She faded from the Dreaming before he could finish the gesture. Her silvery eyes the last to fade away, warm and hazy. He stood still, staring at the spot where she had been moments ago, pondering her last words: "It was hard to keep reliving. So, thank you."
There was only one problem… he had not actively sent or removed that dream.
From the moment he'd returned, he'd delved into a quest to retrieve his tools, after that he'd busied himself with restoring his Kingdom, bringing back the stray dreams and nightmares and right in the middle of that he'd been forced to handle the vortex situation. He'd only recently returned to governing the dreams and nightmares of the dreamers.
With a last look, he turned and brought himself to the nightward shores of dream. Staring at the dark waters, he reached into his pouch, took out some sand, and sprinkled it into the water. He allowed himself to be pulled in, feeling the gentle currents that had stabilised since his previous journey.
He could have entered her dream without using the waters, but he wanted to remind the dreams and nightmares who was their master. Down the current of dreams he went, keeping his focus on Hope, and like iron filings to a magnet he drew dreams toward him that fell within that purview.
When he found her dream, he angled toward it, until another dream caught his attention. He'd never been a weathervane. Rather the opposite, in fact: he could be perversely unmovable for someone who's very nature at times was as fleeting as dreams. Yet, this particular dream had him swing around like a weathervane.
The setting was, unsurprising considering the theme of the dream, a bedroom. Yet the sensual activities did not find place in the bed, but rather up against the wall right next to the entrance. As if the two had not had the patience to make those few steps to the bed. That grandiose bed with it's intricately carved wooden columns, covered with luxurious red silks and covers, and that lush Persian rug on the floor… their only sad function was setting. And the two occupants in this dream did not pay it any attention. They were too busy clawing at each other like animals.
His friend, Hob, was having a very explicit dream about Hope, his hips enthusiastically drumming into her. His face buried in her neck, he grunted his pleasure. And Hope's head was thrown back against the wall, her lips parted, her face flushed and languid-lidded with lust.
And he wouldn't stand for it. It was impossible.
Knowing her past, how circumstance had forced her to retreat so far into her own mind that she never knew how men defiled her body, and knowing how that astounding sense of self-preservation now kept her from enjoying the exact kind of intimacies he was now witnessing, Morpheus simply could not allow any man to enjoy her like this, without her knowing.
Not again.
Not even in dreams.
Not even if that man was his friend.
At least that was what he told himself when he ended the dream and stepped away, feeling a mix of things without knowing which of them was his truest emotion.
Leaving a very confused, and no doubt, lust-thwarted Hob behind, Dream continued his search.
It was easy to pick her dream out of all the others. Perhaps because she was still so vivid in his mind. He was half worried he would find her in a similar dream. Knowing he could not, would not, stop that dream from happening when it was the only way she could enjoy the pleasures of being intimate with someone.
When he reached her dream and discovered it was nothing at all like Hob's, he was oddly relieved.
No, Hope was, again, playing the dream violin and Dream smiled seeing how she'd accurately conjured the 'Regalato dai sogni'. He did not recognise the music, likely it was more contemporary than what he'd heard from her so far. And he had missed a lot.
As he stood there, watching her, Dream was struck. Not by the haunting melody she played, nor her impeccable handling of the bow and violin. Instead, it was the look of pure exaltation on her face that completely arrested him. It was a look that had nothing to do with the intense focus and concentration she displayed earlier, when she'd pulled off something he'd never even known was possible.
It was as if she finally came into focus, and he realised he had not truly seen her before.
Her brows gently followed the curve of her occipital bone in a face he'd once considered ordinary. But now he noticed the little indents when she smiled, the somewhat pointed chin, elegant cheekbones, all finely set in a heart-shaped face, sweetly drawn and very alive. She was effulgent with pure joy, and all of a sudden there was nothing ordinary about her. In fact, her radiance was so brilliant that it rendered him absolutely silent. He could only bask.
And so he did, up until the point he noticed something was off. He narrowed his eyes when he noticed a translucent shimmer forming a large dome around her. When he walked up to it and stretched out his hand, it became solid.
A mental shield.
Of a strength he did not often find in mortals and it told him something about her.
And it forced him to reassess her yet again.
Watching her playing, so happy, so serene, he felt something inside of him splinter a little. Because she was not dreaming, not really. Her mind simply did what she had trained it to do, to protect her from anything negative, even in her sleep. He wondered when she'd last had a real dream and how a recurring dream she considered painful to relive could bypass this impressive shield.
