A/N

Thank you again DeniiXloveZelda for your kind review! For us unpublished authors, this really is the only reward we receive and it nourishes our writer's souls!

I have to admit, you will not see any active plotting between Death and Lucienne. You know they are trying to influence things through Hope's observations and inner dialogue though. And the story's focus will now also shift more to Morpheus and Hope (the romance has to set in at some point, right?) and how they respond to their growing affections.

I spent some time editing this chapter because the bit when Hope first enters the library was a spur of the moment thing that happened after the rest of the scene had already been written. Plus I had to change a few things around and add some other things for a better flow concerning some insights I got during one of the later chapters.
There's a scene with Mervyn that I got from the comics. I did adapt and change it, but the comic readers should definitely remember it and I had so much fun writing that scene! Actually, this entire chapter was a joy to write. And I sincerely hope this comes across!

He found Lucienne seated behind her desk, meticulously updating the Day Journal. In it she added new books that arrived in the library, at what hour, by what author and the new location of the book.

She was working quietly, swiftly and, though he knew she would have heard his approach, she did not look up from her work.

The lights were dimmed enough so they weren't too bright but also not so dimmed she had to strain her eyes. A small dent between her eyebrows showed that something was troubling her and Dream couldn't help but wonder if it had something to do with Hope.

"Lucienne," he began, trying to keep an edge of impatience from his voice. "There was a peculiar basket upon my throne. Filled with lemons and… a bottle of vinegar. Do you have any knowledge of how that came to rest there?"

With minute, careful movements, Lucienne gently placed down her pen, folded her hands and she peered up at him over the rim of her glasses. Her gaze was steady and calm. "I do, in fact, sir."

When she did not elaborate, Dream fought the urge to noisily breathe out in annoyance. "Would you do me the honour of enlightening me?"

"It was a gift, my lord. From Hope." Her voice came out as measured as her movements.

A gift… from Hope?

Something leapt up in his throat, something he tamped down instantly.

His sister's friend had made her feelings about him quite clear, this could not be as simple as that.

"Why do I feel there is a hidden purpose by this unexpected offering?" He gave Lucienne a pointed stare, until she averted her eyes, but briefly. Soon she looked up at him again.

"I warned her against it, sir. I believe she meant them as a challenge, of sorts."

"A challenge?" His confusion deepened. "In what way does Hope conceive lemons to be a challenge?"

"Well..." Lucienne offered cautiously. Ever perceptive, she pondered her next words with care, "Hope wishes to, eh, invite you to reflect upon the significance of how you present your, eh, boons."

"The way I presented my boon, to her specifically? Though I'll admit the presentment was, perhaps, lacking in grace and gratitude, I was most cordial to her. I am one of the Endless. She should be grateful a reward was offered at all!"

That was his anger speaking. But, hadn't he already atoned for that? Why did she feel the need to test him more?

"If you say so, sir."

There was that biting tone again he resented.

"You do not agree with me."

"She meant it as a bit of a joke." Lucienne sighed deeply and rubbed at the bridge of her nose. It occurred to him she looked unusually weary. "When you look at her, all you do is give her these sour looks."

The implied insult caused an ember of anger to flicker within him, threatening to ignite.

"If you will, my lord, please pause and take a step back? The lemons are merely meant as a bit of a teasing joke. And a small reminder that not all gifts come across as gifts. You may take offence at the meaning of the lemons, though they were presented as a gift, Hope took offence at how you accused her of duplicity in the way you offered your reward. If you can, perceive the lemons as a mirror, an attempt to make you reconsider the nature of your… gift."

Dream released a deep breath as he absorbed her words. "You really believe I should ignore the insult?"

"Was it really an insult, my lord? Was any harm done?"

He should not let it slide. Before his imprisonment, he certainly wouldn't have. And yet, when he thought of how she'd stood in front of his glass confinement, afraid but accepting what was to come. Of the way she slashed up her chin in defiance when she was daunted by him. Of how she was willing to challenge him and lay bare his shortcomings while inwardly he knew she trembled with fear. It was a quality that both unsettled and compelled him, an embodiment of mortal tenacity in the face of an Endless. He couldn't help but admire it.

