#prince dream and knight hob

[just-french-me-up]

dreamling 16 or 23 for the kiss prompts? 👀

23. "A kiss in relief" | Have some Prince!Dream / Knight!Hob as a treat because this concept tickles my brain divinely!

The battle was won.

Already the camp was filling up, some soldiers shedding their dirtied armours while others were being rushed to the healing tents. The chaos of battle clung to them still, brewing amongst them and would soon, no doubt, burst into the clamour of celebration. Regardless, all heads bowed as the prince exited the command post, guards following close behind.

Morpheus would celebrate with his men, as all good leaders must, in due time. He would be expected to give a speech, rousing words for those gathered under his command, and solemn ones for those who had fallen, but he could not focus on either now. He had to know first. He had to make sure.

A prince does not announce himself upon entry. It was with tight apprehension that he stepped into the Lord Commander's tent, his guards following suit. He braced himself for blood, gushing wounds and grunts of pain, but was met with a much more pleasant (and relieving) sight.

"My prince."

Hob would bow lower, Morpheus knew, but his movements were hindered by his squire, who was busy removing the various parts of his armour. A quick glance was enough to know the blood staining his shirt and skin was not his. Good. Morpheus suppressed a smile.

"Lord Commander."

Like the rest of his men, Hob looked spent, covered with the grime of the battlefield, his hair sticking to his forehead, but victorious nonetheless. He, too, ought to be with his men soon, share the glory together as brothers in arms. But not yet.

"We have much to discuss after today's victory," Morpheus said, before glancing back at his guards. "Leave us."

The soldiers stepped out without a word, although Morpheus knew they wouldn't stray far. Hob gave a quick nod to his squire to dismiss him, and as the boy left, they stood alone. Hob had not drawn another breath that Morpheus pulled him close, tasting the battle on his lips, blood, salt and dirt, and something else, something distinctly, comfortingly Hob's. Hob sighed into his mouth, hot breath tickling his cheek, bringing him closer still. By the time he let go, Morpheus had gone almost dizzy, holding on to a still armoured shoulder.

"Careful, I may get a taste for winning you battles," Hob smiled against his lips, "if this is the thanks I get."

"Are you hurt?"

"Bruised, at most. It will probably look worse than it feels."

Morpheus furrowed his brow, suspicious. Hob was hardly reliable when it came to pain. He would suffer agony and wave it off as nothing more than a scratch. Morpheus would have to wait for the whole armour to come off to see the extent of the damage.

"You know," he said as he started undoing the laces of Hob's vambrace. "Lord Commanders usually stay at the commanding post to oversee the battle."

"Well, I guess your Lord Commanders are usually pretty shit, then."

Morpheus shot him a disapproving look, the piece of metal falling on the floor with a dull "clank".

"I do not want you hurt."

"You should have made me Lord Jester then," Hob chuckled. "Master of the Drapes and Napkins. No chance for bruises there."

He cupped Morpheus' cheek, his thumb tracing the line of his cheekbone. He did like to jest, that one. Unfortunately his true talents lay in the sword, which inevitably placed him at the end of another. Perhaps that would be another reason to seek peace during his reign, Morpheus told himself. A selfish reason, but a motivating one nonetheless.

"I always come back to you, don't I?"

"Only because I order you to."

"And I wouldn't dream of disobeying my prince."

"Good."

Send me a kissing prompt?

[samsalami66]

And I'm back again with an addition to my Knight!Hob Prince!Dream au (I've decided to go with royal au for shortness' sake lmao) which you can find the first part of here.

Once again all the love and thanks to my wonderful @im-not-corrupted , who provided me with motivation and screams as I wrote this little drabble and is the #1 fan of this au.

-----

Dream hated audiences. 

Audiences meant spending an awful amount of time in his parents' presence, and even if nobody paid much attention to the third royal child in a line of seven, it was still painful to spend even a minute longer than necessary in the King's and Queen's presence. Dream could feel his father's disapproving gaze drift towards him every time his eyes would droop a bit too low, whenever his elbow would slip from where he had it propped on the armrest of his throne to hold his head upright, which felt heavier with every word the current Lord or Duke let spill from his lips. 

Lord Burgess, the man currently grazing the family with his abnormally boring presence, looked about ready to explode as the King once again denied his request for an addition to his land, which would allow him to hunt in the forest neighboring his crops. But the forests were strictly royal territory, and Dream could have told Lord Burgess in much fewer sentences than his father that they would never give up on ancestral lands, not in this lifetime or any other. 

But just as Dream's eyes were about to close to allow him another few moments of respite from this whole ordeal, sounds echoed through the halls outside the throne room. Voices got louder in volume and increasingly more frustrated the closer they got. It was a blessing, an escape from these confines of literal hell, and Dream perked up curiously to figure out what the tumult was about. 

Between the shouts and hisses he could make out a hysterical You can't just waltz in there! and a very joyful Watch me, mate! and Dream decided that this was bound to become a much more interesting audience than he had anticipated. And, true to the small exclamation Dream overheard, a man did just waltz into the room, a smile on his face that would cause even the strongest hearts to faint in charm. Dream didn't quite know how he managed not to, when bright brown eyes caught his over the entirety of the room in an instant, familiar mischief hidden somewhere behind the obvious amusement. 

Christ, those eyes had brought ruin upon Dream once already, years ago, when they had both been young and stupid. Though, by the looks of it, Hob Gadling had not cast that particular trait aside, if his entrance was anything to go by. Guards were hot on his heels, panic written all over their faces as they didn't manage to keep this man from interrupting a private audience with the royal family, which would surely end in them being excused from their service. 

But Hob Gadling seemed to care little for their steps behind him or the guards eventual fate, his stride purposeful, a clear destination in his step. Dream realised much too late what that destination was, too distracted by the way Hob's shirt clung to muscles that had not been there when they had last met, hair that was longer and curlier than he remembered and that framed a bearded jaw so beautifully Dream almost swooned. There was no time for that though, not when those eyes finally left his and were cast towards the ground, not ten meters away from Dream. 

Hob Gadling was kneeling, his head tilted in a bow that was entirely unnecessary for the position he was already in, in front of Dream. 

Not in front of the family, or the King himself, but before Dream's throne, an unmistakable message to everyone present, a showcasing of ultimate loyalty.

To his left Dream could hear Lord Burgess hiss in annoyance at the interruption, the words You dare to interrupt my audience, commoner? falling from his lips like venom-infused blood. Dream did not care for boneless threats. 

He merely cared for the smile stretched over rosy lips before him, the cheeks that stretched with unconcealed amusement. Two guards reached Hob Gadling's side, prepared to force the uninvited guest out the room, and it took all of Dream's years of carefully trained composure to not jump from his throne in a sudden surge of panic. 

"Leave him be!" he demanded, voice overshadowing any and all conversation as he slowly rose from his throne. Hob's grin turned victorious at the exclamation, his posture more relaxed where he knelt on the black carpet to Dream's feet. "I want to know what he has to say." 

There were eyes on him, Dream knew, those of his parents, those of Lord Burgess, those of his guards. He knew his eldest sister was hiding a smile somewhere to his left, fully aware of his and Hob Gadling's relationship, and the only person in this world aware of Dream's feelings towards this infuriating, obviously insane man. 

All the attention Dream had held with his command shifted towards Hob Gadling when he opened his mouth to speak, determination colouring his voice with self-confidence that vibrated through Dream's body like the pleasant rumble of a cat's purr. 

"I come to pledge myself to you, my Lord," Hob started, almost causing Dream to choke on thin air. "In body and in mind, I swear to protect you with my blade and life. Make me your knight, Dream of the Endless, so that I might serve under your name until I take my last breath, until my body betrays my desire to keep you from harm." 

There was no sound filtering through the pounding of Dream's heart in his throat. This – This, Hob's declaration, his offering of complete and utter submission – it was insane, completely crazy, simply not done, not in royal families, not in any politics around the world. One pledged themselves to the King and thereby the country, not to a prince who would never be king, an outcast from his own folk, from his own family. 

This wasn't done, had never been done before, and yet Dream found he didn't care. He didn't care for one single moment about propriety, not when all he had ever wanted kneeled before his feet and offered him Heaven. 

"I do not know who you believe yourself to be, but I will not allow-" The King started off, but Dream cut his reply short, his voice purposefully overpowering that of his father. 

"I accept your request." 

The answer wasn't grand or eloquent, entirely false in its deliverance, unofficial without the ritualistic knighting. But Dream was in a trance, his hand not his own as he stepped down the stairs to stand before Hob, one hand reaching to the hilt of the sword that was hidden beneath his robes. 

When Dream pulled the sword from its sheath and held it to Hob's head, all those eyes reflected back at him was trust, even when faced with total submission, with surrendering himself entirely to Dream, his office and his personal whims. All of this, when Dream had left him behind at the mere notion of friendship, knowing he could not be friends with a commoner. He could be friends with his personal guardian, with a Knight who stood entirely under his protection, and the fact that Hob had been willing to go to such lengths to find a way to be in Dream's presence… 

Well, if Dream felt tears build in his eyes as he allowed his sword to rest on Hob's shoulders, once on each, then that was between him and his Knight. And when his voice trembled slightly as he spoke next, then that was just between them too. 

"Rise, Sir Robert Gadling." 

Dream huffed a silent laugh into the hug he was pulled in next, the excitement bubbling in his chest enough to chase away every ill thought of his parents' opinion as he burrowed his face in Hob's neck. 

The sense of safety he felt in the arms of his oldest friend was almost too much to bear. 

[kydrogendragon]

His attempts to win over his beloved knights affections have gotten to the point that even his sibling, Desire, has begun to take pity upon him. He's seen the eyerolls and grimaced tosses his way after each failed attempt to make his love known. It does not dissuade him, of course. Nothing could from this path he is forging. Sir Hob will be his in due time. He knows this with the same certainty that the sky knows the sun. He just needs to be patient.

Desire, however, has gotten rather tired to watching the long game Dream is playing. At least, that is the only reason he can think as to why his sibling would assist him in such fashions. Or perhaps there was some attempt at sabotage that failed (quite spectacularly, if so).

Dream was tasked with negotiating new treaties with the neighboring lords, and given his leave of Endless territory, a small troop of guards was assigned to him. Now Sir Hob would not have normally been apart of this troop—as much as Dream would wish—but it seems that Sir Matthew, his usual personal guard, had fallen ill the night before and requested Sir Hob take his place.

Of course, Dream was concerned for Sir Matthew, but he would be lying if he was not eager for his beloved knight to step in. And as his personal guard, Dream would get to enjoy seeing the man in more close quarters than would normally be allowed.

Their travels had gone smoothly, for the most part, save a single robbery attempt that was quickly snuffed out by the trio of guard. Dream knew his own dreams that night would feature the strong arm of Sir Hob reaching out to stop one of the attackers, his sword coming down with refined strength to those who sought them harm. Had they been alone, Dream was uncertain he would have the strength within him to not kiss the knight silly, perhaps even sink to his knees to properly thank him for his service.

They arrived in a small town, a day away from the Endless family borders. They would reach the local Lord's home by supper tomorrow, but in the meantime, they would stay themselves at the inn nearby. Lady Jessamy and Sir Corin, the other two knights, took to settling in their horses as Sir Hob acquired rooms for them all.

The inn itself is rather small, and thus, the three rooms they had, they claimed. Lady Jessamy and Sir Corin each have a room for themselves, and Sir Hob was instructed to stay with Dream. It was a wise choice regardless of the inn's capacity as all sorts of harm could befall a prince as he sleeps, especially this close to foreign lands. And if Dream was not mistaken, Sir Hob almost looked happy about the arrangement.

Night settled over the land, her dark skies and silver stars painted the sky. The pale beams of moonlight trailed through the single window in the room, coating the rough woolen blankets of the single bed.

Dream stripped himself of his riding attire, allowing himself to luxuriate in the lightweight black cotton sleepclothes he had been packed. Sir Hob, as dutiful a knight as ever, remained posed beside the door with what Dream suspects is a flush upon his cheeks.

"Do you plan to stand there the entire night?" Dream asks, voice low as he pads across the wooden floor to stand in front of Sir Hob.

"Yes, my prince," he replies with a smile. "I can rest once we arrive at Lord Constantine's manor. I've stayed awake longer, you need not be worried. I'll protect you."

"I do not doubt your skill in protecting me, my good knight. I never have." Dream lifts his hand and rests it on Sir Hob's leather clad chest. "However, I would not have you weary upon our ride in the morn. Sleep this night. I am certain you can fulfill your duties well enough from a bed, given your sword is in reach, yes?"

"I—" Sir Hob swallows, his eyes darting down to Dream's hand. His brows pull together. "Yes, of course, my lord. But forgive me for saying that I do not quite understand. There's only the one bed and I would not claim it from you."

"Then it is a good thing that the bed has plenty of room for two, should you not mind sharing." Dream let's his hand trail down, resting briefly atop the knight's stomach before falling back to his side. He looks up at Sir Hob through his lashes, bats them once, then gestures towards the bed.

In all honesty, the bed is rather small. I will technically fit two people, but with very little room between. And with Sir Hob's naturally larger build, it was almost a guarantee they would need to touch quite a lot in order to comfortably fit.

It was perfect.

All Dream's other attempts have failed. Perhaps this, in its blatantcy, will force the knight to confront the idea that his prince wants him.

"Come. Ready yourself for the night. I will await you in bed," Dream says, his voice low in the quiet room. He turns and climbs into the bed. His sleepclothes rides up as he settles in and he does not bother adjusting where the bottom hem has slid up to his mid-thigh. Resting his head upon one of thr provided pillows, Dream closes his eyes.

He listens as the silence breaks. There's a shuffle of clothes, of leather and metal, as they fall onto the floor. There's some further shuffling before Dream hears the sound of heavy metal clank as it rests somewhere to the left of him. Then, another body slides into bed with him.

Dream turns his head and opens his eyes to the sight of his beautiful knight, long brown hair spayed across the pillow, as he stares up at the ceiling. His muscles are tense and his limbs are all folded into himself as if to appear smaller.

"Sir Hob?"

"Yes, m'lord?"

Dream reaches out and pulls the knight's arm away from Sir Hob's body and hugs it close to his own chest. He hears Sir Hob's breath hitch.

"I give you permission to touch me."

Sir Hob's earthen eyes are upon him in an instant. They are wide and much darker than he's ever seen them before. The hand in Dream's hold twitches before the knight turns on his side. He reaches out with his free hand, hovering just above Dream's cheek.

"Please," he whispers.

Hob's lips are on his, his large hand pressing down upon his cheek. It's warm. Hob is warm. And he is finally, finally being kissed. It's hesitant, at least on Hob's end, but as Dream presses closer, any fear his knight seems to have vanishes. His strong hands pull him impossibly closer, gripping at his bedclothes.

It was heaven.

"Have—" Hob pants as they part "—you been flirting with me this entire time?"

"I'm simply glad you finally realized. I did not know what else to do had tonight not worked."

His knight shakes his head, all the while grinning like a fool. Dream wishes he had his paints and charcoal as to capture this moment permanently.

