Chapter Text
You knew something was wrong the moment you entered the Dreaming. It took you a few moments to figure out what it was, but the heavy feeling was there from the second you fell asleep. You were having the dream where you woke up late for class and couldn't figure out where you left your shoes or your essay when you realized: it was storming inside your dorm room. Nothing was getting wet, but the rain still fell like bullets against your bed and desk, dispersing a heavy grief as they splattered into nothing. This never happened. No matter what mood the Dream King was in, it never effected individual dreams like this. You shook your head to snap yourself into a clearer state of lucidity, knowing you needed to focus. You turned and wrenched open the door to your old dorm, hurrying through into the torrential downpour at the heart of the Dreaming.
You made it 5 steps towards the palace before the shock of cold hit you. It was freezing. Your toes went numb immediately, and you regretted going to bed in only a t-shirt and pajama shorts as you wrapped your arms around yourself for warmth. Your door hadn't opened too far from the entrance of the palace, but even in that short walk, your clothes had soaked through completely and you were shivering violently from what you were sure were near freezing temperatures. You put one shaking leg on the first step to the palace when a voice came from above you.
"You have come here at the wrong time, little dreamer. The palace is shut to all, for it is the Song of Orpheus."
You stopped and squinted up through the downpour as best as you could at the pterippus that Morpheus called Hippogriff (even though that's not what a hippogriff is, as you pointed out to him every time the topic came up).
"I don't know what that means," you answered, trying to speak loudly to be heard over the storm. "I just want to get out of the rain and warm up."
"The Song of Orpheus is the Dream King's curse and burden, little human. And none may enter while it is sung," came a second voice.
"But it's freezing!" you protested at Wyvern, your need to get out of the wet cold temporarily driving Morpheus and his mood from your mind.
"That is none of our concern, little mortal. And the Song of Orpheus is none of yours."
"But—"
"A moment, you two," came a third voice, the one of the Griffon. "You may not be able to see too well, but I can. This is not just any dreamer, but his majesty's current favorite."
You jumped as a streak of lightning forked through the sky, followed by a clap of thunder so loud it shook your bones. Wyvern and Hippogriff looked at one another before Wyvern bowed his head down to your level.
"Our deepest apologies for not recognizing you and speaking to you with the level of respect due to your station. It is difficult for us to discern finer details in this weather."
"It's fine, I get it," you replied, your teeth chattering. "Can I go inside and warm up now please?"
"None may enter during the Song of Orpheus. Not even us. But if you will permit me, I can pick you up and let you take refuge under my wing."
"Better be mine or Hippogriff's. We're warmer than you, Wyvern."
"As long as I get to warm up, okay," you answered through clenched teeth, trying to ignore the cold stabbing up your legs. You needed to shut your eyes against a sudden sense of vertigo as Wyvern lifted you from the ground, though you weren't entirely sure by what. You only dared open them again when your feet hit something solid again. Your legs were so numb by this point, though, that your knees gave out almost immediately. Instead of falling onto the solid rock of Griffon's perch, though, you fell against his lion's paw, sighing out as his eagle's wing shielded you from the deluge and his fur began warming you.
"Thanks," you said, curling around your source of warmth.
"It is an honor to serve you," Griffon replied, bowing his head in a show of respect.
You warmed faster than you would in the Waking World, though your clothes still hung wet against your skin. And the more the cold subsided, the more your worry grew. The guardians said Morpheus was in the middle of something called the Song of Orpheus, but that didn't make any sense to you as a scholar of Ancient Greek Orphic cults. All of the songs, plays, and various other retellings of his story never mentioned anything like this. Then again, they never mentioned that Morpheus was his father, either. You learned that piece of information the hard way.
You'd been working on your doctoral dissertation for three days straight. You were looking into an obscure version of the story of Eurydice where Orpheus's mother, the muse Calliope, goes to Morpheus, the god of dreams, and pleads with him to give her son dreams of his late wife so vivid that he feels as though she's alive again in order to dissuade him from venturing to the Underworld. You were taking notes with one hand, muttering what you were writing down out loud, and accidentally gave yourself a bad paper cut on the other while turning the page in your book. Not 10 minutes after that, your head was laying on your desk while you struggled to stay awake trying to continue reading. You'd blinked, and suddenly found yourself in a long empty hall looking up at a platform with a figure shrouded in darkness.
