A/N: Another challenge entry for Once Upon A Time, in which WhenNightmaresWalked takes extraordinary liberties with Elf powers. This one's for Chapter 27, so you should probably read that if you want this to make sense. In fact, go read the whole damn story. And then tell LA Knight how awesome she is.
Note from LA: this is canon for my fic, even though I didn't write it.
"Nuada."
Amber eyes flew open at the sound of his name, but instead of the warm, brown walls of Dylan's cottage, they were met with an open field of lush grass sprawling beneath a cerulean sky. He knew this place, he realized with an ancient ache in his heart. His mother had brought Nuala and him here countless times when they were young to play in the little river that cut across the grass.
Not real, he thought wearily. This place was a human amusement park now.
"Brother." Nuada fought the urge to flinch and kept his eyes firmly fixed on the horizon.
"This is a dream," he said simply. Nuala appeared beside him, nodding sadly.
"Yes." She sighed. "I have missed this place." Nuada said nothing. He did not have to. They both knew how desperately they longed to return to this time, to when they still had their mother, when words like "love" and "loyalty" were not dangerous, when places like this were not ground into the dust by mortals, and when there was more between them than the fading, pale glimpses of memory… but that was a long time ago, and not why Nuala came.
"Where are you, brother?" she asked gently. Nuada stiffened.
"I fail to see what business it is of yours," he replied coolly. "I was called away by duty. That is all." Nuala raised an eyebrow.
"A duty to Dylan?" she pressed. "Is that greater now than your duty to Father?" The tension between them then was almost tangible, burdened by the bitterness of centuries. Nuala could feel rage boiling in his blood, rage and grief.
Nuada exhaled slowly, and suddenly the anger drained, the tension dissipated, and there was only weariness left in its wake. "Why are you here, Nuala?"
For some reason she could not name, she felt cruel just then. Suddenly, she wanted nothing more than to leave him in peace, let him rest untroubled, and tell him she really did love him on her way out. But it was too late for such things, and "love" and "loyalty" no longer could mean the same things.
"I am here to warn you, brother," she said evenly, forging ahead over her own reservations. "Father is not pleased with your absence, and the longer you remain in the human world, the greater the consequences will be." Nuada laughed, short and bitter, and it stung.
"I could not even begin to fathom how Father's regard of me could get any worse, so I hardly see how it matters. I left because Dylan needed me. My loyalty and duty to Father is as it has always been. But I would not allow Dylan to go alone." I go when you go. Their most precious promise. He glanced up at a wisp of cloud in the sky and was reminded of her eyes. "She stands always by my side, where I have long wished you and Father also stood. When she needs me, I must be there. Father must understand that."
Nuada knew his sister could feel the tumult of emotions within him, but he could not begin to care. He was tired. Tired of accusations and suspicion, tired of plots and of the memory of a relationship he would most likely never have with his father and sister. He sighed.
"For now, Nuala, for this short time, I claim sanctuary here," he murmured. "I am in no danger and at ease. And I am…" Happy. He was not sure if he could admit that, but there was no hiding anything from her. Not here in this dream world. He suddenly felt suffocated by the too-empty field below and too-big sky above. Why would she come here? Why would she visit his dreams and fill them with visions of a life long passed?
"Leave me, Nuala," he breathed, his voice barely above a whisper. "Torment me no longer here." He felt her fingers brush gently against his shoulder.
"As you wish, brother." And then she was gone, plunging Nuada into consciousness. Once again, all was as it should be. He was still reclined in the chair beside Dylan's bed, and her hand was still tucked gently in his. He straightened slowly, rubbing the weariness from his eyes with his free hand. Somehow managing to sense his movement through the veil of slumber, Dylan's fingers tightened around his.
"Y'okay?" she mumbled. Nuada realized then he was trembling in her grasp. He took a breath. Calm yourself, he internally berated. It was just a dream. Nothing more. A dream and a memory, and for some reason, both of those things perturbed him.
"I am fine, Dylan," he whispered. "Sleep."
"Mmmkay.." And then she was fast asleep again. Nuada smiled. How peaceful she seemed, there in that moment. Her mass of brown hair fell about her so that only her nose was visible, poking from the frizzy locks. Slow, careful not to disturb her, he reached out and gently pushed the hair to the side, tucking what he could behind her ear. Her long, dark eyelashes curved beneath her eyes, fanning out across scarred flesh. He considered her scars a moment. He never noticed them, usually. They tended to move with her face, to be as expressive as she was. He wondered if she hated them, if she ever gave them a second thought. She was not vain; it was more likely they were nothing more to her than a reminder of her ravishment. Nuada followed the lines of her face all the way down to her slightly parted lips. Though they were striped with a handful of scars, they seemed surprisingly pink and soft and…
Stop it. He tore his eyes from her face. Now was not the time to consider her various facial features. And why would he? She was no great beauty…
But beautiful in her own right. The thought came unbidden. Silence, he snarled at himself, ignoring the folly of ordering himself around.
What was he doing here, really, he wondered, by no means for the first time. Had he fallen so far, to look upon a mortal's face and to feel not revulsion, but something akin to… affection? Appreciation? To think a scarred mortal who was just too good to be truly human…could be almost worthy of his regard? Perhaps there was some malady of the brain he was not aware he had, or a witch's spell was to be blamed for this enormous, perpetual lapse in judgment… but he could not find it in himself to resent it, whatever it was.
