Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

"We will sing for you, Doctor, the universe will sing you to sleep."

The Doctor was cold, huddled on a patch of barely melted snow, watching desperately as the snowflakes shattered one by one against his already trembling hand. Time was not on his side. What irony…

A faint song echoed in his ears. The Doctor lifted his eyes to Ood Sigma, who stood motionless before him. A look of compassion seemed to emerge beneath the tentacles that hid the lower half of his face. He held his secondary brain tightly against his chest, and the telepathic song of the Ood grew stronger, resonating across the universe. Everywhere, people wept at the end of time.

With great effort, the Doctor stood up. His limbs trembled violently, and his body was racked with uncontrollable spasms. He could already feel the lindos coursing through his system multiplying. He had delayed his state of grace as long as possible, but now he was overwhelmed by waves of pain that would only end once his regeneration was complete.

"This song is coming to an end, but History itself never ends…," Ood Sigma declared calmly.

The Doctor staggered toward his only refuge: his blue police box, his TARDIS. He was terrified, because he knew his time had come. As he opened the door, he stifled a sob. It was too soon. It was always too soon. He wasn’t ready to go, yet there was nothing left to hold him back.

Still reeling, he removed his coat, the one that had accompanied him through all his years across the universe and flung it, disheartened, onto one of the many structures that made up his ship. The loneliness he had felt since the loss of all his companions now gnawed at him to the bone.

The Doctor felt his hand crackle, agitated by a new form of energy. In despair, he saw the golden light emanating from it, the inevitable sign of his cellular regeneration process. The burden of being the last of the Time Lords was becoming unbearable.

Shaken by the sight, the Doctor tore his gaze away from the glowing halo dancing fiercely around his hand and dragged himself to the control console. It was time for him to leave Earth, to leave behind his guilt and his heroism stained with selfishness.

Had he even been a good Doctor ? Haunted by the past yet clinging to it with nostalgia, he never kept anything he loved. His companions almost always vanished or suffered greatly because of his adventures, never staying by his side. They lived only in his memory and, ultimately, in unreachable moments of time. Like a walking paradox, the Doctor embodied both Gallifrey, the planet he had so loved and destroyed, and the future he could still save. In the shadow of a nostalgic past he constantly destroyed for the sake of a collective future, he sacrificed what he loved most to safeguard the continuity of multidimensional memory.

Was that all he would be remembered for ? The one who regretted ?

The Oods’ song gradually faded, like a candle burning out.

"I don’t want to go," his last words echoed like a cry of agony, witnessed only by silence.

His body flared with blinding light, unleashing a burst of golden energy so intense that the windows shattered, the control room was largely destroyed, and the Tardis caught fire.

All across the ship, sparks flew, flames spread, and the structure collapsed, as his body kept expelling the surplus of energy he had stored after absorbing heavy radiation. Amid this chaotic storm, the consciousness of the Tenth Doctor slowly faded, making way for a new Time Lord.

With a cry of pain, his cells split and reformed, his body jolted by a shockwave, his face reshaped, and a brand-new person appeared amidst the wreckage.

"My legs ?" He exclaimed, checking if they were still there. "I still have my legs!" he confirmed, relieved, kissing the top of his thigh. "Brilliant!" He rejoiced.

"Arms! Oh, hands !" He marveled, like an 11-year-old boy opening a Christmas toy. "With fingers ! Loads of fingers !" He exclaimed. He continued his inspection, feeling his face.

"Ears, yes. Eyes, a nose ?" He looked disappointed with the latter but reassured himself, thinking he’d had worse.

"A chin, hair…," he suddenly stopped short.

"I’m a girl ?" He exclaimed, horrified by the discovery, but quickly regained composure.

"No, I’m not a girl !" He grabbed a lock of his hair and held it up to his eyes. "Ah, but I’m still not ginger," he lamented, flailing about, disturbed by everything happening around him.

"There’s something else ! Something important ! I am…," he struggled to remember who he was, in vain.

An explosion tore him out of his thoughts and confusion. Driven by primal instinct, he stumbled to what remained of the control console. Unfortunately, he didn’t know which commands to press as the Tardis drifted aimlessly, disoriented by the earlier blast.

"I’m crashing !" He realized helplessly.

Space-time suddenly warped, revealing seven temporal windows, each with a distinct peculiarity, yet fitting together perfectly like Russian nesting dolls.

The Eleventh Doctor, still lost in his amnesiac trance, saw the seven windows appear on his screen and, with no idea what else to do, slammed a random button while screaming at the top of his lungs :

"Geronimoooooo !"

A long time ago, in a galaxy far, far away… Sorry, wrong lore.

Morpheus was weary of the evening. The banquet he had organized was coming to an end, and he still had no idea to whom he should entrust the key to Hell. Speaking to all those gods, angels, demons, faeries, forces of Chaos, of Order, and other obscure entities had mentally drained him. In the end, he felt he had wasted his time. Almost all of them, save for rare exceptions, coveted the key for selfish reasons, trying to bribe him, threaten him, or even appeal to his emotions to achieve their goal.

The enigmatic Kilderkin, a manifestation of Order, had offered him his personal collection of dream-essences taken from recently deceased humans. Morpheus shuddered in disgust at the thought of owning such essences. That kind of dream didn’t interest him ; besides, he could easily obtain them himself. He was Dream of the Endless, after all.

Lord Kilderkin’s mind was clearly twisted, and his offering was more an insult than an actual bribe. Not to mention, he manifested as a cardboard box carried by his servant, communicating via printed messages that appeared inside it. Clearly, he was not fit to become Hell’s new ruler.

Soon after, the young Princess of Chaos approached Morpheus, taking obvious delight in adopting a childlike appearance that contrasted sharply with her true nature, which she wasted no time revealing in the form of an unveiled threat. To frighten Morpheus, she revealed her true face ; that of an old woman with hollowed features, framed by two blank, expressionless eyes. With a thunderous voice, she declared that the entire army of Chaos would pursue him to the end of time if he did not hand her the key.

Morpheus, however, was unfazed. He had seen worse, and far more terrifying things could befall him. In the end, the Princess of Chaos handed him a red balloon, which he reluctantly accepted, and then she left without another word. What a strange, ambiguous girl, thought Morpheus. In some ways, she even reminded him of his younger sister, Delirium. Definitely too unstable to become the Queen of Hell.

As Morpheus continued to grumble about the headache caused by this cursed key, the mysterious Susano-o-no-Mikoto politely addressed him. He told him his dark tale as a young storm god, who in his anger had ended up hurting those he loved most, his family. Thus, his father had banished him to the underworld of Ne-no-Kuni. And there, in that hell, he had learned from his mistakes, discovering that even in the land of the dead, roots could grow.

Morpheus began to think he had perhaps found a suitable candidate to rule Hell. However, he had learned to distrust appearances, and mercy had never been one of his strengths. He kept in mind that Susano-o-no-Mikoto deserved his attention, but he needed to be cautious and not fall into the trap of human compassion.

Lost in thought, Morpheus walked on without caring for the banquet still in full swing, animated by Cain’s latest attraction. He only lifted his head when he approached Odin, All-Father. Unsurprisingly, Odin wanted to bribe him into giving up the key to Hell. Without beating around the bush, Odin offered him the location of his missing brother, Destruction. Morpheus was astonished by this revelation, knowing full well that his brother would remain hidden for as long as he wished.

The truth soon emerged. Odin only wanted the key to Hell to save his people from Ragnarök. He believed that by conquering a new territory, he could put an end to the endless wars ravaging the realms of Asgard, Jötunheim, and Svartalfheim. But Morpheus disagreed, fearing that this new situation would only shift the territorial conflicts into Hell.

Odin insisted that he must protect his realm, just as Morpheus had to protect his. With that, he wished him good night and returned to his table to rejoin his kin.

"Who wants some juicy sausages ?" Cain exclaimed, pulling from his dubious machine a string of intestines that unmistakably came from poor Abel.

Beside him, Goldie, the gargoyle adopted by the two brothers, looked utterly dismayed, letting out little cries of displeasure as the crowd roared in applause at Cain’s performance.

"Did Abel really turn into sausages ?" Asked the Princess of Chaos in astonishment.

"Yes, absolutely !" Cain confirmed, brandishing the string of intestines before draping it proudly around his neck.

"Thank you ! If you liked the show, tell your friends ! If you didn’t, I hope you get throat cancer and die, never able to speak another word !" The hall erupted in laughter and applause, thoroughly entertained by the grotesque spectacle.

"Good night !" Cain saluted dramatically, sweeping his cape.

Now it was Morpheus’s turn to speak, though he had no desire to. With unconcealed nonchalance, he stepped onto the stage Cain had used to amuse the crowd. Everyone stared at him, tense and expectant, wondering what decision Dream of the Endless, current keeper of the key to Hell, so coveted by many, would announce.

"Dear guests, this concludes the evening. As for the reasons you are here, I have much to consider," he declared in his deep voice, heightening the tension in the hall.

"I will announce my decision tomorrow. In the meantime, I suggest you-"

He didn’t have time to finish, for he was interrupted by a shriek growing louder and louder in his ears.

"Geronimoooooo !"

And with a murderous crash, a half-burning blue box plummeted to the ground, landing just a few feet from Morpheus, who hadn’t moved an inch.

The sudden appearance sparked a chain reaction of gasps, cries of shock, and another wave of applause.

"Lord Morpheus ! What new devilry is this, straight from your Realm of Dreams ?" Thundered Thor, son of Odin, looking ready to draw his hammer.

It was a good question, one Morpheus unfortunately had no answer to. His face remained unreadable despite the overwhelming situation. Intrigued, he descended from the stage with deliberate calm to observe more closely the fallen blue box, lying on its side. He barely had time to examine it before the doors burst open, releasing a cloud of smoke that quickly engulfed the nearest onlookers who had dared approach what seemed unmistakably a police box. After a moment, a grappling hook shot upward from the opening, and a silhouette emerged from the dissipating steam.

"Can I have an apple ?"

Chapter Text

"Can I have an apple ?"

The entire hall fell silent, staring in astonishment at the stranger perched atop his blue box, who had appeared out of nowhere as if he had just walked into a bar to order a beer.

Morpheus regarded the newcomer with a wary eye. His appearance was utterly disheveled ; his soaked brown hair hung miserably around his face while a few rebellious tufts stuck up, his prominent chin spattered with glitter gave him a boyish look, his half-unbuttoned blue shirt was generously stained with soot, and his tie was noticeably coming undone.

"It’s all I can think about apples… I love apples !" The stranger declared eagerly. "Maybe that’s what you call a craving ? Is that right ? I’ve never had one before," he added, as though he had just been born and was discovering the world.

The curious blue police box then emitted the strangest of sounds, making the assembly jump. Even the angels Duma and Remiel, who had remained perfectly impassive until then, hastily flapped their wings to retreat from the scene. Morpheus also stepped back, assessing the potential danger posed by this man or newborn.

"Are you sure you’re all right, sir ?" Asked Lucienne, the librarian of the Dreaming, who had been watching the scene from the shadows of one of the banquet hall’s many pillars.