"More the fool, I, then to have wasted as much time to hold you in my arms." He leans down, pressing another kiss to Dream's lips. It is a feeling he does not know he will ever be able to live without again. Not after knowing such touch. "Heir Desire had insisted I step in for Sir Matthew on this journey. They had ensured that I would not regret it. I hardly doubt this is what they meant, but . . . They were certainly not wrong." Hob chuckled.

"Do not speak of my sibling while you are in bed with my, my knight," Dream grumbles as he tucks his face into the crook of Hob's neck. He can feel the muscles underneath shake as the laugh laughs.

"Yes, My Prince." There is a different tone, now, to how Hob says that phrase. It is one he has heard uttered from the man's lips many times over, ranging from formal to friendly. Even teasing, occasionally. This is the first time it has ever sounded so soft. So loved.

"Call me Dream," he whispers into the warmth of Hob's body. "When we are alone and it is just us. Call me Dream."

A hand curls around the back of his head. "How about my Dream?"

Dream smiles. "Even better."

Prince Dream who is completely enamored with Knight Hob and always watches his training. It started out more subtle, watching from somewhere up high with a good view of the training grounds, making excuses to oversee the knights' training. Now he just overtly watches from a porch nearby and he looks disturbingly like a cat watching birds out a window. Dream wants to devour this man whole.

Everybody knows. Everybody knows how Prince Dream feels about the knight, even his siblings have stopped teasing him about it once he stopped being embarrassed. Everybody knows except Hob. Hob who is completely oblivious. Hob who thinks Dream is just his good buddy ol' pal, Hob who accidentally friendzones Dream in practically every conversation they have. Hob has not picked up on the intense staring at all and probably wouldn't have noticed how often Dream had started coming to training if someone else hadn't pointed it out.

The thing is, Dream is a prince and Hob is a knight, so anything happening between them is just so far out of the realm of possibility to Hob that it genuinely doesn't occur to him to interpret anything from Dream as romantic or sexual. And it's not a low self esteem thing or an "unworthy" thing, it's just that in Hob's mind, princes and knights don't fall in love, and Dream is a prince and Hob is a knight, ergo they can't fall in love. Hob has had this thought process entirely subconsciously and has never stopped to reexamine this. So yeah, Dream only sees him as a friend, a comrade. And of course, Hob sees Dream the same way.

...right? (Yes, according to Hob who just tends to go with the flow and rarely unpacks deeper more complex feelings, and no, according to literally everyone else.) Dream will get his hands on this man someday, he just needs to be patient.

The sooner that Dream understands that Hob is just a sweet little himbo who can't even comprehend being able to attract the love of a Prince, the better. Then Dream can get to work on proving that his humble knight is very worthy indeed!

I'm imagining Dream doing all the "courtly love" things to woo his Knight. Flirting with him, composing sonnets for him and leaving them on Hob’s pillow, asking him to dance whenever there's an opportunity at court. Hob initially interprets all this as more declarations of comradeship/just Dream being nice to him... but then Dream gets hold of a lute, and sings a love-song underneath Hob’s window, and Hob is like "wait a second. this doesn't feel very platonic." He jumps right down from the balcony (nearly rolls his ankle in the progress), throws himself at the Prince's feet and begs to know the truth. DOES Dream love him???

Dream pats him gently on the head, smiling fondly at his himbo Knight. He's so proud of Hob for finally working it out, bless him <3

[issylra]

DREAMLING AU↳ loyal knight and true by @tharkuun

The second time Sir Robert Gadling came to court, following an invitation for an exclusive tournament, was the first time he met the crown prince. His name was Dream, and he was known already as He Who Heralds the Stars, and Hob wanted more than he had ever wanted before. Hob knew instantly that he would spend the rest of his life at Prince Dream's side, but first, he had a tournament to win.

[cuubism]

AO3 Wrapped (author's edition)

tagged by @five-and-dimes :)

Fics posted this year!

Webs (Silly Rabbit AU)

The Kiss of Death (Hob/Death 1389)

bliss, for a time (Dreamling light dom/sub)

mind & heart, body & soul (Malec, final chapter)

Morphology (Dreamling eldritch smut)

Rock Paper Scissors (Hob playing the oldest game)

Computation (Math AU)

Blush (Retired Dream)

all this is metaphor (Touch starved Dream)

not made small (Hope/Morpheus reverse AU)

these physical trappings (Trans Hob)

the same page (Ace Dream)

some kind of eulogy (suicidal Dream, epistolary)

sword and shield (Hob gets 'killed' protecting Dream)

finding your voice (Trans Dream)

Unravel (Dreamling Shibari)

Imaginary Numbers (Math AU, Hob centric)

Protective (Dreamling hospital proposal)

Calculations (Math AU, disordered eating)

Stormy Weather (soft Dreamling moment)

Hope for the Future (Patron Saint addendum)

home for the season (Hope/Morpheus, depression fic)

In Search of Nightingales, several chapters (Bookstore Cryptid Dream)

Besieged (Prince Dream/Knight Hob smut)

finger painting (physical therapy fic)

Assumptions (Ace Dream v. 2)

Night Games (royalty kink smut in the Dreaming)

Made in an Instant (Wish pregnancy fic)

the melting press of the sun, a few chapters (2022 meeting divergence)

wherever you go, there you are (modern AU getting back together)

here for a reason (a meeting on Richmond Green)

Predictive Modeling (Math AU, panic attacks)

my kingdom for a kiss upon your shoulder (Dreamling 80s Stockbroker/Musician AU)

business school (Corporate Warprize AU)

Normal (Retired Dream sickfic)

for your punishment (Thief Hob steals Dream's ruby)

Covetous (Sex as a reward fic)

Burnout (Dreamling burnout fic)

Freedom (repressed Dream and fairytale bandit Hob)

save a horse, ride an equestrian (Olympic equestrian AU)

Do It Scared (Dream with anxiety)

Stats of 2024

Works Published: 41

Work Subscriptions: 2,213

Kudos: 16,151

Comment Threads: 2,967

Bookmarks: 3,775

Hits: 153,895

Word Count: 277,822

Top 3 fics of 2024 by kudos:

mind & heart, body & soul

the melting press of the sun

In Search of Nightingales

Top 3 fics of 2024 by word count:

mind & heart, body & soul

In Search of Nightingales

Made in an Instant

Top 3 ships of 2024:

Dreamling, Malec, and, surprise entry, Hob x Death

Top 5 tags of 2024:

Hurt/Comfort, Explicit Sexual Content, AU - Human, Established Relationship, Oral Sex ... wow lmao. Really sums it up

I doubt I'm supposed to tag anyone else now that it's 2025 LOL. ah well

[aralezinspace]

Summer Knight Part 1

When Crown Prince Morpheus is summoned to his father's court for the summer, he expects it to be just as tedious and aggravating as any other season spent in the Dreaming's capitol. What he doesn't expect is an attempted kidnapping, a successful kidnapping, uncovering designs on the Dreaming's throne, and a handsome esquire he really isn't supposed to fall in love with. How can he not, when Hob Gadling sees him for who he is, and not just his station? How can he not, when Hob is willing to burn down the world for him? Or: Prince!Morpheus/Commoner!Hob Gadling medieval/fantasy AU

~~Masterlist~~

After three months (probably more tbh) here it is! My contribution to the Centennial Husbands Big Bang.

This would not have been possible without the support of the entire Sadman server, for which I am endlessly (haha) thankful. @delta-pavonis and @signiorbenedickofpadua, I wouldn’t have been able to finish this without your eyes and encouragement. Thank you for letting me scream about these boys at/with you, for ideas when I got stuck, for helping me tease out the snags. Y’all are fantastic. Thank you, thank you, thank you.

BUT WAIT THERE’S MORE

This beautiful incredible art by @wolf-and-raven-dreaming / @ambarden I’m just blown away. Thank you so much for bringing such a beautiful moment to life, especially one that I didn’t get to give as much detail in this fic. I’m obsessed with it, prob gonna make it my phone background 💖

If this story inspires you to create something of your own, please share with me so I can keysmash and gush over what you make!

Divider by @cafekitsune

Prologue

Once, in a time out of thought and memory, there was a realm called the Dreaming- so named because a place so magical and splendid could only possibly exist in one’s most vivid imaginings. The weather was always as it should or needed to be, the land lush and bountiful, even in the harshest climates. The people of the land were, on the whole, prosperous and contented. The Dreaming was not without its troubles and hardships and tragedies- no land is, no matter how prosperous-  and for some, life was rather hard, but never unbearable.

Like any kingdom in a faerie story, the Dreaming was ruled by a king, a queen, and their children. This story, however, only concerns one, the third son, Prince Morpheus Aeterna. Morpheus and his six siblings each ruled a shire within the Dreaming, with the capital city of Istoria on the eastern coast, the lands of the Dreaming appearing to fan out from the city like rays of the rising sun. 

Morpheus was lord of one of the Dreaming’s most important and vital border shires- after all, that’s what you did with a third child, a second son, with a great aptitude for ruling. One who also happened to be heir to the throne, the next in line to be called Dream King. His shire was called Fiddler’s Green- the land was varied, a little corner of everything: snow capped mountains, lush fields of vibrant grass and wildflowers, bountiful forests, a beach of black sand bordering a navy inland sea. 

Morpheus’ kingdom shared a border with the realm of Fawney Rigg, a land of dense thickets and haunting mists and old, angry trees. It was ruled by King Roderick Burgess, a ruthless and bitter old man who should have had many happy years yet before him. But, his greed and jealousy were near endless; he had already conquered several other realms by war, subterfuge, or a combination of both. In the twilight of his life, he set his sights on the Dreaming, and it is here our story begins.

“My lord?”

Morpheus was jolted from his wandering thoughts by Lucienne, his most trusted advisor.

“My lord, a message has arrived from your father the king.”

A frown etched itself onto the Prince’s face as he pushed his breakfast to the side- what an aggravating way to start his morning. He took the tightly rolled scroll of thick, handmade paper and unrolled it with long, bony fingers. His frown grew more pronounced the further he read.

“My lord?” Lucienne was almost hesitant, her fingers tight around the ledger she carried. “What news from his majesty?” Morpheus sighed and pinched the bridge of his nose, a gesture he had picked up from his father despite his best intentions.

“It is a summons,” he ground out. “He wishes me to attend him at court for the summer.” 

Lucienne frowned with a pang of sympathy. To say that Morpheus and his father King Chronos Aeterna did not get along was well beyond an understatement. Morpheus was the opposite of everything his father had wanted him to be, showing more interest and aptitude in creative and scholarly pursuits than learning the craft of war, as was expected of a crown prince responsible for strategically valuable border territories.

Spending any amount of time at his father’s court was tedious at best. An entire season was sure to be nigh unbearable. 

He gave a resigned sigh. “Begin making travel arrangements. I will draft a response to my father.” He gave the order with all the flat dread of someone about to face the noose. It was going to be a long summer. 

And so it came to pass that Morpheus began the four day journey, following the border of his land and Fawney Rigg until they reached the Gates of Horn and Ivory, massive gates and walls carved of white stone that spanned the entire border of Istoria. If one walked along the wall from end to end, they would see the entire history of the Dreaming laid out before them, carved into the stone. Morpheus could feel his hackles rise as the gates creaked and groaned open, allowing him and his party into the bustling city. He thought he could feel the mythical creatures carved into the gates frowning at him. Folks going about their business immediately stepped out of the road and bowed, looking up through their lashes, hoping to catch sight of the Prince and not just a flutter of emerald livery in the wind. 

The procession slowly made its way to the palace, where the King, Queen, and their retainers were waiting at the top of the great stone stairs. Marble walls and gates that were miniature recreations of those guarding the city, depicting the history of the Aeterna line, were flung wide open, knights standing at attention. Banners bearing the golden Aeterna crest on deep blue fabric flapped in the breeze.

Morpheus’ first thought was that his mother seemed pale. Queen Nocturna had always been fair- Morpheus owed his complexion to her, along with his bright blue eyes- but under the light of the late afternoon sun she looked frail and sickly in her midnight gown, as if the slightest breeze would scatter her into dust. Her hair had long since faded from inky black to the shining silver of the moon, but it lacked the luster Morpheus remembered. Had it really been that long since he had seen his parents? Had something happened?

Beside her, King Chronos stood as regal and stony as ever. There were a few new lines on his face, and a few more gray hairs in his dark beard, but the frown he had reserved for his third child since Morpheus reached his majority was dour and disapproving as ever.

The Prince was announced as he dismounted and approached the foot of the staircase, a herald bellowing his numerous titles for the assembled. When that list was exhausted, he ascended the stairs until he was two steps below where the King and Queen stood, leaving him shorter than his parents– normally he was of a height with his father, and half a head taller than his mother.

Chronos shook his son’s hand with a stiffness only Morpheus could see. “Be welcome, my son.” The King ground his teeth. “It is good to see you.” 

Morpheus quickly bowed his head with a curt, “Father.”

Once Chronos released his hand, the Queen enfolded Morpheus in her willowy arms. She could feel some of the tension leave his body in the relative safety of her embrace. Her smile was beaming when she pulled away to look at him.

“You look well, Morpheus. I’ve missed you, my dear.” 

Morpheus kissed her cheek in greeting with a tenderly murmured, “Mother.” The Queen had always been a refuge for her son when his father insisted on Morpheus being someone he was not- she encouraged him to pursue his passions, constantly reminding him that there was more than one way to be a strong King. Always out of earshot of Chronos- even to his wife and son, he was their King first, a father and husband second, and his word was law.

“Come,” Chronos said to Morpheus, loud enough for the crowd to hear. “You must be weary from your journey. Be welcome and make yourselves comfortable.” He clapped Morpheus on the back and guided him into the palace, followed by his retinue. Once the royals were out of sight, the crowd dispersed, the spectacle now ended. Only one man lingered near the bottom corner of the ancient palace stairs, leaning on a stout quarterstaff.

It is here necessary to briefly introduce Robert Gadling. Orphaned at seven, he was one of a good number of parentless children, now adults, who did odd jobs for the businesses of the city, as well as the government- everything from construction to loading and unloading ships’ cargo, from running messages to protection from overzealous loan collectors if need be. On occasion, a few would be hired by the day to work in the palace, mostly on structural repairs and maintenance.

Robert, or Hob as the townsfolk called him, was a natural born protector. He had never been one to back down from a fight, and, as he planned to live through all his fights, he dedicated much of his time to developing his skills. He would often be seen near the docks or the entrance to the market, talking with foreign merchants and their guards, asking them to teach him what they knew of combat in exchange for a day’s labor. His friends constantly warned him that knowledge wouldn’t buy him food or lodging, but he would just laugh. 

It was in this fashion he honed his skills over the years and taught them to his fellows. He could disarm anyone in a matter of seconds and have a man twice his size on his back in under a minute (so the children said). He had even studied the blade, something his fellow brawlers stayed away from- too much like the royals and knights, they argued, and rolled their eyes when Hob insisted on learning anyway. No one would think it to look at him, that an average sized and modestly handsome day laborer would have such a knack for survival and zest for life. 

