Big MacIntosh put the last apple fritter into the picnic basket. He made sure it was nestled safely between the other fritters, and gave the basket an experimental nudge to see if the fritters were too loose. There was hardly so much as a twitch in the basket's contents, and Big Mac smiled a little at that. Satisfied with the stability of his setup of snacks, Big Mac reached for the folded picnic blanket and delicately placed it atop the fritters. The stallion took a step back, and surveyed his handiwork.
In a word, it was perfect. From the perfectly dried bed of alfalfa at the very bottom of the basket, to the succulent apple cobbler, and even the cherries tucked away in the corners lest she criticize him for having a one-fruit mind, the picnic basket had been filled with perfection. Of course, the basket was only one very small part of the perfectly crafted scenario that he had been working on.
Everything that Big Mac knew about romance had gone into planning this day. He had pulled every favor with the weather team to get the perfect horizon, had scouted for hours to find the perfect spot for the picnic, and had traded the better part of the season's harvest surplus for the best diamond he could afford. And all of it for the sake of a single mare, and a single moment with her.
It was a gamble, of that he was sure. Big Mac had looked at this plan a thousand times from a thousand different angles, and all of the fancy mathematics in Equestria couldn't hide the fact that his odds weren't good. She was so perfect, so unapproachable, always engrossed in the little lives of those who depended on her. And how could he presume to take time away from her busy life, full to the brim with responsibility? To say nothing of what consorting with a simple farm pony would do to her reputation. In the eyes of the public, she was spotless, dependable, the iron-clad shoulder upon which the world could lay its weeping head...
"I find there is generally some separation between the face a mare presents, and the pony they truly are."
The voice from without startled Big Mac, and brought a premature sting of disappointment to his chest. He looked up, and a wistful smile crossed his lips as he beheld the gracious form of Princess Luna, lounging amidst the boughs of one of his apple trees. At present, she was upside-down, a position which did nothing to diminish the iridescent splendor of her mane or the adorable quirkiness of her smile. Then there were those big eyes of hers, which seemed to hold the ocean and the cosmos, speaking of both unmarred innocence and infinite wisdom in the same moment. Big Mac wondered how improper it might be to lose himself in her gaze.
A soft titter lilted out from the midnight alicorn, shaking Big Mac from his thoughts. He smiled politely, and set the picnic basket down on the ground before speaking. "Afternoon, princess."
"Is it?" The princess looked around with a curious expression, as though just now noticing that the sun had begun to dip toward the horizon. "I seldom think of the day as an arrangement of times. It all runs together into a single block for me, much as the night must run together for you."
Big Mac nodded thoughtfully. He hadn't often considered the attitudes of the Princess of the Night, but it certainly sounded plausible. That was when a tiny little voice in the back of his head managed to speak up enough to make itself heard. "Erm, pardon my asking, your Highness, but what are you doing here?"
She just smiled an enigmatic smile that would look more commonplace on Celestia, and dropped out of the tree with a graceful flip to land on her hooves. "You are hardly as slow as they think, MacIntosh. I believe you know the answer to that question."
Big Mac's face went blank for a brief moment as he considered the possibilities, weighed the probabilities, and came to a realization. "This is a dream." He couldn't stop a tinge of sadness from creeping into his voice as it dawned on him. Then he felt a hoof beneath his chin, and raised his gaze to meet that of the princess.
"True, this is a dream. But as with all things, one gains nothing if they believe their actions are meaningless." She looked down at the picnic basket, and sighed wistfully. "You have a purpose. In this moment, you were planning something. I urge you, act on it."
"But it's just a..." Big Mac stopped, as Luna's hoof had suddenly migrated from his chin to his lips. He tried to fight down the blush rising in his cheeks.
"There are no lies in dreams, not even to yourself. Only the truth, however you may understand it. Your actions have consequences, shaped by all that you know of the world." Time skipped, as it often did in dreams, and the two of them were standing at the base of the hill. Big Mac looked up, and saw the familiar silhouette. She was early.
"The dreamscape is the arena where we face ponykind's greatest foe; our own fears. In this place, you fight against yourself, and neither one of you pulls your punches. In all my centuries of life, I have known no better means of preparing for the world's battles than by first fighting them here." The picnic basket floated into Big Mac's field of vision, suspended in an aura of midnight blue. He reached out with his mouth and seized the handles.
"Go to her. And when you awaken, fight this battle a second time."
He nodded, and made his way up the hill.
Luna did her best not to watch as Big Mac began his climb. She barely spared a glance at the pony his mind had brought into being, catching only the faintest impression of their silhouette outlined against the setting sun. It was enough to make her look away.
The mare that was waiting for Big Mac had neither wings nor a horn. Her mane lay flat against her neck, and was quite decidedly not an ethereal mass of stars. There was a rosy color to her coat, and while Luna might have been able to blame that on the sun, she knew better than to stoop to wishful thinking.