"Oh, this ?" He gestured at himself, at least aware of his pitiful state. "It’s nothing, just a little fall !" Assured the stranger, rolling up his damp sleeves. "I ended up all the way down in the library, not easy climbing back up," he continued, swinging his legs over the side of the box to sit more comfortably.

"And why are you all wet ?" Lucienne asked.

"I was in the swimming pool," he replied simply, as though it were obvious.

"But you just mentioned a library," Lucienne pressed, confused by his incoherent answers.

"Yes, that’s where the swimming pool is !"

A silence followed his words. Almost everyone thought him mad.

"Are you a policeman ?" Asked the Princess of Chaos curiously.

"Why ? Did you call a policeman ?" He countered, raising an eyebrow.

"Have you come for the key to Hell ?" Growled Azazel, the Lord of Demons, ready to devour the soul of anyone coveting what he deemed his by right.

"What key ?"

The stranger was suddenly seized by violent spasms and toppled clumsily from his perch, crashing heavily onto the marble floor of the banquet hall.

"I’m fine !" He shouted between groans of pain. "It’s nothing at all, perfectly norm-"

He was cut short by another convulsion wracking his body. For a moment, it seemed he couldn’t breathe, until finally he drew a deep breath and expelled a trail of golden light from his mouth.

Once again, the hall fell into stunned silence at the bizarre phenomenon unfolding before them.

"Who are you ?" Thundered a deep voice that echoed throughout the chamber.

"I don’t know yet," the stranger replied honestly. "I’m not quite finished." His hands glowed with the same light his lungs had just expelled. "Does that frighten you ?" He asked intently.

"No, you just seem like a madman straight out of a blue box," Loki answered wryly the second son of Thor, at least officially.

"No, I mean the key to Hell. Does that frighten you ?" Clarified the stranger.

No one knew how to respond. It was a question both foolish and unsettling.

"In that case, not a second to lose !" he exclaimed, springing nimbly to his feet. "I’m the Doctor, do exactly as I say, don’t ask stupid questions, and don’t wander off too far," he ordered briskly.

And with those words, he strode off in a random direction until he collided with something solid, falling backward.

"Oh dear, I think I hit a concrete wall !" He groaned, rubbing the top of his head. "Still breaking in this body steering’s a bit stiff, it seems."

Morpheus, the wall in question, tilted his head down toward the Doctor.

"Doctor Who ?" He demanded in his deep voice.

The Doctor had heard that same question countless times, yet this time he couldn’t suppress a shiver of anticipation. He took a moment to study the figure before him : a majestic face, pale, almost translucent skin flawless in every way, hair black as raven feathers, and eyes dark and deep as night itself.

"Ah… That’s the great question the whole universe asks," he finally replied, a faint smile on his lips. "Now, can I have an apple?"

Already irritated by the so-called Doctor’s behavior, Morpheus nevertheless consented to grant the wish of the eccentric who had dared intrude upon his realm uninvited.

"Taramis, bring this… last-minute guest an apple," he requested of his head cook, pointedly stressing the word guest.

She promptly clapped her hands sharply. "Consider it done, master." As if by magic, a rustic basket brimming with bright red apples appeared on the fairies’ table.

Still sprawled on the icy floor of the banquet hall, the Doctor, suddenly filled with energy, leapt to his feet and dashed to snatch the food he so desired.

Lady Nuala, ambassador of the Fairy Queen, briefly barred his way. "If you really are a doctor, then why does it say ‘police’ on your box ?" But she received only a disdainful look before the Doctor shoved past her without a second thought, biting into an apple. After a few loud chews, he spat the mouthful back out.

"That’s disgusting! What is it? " He cried.

"It’s an apple," Lucienne said dryly.

"Apples are rubbish ! I hate them!"

"But you said you loved them !" The Princess of Chaos pointed out.

"No, actually, I love yogurt ! That’s my favorite ! Give me yogurt!"

Morpheus rolled his eyes, as though praying God himself would intervene, though he couldn’t even manage a cursed key. Helpless, he turned despairingly to Taramis, signaling her to handle the situation before he conjured up a walking nightmare just to silence the Doctor.

Another clap rang out, and several yogurts of various flavors appeared on the same table.

The Doctor grabbed one at random, gulped it down, and immediately spat it out straight into the face of Cluracan, Lady Nuala’s brother. The entire hall erupted in laughter, mocking the unfortunate fairy ambassador.

"What is wrong with you ?" Cluracan bellowed, furiously wiping his face with a white napkin.

"What’s wrong ?" Retorted the Doctor. "What’s wrong is you’re not giving me any decent food… I need something fried !" He mused aloud.

Without delay, a plate of perfectly crisped bacon appeared before him. The mouth-watering smell drew him in, and he swiped Cluracan’s cutlery to shovel a slice into his mouth. At first, he seemed to enjoy it, but then his face twisted into disgust, and he spat out the half-chewed bacon.

"Are you trying to poison me ?" He accused, shooting a dark glare at Taramis. Deeply insulted at having her renowned dishes maligned, she instead conjured up a fine plate of beans dusted with a homemade sauce.

"Ah! Beans !" the Doctor cheered, banging his cutlery impatiently against the table. But as soon as he shoveled a spoonful down his throat, he spat it back into Cluracan’s plate. "Beans are evil, wicked beans!"

"Butter on toast, nothing better," he declared confidently.

Utterly horrified by the taste, he hurled the plate across the hall, shouting : "Stay over there and never come back!"

"Perhaps carrots ?" Suggested Lucienne, sensing Taramis was running out of ideas and about to roast the Doctor alive.

"Carrots ? Are you mad ?" He flared up. "No, wait… I know what I need… I need… fish fingers and custard !" He exclaimed with ecstatic delight, as though he had just invented electricity.

Though doubtful, Taramis conjured the requested dishes. The Doctor’s grin widened gleefully as he eagerly dunked a fish finger into a large bowl of custard and swallowed it whole.

"Now this, that’s proper food !" He rejoiced, mouth still full.

Taramis decided the man had no taste whatsoever, but at least she had done her duty, and it was time to withdraw before she made a scene. So much food wasted on whims… What a waste!

"By the way, what’s his name ?" The Doctor suddenly asked between bites.

"Whose ?" Lucienne replied.

"The man who looks like the singer from Kiss, only prettier." Seeing no reaction, the Doctor clarified : "You know, white skin, black hair, dark eyes, brooding voice."

"You must mean Lord Morpheus ?" Lucienne guessed, unable to suppress a mocking glance toward her master, hidden from most on his balcony overlooking the hall.

"Morpheus… sounds like something out of a fairy tale!"

"Doctor, are you not a member of the family of the Endless ?" Lady Nuala asked innocently.

"The Endless !" He exclaimed. "No, certainly not. The Shadow Proclamation forbids me from any interaction with those seven. We’re… incompatible, I think."

"What do you mean by that ?" demanded Morpheus, suddenly appearing at the Doctor’s side in a swirl of sand.

The Doctor showed no surprise, merely slurping down the last of his custard. Once finished, he wiped his mouth with the back of his hand, then rose to stand before the Lord of Dreams.

"If you’ll allow me, I need to scan you for something," the Doctor said, pulling his trusty sonic screwdriver from under his shirt and pointing it at the strange being of sand.

Morpheus remained motionless as the odd device emitted a grating whine.

"Identity : Dream of the Endless. One of the Seven Endless, also known as Oneiros, Morpheus, or the Lord of Dreams. Powers : cosmic awareness, dimensional travel, dream summoning, alteration of dream-reality, immortality, teleportation. Status : more powerful than the old gods. Classified Omega. If encountered, retreat if possible."

The Doctor read the words aloud as they scrolled across his device, his voice faltering as he went.

"That’s what I thought… How did I end up here ? I’m doomed !" He clutched his head in panic, then suddenly snapped back. "No, not doomed, lucky ! Incredibly lucky ! My first Endless !" He quickly straightened up. This was the moment to introduce himself properly to such a remarkable host.

"Delighted to meet you, Dream of the Endless," he said, bowing clumsily but sincerely. "I’m the Doctor, the last of the Time Lords."

The hall buzzed with excitement. All around, people marveled at the chance to meet such a being. They whispered legends of the Time Lords, attributing to him powers only one of his kind could possess.

"Silence !" Morpheus thundered, his voice so fierce the hall went instantly quiet. He had stepped into the center of the stage to command attention. "I suggest you leave this room quickly, for it will soon cease to exist. Good night." His tone left no doubt that everyone should clear out, or he would make them.

"As for you, Doctor, you will come with me. We have much to discuss," he ordered in a voice laced with barely concealed menace.

The Doctor had no chance to protest before he found himself on stage beside Morpheus. With a theatrical sweep, the curtain fell before them, cutting them off from the rest of the world.

"Well then, just the two of us…"

Chapter Text

“Well, now, it’s just you and me…” Morpheus declared darkly.

“Wait !” the Doctor panicked, “what are you going to do with my Tardis ? It can’t stay there, it’s under reconstruction and can’t move right now.”

“Is that your spaceship in which you travel through space and time ?” Morpheus asked curiously, pointing at the still-smoking blue box.

“That’s about right, yes. It’s a spatio-temporal capsule. Its full name is Time And Relative Dimension In Space,” the Doctor stated pompously.

“I see… I’ll send it to the gardens of Fiddler’s Green, a paradisiacal otherworld in the maritime imagination. It will be safe there. No one will disturb its recovery in that verdant meadow, though Gilbert might be surprised by its appearance,” Morpheus explained in a tone meant to be reassuring.

Under the Doctor’s uncertain gaze, he made the Tardis vanish in a sandy mist.

“That’s really cool…”

“What are you talking about?”

“Your ability to use sand however you please.”

Morpheus remained silent. It was the first time anyone had used the word “cool” to describe his power. Usually, people were terrified or, at the very least, bewildered.

“So, where are we going now ?” The Doctor was practically bouncing with excitement, as if he were being taken on a theme park ride.

“I think we’ll be more at ease in my library… Please follow me.” Without further explanation, Morpheus turned on his heels and set off.

“Authoritative and determined, I like that,” the Doctor decided. He cheerfully followed the Eternal, eager to uncover all the secrets hidden within his Palace.

After a few minutes of silent walking, they emerged into an immense corridor with vibrant architecture. Numerous domes crowned columns of infinite verticality, while oversized arches framed stained-glass windows with colors and shapes so elusive that the interplay of light and shadow constantly altered their appearance.

“It’s magnificent,” the Doctor said sincerely. “I’ve seen countless planets with the most astonishing and breathtaking architectures, but nothing compares to the Realm of Dreams.” He couldn’t tear his eyes away from this place that seemed to exist outside of time.

“My Kingdom is in constant flux, for it evolves with the dreams of those who visit it. It’s not a physical world in the way Earth is; it’s a realm of tales and nightmares, woven on the fragile loom of sleeping minds. Every person mentally travels to the dreamworld when they sleep and dream. In fact, each person creates their own dreamworld in their mind, which is part of my Kingdom,” Morpheus explained, pausing their progress toward the library. “Nevertheless, my Palace transforms at my will, as it is imbued with a condensation of dreams, the result of countless years filled with hosting and exploring different cultures,” he clarified. His explanation finished, he resumed walking.

