The Mystic's Dream A Vampire Chronicles/Highlander/Sandman Spec by T.Isilwath (1997) Louis was dreaming. Vampires can dream. Sometimes their dreams are more real and terrible than any mortal dream could ever be, and vampires always remember their dreams. It has to do with the remarkable vampire memory. There were nights when Louis wished he could forget his dreams. They were vivid and beautiful and horrible, and he both hated and loved them. But this day, he was dreaming. He was in a strange castle, walking the twisted halls, and marveling at all the strange manner of creatures that he passed. There was a skinny man with a pumpkin for a head. It was smoking a cigarette, and pushing a wheelbarrow full of broken bricks and pieces of metal down one of the corridors. Then he passed a white rabbit that stood on two legs and wore a blue frock coat. An elf woman clothed in a little, pink dress went whistling by, carrying a basket of scrolls. And around one corner he found the largest library he had ever seen, but full of books he'd never heard of. One, "The Collected Works of Obscure Nordic Love Poetry" caught his eye as something he might one day wish to read. He was examining more of the odd titles when he heard the clearing of a throat behind him. "Excuse me. May I help you?" Louis turned around and looked up, and up and up. He was clearly the tallest man he had ever encountered; a good foot taller than Lestat at least. He was skinny, dressed as a proper English gentleman, complete with thin wire-rimmed spectacles, and his pointed ears peeked out from his unruly brown hair. As he blinked at this stranger, the stranger made a small sound of surprise. "Oh my... You're one of them..." "Me?" Louis answered, confused. "Oh dear. You aren't supposed to be here." "I'm sorry. What do you mean?" "Your kind aren't supposed to get this far into the Dreaming. There are Gates, protections..." "Forgive me. I have no idea what you are talking about. It's daylight, I am in my Death Sleep. I must be dreaming," Louis explained. "And so you are. And that is where you are. But you're not supposed to be able to get in *here.* My Lord created barriers to keep you out." Louis shrugged. "I met no barriers. I simply walked in." The stranger made a face. "That is what I was afraid of. One of the protections must be down. My Lord was away for a long time, you see, and much of his realm crumbled in his absence. I shouldn't be surprised that the barriers have been damaged." "Lucien?" came a soft, whispering voice. "Is there a problem?" Louis' attention was drawn to a another tall man. He wasn't as tall as the first man, only about three inches taller than Lestat, but he was no less remarkable. His hair was black, and most unkempt, and his skin was vampire white. He was dressed in a very long, flowing black robe that draped on the floor in ebony pools at his feet, and his eyes... he had no eyes. They were black fields of stars. Louis drew breath. When he was mortal, Lestat had been the singular most extraordinary person he had ever met, and then after he was made, Armand took that place for a short time. This man outshined them both. Louis knew he was staring, but he couldn't stop himself. He was transfixed, overwhelmed, by the sheer _presence_ of this being, for there was no doubt in his mind that this creature was in no way human. Lestat would have broken into laughing fits to see him so dumbfounded; either that, or a jealous rage. In that moment he was very glad Lestat was not there. "Uh... My lord..." "Nevermind, Lucien, I see the problem." The man approached him, and he tried to remember to breathe, but he couldn't. All coherent thought was stripped away as this creature came close, close enough to nearly touch, but he was afraid to. "Are you a god?" he choked. "No. I am the lord of this realm, and I fear that you are trespassing." He blinked, feeling his skin flush. "I'm sorry. It was not my intention to intrude." The lord gave him an almost tender smile. "I know. But still, I shall have to find the hole in my barriers and fix it. It is unwise for one of your kind to be given free access to my realm unfettered." "My kind?" "Vampire. Vampires remember everything in their dreams. Even the things they aren't supposed to. That is why I take precautions to make certain they don't learn any secrets they are better off not knowing," the lord explained gently. "I have seen nothing so terribly out of the ordinary. Save a rabbit in a coat, and elf girl, and..." The pumpkinhead shuffled by pushing his emptied wheelbarrow. "And that," Louis finished. Before the lord could reply, a voice yelled from somewhere above them, deep and scratchy and somewhat breathless. "Boss! There you are, Boss." The calling voice belonged to a talking raven, who flew straight and true right for the dark-robed man, and landed on his