dreamaturgy: (ethereal)
đ™łđšđ™Žđ™°đ™Œ. ([personal profile] dreamaturgy) wrote2024-03-16 09:47 am
Entry tags:

@riftings | skyhold

continued from here.


âŸȘ someone does find her. or something, anyway, depending on technicalities.

the dream lord’s eyes, first — matthew, perched high on the top-shelf, overwhelmed by the flock of ravens he had to circumvent to get here. beasts, all of them. smart, too, though not i-was-once-a-human smart, deceased now and loyal subject instead, wings for thumbs. they do serve someone, but there was no conversation to be had; only croaks and judgment, and a few missing feathers.

not his, mind you.

the second is morpheus himself, delayed. the creation of dreams and nightmares have taken up most of his time lately, for reasons he’s hesitant to confront. now that he’s finally reconciled with his purpose — and it’s all thanks to death — his craft sparks old and new joys alike, but even with his passion rekindled, his motives might not be entirely without stifled incentive. workaholism is a thing, apparently — lucienne told him more than once to please rest, my lord, but even dream isn’t above escapism, especially if it’s stained with a faint hue of denial.

he’s avoiding her. it’s probably one of the most selfless, conscious choices he’s ever made, because he doesn’t want to. or maybe it’s not selfless at all, and he just figured he couldn’t cope with heartbreak again. but heartbreak requires feelings, and that’s a whole other level of awareness he stashes away in his creations, pretending it doesn’t exist. because it doesn’t.

which perfectly explains why each of them winds up with an itch to yearn for the impossible, and when dream spots unnamed longing in their eyes, he vows to avoid mirrors for the rest of eternity, lest he catches the same glint there.

matthew doesn’t have the same reservations.

hey boss. look, i know you don’t wanna hear it — and don’t shoot the messenger! — but the lady doesn’t look well.

it doesn’t matter whether dream glowers — his raven knows him well, maybe more than he knows himself at times, and he can’t fault him for doing his job. he is the dream lord’s eyes, and his sight is exceptional.

dream doesn’t go right away. her presence in the dreaming is a vacuum in his stomach that threatens to collapse his physical form into a dense, compact little ball — sometimes, he almost wishes it did. entropy is at a rise throughout the universes, and there’s nothing he can do to stop it. it’s all her, causing the skies of the dreaming to darken and brighten at the same time, which in turn causes lucienne to withdraw from his sight, just to roll her eyes and sigh.

god fucking damn it. he doesn’t say it. he doesn’t even think it. but it’s pretty much what it feels like.

neutral ground, then. he doesn’t meet her where she probably expects him to be. where she’s not seen him in a while, perhaps looking for him. the thought coats the back of his mouth sour, but he forges on, soon materializing in the library where she hides. peace is a luxury that’s rarely ever been available to her. she finds it in the dreaming, sure, but the waking world doesn’t wait for anyone, least of all her. she looks almost fragile there, despite all her incredible strengths, fast asleep even as her muscles twitch, restless.

is it coincidence that she chose a library? the scent of old leather is reminiscent of his own, and dream walks unhurried along the shelves, motes of dust following his steps. but his eyes are locked on her, a plethora of books in his periphery, begging to be touched. she doesn’t have to. beg. standing in front of her, his scrutiny is nothing if not concerned. matthew was right; she looks exhausted, infinitely more than last he saw her, and his endless heart sinks lower than he thought it could. it’s a beast, that one. for an entity that doesn’t technically have a true corporeal form, it beats with the frenzy of a thousand men, which makes him feel entirely too human. his presence is too vast, too peculiar, perhaps, to fully look the part, but he feels it. and it’s infuriating.

it’s not vexation he feels now. there’s anger in the mix, though it’s not aimed at her, slightly overwhelmed as he drops to a crouch and observes the ravages of her wars. he made sure to appoint her favorite dreams as her companions in his prolonged absence, but here, as powerful an entity as he is, he’s more or less out of his depth.

let it be known that dream of the endless has, perhaps more than once, felt utterly inadequate. just don’t mention it anywhere near him.

slowly he reaches for her, as if giving her time to sense his intent, even as she sleeps. small shivers wrack her frame, never at ease, and dream’s fingers graze her neck, pushing blond strands away as his palm finds the valley between her shoulder blades. the muscles underneath are impressively stiff, a glum crease between dream’s brows; she’s a prisoner, much like he once was. the circumstances differ, but not unlike his, it’s not a cage she can escape, and she doesn’t possess the lifespan or the otherworldly potency necessary to endure what he did. ⟫


What will become of you, little dreamer?