Hob’s best friend noted the glazed, entranced look on his face and gave him a teasing shove. “Come on, Hob,” he goaded, “Leave the royals to their tea and cakes, we’ve got work to do.” 

“Piss off, Adrian,” Hob replied as he returned the shove with a brief smile. “Not every day you get to see one roll into town. Besides, I’ve never seen Prince Morpheus before. Heard the rumors, but I had no idea he was so- so…” That glazed look returned as he searched for the right word. 

“Arrogant?” Adrian supplied. “Sour? Pompous?”

“Beautiful.” Hob’s response was barely a whisper, as if the sentiment was something he wanted to keep secret but couldn't stop it from slipping out. 

Adrian rolled his bottle green eyes. This was not the first time Hob had been besotted with someone after a glance, nor was it likely to be the last. The man had so much love in his heart to give, he just also happened to have a bad habit of choosing the worst possible people to bestow that love upon. Adrian could only hope this would be one of his shorter and less depressing devotions. Gods knew Hob had less than a figment of a chance with the Prince.

“Come on, lover boy, Waldren’s waiting for us.”

Adrian wrapped an arm around Hob’s shoulders and turned him away from the palace. Hob went willingly, but not without one last misty-eyed glance over his shoulder, wondering idly what the Prince was doing behind those marble walls. 

Chapter 1

According to Morpheus, attending his father’s court and sitting in on council meetings fit the definition of ‘cruel and unusual punishment’. He rarely had anything to contribute to the other nobles’ gossip- not that he wanted to get involved in the first place- and the council advisors just loved passing off his suggestions as their own. His presence amounted to little more than an interesting trinket brought out at opportune moments to curry favor- or, in some cases, to parade in front of potential spouses. It seemed that this summer would see at least a dozen suitors visiting the palace over the course of the five and a half months Morpheus would be at court.

Finally, one sweltering and humid summer day, the Prince reached his tipping point. He was hot and sticky, aggravated and on edge. This breaking point came around mid morning, when he had had enough of listening to the pompous treasurer drone on and on. Without preamble, he rose from his seat and stomped out of the council hall, ignoring the calls of his father and the advisors. Everyone he passed in the halls jumped out of his way, able to feel the ire rolling off him like the heat rising from the cobblestones.

He needed to get out, away from the palace, and burn off some of this aggravation before he did or said something rash.

His first stop was his chambers, where he changed from the fancier attire expected at court to a loose-fitting gray shirt and black cotton breeches tucked into tall riding boots. Already feeling a little better, he made a beeline for the stables. His piebald mare Jessamy was munching happily in her stall, but perked up when she heard Morpheus’ footsteps. The Prince waved off the anxious stable boy who stumbled over the words, “Should I saddle her sir?” in favor of slipping on the bridle himself and swinging up onto her bare back.

With a few clicks of his tongue and a gentle nudge with his heels, Jessamy gamely trotted out of her stall, past the stable boy, and all the way into the courtyard before tossing her head and cantering out the palace’s southern gate, away from the city. 

The paths through the forest were wide and well kept. Morpheus followed the main road for about a mile before turning onto a trail that was barely visible, unless one knew where to look. He slowed Jessamy to a walk to better navigate the tall grass and rushes that threatened to overtake the narrow trail. This far into the woods, all the Prince could hear was the birds, the wind, and the puffs of his and Jessamy’s breaths. A relieved sigh rattled out of his lungs and he slumped slightly on her back. 

The trail ended at a small lake surrounded by willow trees. The air was cooler here, almost like stepping into another world. Baby shoots of grass were starting to poke through the previous year’s fallen leaves, and twittering birds fluttered between branches. The lake was surrounded by intermittently placed boulders of various sizes, giving it the appearance of a faerie ring, or a window to another world. Some of these boulders were light and bare, others dark with patches of lichen and moss. They all made for excellent perches to sit on and dip one’s feet in the water. 

Tiny fish swam about in their schools, the concaves of their nests visible on the lakebed through the crystal clear water. A frog croaked from somewhere within the leafy plants growing stubbornly between the rocks and into the lake.

Morpheus dismounted with another sigh and loosely tied Jessamy’s reins to a branch. The mare shook her head again and began to delicately nibble on the new spring grass. While she enjoyed her snack, Morpheus sat on one of the flatter boulders at the edge of the lake and tugged his boots off, followed by his socks, then his shirt. 

The moan he let out when his feet slipped into the cold water was almost indecent. He let his eyes flutter shut and his head tilt back as he dug his toes into the soft silt. After a few quiet minutes, he rolled his breeches up to his knees and waded further into the lake, his arms held out slightly for balance as the sand shifted beneath his feet. He waded deeper and deeper, all the way to mid-thigh, not caring in the least that he would be riding back with soaked trousers. Adding one more item to the list of things his father berated him for wouldn’t make a difference. 

Morpheus already felt much better than when he left the palace, but he could still feel his hackles bristling, could still sense the undercurrent of tension and resentment running through his shoulders. The cold water was, apparently, not to be enough to cool him off. 

With an almost aggravated sigh (how could it have come to this?), Morpheus loosened the ties at his waist and reached past his undergarments into his breeches. A rumbling groan slipped past his self control as his fingers wrapped around his cock. His other hand shifted the waistband of his breeches so his cock could spring free, a shiver running down his spine at the contact with the humid air. His toes curled into the lakebed as he moved his hand faster, occasionally running his thumb over the slit. 

He had worked himself to full hardness and was eagerly chasing his high when a branch snapped in the trees behind him. He jumped, startled, and his head swiveled, looking for the source of the sound. The Prince held still, so still that no new ripples formed in the water around his ankles. 

After moments that seemed like years, Morpheus relaxed ever so slightly. It was probably just a deer stepping on a dry twig. His cock throbbed insistently, as if urging him to get back to the task at hand. Morpheus shook his head and turned his focus back to between his legs. 

Another rustle in the bushes, this one closer. Morpheus frowned; he had now been twice interrupted, and the agitation was creeping back into his bones. “Who’s there?” he called, hoping he sounded more angry than anxious. He tucked himself back into his trousers and sloshed out of the lake, muscles coiled in anticipation. 

Out of the trees stepped a man. Clearly a commoner, if his worn shirt and breeches were anything to go by. Dark hair was pulled into a respectably long tail at the nape of his neck, and a neatly trimmed beard of the same dark hair covered the lower half of his face. Morpheus could see a small patch of yet more dark hair peeking out from the low V of the man’s shirt. Earthy eyes sparkled in the patches of sunlight that made their way through the trees, and they were hazily focused on the bulge in the Prince’s trousers. He had clearly been lost in his own thoughts, an apple raised to his lips as if he were about to take a bite. 

Morpheus was still frozen, but for an entirely different reason. For a commoner, this man was exceedingly handsome- had he been born to the nobility, he would have lords and ladies alike falling over themselves to win his favor. 

Hob jumped when his mind registered he was standing before the Prince. For one, he thought that he and some of his friends were the only ones who knew about this little lake in the forest, and, two, holy shit that was Prince Morpheus standing in front of him, barefoot and bare chested, a semi creating a small bulge in the front of his breeches. 

“Oh fuck!” The apple flew out of his hand- he fumbled to catch it, just barely holding on to the fruit as he sank into a low bow, one leg in front of the other, back leg bent, eyes firmly fixed on the ground, arms out to the sides as he had seen the other nobles do. 

Morpheus held up a placating palm as he awkwardly said, “Please rise, there is no need to stand on ceremony,” even though the other couldn’t see the gesture. 

Hob rose out of his bow and placed his hands behind his back so Morpheus wouldn’t see his nervous fidgeting. How was it possible this man was a prince, was incredibly gorgeous, AND had a voice that could lure any sailor to their watery grave? “A-apologies, sir, Highness, I- I didn’t think anyone else knew about this place-” He swallowed hard, trying in vain to control his nervous babble. “I didn’t mean to disturb you, I can just-” 

“It’s quite alright.” Morpheus chuckled in spite of himself- it sounded a little strained to his own ears, but maybe that was because the erection that had fled in his momentary fear was starting to make a comeback at the sight of the beautiful man before him. “I wasn’t aware others knew of this spot either.” 

Hob laughed as well, tense and awkward, scratching the back of his head. But oh gods, his smile could light up the darkest of dungeons. Morpheus could feel his heart clench in his chest, already wanting to see that smile again. The Prince asked, “What is your name?”

“Robert,” Hob answered quickly with another little bow. “Robert Gadling. But my friends call me Hob.” He let out a bashfully choked laugh. “I already know who you are, Prince Morpheus. I mean, just about the whole realm knows who you are. Your Highness.” 

Morpheus had taken a breath to respond when there was more rustling in the trees behind Hob, much more than what could be created by a single man or animal. The Prince froze again, lowered into a slight crouch. Hob immediately whirled around and positioned himself protectively between Morpheus and the tree line. His apple lay forgotten on the forest floor as he settled into a ready stance, his hands curled into loose fists, ready to strike or protect his torso. 

Morpheus had always been independent to the point of being described as a loner, therefore the swirling feeling in his gut at the sight of Hob ready to defend him was completely foreign. It curled in his stomach and slithered between his legs, bringing back that inner heat the cold lake water had once absorbed. And if Hob didn’t see him glancing at the curve of his ass every few seconds… Well, that was between Morpheus and the trees. 

The trees and grasses rustled again to reveal two men in dark gray rags, the lower halves of their faces covered with another piece of fabric. Dirt smudged the visible skin around their eyes. They were each carrying a wicked looking dagger, the blades sharp even if the handles were dotted with rust. 

Hob immediately knew these were bandits- highwaymen that lurked in the trees and waited for the opportune moment to pounce. And they had just found quite the prize.

Jessamy snorted and stomped her feet, sensing the imminent danger. The bandits inched closer, step by step, knives held threateningly aloft. Hob glared at them, refusing to back down, hoping they would develop some sense and realize that whatever they had planned was not a good idea. One of them chuckled in eager anticipation.

“Turn around,” Hob ground out softly, eyes darting between the two, “and I won’t have to bash your heads in.” The bandits exchanged a momentary glance, as if debating the merit of Hob’s words. Apparently, they reached the decision that they had none, because they continued to advance, knives gleaming and ready to cut into flesh. 

Morpheus crept back towards the lake, inching toward Jessamy, heart pounding in his throat. He had never encountered bandits before; the closest he had ever come to someone who had broken the law was on formal inspections of rehabilitation facilities where the offenders had been cleaned up and supervised by wardens. Now, he didn’t have wardens or his retinue or even his hunting knife- his only protection from these two bandits was another commoner who could just as easily decide Morpheus was worth the trouble of kidnapping, or killing, or both. 

“Last warning,” Hob growled, the bandits now within striking distance.

The one on the right turned to his companion: “Get him.” 

Hob swore then yelled to Morpheus, “Go! Leave!” as the first bandit came at him with the knife aloft, intending to bring it down into Hob’s shoulder, or wherever he could reach. He sidestepped the blow and redirected the bandit’s momentum so that he went stumbling towards the water. 

The second bandit charged forward, knife point aimed at Hob’s chest. He grabbed the bandit’s wrist with enough force to make him drop the knife and drove his knee into the bandit’s side. The attacker grunted and doubled over, using the forward momentum to drive his shoulder into Hob’s stomach.

It was a lucky shot that knocked the wind out of him. Hob shoved the bandit away from him, hoping to buy a moment to catch his breath. 

The first bandit had recovered his footing and rushed in from behind Hob, wrapping wiry arms around a golden throat. Hob’s eyes went wide as his breath was cut off, the bandit only squeezing harder as he struggled. The two assailants coordinated their next move with eye contact alone, one holding Hob by the throat while the other stepped into striking distance and threw a sloppy but strong punch at Hob’s face.

The bandit’s knuckles hit him square on the cheekbone. Hob cried out as his head snapped to the side. The man’s other fist came up and landed a punch across his mouth, hard enough to make his nose bleed and teeth rattle and split his bottom lip open. 

“Fuck-” The swear was strained and came out with blood and spit. His vision starting to blacken around the edges, Hob reared his arm up and drove his elbow into the soft midsection at his back. Instantly, his windpipe was free as arms released him and the bandit doubled over in pain. Hob took several gasping breaths as he turned to the bandit who had been choking him and drove his fist into his temple, all the force and energy going down, hard enough to knock him out. 

Hob turned his attention to the remaining bandit. The scrawny man was in a ready stance, hands curled into loose fists held up by his face, but clearly hesitant after watching his partner literally get beaten into the ground. Hob grinned, feral and almost cocky as he mimicked the man’s stance- on a closer look, he was barely a man, just an older boy with his first whiskers. Hob didn’t want to hurt the kid, but he may not have a choice.

With unexpected ferocity, the boy lunged closer, fist ready to fly. Hob dodged one punch, then another, the third glancing off his shoulder- poor lad was already panting for breath, sparking just a hint of pity. 

“Come on, lad,” he tried reasoning, “just walk away.”

The young man’s only response was a desperate yell as he charged Hob, going for a grapple. Hob easily deflected him with a step and a twist, sending the bandit falling hard on his back. Hob settled into his stance, and with a well-aimed kick to his temple, he too was dealt with.

Silence suddenly rang in the clearing, broken only by Hob’s slightly panting breaths. His hands were still clenched into ready fists at his sides.

Morpheus had sprinted a quarter of the way around the lake to where he had tethered Jessamy. He had been ready to bolt at Hob’s word, now he soothed the mare with soft words and gentle caresses. It was like he was watching the whole thing through hazy glass, observing and present but removed, just left of in tune with the world. His chest felt tight, his hands shook uncontrollably as he tried to process all that had happened in a few short moments.

Hob moved out of his combative stance to crouch beside one of their would-be assailants. Morpheus quickly retied Jessamy to the branch and walked over to Hob, feeling extremely awkward and somewhat out of his depth. What did one say to the handsome stranger who had undoubtedly saved him from being abducted, if not worse? ‘Thank you’ did not seem to be anywhere near enough, far less than what Hob was owed for his deed. And yet, the words ‘thank you’ seemed to stick in his throat, refusing to come out.

He stood uncomfortably over Hob, who was pawing through the bandits’ clothes, hoping to find some clue as to their motives, and whether they went beyond simple highway robbery. The Prince had taken a fortifying breath to thank his protector when Hob ground out a curse in another language he had learned from a merchant. In his hand was a worn letter, folded and held together with a black seal. A sigil of stars and other symbols of magick was pressed into the wax.

It was, without a doubt, the seal of Roderick Burgess, King of Fawney Rigg.

“You might want to see this, Highness.” Hob rose to his feet and handed Morpheus the letter. His free hand swiped at his split lip and bloody nose- at least it wasn’t broken, again. He could feel the flesh around his cheekbone swelling painfully. Hob caught the Prince’s sympathetic flinch, small as it was, as he took the paper. Icy eyes quickly scanned its contents, dark brows furrowing closer together the more he read.

“I must return to the palace.” The words tumbled out of him as he refolded the letter and stuffed it in the waistband of his breeches. Moving quickly, Morpheus tugged his shirt back over his head and boots onto his feet as he continued, “My father needs to be made aware of what happened. Burgess sending armed men across our border with orders to watch and intercept me is no idle threat.” 

