Once Upon A Dream (3456 words) by meridian_rose
Chapters: 1/1
Fandom: Constantine (TV)
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Relationships: John Constantine/Mary "Zed" Martin
Characters: John Constantine, Mary "Zed" Martin
Additional Tags: Cinderella Elements, The Princess Bride References, Magic, Trapped, Community: trope_bingo, Drama & Romance

Summary: Zed tries to rescue Constantine from a dreamworld rooted in a fairytale scenario.

For the trope_bingo prompt "trapped in a dream"
At AO3 and under the cut


ONE

Prince Constantine sat on the throne, his expression sullen, his posture slovenly in a way that irritated his father. Down a few steps the dancefloor was crowded with those vying for the prince's hand.

"Go and find a bride," his father snarled, leaning over to keep his words close to the prince's ear. "I know you don't want to but you killed your mother and so there is no other heir. Do your duty."

The princess, his elder sister, had fled the kingdom years before and she was a mere woman after all; it was Prince Constantine on whom duty was destined to fall.

"Dance with some woman, marry her, screw her, begat a squalling heir and perpetuate this wretched cycle?" Constantine shook his head. He twisted his silver ring, the onyx stone clasped by two stars. "Surely there must be more to life?"

"There is not. Go and pick one of these fawning creatures," his father said and sat back, resolute.

With a long suffering sigh, Constantine got to his feet and ambled down the steps. A buzz of excitement spread through the guests as the music stopped. They moved aside as he walked to the centre of the room.

How could anyone chose a bride from this heaving mass of cosmetic artistry and corsetry? There was no truth here, everyone hiding beneath a mask both literally and figuratively, though he'd flatly refused to join in the masquerade himself.

There was no way to see intelligence or strength or compassion in a single dance. It was ridiculous.

He ran his eyes over those closest to him. Tall, short, pale, dark, female and forbidden male. Might as well choose at random. Eeny, meeny, miny -

The sea of people parted as a woman approached. Her dark hair was pinned up in an elaborate design. Her tanned skin, resplendent against the cornflower silk gown and matching gloves, reminded him of the nobles from Andalucia who'd visited last spring. A mask covered her eyes and nose, also blue, the edges styled to resemble feathers; beneath the mask, her gaze was steady as she walked towards him like a bride along the altar. A pendant, a silver star on a gold chain, hung at her cleavage.

Constantine felt a frisson run through him. There was something different about this woman, he could sense it. She seemed familiar somehow. The white collar of his shirt felt tight around his throat and the navy blue jacket was constricting as the room temperature rose.

The woman curtsied, elegant and precise. She glanced up at him, head still bowed, and he held out one hand. He grasped her gloved hand and tugged, giving her permission to stand upright and meet his gaze.

"Your highness." Her voice was music to his ears.

Constantine cleared his throat. "Will you honour me with a dance?"

"It would be my pleasure."

The music began again and Constantine pulled the woman close, one hand on the small of her back, the other still holding her hand. She smelt like lavender and rosemary. He gazed into her eyes, deep brown and fixed on him like he was the only man in the room.

They danced, waltzing as if it were as natural as breathing. She was light on her feet, the gentle pressure of her hands on his body, mirroring his position on hers, unsatisfying. He wanted more. He wanted to hold her close, tear off the mask, press his lips to her beautiful deep pink ones.

"I never want this dance to end," he whispered.

"Then come with me. We can be together forever." She squeezed his hand.

The music stopped and the assembled guests applauded but they were of no consequence. Constantine clung to this stranger who had bewitched him. She took a step away, tugging at him. Come.

Bewitched. Was it possible? Was this dizziness threatening to overbalance him the stranger's doing? Constantine frowned. "What's your name?"

"Zed."

"What kind of a name is that?"

The clock began to chime. Midnight approached.

"Please, Constantine. Come with me."

Why the sudden urgency? He released her. "I don't think so."

Zed stared down at the pendant, then up at the clock. "I have to go."

"Then go." He folded his arms. "I'm not stopping you."

Zed ran, pushing her way through the bewildered crowd, slipping through the open doors and into the tiled corridor. "John! Please!" She vanished from sight.