âŸȘ the point of contact breaks, but his hand hovers tentative as he searches her face for answers he knows he won’t get. all he can do is fuel her mind with a wealth of dreams from which he hopes she can draw strength, and return to his duties.

but not yet. he’ll sit for now, in the chair adjacent to the divan, matthew perched on his shoulder and a book in his lap. think she’ll be alright?, and dream’s jaw clenches on a deep, soundless exhale.

are they ever? ⟫

riftings: (pic#16253300)

[personal profile] riftings 2024-03-16 05:10 pm (UTC)(link)
[ Fiddler's Green has always been beautiful. Lush, verdant, rolling hills beneath bright blue skies, wildflowers dotting the landscape here and there. She's always loved it here. A small unicorn and a half-grown tiger cubling with multicolored stripes lie with her in the warm grass; the cat's purring a soothing balm to her ears. The little foal nuzzles her cheek, his golden horn catching the sunlight and glinting so beautifully. The afternoon is warm, the gentle breeze comfortably cool, and the puffy clouds chase each other across the expansive skies.

Yes, she's always loved it here.

This is the first time she's been in the Dreaming since she learned of her Dream's true name and nature. Circumstances haven't allowed her to truly rest, to sink into slumber deep enough to breach the Veil between the Waking World and the Fade. Catnaps, short stints of unrestful sleep, long nights passed in uncomfortable bedrolls; such has been necessary as of late. She soldiers on, determined, but there's no real way to hide the dark circles under her eyes, stark against her pale skin. But her will is great; she will endure, and pray Maker when it's at last done, she can stop.

She's making a necklace of flowers, humming with her young friends as she reclines in the sweet-smelling grass, but glances up when a peculiar shadow passes overhead. She sees nothing, so she goes back to her work. A moment later, she hears the distinctive call of a raven. Her brow furrows. Then comes the familiar feeling of fading; she's waking up. A sigh, a kiss for each of her companions, then Leah closes her eyes only to open them once more, this time seeing dusty rafters overhead, draped with pale cobwebs, and the stretch of endless bookshelves that touch the ceilings high above. The scent of books and age fills her nose, and she realizes with a sinking heart just where she is and what's happened.

Skyhold's lower library, and it seems her nap is over. Damn.

Three seconds later, the Inquisitor realizes that she isn't alone.

Sheer battle reflex takes over, honed from all of those endless missions in strange lands, and she surges upright, a ball of fire in her fist, but before she can hurtle it towards the intruder, it dies between her fingers as she realizes just who has found her, hidden deep within her fortress. ]


...Dre--er...Morpheus?

[ It's such a shock that she can't help but fall back against the ratty divan, completely nonplussed. But, despite her crogglement, a not-so-small part of her happily leaps with both excitement and a good dose of girlish delight to actually see him, sitting right in front of her, a book in his hands and a raven on his shoulder. And, to her utter embarrassment, Leah feels her cheeks flush, warm color flooding her face and traveling all the way down her neck and all the way to the tips of her ears.

Oh, Maker. ]


...wh-what are--I-I mean... [ Oh, just give up, girl. ] ...um...hi.
riftings: (pic#16543311)

[personal profile] riftings 2024-03-16 09:15 pm (UTC)(link)
[ She's still flabbergasted enough to just blink at the raven when it speaks, a slight frown drawing between her brows. But then Morpheus speaks, drawing her attention right back again.

As if she could help it; his voice falls on her ears like a silken rasp, echoing in the ancient room as if it belongs only there. Leah clears her throat, feeling her cheeks heat yet again, and she unconsciously tucks a lock of gold behind her ear, more than a little flustered.