The Doctor, trailing slightly behind, took the opportunity to observe the Lord of Dreams more closely. His slender, elegant silhouette undoubtedly gave him a princely air. His long black coat, revealing only glimpses of his almost translucent skin, occasionally brushed against the pristine marble floor, creating a striking contrast. His majestic yet agile gait reminded the Doctor of a feline.

“We’ve arrived,” Morpheus announced simply, pointing to a sturdy oak door adorned with an oval stained-glass window. “After you,” he urged with a barely perceptible gesture.

The Doctor pushed the door with vigor, expecting it to be much heavier, but it opened with surprising ease. He stood speechless before the fantastical scene that unfolded before him.

The library was what one might call a cathedral of books. In this grandiose space, multiple levels of neo-classical galleries unfolded, supported by oak columns and balustrades adorned with arabesques. Though primarily made of wood, the library stood out with its numerous decorative details, such as carved columns, painted walls, and a spiral staircase. Its ceiling featured a magnificent vaulted glass canopy that bathed the space in soft light. On either side of the central aisle, Greco-Roman marble busts stood guard over alcoves lined from floor to ceiling with ancient books, their characteristic and enchanting scent filling the air.

“The collection in this library is inexhaustible. It contains every book ever imagined, even those never published or written,” Morpheus said in a calm voice, as if the atmosphere of this place soothed his soul.

The Doctor understood why the Lord of Dreams had brought him here, this place was of unparalleled beauty and imbued with a restorative silence.

“Let’s go to Lucienne’s office, my chief librarian. We’ll be more comfortable and private there,” Morpheus decided. He raised his right hand and, with a studied gesture, swept aside the rows of books before him. The entire library shifted to reveal a small opening as dark as night. “Follow me.”

Eager to discover what other wonders lay beyond this new door, the Doctor followed Morpheus without hesitation, stepping into the passage with a calm mind.

They arrived one after the other in a room as charming as the library but far more modest in size. At its center stood a rectangular mahogany desk resting on four sturdy legs, with a case containing several low drawers to allow for legroom. The soft lighting, provided by a few lacquered wooden lamps, highlighted the delicate details of the antique furniture. A discreetly patterned rug, along with accessories like wall clocks, sculptures, and tufted English armchairs, completed the room. Every element coexisted harmoniously, creating an environment conducive to working, thinking, or simply dreaming.

“Lord Morpheus, I wasn’t expecting you here at such a late hour,” Lucienne confessed quietly, holding a thick book.

“The Doctor and I needed a place to talk, and I thought you wouldn’t mind too much if we used your space…,” he hesitated, as if afraid of imposing or disturbing her.

“Not in the least, I’m delighted to have some company,” she reassured him with a broad smile.

“Ooooh, you have pointed ears ! That’s so cool !” the Doctor interrupted, finally able to observe the Dream Realm’s librarian up close. Her caramel-toned skin gleamed softly, her smooth head was framed by two small pointed ears, and she wore a vintage suit with round glasses. “Really, you have so much style ! I wish I could be like you !”

“Speaking of style… Lucienne, if it’s not too much to ask, could you fetch some clean clothes for the Doctor ? I’m afraid I can no longer bear the sight of the rags he’s wearing,” Morpheus admitted with a grimace of disgust.

“What’s that ? Am I really that repulsive ? I’m usually very stylish, but unfortunately, my last regeneration went terribly wrong, and I had to go through awful trials to climb back up to the control room of my Tardis and -”

Morpheus cut short his companion’s endless ramble. “Doctor, you’re not physically repulsive, and I’m sure you had style, but as I see it, you look more like a ghost stuck between two worlds for eleven centuries than a living being !” He judged, raising an eyebrow.

“That’s rich coming from you ! How dare you call me a ghost when you look like you stepped straight out of a vampire novel ? I didn’t say anything about your pallid complexion or your gothic attire !” the Doctor retorted, stung like a wasp.

A faint, stifled laugh interrupted their verbal sparring. Lucienne was clearly enjoying watching her master bicker with someone as quick-witted as he was.

“Forgive me, Doctor, but with all due respect, I think Lord Morpheus is right. You absolutely need new clothes if you want to regain your former style,” Lucienne conceded with a kind smile.

“Hmm, you’re probably right… Besides, I think I’m starting to smell like herring. I have a giant aquarium with lots of fish next to my pool, which I had to swim through to get back to the surface,” he explained conscientiously.

“I don’t understand, Doctor… That blue box you emerged from is barely the size of a phone booth. How can there be so many rooms inside ?” Lucienne asked, still skeptical.

“Don’t be fooled by appearances. The Tardis is Time Lord technology, bigger on the inside than the outside,” he revealed with a touch of arrogance. “I’d even say it’s bigger than Lord Morpheus’s Palace,” he added, sticking out his tongue at him.

“How dare you ? You’d better watch your behavior in my presence,” Morpheus threatened in an icy tone, his shadow subtly growing behind him.

“Doctor ! Tell me, what kind of clothes would you like to wear ?” Lucienne interjected, quickly steering the conversation away. Her master had no tolerance for childish taunts and little sense of humor, so it was best to return to a less contentious topic.

“I’m not sure… They need to be cool… I’d like a new, well-tailored tweed jacket, preferably brown, a pale pink shirt because I love that color, suspenders since they’re trendy and chic, dark gray cotton trousers, black ankle boots, a watch because it’s very important for me to be on time for tea…” Deep in thought, the Doctor continued his monologue while pacing in circles under Morpheus’s exasperated gaze. “Ah ! Bow ties are cool, aren’t they ?” he asked without waiting for anyone’s approval. “I absolutely need a bow tie !”

“I see you’re a man of taste,” Lucienne affirmed. “I’ll go fetch what you need.” She didn’t go far, positioning herself in front of a Bressane wardrobe near the armchair Morpheus had claimed, exhausted by the Doctor’s incessant back-and-forth.

Lucienne opened the wardrobe door, revealing a multitude of suits, shoes, shirts, and various accessories.

“It’s paradise !” the Doctor exclaimed. “But it’s still smaller and less varied than my Tardis’s wardrobe, of course,” he quickly corrected. Nevertheless, he dove into the closet and began sorting, tossing aside clothes that weren’t to his taste. “No, too tacky, far too extravagant, looks like Santa Claus’s trousers, I’d rather die again than wear a floral shirt, I refuse to look like a member of the Whisper…” A suit jacket inevitably landed on Morpheus’s face, who was seriously starting to lose his patience.

“That’s it, I’ve got everything I need !” the Doctor announced excitedly, brandishing the clothes he’d carefully selected. He placed them neatly in a stack on a small coffee table and, without further ado, began unbuttoning his shirt.

“What do you think you’re doing ?” Morpheus exclaimed, on the verge of exhausting the little composure he had left.

“Well, I’m undressing… Are you prudish ?” the Doctor teased, letting his shirt slide off his shoulders.

“No one here wants to see you naked. Please change somewhere out of sight,” Morpheus replied curtly, scandalized by his counterpart’s brazen attitude.

“But my body is brand new ! I assure you, it’s quite fascinating to look at !” the Doctor insisted, displaying his pristine bare torso like a trophy.

“Enough !” Morpheus roared, abruptly rising from his armchair. Furious, he pointed to a hidden alcove behind a bookshelf filled with books. “The bathroom is in there. Out of my sight !”

“You don’t know what you’re missing !” the Doctor huffed, gathering his stack of clothes. Like a disgraced diva, he strutted proudly before his audience and disappeared into the bathroom, slamming the door.

“Well, I have a feeling we won’t be bored with him… Maybe it’s a blessing in disguise ?” Lucienne ventured, uncertain.

Exhausted by all the commotion, Morpheus collapsed back into his armchair. “We’ll see… Lucienne, can you leave us alone ? I’d like to speak with the Doctor face-to-face.”

“If you promise not to turn him into a chess piece…” Only silence answered her. “I see… I’ll take my leave. Have a good evening, my Lord.” With that, Lucienne bowed to her master and left to continue cataloging the creatures inhabiting the dreamworld.

“I can’t promise anything,” Morpheus grumbled.

Chapter Text

The Doctor was enjoying a well-deserved hot shower. It felt good to relax a little after such a wild regeneration. His predecessor had taken far too long, and now he was stuck in the Dreaming with that damned Eternal. From what little he had observed, Morpheus had a cold personality, utterly devoid of humor, which clashed sharply with the Doctor’s own character.

"This won’t be a walk in the park," he muttered as he turned off the faucet, ending the stream of hot water. "Oh well ! I’m a man of challenges, after all !"

The Doctor wrapped himself in a white towel and looked over the clothes he had chosen for his official outfit. He was definitely going to dazzle Morpheus, who would be forced to acknowledge his sense of style and charisma. With a broad smile, he quickly dried off and dressed in his new attire.

"As expected, I look absolutely fantastic !" he boasted, admiring himself in the mirror. Only his medium-length hair refused to cooperate. He grabbed a comb and tried to slick it to the side, but a few stubborn tufts stuck up. "Ah, never mind ! Aside from my huge chin and this ridiculous mop of hair, anyone would say I’m perfect !"

Satisfied, he decided it was time to meet the Lord of Dreams for what promised to be a legendary conversation.

"Well? How do I look ?" the Doctor asked, appearing before a completely unmoved Morpheus with a graceful twirl.

"You look… human again," Morpheus replied flatly, unimpressed.

"Is that all you have to say to describe me ?" the Doctor lamented. "You could have said fabulous, splendid, flamboyant, exquisite…"

"You’re perfectly presentable, and that’s what matters," Morpheus cut him off, already tired of the discussion. "Now sit across from me, you’re making me dizzy."

"Thing is, I don’t like sitting much, it makes me feel like I can’t think. Besides, I’ve got way too much energy bottled up in this body. I absolutely have to use it for something, otherwise I’ll just explode -"

"Doctor, I insist," Morpheus said firmly. "I don’t want to have to twist my head every time I ask you a question and you answer."

"Ah, so you’re a stickler for eye contact ?" The Doctor nevertheless settled comfortably into the chair, as politely requested. "And who says I’ll answer all your questions, anyway ? I have a private life, you know !" He retorted with dignity, crossing one leg over the other.

Morpheus hated to admit it, but now that the Doctor was rid of all the grime and rags, he carried a natural elegance. "So, Doctor, tell me… how did you manage to enter my Realm without being invited ?" He asked, eager for a clear explanation.

"To be perfectly honest, I don’t really know…," the Doctor began evasively. "As I said earlier, I had a complicated regeneration. My predecessor absorbed a lethal dose of radiation and waited too long to reach the TARDIS. So my memories are very fuzzy before arriving here," he confessed.

"Can you be more specific about this regeneration process ?" Morpheus pressed, dissatisfied.

"Regeneration is a biological process unique to the Time Lords, though other species and individuals may experience something similar. The peculiarity of ours lies truly in our nature," the Doctor explained, noticing Morpheus frown in uncertainty. He tried to be clearer. "When we reach old age or suffer a fatal injury, we are forced to renew ourselves. This usually brings a change of appearance and personality. For instance, I’ve kept all the memories of my predecessors and we share the same DNA, but I look nothing like them."

"So the rumor that the Time Lords are eternal is true," Morpheus murmured, fingers steepled beneath his chin. He was clearly lost in thought.

