The Beginning and The End
I was dreaming.
That wasn't particularly odd for me to know that fact. I've always known when I was dreaming. I guess most people do, to be honest. Sometimes it's rather obvious: fuzzy details; blurry, smeared colors; obvious discrepancies, like interacting with deceased relatives. Other times it's not that readily apparent, yet there is still that ethereal quality of something “not quite right” that gives the game away.
This wasn't one of those times.
I was standing in a meadow, in the middle of a clear, flat expanse of waving grass, a plain that seemed to extend forever. I could see for miles, and it seemed as if my vision truly carried on for much farther than that. The sky was an odd pale blue-gray, with only a few thin clouds scudding overhead. I was incredibly tired; not surprising, I realized, considering things. Except for the fact that I had never seen this place before, had no idea where I was or what I was doing there, and that the heavens vaulting overhead felt pregnant with purpose, this didn't feel like any dream I'd ever had before. There was no sense of discontinuity, no disjointed perception.
I have no idea how long I stood there. I wasn't in any hurry to go anywhere, and not having any destination in mind only made that easier to accept. I felt a patience swaddling me unlike any I'd ever felt before. And then . . .
And then, she was there.
One moment I was alone, a gentle breeze brushing past, and the next, she stood at my side, silent as a statue. But no statue emanated the vibrancy that she did. “You came,” I whispered.
She turned her head just the slightest, her eye —so wise, so warm and gleaming, so full of inarticulate sorrow— gazed at me. “I would have come sooner,” she replied, and her voice caressed me like sun warmed silk. “But I could not. Until now.”
“I know,” I nodded. “I'd always wished otherwise, but I'd known.”
As one we turned and faced each other, a motion so smooth, so coordinated as if choreographed; practiced for years just for this moment. Sinking to my knee before her, my voice thick and rasped, “My Princess.” Tears clogged my voice. “My Princess of the Night.”
“You have called to me,” she solemnly replied. “I have felt thy need for ages. It has been a dreadful want inside thee.”
I nodded, head bowed, then swiftly rose to my feet. “There is something,” I cried out, “that my heart has burned to say to you since . . .”
I trailed off, hands waving in little circles as I struggled to form thought into words. How could I explain how I'd become aware of her? Beings of two different worlds, separate from each other by an uncompromising, impenetrable veil. Which of us was fantasy, and which was not? Were we both? Neither?
I only knew that once I had learned of my Princess, once I had dreamed certain dreams of her, I had one true, impassioned longing.
“Look!” I implored, sweeping my arm out.
We were no longer in a meadow. Instead, before us was the lip of a chasm. We stood at the edge of a cliff that dropped into depths so deep it was unfathomable.
“Look!” I boomed. From somewhere inside, my flagging spirits were revitalized, as does the last smoldering log on the hearth, threads of scarlet futilely shimmering through the ragged lumps of cooling ash, suddenly cracks and crumbles, exposing a last remnant of amber heartwood, flames greedily lashing in a final glorious, all-consuming blaze.
Again my hand swept outwards, and appearing before us, suspended above that terrible, yawning drop, was an enormous book. Its cover flipped open, and sheets blurred as they paged past before suddenly stopping.
How many times, I wondered, had I replayed these pages in my mind? How many times, I pondered, had I cried silent tears for my Princess?
“Once upon a time,” I began, the words so familiar they were etched in my heart, “in the magical land of Equestria, there were two regal sisters who ruled together, and created harmony for all the land.”
As I spoke, the two halves of the book began glowing, each half forming the images that I knew so well.
“To do this, the eldest used her unicorn powers to raise the sun at dawn; the younger brought out the moon to begin the night. Thus, the two sisters maintained balance for their kingdom and their subjects, all the different types of ponies. But as time went on, the younger sister became resentful. The ponies relished and played in the day her elder sister brought forth, but shunned and slept through her beautiful night.”
Before us played out the scenes so well-known to me. This time, however, I was surprised, because there was a change I'd never seen before.
On the left, the Sun side, were ponies going about their day: working and playing. But it wasn't just ponies this time. Like peering through a heat-shimmer the images wavered, one moment pony, another human. Ponies plowing fields. Humans playing soccer. Ponies holding races. Humans constructing buildings.
On the right, the Moon side, were again, to my surprise, both pony and human. And again, the scene unfolded as it always had, this time both pony and human visibly reacting to the night with dislike, if not outright loathing.
