Ceyx tossed about on the relentless waves, and finally finding peace with thoughts of his love for her. He asked her to prepare his funeral rites. Her reaction was so powerful he began to feel it even within the dream, and when she attempted to touch her husband, grabbing at his hand, she touched Morpheus instead, and awoke. He departed quickly, shaking from the effort and the experience.
"Oh, Morpheus!" Iris greeted with tears in her eyes, having waited for him. "I'm sorry that was so terrible!" Her hand was again on his arm, and he knew she was trying to transmute some of her own positive powers to him.
"She reached for me… she reached for me…" he mumbled, handsome face ashen. "I saw her face, I felt her hand… But I closed my eyes and then opened them and looked again… and it wasn't HER hand trying to grab me – it was me, ME sleeping, and I was reaching for MYSELF!"
"Morpheus?" she asked, puzzled.
"Help me! Help me, Iris! What's happening?" he begged, with a growing hysteria.
He felt the pounding in his head, first… his neck stiff and his temples throbbing, and the pain like an animal trying to claw its way out of his skull. He doubled over, clutching his head, still hovering in the air, in the space between the realms, between earth and the Underworld.
"Argh!" he moaned, loudly to his own ears, but something that came out as barely a whisper.
Next came his shoulder as if on fire, his arm dragged by a dead weight and his joint nearly pulled out of its socket, causing him to gasp bewildered breaths.
"Morpheus! You're bleeding!"
He looked down at his calf, streaming with blood, raining down to water whatever was below.
"Help me! What's HAPPENING?" he called, stretching his hand out to her.
"My beloved!" Iris cried.
"WHAT?"
"I marry you! I marry you! I marry you!" she sobbed.
His panic rose and he spun in a disorientated circle, the wind rushing in his ears, loud and clamorous. He was in pain everywhere and didn't know what part of his body to clutch to support it. There were too many voices… too many voices… as the wind howled and lashed him with sea spray from invisible waves, as if he was back in Ceyx's storm, before the depths claimed him.
"I'm drowning!" he gurgled, taking in a mouthful of water.
"SON!"
"Oh, my darling! Oh my boy!" a woman wept.
Iris looked on helplessly as the wind spun into waves and the whirlpool caught him. She reached around her alabaster neck and pulled at a pendant, breaking the chain, the pink heart dangling forlornly between her fingers.
"I'm sorry, my love…" she whimpered, holding it out to him as if an offering.
"IRIS!"
"Not Iris," she shook her head, her red hair whipping around her. "You've always seen me! SEE me now!"
"Iris?" he hesitated, choking on more water.
"Come back to me!"
The pressure was on his hand, something – someone – holding his hand, and he looked down, amazed, feeling it – feeling the touch – feeling HER. Terrified, he struggled despite himself, as the water funnelled again, grabbing at him as if one of Phobetor's monsters - a sea serpent, even - and it wrapped itself around his torso and he was sucked with it through the void.
Talking, talking, talking. How many voices were in his head, now?
His heart hammered and his breaths were wheezy, grasping, ineffectual.
He wasn't flying, or even drowning, but lying flat, though his body still felt on fire, and his throat was raw and parched.
"Oh, my darling! Oh my boy!" a familiar voice wept.
Gilbert offered a soft groan, trying to move any part of his body, which felt weighed down; pinned to the bed.
"Everyone leave at once!" another voice demanded; strident and commanding.
"Family!"
"Fiancee!"
Nothing but the pain made sense, and it was tempting to give up, and to give into, the comfort of oblivion. It stood waiting in the shadows of his dawning consciousness, an entity in and of itself, beckoning him backwards.
Was this life, or death? And how could he be certain which was which?
But then… that remembered pressure; the hand holding his… and the whisper of a dream within a dream.
Come back to me…
Slowly, fearfully, he opened his eyes.
Chapter Notes
This chapter's title is not Wonderland-related but hearkens to the phrase in the arms of Morpheus, which means 'to be asleep.' It was said that when people would sleep, metaphorically, in the arms of Morpheus, they would dream about their future or of coming events.