"Actually, no, I must contradict you there," the Doctor said. "We are not immortal. Like all things, we have an end. A Time Lord can normally regenerate only twelve times. Thus goes the cycle of life."

"Tell me, Doctor, how many lives have you lived ? I assume you are quite old, even if your youthful appearance suggests otherwise," Morpheus observed, ever perceptive. He knew well enough that looks could be deceiving.

"Oh, I stopped counting ages ago. But I’d say I’m a little over 1,000 years old. Time flies… I am the Eleventh Doctor, and I regret to say this is my last life," he admitted with a shrug.

"I don’t understand. I thought you said the cycle for Time Lords was twelve lives ?" Morpheus asked, perplexed.

"I’d rather not talk about it…," the Doctor answered melancholically. He wanted to forget, the one who had fought. "It’s a delicate subject I don’t wish to discuss."

Seeing he didn’t wish to elaborate, Morpheus didn’t insist. A long silence settled between them. Neither minded, they had all the time in the world.

Eventually, the Doctor broke the silence. "As you noticed, my Tardis, the vessel that lets me travel through time and space, was badly damaged during my regeneration." He recalled his last moments before the Tardis slipped completely out of his control. "However, I remember glimpsing seven temporal windows before losing consciousness for a brief moment."

"Seven windows… No, that’s impossible…," Morpheus muttered, piecing the puzzle together.

"Impossible ? What do you mean ?" The Doctor urged.

"My siblings and I, we are seven. Seven Endless."

"Are you saying I landed in your Realm through one of those windows?"

"Very likely. After all, we are the children of the cosmic entities Night and Time. And are you not yourself a child of Time ?" Morpheus asked.

"I don’t know… Well, I mean, our species was surely created by your parents, but we could have met years earlier. Why now ? I don’t understand," admitted the Doctor, utterly lost in these revelations.

"There is nothing to understand. Our paths were never meant to cross, not yesterday, not today, not ever," Morpheus declared firmly.

"How can you be so sure ?"

"Because you are an anomaly, an exception that should never have happened. You were destined to die with your kin. That was the story as it was written. But for some unknown reason, you survived. Humans call it a miracle. We Eternals call it a mistake," Morpheus revealed calmly. No trace of empathy, just the cruel truth.

"How can you say that ? Do you even know what I’ve endured ? What my people endured ?" the Doctor burst out furiously. "The Time Lords fought with all their might, but the Daleks were too many. We were overwhelmed, there was no escape ! The Skaro Degradations, the Horde of Travesties, the Nightmare Child, the Could’ve-Been King and his army of Meanwhiles and Neverweres… The Time War became Hell itself !" He shouted, violently grabbing Morpheus by the collar of his coat. "How dare you call me a mistake ? You weren’t there when I had to commit an unforgivable act to save the Universe !" His once-merry eyes now burned with such hatred that Morpheus shivered under their gaze. Yet he didn’t look away. Instead, he plunged into them.

"And what was this unforgivable act you had to commit ?" He demanded, tightening the Doctor’s grip on his own coat.

"That’s none of your business !" The Doctor snapped coldly.

They were so close now that their breaths mingled. The tension between their bodies was electric. The atmosphere was heavy with unspoken words. Despite the uncomfortable proximity, Morpheus still longed to know more about him, to pierce his secrets.

"You cannot accept the truth, Doctor, but it remains. You are blinded by a past that has no place, just as you have no place," Morpheus judged. "And yet here you stand before me… Perhaps miracles are not only fairy tales after all," he conceded, a fleeting light flashing in his dark eyes.

Morpheus was the Eternal one might call egocentric, the one most aware of his responsibilities, the tragic figure innately incapable of accepting change, the unfeeling being devoid of sentiment. To him, the Endless were far superior to humans. They were the pinnacle of evolution or creation. As such, using humans for his own ends was not beneath him, and morality had nothing to do with it. Morpheus dwelled in a world “beyond Good and Evil,” as Nietzsche might have said. He felt no remorse at human suffering, slow to forgive or forget perceived slights.

"Of all the Endless, why did I have to end up with you ?" The Doctor sighed, breaking free from the suffocating grip of their joined hands. He sank as far back into his chair as possible, eager to put distance between them.

"Believe me, none of my siblings would have welcomed you with open arms, not even Death. Since you are a mistake, none of us hold any power over you," Morpheus admitted grudgingly. It pained him to confess that somewhere in the universe, someone lay beyond his control.

"What do you mean by that ?" The Doctor asked, intrigued by this admission of weakness.

"Simply put, when your planet, Gallifrey, was destroyed, Destiny’s book sealed the end of your story. You were erased from the galaxy entirely. Your species had no place left in any chapter, memory, or myth. You ceased to exist in the truest sense," he said bluntly. "But you, Doctor, as a mistake, survived and defied the laws of the universe, even broke them. Therefore, none of the Endless can hold sway over a being who has no place in existence."

The Doctor struggled to process the Lord of Dreams’ words. He couldn’t accept the fatality that had struck him and his people. Yes, he was the last survivor of a long-extinct race, but did that doom him to live a meaningless existence ? Had all his travels through time and space in search of survivors and answers been for nothing ? The Doctor refused to believe his story was destined for failure, that his existence was merely the byproduct of some unknown entity or worse, a cosmic mistake.

"Tell me, Doctor—do you dream ?" Morpheus suddenly asked.

"Of course, I dream. Everyone dreams," the Doctor replied, as if it were obvious.

"And what do you dream of ?"

"The same thing everyone dreams of… I dream of where I’m going."

"I don’t understand," Morpheus admitted. "You have nowhere to go. You probably just wander the universe, trapped in your blue box."

"That’s not true !" The Doctor countered instinctively. But something gnawed at him. Why would Morpheus ask such a question, he who was the embodiment of all dreams and stories ? "Wait… You don’t have access to my dreams, do you ?" He realized, more than delighted to expose the Lord of Dreams’ weakness.

Morpheus admitted half-reluctantly : "No. You’re right. It is impossible for me to find you in my own Realm, just as it is impossible for me to enter your dreams."

"That’s actually reassuring," the Doctor said. "Makes me feel like we’re on equal footing. At least I don’t know everything about you, and conversely, you only know part of my story, one that ended a long time ago."

"You’re not entirely wrong," Morpheus conceded. The words were hard for him, but he had to admit his lack of knowledge worked against him.

"My turn to ask questions now !" The Doctor said brightly, a thousand inquiries racing through his head, an infinite list.

"You may ask only one."

"What ? That’s completely unfair !" The Doctor protested.

"Life is unfair, Doctor. And my time is precious. As you can see, I have responsibilities and guests waiting for answers," Morpheus grumbled, already weary of the ordeal.

"Fine," the Doctor agreed, sulking. "In that case, why do you have the key to Hell, and what do you intend to do with it ?" he asked eagerly.

"I see you haven’t quite recovered from regeneration, Doctor. That’s two questions, not one."

"Please… You owe me that much after the way you’ve treated me! I must say, you’re not the most gracious host…"

Morpheus rolled his eyes but relented. Perhaps something useful would come of this exchange. "Lucifer chose to abandon his Realm and gave me the key, hoping secretly to embarrass me."

"And ? Did it work ?"

Only silence answered. Morpheus didn’t wish to dwell on the matter. Of course, Lucifer had succeeded. He was caught in a situation that offered no way out. But instead of giving an honest answer, he sidestepped. "Perhaps."

"I see… You’re the one trapped, Dream, not me," the Doctor observed, leaning imperceptibly closer to his face.

Morpheus shivered at hearing his name, Dream. Of course, it wasn’t the first time someone had spoken it, but it sounded different now. From the Doctor’s lips, it carried a mysterious, captivating power.

"I suppose you’ve no idea whom to entrust the key to either… Who could blame you ? It’s a burden even God doesn’t seem willing to bear," the Doctor continued. "I saw those two angels earlier. I didn’t think anyone could be colder and stiffer than you, but they seem like worthy opponents. You should have a staring contest, the first to look away loses." He burst out laughing at the image.

Morpheus was about to put him in his place when there was a knock at the door.

"My lord ? May I enter ?"

The Doctor recognized Lucienne’s voice and tried, with little success, to compose himself despite the laughter still shaking him.

"Enter, Lucienne," Morpheus commanded.

The door opened to reveal the librarian. "Forgive this interruption, but I’m afraid I must tear you away from your conversation," Lucienne said, her voice tinged with apprehension. "Lord Azazel requests an audience."

Morpheus sighed, irritated by the turn of events. "Doctor, I ask that you wait here. Duty calls."

Chapter Text

“I will ask you to wait here, duty calls.”

The Doctor watched Morpheus rise with agility, as if he weighed no more than a feather, and turn his back on him to depart with a constrained gait toward some unknown direction. Oh, sure! As if I were just going to sit here politely, arms crossed, he thought inwardly. He was no pet, and above all, he had no patience.

“You look much more presentable than the last time we met !” Lucienne remarked with an appreciative glance at the Doctor, who was still sitting in the armchair. “You do indeed have a lot of style !”

“Ah! Finally, someone notices how cool I am, about time !” He replied, leaping to his feet and straightening his red bow tie, which had gotten crumpled during his earlier confrontation with Morpheus. “Lucienne, can you tell me who Lord Azazel is ? I think I’ve heard that name somewhere before, but my memory is still faulty,” he asked, eager to learn more.

“Originally, Lord Azazel was an angel of Heaven, a devourer of sins. However, the more sins Azazel devoured, the greater his hunger became, until he was finally condemned to Hell by God, along with the rest of Lucifer’s rebellious army, for introducing sin among humans,” Lucienne explained as she began flipping through a pile of papers on the central desk. “Later, he became one of Hell’s co-rulers alongside Lucifer Morningstar, as part of the triumvirate with Beelzebub,” she continued diligently. “Today, he demands the Key to Hell from Lord Morpheus, its current keeper. He claims his legitimate right to rule over Hell alongside his minions, Merkin and Choronzon,” she finished, unable to suppress a shiver of dread.

“He must be seriously dangerous to make the entire Dreaming tremble like that,” judged the Doctor. He had noticed how the atmosphere grew heavier every time his name was mentioned.

“He is,” Lucienne replied simply. “He does not come as a mere ambassador, but as a representative of the entire race of demons,” she clarified, as though to justify her mistrust of him.

“And Lord Morpheus went out to meet him without a moment’s hesitation… Fantastic ! No, bad choice of words,” he corrected himself, “Geronimo !” Exclaimed the Doctor. “Lucienne, would you be so kind as to tell me where exactly your master has gone ?” He asked innocently.

“Doctor… I don’t think that’s a good idea. My Lord was clear, he asked you to wait here,” she replied nervously.

“Nonsense! I’m a man of action with hormone levels and energy far above average, I must absolutely satisfy my thirst for knowledge. Right now, I feel ignorant, as if I were trapped in shoes that are far too small! I need to expand those shoes, do you understand ?” He rattled on, barely taking a breath.

“I still think it’s a terrible idea, but if you insist, I won’t stop you… It’s a battle lost in advance given your stubbornness,” she admitted. She knew all too well the kind of hard-headed men who were as obstinate as mules. “You’ll find Lord Morpheus in the Throne Room.”

