Chapter Text
Prologue: To Be Unchanged
10 years. 520 weeks. 3650 days. 87600 hours.
Each day longer than the last – Dream considered. There was nothing to do in his prison, besides track time. Even the goings on outside his sphere held little interest to him. After all, even with all this time that had passed, the routine was unchanged. People – guards – came and went. They were under strict orders to not approach him, speak to him, and most, if not all, avoided eye contact with him.
His captor – Roderick, he thought disdainfully – would come down the stairs once a day. The demands were the same, the approach was ungraceful (yelling, pathetic threats) and an occasional cane smashed against the ground. Never against the runes though, frustratingly so or against the glass.
Dream longed… he missed his realm, his raven, his freedom. In this glass prison, he couldn’t touch anything, not even the nightmares. Then, there was the utter loneliness that encompassed him. Luceinne, Merv, Jessamy... Hob… Of course, he supposed he could speak to the ones holding him, but he refused. To give even one word, one sound, was them winning – something the Lord of Dreams could not fathom allowing to happen.
So instead, he sat and waited and counted the hours, days, weeks, and years. Unchanged, unmoved.
Of course… echoes down the stairs… sometimes things did change. It was early for his captor to be down here, and the only other that would occasionally make stops to visit was the boy – Roderick’s son. However, he tilted his head and considered. The taps, the voices – it was two people.
Stepping into the room, in all his glory, was Roderick Burgess – dressed in his usual fine clothes, sporting his cane. He smiled smugly at the trapped Endless, but Dream paid him little mind – as always. It was Burgess’s guest that had his attention – she was new.
The woman was much younger than Roderick but older than the man’s son. She stood at the man’s side, gaze skittering about the room taking it all in. Her hands were shoved into the pockets of her black long coat. It was only after she had investigated the entire room that her gaze landed on Dream.
For the briefest of seconds, their eyes met, but he didn’t even get a chance to break their gaze before she was already moving on. That was new. Those that avoided him mostly did so out of fear – either of him or Roderick. However, she wasn’t either; she merely appeared bored.
Shrugging her coat off, she handed it unceremoniously to Roderick and moved forward. Even though her white blouse was buttoned to her throat, her cross was still visible beneath the shear material and black gloves covered her hands up to her wrists. Her heels clicked against the stone, and soon enough, she was mere feet from the trapped being.
Dream watched, as she bent low and examined the runes – dark auburn hair masking her pale features, save for her bright red lipstick. For a brief second, he couldn’t contain the flutter of his heart at the thought she might break the lines. Her fingers gently brushed against the paint but never smudging it. He clenched his teeth and said nothing, of course.
“Your thoughts?” Roderick asked, handing her coat off to one of the many unnamed guards with a scowl. He schooled his features, however, when she looked back over her shoulder.
“Well done,” she admitted. “Though, that’s unsurprising given that you used my work to create this.” Standing, she turned her back to Dream – much to his irritation. Few beings would dare.
“Can it be modified?” Roderick asked.
Modified? Dream was not certain what he thought of that.
The woman rubbed her chin thoughtfully, before nodding. With a sigh and a wave of her hand, she said, “It can be. But it’ll be difficult and costly.”
“I don’t care about the cost,” Roderick hissed. For the first time since entering the prison, his gaze moved to Dream – a sneer on his features. “I called you because you’re the best at this. Just get it done as we discussed.” Turning on his heel, he moved to leave, when she called his name – sickly sweet.
When he spun back, anger on his features, she smartly threw her hands up, defensively. “Upfront,” she demanded, and while Roderick appeared unamused, he nodded. Glancing back at the runes, she frowned and added, “And I’ll need some supplies to avoid breaking the original runes.”
“Whatever you need my men can get for you,” Roderick said, returning to the stairs. He didn’t immediately ascend though – not before asking, “How long?”
The woman was already discussing things with a guard and barely stopped to address Burgress. “A few days, pending some trial and error.”
“I expect no more,” he stated firmly, before leaving.