Of all of her qualities… her courage seemed the safest to admire.

The minute tension in the corners of his mouth was there. He stopped fighting the smile.

"If my ego survives this, Lucienne, I will let you know of the damage that was done."

Leaving the library, each step measured and with purpose, Dream smiled again when he heard Lucienne utter a surprised, "Ha!"

Something was wrong. Hope could tell by the atmosphere in the Dreaming. A week or so had passed and up to this point, the Dreaming had always felt like a welcoming place. Now, as she walked through the labyrinthian Library of Dreams, even though it kind of looked the same (for as far as that was possible for the ever changing scenery inside this realm) it did not feel the same.

Hope could tell this even though she kept a minute eye on her–still cooling–pavlova. There was a high chance of the thing still collapsing under the weight of the fruit. Especially because it hadn't fully cooled off yet. That she had managed to come this far from the kitchen with the pavlova still looking good, was a miracle in and of itself. Praise be the Dreaming short-cuts.

When she carefully, slowly–one step, two steps, three–entered the library, she noticed the lights were dimmer than usual, giving the place a darker and much more muted look. The windows were now barred, for some reason, and the clock's hands were not moving. Only a lonely hourglass on Lucienne's desk–her hourglass–sand gently flowing down, indicated a passing of time. The potted plants now contained cacti, except for the one vase (also on Lucienne's desk) containing a few daisies.

She wondered if it had anything to do with the shift that had taken place between her and Morpheus. Hope didn't know what else to call it, so she called it that, a shift. And she wasn't sure if the change was a welcome one or not, but lately her inner pendulum swung wildly between resentment and something akin to infatuation. And, frankly, it was exhausting!

That and the fact that both Dee and Lucienne seemed to be up to something. They denied it of course, but each time she spent time with either one of them or together, Hope could feel their intent gazes nearly scorching her back. It kind of felt like they were waiting for her to do something and that was exhausting too and Hope wished they would just come out with and bloody tell her already what it was they seemed to be expecting from her!

Lucienne was stabbing her pen against a sheet of foolscap. Original foolscap. Her friend had once shown her the watermark. Her friend did not look up from her work, which apparently was to make furious, splotchy, illegible notes on the paper.

Hope knew something was going on, something besides the thing stewing between Dee and Lucienne. Her friend had really been on edge lately and the previous week they'd had a big argument that had completely blown-up.

Something had Lucienne worried and Morpheus occupied for most of the time as of late

But, whenever she asked about it, she was told that things regarding the realm did not concern her.

She knew better than to ask.

Perhaps that something was the reason for the library looking so… stubborn?

Still, she did not like the anger to linger between them. Especially when the reason for their fight was so silly!

"Do I dare ask if something's the matter? Is everything alright?" she asked with caution.

"Sure you do," came Lucienne's curt reply. "You always dare, unlike me… Otherwise, I too would have mustered the audacity to speak my mind."

"Really? I didn't know you needed any mustering for that."

Lucienne humoured her attempt at flattery with a faint smile as Hope carefully placed the pavlova on one corner of the cluttered desk. The moment she did, the pavlova caved. In fact, it completely fell apart, the raspberry coulis dripping all over the place.

Oh, no!

The once promising pavlova was now a certified culinary disaster, with its cracked meringue and oozing sauce. She let out a defeated sigh, realising her attempt at a peace offering had, quite literally, collapsed.

"What's that?" Lucienne asked. She put down her pen and looked up, gazing at Hope over the rim of her round glasses.

"Eh, it's supposed to be a pavlova. And I swear it looked, well, maybe not perfect a minute ago, but not like a Gordon-Ramsay-reject either. A small peace offering? I don't like us fighting, Lucienne."