He unhitched Jessamy and used a fallen log as a mounting block, swinging a lithe leg over her back and expertly gathering the reins. He looked down at Hob as he wheeled her around, holding himself with the distant majesty of a monarch despite his disheveled state. Hob could only stare up in awe, a worshiper at the foot of his god. Dappled beams of sunlight illuminated the Prince like a halo, and Hob was sure in that moment the Prince was indeed fae touched as the rumors went, if not outright divine in his own right. 

“I think it is no exaggeration to say you saved my life,” Morpheus proclaimed, even if the forest and the man before him were the only ones to hear the royal edict. “I am in your debt, Robert Gadling. And I will settle that debt once this threat to the Dreaming is resolved.”

Hob bowed at his words, low and slow and reverent. A few globs of blood dribbled out of his nose and onto the grass. As he rose, he said, “Then at least let me escort you out of the forest and to the main road. I doubt there are any more of these men lurking around, Highness, but I would feel better seeing you to safety.” The last part was true, but Hob figured he probably shouldn’t mention the other reason for his offer: Prince Morpheus had utterly enchanted him, and this was likely to be the last time he’d see the man up close, let alone speak to him one to one, and he wasn’t ready for it to be over.

Pale, elegant fingers twitched briefly around the reins as Morpheus considered his words. He opened and closed his mouth a few times, searching for the right response. Finally, he settled on, “I would be glad of your company. Let us go.” 

He clicked his tongue to get Jessamy moving at a walk, Hob keeping pace beside her. They were silent as they picked their way back to the main forest road, but Hob was on high alert. His eyes darted back and forth, fists clenching and releasing in time with his steps. It was relatively easy to ignore the stickiness of drying blood around his mouth and chin when he was so focused on looking for signs of danger. Thankfully, the trip passed without incident. Morpheus pulled Jessamy to a halt once they were inside the city gates.

“My thanks again, Robert Gadling.” Jessamy pawed at the ground as Morpheus spoke, eager to be back in the safety of her stall. “I do not like leaving my debts unpaid.” The unspoken request for Hob to name his price hung in the air like a phantom. Hob merely gave the Prince a gentle smile and bowed again, still formal but relaxed and easy. 

“This time spent with you is payment enough, Highness.” He paused and bit his lip, plucking up his courage with a slight wince of pain. “May I… Could I call on you? If my day’s work brings me to the palace.” 

Morpheus turned the request over in his mind long enough for Jessamy to grow impatient. He soothed her with a few gentle pats on her neck. “You may,” he finally replied. “As long as my duties permit, I will be glad to receive you.” Morpheus had already turned his horse and urged her into a trot before Hob could say a proper farewell. The gentle goodbye hung unspoken on his lips. Finally, he sighed and kicked a stray pebble as he made his way to the boarding house he called home for a bath and some rest.

[timesorceror]

If you've found this list of fic recs via my Dreamling Fic Recs Masterpost, then you know this list is one of many.

However, if you came upon this list some other way, then you should hopefully have ascertained from the above title graphic that it is in no way an exhaustive archive of the best of the best in Dreamling (especially since Tumblr posts have a link limit of 100 inline links per post, and trying to update this after it's out in the wild will be virtually impossible). For the full spiel about how this list came to be and a link to my Google Doc with the most up-to-date full list, please see the Masterpost for details.

All you need to know is that this list works sort of like a menu at a restaurant. You're here to eat at Restaurant Dreamling, and the item categories on this menu are:

Soulmate AU (No Smut)

Touch-Starved Dream of the Endless

I hope that explanation was enough to get you hungry for some tasty Dreamling fics, and may you have a wonderful dining experience!

Soulmate AU Oneshots (No Smut) 

Soulmate-Identifying Marks

A Gift of Fate by mishabawlins | Teen

In all history of Creation, an Endless has never received a soulmark. With Dream, for whatever reason, Fate is inclined to make an exception. Predictably, Dream does not take it very well and tries his best to stay detached. But the human he got soulbound to is much too stubborn to let him go. [6,301 words]

all the light we cannot see by behold_me | Teen

It is not so very obvious, in the beginning. That they’re soulmates, that is. It takes five hundred years for Hob Gadling to be sure that Dream is his soulmate. It takes Dream one moment to ensure they'll need at least a century more to sort it all out. [2,749 words]

hear my soul speak by Anonymous | Teen

The hard part about being immortal is that it's hard to form really close relationships with anyone. Makes sense, then, that in a world where people share dreams with their soulmate from the moment they meet, Hob would be the only person who's been dreaming alone all his life. (Well, as alone as can be, when he spends every night in a wonderful dreamland, with stretched out fields and magical villages and a beautiful castle looming out over him.) [2,746 words]

How Adam Loved Eve by Moorishflower | Mature

Everyone is born with the name of their soulmate as a mark on their palm. Hob Gadling is born with a thousand titles in looping scrawl on his arm and a name on his palm that no one can see but him. [9,761 words]

Softly, Slowly, Together by Aria_Lerendeair | Teen

After meeting again at the New Inn, Dream discovers that he and Hob have become Soul Bound, and he is afraid that it will mean the end of his friendship with Hob Gadling. But perhaps, it could also be the sign of something new. [3,581 words]

Stars Shining Bright by nununununu | Teen

“Good to see you.” Hob smiles up at his friend–and they are friends; his Stranger’s finally admitted it–and doesn’t let himself think about the fact they don’t touch. Doesn’t let himself think about that missing piece inside him, that missing person from his dreams, or all those empty landscapes he’s wandered through over the centuries in his sleep. Doesn’t let himself wonder about his Stranger’s name. [4,163 words]

summer night's dream by winterbucky (WinterLadyy) | Teen

When sir Robert Gadling, a brave knight, hears about a cursed prince in the woods, he volunteers to help - he's a knight, it's his job to save people. Only the sleeping curse turns out not to be a curse, and the prince turns out to be more than Hob could've ever expected. Turns out soulmates are real, and Fae have them too. [3,380 words]

The call of your soul by Silks_shadow | Teen

Hob had never been a big dreamer. He would sleep as little as necessary, not wanting to bother with anything that would waste his precious life time. And then, suddenly, the dreams started without warning. [3,380 words]

Touch-Starved Dream of the Endless

Hob Gadling Loves Dream of the Endless | Morpheus

The New Inn by Elis_in_the_clouds | Teen

“How are you, Hob Gadling?” his Stranger - his friend - asks, “How have you been keeping?” Hob's Stranger is back and Hob is determined to make sure he doesn't disappear again. [2,259 words]

Hurt/Comfort

aulon raid by Moorishflower | Teen

The New Inn is as close to a church as Hob can build, a monument to stories, a tribute to dreams. He has a baseball bat, 600 years of fighting experience, and an anthropomorphic representation of dreaming to impress. In other words, no neonazis allowed. [2,457 words]

Let somme streme of your lyght on me be sene by DreamerInSilico | Mature

Dream is having a rough time adjusting to the 21st century. (Late-stage capitalism isn't particularly kind to the collective unconsciousness, who'd have thought?) Fortunately, Hob is something of an expert on adjustment and coping skills, by this point. [3,120 words]

Limitless as the Sky by abagelmydude | General Audiences

With a rush, he realized this will be the first time he would see his stranger with the aid of his glasses. The first time, in six hundred years, that he would see his stranger clearly. Hob tried to act casual as he finally found them. The stranger was speaking to him, and Hob tried to listen as he slipped the glasses on. He looked at his stranger. Oh wow. [2,030 words]

Lyra by altair2714 | Teen

Hob always loved the stars, they were one of the few constants in his life. His stranger was another constant in his life. One night Hob is awake watching the stars when his stranger, who he now knows to be Dream of the Endless visits him. They talk about the stars and constellations. Hob learns a lot more about his friend. [5,327 words]

Only after Dark by paketfor_na | Mature

Hob learns that The Dreaming, like its king, is mired in impenetrable darkness and he discovers that he's the only one who cares and wants to help Dream instead of waiting for things to work themselves out. Maybe his sweet talk is really on to something. [9,001 words]

stranger things than these by celestarium (meadowziplines) | Teen

A reunion in the New Inn fic. There's a lot of Dream feeling drunk and overwhelmed within the Waking. Also lots of fire and forest fire cycle metaphors. And hugs. [849 words]

Symbolism (Interpretation) by Cntrlaltdelete | General Audiences

Dreams are often said to contain symbolism and hidden meanings. Nothing about dreams (or Dream) is ever literal. Hob Gadling is an expert at looking between the lines and finding the truth beneath the facade. [2,434 words]

undying love (which shines around me like a million suns) by celestarium (meadowziplines) | Teen

Dream, wounded and distanced from the Dreaming, flees to Hob Gadling's flat. Or more accurately, collapses on his carpet covered in blood. Hob takes care of him for several days, and revelations are had by Dream about both carpets and his love for Hob. [4,548 words]

[kydrogendragon]

Wip Ask Game

I got tagged by a few people, lmao. Can you tell I'm late to the party here? Thanks, @tj-dragonblade @samsalami66 @tryan-a-bex and @pumpkinkingsalem for the tags!

Rules: post the names of all the files in your WIP folder regardless of how non-descriptive or ridiculous. Let people send you an ask with the title that most intrigues them and then post a little snippet of it or tell them something about it! And then tag as many people as you have WIPs.

Wips:

Belated MerMay (One) (Two)

10 Dates (One)

Sex Professor Hob (One) (Two)

Porn Star Hob (One) (Two)

Monsterfucktober (One)

Prince and Knight (One)

BtoA Hob (One)

Space and Stars (One) (Two)

In the rough draft he loved you p2

Shorts Swap p2

Life and Death (One)

A Waking Nightmare Epilogue/Sequel

Scientist Endless (One)

Prayers (One)

Hob+Dream+Adopted Daniel (One)

I kept finding more and more wips xD I think I got them all though, so fire away!

Tag: #ky's wip game

[unpredictable-probabilities]

WIP word train game

Rules: tagger gives a word, then for each letter of that word you share a sentence/excerpt from your wips that start with that letter.

Thank you for the tag @cntrlaltdelete-what! 💖💖 ^_^

The word is STARS

S

Something twinged in Dream's chest at those words. “You will not lose me, Hob,” he said gently. 

“Damn right, and I'll be there to make sure of it.” 

Dream pursed his lips. He had had countless arguments throughout the millennia, but not until now had any of them been about helping him. “Are you certain about this? You know better than anyone alive now how limitless the Dreaming can be. You know of nightmares.”

“Exactly. I've lived long enough to be very familiar with nightmares. If anything, facing them while lucid seems less intimidating. You can't scare me off, mate.” 

T

Though he could not help but remember how the prince had met his gaze when he was on his knee and swearing the Knight’s Oath. Those bright blue eyes trained on him nearly made him forget the words, and the slight flush that tinged the prince’s cheekbones before he looked away was endearing, though Hob would never say it aloud. He didn’t imagine that the prince would appreciate it. 

A

A figure stepped out, his fair skin near-glowing in the late morning sun. His black and purple robes whipped around him in the wind. The prince–for surely he must be one–joined the fight, and Hob watched as the tide turned before his eyes. 

The prince wielded a sword as if it came as easily to him as breathing, his blue eyes blazing with a barely contained fury, his raven hair rippling in the wind. Immediately he felled two of the bandits with graceful flowing movements, and Hob snapped himself back to his senses enough to rejoin the fight. 

R

Rolling hills spread out beneath the balcony from where Dream sat at a table with Hob, the grass in hues of green flecked with gold, reminiscent of autumn approaching. Soft bursts of scarlet and orange coloured the sky, blending in with brush strokes of yellow and clouds that looked soft to the touch. 

It was Hob’s first time being entirely lucid in his realm, and Dream had admittedly been anxious in creating everything to his liking. Three weeks ago he had returned to Hob after more than a century of absence, and this was only their third meeting since then, following their agreement of meeting more frequently. Dream knew he had much to atone for, despite Hob’s insistence to the contrary, and inviting Hob to his realm seemed like a fitting gesture to let him know how much he valued their friendship.

S

Still, a particular worry nagged at the back of Hob's mind. The possibility that expressing romantic affection for the prince could cause so much trouble… 

Well, then it was fortunate that Hob felt no such interest for him. Certainly Prince Morpheus was good to his subjects, kind to children, an engaging storyteller, and looked like an absolute vision on the battlefield with his robe billowing about him and his blue eyes ablaze. The amused smile that Hob had managed to coax out of him after their encounter with Jed Walker might have made Hob's stomach flip in a not unpleasant manner, but that hardly meant anything. 

Hob swallowed. It's going to be fine. 

---

No pressure tagging: @patchyegg87, @cerealmonster15, @samsalami66, @dandywonderous, @beatnikfreakiswriting, @delta-pavonis, @signiorbenedickofpadua, @zzoomacroom and anyone else who wants to do this~

Your word is SMILE ^_^

[scifrey]

Keepsakes

Status: Ongoing Ficlet collection; unbeta'd

Series: the Hob Adherent series

Fandom: The Sandman (TV 2022) Includes some comics canon, and some cameos from the wider Gaiman-verse (including the Good Omens and Lucifer television shows), but it’s not necessary to know to enjoy the story.

Rating: Mature-ish.

Warnings: Discussions of grief and in-canon character death. Some sexytimes. Some whomp and hurt/comfort.

Relationships:  Morpheus | Dream of the Endless/Hob Gadling, Eleanor | Hob Gadling’s Wife/Hob Gadling (past)

Characters: Dream of the Endless | Morpheus, Hob Gadling, Patrick the Bartender, Harriet Butler, Matthew the Raven

Summary: Short ficlets set in the Hob Adherent world, based on prompts received from readers. Feel free to DM me or leave prompts in the comments, and if it resonates with me, I may write up a ficlet! Thank you for the inspiration in advance.

Set amid the events of Cling Fast and Carpe Diem

READ ON AO3 OR READ BELOW:

Postcards

"So, a sword in Buckingham's army, a bandit, a printer, a shipwright and then a merchant middleman for the dockyards, a knight, a beggar, investment broker--"

"Slaver," Hob interrupts Harriet as she counts off his professions on her fingers one slow, sunny afternoon at The New Inn. "Call the thing what it was."

Hari offers him a sympathetic smile. They're the only ones in the pub proper today, as Patrick is off to tend his ailing mother, Dee doesn't come in Mondays, and Morph is having lunch with his editor.

"After which you were an MP and staunch abolitionist, a soldier again in America for the North, an industrialist and labor rights advocate, a yuppie and silicone valley early adopter--"

"Apple paid for most of this," Hob agrees, selecting a glass and checking it for water spots or lipstick stains.

"--and now a professor and publican. Am I missing any?"

“Oh!” Hob remembers as he pulls a pint for her. "And I was ruler of Hell."

She leans across the bar from her stool, and thwacks his arm. “Fuck off, you were not, you old liar,” Hari laughs.

"Was so!" Hob protests, setting her beer down in front of her. "Ask my husband. He was there. I was ruler of Hell for thirteen minutes and seventeen seconds on my six-hundred and sixty-sixth birthday."