"It has been quite some time since anyone spilled blood while invoking me," the slow, deep voice floated down to you and wrapped itself around your hazy mind, filling you with a simultaneous sense of deep comfort and utter dread. "What is it you want from me, scholar?"
You had no idea what was going on at the time, but decided to play along, thinking it was just a dream being influenced by your work. But when you woke up, you found handwritten notes about the things you'd discussed with Morpheus, as well as some corrections to the notes you'd already written down. It didn't take long for you to start actively hanging out in the Dreaming and seeking out Morpheus with questions after that. He'd humored you, for the most part, and eventually he took an interest in you. The only time you felt like your questions crossed a line was when you tried to ask him about what his son was like. He went stiff next to you while you were both sitting on a bench in the palace gardens. A shadow came over his face while his small, amused smile at your insatiable curiosity fell into a pained, frustrated scowl.
"Do not ask me about him," he said quietly after a beat. "I would rather not speak of him. To anyone."
That had been more than enough for you to never mention the person Orpheus instead of the mythological figure ever again. Something that was happening in the Dreaming to be named after his son and put him in this bad of a mood could only mean something was very wrong.
"Why is this happening?" you asked, peering up at Griffon's head as best as you could. "I thought Morpheus didn't like to talk about his son. The one time I asked him about Orpheus, he—" You cut yourself off with a jump as another streak of lightning cracked the sky, the clap of thunder so loud this time it made your ears ring.
"He senses your presence, scholar, and he is none too pleased about it," came Hippogriff's voice from across the palace stairs, though it sounded like you were standing right next to him.
"Yeah, you don't say," you muttered. "But I'm not waking up until I know he's okay. So can one of you please tell me what's going on?"
"We are not at liberty to say," answered Wyvern. "We are forbidden to speak on the matter. All we can say is the palace is closed to all for the duration of the Song."
"Then is there someone who can tell me what's going on?"
There was a brief pause as the guardians traded looks with one another, having a silent conversation you were not privy to.
"I can take you to one who can inform you well enough," Griffon said, rising from his reclined posture. "Climb onto my back, scholar."
You stepped back as Griffon shrank himself down enough for you to mount him, and were immediately assaulted by the cold once more. Under any other circumstances, you would hesitate. Griffon was the proudest of the Guardians by far, and you wouldn't want to risk crossing him in any way. As things were, though, you were quick to climb onto his back, using his wing joint to help lift you onto the source of warmth. Your hands had only just found purchase in his broad neck when he suddenly took off from his perch much faster than you had anticipated. You had to bury your face into the expanse of stiff eagle feathers beneath you to both control your motion sickness and shield your eyes from the pelting rain. Thankfully, the ride didn't last long, and you soon found yourself in the town square of the village nearest to the palace. You looked around as you slid off of the beast's back, noticing that the place was not only completely deserted, but that the windows of all the buildings were shuttered tight.
"Thanks," you said, frowning as you looked around. "Which building do I—?"
"Whichever door you choose will be the one you need," replied Griffon, returning to his normal size. "Now, I must return to my post. Fortune be with you, scholar."
And with that, he was gone. You wrapped your arms around yourself as you started shivering again, looking around to try and figure out which door would even be unlocked. For now, though, you needed to get out of the rain.
You hurried over to a building with an awning not too far away, wincing at the cold that bit into your bare feet as they slapped against the cobblestone. You heard a low rumble of thunder off in the distance as you took shelter from the rain that made you turn and peer up at the sky. The clouds were definitely darker than when you first got here. Before, they'd been the color of wet slate. Now, they were a dark violet-blue, as if the whole sky was a horrible bruise.
You let out a heavy sigh as you turned back towards the building. Whatever was happening seemed to only be getting worse. At least you were suddenly dry now, so while the cold still stung at your skin and made you shiver, at least the wetness wasn't making it worse.
Your brow furrowed when you saw three identical doors in the face of the building that weren't there before. You carefully walked towards them, eyeing them warily. Griffon said whatever door you chose would be the one you needed, so you guessed that meant it didn't matter which one you opened. But then again, you needed multiple things right now – shelter from the cold, to find someone who could explain to you what was happening, to make sure Morpheus was safe – so maybe it did matter which door you chose, since one door could only take you to one need.