outstretched arm. "You gotta come quick... Oh... I didn't know you had company," the raven said, seeing Louis. "It is of no concern. What is it, Matthew?" "Cain's done it again, Boss! He let the Something Nasty out of Abel's basement and now it's eating the countryside." The man let out a weary sigh. "I see. Well, I shall take care of it momentarily. Go and tell Abel that I am on my way." "Right, Boss." With that the talking raven flew off, and the man returned his attention to Louis. "A pressing matter needs my immediate attention. You will stay in this room. You will not move from here. You will not touch anything. Do you understand me?" Louis nodded. "I will return shortly." The man vanished leaving Louis alone in the library with the one called Lucien, who was diligently putting books onto the numerous shelves. He watched for a moment, wondering if the dark lord of this realm had meant that he should stay absolutely still, and thinking it perhaps unwise to test the theory. "Ah, I was wondering why I was here, and now I know," came a familiar voice. Louis turned his head to see Methos leaning comfortably against one of the bookcases. His friend was dressed in his usual loose sweater and worn jeans. "Methos." "The one and only. What trouble have you gotten yourself into?" "I'm... I'm not sure. I think I've stumbled into someplace I wasn't supposed to." Methos laughed, his hazel eyes dancing with mirth. "I'll say. Dream will have a hissy fit when he finds you. Have you met him yet?" "Who?" "Lord Morpheus. Tall guy, never combs his hair, wears black..." "Oh, him. Yes, we've met. He told me to stay here while he went to take care of something nasty. Is that his name? Lord Morpheus?" The Immortal shrugged. "He goes by whatever suits him at the time. Dream, Morpheus, Lord Shaper." The last title was spoken with mock pomp as Methos sauntered over to him. "Methos, where are we and who is Morpheus?" "Better to ask what he is more than anything. He is the Dream King, and we are in his realm: The Dreaming. The place where all dreams and nightmares are made and kept." "What? How'd we get here?" "We enter every time we dream, Louis. We just don't remember." "Remember. That is what he said. He said vampires always remember their dreams, and that was why he wanted to keep us out. So we wouldn't learn his secrets," Louis mused. "Well, that's a problem. Learn anything good?" "Ah... I don't think so." "Too bad. It'd be nice to have something to put me one up on the guy." "Methos, why are you here?" Methos shrugged again. "I don't know. Maybe I'm not. Maybe you've just dreamed that I'm here. Or maybe you wished me here and when I fell asleep, you brought me. This place works that way, you know." Louis looked down, digesting the implications of what he had just been told. "Oh." "You. What are you doing here?" Morpheus' quiet voice interrupted as he rematerialized before them. Methos smiled at the man in black, the warm light of recognition in his hazel eyes. "You know him?" Louis asked. "Oh yes. I know him. We're old... acquaintances." Dream snorted. "If that is what you wish to call it." The Immortal smiled a secret smile. "I only know you because my sister called my attention to you when she had that business with you some three millennia ago; when you were impersonating her." Louis was shocked to see Methos flush furiously. "Ahh, yeah. Something like that." "Sister?" Louis asked, an eye-brow raised. "Yeah, Death," Methos answered, giving him one of his classic sheepish looks. He could do sheepish so well. "Death?" Louis repeated, then his eyes opened wide. "The Horsemen..." "Yeah. I was doing great until the real Death showed up to knock me on my ear. She said while imitation was the sincerest form of flattery, she was tired of being flattered." "So that's why you left the Horsemen!" "Well... not exactly. Kronos kind of... um.. told her off, and she sort of had us captured by the Persians and crucified. After that, I decided to take her advice, and find a new line of work," Methos admitted. "What are you doing here? Have you something to do with this intruder?" the Dream King demanded. "Oh no no no. I don't have any special powers. I just live forever and cut people's heads off. You know that." "Ah, yes. I remember now. But that still doesn't answer my question. What are you doing here?" Methos looked at Louis. "I dunno. Lover?" "I... I guess I *could* have called you here..." Morpheus' star-eyes narrowed. "And who else might you call here?" Louis reluctantly met the dark orbs. "I..." "Louis!" Lestat came bounding in, all blond enthusiasm and light. "Louis, mon cher, I've had the most extraordinary adventure! I've met a white rabbit, and a talking raven, and I wandered into a delightful version of Faust where the devil tap dances on the tabletops, and did you know Icabod Crane is