Hari raises a challenging eyebrow at Hob over her pint glass as she takes a sip. "I won't believe a thing the Prince of Stories tells me," she says decisively, when she sets the beer back down. "And I don't believe you."

Hob pulls a postcard from L.A. off the bar back, where it's been pinned to a corkboard among a handful of others, all from the same city. This card depicts a cartoon devil drawn over a photo of the Hills, lounging on the iconic Hollywood sign. It says "Greetings from Sin City!" in bright yellow font.

Hob hands it to Hari to inspect. Her face gets drawn as her eyes flick over the handwritten note on the back.

"To my fellow former ruler of Hell; I did it! I opened a nightclub, just like you suggested. Visit me at LUX any time you'd like, Hobsie. xxx Lucifer Morningstar," Hari reads in a voice that grows increasingly strangled.

She hands the card back to Hob with trembling fingers. Then she shotguns the rest of her pint.

"So hell is real, then," Hari warbles.

Hob shrugs. "Everything is real. Humans create gods, not the other way around. If someone believes in it, it exists."

Hari nods thoughtfully. "I suppose you would know, being married to a god."

Hob chuckles. "Well, former god-ish. And don't worry, only people who believe they deserve to go to Hell actually do. Self-punishment or fulfilling prophecy, or something. I try not to think to much about that Celestial stuff."

Hari nods again, and without asking, Hob refills her pint glass. He has a feeling she's going to need it.

"But it is something I'm going to have to worry about," Hari says softly, accepting the drink with a nod.

"Not any time soon, I hope," Hob says, folding his arms on the bar top and leaning close to offer her a comforting look. "And when it does happen, I can promise you that my sister-in-law is gentle and kind. You have nothing to worry about."

Harriet runs her arthritis gnarled finger up and down the side of the glass, collecting up the condensation. "You know, that is actually a comfort." She looks up at Hob with a wicked little grin. "Especially knowing your husband."

Hob throws his head back and laughs.

[samsalami66]

Here we go again with a fun little drabble, this time for a spontaneous Knight!Hob and Prince!Dream au (which will probably get a few more additions lmao). It all started with my lovely @im-not-corrupted handing me the prompt "you know, it's ok if you're not ok" from this wonderful prompt list.

----

Dream ran down a corridor, his coat billowing behind him like an angry cloud of black smoke, set to destroy everything that would dare to stand between him and this God-forsaken door deep within the bowels of the castle. 

Dream ran, and it was the first time Dream remembered running since his childhood years, when he had been a naught but a babe, excited to explore every nook and corner of the massive palace that he called his home. Of course the first time he was forced to engage in such physical activity in as many years, it would be Hob Gadling's fault. Because it was always Hob Gadling's fault, from the moment he stepped foot into the throne room and announced he would become Dream's personal guardian, a Knight in his name alone, loyal to none other than the Prince of the Dreaming. 

What is he at fault for? a curious reader might ask, and Dream would whirl around on his heel and give a whole list of things Sir Robert Gadling could be blamed for, if only indirectly. 

For the blush he forced onto Dream's pale cheeks anytime their gazes met over a particularly boring dinner with his family. Perhaps also for the way Dream's heart skipped a beat whenever Hob spoke up to the King and Queen on his behalf, a feat so terrible even the most noble of men had failed before him. Good thing Hob was no nobleman, no son of high houses nor of new money. 

He was an idiot, first and foremost. A talented, quick witted and patient idiot, but an idiot nonetheless. After all, who just waltzes into a room with the King and Queen in it and promises undying loyalty to their adolescent son who no one particularly likes and expects it to simply work? And who decides to simply enter a jousting match without any former training or experience for fun?

Hob Gadling, of course, which was just one more example of things he could be blamed for. 

Nil consideration for his own physical well-being. 

Idiot. 

Dream was about to say as much as he threw open the door to Hob's chambers, but every ill thought spent towards his Knight's stupidity was immediately dropped as Dream found him hunched over the back of his armchair, one hand clutching at his bare chest as it rose and fell in quick succession. 

God's wounds, Dream had seen how Hob got shoved out of his saddle, how the lance had connected with his armor plate and sent him flying from his horse in one spectacular arch. But he never could have guessed just how bad it must have hurt, even through the steel and cloth. The bruise on Hob's chest was an angry black, his sides spotted with a deep red where his ribs were most definitely fractured. 

"Hob," the name left Dream's lips like a plea, like God's name would fall from a sinner's lips who prayed for salvation. And he did pray for salvation, in a way. Not his own, but salvation from endless pain nonetheless.

The man in question looked up between sweaty brows, a pained grimace painting his usual smile an ugly gray. Dream found himself by his side faster than lightning, hands coming up to hover helplessly over Hob's chest. 

Hob sighed at the concern clearly plastered into every corner of Dream's face, the way his lips tugged downwards in an obvious display of his dislike for the position he found Hob in. 

"Don't you worry for me, my Lord. I'm… fine. I'm fine, I promise." 

Tragically, the trustworthiness of this statement was negated by a heavy cough wrecking Hob's body, which left him groaning in pain over his injuries. 

"You are not fine, Robert Gadling," Dream hissed in response, hands finally coming to a rest on Hob's back. "Which is. Alright. It is alright if you are not alright. Just, please, lay down, my friend. You must rest."

Thankfully, Hob did not fight Dream as he was pushed towards his bedroom, and neither did he when Dream gently pressed him down into the mattress with a careful hand to his shoulder. His breath was still heavy and his eyes half-lidded as he looked up at Dream, something vulnerable hidden behind the dark brown of his eyes that Dream could not quite decipher in the near darkness of the bedroom. 

"Will you stay? My Lord?" Hob whispered, apparently balancing carefully between the realm of sleep and the world of the waking. 

"No duty could possibly force me from your side, my half-witted Knight." Dream responded quietly, his heart warming considerably at the soft smile that crept into his friend's eyes at the endearment, before they eventually fell close and Hob got pulled into deep and restful slumber. 

Dream placed a single feather-light kiss to the dark spot on Hob's chest before settling into the other side of the bed, his eyes fixed on the slowing rise and fall of Hob's breast. 

Hob Gadling really was an idiot.

Dream's idiot, but an idiot nonetheless.

[bruce-wayne-simp]

Last Line Tag Game

Rules: in a new post, show the last line you wrote (or drew) and tag as many people as there are words (or however many as you like).

Tagged by: @seiya-starsniper @lenreli @staroftheendless

This is from my Knight Hob/Prince Dream au that I'm working on and kinda obsessed with lol

Hob can hardly breathe as he watches the nobility file out of the hall, red hot rage still fiery in his chest. His cheeks are burning, his face must be red under his helmet. How dare he? Lost in the haze of his anger, he almost doesn't notice the man and woman approaching him. “Sir Gadling?” The woman asks. “Yes?” “May we speak somewhere private, sir?” Hob eyes her warily. She is not someone he recognizes. Nor is the man next to her. The woman is tall, with dark skin and pointed ears and a determined look on her face. An elf perhaps, though he's never seen one before. The man is short and stout, with light skin and dark hair. Both wearing garb that denounce them as nobility of some kind. “Tell me who you are, first.” “My name is Lucienne. My companion is Matthew.” She slips a hand into her pocket, pulling out a ring. She holds it out for him to take, which he does, turning it in his fingers. He notes the sigil on the face of it. An infinity sign. The sigil of the Endless. He looks back up at her, and she smiles. “May we speak in private, sir?” He nods.

Tagging (no pressure): @chaosheadspace @valeriianz @five-and-dimes uhhh and whoever else wants to

[cuubism]

make me write!

tagged by @beatnikfreakiswriting 🥰

for the first time in a while i don't have to work over the weekend, so maybe I can make some progress on these :) ones I've worked on recently:

1. In Waking Dreams final chapter

2. Good Horses - high school au with a magical twist

3. equestrian dreamling part 5

4. prince dream & knight hob, yet another iteration on a familiar theme XD

5. complex math post-university fic aka "having a job sucks ass"

I have others but... that's what I actually worked on kind of recently 😓 let me know if you want more of them...

tagging @five-and-dimes, @omgcinnamoncakes, @tj-dragonblade or anyone else who wants to 🙂

[delta-pavonis]

Fic: crawling back to you

Series: the sinner in me

Dreamling (human AU: proDom!Dream/sub!Hob) || Rated E || in progress

Tags: Alternate Universe - Human, past relationship(s), complicated relationships, age difference, cheating, unknown/potential mistaken identities, proDom!Dream, sub!Hob, BDSM, dom/sub, D/s, angst, but with a happy ending

Dream wants… so much. Too much. He wants to come up behind Hob and wrap his arms around his waist and hold him close. He wants to whisper in his ear that it is okay, that Dream still wants him, that he can come back. He wants to tell him how much he misses him and beg him to leave with him, leave the estate, leave his marriage, leave the country, leave the hemisphere.  Dream wants to grab Hob’s hair in his fist and pull his head back until he drops to his knees, then put a very specific ball gag in his mouth and remind him that the Prince of Stories never did release him from his service as Knight. Fuck.

Read on AO3

[gabessquishytum]

Spent the weekend pouring over your galaxy-brained posts, thought I’d toss an idea I’ve been bouncing around for a bit into the ring; after their 1689 meeting, Dream increasingly indulges in thinking up the occasional fantasy of what-ifs, in which he swooped in to rescue Hob from any number of the awful things he went through during that century. To be fair to Dream, they start out and often continue to be about simply giving Hob the food and shelter and compassion he’d been deprived of, magnanimously giving his human friend acquaintance some much-needed comfort and perhaps receiving a bit of gratitude and awe in return.

But at some point the fantasies turn and grow, in which Hob decides to express his gratitude with his body, or Hob swoons into Dream’s arms after being rescued from the witch mob and all but throws himself at his knight in black armor, or Hob becomes so sweetly pliant from the food and baths he desperately needed that he allows Dream to use his body as he pleases; when you’re the Prince of Stories, the list of scenarios to play with is varied and endless ;P

But then when 1789 rolls around, and Lady Johanna and her thugs show up, presenting Dream with this wonderful opportunity to make one of his fantasies a reality (and if he’s lucky, it’ll be one of the sexy ones), before he can do anything swoon-worthy Hob throws himself into the fray and-

Oh. Hm. Now that’s something to consider. “You need not have come to my defense.” But that’s okay, this is a whole new avenue to explore, Dream’s not gonna abandon his old fantasies, but he does need to leave immediately so he can go examine the many new ‘Hob coming to my defense’ ideas coming into his head.

(And maybe this possibly turns into a fishbowl rescue au, as Jessamy has read Dream’s diary or smth and thus knows the best thing to do is go find Hob Gadling, she can get her lord rescued and laid, it’s a win-win. The sleepy sickness was a strange phenomenon that was never adequately explained, but didn’t last very long in the grand scheme of things so the world shrugged and moved on. Hob doesn’t quite follow how a talking bird telling him that His Stranger was in trouble lead to the best sex of his long life and a relationship with the King of Dreams involving quite a bit of roleplay, but you won’t catch him complaining)

I’m so fascinated by the idea of Dream having fantasies and daydreams of his own!! How does it play out in the dreaming, I wonder? Does he get to participate in live-action fantasies, or see it all play out like a film in front of him? I can totally see Dream getting intoxicated and wound up in these intricate scenarios.

Poor Jessamy has to spend a lot of time overhearing Dream’s horny daydreams about this random human, but GOD she’s glad that she was paying attention, when Dream gets captured! When Hob actually comes to rescue him it’s a whole lot less sexy than Dream was imagining. Hob gets shot (twice), there’s blood all over the floor, Hob basically uses a crowbar to smash the glass and it goes everywhere - not a pretty sight.

So. Once Hob is sufficiently recovered and Dream has dealt with the circumstances of his capture, he basically scoops Hob up into the dreaming and announces that they’re going to roleplay the rescue all over again, but this time it’s going to be romantic and sexy and Dream is going to swoon in Hob’s arms without either of them being covered in blood and broken glass, thanks very much.

Hob (who is still very confused but very happy to participate in anything that Dream wants from him) gladly rescues his Stranger all over again, and this time he also gets lovingly pounded on the basement floor. He’s not totally convinced that he isn’t hallucinating the whole thing until Dream smiles at him, and then he somehow knows that it’s all real. Dream loves him, for some reason. All is right with the world.

[aralezinspace]

Summer Knight Part 6

When Crown Prince Morpheus is summoned to his father's court for the summer, he expects it to be just as tedious and aggravating as any other season spent in the Dreaming's capitol. What he doesn't expect is an attempted kidnapping, a successful kidnapping, uncovering designs on the Dreaming's throne, and a handsome esquire he really isn't supposed to fall in love with. How can he not, when Hob Gadling sees him for who he is, and not just his station? How can he not, when Hob is willing to burn down the world for him? Or: Prince!Morpheus/Commoner!Hob Gadling medieval/fantasy AU

~~Masterlist~~

Dividers by cafekitsune

Chapter 10

Hob’s fever finally broke just after breakfast time. Lucienne had brought Morpheus his meal on a tray, along with some bread and water for when Hob woke. She gave the Prince a knowing look as he took the tray- Lucienne always knew. She could tell the Prince had stayed awake all night and had not left Hob’s side for a moment. 

The Prince watched over Hob while nibbling on his breakfast. Some of the color was coming back to his cheeks, and he looked much more at ease. He had even started to snore softly; Morpheus laughed the first time he heard the sound. With all their close proximity, how had he never noticed? 

Hob’s eyes finally cracked open around mid day. Morpheus had been doing his level best to stay awake, but found himself nodding off, his head hanging and eyes heavy. Adrenaline jolted him awake when he heard the drawn out, whining groan coming from his bed, followed by several choice swear words as Hob tried to sit up.

“Hob!” He placed a gentle hand on Hob’s good shoulder and applied the slightest pressure to encourage him to lay back down. 

“Fuck… Morpheus?” Hob rasped, throat dry and scratchy. “Water?” 

Morpheus quickly poured some water into a small tankard and held it up to Hob’s lips. His other hand cradled Hob’s head so he could swallow more easily, and Hob drank the entire thing down in a few seconds. 

“Fuck,” Hob swore again as he lay back down. He turned to Morpheus, and this time his mind fully registered where he was, who he was with: he was in the Prince’s bed, and Morpheus was at his side. A big, dopey grin spread across his face, like he had never seen something so beautiful nor had been so happily blessed. “Feels like I’ve been kicked by a horse,” he slurred, “But this is worth it.” 

Morpheus chuckled and took Hob’s hand in his again. He kissed the back as Hob weakly squeezed his fingers. After a few breaths, the Prince became serious again. “What’s the last thing you remember?” 

Hob’s grin faded as he tried to concentrate through the fog in his mind and the insistent aches in his body. “Um… We got to the palace, I fell out of the saddle… That’s all.” 

Morpheus nodded and adjusted Hob’s cloak around his shoulders. “That is the long and short of it. The healer treated your wound and you had a fever in the night.” A pause, his voice dropping to nearly a mumble. “You’ve been asleep for almost a full day. I.. I was worried.” 