Good host that she's learned to be, however, she starts to negate after his comment, opening her mouth to say that he's never an intrusion, she was just surprised to see him here, please forgive her for reacting so rashly - but then he apologizes first, halting the words on her tongue.

Again, she blinks, not quite sure she'd heard correctly. ]


...you? Came to check on me?

[ A strange and sudden warmth floods all through her, corners of her lips turning upwards of their own girlish volition. A heartbeat later, Leah realizes just how horrible she must look; mussed and exhausted from the last few weeks. She hurriedly combs a hand through her hair; she'd refused to rebraid it earlier, not giving the first care to her haggard appearance - despite Josephine's insistences that the Inquisitor must appear refined and poised at all times.

Finally forcing her hands together in her lap, the Herald of Andraste lowers her chin on a soft laugh, oddly warm and...truly touched. He'd come to check on her. Out of all of the Dreaming, out of all of his duties, out of all of his responsibilities, he'd come to check on her.

Like Morpheus, Leah glances up through her lashes, girlish despite the cares and exhaustion marring her youthful countenance. ]


Please, you don't have to apologies. It's not an intrusion, I promise. [ Never could be. Had she been closer, she might have reached out a hand in reassurance. But it's reflected in her voice, regardless. ] That's...that's so very sweet, Morpheus. Thank you, it...it means a lot.
riftings: (pic#16543330)

[personal profile] riftings 2024-03-16 11:59 pm (UTC)(link)
[ Leah also rises when her guest does, supposing now that he's done what he came to do he'll be returning to his own endlessly busy realm. She's too preoccupied in straightening her tunic into some form other than rumpled to notice the exchange between master and avian, thus the Dream Lord's voice and the sound of the book snapping closed bring her back to attention.

And with his words, just like that, all of her weariness, all of those burdens come flooding back, overtaking that curious warmth that had settled low in her stomach upon seeing him again. The girlish delight begins to fade and her eyes soften, a tired smile curving her mouth as she gives a single nod of agreement. ]


...so it seems. [ Orlais is still reeling from Celine's death. Ferelden is little better, what with nobles rallying their troops to assist in the never-ending attacks of demons, darkspawn, and any disgusting cretins seeking to profit from either. With a small rueful chuckle, she lifts her hands, gazing at her palms, the Anchor glinting brazenly at the attention. ]

I honesty don't think my hands are large enough, Dream. [ She lowers the right, raises the left. ] Even with this thing in my palm. [ But she once more fights against the feelings of hopelessness, inadequacy, the fear that she's inevitably going to fail. Her fist clenches. Then she gives a little laugh, although there's a tiny bit of hysteria in the sound. ]

We definitely do, but I've no idea where I'd find one. We've gathered as many hands as we're able beneath our banner, but I'm still terrified they won't be enough. Not against this darkness. My advisors are scrambling, trying to find more allies, but there aren't many apples left in the barrel.

[ But she doesn't want to get once more mired in her woes; she'd retreated down here to escape all of that. If only for a brief moment. And Morpheus quite likely doesn't want to hear her whining; he definitely doesn't deserve it. So Leah clears her throat, shoves her hair back, and puts on a small smile, blinking at her visitor to see him looking back her as if she might suddenly lunge forward and bite him.

Then she realizes what he's just said, and her expression becomes a little sheepish. ]


I know, I've hardly been able to sleep lately, things have been so busy, and we've been on the road for weeks it seems, and...

[ Then she realizes what he's just said. Her expression devolves into puzzlement, a frown between her brows, coupled with just a hint of that earlier girlish sweetness. ]

...did...did you...miss me?
riftings: (pic#16543327)

[personal profile] riftings 2024-03-17 02:33 am (UTC)(link)
[ It's utterly fascinating to watch the expressions crossing his cold, marbled countenance, now that she knows exactly who he is. His eyes are lovely, changing color with his mood (or so she surmises), and the breathtaking stars that swirl within their depths are mesmerizing.

One moment, he doesn't meet her gaze, and she wonders if she's said something wrong, but the next, Morpheus straightens, literally and figuratively to her eye, and she catches yet another glimpse of an endless universe, spiraling behind the deep blue of those fathomless eyes. (One day, she will ask. How many stars has he seen? Just how old is he? Was there always a Fade, a Dreaming? What other worlds are there than this? Her list of questions is endless. ...just like him.)