As you were weighing your options, you heard a door slam open behind you, followed by hurried footsteps. You turned towards the source of the noise and saw Lucienne hurrying towards you from across the town square.
"I'm glad I caught you before you chose," she panted while ducking under the awning.
"Lucienne! Hi! What is all this? Why is this happening? Is Morpheus okay?"
"Did Griffon not tell you anything?"
"He told me this was 'The Song of Orpheus,' but that was it. Wyvern said they weren't at liberty to elaborate. All I know is no one's allowed in the palace."
Lucienne pursed her lips for a moment, very obviously debating on how much information she should disclose, before sighing heavily.
"Alright. You'd best sit. This will take some time to explain."
"Can we please sit somewhere inside?" you all but whined. "It's freezing out here, and I swear it keeps getting colder."
"I'm afraid not. Once you've chosen a door, there will be no going back. Here," she said, shrugging off her blazer. "It's not much, but it will keep you warm enough until you make your choice."
You hesitated, watching both of your breaths curl through the air. "Thanks, but what about you?"
"I'll be fine," she insisted, all but shoving the garment into your hands. "I have been in much colder climates than this wearing far less."
"Right, I always forget you used to be one of Morpheus's ravens," you said as you shrugged on the blazer while looking around for a place to sit. You spotted a bench lined up against the wall of the building that wasn't there before.
"Alright," you sighed while sitting, the blazer doing wonders to keep you warm. "Exposition dump time."
Lucienne quirked a small smile before asking, "Before that, I need to know what Lord Morpheus has told you about his son."
"Nothing," you frowned. "I tried asking him about him once, and he said he didn't ever want to talk about him."
"I was worried you'd say that," the librarian sighed, rubbing the corner of her forehead. "I suppose the best place to start would be Eurydice's wedding…"
You sat and listened to the actual events of Orpheus's best-known myth, quickly understanding why the dream king never wished to talk about his son. You were sickened and horrified at the state Orpheus was left in for over a thousand years, and your head was long-since buried in your hands by the time Lucienne reached his death.
"According to the Ancient Laws, the penalty for spilling Endless family blood is death, with the Kindly Ones – who you know as the Furies – carrying out the execution," Lucienne sighed next to you. "Lord Morpheus knew that. This is just speculation on my part, but I think that's partly why he granted Orpheus the boon in the first place. And why the Kindly Ones denied him the standard penalty, instead cursing him with the Song of Orpheus."
Your head shot up at that.
"You think he tried to kill himself?"
"Perhaps not as proactively as that phrasing would imply," Lucienne answered sadly. "I think it was more he no longer cared for living as Morpheus. If he were to die, a new Dream of the Endless would take his place, just like how the current Despair took the position after the first one died. At that point, he'd convinced himself it was the only way he could change. And, if I'm being frank, I think he still sometimes believes that."
"Why?" you asked, your head still reeling with all of this new, horrific information. "I wouldn't describe him as the cheeriest person in the universe, but he's never seemed…" You trailed off, unable to finish your sentence.
"All due respect," the librarian said gently once it was clear you intended to leave your sentence hanging, "He tries to hide it, especially from you."
You tried to swallow back the tightness in your throat, trying not to think about what could drive an immortal entity to want to end their life or what yours would look like without him.
"Why, uh…" you stammered, trying to push forward. "You said that was why the Furies—"
"The Kindly Ones, please," Lucienne corrected. "Calling them the Furies upsets them, and that is the last thing we need during the Song."
You quirked an eyebrow, wondering why vengeance goddesses would be upset over being called what they were.
"Why the Kindly Ones didn't execute him. But I don't understand why they wouldn't carry out their duty if the Laws are so clear."
"Because punishment isn't just about teaching a lesson," she replied grimly. "It's also about denying the punished what they wanted."
You sat there for a few moments, speechless while the rain came down in white sheets and thunder rolled without pause in the distance.
"So if this is a curse," you went on. "What happens during it? Obviously whatever it is isn't good, but he's not… He doesn't get hurt or anything, does he?"
Lucienne sighed and gave you a sympathetic look. "Unfortunately, no one knows."
"What?"
"Save for some scant details from the first time this occurred, no one knows what happens during the Song."
"No one's ever asked or tried to talk to him about it after?"