“Enough!” I yelled, the word reverberating in rolling echoes. I gazed at my Princess who stood there next to me, huge eyes shimmering, gentle tremors rippling her skin.
“Enough,” I whispered. “Oh My Princess.” I turned and faced her. “My Princess of the Night, how I've ached for this moment.”
Reaching out, hand trembling, I cupped her cheek, feeling her flinch a moment at that touch. Not because of the touch itself, but because, I sensed, she felt unworthy of such.
“Look!” I murmured. “Look and see!”
I gestured to the Sun side. “It is true that ponies and humans alike relish the sun, for at heart we are creatures of vision and warmth. We look forward to the dawn, as each one brings new opportunities. It is a time to put into work plans we have made. To build and create. To work and to play. To learn and explore. Yes, both ponies and humans alike find zest and enthusiasm in the Day.
“But look!”
This time I indicated the Moon side. My Princess tightly closed her eyes and turned her head away.
“Look,” I whispered, an entreating caress. “Please.”
A deep shudder coursed through her. Was that a nod? I couldn't tell. But she did look, turning once more to fully face the scene that had always engraved terrible grief and sorrow in her heart and soul.
“It is dusk. And what do you see?” I asked, my voice soft and gentle. I did not wait for an answer, for one was not needed. And as I spoke, the images altered, revealing their true feelings. “Ponies and humans putting away their tools. Their toys. Some look tired. Some stretching aching muscles. Look at them; they know the day is coming to a close. Tell me . . . do they look distraught? Miserable?”
Again I needed no answer.
“They are tired, true. It has been a long day. But they are content. Satisfied. They are looking forward to the evening. A time to relax and unwind. They are hungry from a hard day's work or play, and they are looking forward to their meals. Evening is a time to wash the toils of the day from them. A time to sit and relax, for the gathering together of friends and family, to reflect upon what they've accomplished that day, and to contemplate the plans of tomorrow.
“Too, they look forward to the peaceful tranquility of sleep, of dreams, for without that most necessary of refreshments no more could they enjoy the day.”
I turned and faced her. “There is something that occurs between those two elements, My Princess.” My hand flew upwards, fingers spread. “This!” I breathed in wondrous anticipation.
The vault above erupted in glorious splendor, spangled with twinkling stars of such pinprick brilliance it almost hurt, set against a sky so velvet black it seemed infinitely deep. That was all that was needed; moments later and she had responded to that heavenly change. Her moon appeared, argent and gleaming, gibbous now, its light strong enough to cast pale shadows. Streaks of light as shooting stars raced above. In the distance, the hoary tail of a comet.
“How can a mere Sun compare to this!” I exulted.
“My Princess . . . oh My Princess of The Night . . . your night has never been shunned. It is a grand and glorious work of art that thrills and delights, soothes and calms, awes and inspires. Yes, we sleep through most of it. We need sleep to survive. The Day would be joyless and miserable without the sleep your Night permits. We yearn for the Night in a way that the Day will never experience.”
Again my hand stretched out to cup her cheek as I whispered, “Your Night, My Princess. We yearn for your Night.”
Suddenly a wave of exhaustion flooded me. Trembling and weak I abruptly sat down, hugging my arms as a deep deep chill flowed through me. Like a nova the last of my stores were consumed, and I collapsed upon myself.
My breath caught as My Princess sat down beside me. Cupping her wing she sheltered me under it, drawing me against her flank. Tears rolled down my cheeks at the honor bestowed upon me.
“This,” she whispered against my ear, her muzzle velvet-soft, her breath warm and scented of timothy, “this was what has been heavy in your heart all these years?”
I couldn't answer. For the tone of her voice, so wondrous and awed, had clove my tongue. All I could do was numbly nod, and when she then caressed the side of my face with her horn, when she softly whispered, “My Knight,” had I the energy I would have burst into unashamed sobs.
We stayed like that for some time, her cheek pressed against mine, her wing cradling me to her side. But warmth . . . warmth eluded me, that pervasive chill kept sinking deeper and deeper. I noticed my vision creeping inwards, growing more and more tunneled. It was time, I realized. And, somehow, so did My Princess.
“I would have come sooner,” she said one last time.
“I know,” I replied like a waning winter zephyr. I felt parts of me unraveling, spinning off, as my vision continued dimming. “My Princess?” I breathed.
“Yes, My Knight?”
“I have always lov—”
Author's Note
This is just something I've always thought Princess Luna needed to hear . . . and that I've always wished to be able to tell her. And, perhaps, once day, Maybe I shall.