“Perfect ! No time to lose !” The Doctor started off determinedly toward the door. “Wait ! I’m forgetting something important… where exactly is the Throne Room ?” He asked, completely bewildered. He had no idea how to navigate this strange place, and he doubted his sonic screwdriver would be of much help in this particular quest.

Lucienne watched him flail about with some amusement. “I’ll make you a map,” she reassured him. “It would be unfortunate if you got lost in this immense palace.” Without delay, she grabbed a blank sheet of paper and, quill in hand, began sketching a rough layout of the palace. “When you leave this office, you’ll enter the great library. Go down the spiral staircase and take the main door inscribed with « Psyches iatreion ».’” The Doctor drank in her words, fully aware of his disastrous sense of direction.

“You’ll reach a vast hall with several arches leading to different places. Don’t make a mistake, go through the third arch on your left.” Lucienne paused briefly to check if the Doctor was following her instructions to the letter. Relieved to see he was completely absorbed, she continued. “You’ll then enter a high-ceilinged corridor. At the end lies the Throne Room, you can’t miss it.” She added the final stroke to her drawing. “Will you manage ?”

“Come now, don’t underestimate my ability to follow a map ! I have some experience, don’t worry, everything will be fine !” He declared with confidence.

Ten minutes later, the Doctor found himself at a dead end.

“I don’t understand, what did I miss ?” He consulted the map for the twentieth time. “I definitely exited the library through the main door, I saw the hall with its multitude of arches… did I take the right one ? The third on the left… My God ! I think I’m holding the sketch upside down !” He realized, absolutely horrified. “Does this plan even make sense? There’s no red needle like on a compass ! And magnetic north is different from geographic north, which is also the Earth’s axis of rotation. How am I supposed to know where north and south are when it’s night, I don’t have the sun, and I’m stuck in a corridor without windows to see the stars ? Are the stars even the same in the Dreaming as they are in the Universe ?”

As the Doctor got lost in his endless rambling, he heard a deep, distant voice.

“Azazel, welcome…”

It was unmistakably Morpheus’s voice, and the Doctor quite literally saw the light at the end of the tunnel. So absorbed had he been in analyzing the map that he had failed to notice the faint bluish glow to his left. He resumed walking, hopeful at last of escaping this cursed labyrinth.

“We are not, really, are we ?” That must have been the voice of the terrifying Lord Azazel.

The Doctor quickened his pace and entered an immense hall that resembled a Gothic cathedral, with soaring vaults and vast stained-glass windows. This was the Throne Room, heart of the Dreaming. The structure was breathtakingly beautiful. At the far end sat Morpheus on his throne, holding the Key to Hell firmly in one hand, presiding from atop a square spiral staircase.

“Lucifer wronged us both,” Azazel stated, standing below the stairs. “My anger this morning was misplaced… It is Lucifer I resent, not you.”

The Doctor hid behind one of the immense rectangular pillars supporting the hall, careful not to reveal his presence while maintaining a good view of the proceedings.

“I do not speak for myself, but for the demons,” Azazel continued, “those poor dispossessed creatures, driven from their lands.”

“An entire army,” Morpheus countered at once. “An army you command,” he pressed.

“I seek justice, Morpheus… Will you return our world to us if I compensate you for the trouble Lucifer caused you ?”

“How?”

“A gift…” Azazel paused. With a beastly roar, his body twisted into a dark vortex sprouting multiple monstrous heads like a hydra, with gaping maws and razor fangs. One mouth disgorged a cocoon the size of a human. “Lord Choronzon,” Azazel declared, his voice now much graver, “for you to take revenge on the one who challenged you in Hell.”

Morpheus barely arched an eyebrow, unimpressed by this supposed compensation. “And if I do not wish to take revenge?”

“There is something else I can offer, though… it isn’t much…” Azazel teased. “A human woman.”

Morpheus’s usually impassive face transformed completely. His skin went ashen, his eyes dimmed, his jaw clenched tight, his features hardened.

“Condemned to Hell,” Azazel sneered, “ten thousand years ago, by her vengeful lover.”

Another maw opened to reveal a thin membrane, behind which a woman seemed to struggle. Muffled cries of distress echoed.

“Nada,” was the only word Morpheus could utter.

“My Lord !” the woman’s voice pleaded before being swallowed again.

“Give me the key and I will release her,” Azazel threatened. “If you refuse, I shall take just as much pleasure in devouring her soul…” The mouths mercilessly tore apart Choronzon’s cocooned body. “…as I did in devouring Choronzon’s,” Azazel concluded, resuming his demonic form. “You understand me, Morpheus ?”

The Lord of Dreams froze, boiling inwardly with devastating rage.

“I understand,” he replied in a neutral tone that betrayed none of his emotions.

“Then I trust we have an agreement,” Azazel said with a wicked smile. “Tomorrow, you will announce that the Key belongs to me, and I will leave this place, returning Nada to you. Do we have an understanding ?”

“I will consider your proposal.”

“Consider it ?” Azazel flared, stunned.

“Yes.”

“You want this woman, don’t you ? You went to Hell for her,” Azazel raged, climbing the throne steps in a menacing stride. “To exchange her for a key, that’s a small price to pay. You don’t even want to -”

“I will give you my answer tomorrow,” Morpheus cut him off. “Now leave.” With a disdainful wave of his hand, Azazel’s body dissolved into a cloud of sand.

The Doctor, still hidden, stood dumbfounded for a few moments before regaining his composure. He had just witnessed a most strange, unnerving, and private exchange. He knew he mustn’t linger while Morpheus was in such a volatile state, and so he resolved to retreat quickly.

“Doctor ! I know you are there, show yourself !”

No, I’m not here, he wanted to reply. But he knew he’d been discovered, and hiding was now pointless. He banked on sheer surprise.

“Lord Morpheus ?” He called, feigning astonishment as he emerged. “I was just exploring your palace, which, may I say, is of rare magnificence. I got a bit lost in your many corridors, but I love getting lost. You see, it was impossible for me to sit still in that office while wonders awaited me, and -”

“Doctor, stop taking me for a fool,” Morpheus ordered. “Do you think I do not know what happens in my own Realm ? I am well aware you’ve been here since my confrontation with Azazel, so cease your childish games at once !”

“Very well,” admitted the Doctor. “It’s true, I heard everything… But spying on you was not my initial intent, I just wanted to…” What had he wanted, exactly ? He hadn’t really asked himself before setting off in search of Morpheus. “I think I just wanted to know more about you, and I happened to stumble upon your discussion. My curiosity got the better of me, and I apologize,” he confessed sincerely.

“That is your greatest flaw, this unhealthy curiosity that drives you to meddle in matters that are none of your concern !” Morpheus growled, descending the steps swiftly. “I am your host, and you dare disobey my orders, spying on my conversations, and without consequence, no less !”

The Doctor chose silence rather than escalating matters. He preferred solving problems with negotiation over violence, especially not with an Eternal who was clearly furious. This was absolutely the wrong time to be cheeky.

“Have you lost your tongue ?” Morpheus demanded, now dangerously close. “You who always have something to say suddenly seem far too quiet. Are you afraid of me ?” He mocked, closing the final distance with predatory grace and arrogant bearing.

“No… I was just thinking about which strategy to adopt,” the Doctor stammered, hesitant. If he weren’t so accustomed to dangerous situations, he might have been trembling, as Morpheus now looked every bit the predator ready to pounce. Yet the Doctor couldn’t help but be frank and direct. That was his greatest flaw, but also his greatest strength. “I have trouble fighting my nature, so I’ll stay true to myself.” He took a deep breath and asked the question that had been burning on his lips: “Who is Nada ?”

Morpheus flew into such a fury that the entire chamber trembled, darkness engulfed the space, and a thunderclap shattered several stained-glass windows. Shards rained around him, but he paid them no heed. All that mattered was the searing pain that single question had provoked.

“Return to your Tardis and never set foot in my Realm again !” He thundered, conjuring yet another sandstorm with a wrathful wave of his hand.

“It wasn’t supposed to go like this,” the Doctor sighed as he vanished from the hall.

Chapter Text

The Doctor landed awkwardly on the ground and fell backwards onto a bed of thick grass.

“What a rude character ! He didn’t even answer my question before expelling me I don’t know where !” He grumbled, staring up at the night sky. Lightning still flickered across it. “He must really be angry. I shouldn’t have asked him about this Nada,” he lamented. Under the storm, the stars had burst like blossoms. They spread out in clusters with golden roots, blooming, sunk into darkness that lifted luminous clods of night.

“Excuse me,” a nearby voice interrupted, “may I ask if you are the owner of the blue police box of British origin ?”

The Doctor turned toward the voice and saw a distinguished middle-aged man with warm features. He was rather stout, wore round glasses, a long brown coat, a waistcoat, a wide-brimmed hat, and carried a cane, giving him the air of a Victorian gentleman or an eccentric writer.

“You’ve seen my Tardis ?” The Doctor asked intently.

“Is that the name of that strange blue box ? Well, it seems we might indeed be speaking of the same thing,” the man assured him.

Intrigued, the Doctor scrambled to his feet, brushing off his brand-new clothes from the twigs and blades of grass clinging to them. “May I ask where exactly we are ?” He asked, curious about where Morpheus had expelled him.

“You stand on the lands of Fiddler’s Green, a living place within the Dream. It is a vast dreamscape: a lush land covered in rolling green hills, flowering meadows, deep forests, and peaceful paths. It is also a place of peace, beauty, and dreams, where tranquility and harmony reign. As a place, it has neither face nor voice, but it radiates a welcoming, comforting presence to all dreamers who visit it. So, what do you think ?” His voice was calm, his gaze kind.

“I think this place looks incredible…” The Doctor looked around. Indeed, the man with the cane hadn’t lied. Though the night drew attention to what could not be seen, he could still clearly make out vast fields dotted with a multitude of multicolored flowers giving off delightful fragrances. Brightly patterned butterflies fluttered everywhere, their wings carrying the magnificent hues of the stars. The gentle wind made the trees dance and tickled their buds.

“Does this place make you dream, Doctor ?”

“You also know who I am ?” The Doctor asked in surprise. “Who exactly are you ?”

“I am Fiddler’s Green himself, though you may call me Gilbert,” he replied with a mysterious smile. “I am part of the Dream, so I know many things, though some still elude me.”

The Doctor then remembered that Morpheus had sent his Tardis precisely to the gardens of Fiddler’s Green. Clearly, his wits had been slow since his disastrous regeneration.

“Gilbert, could you lead me to my ship ? I mean, to the blue police box,” he corrected himself.

“It will be my pleasure… if you would follow me, your Tardis is just behind that hill,” he declared, pointing to a green mound on his right.

The Doctor nodded and silently followed Gilbert. A multitude of questions crowded his mind. Why was Morpheus so reluctant about his presence in his Palace ? Should he simply resume roaming the universe as he had always done ? Why was he so drawn to this Realm and to the Eternal who ruled it ?

The Doctor reined in his torrent of thoughts for a moment. He wanted to give himself over to contemplating the wonders of the starry night and the mysteries of this world, rather than tear his head apart with unanswerable questions. An infinity of universes surrounded him, an infinity of lives he had crossed paths with or not.