Luna did not dally in Big Mac's dream. While the definition of privacy was always blurry in her line of work, this was not the sort of dream she wished to spectate. Not tonight, not with him. So she slipped between the folds of thought and desire, flying away from the orchard of Big Mac's mind and into any place where she felt it was safe to cry.
She opened her eyes, retreating from the world of dreams into the welcoming reality of her bedchamber. For every tear she had held back for his sake, there was a spot of water on her pillow, and the sheets were wrapped tightly around herself. Luna was seized by a sudden cough, and realized she had awoken mid-sob. She felt another one coming on, and let the sorrow take its course.
In between sobs, Luna turned her mind towards what had happened. In many ways, it wasn't surprising that things had turned out this way. She had only ever admired him from afar, never once giving any hint to the simple farm pony that the Princess of the Night herself was less than a wolf-whistle away. For all her efforts to appear more approachable, she was still unattainable, far too distant a goal to ever aspire to. And being the practical stallion that he was, Big Mac was not the sort to pursue what he stood no chance of ever claiming.
As with many things, that which she loved the most about him served to offer up the greatest frustrations. His rugged good looks had made her the secret opponent of almost every mare in Ponyville, his dependable nature kept him firmly at Sweet Apple Acres, and that infinite air of practicality was even now making her lose out to a schoolteacher.
The sobbing died down, and new ideas boiled to the surface of Luna's mind. There was still a great deal of time until sunrise, plenty of time to weave a new dream. She could make Cheerilee's heart cold to the touch, she could make Big Mac dream of another mare, or she could simply appear once more to the farmer and confess her feelings.
But instead, she found herself reaching out in curiosity to touch Cheerilee's dream. Instead of vindictive jealousy, she wanted with fascination as the teacher's mind turned. At first glance, she seemed at peace with the world, if perhaps a little ragged from having to deal with Ponyville's rambunctious youth nigh on every day. But Luna knew better than to judge by first appearances, and so she went further.
What she saw was something that cut through the pangs of jealousy. It was something that reminded her of the self-same feelings that had driven her to seek out such a dependable stallion in the first place. For she did not see a rival, an enemy or even an obstacle as she looked into Cheerilee's mind.
She saw a mare, lost and afraid and in desperate need of help.
And Luna obliged.
Cheerilee was alone in the ballroom. There were throngs of ponies surrounding her, but they were not with her. The ponies that filled the ballroom were dancing to a tune that she could not hear. They were all dressed in clothes more extravagant and expensive than anything Cheerilee could imagine. There were more than a few faces in the throng that she recognized, smiling friends from all walks and times of her life. But she was still alone, because out of everypony in the room, she was the only one who did not have a partner.
Cheerilee looked down at her hooves, not wanting to meet the gaze of her lucky friends. That was when she saw the dress, and bile rose in her throat. What had she been thinking, wearing this thing to a ball? Yes, it was beautiful, but even a schoolteacher could see how it clashed with the rest of the dancers.
Her dress was as white as snow, and as untarnished as the criminal record of a newborn earth pony. There were a few bits of lace and filigree around the borders, but the dress was otherwise more plain than a slice of white bread. When she had first bought it, Cheerilee had thought it was a perfect expression of how little importance she placed in material beauty, while still being fancy enough that she might actually be caught dead wearing it to a high-class function. But now that she looked at it like this, with her as the unmoving center of a great kaleidoscope of dancing ponies, she realized what she looked like.
To her onlookers, she must have appeared like a bride, albeit one who has cast aside their veil and, judging by the tears, been left at the altar.
Every time she met the gaze of the ponies around her, she saw happiness. Jubilation, even. Somewhere amid the crushing atmosphere of all the ponies, she heard a few murmurs that sounded like 'congratulations'. But she had no idea what they were talking about. All she felt was sick to her stomach, and lost in the madness. It occurred to her that this might actually be her wedding. The inside of her mouth did taste faintly of strong cider, now that she thought of it. But if that was the case, what would he think of her if he found her like this?
Who had she even married?
At that moment, everything changed. There seemed to be a change in the tone of whatever music was shepherding the other dancers, as they twirled and spun into new positions. A pathway through the ponies appeared as if by magic, and Cheerilee was about to make a break for it when she saw him. Dressed in a simple tuxedo, with flowing locks of sunset gold and skin the color of roses, was the stallion that she knew in her heart was her husband.
The time it took him to cross the space between them was so small that he seemed to teleport, and Cheerilee found herself swept up onto her hind legs before she had time to draw breath. He was there, his emerald eyes an endless ocean of euphoria that drew her deeper and deeper in. Cheerilee took a deep breath, and leaned in for a kiss.
As their lips met, the music began. It was some impossible combination of a waltz and a square dance, played with every instrument from war-drums to pan flutes. A small part of Cheerilee thought to look around for the orchestra, but that was drowned out by the few small words that Big Mac whispered to her.
"May I have this dance?"