"I don't like us fighting either." Lucienne gave her a wistful smile. "I'm sorry I reacted the way I did. Of course it's completely up to you to… to…"

"Decide whether I want to stay in the Dreaming in the highly unlikely event I die in my sleep–"

"Or while in a coma," Lucienne mumbled.

"–now that I'm half immortal?" Hope continued, unfazed. "It is my decision, Lucienne. But… I did think about what you said. And I do understand how choosing not to stay in the Dreaming can be seen as selfish."

"But?"

"But… having to be here, my every future moment of being, every second, every… breath?

I would owe it to him, and I don't think I would handle that very well. To be so indebted to him. But, if it makes you feel better, if I ever get that choice presented to me, I promise I will think about it and not reject it off hand. All right?"

"Do you really still think so badly of him?"

There was a calculating look in Lucienne's eyes and an eagerness Hope found puzzling, and also a little disconcerting. And no, she no longer thought he was that bad, but those were dangerous thoughts. Thoughts she would prefer not to examine too closely.

"What, are you his champion now or something?" Hope averted her eyes and gently spun the plate with the ruined pavlova.

"I'm hardly that, but, consider… He did create that cinema room and he most certainly did not create it for me!"

Something she was painfully aware of. After the way she'd acted towards him, she'd felt most embarrassed when he'd first revealed it to her and Lucienne and she'd instantly felt guilty about the entire lemon basket. So far he'd made no mention of it. At all.

She didn't like seeing this nicer, kinder, softer side of him. Which was ridiculous since him not being kind was what had her so disappointed in him in the first place. Again… a wild swing of her inner pendulum.

"Fine, that was actually very decent of him," she admitted.

Lucienne scoffed at her reluctant high praise.

"What? Do you want me to thank him for being nice for a change?" Hope challenged and she nodded at the pavlova. "You want me to give him that abomination as a thank you? I'm sure it will pair perfectly with the lemons."

"That abomination is mine, thank you very much!" Lucienne pulled the plate towards herself, forcing a small collection of papers and books to the side as she did so. "And it's not an abomination." She then scooped up a nice amount with the spoon and transferred it to her mouth.

She chewed. Once. Twice. Then made a little gagging sound and spit out the mouthful of pavlova.

"I rescind my words, that is an abomination! How… where did you get this?"

"I made it," Hope told her, quite unhappily.

"When?"

"When I got here."

Lucienne hiked a brow. "You've been here the entire time? Why didn't Lord Morpheus inform me?"

Hope prodded at the pavlova with the spoon and took a careful whiff. Ew. It smelled eggy!

"I asked him. He was in the throne room when I arrived. I wasn't sure if he would actually listen to me or not. When I asked him not to inform you of my arrival and that I would like permission to use the royal kitchen, he gave this weird gesture" – She mimicked the vague hand motion she'd seen him make – "which could mean anything from 'Go right ahead' to 'I don't give a flying fuck' or 'Bugger off, you're bothering me.' It's so hard to tell with him."

Lucienne's shoulders shook with silent laughter.

"How are you doing, Lucienne?" Hope quickly changed the subject. "You seemed very stressed out lately. Is there anything I can do? And… are we good?"

"Of course we are good. And I thank you for the pavlova. It's so sweet of you! Even if it didn't turn out… quite right. As for the rest, I may not be at liberty to inform you of some of my concerns, regarding the realm, but…" she paused and a pained expression briefly flashed across her features, "Lord Morpheus reminded me that I'm merely a librarian and should only concern myself with my duties."

"The. Cad!" Hope thought back to the vulnerability she'd seen in him, through Jessamy's eyes. It was still difficult to reconcile that image with the tosspot he generally liked to present himself as. The things he sometimes did and the things he usually did were so wide apart, one might come to suspect there were two of him and one of them was simply the evil twin.

"What's wrong with him?" she bemoaned aloud. "Each time I come here, it seems like he's found a new level of tosspottery to employ."

At that, Lucienne gave a small huff of a laugh and leaned back in her chair. "I'm afraid there's nothing wrong with him. He's always been like this. With him gone for so long, I simply forgot. He just tends to get a little moody when he's worried about something."