"Have you ever tried talking to him about sensitive matters?" Lucienne asked, raising an expectant eyebrow.
You smiled sheepishly in spite of yourself. "Okay, fair point. Even asking him about stuff he likes is like pulling teeth. There's no way he'd…" you shook your head, trying to keep yourself from getting sidetracked. "So what were the 'scant details' from the first time this happened?"
"I'm afraid you're going to be disappointed. When I say scant, I mean it," Lucienne sighed, adjusting her glasses. "I was in the library sorting new volumes when a variation on the myth of Orpheus and Eurydice manifested on the desk I was using. Variations on preexisting works only manifest as separate volumes when there are significant deviations from the original. The next moment, Orpheus's voice could be heard throughout the palace. I thought, for a moment, he had come back to us. And then I realized how wrong I was when I saw what I thought was his Lordship appear not far from where I was seated."
"What you thought was Morpheus? So I guess it wasn't actually him."
"You'd guess right. It was… strange. The best way I can think to describe it was like an echo of a memory made manifest. I could tell he was speaking, but his voice was so low I couldn't make out the words. And he looked angry in a way I've seldom seen. Shortly after that, everyone in the palace found themselves outside with all the entrances sealed shut. From then on, the moment Orpheus's song began, everyone would immediately be evacuated."
"And he never told you any details? Or hinted at them?"
"No. And I don't expect him to, even if he does hold my counsel in high regard. Some things are just too much for words, even for the Prince of Stories."
You frowned at the cobblestone in front of you, your mind reeling. You knew he carried a heavy weight. You could see it from the way he held himself and with the slow carefulness of his words. You'd always assumed it was from being the manifestation of the universe's collective unconscious. While you were sure a being as ancient as him carried a certain amount of interpersonal grief, you'd never imagined it would be something as heavy as all of this. You glanced up towards the palace, your heart aching at the thought of him being in there by himself during all of this.
"Well, whatever's going on in there, it can't be good," you said quietly, trying to figure out what your next course of action should be.
"Which is why I'm glad I got to you before you chose a door," the librarian replied. "With the Song going, it's possible what's behind the one you choose could be incredibly dangerous. He could be too preoccupied to ensure your safety."
That's right. You'd totally forgotten about the doors. You turned your attention back towards them, eyeing them while your mind continued to race.
"Griffon said whatever door I choose, it'll be the one I need. So I doubt I'd end up picking a door that'd put me in danger," you muttered, hooking your thumb under your chin in thought. "But that was when I was looking for someone to tell me what's going on."
An idea came over you suddenly and you sat up straight, watching as the three doors merged into one. "What if what I need now is to make sure Morpheus is okay?"
"Then I would strongly advise against opening any door in the Dreaming for the duration of the Song," Lucienne suggested with mild surprise at what you were about to attempt. "We don't know what goes on in the palace, but his Lordship would not expel everyone with no warning without good reason."
"Maybe. But I should still try, right?" you reasoned, standing and approaching the door. "What if he's hurt and needs help?"
"Then that means there's something powerful enough in the palace to harm him. With all due respect, you wouldn't stand a chance."
"I'm a lucid dreamer; one of the most powerful of my generation, according to him. If there is something, then I'll probably be able to deal with whatever it is long enough to find a way out," you reassured her, placing your hand on the doorknob. "I have to at least try. If I don't, then all I'm going to do is worry about him."
You looked back, meeting Lucienne's concerned expression with a gentle smile. "Thanks, Lucienne."
It wasn't until after you turned the handle and got sucked through the door that you realized you'd forgotten to give the librarian her blazer back.
The next thing you knew, you were landing on all fours in the marble of the palace like you'd been shoved hard from behind, wincing at the sting in your wrists from the impact. It was dark, as expected, without any kind of light source to help you see, but you could still make out that you were in the middle of the entrance hall. Your ears perked up and you raised your head as singing of the most beautiful tenor you'd ever heard surrounded you. You sat back on your heels, taking a moment to appreciate it and listen to what he was saying. While you were more than capable of reading Ancient Greek, you'd only ever heard it spoken a handful of times, and it was difficult to understand all of the words. But it was clear from what you could understand and the intonation of the voice that it was a song of grief and lamentation, and it made your eyes sting with tears.
Your appreciation was cut short when a second, much more familiar voice echoed sternly around you.
"Leave."