A shaky nod seemed to be all he needed, and the madness of the music found its match in the mania of MacIntosh. The world around them blurred into invisibility as he found his pace, and when Cheerilee made the mistake of trying to match his hoof-work, she was lucky to only get a chipped hoof out of the deal. Heat seemed to explode outwards from them, and had Cheerilee been capable of looking over Mac's shoulder, she would have seen that he had left cracked masonry and patches of green grass on the ballroom floor in place of traditional hoof-marks.
The sudden twirl felt as though it should have emptied her lunch onto the floor, but all it did was multiply her bliss. As they accelerated closer and closer to the limits of the physical form, Cheerilee felt protected. She felt like there was no sword that would pierce her hide, no word that could wound her pride, and that even the mightiest forces of the sun and the moon could not tear her from his embrace. She might have closed her eyes to revel in this ecstasy, if not for the fact that that would mean she could not stare into the frenzied eyes of her beloved.
She wondered what the wedding night would be like.
Behind them, the overflowing magic had ceased to merely put forth grass or budding flowers. Saplings were springing up mere seconds after Big Mac passed over the floor, and they erupted into full-grown trees only moments later. The guests emptied out of the ballroom as fast as their mortal hooves could carry them. And it was a good thing too, because as Big Mac swept Cheerilee into some maddening hybrid of the tango and capoeira, apples exploded off the limbs of the trees. Without even looking, Big Mac maneuvered himself and his dear beloved through the explosions, dodging every wayward fruit missile with all the grace of an oiled psychic ballerina.
After what she desperately hoped was only the second-most energetic display of romance she would ever experience finally drew to its end, Cheerilee was able to take a few panting seconds to look around at the chaos that her husband had wrought. The laugh that tore itself from her chest was the laugh of someone who knows they're about to go to prison forever, and doesn't regret a second of it.
She looked up at Big Mac, who was still holding her with just one foreleg. His other hoof came up to her cheek, and fondled it softly. Then there was a flutter of wings, and his ears flicked. Cheerilee arched her neck back, and saw an owl approaching through a hole in the roof that had been made by a spontaneous redwood. It held a parchment in its talons, and as it passed over them, it released the missive. With an expert flick of his head, Big Mac caught one edge of the scroll between his teeth and opened it up for Cheerilee to read. The words sparkled as though they had been made from crushed sapphires.
This is currently a work of fiction.
If you do not wish for it to remain so,
I would suggest you wake up.
~Luna
Cheerilee all but sprang from her bed, propelled by an energy she scarcely understood but was eager to investigate. It was a wonder that her hooves did not explode beneath her as she ran from her house, making a beeline for Sweet Apple Acres. She just barely managed to slow herself down to a canter when she spotted Applejack.
"Hello, Applejack." She tried, without much success, to hide her gasping and panting. The farmpony looked at her with surprise.
"Mornin', Cheerilee. Ain't it a little early for Apple Bloom to have done something bad?"
"Need I remind you of Rooster Day?" The banter came so naturally that it happened without Cheerilee thinking, and she cursed herself for getting off-topic. "But this isn't about your sister. Have you seen your brother around, by any chance?"
Applejack raised an eyebrow in confusion. "Last I heard, he was headin' for the train station. Why y'all askin'?"
Cheerilee let out a bout of nervous laughter that may as well have been a flashing neon sign. "Oh, no reason. Thanks for your help, and happy Hearts and Hooves Day!" Cheerilee turned and went straight back to a gallop, and was already over the hill by the time Applejack had put two and two together and shouted a warning. Whatever Applejack had meant to say was unfortunately lost to the winds as Cheerilee sped through town, achieving speeds that would probably make a certain elite team of speedsters quite jealous.
She arrived at the train station in a cloud of dust and pottery, and began looking around for Big Mac at such speeds that her neck was liable to snap at any moment. When she saw him, some foalish instinct told her to duck behind the nearest barrel. She peered around, and her heart sank.
A pony had just stepped off of the train. Her coat was a shiny gray, her hair seemed to be as polished as a gemstone, and the eyes that she could just barely glimpse through the mane were a hypnotizing purple. But it was not the mare's beauty that caught Cheerilee's attention. It was the way that Big Mac had rushed forward to hold her.
Cheerilee stared for a long time. She watched them giggle, and whisper in each other's ears, and just stare deeply into each other's eyes. Eventually, they left the train station, and Cheerilee was left sitting listlessly behind the barrel.
It would take her quite some time to get over this. It would take even longer for her to work up the nerve to tell Luna what had happened. But a few months down the line, Cheerilee happened to run into Big Mac and his marefriend after escorting Apple Bloom home from the fireworks factory. She had only one thing to say.
"I hope he's everything I dreamed of for you."
Author's Note
While the rest of you are harping on about Singles Awareness Day, I'd like to draw your attention to the other great heartbreak of Valentine's; when you walk up to the girl or guy of your dreams, and you're about to hand them your hand-made, painstakingly-written paper heart with far too much glitter and a few too many creases but you hope to God they'll love it anyways, and then someone else swallows the butterflies first.