“A whole day?” Hob repeated incredulously, his uninjured hand flying to his forehead. “No wonder I’m starving.” He flashed Morpheus a roguish grin. “Think you could help me with that?” 

Morpheus rolled his eyes affectionately as he ripped off a chunk of bread and handed it to him. It was a massive relief that Hob seemed so much like his old self just moments after waking up. That pleasant warmth began to bloom in the Prince’s chest, staving off just a little more of the cold that still lingered in his core.

Hob spent the next three days in the Prince’s chambers recovering. Morpheus had Lucienne and Matthew bring all his work and letters, as well as their meals. He finally convinced Morpheus to call for a bath, and the Prince had agreed, but only if Hob would join him. They spent several hours scrunched up in the copper bathtub, gently washing away the dirt and last drops of blood until the water was cold and smoky. Afterwards, they lay in front of the fire on furs taken from their beds in their nightclothes, continuing to caress and talk quietly. 

Hob couldn’t reach back to braid his hair, so he talked Morpheus through it. The first few attempts resulted in knots and tangles that the Prince had to then unravel, gently working his antler comb through the brown and gold and amber strands, but eventually he mastered it. He may have intentionally tangled the sections once or twice just to spend more time combing it, once he heard the contented, purring hum that rumbled low in Hob’s chest.

Cain and Abel paid a visit on the second day, finding Hob seated in an armchair in front of the fire, reading a book. “Hob Gadling,” Cain cried in greeting as they entered the sitting room, “As I live and breathe, you’re actually alive.” He gave Hob a once over, taking in his generally worn and exhausted appearance. “You look awful.” 

Hob chuckled as he closed his book. “You should see the other guys.” 

The brothers joined him in front of the fire, and Hob immediately launched into the tale of what had happened. Their eyes widened when he got to his duel with Randall, both impressed and apprehensive. Abel actually gasped when he tugged at the collar of his shirt to show them the wound that was slowly but surely healing into a pink scar. As he finished his story, a little thorn burrowed into his mind: Chronos had sworn he’d be banished from the Dreaming if he survived rescuing Morpheus. Would he follow through on that threat?

“Holy hell fire…” Abel swore under his breath, armor clinking softly as he sat back in his chair. He shook his head with an incredulous grin. “The gods must have some big plans for you!” Hob just chuckled and shrugged non-committedly. 

The brothers stayed for another hour chatting with Hob while Morpheus worked in the study. The Prince smiled to himself every time he heard Hob’s laugh from the sitting room, glad that his spirits were recovering quickly, even if his body was a bit slower on the uptake. 

By the third day, Hob was starting to get restless. He paced the sitting room, gently swinging his arms back and forth, trying to stretch the healing skin and get some strength back without tearing the stitches- the day Lyta removed them couldn’t come soon enough. He grimaced and let out a little pained noise as one motion strained the skin and pressed his good hand over it, trying to keep the fire of pain contained. 

Morpheus heard the sound from his study where he was once again working, or at least trying to focus on work. He immediately put down his quill and half sprinted to the sitting room, trying not to panic at the thought of Hob injuring himself further. The sight that greeted him had him chuckling as well as rolling his eyes in exasperation.

Hob was in a ready stance, a fire poker held in his left hand like a sword. He did a few advances and retreats before going through the basic attacks- low left, low right, high right, high left, overhead. He moved slowly, but the flow of the iron rod was smooth and controlled. 

He took a breath and settled back into his ready stance for a moment before lunging and thrusting the poker into an imaginary opponent. He held the poker there, strained grunts mixed with deep breaths as the effort of holding its weight aloft pulled and tugged at barely healed skin and muscle.

“Hob,” Morpheus chided with a little smirk that didn’t reach his eyes, finally stepping into his space and gently easing the poker out of his hands. “I’m not sure Lyta would approve of this as resting and recovering.” 

Hob sighed and ran his good hand through his hair. “I’ve been resting and recovering for two days, I need to do something.” Morpheus returned the poker to the rack next to the fireplace. 

“I know,” the Prince replied in a sad murmur. The cracks in Morpheus’ being were starting to deepen. He had put on a brave face, shorn up the supports so that Hob could lean on him while he recovered. Now that Hob was out of danger, those supports were starting to crumble under their own weight, and the weight of all Morpheus had been through and had not started to heal from. The Prince’s limbs trembled as he braced a forearm on the wall above the mantle and leaned heavily on it.

Hob’s agitation immediately warped into concern when he saw how the Prince seemed to collapse in on himself. It occurred to him in a bright spark what he could do while his wound finished healing: pour everything he had into caring for his Prince, into helping him heal the wounds that may not be visible, but were just as deep and ugly, if not more so. Wounds that would leave scars as gnarled as his own.

Hob padded slowly to Morpheus and wrapped his arms around that slender waist, pulling him into a tender, protective embrace. He let his forehead rest on the Prince’s bony shoulder. “Thank you for taking care of me, Highness,” he murmured into his neck. “Now it’s my turn to take care of you.” 

Morpheus’ trembling grew more intense, now full body shudders and shakes. “I’m so cold,” he rasped into the stone of the mantle. “I can’t get warm. My mind thinks I am still in that cell, still waiting for Burgess and Randall to make their demands. Waiting for Randall to…” 

Hob tensed. “Did he touch you?” He tried to keep the growl of cold anger out of his voice, knowing that his rage wouldn’t be of any help or comfort. Morpheus shook his head. 

“No. He did not. He did tell me in great detail what he would do to me once we were wed. It was… disturbing.” Hob snarled under his breath; he definitely should have killed the bastard. Or at least made him suffer. 

Hob held him closer and kissed the delicate exposed slope where his neck met his shoulder. “I’ll keep you warm, I’ll keep you safe.” The promise was whispered into pale skin that was indeed still chilled, despite standing in front of the fire. “Morpheus.” Hob gently turned the Prince around in his arms and pulled him back into his chest so that Morpheus could hear his heartbeat, ignoring the burn of the Prince’s head pressing into his wound. One arm stayed wrapped around his waist while the other threaded fingers into hair that was once more soft and silky with a wave of relief. 

“I, Robert Gadling, vow to defend Prince Morpheus from any and all that would do him harm, from this moment forth. I vow to stand by his side, in the light and the dark.” Hob paused, the unspoken declaration of love sitting heavy on his tongue. No, not yet. Morpheus was still crumbling under the weight of his ordeal. “My life and my body are his blade and shield, until his Highness release me, or death claim me. By all the gods, this I swear.” 

He could feel Morpheus struggle to keep the cries contained in his chest, caged by ribs and lungs. He closed his eyes and felt the moment that struggle was given up, heard the weak but deeply pained sobs. The Prince trembled and shook, only the strength of Hob’s embrace keeping him upright as he finally broke.

They stayed in the Prince’s chambers for another day, curled in each other’s arms. Just before midday, while they were resting on a sofa in front of the fire with Morpheus seated across Hob’s lap, Lucienne let herself into the sitting room, her ledger held to her chest. “Good day Highness, Master Gadling,” she murmured as she closed and locked the door behind her. They both replied just as softly, the Prince’s slightly more despondent and spoken into Hob’s chest. 

Lucienne’s heart ached. The two had been through something dreadful, and obviously cared very deeply for each other, but they were past the point where staying cooped up would help their recovery. “I trust you’re feeling better?” she asked with a knowing quirk of a brow. Hob nodded as he stroked the Prince’s hair. Lucienne sighed.

“Highness, may I speak freely?” she asked, clipped yet not unkind. 

“You may,” Morpheus replied, flat and nearly dead.

Lucienne let out a breath through her nose as she gathered her words. “It’s been four days since either of you left these rooms, you must get out. Even if it’s just to the library, or the gardens. A change of scenery would do you good. And, it would put rumors to rest.” 

“I don’t know if you’ve heard, Lucienne,” Hob responded with a wry smile as he pulled Morpheus closer. “I’m banished.” 

Those words shook Morpheus out of the stupor he had found himself in. “Banished?” he whispered, “What for?”

Hob kissed his forehead. “Nothing you need worry about. I’ll handle it.” Morpheus frowned, but let it drop, curling back into Hob’s chest. Hob turned back to the Prince’s right hand. “Thank you Lucienne.” The librarian knew a dismissal when she heard it. Her face fell, but she quietly left the room. 

“Morpheus?” Hob murmured, giving the dozing Prince a little shake. “I’m sure you know this, but she’s right. We should at least walk around, let others see we’re alive and somewhat well.” The Prince just hummed softly snuggled further into Hob’s chest. Hob smiled softly and kissed the top of his head. “Alright, later then.” 

Morpheus awoke from his nap roughly an hour later, limbs creaking and cracking as he stretched like a cat. When he found himself still draped across Hob’s lap and curled against his chest, bleary eyes looked up, and dear gods Hob was like the sun- warm eyes and a gentle smile lighting up his face, golden skin glowing in the firelight and midmorning light. If only he could wake up to that sight every time he fell asleep. 

Morpheus groaned as he sat up and rubbed his forehead. Hob stretched his own limbs, sore and stiff from sitting in one place. “Not sure if you were fully awake, but Lucienne stopped by, said we should get out for a bit. Get some fresh air, let people know we’re still alive.”

“I thought you were banished.” Morpheus was now sitting up and staring intensely, anger and worry competing on his face. “Why?” Hob sighed and ran a hand through his hair. So he had been awake. 

“I told you I’d handle it, you shouldn’t be worrying about anything other than getting well-” he held up a hand to stop the Prince interrupting him, “-and absolutely necessary business from Fiddler’s Green.” 

“Tell me,” Morpheus demanded. So far, anger was winning. Hob sighed again and averted his gaze.

“Chronos didn’t want me going after Burgess to rescue you. He said that if I went and survived, I’d be banished. I don’t know for sure, but… I think Chronos wanted to try to bargain with him.” 

Even the normally cheerful crackling of the fire sounded ominous in the silence that followed. Morpheus was dumbstruck, barely blinking as his eyes filled with violent rage. “My father banished you,” he repeated, voice shaking with incredulous anger stronger than an earthquake, “for coming to my rescue.” Hob nodded. The Prince started to crumble again.

“Yes. Morpheus.” He held the Prince’s face in his hands, the gesture tender even as his eyes blazed. “I would do it again in an instant. How could I regret saving the best thing that’s ever happened to me? Hey, look at me, please?” Morpheus had tried to avert his gaze and pull away, but Hob wouldn’t let him. “Morpheus.” His voice dropped to a whisper. “None of this, is your fault. Not Burgess, not your father, and no, not me agreeing to be banished for rescuing you.” He paused and gathered his words. “I swore an oath, I promised to protect you, and I failed. No force in this realm or any other could have stopped me from getting you out of there.”  

More tears welled in the Prince’s eyes, threatening to spill over. “I do not want to remain here if you are not by my side,” he growled, watery and weak but insistent. “I will speak to my father, and he will rescind your banishment.” He spoke the words with such assurance that Hob was sure his banishment had been lifted in that very moment. 

“Oh Morpheus,” he gasped. “You incredible man.” He pulled Morpheus into a loving kiss, hot and wet with tears. Once again the impassioned declaration of his love sat heavy on his tongue, just barely restrained. Instead of speaking them, he wrote the words into Morpheus’ mouth once his tongue slipped past rosy lips. One day, he swore to himself as they continued to kiss and caress, One day I will tell him.

They found themselves occupied with each other for the remainder of the afternoon and evening, and so didn’t follow Lucienne’s advice of getting out until the following day. They took breakfast in the sitting room again, but once they were bathed and dressed, they took a stroll through the halls of the palace. Morpheus held tightly onto Hob’s arm, more than happy to play up his weakness and exhaustion if it meant being this close to him. 

Everyone they met smiled and expressed their gratitude that Morpheus had returned unharmed. But it was once they started to walk away that the rumors and gossip began to air: brief retellings of Hob’s heroism, some more accurate than others. Rumors that he had been banished, ‘why is he still here’ phrased in a dozen different ways. Rumors that Morpheus was abdicating the title of Crown Prince. Hushed whispers that Chronos had wanted to bargain with Burgess for Morpheus and strategic parts of Fawney Rigg.

Even quieter whispers that Hob and Morpheus were in love.

Those were the hardest not to react to. Hob could choose not to respond with words or expressions, but he couldn’t stop the flush that rose to his cheeks, and just barely restrained the urge to gaze adoringly at the Prince every time they heard said rumor. 

Morpheus didn’t fare much better at keeping his reaction contained: every time the whisper of love between them reached their ears, the Prince immediately became tongue tied, stumbling over his words in a way that was clumsy and adorable, but unusual for the normally articulate and eloquent Prince. Not to mention how he would repeatedly glance bashfully at Hob from under feathery lashes. 

He didn’t want to get his hopes up, but a glimmer of light had taken hold in Hob’s breast, fuelled by the thought that maybe, just maybe, the Prince loved him in return. 

Life slowly returned to normal for the Prince and his guard, or at least adopted a thin veneer of normalcy. Morpheus attended council meetings every now and then, but most days he requested a summary from one of the advisors taking notes. Most times the Prince felt numb inside, hollowed out and filled back up with ice. However, the thought of sitting across the table from his father and discussing matters of state made him boil with rage. 

Meals were a thrice daily, almost impossible trial. Morpheus was expected to sit at the high table with his parents and whatever suitors or delegates from other realms were visiting. He could only muster the strength to go through the motions- carry on conversation even when his tongue turned to cotton, pick at his food even if he didn’t taste any of it, smile even if it didn’t reach his eyes.

Meanwhile, at the table closest to the dais, Hob was so frantic with anger and concern he could barely keep his food down. He hated seeing Morpheus drift through his days with flat, dull eyes, to continue on as if nothing had happened. He may have been breathing, his heart may have been beating, but the spark of life had left him, or was frozen deep in his core.

Hob wanted to stand atop the dinner table and bare his chest to show the fresh scar from Randall’s sword, physical proof he kept his oath to his Prince and his realm despite the threat of banishment. He wanted the King and Queen to rub the salve into Morpheus’ still healing wrists every morning and night, to confront the light but very present scarring that was a result of their inaction. To bend the knee and grovel and beg their son’s forgiveness. 

He wanted to wrap Morpheus in all the love and warmth he could provide, then furiously brandish his sword at the entire world and decimate anyone and anything that dared touch his Prince.   

At least the King and Queen had enough of a conscience to look deeply uneasy, every time they shared space with their son for more than a few moments. Hob glared at the King every time they crossed paths, and Chronos had at least enough shame to not meet his gaze. Nocturna seemed like she wanted to reach out, to offer what comfort she could, but hesitated every time.

Cowards, Hob thought venomously, Every one of them.

Hob had not slept in his own bed since their return; indeed he barely slept at all. Most nights he merely closed his eyes and rested, somewhere between dozing and sleep, ready to face whatever lurked in the dark that dared disturb Morpheus’ sleep.

Hob’s stitches were finally removed- Lyta had been stunned when she told him that while it would certainly pain him from time to time, he would likely regain full use of his arm and shoulder. Almost miraculous, she had said, for a wound like that. Hob’s first question was when he could start training again. Lyta frowned and pursed her lips, but told him he could start the following day if he took it easy. The eagerness on his face was reminiscent of when he had first become Morpheus’ guard, seemingly a lifetime ago- the Prince felt his core thaw just a little bit more.