Morpheus speaks her name and Leanna feels her entire body lurch, as if a flight of dragons had taken wing beneath her skin. It catches her breath, so swift is the feeling. But she listens intently, deep green eyes fixed on his, then his next words hit her. Trapped. Again, her brow furrows. ]


...you do? [ How? When? Why? Where? So many questions; her curiosity knew no bounds at all. But she senses the anger that follows, although not at all surprised. Then it fades, leaving her even more curious than before. Though she nods to the query, over and over. And entirely without conscious thought, unbidden, driven by her desperate loneliness and overshadowing fear, she lifts her right hand and takes a small step towards him, a tiny flare of hope kindling within her breast and upon her young face. ]

--oh, Morpheus, yes. Maker's breath, yes. Please.
riftings: (Default)

[personal profile] riftings 2024-03-17 05:21 pm (UTC)(link)
[ She has an inkling - a decent intuition, actually - that Dream of the Endless doesn't get involved with mortals and their petty, insignificant struggles; why would he? The Waking World isn't his to govern, after all; he no doubt has his hands full with the Fade, the Dreaming. But the war she's fighting now has threatened that realm, in one way or another, so perhaps it's not too farfetched, this offer of assistance.

(Although what form it might take she has no idea, nor does she really care. She trusts him enough to know it will be useful, whatever it is. Surely nothing tangible, like troops or supplies, but there is magic involved here, deeply so. And as a mage herself, Leanna Trevelyan knows that magic doesn't have to be witnessed to be a powerful force. Magic simply is.)

Though it thrills her all the way down to her toes when Morpheus takes her hand, long delicate fingers closing around hers, and she can't help the small smile that curves her lips in response. It's...nice, this simple touch, and so profound, at least in the back of her mind.

Then he speaks again, and she lifts her eyes to his, listening intently. And she nods at his first words. Prepared. Yes, she'd learned that the hard way, hadn't she. And even as difficult as it had been, there was still so much more pain and suffering to come. She's losing her innocence one life at a time, it seemed. Yet as much as she sorrows, she has to soldier on.

Because only she can close the Rifts. Only she can stop Corypheus.

Quite a tall order, for a small Circle mage. ]


...I understand. [ And she does, as much as she's able. ] To be honest...[ It's her turn to give a small sigh, gripping his fingers a little tighter ]...I'm not really sure what to believe anymore.

[ Except: Corypheus=bad, Inquisition=good. ]

--except, I'm so tired, Morpheus. I just...I just want to sleep. And when I wake up, all of this will just be a really bad nightmare.

[ She can't stop a short chuckle, because irony. ]
riftings: (pic#16543326)

[personal profile] riftings 2024-03-17 08:07 pm (UTC)(link)
[ She's been raised Andrastian, as most Marcher children are; the Trevelyans are a very devout family with scions in the Chantry, the Templar Order, and not a few in the various royal courts around Thedas. But the last few months have shaken that not-quite-so-solid faith; everything she's been raised to believe as truth has been put to question.

And never having time to simply sit and process any of it doesn't help much. If anything, it only makes her wearier, trudging along a path she cannot understand simply because everything is shrouded in a fog of punctured truths, half-lies, and old myths forgotten to time and dust.

Leanna doesn't know what to believe in anymore.

Other than her companions, and those fighting under the Inquisition's banner. Those, at the least, she can put her faith in. They've earned it. And, she realizes, watching her guest withdraw and then speak to his raven - the bird once more answering back, how fascinating - she somehow knows she can believe in him, in Morpheus, the King of Dreams.

Not because she has no choice otherwise, but...because she wants to.

She watches him pull a small nondescript pouch from his long coat, curiosity piqued when it pours sand into his palm, and blinks when he pauses, asking her if she'll go. Looking up, she meets his gaze and replies without hesitation: ]


--yes... [ then frowns. ] Wait, will I be missed?

[ If she disappeared for too long, the entire castle would begin tearing itself apart to find her. ]

I don't want anyone to worry if I'm absent for too long.

[ Her companions have concerns enough. ]