"A little? Now that's an understatement!"

A creaking sound made Hope look up and she saw Mervyn saunter up to them while dragging an ancient looking, wooden cart along, stacked with books.

"What are we talking about?" Mervyn chimed in. He dumped the books from the cart in front of Lucienne's desk in haphazard little stacks. And, instead of leaving them to their conversation, he gave them both an expectant look.

"I was just giving Hope some insight into, ehm, our lord's… personality?"

"What personality?" Mervyn huffed and Hope laughed heartily at that. She was inclined to agree with him.

"Mervyn!" His name was hissed as both an admonishment and a warning but Mervyn merely shrugged.

"Come on, Loosh, you know I'm right. I know, I know… right or wrong, he is our boss, but come on… the guy's a flake!"

Something twitched across Lucienne's brow and her eyes shuttered. Irritation? Confusion? Indigestion? The answer was obvious when Lucienne started to rub at her temples. Irritation then.

"As enlightening as that little pearl of wisdom is, Mervyn, I think this is hardly the time or place to discuss His Majesty's disposition."

"Loosh, if the girl–"

"I'm not a girl, Merv, I'm a woman. Thank you very much."

Mervyn turned his head at her and the slits of his eyes moved in such a way that he appeared to be… blinking at her. "Well, exsqueeze me. As I was saying, if this well-rounded, mature, worldly young woman" – he fixed his gaze on Hope who suppressed the urge to snort at him – "is to regularly spend some time in this part of the Dreaming, just so she doesn't croak–"

Now both Hope and Lucienne groaned in disgust.

"–shouldn't she at least know what to expect? Because it's a bit of a Never Ending Story ain't it, with him? I've been there. You've been there. We've all been there. And before you know it, Hope will be there right along with us. Knee deep in his–"

"Mervyn!" Lucienne hissed again. "You have a point, but watch your tongue!"

"I don't have one!" he shot back.

"So, what is it that I should know about him?" Hope raised her voice to a volume that had both Lucienne and Mervyn backing down a bit.

"He moons." Mervyn then said. "He's a mooner. Locks himself up in his throne room or private quarters and goes mooning around–moon moon moon. And that's only when things don't go his way. His break-ups, now those you have to watch out for."

She inhaled sharply in surprise. It was a bit like hearing that Jack the Ripper used to secretly save the lives of kittens that had been thrown in the Thames to drown.

That was really ungracious thinking.

Bad Hope!

"Break-ups?"

Morpheus had a knack to present himself as so far above human inclinations, break-ups was the last thing she'd ever have associated with him.

"Oh yeah. It's all sweet and dandy when things go well… but the moment his flings end…" he shuddered for emphasis.

"Flings?" Hope parroted again, no longer apparently able to think of words on her own.

"It usually goes like this." Merv pulled up a chair from… somewhere… plopped down and crossed his arms behind his pumpkin head. "The boss meets a new cutie, he gets smacked upside the heart with a love sledgehammer and decides to hang out with her for a coupla months, forgetting most of his duties in the process. Then one day–poof!–the rose-tinted glasses come off, he plummets down from cloud nine and goes back to work, and she takes a hike. Now, us ordinary folks take it all in stride and say, 'C'est la vie'. Live another day, pluck another rose. But not him. Oh, no. He's gotta be the tragic figure standing out in the rain, mournin' the loss of his beloved. So, down comes the rain, right on cue."

Though Hope could definitely see Morpheus sulking in the rain, moping, she simply couldn't imagine him doing so for something as picayune and human as love.

"In the meantime everybody gets dreams full of existential angst and wakes up feeling like hell. And we all get wet."

"Thank you, Mervyn, for those wonderful insights on the inner workings of our lord. Meanwhile, your crass words have stunned our friend into silence."

"No," Hope croaked, "no, no. That's just me being astonished he has ex-girlfriends!"

And that thought only served to make her curious as to what he was like in a relationship.

But did she really want to know?