Of course, Morpheus awoke the next day to find Hob once again practicing his forms with his fire poker sword, face set in a ragged, determined grin.

Winter settled in to stay over the next few weeks, thick drifts of snow blanketing the palace grounds. The paths through the gardens had been cleared, but all the plants were covered in sheets of white. Normally, Morpheus would have found it exceedingly beautiful; the sun reflecting off the snow, the crispness of the air. Now, it only reminded him of all he endured in that freezing cell.

Despite this, every other day or so, Hob would maneuver the Prince’s reluctant limbs into layers of wool and furs, thick socks and gloves, a cloak with a thick hood, and they would take a walk through the gardens. Hob let him take his arm, or would wrap his arm around the Prince’s waist if he needed extra support as they walked. And every time Morpheus was overcome by tremors and shivers that weren’t from the cold, Hob would press his lips to a pale temple and softly recite his oath in the Prince’s ear, along with reassurances that he was there, that he would keep him safe. 

Most days were too cold to go riding, but some days they went to see Jessamy and Gregory in the stables rather than walk the gardens. Hob had never known horses to be so expressive: on their first visit, both animals both expressed unbounded delight at seeing them, but then promptly turned a cold shoulder, leaving Hob and Morpheus to grovel and plead and bribe with pets and treats. 

That day was the first time something other than Hob had brought a smile to the Prince’s face. 

Another blizzard hit not even a week after that first snowfall. The snow came down in sheets, whipped about by biting gusts of wind. Even with the heat of the fire from the sitting room as well as the heavy drapes around his bed, there was a distinct chill in the Prince’s room. Shivering slightly, Hob got out of bed and padded to the sitting room. 

The fire was low, but still burning. Hob tied his hair back into a low tail as he knelt before the fireplace. He placed two new logs atop the charred remains of the old ones and gently blew on the base of the flames, coaxing them back to life.

It took the better part of an hour, but he got the fire roaring again, and the sitting room quickly warmed. Pleased with his work, Hob went back to the bedroom to get Morpheus- if he didn’t wake, Hob would gladly carry him to the settee. 

“Morpheus?” he whispered as he pulled back the drapes. 

The Prince was laying on his back, his right hand tucked under his pillow, the left draped over his stomach. Hob could see the outline of his casually splayed legs under the sheets. He smiled tenderly at the Prince’s peaceful slumber; it almost seemed a shame to wake him. 

Just as Hob was debating the best way to pick him up, the Prince’s brow furrowed, accompanied by a choked out whimper. Hob paused and waited. After a few moments, dark brows relaxed with a slightly heavier exhale. Hob relaxed as well and slowly peeled back the covers. “Morpheus?” 

Hob put a hand on his shoulder, and the next few seconds happened in a blur. Morpheus sat up in a rush of pale skin and wild black hair, a deadly glint of silver in his hand flashed toward Hob- holy shit where and when had he gotten a dagger- snarling as the dagger came down-

Hob shouted as he caught the Prince’s wrist in his hand, just inches away from creating an identical puncture in his unwounded shoulder. “Highness, it’s me!” The blue eyes that stared back were crazed and frantic and unseeing. The dagger shook in his grip as he continued to try forcing it into his perceived enemy. “Morpheus! Morpheus, it’s Hob!” 

Morpheus blinked. Some of the clarity returned to his eyes and Hob felt the pressure struggling towards him ease up just a tad. “Hob…?” he breathed, just barely awake and frightened to his bones. 

“Yes,” Hob replied as he gently pried the dagger out of the Prince’s hand. “It’s alright, it’s me. You’re safe.” All the tension flooded out of his muscles in a gasp of horror. 

“I…” he stared at his shaking hands in disbelief. “I almost stabbed you. I tried to kill you, oh gods-” 

“No no no!” Hob immediately dropped the dagger and firmly held the Prince’s hands in his. “You were clearly having a nightmare and I tried to wake you, you did nothing wrong, it’s okay.” 

Morpheus didn’t register Hob’s words and burst into anguished, panicked sobs. “Oh gods I’m so sorry, Hob-!” 

Hob quickly folded the distraught Prince in his arms and held him tight. Morpheus was nearly screaming into his shoulder, Hob could feel the tears soaking through the linen of his sleep shirt. He rocked them back and forth, trying to soothe the Prince, or at least reduce his screams. 

It took what seemed like an eternity for Morpheus’ cries to lower in volume and for his fingers to unclaw themselves from Hob’s back. Another eternity later, his cries were reduced to whimpers and he was slumped against Hob’s chest. Hob continued to rock them and whisper soothing nonsense until the whimpers faded into watery little hiccups. 

Biting his lip against the strain and pain in his body, Hob slowly shifted the Prince to gather him in his arms and carry him out to the sitting room. He gently placed the tangle of trembling limbs onto the furs and pillows he had laid out in front of the fireplace and with a murmured assurance he’d be back, snatched every blanket from both his and Morpheus’ beds. 

Hob laid down next to the Prince and covered their bodies with the pile of blankets before pulling the frightened, shivering creature that just barely resembled Morpheus into his chest, arms wrapped tightly around his lank frame. Even through their nightclothes, he could feel the chill that clung to the underside of Morpheus’ skin and wouldn’t let go. 

Morpheus finally came back to himself just as the witching hour started to settle over the palace. Hob had only gotten up once in that time to add more wood to the fire, to keep the flames burning bright in what seemed to be a losing battle to keep the Prince warm. 

“...Hob?” 

Hob’s name spoken in that low, flat tone devoid of any life violently twisted at his heart. With the Prince’s head pillowed on his chest just above the aching organ, he hoped Morpheus couldn’t feel it. “I’m here, darling,” he choked back. “I’m here.” 

Bony fingers curled into the worn-soft fabric of Hob’s nightshirt. “I’m so sorry,” Morpheus whimpered, high and vulnerable and desperate. “I could have hurt you, or even killed you.” 

Hob gently shushed him and carded his fingers through silky, feather-soft hair. “You don’t need to be sorry, Highness.” He paused to gather his words, and the strength to make his tongue work. “It was an understandable reaction, considering what you’ve been through. I’m not hurt, and I’m not upset. It’s alright.” 

For a moment the only sound in the room was the crackling of the fire. When Morpheus spoke again, the words still sounded hollowed out like a long dead tree. “When they first ambushed us on the road, I tried to fight them off.” Hob didn’t say anything while Morhpeus went down the harrowing, brambled path of his memories. “I tried to fight them, as you taught me. I tried…” 

“I know you did, love.” Hob’s words flared with his conviction as the fire cracked and popped. He may not have been there, he may not know all the details, but he knew deep in his bones that Morpheus Aeterna was not one to give in without a fight. He knew.  

He took one of Morpheus’ hands in his and kissed the remaining scabs of chafed skin and light scarring from the manacles ever so delicately, as if afraid that touch alone could tear the skin open again. A shiver slid down the Prince’s spine at that tender touch. Hob searched his eyes for any sign that such affection was unwelcome- finding none, he repeated the gesture, letting his lips drag all the way around the circumference of the joint. 

“You’re safe, Highness.” Hob’s voice shook with the strength of his emotion. “You’re safe here, with me. I won’t let anything hurt you, and if you’re afraid you’ll hurt someone else, or yourself, I’ll be there to stop you.” 

Morpheus stilled, barely breathing. A stone statue would have had more give. Once again, Hob Gadling had proved himself a better than any other man who had wanted to take up this duty of care. Once again, Hob had shown without hesitation that his care extended all the way to Morpheus the man, not just the current Crown Prince. He shivered again, stronger than the first. 

Hob watched his eyes flutter shut, tentative at first, as if afraid of what awaited him behind his eyelids, but soon it was clear he wouldn’t be able to keep them open. As he drifted off, his cracked whisper settled into the void just beneath Hob’s breastbone: 

“Thank you, my love.”

The following morning dawned bright and clear. The sky was almost as blue as Morpheus’ eyes, the sun gleaming and reflecting off the mounds of freshly fallen snow. The fire was somehow still burning, even if it was closer to embers than actual flames, and sunlight beamed in through the windows, warming the nest of furs and blankets the two were still wrapped in.  

Hob groaned as he slowly regained consciousness, his every muscle sore and protesting spending the night on the floor. Every ache was worth it to see the serenity on Morpheus’ face, still pillowed on Hob’s chest: his skin had some color back in it, the muscles were no longer crunched with tension. Lips that were once again plump and pink were parted slightly, the soft breaths coming from behind them warm and steady. 

A tender heat so intense it made him shake settled between Hob’s breastbone and his spine before making a home just below his stomach and expanding. If he hadn’t been certain before, he sure was now: Hob was in love with Morpheus. Beyond his duty of care, beyond his obligations to the royal family and the realm. Beyond anything he had ever thought possible. 

A giddy little grin split his face open. Hob let his nose rest in the tufts of the Prince’s hair and took a deep breath, unable to smell any remnants of their ordeal. Just herbal soap, and Morpheus. “I love you,” he whispered into the strands- gentle, amorous, besotted. 

Despite his happiness, Hob’s muscles continued to ache, now starting to cramp. He winced; they should probably get up, or at least move to a softer surface, but once again Hob was loathe to wake his sleeping beauty, especially after what had happened in the night. Instead, he focused on his breathing, trying to find that almost-dozing place where he could just drift and not focus on his sore body. 

He had just found his way there when Morpheus stirred. Just the slightest twitch of muscles at first, then elegantly limp fingers curling into Hob’s nightshirt. The Prince let out the tiniest, whining groan, and oh if that didn’t make Hob’s morning erection perk up even more. Hob tried to shift his hips so he wasn’t grinding into Morpheus’ thigh without waking him, but eventually failed.

Morpheus started awake in bits and pieces. First the aching soreness behind his dry eyes from crying. Then the warmth surrounding him from the blankets and fire and sun. Then the shape and heat of Hob beneath and around him and… oh. 

He made a little sound in the back of his mouth when he realized just what was jabbing into his thigh, and his entire abdomen clenched. He froze, tensed, caught between cringing away and tentatively pressing forward for more.  

“Good morning,” Hob greeted, the words thick and scratchy with sleep. Morpheus hummed in response, shifting slightly. His thigh rubbed up into Hob’s crotch, and the esquire shivered as tiny lightning bolts of pleasure shot down his legs. He felt the Prince tense against him, and canted his hips back as far as they could as he brushed his lips over Morpheus’ sleep-sweaty forehead. “You’re safe, Highness,” he reminded him in a rasp. 

Morpheus relaxed ever so slightly and leaned into the kiss, forcing Hob’s lips to linger against his skin. He gathered the hazy, half asleep courage before it was fully lost to consciousness and tilted his head to meet Hob’s lips in a sweet kiss, no less so for the lingering scent of tears on his breath. 

Hob hummed into the Prince’s mouth and let him take the lead, slowly and carefully moving his lips as he was directed. He pulled Morpheus closer, calloused hands lightly catching the threads of the Prince’s shirt as he ran them up and down the expanse of his back. 

Morpheus pulled away to take a gasping breath and whispered, “Hob, I… I want…” Hob could tell how Morpheus had to force his lips to form the words ‘I want.’ 

“Anything,” he reassured the Prince as he brushed wild strands of hair away from shining blue eyes. “Anything at all, my Prince.” 

Tentative fingers shaking with the slightest tremor caressed the bristles of Hob’s beard, carefully pulling free the long strands of hair that had gotten caught and pulled from his braid. “I want…” He swallowed hard. “I want to make love to you, Hob Gadling. I- love you.” 

Hob stared dumbly at Morpheus for the several moments it took his mind to process the Prince’s words. “Love… me?” he repeated with giddy incredulity. Morpheus nodded, resolutely meeting Hob’s gaze as if he were staring down a dragon. 

Hob couldn’t help himself: he laughed. Joyous and pealing and stretching the corners of his mouth. Morpheus’ face fell just a hair; Hob noticed and immediately forced the Prince to meet his gaze. “I’m not laughing at you, darling,” he assured him through his chuckles. “I’m just… amazed, and surprised, and so incredibly happy, because…” He stared adoringly at his Prince, committing every detail of his face in that moment to memory. “Because I love you, Morpheus, my Prince. Have done, I think since the moment I met you that day in the woods.” 

Morpheus blinked, stunned into a stupor. He hadn’t quite thought of what he would do or say if Hob returned his feelings; he was so focused on getting the words out that the after didn’t occur to him. He gaped a bit then finally choked out, “You… do?” 

Hob laughed again; Morpheus was just so beautifully adorable on the rare occasion he couldn’t string two words together. “Yes darling, I do.” The giddy incredulity passed on to Morpheus, until a shadow fell over his face. Hob immediately took the Prince’s face in his hands and brought him back to the present. 

“Morpheus, love. Whatever is troubling you, let it go for now.” He pressed their foreheads together, the strength with which he held them there almost stinging. “Right now it’s just you and me in here. No duties, no realm to worry about. Just be here with me.” He lowered his voice to a delicate whisper. “Make love to me?”

Morpheus’ cheeks instantly flushed a glowing red; such tender words coming from Hob’s mouth shouldn’t have sounded so filthy, and yet… He attacked Hob’s lips with passioned desperation, kissing and biting and licking like he was afraid Hob would vanish if he stopped. Morpheus slowly positioned himself atop his guard, straddling his pelvis, hands braced on the floor to avoid putting pressure on his wounded shoulder. Hob groaned when he felt Morpheus’ erection starting to tent his undergarments and nightshirt. 

Morpheus shivered- it was nervousness, it was excitement, it was residual weakness. “It’s alright,” Hob rasped as his fingers gently bit into the Prince’s hips. “I’m alright, you won’t hurt me.” Morpheus nodded and bit his lip, eager and wanting, but still clearly nervous. 

It took some doing, but eventually Morpheus was able to help Hob wriggle and writhe out of his nightclothes, leaving him beautifully bare atop the blankets and furs. He once again straddled Hob’s hips, carefully supporting most of his weight on his knees as he drew his own nightshirt over his head.  

Hob couldn’t help noticing the Prince’s shiver. “You don’t have to undress if you’re cold or uncomfortable.” His words were thready, breathy and gentle. 

“I’m fine,” Morpheus immediately assured him. “I want to, like this.” Hob tentatively placed his hands on the Prince’s hips, carefully wrapping his fingers around the sharp protrusions of his hip bones. Morpheus was still too thin, the contours of his ribs and clavicles visible in bright highlight and deep shadow in the morning sun. 

Hob’s throat closed up with emotion as he reverently glided his hands up and down Morpheus’ sides, letting his fingers stumble over each bump of rib. Even like this, cold and vulnerable, Morpheus was beautiful. “My Prince, my Morpheus” he whispered as his good arm reached up to draw Morpheus into a kiss, “Make love to me.” 

Morpheus easily followed the direction of Hob’s touch and let him draw him into the kiss, languid and sticky-sweet in the sun’s warmth. Hob’s tongue lovingly traced the words of his oath into every corner of the Prince’s mouth. He pulled away just enough to worry that plush bottom lip between his teeth until it turned red, then dove back in to inscribe his love as deep as he could reach.