“We have arrived,” Gilbert announced.

The Doctor tore his gaze from the celestial vault. “My beauty !” He exclaimed. “I missed you so much !” Impatient, he ran toward his Tardis. “You’re all new,” he observed, carefully inspecting the police box.

“I took good care of it, for it arrived in quite a pitiful state,” declared Gilbert, who had followed with a lighter step.

“Thank you for your help ! Apparently, the Tardis has finished its reconstruction. I can’t wait to discover the inside !” the Doctor exclaimed, pulling a key from his pocket, ready to open the door. He suddenly stopped mid-gesture. “Gilbert, to thank you, would you like to discover with me the new configuration of the Tardis ?”

“That is very kind of you, but I am wary of extraterrestrial technology, and many dreamers await my visit,” he replied politely.

The Doctor nodded in understanding, and though a little disappointed, did not insist. It was time for him to be on his way again. He opened the door and stepped inside, but once more, he froze mid-movement, his body stuck in the doorway.

“Gilbert… do you think I should stay ?” He asked uncertainly.

“Only you have the answer to that question, Doctor,” he replied evasively. “You know, when Van Gogh painted The Starry Night, he said he had a terrible clarity of mind, that he was no longer conscious of himself, and that the painting came to him as though in a dream,” he added mysteriously.

The Doctor took a moment to reflect on those words. He knew Van Gogh had been an exceptional painter who had managed to transform the pain of his tormented life into dazzling beauty. Pain was easy to depict, but to use one’s passion and pain to portray ecstasy, joy, and the magnificence of one’s world, no one had ever done it before. Perhaps no one would ever do it again…

And suddenly, everything became clear. “Thank you, Gilbert, I think I know my new destination,” he affirmed. “I hope we’ll meet again one day. Until then, take care of yourself !” Without further delay, he stepped fully inside the TARDIS and closed the doors behind him.

Morpheus was the very embodiment of Van Gogh’s works. He who believed the stars and the universe represented an infinity beyond earthly pain.

“Dream, I’m sorry, but I’m going to disobey you once again.”

The Doctor took the time to discover the new appearance of his Tardis. It now resembled a cluster of spherical chambers arranged in circles around the control console, itself overlooking the matrix. The circle was now defined by a network of dimensional stabilizers, resembling pillars. Satisfied with his inspection, the Doctor rushed to his new control console. He pressed an incalculable number of buttons, activated levers, then spun a crank.

“Geronimo !” he cried as the Tardis let out a whistling sound.

Outside, Gilbert watched the blue police box slowly fade from the landscape, a wide smile on his lips.

“It’s not too late. Time can still be rewritten.”

Entering Morpheus’s palace proved more difficult than expected. The Tardis was clearly struggling against a formidable opponent, as it kept emitting warning signals.

“Yes, I know, the defenses put in place by the Lord of Dreams must be particularly strong, but that’s never stopped us before!” the Doctor reassured it, darting about in every direction as he tried to stabilize the polarity of his ship. After many maneuvers, he finally managed to break through the invisible wall separating him from the Palace.

“I’m a genius !” He exclaimed as the Tardis began its landing. “I just hope we’re not about to land in Morpheus’s bedroom, that would be painfully awkward,” he muttered as he made his way to the exit.

Cautiously, he cracked the Tardis door open, peering left and right. The coast seemed clear. Reassured, the Doctor finally stepped outside to take in his surroundings. Apparently, he was in a large vestibule with a barrel vault, opened by three arches closed with metal grilles and backed by immense stained-glass windows. Gray marble panels covered the lower walls and pillars, while the upper part was painted with frescoes.

“I see that not only do you obey none of my orders, but my threats seem to have no effect on you either.”

The Doctor jumped, completely caught off guard. Nevertheless, as always, he quickly regained his composure. “It takes more than that to frighten me, Lord Morpheus,” he declared, turning to face his interlocutor. “I’m the stubborn type and more importantly, I don’t like being shown the door.”

“I’m surprised you’ve survived this long with such a careless attitude,” observed Morpheus, who stood in the only shadowed corner of the room.

“I won’t hide it, I’ve brushed with death more than once, but it doesn’t seem to want me,” the Doctor admitted with a shrug.

“No, indeed… Then why return when I explicitly ordered you never to set foot in my Realm again ?” Morpheus asked seriously.

“Well, they call me the Doctor, or the guardian, or ‘get off this planet !’ - though technically that last one isn’t really a name… Anyway, I know I’m not welcome, but I want to help.”

“And what makes you think I would need your help? Do you even know how to help me ?” Morpheus asked curiously, finally stepping into the light.

The Doctor discreetly observed his movements. “Hmm… I’m not sure yet. For now, it’s more of an intuition,” he mused aloud. “Have you made your choice about the Key to Hell ?”

Morpheus shot him a dark look. Clearly, this was still a sensitive subject not to be broached.

“Sorry, I shouldn’t have asked, that was a stupid question,” the Doctor sighed, cursing himself inwardly.

“It is an impossible choice,” Morpheus answered unexpectedly.

“During my many years traveling the universe, I’ve learned that most people reach a moment in their lives where they can do great things, the moment when nothing seems impossible,” revealed the Doctor as he drew closer to Morpheus. “So, if anyone can achieve the impossible, it’s you, Dream…”

Once again, the Lord of Dreams felt a shiver run down his spine. “And what else have you learned ?”

“That tales and dreams are dark truths which will endure when mere facts have turned to dust, ashes, and are forgotten,” the Doctor murmured.

“Shakespeare,” Morpheus recognized instantly.

The Doctor shook his head. “No you… It was you who influenced the greatest artists in history, especially when they were at their lowest and sought refuge in your Realm.”

The Doctor leaned casually against a gray marble pillar and began recounting one of his past adventures. “I was at the Globe Theatre when William Shakespeare performed Love’s Labour’s Lost,” he began. “When the last act ended, the playwright came on stage to the applause of his audience and suddenly announced the creation of another play: A Midsummer Night’s Dream. I recognized it immediately as the Bard’s lost play, for no version existed yet in history,” he explained with clarity.

“After spending many hours with Shakespeare, I quickly realized something was wrong. Dark forces were trying to seize his play to channel energy through an ancient science based on the power of words, to use their magic,” he continued. “To defeat them and reverse the spell over Earth, I needed the genius of the master of words. Shakespeare alone had power over the Carrionites and, moreover, could stop them from changing the end of his play.” The Doctor paused in his narration.

“I remember the scene as if it were yesterday,” he affirmed. “Shakespeare was lost, still shaken by the loss of his son. He couldn’t find the right words to end the spell and counter the witches’ curse. So I told him to believe in himself, to believe in his dreams.”

The Doctor. – When you’re locked in your room, and you dream, the words just come to you, don’t they ? As if by magic. Words with the right sound, the right shape, the right rhythm. Words that stay engraved forever. So go on, improvise !

Shakespeare. – Put an end to this hateful din, this vile corruption, this degradation of your witches’ plot. You who have stolen my mind, you who consider me your plaything. Loathsome spectres, end your show ! To vulgar, base creatures, who don’t even matter, love can lend nobility and grace. Know this: things need not have happened to be true. Tales and dreams are the shadow-truths that will outlast mere facts when they are dust, ashes, and forgotten. I banish you like cursed vagabonds !

The Doctor slowly returned to the present, regaining his focus. “Shakespeare, despite the loss of his son, found the right words by holding a mirror up to those who wanted to impose their ending on his play. Maybe it’s time for you, Dream, to hold up a mirror to those who would impose Hell on you…, and impossible choices.”

A long silence followed. Each seemed to be reflecting on the words spoken, each lost in moments of their own past.

“You have given me much to think about, Doctor,” Morpheus declared solemnly. “You may stay here tonight… Unfortunately, I have no chambers left available, and I am too exhausted to create another, but I imagine you have what you need in your Tardis.”

“Of course ! I have everything I need in my Tardi-” The Doctor stopped mid-sentence, a radiant smile lighting his face. “Wait… are you asking me to stay ?” He pressed, excited.

“Good night, Doctor,” Morpheus simply declared, the corners of his mouth lifting slightly. Then he turned his back and disappeared through one of the arches of the vestibule.

“Good night, Dream !” The Doctor replied belatedly, still processing the fact that he had been allowed to remain in the Palace. “Sweet dreams…”

Chapter Text

Obviously, the Doctor hadn’t slept a wink all night, not that he needed to rest, anyway. Saying “good night” was, for him, more of a polite suggestion than a biological necessity. Time Lords did need sleep at some point, but the Doctor could easily go days, even weeks, without it, provided he engaged in a little light meditation from time to time. He did have something resembling a bedroom, if one could call it that, but it was rarely used and far too often left to gather dust.

“Sleep is for turtles,” the Doctor muttered as he searched for the umpteenth time for a particular book in his vast library. “Where has that blasted book gone ? I could’ve sworn I put it right here !” He grumbled, cursing a memory that still seemed unreliable.

The Tardis library was admittedly less impressive than that of the Dreaming, but it was nonetheless a kind of optical illusion, with shelves stretching out into the distance. To the less inquisitive eye, it had only four floors, with ornate architecture and numerous rows of shelves on each level. It wasn’t modern in appearance but rather old, with dark walnut furniture recalling both medieval and Victorian styles. Several desks and lamps stood here and there, and the shelves seemed neatly organized, though a few drawers were locked.

“Ah, there it is !” He exclaimed, finally victorious. “Conventions and Treaties of the Shadow Proclamation,” he read aloud, dusting off the long-neglected tome.

The Shadow Proclamation was, quite literally, the police force of space. They were tasked with enforcing Galactic Law, though their jurisdiction extended further: they could even declare war across the universe. They were such a powerful force of order that their rules made entire armies hesitate before breaking them.

The Doctor was searching for a specific article and began leafing through the thick book, which looked more like an ancient grimoire than a legal text. “Article 29.8: the use and creation of Gelem warriors is forbidden. Article 57: the destruction of a level-5 planet when no crime has been committed is prohibited. Clause 374: the theft of an artifact of great cultural value legitimizes the use of lethal force to ensure the artifact’s return,” he rattled off, flicking through pages as if he only needed to glance at them to absorb their contents. “I already know all this,” he muttered. “Where’s that blasted article… Ah ! There it is ! Found it !” He announced triumphantly.

“Article 11: Time Lords are forbidden from approaching or making contact with entities known as the Eternals, under penalty of unspeakable sanctions.” The Doctor reeled from the blow. “That’s it ? Nothing else specified ? No instructions to follow in case of accidental contact ?” he lamented, dropping his head abruptly against the corner of a shelf.

So he was committing yet another unforgivable act. In that case, why hadn’t any member of the Shadow Proclamation intervened yet ? If consorting with an Eternal was forbidden completely prohibited, then why hadn’t the Tardis sounded an alarm ? Why hadn’t the emergency phone on the outside of the box rung ? The Doctor slammed the old grimoire shut with a sharp crack.

“Well, if no one’s here to interfere with my plans, I don’t see why I should stop now !” He concluded, deciding nothing would prevent him from getting to know Morpheus better.