"A lucky escape, I feel," said his father, now at his shoulder as if he'd flown from his seat to the floor in one swift movement.

"You wanted me to dance with her, you prick," Constantine snapped and then knew nothing more.


TWO

Prince Constantine sat sullenly on the throne, aware of his father's anger – but when wasn't the man angry with him?

"Go and find a bride," his father snarled, gesturing to the packed dancefloor. "Since you murdered your mother there is no other heir. Do your duty."

"Dance with some woman, marry her, screw her, begat a squalling heir and perpetuate this wretched cycle?" Constantine frowned, an uncomfortable feeling of déjà vu making his words sound less forceful than he'd intended.

"Yes," his father said. "Choose a woman and mate with her."

Constantine glowered at his father but got to his feet and descended the five steps to the floor below. He was drawn as much to men as to women, and since he'd been forbidden men of course his glance fell most often on the princes, dukes, and barons.

That wasn't to say the women weren't attractive, but they were all trying too hard, fawning in an attempt to win his favour, sending flirtatious glances to catch his eye. While he could in time discover which ones were literal backstabbers and which would be frustratingly docile, he wasn't supposed to care about such things. Just pick some pretty thing wearing an expensive gown and too much gold jewellery and wed her for the good of the kingdom.

Being a prince was not as romantic a notion as one might imagine.

Thank God he'd refused to tolerate the idea of a masquerade ball, one small mercy.

The crowd parted and a woman advanced on him. She was pretty, her skin brown, eyes browner, with long dark hair partially pinned back. Her off the shoulder rose silk dress emphasised her bosom, and delicate slippers showed beneath its hem as she walked with an air of purpose that he admired. A silver star on a gold chain was her only adornment.

"Prince Constantine," she said, with a brief curtsey, immediately afterwards meeting his gaze. It was too direct to be polite but he found that refreshing. There was something about this woman, something different, something special.

He caressed his ring absently. "And you are?"

"Zed."

"What kind of a name is that?"

She frowned, as well she might, though he hadn't meant it as an insult.

"The name of someone," she said, "who has travelled far to meet you."

"May I have this dance?" he asked and she nodded, placing one hand in his.

Her skin was warm against his and his pulse quickened. He didn't believe in love at first sight - barely believed in love at all – yet this Zed was making him reconsider his stance.

They danced, waltzing as if it were as natural as breathing. She was light on her feet, the gentle pressure of her hands on his body a tease when he wanted so much more. She smelt like the fresh scent outdoors after a welcome rainstorm.

When the music stopped Zed did not pull away. "Please," she said softly. "Come with me. I need to talk with you."

He nodded, intrigued, and she led him towards the open french doors and the cool night air.

"Where are you going?" his father hissed, impossibly at his shoulder. Constantine glanced at the throne and then back again, confused.

"I am taking the duchess outside," Constantine said. Zed had given no title which made him think she didn't have one; duchess was an acceptable match for a prince, and while his father might know the name of every eligible princess he could not possibly know the name or appearance of every single titled woman.

"Not her."

"Why not?" His father's anger only made Constantine more stubborn. He tightened his grip on Zed's hand until she winced.

The clock began to strike. Zed's free hand moved to caress the star pendant. "Please, we have to go," she said.

The urgency in her tone alone gave him pause, and this time her informal address coupled with such alarm gave rise to suspicion. "Why is that?"

"I'll explain later," Zed said. "Please, John."

John? That threw him. Wait, could this be witchcraft? It would explain his fascination with her. He released her, took a step back. "Who are you really?"

Zed let out a sob of frustration and ran out into the garden. The clock struck eleven, and he chased after her, pausing at the threshold. He saw no sign of her on the verdant grass. The clock struck once more, midnight, and he knew nothing further.


INTERLUDE

Zed grasped the silver star so hard the points dug into her palm. She was sat within a chalk circle, crystals and a bundle of herbs placed around the perimeter. A book was next to her, open to the relevant page.

"Dammit, John." She wished he was here with her in the millhouse to reply with a sarcastic comment but no, he'd got himself trapped in the nightmare fairy tale realm.