When his lungs cried for air, Hob kept the Prince close as he pulled in just enough breath to speak. “I swore my life and my body to you, my Prince. My Morpheus. They’re yours, to do as you will. As is my heart.” 

Morpheus gaped at the man lying open and pliant beneath him. Hearing Hob give voice to the sentiments Morpheus could feel deep in his chest somehow made them all the more real. Not to mention the heated, besotted way Hob had been staring at him for the past ten minutes, like Morpheus had hung the moon and stars and for some unknown reason, had decided to gift such beautiful creations to Hob. 

“Hob…” he breathed, tenderly brushing a few wisps of hair out of Hob’s face. He bit his lip against near desperate tears. “I… You know I cannot offer you the same. My life belongs to the realm-”

“I know,” Hob breathed back. “I know you have duties, and I will be beside you through all of it. All I ever wanted-” he swallowed hard, mustering up the strength to voice the desires he had kept close to his heart for the whole summer and longer. “All I ever wanted, was your heart.” 

Morpheus let out a choked noise that was somewhere between a laugh and a sob. “You have it, Hob Gadling.” He leaned over and passionately kissed Hob into the floor, letting Hob’s hips fully take the weight of his own. They gasped into each other’s lips when their erections rubbed together through the Prince’s loose linen trousers.

“Morpheus,” Hob pleaded in a breathless gasp. “Gods I want you.” 

The Prince nodded, understanding what Hob was asking of him. He wriggled out of his trousers and tossed them aside. Now equally bare, he shivered slightly and curled in on himself, gooseflesh pebbling his limbs as he tried to make himself seem bigger and smaller at the same time. 

“Hey-” Hob gently coaxed as he sat up with a slight grimace. He drew Morpheus even further into his lap and tenderly held his face in his hands. “You’re safe, my love. You’re safe, and-” his eyes raked over the Prince’s bare form. “-gods you’re beautiful, and I want you more than I’ve ever wanted anything.” 

Hob could see Morpheus process his words, see the wheels in his mind turning behind those icy eyes. The only warning he had was the slight twitch of his mouth into a devilish smirk before he was once again lying on the floor, Morpheus’ hands pinning his wrists next to his head as the Prince hovered over him. He wasn’t exerting a lot of force out of concern for Hob’s wound, just enough to set Hob’s blood on fire with the idea. 

A groan was punched out of Hob’s chest upon impact, and he swore he could feel the blood in his veins rushing south. Morpheus let his hands slide from Hob’s wrists to his chest, avoiding the fragile pink flesh of his scar. Thumbs dusted over dusky nipples, and it was Hob’s turn to shiver. Morpheus repeated the motion, and this time he caught the twitch of Hob’s prick in response. 

Morpheus continued to explore by touch, trying to pull Hob’s warmth into his body through his fingertips. He pressed into the muscles of golden flanks and watched with fascination as the flesh sprang back when he let up. He ran his fingers through the dark hair on his chest, and down the trail of hair to his groin, stopping just shy of where Hob wanted his hands. 

“Morpheus,” he breathed, “I’m more than happy with you taking the lead, but for the love of all the gods, touch me.” 

“Have I not been doing just that?” the Prince quipped back, the ghost of a smile briefly appearing on his face. “If you want something more, you will have to be specific.” His words were warm like caramel, breathy around a core of playful vulnerability. 

Hob chuckled and intertwined the fingers of one hand with his. “Touch me?” he asked softly, guiding the Prince’s hand to his prick. “Please?” 

Morpheus unlaced their fingers and ghosted his palm over the shaft. “How could I refuse such a request,” he rasped as his grip firmed and Hob bucked his hips. “Be still.” The coaxing order was breathless with desire. 

Hob forced himself to release the breath trapped in his lungs and relax the muscles coiled in eager anticipation. Morpheus gave him a pleased little smile and continued his exploration. His free hand caressed Hob’s side while the one wrapped around his prick began to move slowly, the whisper of skin on skin mingling with the low crackling of the embers in the hearth. 

Hob groaned as a thumb spread a bead of precome over the head of his prick then dug slightly under the ridge where tip met shaft. “Please,” he rasped, his hips writhing squirming towards and away from that delicious pressure. “My Prince-” Hob hissed and cried out when Morpheus let go of his cock.

When he was able to open his eyes again, Morpheus was sucking and licking around two of his fingers the way he would lick the glaze off a pastry, and Hob was unable to contain his groan of desperate want. Morpheus smirked around his fingers, thin strands of saliva starting to drip down them. 

He released them with a pop as his free hand blindly felt around for a pillow or two to place under Hob’s hips. “I do not want to hurt you,” the Prince choked as his wet fingers tentatively hovered above Hob’s entrance, close enough that Hob could feel the residual chill. “Tell me if it does not feel good.” If Hob didn’t know better, he’d say the Prince was pleading with him.

“Of course,” he reassured him with a gentle smile. Morpheus took a breath as he slowly twisted and worked two slender fingers past Hob’s rim. 

Hob hissed- his fingers were freezing against the heat of his insides, but he couldn’t deny it felt incredible. He swore low in his throat and Morpheus immediately stilled. “Don’t stop-!” Hob choked. “Gods love, don’t stop.” 

Morpheus smiled, a quick, fleeting thing of bashful delight. He continued to press his fingers deeper, watching Hob’s face as he twisted and spread and curled, observing what reactions each motion elicited with the meticulous curiosity of a scholar. It gave him a rush of power like nothing he had ever experienced in his role of Crown Prince, seeing a man as capable and dangerous as Hob Gadling falling apart at his touch, and he practically shook with it. 

He could feel the muscles of Hob’s inner walls loosening and contracting around his fingers as if trying to pull them deeper. Hob writhed and squirmed beneath him, holding on to the Prince’s bony shoulders for dear life as the pleasure continued to mount. 

Morpheus stared in wonder as Hob eventually started doing most of the work, thrusting his hips into the Prince’s hand with more and more force. Morpheus could almost swear he felt the bones of his fingers start to thaw from the heat that surrounded them. If only he could slide his whole being into that heat and drive away the chill that refused to leave. 

Morpheus removed his fingers when Hob started to whimper in desperation. He cried out at the loss, his muscles clenching around nothing, hips twitching as they chased the Prince’s hand, begging for more of that frozen heat. Morpheus took his cock in hand and gave it a few strokes, wincing slightly at the dry friction. “I don’t want to hurt you,” he rasped uncertainly. 

Hob jerked his head toward the washroom. “Get one of your bath oils. I’ll be here.” Morpheus nodded and scrambled to his feet. Hob’s eyes were reverently glued to the small mounds of the Prince’s ass as he strode briskly into the washroom. Hob panted for breath as he listened to the crackling of the fire and the clinking of glass jars as Morpheus rummaged through the cabinet. When he returned, a small flask of oil was clenched tightly in his fist. 

He uncorked it as he straddled Hob’s hips again, and the smell of sandalwood mingled with the scent of the fire. He poured a little into the palm of his hand and set the vial aside before slathering it over his cock. 

Morpheus braced himself above Hob’s body that was practically vibrating with eagerness and anticipation, taking a moment to appreciate the beautiful strength of the man beneath him. 

“Morpheus…” Hob invoked his Prince’s name in a breathless whisper, and Morpheus hummed when he felt the ghost of air kiss the tip of his nose. He took a deep breath, letting that warm feeling expand and settle in his chest, and gently pushed himself inside. Hob hissed when the head of Morpheus’ prick half forced itself past the rim of muscle, and Morpheus had a jolt of fear that he had hurt him, but then Hob let out a long, decadent moan that could only be described as obscene.

Morpheus beamed, pleased that he had brought Hob to such a state, as well as from the pleasure coursing through him at the feeling of Hob’s heat surrounding some of his most sensitive flesh. He could feel the blood in his cock being warmed, then trickles of that warmth tracing his veins and slowly continuing to thaw the rest of him. He gasped at the small but sudden waves of warmth spreading through his body, a high, short, breathless sound of surprise, but then sighed in absolute joy and relief. 

“Darling,” Hob half wheezed, “This feels incredible, but must I beg you, to make love to me like you said you wanted?” He couldn’t help a playful smirk, even as the rest of his face went slack from bliss. 

Morpheus smiled, warm and loving, and gently pressed his lips to Hob’s. Once he had thoroughly kissed him, the Prince murmured, “You will never need to beg for my love, my Hob.” The weight of his promise would have felt solemn in any other circumstance, but as the Prince began to pull his hips back and gently guide them forward again, all Hob could feel was the warmth of his love. “As Prince, and eventually as King, my love will always be freely given.” 

As if to seal his vow, Morpheus began to move with more speed and strength, driving into Hob as deeply as he could. They both knew that neither of them would last very long this morn, but that was alright, they had all the time in the world to savor each other. Hob could feel it in the air; they had fucked many times before, but this time they were making love, and that made the caramel-warm pleasure all the sweeter. 

“Gods I love you, Morpheus-” Hob’s words were so breathless as to almost be a wheeze; his Prince had stolen the very air from his lungs. 

“And I you,” the Prince gasped back, his normally deep and resonant voice high and watery with tears. “Hob, I’m so close-” 

Hob cried out as his fingers bit into the Prince’s hips, deep enough to leave crescent shaped imprints in the pale skin. The coil of heat deep in his core was twisting tighter and tighter, ready to spring apart at any moment. Morpheus furrowed his brow and bit his lip in concentration as he slowed down just enough to experiment with the angle of his thrusts. Hob knew exactly what he was trying to do, and he squeezed those bony hips even harder. 

When Morpheus found the spot he was looking for, Hob bucked his hips up and screamed as the bolt of hot pleasure slammed through him like lightning. He clenched hard around the Prince’s cock, and Morpheus almost came then and there. 

Any tenderness from before was put aside in favor of ruthlessly chasing that hot ecstasy. Breathy sighs became punched out grunts, loving caresses became hard grips and red scratches, and it was Morpheus who snapped first. Three frantic thrusts saw him buried as deep within Hob’s body as mortally possible, and he would have gone deeper if he could; he would have sank all the way beneath Hob’s skin if he were allowed. 

Morpheus kept jerking his hips into Hob even when it started to hurt, desperate to see him fall apart. Hob guided the Prince’s hand to his cock, straining and red and leaking. Morpheus quickly understood what Hob needed; he wrapped his fingers around the shaft and gave a slight squeeze before stroking firmly. Hob bucked his hips and clenched down even harder on Morpheus’ softening prick as he came, splattering the Prince’s chest in his spend. 

It took longer than either of them were willing to admit to regain their breath and feeling in their limbs. When they could finally move, Morpheus purred, “Let me take care of you.” He heaved himself to his feet and once again went into the washroom, returning a few moments later with a warm towel. He gently cleaned around Hob’s groin before wiping the spend from his own chest and throwing the towel aside. 

Long limbs folded in on themselves as the Prince laid down next to his still panting guard and curled up around him. After a few moments, he whispered in Hob’s ear as if sharing a secret, “I’ve never felt like this before.”

“Thoroughly ravished?” Hob teased back, “I thought we achieved that in the forest.” 

Morpheus gave him an affectionate shove. “No, you menace. I meant… thoroughly loved. And safe. That all of me, is loved and safe.” 

Hob felt tears burning at the backs of his eyes at the Prince’s confession, but these were tears of joy, and so he made no effort to hold them back. One of the Prince’s thumbs tenderly brushed over his cheekbones to divert their paths. “You will never need to ask,” Hob choked, “for my love will always be freely given. My love, my care, my devotion, every last bit of me is yours.” He pulled Morpheus close to his chest and placed a gentle kiss in his hair. 

Morpheus hummed with a soft smile. “As I am yours. My love, I feel… warm.” 

Chapter 12

It took until roughly midwinter, but both Hob and Morpheus recovered from their trials at the hands of Burgess. The body healed faster than the mind, but both were undoubtedly on the mend. As Lyta had predicted, Hob’s wound pained him from time to time, the muscles cramping and seizing if he moved a certain way. Thankfully, it had yet to cripple him at an inopportune moment, such as during official business, or in the bedroom. 

Morpheus returned to Fiddler’s Green once the snows began to melt, and this time Hob returned with him. He showed his esquire around his shire and immediately had Hob’s things moved into his rooms- they had no need to fear the kind of gossip that would circulate at court in Istoria. In fact, everyone seemed both happy and relieved the Prince had finally found a partner to share in the joys and hardships of life.

And so it came to pass that the realm of the Dreaming was thrown into a time of upheaval. 

It was tradition and practice in the Dreaming since the dawn of the realm for the heir to assume the throne once married, at which time the previous monarchs would abdicate and serve as advisors. After his ordeal, Morpheus decided that was a practice that needed to be done away with. 

He returned to Istoria with Hob and spent a full day locked in Chronos’ study with his mother and father. When they finally emerged in the late hours of the night, it was decided that Chronos and Nocturna would abdicate at the end of spring, and Morpheus would take the title of Dream King, despite not being married. No one knows exactly what the terms were, but Hob was convinced it was at least in part because Chronos had indeed intended to use Morpheus as a bargaining chip with Burgess. 

One of Morpheus’ first edicts as Dream King was to declare Hob a knight of the Dreaming. It was a short, understated ceremony, despite the King’s desire for a much more lavish affair and disdain for much of courtly tradition. After dinner that night, Morpheus thoroughly worshiped and revered his sworn Knight. 

Around the summer solstice, almost a year to the day the King and the Knight first met, whispers and murmurs began to trickle in to the Dreaming from Fawney Rigg and other surrounding realms. Rumors and rumblings that King Roderick was more desperate than ever to get his hands on the Dreaming’s crown- desperate enough to seek out dark sorcerers that most didn’t believe existed. 

These rumors made Morpheus deeply uneasy. He knew that his break with tradition would leave the realm fragile and shaken; so he very strongly and publicly decreed that any action taken against himself or the realm would be taken as a declaration of war, and responded to accordingly. In private, he worked with Hob, Cain, and Abel to fortify the Dreaming’s defenses and increase the number of scouting companies that traveled the realm keeping an eye out for incursions and reporting back to Istoria. 

Morpheus and Hob were married that autumn, in another private ceremony, this one at the lake where they first met, witnessed by Cain, Abel, Lucienne, and Matthew. They couldn’t have a honeymoon, not with war potentially brewing on the horizon, but they did take several days to set down and step away from their duties. 

A veneer of normalcy fell over the Dreaming in the following months, but everyone could feel deep in their bones and the roots of the land that a storm was brewing, a siege was coming. Tensions were mounting between friends and families as they waited for the storm to break and hell to descend. And sure enough, hell would descend on the Dream King and his sworn Knight, with the fate of the realm in the balance. 

This tale may be over, but the story never ends.

As you can probably tell by the ending, there is a sequel in the works! Not sure exactly when it will come, but I’ll be working on it along with my fic for the Dreamling History fest, Infinitas, and PDD

If this story inspires you to create something of your own, please share with me so I can keysmash and gush over what you make!