Suddenly, he heard a knock on the Tardis door. “Doctor ? Are you there ?” Asked a calm but firm voice he recognized as Lucienne’s. Curiously, this incarnation of the Doctor had sharper senses than his predecessors. He had particularly fine eyesight and an eidetic memory, able to scan an entire scene in seconds, picking out the tiniest details and extrapolating them into real hypotheses.

“I’ll be right there, Lucienne ! Just a minute !” He shouted, fully aware that the distance between them was considerable. Without wasting another second, he hurried toward the control room, moving swiftly through the many chambers of the Tardis.

“Here I am !” He exclaimed upon arrival. “I’m delighted to see you !” He said, opening the door with a slight bow to welcome his guest.

“At last !” Lucienne rejoiced. “I thought you’d fallen into your swimming pool again,” she teased lightly, tightening her grip on the ever-present book she carried.

“I’ll have you know I have perfect balance, and what happened last time was nothing more than an unfortunate accident,” he retorted with a smirk. “So, what brings you here ? Care to explore the wonders my Tardis has to offer ?” He asked, eyes sparkling with excitement.

“Thank you for the invitation, but I must decline,” she apologized. “Helas, a more pressing duty awaits me, that is why I am here,” she revealed mysteriously.

“What’s going on ? Is your master giving you trouble again ?” Asked the Doctor, easily imagining that Lucienne often had a hard time serving the demanding Lord of Dreams.

“Well, in fact, Lord Morpheus is about to announce his final decision concerning the key to Hell…” She said gravely. “And I wondered if you would like to attend the pronouncement,” she concluded, looking at him with hope.

“I’m very honored you thought of me for such an important event, but I fear my presence would be more of a burden than a help,” the Doctor admitted, leaning comfortably against the doorframe.

“I insist. I think you underestimate your importance within this Realm,” Lucienne pointed out. “To begin with, you’re one of the few who have stood up to Lord Morpheus. And you didn’t run when he threatened you, you came back,” she added with a hint of admiration. “Few can say the same. That’s why I think your presence is essential. One way or another, I know you’ll bring much to my master.”

“Put that way, how can I refuse ?” The Doctor decided, springing upright with renewed energy. “So, what are we waiting for ? I’m not the kind to arrive late to a party !” He exclaimed.

“It’s dawn…” Lucienne corrected, amused.

“Doesn’t matter ! It’s happy hour somewhere in the universe ! Lead the way !” He said enthusiastically.

“Very well. Please, follow me,” she replied politely, gesturing for him to walk at her side.

The walk wasn’t long, Lucienne surely knew the palace’s every corner by heart, whereas the Doctor still had no idea how to navigate it. Together, they entered a vast entrance hall already filled with a crowd. Among them, the Doctor recognized the Princess of Chaos, the ambassadors of the Fairy Queen, Lady Nuala and her brother Cluracan, Lord Azazel, and Odin, All-Father, with his two sons. All eyes were fixed on a particular spot in the hall, so no one seemed to notice his presence.

The Doctor leaned casually against one of the massive marble pillars and watched Lucienne as she went straight to her master, who stood atop a majestic alabaster staircase, towering over the hall as always. His slender silhouette stood out like a shadow carved by the orange dawn light filtering through a massive half-circle stained glass window.

“Thank you all for waiting. Please forgive my delay,” Morpheus began courteously. “But I am sure none of you would have wanted a hasty decision,” he added, scanning the assembly before him. As ever, his perfect features betrayed no emotion.

“I admit, I was tempted to grant Queen Titania’s request, that Hell remains empty,” he began, descending the staircase toward the representatives of the Faerie court. But he quickly turned away from them. “Yet Lord Azazel has convinced me that demons and the damned must have a home. A refuge.” Lady Nuala seemed greatly disappointed but said nothing. “But such a domain could only be ruled by someone whose sole ambition is to serve them,” Morpheus continued, stressing each word with force.

“Give me the key and let’s be done with it,” Azazel threatened, impatient for his due.

Morpheus cast him a look of disdain and turned his back, continuing his speech. “A leader whose wisdom and insight would make him understand that Hell could never be an extension of his kingdom.” He passed by Odin, All-Father, and with a single glance made clear those words were meant for him in particular.

“For Hell is the reflection of Heaven. Each defines the other. Without Hell, Paradise has no meaning.” Morpheus had traversed all the clans as he spoke, and all stared at him with a mixture of rage, suspicion, indignation, and apprehension. But he didn’t care, his decision was made, whatever the consequences.

“That is why I must entrust it to those who serve in the name of Heaven.” Susano-O-No-Mikoto bowed, surely thinking the key was his. But Morpheus looked upward. “Remiel, Duma. The key is yours,” he declared in a deep voice. The two angels exchanged a perplexed glance but remained silent.

“My decision is made. I hope it causes no one undue harm,” Morpheus concluded, turning back to face the assembled clans who had argued their cases for a full day.

“And to you ? Will it not cause harm to you ?” Lord Azazel demanded harshly. “I know your laws. You offered us hospitality upon our arrival. You cannot harm any of us,” he reminded, advancing dangerously on the Dream Lord. “Even if I devour the soul of your beloved,” he finished with a murderous sneer.

“What you say is true, Azazel,” Morpheus admitted. “But… I extended hospitality to all my guests. To those I knew… and to others,” he clarified, casting a quick glance at the Doctor. “So yes, you are under my protection, just as Queen Nada is. And I will not let her suffer,” he declared, locking eyes with Azazel.

The latter laughed in his face. “Very well. If you want her…” His body distorted, revealing a dark dimension filled with misty monsters bearing razor-sharp fangs. “Then come and take her !” He growled, his voice now cavernous.

As before, when he had spied on Morpheus’s conversation with Azazel, the Doctor saw a vast mouth open, revealing a thin membrane behind which a woman struggled. *Nada,* he recalled.

“Kai’ckul !” she cried in desperation.

Seeing her thrash with all her might to escape that membranous prison, Morpheus’s face tightened, and his eyes lit with a thousand stars.

He strode fearlessly toward Azazel and, despite the snapping jaws that threatened him, seized Nada’s only free hand and pulled with all his strength to free her.

“We’ll make it ! It just takes more than one !” The Doctor assured, attacking the thick layer of skin preventing Nada’s release. No one had seen him coming, least of all Morpheus.

“What are you doing here ?” He shouted. “I didn’t ask for your help !”

“I’m not helping you, I’m helping this young woman !” The Doctor retorted, grasping Nada’s other hand. “Now pull harder, will you ?” He urged with a cheeky grin.

Together, they pulled with all their might, and after a collective effort, managed to tear Nada free of her prison. The force of their exertion sent her tumbling several meters away. Lying on the ground, she looked utterly drained and still terrified by the demonic creatures that had held her captive. Fortunately, Lucienne quickly rushed to her aid.

“Come, I’m here,” she soothed, taking her into her arms.

With the situation under control, Morpheus and the Doctor turned to face the monstrosity Azazel had become.

“I renounce your hospitality. You are mine, Lord of Dreams. I will devour you at my leisure,” Azazel thundered. His countless gaping maws practically licked their chops.

The Doctor couldn’t believe his ears. Morpheus, his ? That was utterly unacceptable. He decided it was time to bring out the big guns and put their adversary in his place. Stepping between the two, he faced Azazel head-on.

“Oh, you like to think yourself a god, but you’re not a god. You’re nothing but a parasite. A devourer of sins who feeds on jealousy, envy, loss, death, and grief. So go on. Devour me. I hope you’re hungry, because I’ve lived a long life and I’ve seen a great many things. I fled the Last Great Time War. I witnessed the fall of the Time Lords. I’ve seen the birth of the universe and watched it end, minute by minute, until there was nothing left. No time. No space. Just me. I’ve seen universes where the laws of physics were ruled by a madman’s mind. I’ve seen galaxies freeze and creations burn. I’ve seen things you can’t even imagine. I’ve lost things you can’t possibly comprehend. And I know things. Secrets that must never be told. Knowledge that must never be revealed. Knowledge that would set any demon ablaze. So go on. Swallow my soul and feast !” He proclaimed, offering his body to the hideous maws already lunging at him. The last thing he saw was Morpheus’s incredulous expression as both were swallowed in a whirl of darkness.

“Welcome to Hell, Doctor, for demons now rule the Dreaming,” Azazel’s sinister voice roared.

All around him, screams of agony and cries of torment split his ears, while the taste of blood filled his mouth. Yet the Doctor felt no fear. Strangely, he sensed Morpheus beside him, as though a gentle light enveloped him, soothing his soul.

“Oh, Azazel,” came a voice from beyond the grave. A crash of thunder split the darkness, and the Doctor glimpsed the menacing silhouette of the Dream Lord.

“Where are you ?” Azazel panicked, suddenly aware something was wrong.

“How reckless of you to attack me. Elsewhere, perhaps. But not here,” Morpheus said calmly, appearing beside the Doctor in a cloud of sand at the center of the entrance hall, under the astonished eyes of the assembly.

“Here, I am at home. This is my place of power. Reality here bends to my will,” he declared, holding firmly in his hands an hourglass within which Azazel’s dark dimension writhed, its mist demons with razor fangs now powerless and prisoners of Time itself.

“Now, does anyone else here have a problem with my decision ?” Morpheus asked, his tone menacing.

Most of the assembly lowered their eyes in submission. If any others had objections, none dared voice them. A heavy silence now ruled the hall.

“Good,” Morpheus approved, well satisfied by the clans’ lack of protest.

The Doctor gazed at the Lord of Dreams with undisguised admiration. It had been a long time since he had encountered a being of such immense power, with such an intoxicating, chilling charisma. It had been a long time since he had been this fascinated by anyone.

Chapter Text

The Palace of the Realm of Dreams rose in a light that was not quite light. Its towers were lost in a sky that was not a sky, but a sea of petrified dreams, shifting color to the rhythm of the thoughts passing through the minds of mortal sleepers. It was as though the stones themselves were dreaming, breathing softly, keeping watch in silence.

At the heart of this strange domain stretched the Library, immense, infinite, as if the entire universe had chosen to house its stories between its shelves. It contained the books that were written and those never written, manuscripts burned before their publication, sketches scribbled in forgotten notebooks, novels dreamed by sleeping writers but never put to paper.

And in this Library, under the watchful guard of Lucienne, a most incongruous visitor walked the corridors.

His tweed jacket looked as if it had gathered a little too much dust, his bow tie wobbled like an off-key musical note, and his bright, childlike eyes, yet burdened by centuries, ran along the shelves with a hunger that was at once scientific and greedy.

“Ah,” said the Doctor, hands in his pockets, “there’s something wonderfully reassuring about an infinite library. You think you’re going to get lost, but in truth, you find yourself.

Lucienne looked up from the massive ledger she was annotating with her shadowy quill. Her tall frame, her round-lensed glasses, her always-upright bearing gave her the air of a monument as solid as the Palace itself.

“You’ve already got lost three times in the East Wing,” she replied calmly.

The Doctor gave a guilty smile. “Yes, but good losses. What matters isn’t always where you go, but what you discover along the way.”

Lucienne gently closed the ledger. Her eyes rested on him. “You didn’t come here just to wander the shelves,” she observed, adjusting her round glasses with her thumbs.