Leaning his head against it, he closed his eyes and became aware of his exhaustion. It was so tiring to stay away! His limbs and shoulders felt weighted, and he found the notion that he had once misjudged her so thoroughly, surprisingly distasteful.
She had lost so much, without even knowing it. And she'd been willing to lose so much more without asking for anything in return. Most humans would commit the worst of atrocities to be granted a boon from the Endless. And she'd rejected it, claiming it was merely a favour to his sister. She had suffered and continued to suffer, yet it had not occurred to her, not even once, to ask for her suffering to end. Dream knew that mortals needed to dream, but this... This did not qualify as a dream. And so, he stepped through her mental shield, because, impressive as it was, it could not withstand him.
"Hello, Hope," he greeted her.
The music instantly stopped, Hope blinked and surprise filled her eyes when she noticed him.
"Morpheus? What are you doing in my dream?"
He stopped right in front of her and he could see so much. The guards she always surrounded herself with, even when she was visiting the Dreaming, were all down. And what he saw thrilled him.
"Would you like a real dream, Hope? A beautiful one?" His voice came out in a low, frayed whisper, and it had an immediate effect on her physiology. He could see all the tiny hairs raise up, from her arms all the way to the nape of her neck.
"I never dream about you, except for the Jessamy one," she whispered. "Why am I dreaming about you now?"
He contemplated gently blowing sand in her face and giving her an amazing dream, but ultimately, that wasn't what he wanted to do, nor was it what he did. After all, Hope believed this moment was nothing more than a dream. And he, though he was dream personified, was also more.
He was also a man.
He wasn't, however, a man who was inclined to let opportunity go to waste.
"Because you like me," he said softly and he leaned in to whisper in her ear. "Because I like you."
She gave a breathless, astonished little laugh and this too thrilled him. Because he knew what it meant; he excited her.
"Will you not look at me, Hope?" he murmured speculatively, landing hard on that last syllable.
She was standing close enough that her breath landed softly on his chin. Gently, he tipped her chin up, angling her face in position. And went no further.
Hope could stop this if she wanted. She could turn her face or turn around.
But, she did none of those things.
Instead, she looked up at him.
Their gazes met and as he brought his mouth down to hers, her head eased back to accommodate him. And then their lips touched.
"Never fall in love with a mortal, for harm will come to the mortal who dares to love or accept the love of an Endless."
She's not a mortal, not any more, he countered silently. And this is just a kiss.
It was nothing more than that, and it destroyed him.
Their lips were scarcely even touching, yet it felt they were fused together right where their lips met and their breaths gently mingled. He dared nothing more than a few pious, tiny sips, barely enough to discover the sweetness of her lips, their soft fullness.
Her lips blossomed under his kiss, parting, inviting, and it barbed him with the sweetest sting.
Then, with startling clarity Dream could see where this was going if left out of control.
He drew in a shuddering breath and closed his eyes, then gently pulled back, though still resting his lips delicately against hers, loath to relinquish the feel of her, yet
knowing that he must.
"I promise you shall dream again," he whispered, before he practically fled.
The air was filled with scents she did not recognise, or maybe she did and she just couldn't remember. She was somewhere up high, that she could tell. The wind that softly brushed against her skin felt strange too. Hope gently walked forward, one step at a time across the small ledge, carefully clinging to the large rock with its jutting edges.
Then she reached a clearing and, seeing all the ikran gathered, sunning their wings, she knew exactly where she was. Pandora.
Without questioning how she got here, she noted how the ground beneath her feet felt alive. When she looked down, she noted she was not in the body of a blue Na'vi avatar, she was still herself. But other Na'vi were there as well and they approached her with a sense of familiarity, their eyes shining with a depth that transcended words. They smiled at her, touched their heads and greeted, "Oel Ngati Kameie, Hope!"
"I see you too," she whispered. Then she started laughing. "I see you too!" she yelled at them.
They released a loud ululating cry and then burst into the air on their ikran.
The next moment Hope was flying among them, effortlessly soaring through the skies on the back of an ikran, its wings carrying her to new heights. The rush of wind against her face, the pulsating energy of flight… it was exhilarating! A euphoria she had never before experienced, a moment of liberation that defied the laws of the mundane world.