Yes… Yes she did.

Fuck.

Mervyn startled to cackle. "Oh, I like this one, Loosh! She's gotta sense of humor! Why can't he hook up with someone like her?"

An obscure part deep inside of her suddenly raised its interested little head. She squashed it right back down.

Mervyn didn't hang around for a reply–a rhetorical question then–and scampered away, taking the slightly chaotic vibe that always seemed to surround him, with him.

Both Lucienne and Hope released a deep breath at the same time.

"He's…" Hope started, but couldn't find a way to finish that sentence in a way that came even close to what she meant.

"Oh, yes. He is," Lucienne said with a smile, clearly knowing exactly what she hadn't been able to put into words.

"So, on the risk of incurring his eternal wrath and displeasure… but… Morpheus has ex-girlfriends? Plural? How did I not know?"

The mere thought made her wonder what he looked like when he–

No. No, she did not wonder about that at all!

"I will tell you what I know about his past relationships some other time, when and if the need arises. Now that we are on the subject however, how about you? I've never heard you mention a special someone in your life. You're half immortal now. Don't you worry your lengthened lifespan might–I don't know–complicate things? Maybe if you were to look for someone with a similar–"

"There's no one," Hope said quickly. Her voice had emerged sounding surprisingly small. "And it's not very likely there will be."

There. A deep, dark secret she'd never told anyone. Not even Dee.

When she glanced at Lucienne, she noticed she was sporting a faint, puzzled dent between her eyes. "I don't understand," Lucienne said, "You are so pretty, beautiful even in a… quiet, unassuming way. And so kind."

"And possibly just a little bit… wrong, or, not right. I don't like to say broken..."

Lucienne just stared at her. Her eyes deep pools of warmth, and empathy, filled with such understanding. Hope knew that Lucienne would not think less of her if she didn't elaborate. Just as she knew she also wouldn't think less of her if she did.

"There… was a guy..."

Derek Whitaker. Too handsome for his own good. A real player. And somehow she'd fallen completely-over-the-moon in love with him, to the point rational thought had no longer been possible.

"Even with all the shit that happened with one of my aunt's ex-boyfriends, I made it a point of not letting it get to me. So, I dated, fell in love, tried to get intimate…"

"You couldn't be intimate because of, eh, the bad memories?"

Hope huffed out a laugh. "No. I have no bad memories about that. I have no memory whatsoever of losing my virginity, or those other times. Except that Owen walked into my bedroom with that glint in his eyes. I checked out long before he even touched me."

"Then… why?"

"Because I can't stop it. I can't turn it off. Kissing is fine. Fondling is fine as well. You know the touching and heavy petting… "

The subject had Lucienne quickly blushing scarlet, even if she had very dark skin.

"The point is" – Hope rushed her words now to quickly get this over with – "when it comes to actual, you know, coitus, my mind just shuts down and before I know it I'm playing Beethoven's Scherzo. Turns out, men generally don't find it very arousing when their bed partner just lies there like a… like an inanimate sex doll."

They did, however, find it very amusing to make jokes about.

A resounding silence ensued. She'd frankly thought Lucienne was made of sterner stuff.

Please, the language that came out of her when she was drunk! There really was no reason for her to look at her quite this way, her eyes wide and fixed on her with shock and–oh horror!–sympathy.

Unless…

Cold dread traced Hope's spine.

That bastard had sneaked up on her and was now standing right behind her!

Again!

That much was suddenly horrifyingly clear.

She gulped, lamely stood there, her palms damp, a cold knot in her stomach, and she wished her time in the Dreaming was up already so she'd wake up and be away from this nightmare. She would just have to make sure to stay awake for the rest of her life–which wouldn't be very long if she didn't come back here–and drink copious amount of coffee.

Sure enough, Morpheus took another step that brought him up right next to her and he cleared his throat. "Lucienne, I've come back to return these." He held up a couple of ancient looking tomes in his hands. It was very obviously a pretext to be here, but Lucienne rose to her feet to collect them anyway.