here too? He's got a big pumpkin for a head!" "Him," Louis mumbled to the shocked lord as his lover bounced over to them. Methos broke into fits of laughter. "Oh, this is perfect!! Too perfect. Louis, you are brilliant! The Dream King and The Vampire Lestat in the same castle!!" "Stop that," Morpheus snapped, but Methos continued to laugh. "Is this a private party or can anyone join in?" Lestat asked, putting an arm around Louis' shoulders. "It's private property and you are all trespassing," the lord replied. "I am the Vampire Lestat and I go where I please." "Lestat, I don't think..." Louis began. Methos collapsed to the floor in a giggling heap, tears streaming down his face. "That is ENOUGH!" Morpheus yelled, glaring down at the Immortal. "My he's got a temper, hasn't he? Did he forget to take his prozac this morning?" "You dare to insult me in my own realm? I ought to..." "Ought to what?" Lestat countered. "Lestat, please!" Louis begged, then turned to Morpheus. "Please forgive him, he's..." "I'm what? A brat? Your worst nightmare?" "Oh no. I assure you, there are nightmares much, much worse than you, little vampire. I have created them myself," Dream said coldly. Lestat raised an eyebrow. "Really? I'd love to see that." "No, you wouldn't." "Why not? I'm always up for a challenge." The Dream King blinked at the blond vampire, momentarily shocked. As a rule, he tended to avoid vampires. Their memories were far too accurate for his comfort, and their unpredictability unnerved him. Dream disliked change, he disliked the unknown, and vampires were a strange mix of both. They were outside of the mortal world, yet they dreamed and desired and despaired and died like mortals. One even belonged to Delirium once, an ancient one, an Egyptian Queen who wanted to proclaim herself a goddess. She would have succeeded if she had just tried a little harder; Gods are, after all, born from dreams. He could have bestowed godhood on her if enough mortals had dreamed it so. But as it was, she did not know that, and poor Delirium had not been quite sure what to do with her. He stared into Lestat's swirling blue-gray eyes, eyes that flashed defiance and amusement, and for a moment he thought the vampire belonged to Desire, but he discarded the idea almost immediately. If anything, Desire belonged to this one, as much as that thought would displease his sister-brother, and he would turn Desire inside-out with his wild, ever- changing whims. Perhaps he had finally met someone who was Desire's equal. That was almost enough to make him forgive the vampire his insolence... almost. He didn't belong to Despair, and though Lestat would like to believe he belonged to Death, he didn't. Only the dead belonged to Death, and the vampire was far from dead. Looking further into the tumultuous soul, he saw the truth. Lestat was a hopeless romantic, and all hopeless romantics were, by their very natures, dreamers. He belonged to the Dreaming. *He is mine,* Morpheus thought to himself in silent shock. The realization came like a blow to him, and he had to mask his knee-jerk reaction, but it brought forth the deep sense of responsibility that he felt for all those who belonged to his realm. The thought seemed ludicrous and nearly beyond belief, but there it was. The irony in the situation struck him as impossibly funny, and he began to laugh. His shoulders heaved as he tried to stifle the chuckles that rose in his throat, and one hand gripped the robe at his chest. "Does this mean you find my challenge amusing?" Lestat said peevishly, which only made Morpheus laugh more. "Now this is something I haven't seen in more than two thousand years," Methos commented, sobering. "You laughing." "I can laugh you know. When it suits me," Dream replied, reaching a hand down to pull the Immortal to his feet. Methos accepted the hand and stood, coming close to the tall man and looking into the dark eyes. What he saw reflected there gave him pause. "You've changed." "If you say so," the lord answered. "Hrumph," Lestat snorted. Dream turned to him and reached out to touch the vampire's face. "You amuse me. You made me laugh." "Careful, I might bite you," Lestat warned. "I doubt you would find my blood palatable." Lestat bared his fangs. "Why don't we find out?" Morpheus took a small step back, a wicked glint in his eyes, and arched his throat. Lestat moved forward, but Louis put out his hand to restrain him. "Lestat, don't! Please." "Why not?" "Because I have asked you not to. We've already trespassed in his castle. Let's not make things worse." "Speaking of trespassing..." Methos began. "What happened to the protections you had to keep these little events from occurring?" Morpheus looked away. "I... I was imprisoned for some time. In my absence, my realm crumbled. There are still areas which need mending that I have not had