John had been his usual cocksure self when he'd saved their client's daughter and then gone back to retrieve the artefact responsible for opening the door to this particular dark dimension. He'd cheerily told Zed it would take three minutes, five at the most, unless he got stuck there. In which case it'd be a breeze for her to go in and drag him back out.

Of course it had not been five minutes, he had got stuck, and it was not turning out to be a breeze.

She wished Chas were here, but he was out of town hunting down another dangerous artefact and she didn't have time to wait for him to return. She had to get John out of the dreamworld before the next sunset.

To make things more difficult she had only three attempts to rescue him. She was now down to one.

Finally, John had to come with her of his own accord. She couldn't, even if Chas were here to help, merely drag him out of the castle. Not if she wanted his mind intact.

This last was complicated by the fact he didn't remember her, at least not completely, though she'd seen a glimmer of recognition in his eyes both times. He was doomed to play the part of the prince until he found his bride and without their prior friendship to fall back on she was doing her best to seduce him enough to step outside of the castle walls and so back into reality, but it wasn't enough.

John wasn't one to stand on ceremony when he found someone attractive but maybe the prince was more reticent?

Then again in the fairytales, it was love at first sight and maybe she just wasn't pretty enough for the prince…she shook her head. That line of thought wasn't helpful.

She thought back to when they'd first met in the real world; John had pushed her away, sceptical and suspicious, and then when he'd seen her gifts were real, tried to keep her at a distance for her own safety. Was he doing that now, subconsciously or otherwise?

There were too many unknowns and too much at stake. One more chance to win him over and rescue him, and Zed bit at her lip so hard she almost drew blood. She had a little control over how she appeared in the scenario and so she conjured up one more dress in her mind, closed her eyes, and entered the realm once more.


THREE

Prince Constantine was bored. He was forbidden to dance with any of the dashing men at the ball and wary of the women who had their own reasons to want a prince's hand. They may be the richest and most noble offspring but this ball was little more than a cattle market with the finest breeding stock brought out to be purchased and mated with.

"Go and find a bride," his father hissed at him. "You are my sole heir, since you killed your mother. Do your duty."

Constantine toyed with the onyx ring, the silver stars rubbing at his skin. He didn't even bother to argue. It was hopeless, pointless. He could pick at random with his eyes shut for the all difference it would make.

With a sigh he made his way to the dancefloor and tapped a young woman on the shoulder. She was pretty but the hunger in her eyes filled him with dread as she gave a too wide smile, expecting him to ask her to dance.

The crowd parted and a woman strode across the room. She wore heeled boots, as if she'd ridden here, and that sight gave him pause. She was stunning, a sleeveless blood red dress showing off her assets, her long hair loose and caressing her warm brown shoulders. The only jewellery she wore was a single star on a chain about her neck.

Constantine moved to intercept her and she bowed.

Not curtsied. Bowed.

A frisson ran through him. This woman was special and somehow familiar.

"Prince Constantine," she said. "I have travelled a long way to be here. Your fame precedes you and I have come to see you for myself."

He drew himself up straighter at her praise. "Is that so?"

"Yes." The woman glanced around at the guards who were getting twitchy. "Would you honour me with a dance?"

"The honour would be mine," he said, and swept her into his arms. They moved around the floor, utterly at ease with each other and, surrounded by other couples almost hidden from the view of the guards. She smelt like freshly poured whisky and cinnamon, warm and inviting.

"My name is Zed," she told him. "And I need your help."

"Let me guess. You're a desperate duchess who has been betrothed to some miserly old ogre and you think a prince would be a better match?"

She gave a soft laugh. "Betrothed, no. Ogre, yes. I seek a man brave enough to kill the beast and save my kingdom. I would gladly marry such a man."

Constantine gazed down at her, curious. "Have you no warriors, no keen young nobles, to undertake such a task?"

"None like you," she said. "None who have your strength and courage."

"You flatter me."

"Not without cause." Zed stopped suddenly and he stilled. "Please, come with me."

Constantine scoffed. "And leave this wonderful party?" he teased. "I think my father would have something to say about that."

"Damn your father," Zed said intently. She grasped his hand in both of hers. "Stay and choose some empty headed debutante, or come with me and show your true worth."

The clock began striking. Zed stepped away, releasing him. His hand felt cold after her warmth and a chill fell over him as she moved further away.