This chapter certainly led me down strange and fascinating research paths, both regarding mythology and anaesthesia (there's two concepts not often found in the same sentence!) I have referred to Gilbert as being sedated in the previous chapter, but more specifically he has been put under anaesthesia, and although both ether and chloroform were in use at the time I would be leaning towards the latter in a city teaching hospital in 1887, particularly as I have had him lying still and unmoving, and ether had the tendency to have people move or jangle their limbs involuntarily whilst under its effects.
*referenced in the first chapter of this story
A Not-So-Little Note About Greek Mythology…
Morpheus was indeed the god of Dreams, and recognized Leader of the Oneirei who were the dark, winged spirits flying forth every night to bring both true and false dreams to mankind. Morpheus possessed a unique ability to transform himself into any human representation, including mimicry of a person's particular voice and mannerisms. He was one of the busiest deities and was able to infiltrate and influence the dreams of kings, queens and other gods, as well as humans, bringing them divine messages and prophecies, all of which made him infinitely valuable.
The drug Morphine was named after Morpheus by German chemist Friedrich Serturner when he first isolated morphine from opium (originating from the opium poppy) in 1804.
Morpheus never married but was often teamed with his fellow divine Messenger, Iris. There are many depictions of them both but the most inspiration for me came from the painting Morpheus and Iris by Pierre-Narcisse Guerin (1811), which DOES show long dark curls for Morpheus, and hangs in the Hermitage Museum in St Petersburg.
I've heard there was a little film called The Matrix where the writers liked the name, too.
Iris was the golden-winged goddess of Rainbows, one of the goddesses of the sea and sky and a Messenger for the gods, mentioned in everything from Ovid to Homer. She was also associated with communication and new endeavours. She was variously the messenger for the Olympic gods but in later literature was overtaken in this role by Hermes, and thereafter seems to have been mostly the messenger attached to Hera. She served nectar to the gods and goddesses to drink and linked the gods with humanity, both literally and metaphorically through her rainbow, able to travel with the speed of wind from one end of the world to the other, and into the depths of the sea and the Underworld.
She was generally represented as a beautiful young maiden with wings – her wings were said to be able to even light a dark cavern, a trait observed in her visit to Hypnos to relay her message for Morpheus, and utilized by me here.
Her husband was said to be Zephyrus, god of the West Wind, though she has many links to Morpheus that have been depicted in art and literature.
Hypnos was the gentle, calm god of Sleep who was said to have a thousand sons, but the ones generally identified and highlighted here are Morpheus, Phobetor and Phantasus. His wife was Pasithea, of Hallucination, Relaxation and Meditation, and his twin brother was Thanatos, the god of Death. They all resided in the Underworld. The river flowing through his cave is the river Lethe, of Forgetfulness and Oblivion.
Hypnosis is named for Hypnos, naturally.
Phobetor, brother of Morpheus, created phobic or scary dreams, and could be the bringer of nightmares, and came to mortals in the guise of an animal or monster.
Phantasus, other brother of Morpheus, was associated with unreal or fantastic (phantasmic) dreams, and could transform into an inanimate object.
Iris recounts a documented story in mythology about The Apple of Discord, and mentions those fighting over it were Athena, goddess of wisdom, handicraft and warfare and protectress of Athens; the famous Aphrodite, the beautiful goddess of Love and Sexuality; and Hera, Queen of the Gods, both sister and wife of Zeus (King of the Gods) and goddess herself of women, marriage, family and childbirth.
Eris was indeed the goddess of Chaos, Strife and Discord, and was a daughter of Zeus and Hera.
The mission Morpheus is sent on regarding Alcyone and Ceyx, explained by Iris, is detailed in Ovid's epic work Metamorphoses.
And some Correspondence…
Guest of September 30th: Thank you for your encouragement and for following this story!
Bright Promise: Thank you for your lovely words as always, and really hoping you enjoy this long overdue update! So glad you are liking this story and to tell the truth, I have a VERY soft spot for Let Love clasp Grief!
DrinkThemIn: Your comments and reactions always cheer me, and thank you for doing so again! I'll admit I engineered Anne's entire Aline wardrobe just so that I could set up Roy's joke! So glad it landed! THANK YOU for that really interesting anecdote about the woman in the induced coma – it really got me thinking about what Gilbert may hear, feel and sense, and how he might process it – which led to this rather trippy chapter!