time to address." "Who imprisoned you?" Methos asked. "Someone who is now suffering for it," Dream answered. Methos winced at the coldness of the reply. "I... I didn't know." "You could not have known." "I'm still sorry that I was unable to come to your aid." Morpheus gave him a grim smile. "Now that would have been something to see." "What? Me coming to your aid or me being sorry?" A small chuckle was his answer. "Both." "Well, you know I'm full of surprises." "That I do. Especially this one. Acquaintances with vampires, Methos?" "More than just acquaintances, Dream," Methos corrected, moving to stand by Lestat and Louis. The Dream Lord needed no further explanation. "I see." "Morpheus, Dark Lord of Dreams and Nightmares, meet Louis de Pointe du Lac and his consort, nemesis and maker, Lestat de Lioncourt," the Immortal announced with some air of formality. "I would say I'm pleased to meet you, but I am not in the habit of lying," Morpheus said. "Still, you are guests in my castle, and I will see to it that you are not harmed while you are here." *Guests?* Louis sent to Methos. The Immortal gave him a small smile. *I basically told him we were lovers and that you were with me. Since he knows me, etiquette would dictate that he accept you on my voucher. Not the smartest thing to do overall, but he knows I fear him enough not to stab him in the back. So he will rather reluctantly accept you as his guests, although I strongly suggest that we not outstay our welcome.* *Certainly not.* Lestat, having heard only half of the conversation, but believing he had heard enough, grinned madly. "Oh, wonderful. Now that we're all friends..." "I wouldn't say that," Methos cautioned. Lestat gave him a baleful glare. "Now that we're all friends," he repeated emphatically. "Would someone be so kind as to tell me where the hell we are and how we all got here?" "You're not in Hell. I can, however, take you there, although I strongly recommend against it," Morpheus deadpanned. "Now that's a thought..." "Absolutely not!" Louis reprimanded sternly. "Louis, you wound me. Did you think I was serious?" "Yes." "Please allow me to escort you safely to the Gates," Dream offered. *He's throwing us out, but doing it politely,* Methos informed. *And should we go quietly?* Lestat teased. *Yes, we should,* the Immortal replied, and nodded to Dream. "Of course. Thank you for your concern." Morpheus swept an arm, bidding them to walk ahead of him, and they proceeded down the corridor. Dream took up the rear, his hands folded into his long robe, until Methos dropped back to walk beside him. "I was wondering what had happened to you. I hadn't seen you for quite a while," Methos remarked. "We did not see each other all that often for you to notice my absence." "No. It wasn't unusual for me to go centuries without seeing you. Still, I'd been thinking of you and not finding you. I should have suspected something..." "You have always been taken with your own Game." Methos gave him an angry look. "I resent that remark." "Why? It is the truth. You should not be concerned with my affairs." "That's not what your sister thinks." At the mention of Death, Dream's eyes flashed. "My sister has always been very overprotective of me." "Only because you have a nasty tendency to brood. But I think I may have actually found someone who broods more than you do, if that is possible." "If you say so." "Actually, I do say so. You know what Death told me after she found out that you were intrigued by me?" Dream gave him a humoring look, then directed them down another hall. "What did she say?" "She came to me and told me to look after you. Not let you fall into yourself too much. That you needed to be dragged out of your head sometimes or you'd forget what feeling was like. She wanted me to do that for you, as repayment for not punishing me for the Horsemen." "So that was the deal you made with her? To be my baby sitter?" Morpheus replied defensively. "That's not how it is and you know it. You need to be given a swift kick in the bum every now and then, and you know I'm telling the truth. She just didn't want to be the only one doing the kicking, and she knew I'd have the balls to do it." Dream sighed. "Perhaps you are right." Methos gasped. "Excuse me? Did I just hear what I thought I did?" "Hear what?" "Were you agreeing with me that you need a kick in the bum on occasion?" Dream shrugged. "I can be very self-absorbed at times." Methos shook his head. "Are you all right?" "I'm fine." The Immortal gave him a side-long glance, not believing him, but not wanting to press the issue with Lestat and Louis there. "How long were you..." "Seventy-two years." Methos nearly choked. "Seventy-two years?!" "Seventy-two years of what?" Lestat broke-in, tired of being left out of the conversation. "The duration of my imprisonment." "Oh. I went