Once gone, the woman continued to discuss needs with the guard – things Dream could not hear and with her back to him, he could not attempt to read her lips. However, he could see the disgust and even reluctance on the guard’s face.
She spent only a few minutes talking with the guard before taking her leave, and the entire way up the stairs, she never once looked back at Dream. She was new, and he was not certain on his thoughts on this matter yet.
Roderick didn’t return that night, nor did the woman.
It wasn’t until the next day that she returned – alone. Items sat untouched on the guard’s desk – things hidden from Dream’s view. He tried to be uninterested, but this was a change. Ten years (and one day), and this was different. He’d be lying if he said he wasn’t at the very least curious.
The woman was dressed similar to what she had been wearing the day prior, though her hair was now pulled into a tight burn. She gathered the items from the desk, and the guard that had procured them grimaced.
“Vile,” the man muttered.
“Necessary,” the woman corrected, bring her items towards the runes but again stopping just shy.
One by one, she pulled items from the bags. Some were simple paints, herbs (rosemary, lavender), but there was a jar of something sickly red. This she paid extra mind, holding it up to the light to examine, and Dream couldn’t help but follow her gaze.
She noticed out of the corner of her eyes and smiled softly before setting the jar down. Pulling a bowl out next, she crushed and peeled the herbs first into the bowl before adding the golden paint. Never once did she address Dream or dare to meet his gaze again.
The jar remained untouched as she worked to mix what she currently had in the bowl – slow turns and swirls. Her hand was just skimming the jar, when Alex appeared.
“Young sir,” the woman said, “you shouldn’t be down here.”
“What are you doing?” he, all but, demanded – much to her amusement based on her snort.
The jar was cracked, but Dream didn’t move. He wanted to lean forward and get a better look at the unknown liquid. But he wasn’t about to show anymore interest than he already had. He went back to counting the hours.
“Your father employed me,” is all she said, as she poured a portion of the jar into her bowl. The liquid was thick, viscous, as it dripped slowly into the mixture.
Alex sputtered for a moment, his eyes also drawn to the red liquid. “What is that?” he asked, quietly.
“Blood of a newborn,” she answered, truthfully. She continued her work, ignoring the sharp intake of breath from the young boy. She did not understand his desire to be here, but his father had not indicated either way what to do with the boy if he interrupted her.
Pulling a knife out of her waistband, she watched Alex take a brisk step back. She met his gaze as she made a small slice on her own arm, above the glove – her own blood dripping into the mix. He was shocked, disgusted, and frightened – things the woman understood but also did not like. “Your father wants me to modify the runes that hold this creature,” she explained, her tone shifting to something a mother might use with a child. “To do so, requires sometimes dark and more often pure materials.” She held up the herbs and plants. “Natural, life.” The paint came next. “Made from gold flecks from the earth.”
“And the blood?” he asked, his head tilting down. He licked his lips nervously.
“Untouched,” she explained. “Clean,” she added. Her own fingers ran across the wound she had given herself – the blood still welling from the site but not actively dripping any longer. “And damned.”
Reaching down, she grabbed a towel and tied it to her wrist. “Now run along, little master,” she said, a sad smile on her face. “I have work to do.”
Turning back to Dream, she held up her newly mixed bowl, a brush in hand. “This may be unpleasant,” she said, finally directly addressing the Dream Lord. Their gazes met, but he said nothing – still.
It was a change, but one he decided to pay little mind for now. What more could they do to the once proud Lord, after all. For the briefest of seconds, he thought he saw the shades of her eyes change… but he ignored it. It was nothing, just the light, and with that, he went back to counting.
Ten years, five hundred and twenty weeks, three thousand six hundred and fifty-one days, eighty-seven thousand six hundred and thirty-six hours…
Quick note: I have not finished the first season, but I love what I’ve seen thus far. This story is going to be a bit more angst/hurt – diverging rather quickly from the first season. I’m a big fan of villains taking center stage, and I may be planning to put Dream through a bit more than what happened on the show. So, hop in. I haven’t decided how long this will be, but I have the entire story outlined.