Hope hardly dared to even look at him, yet she couldn't resist a sly peak from underneath her lashes, and was struck dumb by the awkward look on his face. Part wince, part some much needed humility, part… something else. Point was, he was not channelling his inner 'King of the Tosspots' at the moment.

"And to assess the extent of the damage from the recent disturbances," he continued and looked around him as if he were actually trying to find any evidence of damage, no matter how small.

Hope stared it him. She imagined this display of humility was as likely as seeing the pope dance a jig. Usually his first words, in that imperious tone of his, whenever he wished to discuss something with Lucienne, were, 'Please, leave us.' So, when Morpheus knelt down to pick up some books Mervyn had dumped there, and handed them to Lucienne, she actually dropped her jaw.

"Have… you… any… idea as to what caused them?" he asked, still in that cautious way, his voice reaching a special kind of octave with certain words.

Tamping down the urge to scream, 'Be gone, thou demon from hell!' while making the sign of the cross, Hope flung a wild gaze at Lucienne, who looked decidedly more composed.

"I assumed it was you, sir," she replied with a flippancy that had Hope clasping a hand to her throat.

"Me?"

"Making further improvements to your realm… now that you're back." Lucienne put the books in their rightful spots and breezed right past him. Hope loved the self-conscious way with how Morpheus turned around to direct his gaze at his librarian.

"Lucienne, when we last spoke, I did not mean to imply that your efforts beyond the library are without value."

Hope huffed. High praise indeed!

Lucienne merely said, "Oh?" in such a way it deserved a resounding whoop!

"I merely wish to relieve you of responsibilities with which, had I been here, you would never have been burdened."

Another book in it's place. "I see."

"And, in that time did you experience any… similar… seismic disturbances?"

Was it really that difficult for him to just ask what he wanted to know, without this tap-dancing around?

"I did not." Lucienne breezed past him again to walk to another section.

"Have you any… theory as to their origin?"

Then Lucienne whirled around, obviously tired of the tap-dancing act, and went full Head of the Library of Dreams on him. "Speaking strictly as a librarian?" she nearly spat the word. "I do. But you won't like it."

"Go on."

Lucienne raised a brow. "In front of Hope?"

A sinking feeling settled in the pit of her stomach. And here comes the dismissal, Hope thought to herself. Instead, to her infinite surprise, he merely said, "Yes, she… has a right to know."

Maybe this was a dream? A dream within a dream? He was actually being approachable for once!

"I know you're waiting to see if the vortex will lead you to The Corinthean and Fiddler's Green. The way she led you to Gault," Lucienne said.

"She may yet still."

"Yes, but while you're waiting, she's putting cracks in the foundation. It's a waste of time we cannot afford, sir!" Lucienne pointedly stared at the many different cracks in the floor, that Hope somehow had missed. Considering the look on his face, he'd been very aware of their existence. Making his earlier behaviour look a lot like play-acting.

"I implore you, my lord… please, handle this matter swiftly."

"Rose Walker has visited this realm before and done no damage," he insisted. "This is something else. Something new."

Lucienne sighed heavily and a brief look of regret, or sadness, flicked across her features.

"Perhaps. But if there's something new in the Dreaming and you did not create it, how did it get here? This is the vortex. I assure you. The cracks in the Dreaming prove she's now become an active threat. You have the right. You have the means. Please, don't drag this out for too long. "

Now there was something close to desperate in her voice that had Hope pricking up her ears.

"You may discover that hesitating for too long will result in too steep a price to pay."

Hope looked between the two, her head spinning with all this new information she tried and failed to absorb. "Excuse me?" she began. "Bit clueless here. What's a vortex? And who are the Corinthean, the Green Fiddler and… Vault?"

Instead of answering, Lucienne walked over to her desk and tapped on the hourglass. "As much as I would love to tell you everything, now that I'm apparently allowed, it's time for you to go back to the waking world."

"No! Wait..." Hope said, but as she saw the last grain of sand tumble down, she bolted upright in her own bed.