Finally, she discovered a secluded haven, nestled atop a majestic mountain. Then she was there, the Na'vi and the ikran gone. Hope sat down, right at the edge. From this vantage point, the panorama stretched infinitely, an awe-inspiring sight that somehow seemed to transcend imagination. And for a moment she allowed herself to simply absorb the breathtaking vista in front of her. It was here, in this quiet moment, that a subtle realisation started to seep into her consciousness. It started as a soft whisper, telling her of a truth obscured, that this wasn't real.
Because Pandora wasn't real and neither were the ikran, nor the Na'vi.
She knew she was dreaming.
Again, Morpheus had gifted her something precious. And she had not even dared to ask him for it. It was a gift from himself.
Her mind drifted back to another dream, only a few days ago. Her first dream in… she didn't even remember how many years. But she'd dreamed about him. About Morpheus. And in that dream he had kissed her… so gently, so sweetly.
As she gazed into the sky, her eyes brimming, she knew there was no use denying it any longer. Finally something snapped inside of her and beneath it… something unfurled.
Hope closed her eyes and she released her breath in a long sigh.
It was over. She couldn't fight any longer. She was simply too exhausted to deny her feelings any longer.
She loved him.
Of all the foolish things… she had to do that… love an Endless, prickly thorns and all.
Because, once she'd caught those achingly sweet glimpses of the kindness that resided inside of him, she'd already been lost.
And in a brilliant flash of revelation, she'd come to understand something about him. It was that understanding that had been the killing blow, and her heart had broken for him.
He was not cold at all. Nor rigid. Nor distant. It was simply how he perceived himself to be and how he revealed himself to the rest of the whole damned universe.
But she knew… she understood… that only a being with the capacity to care and love as deeply as he did, could ever do what he did. And that was to create dreams and nightmares of such wonder, such beauty and terrifying agony…. If he really was cold and unfeeling, he would not be able to perform his duty. And so he kept it all reigned in, so tightly and so deeply… Perhaps he'd even forgotten it was there.
But she had seen it.
And so… she loved him.
A man who only existed as a function, who would never risk the consequences of diverging from his duty, responsibility and station. At least not for too long. Had his previous loves ever understood that about him?
She would never fault him for it. It was, she thought, what made him beautiful.
Even if he could still be a pain in the arse.
At least now she knew, even if it could never be. She supposed there was peace to be had in that. For now, all she wanted to do was lose herself in the magnificence of this world that he had woven especially for her. And she decided to embrace every fleeting moment of joy it brought.
Not very far from her, Dream observed Hope with a mix curiosity and tenderness. He kept himself concealed from her unsuspecting gaze though and simply marvelled at the enigmatic emotions flickering across her face. There was a briefly lived expression there that betrayed some of her inner turmoil. The look of Joan of Arc might have had right before she was led to the stake, to be burned. A calm, dignified sort of resignation, perhaps a hint of fear, and such tenderness that it felt like a benediction.
Unable to resist the pull, Dream drew nearer to her, careful not to disturb the fragile fabric of her slumber. He sat down right next to her and he could see the tiny hairs in her neck go erect. She whipped her head around, her eyes peering right at him, even though he knew she could not see him. Her breathing pattern changed and he knew… somehow she sensed his presence, without truly comprehending his proximity.
He leaned in to her. Closer. Closer. Until his lips hovered right over hers, on that sweet precipice of contact.
The anticipation was exquisite; his senses attuned to her warm breaths softly landing against his lips. He made sure his body was entirely still. No gust of warm breath escaped him, but he allowed hers to enter him.
If he could distil forever and change it into one single moment, he would choose this, the essence of this exact moment, where possibilities were endless and boundaries blurred.
Again he could feel the power inside of him, thrumming impatiently, then tentatively throw out a thin tendril that quickly latched on to that tiny bit of his power that resided in her heart.
He wondered if she could sense it, those twin powers entwining, clinging, caressing.
Time itself seemed to pause, caught right between the barely even there distance between their lips.
And he decided that, had the myth about Hades abducting the fair Persephone to his realm been true, he could completely understand.
With surprising difficulty, Dream withdrew from her, only leaving behind the lingering taste of what could have been… a devastating kiss.
He slowly faded himself from this place, retreating into the recesses of her dreaming mind, his departure a gentle caress against her consciousness.
Dream knew that, irrevocably, their paths would diverge upon her awakening. He found a wicked kind of pleasure in knowing that, at least in part, she was his. She would always, always have to return to him, as long as she wanted to live. Though it had not been intended, he was sure Hades would have loved the irony