underground for fifty years, but that was my own doing and my own choice. I couldn't imagine being locked-up for over seventy years." "Neither could I," the Dream King answered dryly. "How did you get out?" Lestat pressed, ignoring Methos' warning stare. "They made a mistake." "Yes, well, mortals usually do, eventually." "And like you don't," Methos retorted back with mock teasing. "I didn't say that," Lestat defended. "I just learn from my mistakes, whereas humanity keeps making the same ones over and over again." Louis feigned a choke, and stifled a laugh. "What? You don't agree?" "Of course he does, Lestat," Methos chuckled. "You never make the same mistake twice. You just keep coming up with even more new and inventive ones." Dream, listening to the lighthearted exchange, merely smiled. "What do you think, Lord of Dreams and Nightmares?" Lestat questioned. "I think such philosophical discussions are best left to my elder sister." "Elder sister?" Lestat repeated. "Yes, Death," Methos replied. "Death?? Your elder sister is Death?" Lestat enthused. "Yes." "Oh, I would love to meet her." "No, you wouldn't. Not unless it was on very good terms. Believe me, I know," Methos warned. "Do you now? I'd like to hear that story." "Someday. But not now." "But seriously, I think we'd have a lot in common. Me being Gentleman Death and all..." "You do not belong to my sister's realm, you belong to mine." "Pardon?" Lestat said. Morpheus looked at the vampire, his dark eyes glittering in the dimly lit halls of the castle. "You belong to me." "I belong to no one," Lestat answered, his hackles rising. "I think what Dream is trying to say, Lestat, is that you are a dreamer, therefore you are most closely aligned with his realm, rather than with Death's," Methos hastened to explain. "Dreamer, eh? I kill every night. Sometimes two and three times a night. How can you say I am not aligned to Death?" "The only people who belong to Death are the dead," Dream replied. "I am dead." "No. You are not. Your mortality died, but you are far from dead," Morpheus insisted. "He does have a point," Methos commented reasonably. "I have always thought of myself as dead," Louis said softly, looking at his hands. "And I've been trying to convince you otherwise for years. If you won't believe me, will you believe him?" Methos asked. Louis looked at Dream, then glanced away, as if he could not bring himself to stare too long into the star-eyes.. "I... I don't know." Methos sighed heavily. "Stubborn. Set in your ways." He pointed an accusing finger at Dream. "A lot like someone else I know." Morpheus did not comment. They had reached the main doors, and he stepped up to open them. Louis was still staring at his hands and looking depressed. Then the front hall flooded with sunlight. Louis cried out in horror and shielded his face, fully expecting to be burned to a cinder, but nothing happened. Carefully he lowered his arms and peered out the door. Lestat was looking similarly shocked, but a sight more composed. "Forgive me," Morpheus apologized. "I did not realize..." "I haven't seen the sun in two hundred years," the black-haired vampire whispered in awe, tears streaming down his white face. "It can't hurt you here in the Dreaming," Methos assured. "It can't?" "No," Dream confirmed. Louis turned to the open doorway and gingerly stepped out, letting the sunlight fall on his outstretched hands first, before moving completely onto the stone plateau. Lestat was beside him and he raised his eyes, marveling at how the light reflected on his golden hair. Nervously, he reached up to touch a curling lock, his eyes wide with wonder. "My lord?" came a deep voice from above them, and Louis looked to see the castle guards: a griffin, a dragon and a winged horse, all standing watch on ledges beside and above the door. "It is all right," Dream informed his gate- keepers as he and Methos followed the vampires out of the castle. Louis and Lestat took a moment to stare at the guards, then they both turned towards the vast expanse of green and flowered gardens before them. "I haven't seen a sight like this since before you made me." "I've never seen a sight like this." "No?" Louis questioned in surprise. "No." Lestat took his lover's hand and together they crossed the plateau and descended down the stone stairs to the grass. Louis walked a few paces then sat down in a patch of wildflowers. Lestat sat down next to him and put an arm around his thin shoulders, their heads resting against each other. "I don't think you could have given them anything more precious," Methos commented as he and Dream watched from the plateau. "I was not attempting to give them anything at all." "Well, whether you planned it or not, you did. They'll love you forever for it." "That is of no consequence to me." "Isn't it? I think I know you better than