The Doctor sighed, his smile fading a little. “I never only come for that. I have to admit, after what happened this morning, something’s been nagging at me. And I thought perhaps the answer might be in this library.”

After witnessing Morpheus’ display of power, the various clan leaders who had sought the key to Hell had abandoned their ambitions and quietly left the Palace without further demands. They had bid respectful farewells, accepted the Lord of Dreams’ decision, and returned to their respective realms. Yet, the Doctor still knew nothing about who Nada was or what her relationship to Morpheus might be. He had hoped to find scraps of information in the Palace’s library, but it was far too vast for him alone.

Lucienne stepped closer to him, her hands clasped behind her back.

“There’s someone in this palace who no longer opens the door to her room. Someone who no longer speaks, who no longer really lives, though she still breathes,” she declared openly.

The Doctor now looked at her seriously.

“Nada,” he guessed easily.

Lucienne nodded. “Doctor, please. I need your help.”

“That’s out of the question ! I’m not qualified for that sort of thing,” he replied reflexively.

“But it’s literally specified in your name !” She exclaimed, exasperated by his lack of cooperation. “You’re a doctor !”

“Not that kind of doctor,” he countered, crossing his arms in an X. “It’s just a title ! Treating aliens, healing wounds, finding cures, that I can do ! But I’m a very bad psychologist, believe me,” he justified himself.

“Lady Nada needs you !” Insisted Lucienne, casting him a heavy, meaningful look. “I’ve tried everything and I no longer know who to turn to! Surely you have great experience, given your many travels through time and space. You must have faced every kind of situation,” she pressed.

“Well…,” admitted the Doctor, “but I’ve already been told I’m a very bad diplomat and that I have major shortcomings when it comes to human relationships, especially,” he added with a slightly offended grimace.

“You know Nada’s past ?” Asked Lucienne abruptly.

“Unfortunately no,” the Doctor admitted, lowering his eyes. He hated not knowing.

Lucienne nodded. “Nada was the queen of the First Men. A woman who loved an Eternal and was cursed for that love, condemned to spend 10,000 years in Hell… But it’s not for me to tell you that story,” she corrected herself, aware she risked revealing too much. “Listen, Doctor, I’m not asking you to perform a miracle. I’m just asking you to try. What can it cost you ?” She pleaded desperately. “Lady Nada may be healed physically, but her mind is consumed by dark thoughts. Her silence is heavier than chains. She spends her days staring into nothingness, eats almost nothing, won’t leave her bed. I can’t reach her,” she concluded with a sigh of frustration.

“Have you asked Lord Morpheus for help ?” The Doctor inquired. “After all, he’s the one most concerned.”

“Lady Nada categorically refuses to see him,” Lucienne lamented. “Perhaps Lord Morpheus thinks time will heal her wounds. But time doesn’t always heal, not when it no longer exists for you,” she said pensively, her eyes drifting into the void for a moment. But she quickly regained her composure. “You must promise me not to say a word of this to my master,” she made him swear.

The Doctor nodded gravely.

“Why me ?” He pressed.

Lucienne stared at him, unblinking. “Because you carry in you a guilt that no mortal, no dream, no god can truly understand. You could speak to her. You could show her that her pain isn’t alone in the world,” she said simply.

The Doctor gave a sad smile. Was he really that transparent ?

“Very well. I’ll help you,” he consented, defeated.

A brilliant smile lit up Lucienne’s face. “Thank you, Doctor. I knew I could count on you,” she said, relieved of a great weight.

She stepped closer and gently laid a hand on his shoulder, a rare gesture from her.

“Try.”

The Doctor nodded softly and followed her through the labyrinthine corridors of the palace.

Nada’s chamber lay in the oldest wing of the palace. The carved wooden doors opened onto a circular room. The space was vast as a world yet narrow as a cell. A paradox, as often in Morpheus’ palace. The walls were of black marble that subtly transformed depending on the angle of one’s gaze. Tall columns, filigreed with stardust, supported a vault that opened onto an inner sky, midnight blue, where shifting constellations were born and died to the rhythm of a cosmic breath.

Lucienne stopped at the threshold. “I can’t go any farther. It’s your turn now, Doctor,” she said lightly.

He nodded, inhaled, then stepped forward alone. His footfalls echoed strangely, as if the floor itself were holding its breath.

At the center, seated on a bed carved from ivory and obsidian, was Nada. She barely moved. She wore a simple sleeveless white pleated dress, held by a brooch at her frail shoulders. Her dark skin was smooth like stone polished by time, her hair fell like a river of night over her shoulders, and her eyes… her eyes bore an absence so heavy it became almost a presence. Her lips stayed sealed, by choice. For to speak, for her, was to reopen a wound. She had been condemned to Hell. Then freed. But some prisons have no keys.

The Doctor’s smile spread, ill-fitting but sincere. “Hello ! I’m the Doctor. Well, the Doctor, not a doctor. I don’t treat colds, well, not often. I heal… other things. Universes, sometimes. Temporal horrors. Holes in realities. Stuff like that. Less reassuring than a stethoscope, I admit.”

Nada stared at the stranger without a word.

He took a few steps, hands clasped behind his back, like a teacher hesitating to begin his lecture. “And you’re Nada. Yes. I know who you are. Well, not in detail, not like a biographer, but I’ve… how to say… leafed through a dream in which your name shone. The dream libraries, you know; they contain books that don’t exist, or not yet, or that might have existed if a reader had turned the next page. One of those books spoke of you. Of a Queen who loved an Eternal and paid an unbearable price.”

Nada lowered her eyes slightly. But she didn’t answer.

“Ah, silence,” the Doctor breathed. “I know it. Yes. I know it very well.”

He circled the bed, observing each detail, then sat on the ledge of the only window in the room. His fingers drummed nervously on his knees, as if searching for a rhythm to fill the void.

“You won’t speak. That’s… that’s a choice. I understand. But do you know what I do when I carry a weight too heavy ? I talk. I talk endlessly. I talk to fill the abyss. Because if I’m silent, then…” He paused, his eyes clouding. “Then the silence reminds me of what I’ve done.”

A faint breath stirred the flame of a candle on the bedside table. But Nada still said nothing.

“Do you know that I destroyed my people ?” He said suddenly, like a slap disguised as a confession.

Nada blinked.

“Yes. Me. The last of the Time Lords, as they call me. My world, Gallifrey. You’ve never heard of it, but it doesn’t matter. It was beautiful, it was terrible, it was home. The Time War… ah, it sounded grand. A war that burned galaxies, twisted timelines, tore suns from their orbits. Daleks against Time Lords. Monsters against the arrogant. The whole cosmos held hostage. And me, in the middle, forced to choose. So I chose. I destroyed my world, my kin, my friends, my family. All of them. Gone. Because it was that or let the universe burn,” he confessed, stumbling over words still too hard to speak.

He leaned forward, elbows on his knees. His voice vibrated with an intensity he no longer tried to hide.

“In other words, I’m the sole and only responsible party for the extinction of my own race. I deliberately committed genocide and erased the Time Lords from Creation,” he said darkly.

Nada had raised her eyes to him, visibly shaken by this sudden revelation. But she remained mute.

“You think you forget that ? No. Every planet I land on, every face I see, I tell myself: they live because mine no longer do. That’s my little inner music. Not very cheerful, I know,” he admitted.

Still silence. But Nada’s eyes had changed. She now looked at him not as an intruder, but as a mirror she didn’t want to see.

The Doctor stood abruptly and began pacing, almost spinning, unable to stay still.

“The worst, you see, isn’t only having killed, it’s carrying the title of ‘savior’ or ‘murderer.’ Being seen with pity or with resentment. Being applauded, sometimes, as a hero. As if a hero could be the one who pressed the button. As if…” He broke off, inhaled deeply. Then his tone softened, lower, gentler. “As if loving your people meant condemning them.”

Nada closed her eyes. And in that simple gesture, a shiver ran through the room. The constellations on the ceiling froze. Then, very slowly, Nada’s lips parted. Her voice, hoarse, low, as though rising from a deep well, finally cut the air:

“Me too.” Two words. Two shards of truth.

She continued, her voice trembling but firm. “I loved Morpheus, knowing it was forbidden. The Eternals and humans could not fall in love. And so, I was punished by seeing a meteor strike my beloved city and my people perish. I thought I was offering life, but I brought ruin. My love consumed my kingdom. They died because of me. I, too, am the cause. So I stay silent. Because every word is a reminder. Every sound is a betrayal.”

The Doctor looked at her gently. “You understand. Of course, you do. Your love destroyed a kingdom. Your heart burned a people. You told yourself : If I hadn’t loved, they would have lived. And you’ve carried that… how long ? An eternity ?”

“An eternity in Hell… Morpheus had offered to make me his queen, his goddess, but I couldn’t accept because of my guilt toward my people and my unconditional love for him, even though it was forbidden. So I refused his offer, telling him I preferred an eternity in Hell to an eternity at his side,” she confessed, her eyes shining with tears.

The Doctor stepped closer to Nada, until he was within reach of her hand, and looked at her for a long moment.

“So here we are. Two monsters of tenderness. Two killers out of love. You, by your passion for an infinite being. Me, by my loyalty to the universe. We made impossible choices, and we condemned ourselves,” he stated, as if it were self-evident.

A dense silence, heavy as a tomb, settled. Time hung suspended. Neither moved.

Then Nada whispered : “Maybe we’re not meant to be forgiven. Maybe we’re condemned to be witnesses.”

The Doctor shrugged slightly. “Maybe. But bearing witness together… is already less heavy.” He closed his eyes, almost relieved.

Then he stood, took a few steps in the room, as if searching for his words in the cracks of the walls.

“You know, there’s a philosopher from my, well, not my world, but from Earth. You know Earth, I imagine ? Jean-Paul Sartre, his name was. Very serious, round glasses, the look of a man who doesn’t smile much. He said something once : Hell is other people,” he rattled off, waving his hands in a desperate attempt to support his argument.

Nada blinked, surprised by the strange phrase. “And do you believe that ?”

The Doctor turned toward her, shrugged.

“Maybe. Hell is being imprisoned in the gaze of others. It’s true. My people saw me as a hero, or as a monster. And I was trapped in their gaze. You, you were a queen, lover of an Eternal. Before dying, your people who once revered you must have looked at you with fear, with anger, with contempt. And still, we carried that burden. Yes, hell is other people,” he decided, lost in a reflection whose outcome remained uncertain.

He paused, then added: “But sometimes, other people are also those who save us. Because without them, we remain alone, locked within ourselves. Unable to be free.”

Nada looked at him, perplexed. “Then what are we, you and I ? Hell, or Salvation ?”

The Doctor smiled sadly. “Probably a bit of both.”

Silence fell again, but it was no longer the stifling silence from before. It was a silence inhabited, a silence that breathed.

And for the first time in over a millennium, Nada stood.

She walked to the window and, with a firm gesture, threw it open. Sunlight streamed across her ebony skin, and she drew in the fresh air of a radiant afternoon. Her lips murmured almost imperceptibly : “I want to go out.”

The Doctor stepped closer, gently, as one approaches a wounded animal.

“Then let’s go. No need to go far. Just one step out of this room. That’s all it takes,” he said, laying a gentle hand on her shoulder.

And together, they crossed the threshold.