"Nuada…" he froze, wondering if he had awoken her. But no… she merely repeated his name once more and snuggled in further under the blankets.
For a long moment, Nuada struggled to name the feeling that swelled in his heart then. Nuala used to do that… used to dream of him. He wondered if Dylan dreamed happily now.
"Rest well, madoigna," he murmured, closing his eyes, and hoping that perhaps he would as well.
"We are the hollow men
We are the stuffed men
Leaning together
Headpiece filled with straw. Alas!
Our dried voices, when
We whisper together
Are quiet and meaningless
As wind in dry grass
Or rats' feet over broken glass
In our dry cellar…"
Her voice was low and haunting as Nuada padded silently into the living room. She sat before her fireplace, form silhouetted by the flickering firelight. He paused in the doorway. He did not remember waking up, or leaving Dylan's bedroom…
"Is this another dream?" he asked quietly. Dylan looked up at him in surprise and smiled.
"I don't know," she admitted. "Is it a good dream?" Nuada considered that as he settled down across from her. The fire was warm, the room smelled of bread and lilies, with always the faint, lingering odor of vinegar beneath. Becan and Bat sat at her feet, apparently listening with rapt attention to Dylan's recitation. And there she was, eyes shining with affection, a smile tugging at the corner of her lips.
"Yes," he said at last. "It is." Dylan laughed.
"Are you always this self-aware when you are sleeping?" she teased. "I know I am not. Are you stalking my dreams now? How are you even here?" Nuada fought the smirk that sprang to his lips.
"It's an Elf thing," he said, with a conspiratorial wink. "To be honest, it was not my intention to enter your dreams." He paused. "But sometimes it is better than dreaming alone." Before his thoughts could stray to Nuala and her intrusion, he gestured to the book in Dylan's lap. "What is that you are reading?"
Dylan held the book up, "It's a collection of poems by T.S. Elliot. This one is called The Hollow Men." She smiled somewhat sadly. "I first read it while still in the institution. I daresay Elliot shared your view of humanity. He certainly shared mine at the time." She pointed to a different stanza.
"Those who have crossed
With direct eyes, to death's other Kingdom
Remember us—if at all—not as lost
Violent souls, but only
As the hollow men
The stuffed men."
Nuada glanced down at the book, scanning the remainder of the poem. Eyes I dare not meet in dreams… Eyes silver and sad and so full of love, haunted with memory and shining with faith… impossible eyes. Nuada shook that thought away. Human poetry could not begin to compare to the literature of Faerie, but he decided it was not so bad.
"Do you often dream of poetry?" he asked. Dylan shrugged.
"I like poetry and stories," she said. "And Becan has often asked me to read from this book to him. Such things are bound to bleed over into my dreams." Nuada nodded, remembering countless times he had dreamed of the stories his mother used to tell him.
Nuada settled back into a more comfortable position and a companionable silence fell between them. It was so easy to be together with her in this way, in this dream. No one could watch them here, he did not have to wonder at the feeling s in his heart, and he was not disquieted by the closeness of her as he so often was, but comforted.
"I sometimes have the strangest feelings when you are near me," he blurted, the words spilling out before he even realized he thought them. Dylan's eyes widened and she suddenly was very still. Nuada silently cursed himself and wondered how exactly he was supposed to proceed.
"What sort of strange feelings?" She looked like she feared the answer. Nuada took a deep breath.
"It is…" He felt foolish, groping around blindly for the correct words. "As if I am falling," he finished lamely. "Hard and fast through a hole in the world. And every time I find something to hold on to, you look at me with those blasted eyes, and I am falling again." Nuada sighed. You couldn't lie to yourself in dreams, he should have known that. "And I fear that a time will come when I no longer reach for a handhold, and I will let myself fall."
Silence stretched between them for an eternity. Or perhaps it was only moments, Nuada couldn't tell. Finally, Dylan stirred. She set her book down and half-crawled towards him.
"Lean forward," she said softly. He hesitated. "Please." Nuada sighed and did as he was bid. Slowly, carefully, behaving as one did so as not to spook a wild animal, she positioned herself slightly behind him, her back pinned against the base of the leather chair he had leant against.
"It's okay," she whispered. Ever so slowly, she wrapped her arms around his shoulders, resting her palms on his forearms. Her fingers traced gentle circular patterns on his arms, her breath brushed softly against his ear, and Nuada found himself relaxing into her embrace. It was okay, he tried to convince himself. It was just a dream. He could relax in a dream. And anyway, it was doubtful Dylan would even remember this when she awoke. Indeed, he was not sure if even he would.
"Would you sing me a song?" he murmured, giving in at last to the freedom of the unreal. Dylan thought for a moment, her fingers never ceasing in their soothing motions across his skin.
Hush, child,
The darkness will rise from the deep
And carry you down into sleep,
Child, the darkness will rise from the deep
And carry you down into sleep…
Her voice was soft, and low… Not beautiful, not even in tune. But… he remembered the sylph's words all t hose months ago in his sanctuary. Pretty. Like child. But soft. He closed his eyes and leaned against her…
Child, the darkness will rise from the deep
And carry you down into sleep…
Nuada awoke to the piercing trill of Dylan's cell phone, and the dream soaked in confession faded away into the pale realm of memory…
Note:
The poem Dylan reads is by T.S. Elliot, and the title of this story is taken from that same poem. The song at the end is Mordred's Lullaby, and if you haven't seen the fan video on YouTube with Nuada, you really should.
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