that. You'd rather make dreamers happy than sad." "Sometimes." They watched Lestat catch a passing butterfly and present it to Louis as a gift. Methos smiled at their simple joy. "You're right. He is a dreamer. He definitely belongs to you," he said to Morpheus. "All hopeless romantics do." "And Louis. I think Louis is no one's at the moment. However, he knows Despair very well." "Desire's twin?" "Oh yes. He has a morbid streak, that one. More than mine. He and Despair are well matched." "I disagree." "Oh, right now they aren't, I will admit, but he has the potential. I am sure he has belonged to her in the past, just as I have." Morpheus looked at him curiously. "And who do you belong to now?" Methos shrugged and gave Dream a little enigmatic smile. He would have answered, but Louis interrupted them. "I thank you for this," the vampire said, taking Dream's white hand and kissing the back of it. "I never dreamed..." "But you have," Dream answered, smiling. "Never like this. Never so real." "Well, now that you know it is here, you will never forget. And the sun will never be so far away as your dreams." "I will remember." "I would expect you to. Your kind never forgets." "Humph. Are we immortal elephants then?" Lestat broke-in, coming to join them and make his jealousy at Louis' actions known. "More like immortal jackals," Methos teased. "Or immortal lions," Louis added, attempting to head-off Lestat's coming pouting fit. "Hmm, I think I resemble that remark," Lestat mused, shaking his mane of golden hair. Louis stroked the white cheek lovingly. "That you do." Lestat gave his fledgling and lover a tender smile, and took his hand. "The gates home are right in front of you," Dream informed, pointing to an archway that immediately appeared. "It is almost night in your part of the waking world. You should go." Louis looked at the sun, his head cocked. "There are very few days where I would wish to remain asleep, but this is one of them." He smiled at Dream, then turned to his lover. "Shall we?" "Oui." Methos watched them go until they disappeared through the gates, his hands clasped casually behind his back. "You too," Morpheus said from behind him. He looked up into the dark eyes. "But it's far from dawn where I am." "That may be true, but I have work to do and no time for dalliances." "Ah yes. Your responsibilities. You always were conscientious." "Even more so now, with so much to repair." "Well, I'll be seeing you then." It seemed that Dream hesitated for a moment as if trying to make a decision, and for a brief second Methos thought he was going to ask him to stay, but he did not. "You are always welcome in the Dreaming," he whispered softly, almost timidly. "I'll remember that." He moved to walk through the gates, then turned back. "It was good to see you Morpheus. I think you'll be seeing me again very soon. Later." "Good bye, Methos." Dream stayed on the steps of the castle for a few minutes after Methos left, feeling strangely sad. He allowed himself few friends, but he liked to think of Methos as one, when he let himself think about it. Of all his mortal acquaintances, only Methos and Hob had ever looked upon him with true joy, and treated him with honest friendship: no conditions or strings attached. He still remembered the first time he had laid eyes on Methos: the savage killer who had given his sister an inordinate amount of work. That in and of itself had not been enough to draw his attention, nor were his sister's complaints; it had been the walks inside Methos' mind which called to him, the broken soul and wounded spirit callused by centuries of pain. He knew Methos better than anyone, with the sole exception of perhaps Despair, and he knew that he was one of a very select few who had seen the scars left by Methos' mortal life: the ones that had ripped across the pale skin in a complex lattice work of injured flesh all along his back, and he knew he was the only one left who could still see the faint traces of them, and map their ragged path. The physical scars may have been slowly healed by the passing millennia, but the emotional ones still raged, even after all this time. He found himself musing at Death's motivations for asking Methos to look after her younger brother. All this time, he had thought he was the one in the position of baby sitter, not the other way around. It seemed an ironic game, but perhaps it served a purpose. If each was looking out for the other, then neither could become too caught up in their own concerns, and that kept them from withdrawing into their own minds. Could he count the number of times Methos showed up when he was having a particularly morbid moment? Or when he gave the Immortal a slight push to shake him out of his depression? It was a subtle, symbiotic relationship cleverly set up by Death. Why hadn't he seen that