"Are you coming?" she asked.

He shrugged. "What the hell."

"Guards," his father called, but Constantine was already running.

He tripped as he exited the door, and fell into blackness.

RETURN

"John!"

Constantine blinked. He was sprawled across Zed's lap, both of them safe within the chalk circle he'd carefully marked out. He glanced down, found the onyx ring he'd gone to retrieve on his finger, the companion necklace around Zed's neck.

"See, love," he drawled, rolling onto the floor. He lay staring at the ceiling of the millhouse, relieved at being back home or the closest thing to it. "Piece of cake."

Zed tossed the star pendant at him. "You weren't supposed to get captured, remember?"

"Ah, things happen." He turned his head to look at her. "I may have understated the risks of me being trapped there, but I could never underestimate my faith in you to come to my rescue."

"Is that so?"

She was mad at him, but as relieved as he was, and she'd soon forgive him. He'd take her out for a meal and some drinks tonight, make it up to her.

"We're both back here, aren't we?"

She nodded.

"Good God, it was practically Cinderella in there," he said. "I don't know if that realm was taking on a form familiar to us, or if the fairy tale was inspired by that particular place. Maybe some of both or maybe I'm just really in need of a drink. Anyway, in this version Cinderella was the hero. You saved us both."

He got to his feet, kicked aside a crystal and scuffed the chalk beneath before he stepped outside the circle and made for the whisky. Zed followed, arms folded.

"Cinderella is already the heroine," Zed said, watching as he poured two generous measures of the amber liquid. "She never gave up hope, and the prince chose her because he saw goodness in her."

"That's one reading of it I guess." Constantine held out a glass and she took it. "I could see it in you, you know. Even though I didn't remember you or our lives here, I knew you were important."

"You turned me down twice," Zed told him. "Do you remember that?"

He frowned. "A little…you wore blue?"

"The first time. I started out playing along, trying to be the demure bride a prince would choose in a fairy tale. But I realised you didn't want me to be demure. And you didn't want to be obedient either. You wanted someone with their own mind and goals, and you needed to have a purpose."

"To kill an ogre."

Zed shrugged. "I was improvising."

"Then I've taught you well." He lifted his glass. She raised her own in salute before she took a drink. "Did I thank you, yet?"

"No."

He bowed his head briefly. "Thank you, princess."

"Duchess," she said. "You called me a duchess, not a princess."

"So I did. Royalty's overrated anyway." Constantine drained his glass. "I'll bind both the pieces of jewellery in blessed linen wrapped with ribbon woven under the full moon and that should keep the door closed, at least for a while. Once that's done, what say we go and celebrate?"

"If you're buying."

He laughed, poured a second drink. "Of course. A prince should pay for his duchess."

Zed glanced down at her t-shirt and jeans and headed for the stairs. "I'll put on something more suitable."

That meant she was expecting a decent restaurant. She'd earned it so he nodded. "As you wish."

Zed paused, one hand on the banister and stared at him. "You're quoting 'Princess Bride' now?"

"Am I?"

She gave him a long look before she went upstairs. Constantine raised his eyes heavenward. Zed had been right to woo him with a chance to be a hero, but she was also right that he'd been drawn to her as a person, one with her own mind. The fake duchess that had won him over was the one closest to the real Zed. A woman he'd come to admire and trust.

Maybe care for.

Chas had made him watch "Princess Bride" twice. The first time when he'd been sick and unable to protest enough to prevent Chas putting it on the TV and forcing fluids into him every few scenes. The second time when Chas decided to cash in one of many things Constantine owed him and made him sit through it again.

He'd mocked it all the way through the second time but honestly the movie was tongue in cheek and he was more laughing with it than at it. As such Constantine knew damn well what "As you wish" meant and worse, it seemed Zed did too. The words had fallen from his lips almost unconsciously and now they were out there.

For a while he could pretend he hadn't meant anything by it, and both he and Zed would pretend that was true because it made things simpler and as a bonus kept her safer.

But the moment he'd gazed at his duchess in her gown as red as blood it had sparked something undeniable, something he'd been trying not to acknowledge for a while but could deny no longer.

"There are no happy ever afters," he reminded himself, and finished his drink.