before? And why had she chosen Methos? It wasn't because she planned to punish him for the little impersonation incident. Death rarely punished anyone for anything, but that wouldn't keep her from threatening someone who didn't know any better. Death could be as master a manipulator as Desire when she wanted to be, and she obviously saw something in Methos that made her want to manipulate them both into maintaining a friendship. But what? He didn't know or rather he knew, but did not want to face the truth. He and Methos were far more alike than either of them realized. Pushing aside thoughts that he would rather not entertain, Morpheus extended his consciousness out to find the holes in the Dreaming's defenses, and fixed them. It had been a very small hole in one of the barriers, and was child's play to repair. The entire procedure took less than two minutes, and, satisfied with his work, he retired to his throne room where he sat upon his raised throne in almost meditative silence. In reality, he was thinking about Methos. He found his thoughts were often occupied by the Immortal for many days after they had an encounter. He would play the meeting over and over in his mind, remembering the conversation, the expressions on Methos' face, his clothes... So Methos had found someone who brooded more than he did. He wondered who that could be and why Methos was in his or her company. Methos tended to gravitate towards brightly burning souls, not those full of darkness and gloom. Who had come into the five thousand year-old man's life that had more darkness than light? He would have to meet this person eventually. It was no good for Methos to be getting himself involved with dark souls. But maybe his association with the vampires was an attempt to counteract the darkness. Neither vampire was set in gloom, and Lestat burned more brightly than most. There was something very intimate between those three, something sweet and tender. Something like what Methos had offered him many centuries ago, but he had been afraid to accept: the love of close friends and all the gentle intimacies it could involve. He sighed and closed his eyes, conjuring up the image of the Immortal in his mind. It had been so good to see him. He looked the same, acted the same as he remembered. He was a dose of steady familiarity in a time of upheaval and uncertainty. Neither he nor Hob had changed at all since he had last seen them, and that was a welcome relief. He never realized how much he missed his few friends until they were back with him, and he was looking in their eyes. He hated to admit how much he needed them, needed their comfort and sympathetic ears. He didn't see them often enough. He should meet with Hob twice as much, and Methos... Methos he should see as much as he could. Methos was his oldest, semi-mortal friend: not god or muse or demon, just himself, and Dream appreciated him for it. He was missing the Immortal already, and wondering when they would cross paths again. As if by prophecy or the hand of fate, or just Methos' stubbornness, the object of his thoughts appeared in the throne room, hands deep in the pockets of his blue jeans, hazel eyes warm and friendly. He sat up, both delighted to see him, and angry at having his home once again invaded by an unwelcomed guest. Well, not entirely unwelcome, but he felt the need to put up the show just for old time's sake. "You? What are you still doing here? I sent you out of the Dreaming." Methos shrugged. "I dreamed myself back. No barriers keeping me out, you know. Besides, you gave me free access to most of this place, remember?" "I have not forgotten. What do you want?" he demanded, shifting in his seat. "I came to answer your question." "Question?" The Immortal climbed the stairs to the Dream King's throne and stood a hand's breadth from the lord's knees. He did it because he knew he could, and because he wanted to be close to the Endless. "Who I belong to," he replied, leaning his hands down to rest on the arms of the throne, his nose just inches from the pale face. "That is of no concern of mine," Dream stated, sitting back. "But it must be. You asked me, and you never ask for answers you don't want," Methos breathed, his voice growing soft and fond. "That may be so." Methos smiled tenderly and reached one hand to smooth down the unruly mop of black hair. His touch was gentle as he pushed back the fine strands, curling them between his fingertips and drawing them down behind the ears. Dream tolerated it. "You've given me nightmares, I am sure, but most have been my own creation; my self-imposed penance for the crimes I committed when I belonged to Desire and did its bidding," he whispered, continuing to brush through the hair with his fingers. "You were merely a pawn in Desire's game with Death." "I know that now. But I didn't then." "You were young," Dream said, turning his head ever so slightly so Methos could better reach further back. "And when I belonged to Delirium, the dream and vision of one soul brought me out." "I had nothing to do with that." "No? You gave Socrates his dream, did you not?" "No." Methos smiled indulgently, pausing in his brushing, his hand held slightly above the crown of hair. "No?" he repeated with a slight tease, wiggling his fingers. He knew Dream wanted him to continue, but he wasn't about to keep going without some small victory in the argument. "No. I gave the dream to the oracle, and it was transferred to Socrates when he spoke with her," Morpheus clarified patiently, speaking as one would speak to a slow child. Methos resumed finger-combing, sweeping back the top, tamping it down, rewarding. "So in a way you did give Socrates his dream." "So you say." The Immortal laughed softly to himself. Dream never admitted anything. You had to figure out the truth from his ambiguous answers. It was one of the things he liked most about Dream: he always made him think. "It is my belief to hold." "That it is." Methos felt the Morpheus shift closer, giving silent approval and permission to take the next step. He knew Dream liked to be touched, but that he would never ask for that type of attention. He moved carefully, stepping up and turning his body around so he could sit lightly on the arm of the throne, settling on Morpheus' right side. Then he used both hands to drag through the unkempt locks, digging his fingers along the scalp underneath as he did so. Dream made no sound and did not try to look at him, but he could feel the lord's pleasure, read the subtle body language the Endless was giving him. Methos rubbed with his fingers, working out tangles and massaging the skin. He heard Morpheus let out a long exhale, not a sigh, but as close to one as he was going to get, and knew Dream was content. "And when Despair had me firmly in her realm," he continued after some moments of silence. "Dreams of happier times brought me out." He expected Dream to deny involvement, and was surprised when the lord remained quiet. He had to hold in the small laugh of triumph. "It's happened several times..." he mused, running his hands under the long hair, smoothing it, watching how it shined when it was combed. Dream still made no comment, and Methos ceased speaking as he finished straightening out the black hair, arranging it neatly so it fell in glossy waves over the thin shoulders; Morpheus had always been so very thin. When he was satisfied, he pulled his hands away, then he gently cupped Dream's chin in his palm, and turned the face around. He looked into the star- eyes, eyes that showed everything and nothing depending on how you looked at them, and smiled. "Thank you for every happy dream you have ever given me," he breathed, and bent his head down to tenderly kiss the pale lips. He didn't prolong the kiss, just made it sweet enough and gentle enough to get his point across before Dream tried to pull away. He let Morpheus slip his chin from his hand and collect himself, but he didn't miss the look of mute shock on the lord's face. "I'm yours, and always have been," Methos said, putting a stray, ebony lock back into place. "If you ever have need of me..." "Why would I need you?" Dream blurted suddenly. Methos met the star-eyes again, and gave Morpheus a knowing look. He knew depression and despair when he saw it, but he wasn't sure if he should let Dream know he was being so transparent. No, not so terribly obvious, just transparent to him. "Can an Endless belong to his sibling's realm?" he asked cryptically. Morpheus regarded him warily, then answered slowly, "It has never happened before, save with the death of the first Despair, but we all see Death in our time." "Planning on seeing her anytime soon?" he pressed. Dream blanched, his dark eyes growing wide for a moment then closing off. "No..." Methos smiled and backed off. He'd pushed enough. Dream knew that he was aware of the situation, and that he had offered his help. It was all he could do. The rest was in Morpheus' hands. He kissed the white forehead softly and moved to stand. "Well, the offer stands open if you change your mind." He gave a final, fond brush to the black softness of Dream's robe, and began to walk down the stairs. He was nearly to the door of the throne room when he heard the Dream King's whisper. "Thank you." Methos looked back. Dream was sitting composed on his throne, leaning against the high back, his hair still neat and shiny, one hand resting on the arm, and the other raised to his mouth, the long fingers lightly touching his lips. Methos smiled and gave a little shrug, then turned around and continued walking out. Dream sat silent, still feeling the warm lips upon his own, for a long time after he had gone.